Contemplation

Contemplation

Severus Snape was a man of contemplation.

He could spend hours pondering the properties of various Potions; absolutely ensconced into his appreciation of their subtlety and power. He was equally given to deep brooding and careful nursing of his various grudges against the plebeian world he was forced to endure. He could, on occasion, so lose himself in the essentially flawed nature of man that his roommates feared he had lost his wits and so tended to slap him back to the present.

He was not then, generally, a man to act on impulse.

Luckily, Regulus Black was.

***

Severus was quite happily absorbed in one of his favourite Gothic horror novels when the younger Slytherin slipped into the room. Severus glanced up, frowning, then pointedly returned to his book. While the younger Black had been deliberately friendly towards him, Severus had quite enough trouble from Blacks in his life and had rebuffed Regulus coldly. Unfortunately, Regulus appeared to be immune to his carefully practised Looks of Death and proved indifferent to Severus' inevitably cutting wit.

"Have you seen my dagger?" came a rich voice from roughly the end of his bed.

Severus refused to lift his eyes from the text, where the hero's cloak was dramatically billowing. A few seconds later, the text vanished as an impudent hand yanked it from his grip and tossed it to the floor. Grudgingly, Severus looked up into laughing eyes.

The resemblance was enough to make him defensive - dark hair, dark eyes, and a mischievous mouth - something that Regulus appeared to be aware of. The enmity between the brothers was well-known and Regulus had chosen to use his appearance to make a point - in direct opposition to his elder brother, Regulus kept his hair short and spiky and refused to be seen in anything other proper wizarding robes.

"I have absolutely no interest in your trinkets," Severus said icily. The Blacks might have slipped a few rungs down the ladder of prestige in recent years, but their wealth easily outstripped the failing line of Snape - something Severus was keenly aware of.

"Ah, but this is no trinket," Regulus said, still smiling and sitting far too close for Severus' comfort. Why was the damn boy convinced they were friends? Despite all his anti-social efforts, Regulus insisted on approaching and accompanying him, and Severus had found open hostility was too exhausting. Besides, while Severus was perfectly happy in his own company, it was pleasant to have someone who spoke to him in a normal manner. "This is a family heirloom, passed from Lord to Heir since before the Founding," Regulus continued, concealing whatever his latest prize was behind his back. Severus refused to be curious.

Openly curious anyway.

"So why do you have it? You are not the Heir to the House of Black. You are the younger brother. The spare," Severus said as nastily as he could manage. Regulus' infuriating smile remained in place but there was a flash in the dark eyes. Got you, Severus thought smugly.

"As you are no doubt aware," Regulus continued with a hint of anger, "my elder brother has left our House and taken residence with the Potters. Mother has disowned him, making me the Heir - and she has given me this as proof of my new status."

As Regulus spoke, he drew out his hand and presented the heirloom to Severus, who inhaled sharply. It was a dagger; black snake hilt and curved blade, melded so the curve of the snake's body blended smoothly into the blade. It was a perfect Slytherin symbol - and it was beautiful. Instinctively, Severus took the dagger and held it up to the smoky torchlight, watching the steel gleam as the light slid along its edge.

"Beautiful," he breathed, unaware of the intensity of Regulus' gaze.

"Yes," the younger boy answered, his hand closing around Severus' as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Severus was too caught in his contemplation of the dagger to react, and he barely noticed as Regulus shifted position, closing the space between them.

He did, however, notice as a second hand trailed soft fingertips along his jaw. Attention caught, he opened his mouth to speak, eyes dropping to Regulus' face just as roguish lips brushed against his own, tongue darting out like the serpent in their hands.

***

It was strange, Severus mused, that given how similar the two were, he could look at Regulus without seeing anything of the older Black. Everything that he loathed in Sirius - that inane grin, that look-at-me hair and his infuriating good looks - was refined and perfect in Regulus. Sirius had been the mould, but Regulus was the sculpture..

"What are you brooding on now, Severus?" Regulus asked lazily, voice muffled as he curled against Severus' chest.

"Love sought is good, but given unsought is better," Severus quoted, idly playing with the serpent dagger. Regulus did not reply; merely contemplating the play of light on the blade and the way it reflected in black eyes. On an impulse he had not thought he possessed, Severus lightly kissed Regulus' forehead.

Perhaps he could be a man of impulse too.