Genetics • Sirius Black

Chapter Fifty Three: I'm Tired.

That slightly bothered Freya as she walked back to the common room.

She had not wanted him to stink, but perhaps some unpleasant note of feet would have humbled his character a bit--

"Freya."

The breath curled around her ear, and Freya whirled around wand out. Like a turtle, Severus Snape used his neck to pull his head back from her dragon heartstring wand, and Freya found the act slightly endearing. But only tucked her wand away and continued on her path, knowing Sev would be at her heels. "I almost hexed you."

"Sorry." He mumbled, keeping pace with her strides easily since she was a head shorter than him. After a moment, he took a small book out of his cloak pocket and flashed the cover at Freya. "I have something I want to show you."

Familiarity flickered across her face. Then, she turned her heel and headed for the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest.

***

For a Forbidden Forest, it was strangely pleasant if you knew where to go. Sure, deep in, you may get shot in the heart by a centaur (but really, that's your fault for getting onto their property). However, near the outskirts of the Black Lake, there were stretches of peaceful air where crows flew over their heads across the grey sky.

Leaning against a tree, Severus Snape bit his lip as he watched Freya's eyes read over what was essentially a diary bound in Libatius Borage's Advanced Potion-Making book. Severus had a habit of finding authors painfully incompetent, leading him to write several notes in the margins that escalated to entire magical advancements hidden in his secondhand book.

Silence finally gave Sev his fill and he sat down next to Freya on the trunk of a fallen-over tree. "What do you think?"

Without moving her eyes off the page, she answered, "It's interesting."

"Do you think it could work now?"

"Possibly."

"Why possibly?"

Her eyes flicked up to his, then back at the book. "You've already tested it."

"Barely maimed a bird." He admitted running hands through his hair, his posture bending worst. "It should have worked." All it took was a simple healing spell, and the stupid bird was on its merry way. Pitiful.

Freya scanned over the disappointment on his face and fought an urge to pat his head in a comforting manner, but knew that'd be awkward for them both. Instead, she turned back to the book. "Sev, why did you make this?"

"I thought it'd be interesting."

"Torture is very amusing."

Pressing his lips together, Sev seemed to find her sarcasm humorus yet frustrating. But then, his eyes darted around the dirt, and his fingers played with the air. "Things are coming, and I can't--" Words were difficult to form in his mouth, but Freya listened patiently. "I want to be able to protect... us." Some passion built up in his throat, and his eyes were now fixed on one spot in his mind. "All of us. You, Lily, and Regulus."

"You don't need to protect us, Sev," Freya replied, quietly.

He shook his head stubbornly. "Family protects each other." An odd expression crossed his face, and Freya tried to hold in shock at the word. Family. Quickly, Sev's tongue moved to correct his mistake. "Not that we're a family-- it's just the concept, I mean. Generally, but not all families. Neither of our families do that. My father's a bastard, and yours is dead, so it's--"

"I accept." The phrase gets awkwardly slammed in the air and knocks the letters off Sev's tongue as he looks at her with confusion, but she seems equally as confused.

"What?"

Freya blinked, then found interest in her fingernail polish. "Other people have their houses to get ahead. It would be beneficial to have some form of an alliance."

"An alliance..."Sev nodded slowly, then they both seemed interested in the forest in front of them for several minutes.

***

When they both returned to the common room, Mason Avery and Finnick Mulciber were chatting at the corner of the dungeon. A fresh smile painted on both their faces as they caught sight of Severus and Freya, who had not talked much since their declaration of kinship.

Mason clapped his hand on Sev's shoulder, and silently, Sev said goodbye to Freya with his eyes, knowing they were about to drag him off somewhere. Freya gave an approving glance back, though she had reservations about his company.

Both pureblood boys seemed oblivious to this interaction. Still, Finnick regarded Freya in a surprisingly friendly manner considering he was a much closer friend of Evan Rosier, who was less than keen on Freya. Dramatically, he stated the Slytherin common room password and gestured for Freya to go in first. Freya hated this notion but knew it was bad manners to refuse and walked in.

Finnick indiscreetly kept his eyes around her rear as she passed them, making Mason shake his head and Severus slightly uncomfortable.

Unaware of that, Freya found a familiar pale, thin boy draped over his favorite couch with parchment placed over a book on his lap. Regulus hated using desks while he drew. Either give him an easel or accept that any flat surface near him will turn into a drawing board. As she approached him, she noticed that his eyes were following her, then flicked the Severus, Mason, and Finnick, but thought nothing of it while Freya lifted his legs so she could sit at the other end of the couch, then dropped his legs on her lap.

"Where were you?" An edge came in Regs's voice and Freya eyed him.

"I was with Sev."

"Just Sev?"

"Yes." Something grey moved beneath the surface of her best friend's face, and he seemed like he'd just swallowed tar, but he said nothing. A stiff wall formed in front of his emotions, and Freya was worried. "Regs?"

"I'm tired." He stated, then took his legs off her lap and left.

A few third-years nearby giggled at this, having heard the interaction. More proof of the bitter romance between the House of Grey and the House of Black. But Regs wished things were as simple as a fling between his best mate and his brother. Instead, the pressure in his chest was formed by romance rather than the unbearable feeling that invisible strings were slowly pulling his closest friend from him and he would not know until it was too late. Until he, too, would have to succumb to the threads already dragging his joints like a puppeteer.

To this terrible dread, Regulus Black, final heir to the Black throne, collapsed face down on his bed and hoped the position would suffocate him in his sleep. Or, at least, give him a good nap.