Harry Potter: Reborn as Regulus Black

Chapter 284 284: Snape Adds to the Script

After dinner. Around eight.

Between the dungeons and the ground floor ran a corridor nobody used. Barely any torches, the light thin and dying before it reached the far end.

Halfway down stood an unremarkable wooden door, its paint peeling in broad flakes, the handle spotted with rust.

Behind it lay an abandoned storeroom, crammed with junk.

Rabastan stood inside, keeping clear of the walls in case the dust got on his robes.

He wore a dark cloak, hair slicked back without a single strand out of place.

He considered tonight's arrangements nothing short of genius.

Moving on the last day before holiday. Even if something went wrong, neither the professors nor the Black side would have the time or inclination to follow up.

Snape had gone to grab the target.

Before leaving, he'd tried to hand over the vial of Veritaserum. The implication was obvious: You hold it. Shows loyalty.

Rabastan had refused. He wouldn't touch that bottle.

He'd seen through it. Snape wanted him to handle it, to leave evidence of his involvement.

Clumsy.

Snape would carry it himself, administer it himself, and take the fall himself if anything went sideways.

As for cleaning up afterward, that was Snape's job too. Handle it well and the whole thing was a success. Handle it poorly, and that was Snape's problem. Nothing to do with him.

He ran through the questions in his head one more time.

First: whether Black was truly sheltering those two half-bloods. Then: what tasks Black had assigned them. Finally: the real nature of Black's relationship with them.

Three questions, and it would be enough.

Rabastan smoothed a wrinkle from his robe, flicked a speck of dust from his cuff, and glanced toward the door.

He didn't wait long. The door swung open and Snape walked in.

A body floated behind him. Lina Costa.

She hung unconscious, hair loose, a few strands stuck to the corner of her mouth.

Suspended in midair like cargo being transported, limbs dangling, motionless.

The storeroom door swung shut. The hinge shrieked.

Rabastan pitched his voice lower, trying for gravity. "Did anyone see you?"

Snape's head dipped slightly. "No."

He flicked his wand and Lina dropped to the ground among the junk.

Not gently, but not brutally either.

Rabastan walked over, crouched, gripped her chin and turned her face toward him, confirming she was out cold.

He released her, stood, and stepped back.

"The potion?"

Snape produced a small glass vial from inside his robe. Pale blue liquid.

He crouched beside Lina, one hand tilting her chin up, the other reaching to unscrew the cap.

The door exploded inward.

Someone had kicked it from outside. The panel slammed into the wall with a boom that set the whole frame shuddering.

Rabastan spun around, his face twisting into something ugly.

Hermes stood in the doorway. Black robes, hair slightly mussed, face utterly blank.

His wand was already raised, tip leveled at the room's interior.

Behind him stood Samuel, shoulders hunched, expression anxious, urgent.

Hermes swept the scene in one glance.

Snape crouched beside Lina, potion vial in hand. Lina on the floor among the debris. Rabastan standing deeper inside, body rigid, hand already reaching for the wand in his pocket but too slow to draw.

Hermes was far quicker, but he aimed at Snape. "Relashio!"

Purple light erupted from the wand tip. Snape had no time to dodge. The spell flung him backward, his spine cracking against the wall with a dull grunt before he slid to the floor.

The vial flew from his grip, tumbled through the air, hit the stone, and survived. It rolled into the corner.

Rabastan didn't wait for the wand to swing his way. He bolted.

Through the door, down the corridor, robes billowing, footsteps hammering the flagstones, fast and heavy.

Footsteps behind him. He didn't dare look back. His right hand finally wrestled the wand free, and he flung two spells over his shoulder.

Stupefy. Impedimenta.

Both shots streaked from the wand tip and smashed into the corridor walls, shattering into sparks.

Hermes was still coming.

But a commotion erupted back in the storeroom, someone shouting. Rabastan couldn't make out the words.

Hermes swore behind him, loud enough to hear, but Rabastan couldn't afford to care. He ran.

Then the footsteps behind him stopped. Hermes had broken off the chase.

Rabastan didn't stop. Around one corner, then another, sprinting until he was sure he'd lost him. He braced his hands on his knees and gasped for air.

Sweat covered his forehead.

He shoved the wand back into his pocket, leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and panted for a long time.

Back in the storeroom, Lina sat up from the pile of junk, rubbing her arm.

She frowned, rolled her shoulder, glanced down at the dust on her robes, and brushed at it twice.

"You dropped me way too hard," she said, tone clipped.

Snape picked himself off the floor without acknowledging her.

His gaze was dark, fixed on Hermes.

Whatever lived in that look wasn't quite anger, and wasn't quite anything else.

He'd tossed Lina down, sure, but something had broken her fall. Mulciber had hit him with a curse at full force, launched him into a wall.

Hermes didn't look at him.

Samuel came in from the doorway and pulled Lina to her feet. "You all right?"

"Fine." She shook her head, in good spirits despite everything. She turned to Hermes. "How'd it go?"

Hermes gave a single nod.

Snape didn't know Hermes well.

He knew the second-year Mulciber by reputation only. Brooding, rarely spoke, skilled at dark magic.

Tonight was their first real interaction, and the impression was not favorable.

Lina looked at Hermes, then at Snape, and for some reason felt the urge to laugh.

The two of them. One brooding, one sullen. One pale-faced, one sallow. Standing together, they could've been a matched set.

She held it in.

Laughing at Snape was fair game. They were both half-bloods, both under Black's wing, roughly equal in standing.

Mulciber was different. He was inner circle.

At least for now, that wasn't someone you laughed at.

Snape bent and retrieved the potion vial from the corner. He unscrewed the cap, brought it to his lips, tilted his head back, and drank.

Lina froze. Samuel froze. Hermes looked a beat longer than usual.

Snape pocketed the empty vial.

"This gets me into the Hospital Wing." He drew a slow breath, forcing his voice flat. "I'll be fine by tomorrow."

The color was already draining from his face. White spread outward from his cheekbones, and the blood left his lips in its wake, leaving them ashen.

Then the lips began to dry, moisture pulling inward as though something beneath the skin was drawing the water out.

Skin peeled upward from the surface, edges yellowing, cracking into fissures that wept tiny beads of blood.

He ran his tongue across them once, then looked down at the floor. The words came out like an explanation, or maybe something he was telling himself. "If anyone from Lestrange comes asking, tell them a potion experiment went wrong."

Lina and Samuel exchanged a glance.

Alex hadn't scripted this part. Snape was improvising.

But the improvisation made things cleanest for Snape.

Rabastan wouldn't come asking in person, but he'd send someone.

Snape's story would be a botched potion experiment. Madam Pomfrey would confirm as much.

And what would Rabastan make of that?

Snape had been hit by a curse, but he was claiming it was a potion accident.

Rabastan wouldn't think Snape was lying. He'd think Snape was covering for the operation.

He'd run, left Snape behind to take the beating, and Snape had taken it without a word, fabricating a potion story to keep things quiet.

What did that prove?

That Snape kept his mouth shut. That Snape could take a hit. That Snape was useful.

Rabastan's side wouldn't press the matter. If anything, they'd come away thinking the half-blood's not bad after all.

Sweat beaded on Snape's forehead, seeping from the hairline in a fine, dense layer. Before the drops could roll, they seemed to be drawn back beneath the skin.

The beads shrank, tightened, condensed into an oily film clinging to the surface, as though something inside him were wringing him out from the core.

Hermes watched him. One nod.

Snape turned and left, unsteady on his feet, one hand on the wall, step by slow step toward the other end of the corridor.

A pitiful silhouette.

Hermes's eyes tracked him for a moment, then pulled away. He looked at Lina and Samuel.

"It's done."

He left too.

Lina and Samuel followed.

The three of them emerged from the storeroom, Hermes in front, long strides, moving fast. Lina trailed two steps behind, Samuel at the rear. The corridor was quiet except for their own footsteps.

They passed Snape without a word. Without a glance.

He was left behind, still inching along the wall.

Up ahead, the corridor turned. Hermes stopped.

His head tilted slightly. Then he turned around, walked back to Snape in two quick strides, and didn't acknowledge the look Snape gave him.

Hermes took one more step, circled behind him, and kicked.

Snape pitched forward and hit the flagstones face-first, the impact landing with a flat, heavy sound.

He groaned, palms pressing against the floor, trying to push himself up. His body wouldn't cooperate.

He craned his neck to glare back at Hermes. The look was venomous, his whole face contorted with rage, mouth opening to curse him out.

Hermes didn't look at him. He slipped around the corner into a side corridor.

Lina and Samuel reacted fast, following him around the bend. All three vanished, footsteps fading.

Snape lay on the flagstones, breathing hard, struggling to rise.

One thought flashed through his mind: This guy is genuinely insane.

A second thought followed on its heels: Black's going to use me up and toss me aside, is that it?

Something cold settled in his chest.

If that was how it was, then drinking that potion had been the right call after all.

Then he heard footsteps too, and paused, and the tangle of thoughts in his head snapped to a halt.

His head dropped sideways.

He lay still.

---

In the dormitory, Hermes pushed through the door.

Regulus was talking to Baruk.

"It's done," Hermes said. "Rabastan ran."

Nothing else. Not a word more.

Regulus turned, nodded once, and said nothing.

He hadn't gone to watch. Hadn't shown his face. Hadn't caught anyone in the act, because he didn't need to.

Rabastan had made his move. That alone settled things.

A young wizard might think denial was enough, that avoiding being caught red-handed meant getting away clean.

But denial was meaningless here.

Rabastan had fled, but his name was already bound to this. The Lestrange family wouldn't pretend it hadn't happened just because he denied it.

The Black family didn't need evidence. They only needed to know it had occurred.

Regulus didn't need witnesses or proof. Didn't need to report it to a professor. Didn't need Rabastan's confession.

All he'd needed was for it to happen. For Rabastan to make his move.

That was enough.