Twenty Six: The Ballad of Regulus Black

Anti-Litigation Charm: None of the characters belong to me. They belong to JK Rowling, who let my entire reason for reading the Harry Potter series bleed to death on the floor of the Shrieking Shack. I'm building a better world.

Love was meant for you...

Hermione woke alone to the unmistakable aroma of tomato soup and tuna and sweetcorn sandwiches and the sound of someone rattling around in the kitchen. For a brief moment, caught in that state between sleep and wakefulness, she imagined she was still a little girl, and it was Halloween.

Before escorting her only daughter out into the innocent night to stuff her little plastic cauldron with sweeties, Hermione's mother would make tomato soup and tuna and sweetcorn sandwiches. It was Hermione's comfort food, and still evoked memories of happiness, love, and security. She felt the familiar ache that always served as a reminder that her mother was dead, and that both Hermione and Halloween were no longer unsullied by the past. There was a moment of deep, mourning sadness, but it was now tinged with the comforting glow of nostalgia.

She gazed up at the ceiling, recalling the last twenty-four hours. The last lucid moments she remembered were not of trick-or-treating, but of death and redemption. Now, she was simply grateful to be able to feel any emotion at all, even sadness. She felt pity for Dumbledore, and her own regret for what she had done, but it was no longer gnawing like a cancer at her soul. Severus had helped her to return from the hideous Between. She fervently prayed neither of them would ever have to go there again.

On the heels of that thought came another question. If she and Severus had returned from Between, had their link returned as well? Tentatively, she reached out in her mind. Severus?

From downstairs sounded a clang, and a sharp hiss of profanity, like a whiff of petrol. Merlin's ballbag, lass, was it necessary to shout? I nearly dropped your piggin' lunch tray!

She jumped, startled. Instead of the usual faint, far-away voice she remembered in her head, Severus sounded as if he were speaking directly into her ear. Loudly. Their link had always been a tenuous thing, like a radio on very low volume. This was definitely something vastly different, and Hermione giggled in spite of herself at his somewhat inelegant reply.

A shadow darkened the door to the bedroom, and Severus, wearing black tracksuit bottoms and an old Led Zeppelin t-shirt that had seen better days, entered the room, levitating a tray with food upon it. A steaming pot of tea rounded out the meal, and he set the tray on a nearby table and sat beside her on the bed, rubbing his temples.

Without preamble, he said ruefully. "That has confirmed a theory I've had since I awoke." His voice was as warmly comforting as the food on the tray. Hermione held her arms out to him, and he folded her in an embrace that said as much as the tone of his voice. She relaxed in his arms, feeling easy tears threatening to rise to the surface again.

She took deep breaths to control herself. Turning within, she said as quietly as she could, I can feel again – and I can hear you much clearer and with much less effort than before. I missed you. I thought I had lost you. The tears finally spilled down her cheeks, and she brushed them away, embarrassed. I thought you... you hated me.

His strong arms enclosed her with the quiet assurance of home. His lips tickled her ear as he tenderly held her. "Shh... it's alright. Of course I don't hate you. I love you. Now don't fret, there's a good lass. Shh, my good girl," he soothed, with a voice as soft as sable and dark as chocolate, and she rested against him gratefully. For a man known for his harsh, flinty, snarky personality, Severus Snape could croon comfort like no other.

It will be well, my precious girl. I think there may be a lessening, when the residual potion runs its course, but must remember we've been on an incredible journey, and some of the changes you and I have experienced may be permanent. When he felt her relax, he summoned the tray.

"And we will no doubt spend time discussing and experimenting on this new stage of our development, but now you are going to eat. You've been through hell, but I want to refrain from giving you any restorative potions at the moment. Ergo, comfort food it is, then."

To Hermione's surprise, he commenced to feeding her like a child, spooning soup into her mouth like a baby bird, feeding her squares of sandwiches one bite at a time. "I feel better, honestly," she protested. "I'm really hungry. I promise I'll eat. I don't want you to feel like you have to baby me."

He looked at her solemnly, and eased another spoonful into her mouth. His fingers closed over hers, and as he stroked the back of her hand, he replied, "Has it occurred to you that this might be beneficial to me as well?"

She couldn't resist a grin. He looked so plaintive. "Then far be it from me to withhold comfort from my husband. Especially if that comfort consists of making me feel so loved and pampered."

"Just so," he said, nodding sagely, and fed her another spoonful of soup.

When the soup was gone and the sandwiches consumed, the inevitable chocolate was presented, and she scooted over and made room for him on the bed, insisting they share it between them. They sat drinking their tea and eating some of Honeyduke's Finest Dark in comfortable silence, with the occasional directed thought sent back and forth between them. The link was strong and effortless, and they found they could project with none of the fierce, headache-inducing concentration they previously employed to maintain the most fragile of connections.

"I can only assume our link has strengthened because of the ritual we performed last night," he remarked "Whether it stays this way as the last of the potion dissipates from your system remains to be seen."

"I hope so. After that horrible silence, I'll take the internal shouting any day." She tapped her temple. "It was lonely in here without you." Hermione leaned against Severus gratefully and stroked his thigh. He shifted his mug from one hand to the other, and put an arm around her to pull her close.

For awhile, they were silent, and Severus welcomed the peace in her presence. The room, now freshened from its strange fug of the night before, felt cozy and warm. Taking a sip of his tea, Severus said, "It'll be Christmas soon. We'll dig out all those decorations you brought with you. I'll find you a decent tree, and we'll decorate it like a proper family." He had no idea if indeed proper families did this, but it sounded right.

"Thank you," she said, and pressed her lips against his jaw. "I think it would be wonderful. Our first Christmas together." The silence stretched between them, which she was loathe to break with her inevitable questions. Finally, she gave in to curiosity. "What has happened since I – since last night?" she asked.

"It can wait-"

"No, Severus, please," She gave him a brave little smile. "I need to know now. I'm in this with you."

He sighed. "This is true. There's no sense in trying to shield you from the dangers of this world anymore. In the eyes of the Wizarding world, we are the dangers."

To his surprise, she gave a sharp, rueful laugh, which sounded... well, like his. "Go ahead. You'll have to eventually tell me; it might as well be now."

He took another fortifying gulp of tea, and followed it with a deep breath. "Azkaban was liberated last night. All of the Death Eaters involved in the Department of Mysteries fiasco are now safely tucked up in their beds at home, looking at a decent meal for the first time in months.

"The Ministry has declared a national day of mourning to... to honour Dumbledore." She nodded solemnly against his chest, and Severus went on. "Potter apparently took a harder blow to the head than I thought. According to the Daily Prophet, he claims he saw the whole thing, yet he's not sure who actually murdered Dumbledore."

That brought her up short. "Why on earth would he say that?"

"He's stalling, seeing which way the wind blows. When the time is right, I'm positive he'll blame me and try to leave you out of it."

For the first time since she'd awoken, Hermione's lovely eyes flashed with anger. "He knows the truth! I won't let him-"

Severus gently interrupted, "Lass, we're talking about Potter here. If that bloody hippogriff of his fell out of the sky with heart failure, Potter would blame me for it. He's blamed everything he could on me – why should this be any different?"

"Because he knows the truth!" She brushed away angry tears. "Oh, sod it, I'm sorry to be such a crybaby. This is embarrassing. My emotions have been all over the place since I woke up."

Severus silently handed her a paper napkin. "That is the most normal thing about what is happening today, Hermione. You'll have this sort of backlash for awhile. You've come from a place that held your emotions for ransom. Now that you have them back, you'll be quite emotional for a few days." He gave her the smallest of smirks. "I've learned to live with your PMT; I'm sure I can manage this." His casual words belied his relief. He didn't mind if she cried or laughed or sang sea shanties as long as she was acting normal again.

Hermione blew her nose, took a deep breath, and puffed it out slowly. "And the Dark Lord?"

With the slightest of hesitations, Severus answered. "By the time I arrived, Draco had already told him the story. I think Draco was hoping to make you look like some opportunistic Muggle upstart trying to steal his thunder."

Hermione snorted. "Thunder? I wouldn't be caught dead trying to steal that little ferret's farts to get the Dark Lord's attention." Severus was startled into laughter, and Hermione joined him. "Well, honestly! Draco is dragon-hiding his arse to save face, while you and I accept the fallout. Let him feel cheated, the little pussy."

Severus responded with a quiet chuckle. "I think right now all Draco is feeling is relief. He's just dull enough to escape the Dark Lord's scrutiny, and bright enough to stay out of sight." Severus sobered. "Over the next few days all eyes will be on us. No one will spare us any envy, I'm afraid."

She stroked his arm. It felt like an apology. "Don't beat yourself up, Severus. As I told Harry, this was done freely. I am genuinely sorry one of us had to do it, but I'm not sorry I did it for you."

Severus entwined his hand with hers, and absently turned the wedding band on her finger. "In our own separate ways, we both did it. I created the potion that was slowly killing him last night." At her puzzled expression, he added, "It's a long story."

Hermione frowned. "Wait - if your actions killed him, why aren't you like me?" She blinked. "That didn't come out the way I meant it! I only mean," she continued with a frown, trying to put her thoughts into words. "Why didn't your soul split as well?"

Severus replied with great remorse, "I created the potion that hid a Horcrux in a remote cave. But Dumbledore chose to drink it, chose to retrieve the Horcrux. I am not blameless, but I did not force him. He knew he was dying anyway."

He lowered his head, hating himself for what he had to say. "Even though you chose to cast the curse, the reality was that Dumbledore truly gave you no choice in the matter. You were unable to commit the act with compassion at that moment, which is why your soul was split." He turned to her and pressed his lips against her forehead.

"I will never let you sacrifice yourself for me again. Losing any part of you, even a part I can retrieve, is not an option." He thought of his confession, and his desire, and it rose again as if summoned by his guilt.

Severus gently moved their teacups to the table, then leaned down and placed a gentle kiss of love and regard, tasting the tea on her lips. "I need you, Hermione," he confessed, his lovely voice husky and breathless. "I am aching for you; for your touch. I want to replace the pain with pleasure. I need to love you." She looked down at the hand covering hers, then returned her gaze up to him. Any fear and doubt he'd had over the previous night was banished by the look of acceptance and desire in her eyes, and he knew immediately that his arousal was requited, even welcome.

She turned to him, returning his kiss. It was sweet and tender at first, like a remembered purity recaptured once more. Light, sipping kisses, slow and giving. His hands slid into her curls and drew her closer; she whispered his name against his lips. Their sensuous kisses soon turned hungry and demanding, and when Severus removed their clothing with a quick wave of his wand, they fused together, their bodies rejoicing in anticipation, their emotions returned to their proper place. This time, her cries and pleas were for more... harder... deeper... faster, and he obeyed her, as she had so beautifully obeyed him the previous night.

Later, they lay entangled, their bodies sheened with the sweet, blameless scent of sex and their natural sweat.

Hermione's voice was soft and sated, but intent. "Severus, what did you do to bring me back?"

He rolled over on his back and drew her into his arms. She lay her head against his heart, loving the steady beat which set the tempo of his beautiful, musical voice.

"It is a spell from a book I've had for years. Reg Black told me about it, but it was banned and unavailable. I was able to get my hands on a black market copy, but by that time, Reg had died."

"I heard the Dark Lord killed Regulus Black."

Severus hesitated. "Indirectly, he did. I suppose in the end, you could call it induced suicide. And I was responsible for that as well, although I didn't know it at the time." He sighed. "I never told you the story about the potion, lass, because, to be perfectly honest, it was one of many hideous concoctions I was charged with creating for the Dark Lord during my early tenure as a Death Eater. Parts of it were buried in my memory because the Dark Lord Obliviated me whenever my work was finished. The parts I do remember don't make a happy story, I'm afraid."

Hermione stroked his chest softly, trying to comfort him with her touch. "And therefore it's a story you are not required to tell me, unless you wish to." She turned in his arms until she could look down at his careworn, troubled face. "I think we've been through enough in the past twenty-four hours to earn a reprieve from all this angst."

Severus kissed her forehead, and drew her back into his arms. "I don't wish to tell you, but since it has bearing on everything that happened last night, I feel I must."

She rose up again and kissed him deeply, passionately. Looking down at him, she said, "In your own time."

Severus cleared his throat, and with his beautiful voice, soft as sin, weaving through the night like incense, he related to his wife the tale of Regulus Black...

Reg Black had been two years younger than Severus when they met, and from the moment he saw him, Severus had been prepared to hate him. Severus had already endured two school years of torment from Reg's brother, Sirius; two years of pent-up misery and loathing, stored up and just waiting for a scapegoat for Severus' indignation. Already he and Sirius held a deep, abiding mutual animosity that only served to fester into fathomless hatred as they grew older.

The Sorting Hat had barely hovered over Reg's curly black hair before crowing, "Another Slytherin from the Black family!" He had bounded over to the Slytherin table with the exuberance and confident ease of one used to entitlement and privilege, and Severus made up his mind there and then to treat Reg Black with the same sneering cruelty and withering contempt with which his older brother had treated Severus.

But Reg was not one to be pigeonholed into Severus' prejudices. He was as different from his brother Sirius as night was from day. Whereas Sirius was cocky, arrogant and cruel, Reg was charming, self-assured and approachable.

Sirius looked on everything and everyone with the haughty superior sneer of someone who used others as part of his birthright. He expected to get his way and was often abusive when he didn't. Reg had no need or desire to use cruelty to achieve his goals; he laughed and made friends easily, simply because he was easy going and personable. He instantly recognised Severus' fascination with the Dark Arts and pronounced it "cool." He never judged Severus because of his looks, his poverty, or his blood status.

As they grew older, Severus, who understood and appreciated beauty in all of its many forms, saw Reg as one of the most attractive men he'd ever seen, and enjoyed looking at him as much as witches did. While Sirius' attractiveness had the calculating look of narcissism, Reg's beauty was lit from within; a serene handsomeness that required no vanity to stroke.

In a way, Severus developed a bit of a crush on Reg, the kind that young boys will do with friends they secretly envy and strive to emulate. Severus did not want to be with Reg Black; he wanted to be Reg Black - a good-looking, poised young man, irresistible to girls and safe and popular with his peers. How Severus wished he could be as assured and self-confident.

For whatever reason, Regulus Black sought out Severus' friendship, and when Severus' insecurity pushed Reg away, telling him he only hung around to throw his own beauty into sharper relief, Reg laughed. "Don't be a prat, Sev! You're a decent bloke when you don't try to be an arse." He softened his words by clapping the older boy on the back companionably. "Don't try so hard, mate. Just relax. Enjoy life a little."

When Sirius lured Severus to the Shrieking Shack, almost getting him killed in the process, Reg was the one who publically chastised his older brother for deliberately trying to hurt Severus. Sirius, furious at his younger brother's defection, retorted that 'Reg's boyfriend deserved what he got'.

On that foul day when a humiliated and despised Severus shouted the remark that drove Lily Evans away forever, it was Reg who comforted him, and in the lonely night when Severus wept in shame and remorse and jealousy, Reg commiserated with him. It was at that moment that Reg first sowed the seeds for Severus' ultimate decision to become a Death Eater.

As they sat, passing a joint between them, Reg started talking about Lord Voldemort. Like a charismatic evangelist on a mission, preaching to the vulnerable, Reg promised Severus that there was Someone who would never look down on him because he was poor or wore second-hand robes or wasn't pureblood. This One valued ability, strength and skill. This One would find a place for Severus, and elevate him to the highest order of power. Reg spun the tale so well that Severus could actually see the two of them, surrounded by a plethora of beautiful, adoring slaves, ruling alongside this new Dark Lord of their world.

Reg was a hard one to say no to. He was too beautiful, too kind, too accepting, too idealistic. It would be his undoing.

Overtures were made, introductions were given; tests were performed. Some of them were horrific, frightening and troubling to Severus, but he was determined to prove himself worthy. He created potions, he offered skills, he swore fealty. He was accepted, and he and Reg were initiated into the realm of power.

The Dark Lord, with typical megalomaniacal glee, called the initiation of Death Eaters a glorious rebirth. "The death of your old, impotent life, the birth of your new life as my acolyte and avenging angel," he intoned, searing the Dark Mark into their protesting flesh.

In 1978, he and Reg took their Dark Marks together on the same hot summer night. It was a nightmarish blend of ritual and torture of such magnitude that Severus woke the next morning and stared at the malignant tattoo he'd acquired the night before. It writhed under his skin like a living, sentient parasite, and as Severus took several Pain Potions to dull its undulating ache, he briefly wondered what on earth he'd gotten himself into.

The following night, he and Reg and several other newer recruits were subjected to their first revel, the likes of which Severus would thankfully never see again. Bellatrix Lestrange, Reg's older cousin, spliffed them up on a potent Wizarding cannabis called Salazar Green, and Severus remembered the weekend as one long episode of drug-hazed debauchery that would have not looked out of placed depicted on an Hieronymus Bosch painting. He must have had sex with at least thirty different women, who kept pulling him into the various bedrooms of Malfoy manor. He recalled tripping out to Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon, which Reg told him on good authority was a Wizarding band.

He remembered having two women in his bed at one point of the evening; one sucked him off while the other methodically licked the Dark Mark, making him come in her partner's mouth just by laving the newly-embedded tattoo. The whores the Malfoys had procured for the new recruits were skilled in many Dark sexual arts, and Severus learned more about sex in that one night than he had gleaned from any of his books before, or any singular encounter thereafter.

It was much later in life that he realised the true difference between sex and love, but at the time he was too flushed with success and hormones to care for the differences. Lily had rejected him; she had spurned him because she wanted some pretty Gryffindor boy to flatter her into his bed. Here, he told himself, he was accepted, desired, and had no problem enticing willing women into fucking him.

At some point, he and Reg stumbled out of separate rooms and met in the same loo, both high and drunk and fueled with sex and their own feeling of newly-acquired power. Flushed from another mind-blowing orgasm, Severus bellowed, "I feel like I can conquer the world!" He laughed at his own puerile bragging, all the while pissing like a racehorse.

Reg gave him a fond smile. He tilted his head in a way that Severus knew was his 'flirting' tilt. He could get most girls at school to want to drop on their knees and blow him in the Great Hall with that look. "You know something, Sev? You can!" He came close enough for Severus to smell the weed on his breath. "You and me, Sev! On either side of the Dark Lord!" His beautiful eyes blazed in a way that had nothing to do with all the drugs he'd ingested. "We'll be his knights, and you'll be the true brother I should have had."

Severus hugged Reg in that way that all British men in their cups will hug those they love. "I love you, man," he slurred, "You're the best mate anyone could ever have."

Reg just grinned and planted a fierce kiss on Severus' cheek. "I love you, too, brother." He grinned as he backed out of the room, looking pointedly at Severus' crotch. "You better put that trouser snake back where it belongs, Sev. All the girls are already fighting over you." With a cheeky wink, Reg turned and burst out of the loo. Severus could hear him beyond the door. "I haven't had nearly enough pussy yet! Which one of you girls is mine? Well, come along, don't be shy! Oi, you come too, little Peach! Two's company, three's a fucking party!"

Severus looked at his reflection in the mirror. His brother. It was a painful joke for all the right reasons. The beautiful Regulus and the beastly Severus; brothers in the Dark Lord. He snorted to himself. Fighting over me? Fighting over who gets the short straw and has to fuck me, more like.

He looked down at his Dark Mark. It glowed with power and was as beautifully iridescent as water on an oil slick. It seemed almost alive; when he ran his hand over it, he felt a thrill pass through his body that had nothing to do with his libido. It sang under his skin with dark knowledge. He, Severus Snape, would be laughed at no longer. He had power now.

He sneered at himself in the mirror. Come and get me, girls. I am a fucking god.

It was six months before Severus was called before the Dark Lord for a private audience. He was nervous. What would the most powerful wizard in the world want with ugly, gauche Severus Snape? He borrowed a set of good robes from Reg, who was now the same height as Severus, although a little broader about the shoulders.

"This is your chance, Sev!" Reg laughed, helping him to dress. "You look great!" He stepped back and inspected Severus carefully. He extended his hand. "Good luck, mate. You are stepping into the constellation now. I predict within a year they'll be calling you 'The Great and Mighty Severus Snape."

Severus rolled his eyes. "The Great Bat, more like. The Great Greasy Git." He brought his hand self-consciously up to his hair, which no amount of cleaning with any type of shampoo could prevent from looking like oily clots hanging from his head.

Reg did everything but tut at him. "You're not greasy! You just have fine, straight hair. I think you look very handsome."

Severus laughed. "I think you look like the next resident of the Janus Thickey Ward!" They wrestled playfully for a moment, before Severus remembered his purpose and straightened his wrinkled robe with a silent spell.

"Well, this is it. Wish me luck, mate." When Severus reached for his hand, Reg, grabbed it and pulled Severus into his arms.

"You will be great, Severus Snape," Reg whispered into his ear, and to Severus' shock, kissed his cheek. Severus pulled away uneasily. Unphased, Reg winked conspiratorially. "I want all the details when you get back."

Severus had been taught how to approach the Dark Lord, and he'd even practiced kneeling, but he had not been prepared for the sheer power that emanated from the man. Back then, Tom Riddle was still human enough to be seen as a handsome man, but the Dark power he had learned to wield was altering him; now he was almost vulgarly handsome, as unsettling to the eye as a rich meal that turns the stomach due to too much seasoning. Although he did not recognise it at the time and wouldn't admit it even if he had, the overarching impression Severus gleaned from Lord Voldemort at that first private audience was that too much of a good thing could indeed be bad for you.

Even in those early days, Voldemort seemed to feed on adoration. He welcomed Severus like a favoured acolyte. After the preliminary adulation, Severus was poured an indifferent brandy and invited to sit opposite the Dark Lord, who opened the gambit by declaring, "I am told you are a formidable potioneer, Severus."

Severus lowered his head modestly. "I am fairly skilled, My Lord."

"And why are you not apprenticed?" He asked the question a little too knowingly.

Severus flushed with shame. "As you know, My Lord, the Potions guilds are fiercely elitist and decadent. Even a skilled and accomplished apprentice must bring something more to the table of a willing Potions master. Familial wealth, pedigree," he swallowed, and flushed darkly. "Beauty to warm the master's bed. I have none of those." Severus looked at the floor, willing himself not to let his bitterness show.

A soft, almost womanly hand caressed his chin, and raised Severus' head up to the Dark Lord's gaze. Lord Voldemort looked at him carefully. "Then they are all fools, Severus. Those things mean nothing next to power, to glory, to strength."

"I knew you would understand, My Lord."

"When I come into my kingdom, you will be with me, Severus, and together we will spit on the fools who cannot look past their own pricks to see what a gem you are."

Severus felt a lump in his throat. Never had he felt so... accepted, appreciated, simply for who he was and what he could do. He was suddenly overcome with the sheer emotion of feeling valued. Lightheaded, Severus knelt at Voldemort's feet. In a voice trembling with fevered zeal, he vowed, "I will be a fitting jewel for your crown, my Lord."

Voldemort smiled at him. Even as a young man, Severus' beautiful voice brought the Dark Lord pleasure. "No doubt, Severus, no doubt. Young Regulus tells me of your skills, your proficiencies, your commitment, your ardor. I have need of those things."

He stood and gestured to Severus. "Rise, my friend. When I am ready, I will send for you, and together we will make history." Severus left the presence of Lord Voldemort bristling with passion. It would not be the last time he sought out a whore at the conclusion of a meeting with the Dark Lord. At the time, it was to celebrate the Dark Lord's favour; in later years, it would be to celebrate leaving the Dark Lord's presence with mind and body unharmed.

Weeks, then months passed. Severus heard nothing. He grew paranoid. Others, like Lucius Malfoy and his sister in-law, Bellatrix Lestrange, never missed an opportunity to mention their important meetings with the Dark Lord; they often implied that Voldemort confided in them that he found Severus no more useful than they did.

Severus grew frustrated at the silence, and the taunting Purebloods, but Reg dismissed the others with a wave of his hand. "When are you going to learn, Sev, that they treat you like that because they can see how much it bothers you? Don't you see? They're jealous – they're afraid. You have powers they don't even know how to wield! Hell, I'll bet you know things even the Dark Lord doesn't know."

Severus, always proud of his ability to create his own spells and potions, privately agreed with Reg's assessment, but refused to voice it aloud. He became obsessed with the idea of gaining the Dark Lord's favour. He invented scenarios in his head; he spun fantasies of inventing a weapon so powerful he could lay it at the Dark Lord's feet and be proclaimed his right-hand man.

Then one afternoon, that fantasy came true. At the Three Broomsticks, while waiting for a job interview, he overheard something crucial outside the door of an upstairs room. Brimming with pride, Severus eagerly laid his weapon at the Dark Lord's feet. Only later would he discover that, through his actions, he had signed Lily Evans' death warrant, thus learning the damage and the destiny that one moment of eavesdropping would render.

He only knew that the Dark Lord regarded him differently now; he, Severus Tobias Snape, son of a Mancunian mill rat, was one of the Inner Circle at last. He was now privy to the same information as Lucius and Bella, and he never missed an opportunity to rub their Pureblood toffee noses in it. He could not help himself; he was too ill-bred, too Northern. He could no more miss a chance to insult and belittle the self-proclaimed aristocrats in the Dark Lord's presence than a child could resist a brightly-coloured toy.

Of course, he should have known. Power breeds contempt – and enemies. He was too drunk on the heady brew of the nearly-realised power to fully appreciate just how much contempt and enmity his pride had gleaned.

By now, the Order of the Phoenix was in its infancy, but the might of the Dark Lord was swelling in the fear-soaked minds of the Wizarding world. Witches and wizards, long used to the complacent lives they'd leisurely built for themselves, were finding loved ones missing; destruction and unease filled the streets of Diagon and Knockturn Alley. Wizarding folk stopped smirking though this young upstart's rather pompous name, and started whispering fearfully, in case they were heard - still, they often paid for their indiscretion.

It was during the early days of the first war, shortly after Severus supplied him with the prophecy, that the Dark Lord commissioned him with creating something both wonderful and horrible. "I need a very special potion, my dear friend," The Dark Lord had begun. "It is a potion requiring a skilled and creative potioneer, but I am confident you will not disappoint me."

The words, however flowery, had a very clear message: failure was not an option.

Severus was told the Dark potion had to have four distinguishing traits: it must produce dangerous, psychologically damaging hallucinogenic visions; it must be physically excruciatingly painful to ingest; it must kill, but not immediately upon ingestion; and most difficult of all, it must never lose its potency.

In his hunger and lust to prove himself worthy, Severus set about making this potion. It didn't really seem that evil; he was, after all, merely utilising the skills he'd learned as a potioneer. He lied to himself that he was only showing off the finer subtleties of his abilities. He found that it took every ounce of his time and creativity to produce something so nefarious. That he was creating another weapon in the Dark Lord's arsenal didn't trouble Severus at all. This was wartime; there would be casualties. He was using his superior skills and talent to ensure his side won. Pure and simple.

He worked on the formula day and night. He sacrificed animals of all sizes and species to his research. He even enticed a derelict off the street, a Muggle he met staggering around in the city centre. The man had been dying of cancer anyway; Severus told himself he was actually doing a favour by putting the old geezer out of his misery.

Watching the man clawing at his own throat as he died, Severus felt a twinge of remorse. He quickly tamped it down by reminding himself that he had not forced the man into drinking it.

He had not even lied about its contents. Served him right for knocking back something he didn't even know what it was, thought Severus. So enamored was he at the thought of being recognised at last, Severus found it easy to justify his actions.

When he presented the potion to the Dark Lord, Voldemort was delighted. "And are you assured it will never lose its potency, Severus?"

Severus bowed. "I have infused the potion with Acromantula venom, My Lord. This both purifies the distillation process and acts to make the potion's deadlier traits more prominent. This potion, as long as it is in a purified bowl, will never lose its potency."

"And what is the best type of vessel to use?" The Dark Lord queried, genuinely interested.

Severus preened at the undivided attention. Rather importantly, he replied, "I would say that Pensieve stone is the best. It isn't porous, yet will keep the liquid in magical stasis until it is ready to be used."

Two months passed, and the Dark Lord sent for Severus again. "I have created your bowl, Severus," the Dark Lord said smugly, revealing a bowl and pedestal hewn out of the biggest chunk of Pensieve stone Severus had ever seen. "This stone bowl has been charmed. Once the potion has been emptied of the amount in the bowl, it will magically refill after one hour. You must provide me enough potion to refill the bowl at least five times."

Severus was obedient, and worked like a man possessed to prove his worth. In a month's time, he gave the Dark Lord all he'd asked. During this time, Severus saw no one. He barely ate and slept. He lost weight; his clothes hung even looser upon his already too-thin frame. He caught sight of himself in the mirror while walking past the loo at Spinner's End and was shocked at the wild, unkempt man he'd become. His clothes were filthy; he'd not bathed in days. His hair, oily even at the best of times, looked as if he'd doused his head in a bucket of chip fat. He could smell himself, and his large nose wrinkled in distaste. He was, in the words of his late-but-not-lamented father, mingin' like a bastard.

After presenting his results to the Dark Lord, Severus thought no more about the potion. It had been uncannily easy to forget about it; in later years Severus realised it was because the Dark Lord wanted him to. Severus had not been privy to its intended purpose, and neither did he wish to be.

A couple of weeks later, he ran into Reg in Diagon Alley. But instead of his usual upbeat self, Reg looked tired, preoccupied. He cried off joining Severus for lunch at the Leaky. "I've got a bit of business to do for the Dark Lord," he said. By then, Lord Voldemort was a fearsome spectre on the Wizarding horizon, the scourge of the Order of the Phoenix.

Regular Wizarding folk did not speak his name, but Death Eaters like Severus and Reg still vaunted their Dark Marks, proud to show their affiliation with this new crusader for the Wizarding elite. In true megalomaniacal style, Voldemort had decided being called 'The Dark Lord' was even more robust, more befitting his station as the new ruler of Wizarding Britain.

Severus went on his way, after promising Reg he would meet up with him for drinks soon. It would be exactly two weeks later on the day. And when next they met it was Reg who came to him; Reg, who never came to Spinner's End, because Severus was too ashamed to have him there.

When the wards of Severus' dead parents' home sounded, he looked on in shock as Reg slunk in like a fugitive. His clothes were dirty and he looked and smelled as bad as Severus had while working on the Dark Lord's potion. Reg also looked... changed. That was the only word Severus could think of. Reg had changed, and Severus was shaken by it.

Severus poured him a glass of firewhisky, and the two old friends sat in uncomfortable silence. Reg's hand shook as he brought the glass to his lips. For some reason, Severus was forcibly reminded of the derelict Muggle who had willingly drunk his potion, believing it would make him better.

"I can't do it anymore, Sev," Reg said brokenly. He took a long pull of whisky, grimacing. Reg looked away as Severus put a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"Can't do what, Reg? Honestly, mate, you are really doing my head in. What's going on?"

Reg looked at his friend, and suddenly he was in Severus' arms, weeping. Stunned, Severus tried to comfort him as best he could. "Here now, what's all this? What's all this, ay?" He felt stupid, and what's more, he found himself sounding just like his father, when his mother had one of her 'episodes.'

Sobbing against Severus' shoulder, Reg brokenly told him the story. Voldemort had summoned him and told him that he had a task that required an elf. It was a great task, and would bring Reg honour within the ranks of the Death Eaters. Reg, thrilled at the prospect of gaining glory and favour with their Lord, immediately went home and enlisted the service of the Black Family's most faithful family retainer, Kreacher.

As Reg told the story, his expression changed from fearful to angry. He told how the Dark Lord had taken Kreacher to this island, and made the loyal house elf empty a stone basin full of poison by drinking it. Reg fumed as he described Kreacher being forced to drink this hideous potion, which filled him with unspeakable pain. It made him see and hear terrible things, and left him too weak to move, and so thirsty he clawed at his throat until it bled.

"And all the while he's begging Voldemort for something to drink, and asking for me and Mother, and Voldemort's just laughing at him! Oh, Severus, Kreacher was crying when he told me!" Reg wept as well, tears streaming down his handsome face.

Severus felt as if his body had turned inside out. Reg cried, "And then, do you know what he did? Voldemort dropped a necklace into the stone bowl! He tortured that sweet old elf so he could hide a trinket in that fucking bowl!

"Kreacher was so thirsty, and this bowl is on this tiny island in a cave, fuck knows where. When Kreacher reached into the water to drink, the lagoon was full of Inferi, Severus! And they started dragging him down into the water, to kill him. Voldemort was just laughing at him, being dragged down into his death, and then he left him there. He abandoned Kreacher to the Inferi and left him alone – to die!"

Severus listened quietly, trying not to let on he knew anything about the contents of the bowl, and tried to look sympathetic. He had never liked Kreacher; he was that type of house-elf who immediately adopted all his family's prejudices and superior airs, considering himself superior by association. On the rare occasion when Severus visited the Black residence, he had to suffer not only Reg's mother's distain of his half-blood status, but the ignominy of having Kreacher turn up his nose at Severus as well.

"What – how do you know all this? Where's Kreacher now?" Severus had never lived with house-elves, and at that point did not understand the familial bond of a house-elf to its family.

By sheer luck, Reg had instructed the elf to do everything the Dark Lord asked of him, and return home when his task was done. Kreacher, bound by his magic to obey his family, escaped and return home. Had Reg not given him such explicit instructions to come back, Keacher, acting on the orders of Reg to obey and do everything the Dark Lord asked, would have willingly allowed himself to die a hideous death, in order to properly serve the noble House of Black.

"I was the one who ordered him there, Sev – don't you see? If I hadn't told Kreacher to come home when the Dark Lord was finished with him, he would have died, because he's duty-bound to obey me. Do you have any idea how horrible it feels, knowing I almost caused his death by telling him to obey that madman?"

Severus had never felt so conflicted. How could he tell Reg he was the creator of this terrible elixir?

Reg had worked himself up into a state. "He can't do that, Sev! Can't you see? That's not power – it's- it's pure evil! If he thinks so little of his followers that he'll just use our house-elves for something like this, what will he do to us if we displease him? What else will he do if we blindingly give him dominion over our lives?"

Placatingly, Severus said, "Are you sure that Kreacher wasn't delirious? I mean, we've been on some bad trips with potions before – "

"His mouth and throat were like raw meat, Sev! Whatever that was, it was meant to kill, and do such an awful job of it that no wizard would ever survive it. Gods, who would create –" Reg froze, and looked at Severus with awful, dawning certainty. He backed away from Severus as if afraid of him. "Oh no. Dear Merlin, no, Sev, no!"

Severus felt his heart drop to his chest as he took a placating step toward Reg, only to be repulsed by a shielding charm. "You created that potion, didn't you?" Reg shook his head, and continued backing away from his friend. "Oh, Sev, tell me you didn't make it! Tell me," he pleaded, his eyes tortured and heartsick.

Soothingly, Severus walked up to his friend and said the words that sealed his fate. He blurted, "Reg, please calm down! I mean, it's not like the Dark Lord made you drink it!"

The moment the words were out of his mouth, Severus knew it was the worst thing he could have said. Bad enough, he realised, to ruin a friendship he'd cherished like few others in his life. It was the equivalent of calling Lily a Mudblood, and later Severus would think about Reg and Lily, and the power of words, and curse himself for being a fool with a runaway tongue.

Reg looked at Severus as if he'd been struck. For almost ten seconds, his mouth worked fruitlessly. Finally he said, "Either you are the biggest twat on the planet, or the most cold-blooded bastard I've ever met." His dark eyes flashed fire and Severus actually winced to see the hatred in Reg's face. "Did you not understand what I just said? He made my house-elf drink your thrice-damned poison, and left him to die and be eaten alive by Inferi! He's an evil madman, don't you understand?"

"Reg, please, mate, I didn't think-" Reg turned on Severus so vehemently the older man actually recoiled away from him.

"No, you fucking well didn't, mate. And to tell the truth, I'm not sure I care to be your mate anymore." He turned and walked toward the door.

"Reg, please don't leave. I'm sorry!" Before Severus could finish the sentence, Reg spun away and was gone with a loud "CRACK" of Apparation, leaving Severus on his own. Sick with loss, Severus downed his glass of whisky, then drank the rest of Reg's, then proceeded to get insensibly drunk. It would not be the last time he drank himself into a stupor over the loss of a friend.

It was over a month later that Reg reappeared on his doorstep. Severus was shaken at his friend's appearance. He looked as if he'd aged ten years. He rushed into the house as if the hounds of hell were after him. His eyes darted around the room; he jumped at the slightest noise.

He turned down Severus' offer of whisky, but accepted a cup of tea. His hands shook like Tobias Snape's during a bout of DTs. Severus was unnerved by the sight. It was obvious that Reg was exhausted, and painfully frightened. His eyes had a bright, almost feverish cast, and his voice trembled as he spoke.

"I'm going to be going away for awhile, Sev," Reg began with a faint ghost of his usual smile, and when Severus asked where and why, Reg looked at him longingly, regret etched in the lines of his once smooth, flawless face.

"Reg, you are seriously scaring me." When his friend remained silent, he continued. "Can I do anything for you? Do you need anything?"

Reg shook his head. "I just have to lay low for awhile, but I know what I'm doing."

Severus shrugged, unconvinced. "If you say so, Reg."

Suddenly, with terrifying swiftness, Reg rose and threw his arms around Severus. He pressed his body against Severus', planting frenzied and desperate kisses on his face, moaning helplessly. Severus was frozen with surprise, and for a brief moment was still with shock, until Reg forced his mouth against Severus' and frantically forced his tongue between his lips.

Horrified, Severus pushed him away, wiping at his mouth. "What the fuck are you on about, Reg?" he growled, half embarrassed, half ashamed. "Why are you doing this?"

"Come with me, Sev," Reg blurted, his eyes wild and out of focus. His smile had turned into a rictus of pain, haunted and desperate. "You once told me you loved me –"

"Like a brother, Reg! Not like –" Severus turned away, his face flushed a humiliated shade of scarlet. "I'm not-" he spluttered. "I don't think of men that way. I don't – I can't think of you that way."

Reg looked at Severus with such pain in his eyes it nearly broke his heart. His voice was anguished as he pleaded, "I could take care of you. I'd be like a wife. You know I care for you. I could protect you." He began to sob. "Please, Sev, come with me."

Severus, stunned and worried for his friend, closed his eyes and took a deep breath, praying for calm. In a quiet voice, he said, "Reg, look, why don't you let me take you to St. Mungo's? I think you need some help."

In an instant, Reg turned on him. "Help? Of course I need help! Help me, Severus – help me!" Severus, looking at the younger man's blazing eyes and tear-stained face, was at a loss.

"Reg, I don't know what's going on, but you need to just calm down. You don't know what you're doing. Now don't do that," he said, as Reg shook his head and started for the door. Severus caught him by the arm and stopped him from leaving. "At least tell me what's gotten you so freaked out."

Reg turned back to his friend, and embraced him. His touch was no longer wild and out of control; he was calm, rational, sweet-natured Reg again. Just infinitely sadder. Feeling Severus lean away, he shook his head. "I'm sorry, Sev. I didn't mean to upset you. Not you, of all people." He looked up into Severus' face with such pain Severus felt his throat tighten. In a hoarse voice, he said, "I can't stay, Sev. I have to do this. I have to try to stop him."

"Stop who?" Severus asked, baffled. "Reg, for Merlin's sake, man, talk sense!"

"I am! I am! Don't you see? He has to be stopped. You know who. Him." At Severus' wide-eyed shock, Reg said, "He can't be allowed to do these things, Sev. We'll be the next ones to be made to drink from his poisoned chalice. I can't bear the thought of that happening to you, Sev, but mark my words. You'll be next." He turned to go.

"Reg, wait!" Severus frantically tried to think of something, anything to stop him from leaving. "Just stay the night. We'll think of something."

Reg shook his head, and his tears began to flow again. "I have to go now, while I have the courage. If I stay, I'll just want you, and you'll turn me down again." He graced Severus with the saddest smile he'd ever seen. "I don't think I could bear that."

"Reg, I never-"

"I know. Neither did I." His tone was wistful, and laced with regret. "I'm sorry, Sev. Don't tell anyone I was here, okay? Not even my family. Swear it." He made Severus take a wand oath that he wouldn't reveal Reg's visit. It was the only thing Severus did or said that seemed to ease the younger man's mind.

As he left, he turned back, and two final tears, bright as quicksilver, slid from his soft eyes. "I forgive you, you know. For the potion. You didn't know what he was going to do with it. But please, Sev. Get out. One day, 'I didn't know' won't be a good enough excuse. You're made for better than this – better than him. We all are. He's mad, and he's wrong. I just wish it hadn't taken me so long to figure that out."

He walked out the door, and Severus let him. It was the last time he ever saw Reg. Years later, he would curse himself for not trying to prevent him from leaving.

"He disappeared off the face of the earth," Severus said, and Hermione could see the grief etched like scrimshaw in her husband's dark eyes. "His parents were devastated. Even Sirius, who was persona non grata in the Black Family by then, cornered me in Knockturn Alley one day, accusing me of being responsible for his disappearance. He always blamed me for what happened to Reg."

Hermione sat by her husband's side, tears sliding from her face. "When will people learn that house elves can't be treated like dogs? Kreacher was horrible to me at Grimmauld, but look how he was treated by everyone. Even Reg, who cared for him, allowed the Dark Lord to torture him." She shook her head, thinking of the handsome, charismatic Regulus, forever young, forever lost. "Poor Reg! He loved you so."

"He did." Severus was solemn. "I've replayed that last conversation in my mind a hundred times. I've even looked at it in a Pensieve, trying to figure out what I should have done to stop him."

Hermione shook her head, and surreptitiously wiped away her tears. "You didn't know, love. You were too young."

Severus' voice was bitter. "I was old enough to betray everyone who ever meant anything to me."

Shaken by the vehemence in his voice, Hermione changed tack. "When did you realise he was dealing with a Horcrux?"

"Dumbledore told me the night he died. He told me that he was going to retrieve the Horcrux Reg had placed, and it all fell into place. That locket that Kreacher saw the Dark Lord place in the bowl must have been a Horcrux, Hermione. Reg must have learned what it was and went there to retrieve it himself, but the poison killed him before he could take it away."

Severus shook his head and looked upward, blinking hard. "He was a good friend. I miss him." He turned to his wife, whose eyes shone with care and concern. "I would like to think, given the chance, he would have put aside that foolish Pureblood dogma and grown into a fine man, a fine wizard." His face softened, and he stroked Hermione's cheek, his long fingers intimate and giving. "He would have appreciated you; that I do know." Something like a smile graced his lips. "He always had a weakness for strong witches. And you would have been enchanted. He was a real witch's wizard." He sounded wistful. "I often wonder what would have become of me had he lived."

Wryly, Hermione replied, "It sounded to me like Reg knew exactly what he wanted you to become."

Severus coloured slightly. "I think that was nine parts desperation and one part love. He was always affectionate, but that was just his way. He never made any other overtures toward me in that regard before then, and I certainly never felt that way toward him, although I cared for him very much." He gave her a wry smile. "I should think my sexual preferences would be quite clear to you, wife."

"Thank Merlin," she said with a smile, and kissed his jaw. For a moment they held one another, his large hands stroking her hair absently. Finally, she asked, "But how did Dumbledore know about Reg's involvement with the Horcrux?"

Severus turned to his wife. "When Lily and James Potter were killed, I was almost mad with grief and guilt. That's when I went back to Albus, and he told me that Reg had visited him the day before he disappeared, asking for asylum. That much I found out, but he must have kept his plans secret even from Albus."

Severus sighed, and it was a sad, lonesome sound. "In the space of two years I lost both Reg and Lily. My pride - I cost their lives with my pride. So I traded my soul to protect Lily's son. I honestly thought at the time that I could atone for Reg as well, if only I could watch out for Potter, even though I saw his sodding father sneering at me every time I looked at him.

"Twenty years on, I'm still committed to do it, even though I don't like the bugger." He put his arms around Hermione and pressed his lips against her forehead. "I've made such a mess out of everything, it seems. The only thing I've ever done right was you, and I don't think I had a lot of say in that, either."

In spite of all the pain around them and the fresh burden of the horrific events of the past forty-eight hours, Hermione smiled at her husband. "There isn't a you anymore, Severus. Only us. You aren't alone. You never will be again." She kissed his mouth gently. "I'm not one to turn away when the road gets too narrow. It just makes me want to slog harder."

She felt the almost delicious rumble in his chest as he allowed himself a dark chuckle. "Stubborn Gryffindor. You're going to save me in spite of myself, aren't you, my little lioness?"

Hermione shivered, marveling that even now, he could fill her body and heart with an almost feral arousal for him. His inner antennae detected the change in her body, the way it relaxed against his, and he felt his own body instinctively mold to hers.

He captured her mouth in a searing kiss. There was no need for words, for the soft, insistent urges that inflamed them. Their minds joined together, melding their magic and their bodies into perfect vessels for one another. When at last they lay back, gasping and sated, the fever of their need was assuaged and their magic had healed them again. Severus glanced at his Dark Mark and was startled to see it had almost faded into nothing.

The title is from the lyrics to Love Was Made For You by Christopher Branch, used with his kind and generous permission.