chiraldream (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lesyeuxverts) wrote2009-01-01 12:41 pm
lesyeuxverts) wrote2009-01-01 12:41 pm
Entry tags:
A Real Beginning
Title: A Real Beginning
Author: lesyeuxverts
Word Count: 500
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Snape/Regulus
Prompt: frost, eggnog
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: Not mine.
AN: For![[insanejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/ij-userinfo.gif)
jin_fenghuang - happy holidays!
Pretense was the art of making it real – making other people believe that it was real. Severus smoothed down his dress robes and pretended that he hadn't just come from the gritty-grey train station, pretended that he hadn't taken the cheapest fare to get here from Spinner's End. He pretended that he wasn't a tainted half-blood – that he had the right to be there. He did.
The door swung open with a thwump of compressed air, and Regulus dashed out, barefoot. He shifted his weight from foot to foot on the frosty doorstep, grabbing Severus's hand. "Come on."
Regulus was in his winter best, too – pressed velvet robes that shone with silver thread in the lamplight. Severus let Regulus drag him through the forbidding dark door and into the house, where he was promptly assailed by the smell of cider and the sound of carols in cracked house elf voices.
"Mother likes it," Regulus said with a shrug, and he pulled Severus up the stairs and to his room. "Glad you could make it for the party at least. It's been dull as the grave around here."
Frost had etched feathery patterns on the glass windows, but there was a fire in the hearth, crackling with magical heat and filling the room with golden light. Regulus still held Severus's hand – he hadn't let it go.
"There's eggnog downstairs if you want some," he said, but Severus shook his head. This was enough inebriation for the evening – pretending to belong here.
Regulus pushed him toward the bed. Slipping an arm around Severus's waist, he pulled him close for a kiss. His breath was warm with rum and spices, and he nipped at Severus's lower lip before he pulled away. "Thank you for coming."
The house was vibrant with dark magic – it thrummed through the air, even in this room, even in Regulus. Severus ran a hand over Regulus's arm, allowing himself the one light touch, and then turned to the window, looking out and watching the people scurry in the street. Their black coats flapped behind them, and their scarves trailed out like multi-coloured tails, blown about by the wind.
They didn't belong here – Severus did. It was that simple, and he sank into the pretense like frost falling over the forest, a gentle and slow descent of ice crystals. He raised his shields, and turned back to Regulus, steeling himself against further kisses. "Some eggnog, then, perhaps? While we wait for the party to start?"
Regulus clapped him on the shoulder and led him to the door, pausing to kiss him again just before they reached the threshold. "Of course."
The stairs creaked under their feet, and the wizened old heads of the family's old house elves sang carols of mayhem and murder, and Severus felt the brush of dark spells against his mind, the first sign of what was to come. In the shadows on the stairs, he let his hand brush against Regulus's, and he tightened the shields around his mind. He belonged here.
Author: lesyeuxverts
Word Count: 500
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Snape/Regulus
Prompt: frost, eggnog
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: Not mine.
AN: For
jin_fenghuang - happy holidays!Pretense was the art of making it real – making other people believe that it was real. Severus smoothed down his dress robes and pretended that he hadn't just come from the gritty-grey train station, pretended that he hadn't taken the cheapest fare to get here from Spinner's End. He pretended that he wasn't a tainted half-blood – that he had the right to be there. He did.
The door swung open with a thwump of compressed air, and Regulus dashed out, barefoot. He shifted his weight from foot to foot on the frosty doorstep, grabbing Severus's hand. "Come on."
Regulus was in his winter best, too – pressed velvet robes that shone with silver thread in the lamplight. Severus let Regulus drag him through the forbidding dark door and into the house, where he was promptly assailed by the smell of cider and the sound of carols in cracked house elf voices.
"Mother likes it," Regulus said with a shrug, and he pulled Severus up the stairs and to his room. "Glad you could make it for the party at least. It's been dull as the grave around here."
Frost had etched feathery patterns on the glass windows, but there was a fire in the hearth, crackling with magical heat and filling the room with golden light. Regulus still held Severus's hand – he hadn't let it go.
"There's eggnog downstairs if you want some," he said, but Severus shook his head. This was enough inebriation for the evening – pretending to belong here.
Regulus pushed him toward the bed. Slipping an arm around Severus's waist, he pulled him close for a kiss. His breath was warm with rum and spices, and he nipped at Severus's lower lip before he pulled away. "Thank you for coming."
The house was vibrant with dark magic – it thrummed through the air, even in this room, even in Regulus. Severus ran a hand over Regulus's arm, allowing himself the one light touch, and then turned to the window, looking out and watching the people scurry in the street. Their black coats flapped behind them, and their scarves trailed out like multi-coloured tails, blown about by the wind.
They didn't belong here – Severus did. It was that simple, and he sank into the pretense like frost falling over the forest, a gentle and slow descent of ice crystals. He raised his shields, and turned back to Regulus, steeling himself against further kisses. "Some eggnog, then, perhaps? While we wait for the party to start?"
Regulus clapped him on the shoulder and led him to the door, pausing to kiss him again just before they reached the threshold. "Of course."
The stairs creaked under their feet, and the wizened old heads of the family's old house elves sang carols of mayhem and murder, and Severus felt the brush of dark spells against his mind, the first sign of what was to come. In the shadows on the stairs, he let his hand brush against Regulus's, and he tightened the shields around his mind. He belonged here.
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the family's old house elves sang carols of mayhem and murder
Oh my, these carols I want to hear!
(It's a shame the Blacks don't believe in Muggle worth -- someone should introduce them to Tim Burton!)
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*would sing carols for you, but I'm sure I'd be worse than the house elves, lol*
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