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heyitssmiller · 3 years

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Clandestine: Chapter Eleven

I... about 75% of this chapter was not in the outline, and I don’t really know what to do about that fact. This completely ran away from me, but that’s ok I guess.

Characters, as always, belong to the amazing @lumosinlove and a huge thanks again to @donttouchmycarrots for proofreading!! <3

Clandestine Masterlist

CW: hospitals, injury, brief mention of blood, medical drugs

Leo slept. A lot.

Logan knew this was normal; their nurse had reiterated it a few times now. When he did wake up, it was only for a few dazed, confused minutes before he was pulled back under again. The confusion ebbed the more time went on, the effects of anesthesia wearing off, but the dull sheen to his eyes remained. He could fight his way through a brief conversation with him or Finn, and then he was back to sleep. It was probably for the best, Logan told himself. Better than dealing with their present situation, at least.

Finn was curled up uncomfortably in the chair beside him, also sleeping. He normally looked peaceful when he was asleep – lips slightly parted, face relaxed, on his side or stomach with one hand usually shoved under his pillow. After about a week of sharing a hotel room and a bed, Logan knew these things. It wasn’t the same now. Granted, he was in a chair instead of a bed, but still. He was curled up somewhat in a ball, with the leg in a brace stretched out and immobile – an awkward position that almost made him look like a flamingo balancing on one leg. His shoulders were tense, even in sleep, and his jaw was clenched tight. A worry line was furrowed between his eyebrows, steadfastly refusing to smooth out. Logan brushed his knuckles faintly against the bruise on his cheek, plum against porcelain, and sighed. He knew he should be doing the same thing – sleeping, that is – but every time he closed his eyes… well. It wasn’t pretty. Besides, someone needed to keep an eye out. There was only so long the nurse could delay the GSW report.

It was only a matter of time before they were on the run again.

Regulus drifted in and out on occasion, checking in on them. He seemed to be on guard, constantly walking the perimeter of the hospital and keeping an eye out for familiar faces. It put Logan on edge and calmed him down at the simultaneously. He didn’t trust Regulus, not really, but he figured if he was going to sabotage them he would’ve done so already. He’d had ample opportunity, after all.

Logan glanced at the clock. They’d been here for just shy of twenty-four hours now. The sun was starting to rise again, not bringing any answers with it. Loops had been in contact, briefly. They’d received one text message that simply said “stay put” and radio silence after that. He just hoped they had a good plan. Even better if it was safe, too, but Logan wasn’t about to push their luck… if you could even call it that.

For now, this was ok. They were together, they were alive, and they were relatively safe, for now. In that moment, listening to the steady beeps of a monitor and muffled conversations of people in the hallway outside their door and the even breathing of his partners, he couldn’t ask for much more.

***

Nate saw the scowling, intimidating group of people in the lobby and knew they were in trouble.

He had just started today’s shift, still tired from the one the day before, and was in the process of saying his usual hello to the staff working the front desk when he saw them. There were three of them – at least two of which were over six feet tall, looming and muscular and intense. One had a scar traversing down one side of his face, healed but still a beacon that screamed “don’t mess with me”. The short, scary one was right.

He’d submitted the GSW report about ten minutes ago, and here they were.

Fuck.

Nate didn’t even say goodbye to the sweet lady working the desk that day, he just backed away slowly and tried to appear normal as he pushed past the doors. As soon as they closed he broke into a run, headed straight for room 308 and stopping by the nurse’s station for a split second to grab two prescriptions before he was off again. He was almost there when he crashed into someone as he rounded a corner, only avoiding hitting the ground by two arms that snaked out to steady him. He looked up to gray eyes and a vaguely familiar face.

“Sorry.” The guy said and let go of him, frowning when he saw what was no doubt a look of panic on Nate’s face. “You ok?”

He remembered this guy now. He was with the scary short guy and the other two. He wasn’t around much, but Nate had seen him a few times when he’d been making his rounds.

“They’re here.” He blurted, hoping that he didn’t need so say anymore.

He didn’t. in the blink of an eye he was leading the way to room 308 and throwing the door open, which Nate didn’t think was the best idea. He didn’t know what these people did for a living, but it was clearly dangerous. Barging in like that probably wasn’t a good move.

Sure enough, when Nate followed Gray Eyes into the room, the short one was on his feet and had pulled a gun from somewhere, aiming it at the two of them. Gray Eyes stuck his arm out and kept Nate from going any further until Short Angry One recognized them.

Nate used to think this was a relatively safe career path. Sure he might get puked on, yelled at, mentally and emotionally eviscerated by doctors and patients and family members alike on a regular basis, but he’d never felt like his life was in danger.

Maybe he should go into accounting. Just him in an office with a bunch of numbers. Or a museum curator, surrounded by ancient artifacts and not much else. Definitely not people pointing guns at you.

Both the redhead and the blond woke up at the disturbance, one sitting up in a flash and the other just blinking sleepily and frowning in concern. Before anyone else could get a word in edgewise, Gray Eyes blurted out, “They’re here.”

The EKG readings on the monitor spiked, and then it was a flurry of motion. Short Angry One cursed under his breath and pulled Gray Eyes and Nate into the room fully, closing the door behind them. The redhead started throwing the few things they had into his pockets – a phone, some other electronic device Nate couldn’t identify, an old lock, a pen. He shoved his shoes on, unsteady on his feet, and looked to the blond, who was still in a hospital gown and watching with wide eyes. All the color that had been slowly returning to his cheeks was now gone.

Nate steeled his resolve. His job was to save lives, damnit, and that’s what he was going to do.

He jumped into action, pushing Gray Eyes out of the way and unhooking his patient from the monitors before discontinuing the IV drip and pulling the IV out, stopping the bleeding with quick pressure from his hand. “There’s an employee exit down the hall that leads to the parking garage. You guys know how to hotwire a car, by any chance? I’d offer you mine but I don’t have one.”

“I can.” Glaring down at his sling, the blond muttered, “Well. Maybe can is the wrong word.”

Nate let up on the pressure, shrugged his thin jacket off, and helped him slide his good arm through the sleeve, throwing the other side around his shoulder gently. It wouldn’t do much to help, but it was better than nothing. “Can you show someone else how to do it?”

“Maybe.” He said, moving to swing his legs over the edge of the bed and frowning when Nate stopped him. “I can walk.”

Nate smiled. Typical. “That’s what they all say. I’m going to grab a wheelchair, anyways. You’ll be faster that way.” He looked at the others in the room and continued. “I’ll lead you to the exit, but I’m afraid that’s as far as I can take you. I’ll try to find these guys and get them off your trail as best I can.”

He shoved the two prescriptions he was so glad he’d filled last night at Ginger, trying to ignore the way all of them seemed to be staring at him. “Instructions are on the labels. He needs to finish all the antibiotics. All of them.” He didn’t have time to stress the importance of preventing antibiotic resistance, but he hoped they would take his word for it. “Let me go get-”

The door opened again and they all swiveled towards it. Ginger stepped between the blond and the door while Short One raised his gun again – but he didn’t shoot. In fact he just stared for a second, then lowered his gun with a smile.

“Loops.” He said, relieved, and – what?

The three men Nate had seen earlier were ushered into the room, the tallest one slapping the brunet on the shoulder, causing him to stumble as he flipped the safety of his gun back on and stashed it in the waistline of his pants.

The one in the front with caramel colored eyes looked between their group, one eyebrow arched. “Going somewhere? I thought I told you to stay put.”

Ginger laughed incredulously, shoulders slumping. “Holy shit, Loops. We thought you were someone else.”

Gray Eyes looked at Nate, exasperation clear in his gaze. “You told me they were here.”

Nate threw his arms up in defense. “You look at those guys and tell me you wouldn’t be suspicious.” He winced and looked at the newcomers, realizing that his words might be offensive. “Sorry.”

Neither of them seemed to take it to heart. The tall one just grinned and said, in a heavily-accented voice, “We still got it, eh, Nado?”

The one with the scar – Nado, apparently – just rolled his eyes and didn’t comment, but Nate could see one side of his mouth lifting into a smile. It softened his face, made him look more like a teddy bear than the scary, intimidating guy he’d seen in the lobby.

“We’ve got a car out back.” The one called Loops said, looking to the blond with gentle, understanding eyes. “You good to go?”

He nodded firmly, no room for second-guessing. “Let’s do this.”

Now, Nate didn’t exactly think it was a good idea to move a GSW patient out of a hospital only a day after getting shot, but – judging by how the others had reacted at the thought of people coming for them – it was safer for him to leave than to stay here. His brain, after all those years of medical classes and caffeine/anxiety induced all-nighters, was screaming in horror about complications and sepsis and bone fragments, but he didn’t voice them. He just reached for a pen and paper in his pocket. He scribbled his number down and handed it to his patient. “If you have any questions, don’t hesitate to ask, ok? I’d feel much better if you at least had a nurse with you, but this’ll have to do.”

He got a warm smile in response. “Thanks,” he said, voice and eyes serious. “For everything. Not many people would do what you did for us.”

Nate blinked. “I genuinely don’t know if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but thanks?” He still didn’t know who exactly he was helping, but then again, he guessed it didn’t really matter either way. They seemed like good people dealing with a shitty situation, and that was a good enough motive for him. “I’m going to grab that wheelchair quickly and I’ll be right back.”

He should’ve known that, by the time he got back, they’d already be gone – leaving no trace except for the disheveled sheets on the bed, two chairs next to it instead of the standard one, and the still humming machines and monitors.

Nate let himself slump against the wheelchair, forearms resting against the handles.

“What the fuck,” he said, with feeling.

***

Sirius was behind the steering wheel of a very old service van, watching six of them pile into the back and Loops slide into the passenger’s seat. His eyes didn’t stray long from Regulus, though. If he’d had enough time, he would’ve tackled his younger brother in a hug. Unfortunately, they were on a bit of a tight schedule. “Petition to never have to break someone out of a hospital again.” He said wryly, putting the van into drive and searching for the exit to the maze that was this parking garage. All the while, he was sneaking glances in the rearview mirror, unable to help himself.

“Where do I sign?” Finn deadpanned from the back row, sandwiched between Logan and Leo. They looked so tired. Leo didn’t hesitate to twist in his seat a little so that he could lean into Finn’s chest and close his eyes, looking absolutely miserable. Finn shifted just slightly, pressing a barely-perceptible kiss to a bird’s nest of curls and relaxing back into his seat.

Huh.

That was… new.

But then again, was it? Sirius thought back to the past several months of this operation and found that he really wasn’t that surprised. But then there was Logan…

“Turn left here.” Remus said, pulling him out of the thoughts, calm and in control like usual. His lips turned up into a smile as he flicked his turn signal on. He could see them doing exactly this, when all the chaos was said and done. Taking a roadtrip, Sirius behind the wheel and Remus navigating, going wherever they felt like. No worries or missions, just the two of them and the black top below them. He shelved the daydreaming for later.

“Where are we going?”

Sirius’ eyes flew back to the mirror at his brother’s voice – the first time he’d head it un-obscured by a phone or earpiece in too long. He’d missed him. He’d fought so hard for him, to get him out of that mess and keep him safe, and here he was. They’d done it.

Was he a horrible person, for feeling as relieved as he did? He’d inadvertently put the Cubs through hell for mostly selfish reasons. Sure, he wanted to take the Snakes down, but that paled in comparison to the safety of his brother. He’d let the Snakes walk away scot-free if it meant Reg was safe.

He didn’t know what kind of person that made him – he was too afraid to speculate about it.

“My family has a cabin about two hours away,” Remus replied, balancing his phone with the navigation app against the center console so that Sirius could see it. “It’s empty right now, so it’s a perfect hideout until we figure out next steps.”

Finn was asleep now, too, head pillowed on Leo’s. Logan stared sightlessly out the window beside them, stonily silent. Sirius ached for him. They were kindred spirits, he and Logan. Stubborn, fierce, bleeding hearts who cared too much and shouldered more than their fair share of the responsibility when things went wrong.

And things had really gone wrong.

“What are the next steps?” Reg asked as they left the city and headed towards the interstate. “This isn’t the only backup we’ve got, right?”

“Sleep,” Kuny told Regulus, not unkindly, “had big couple of days, yes? Plan later.”

Reg looked at the tall Russian sitting next to him for a second, then sighed and turned his gaze to the window.

Sirius drove on in silence.

Two hours and eighteen minutes later, he was pulling up on a gravel driveway to a quaint, two-story cabin. The jostling of the gravel under their tires seemed to wake everyone up, according to the grumbles and yawns Sirius could hear from behind him as he finally put the van in park. The doors opened and they were all climbing out of the van, stretching stiff muscles and groaning. The ones with bags in the trunk went to unload while Remus fished his keys out of his pocket and headed for the front door, bounding up the last two steps to the porch. He was equal parts glad and upset that they were here. He was grateful that the Cubs were safe now and that this cabin was so far off the grid that the Snakes wouldn’t find them. But bringing a bunch of coworkers to the place he went to escape work stuff… jeez. Not that he didn’t like his coworkers, but sometimes he needed a break from it all. Plus this place belonged to his family. Being here with anyone but them just felt wrong.

Remus opened the door, instantly on guard when he saw the kitchen light was on. Whoever was in there must’ve heard the door because Remus could hear the refrigerator door close, then loud footsteps headed towards them. His hand drifted to his gun and he cautiously flicked the safety off.

A head peeked out from the kitchen. All-too-familiar eyes widened excitedly. “Re?”

The safety quickly went back on. “Jules?”

He wasn’t supposed to be there. Their trip wasn’t for another week-

Remus’ younger brother beamed and launched himself towards him, leaping into Remus’ arms when he got close enough with an excited shout.

“What are you doing here? I thought you couldn’t make it this trip!”

“What am I – what are you doing here?” Remus shot back, tensing up when he heard footsteps behind him. “Your trip is supposed to be next week!”

“School got cancelled because of all the snow.” Jules peered around Remus at the gathering group behind him. “Who are they?”

“Jules?” The familiar voice of their mother called from down the hall. “Who are you talking to, honey?”

Oh god, this was something straight out of Remus’ nightmares. How the fuck was he supposed to explain all this to his family? The rest of their agents were supposed to drive up here tomorrow with gear and supplies and weapons for their final stand against the Snakes. That… there was no way to explain that. At all.

Fuuuuuuck.

Hope Lupin stepped around the corner, startling when she saw the crowd on her doorstep. “Remus?”

“I’m so sorry, mom,” he blurted, the words coming out in an unfiltered rush. “I didn’t know you’d be up here or else I would’ve-”

“Oh, nonsense. We’re happy to have you and your… friends.” She said sweetly, voice raising into an almost-question at the end. Remus, flying blind, said the first thing that came to mind.

“They’re work friends. And there’s a few more coming tomorrow, if that’s ok.”

“What happened to him?” Jules interrupted, wide eyes trained on Leo, who smiled faintly.

“Shoulder surgery,” Leo said easily, taking Remus by surprise a little at how easily he responded with a textbook spy tactic: tell the truth, but only enough to not raise suspicion. He technically wasn’t lying, either. It was harder to get caught lying when you technically hadn’t.

It seemed like the rookie was no longer a rookie.

“It was recent, wasn’t it?” Hope asked, eyes sharp with observation as she ushered them all inside. When Leo looked at her a little distrustfully and both Logan and Finn stiffened beside him, she sent them all a soothing smile. “I’m a nurse, I can tell.”

“About a day and a half ago.” Leo let her lead them to a couch and sat down, answering Hope’s questions calmly now, seeming to know she could be trusted. When Remus looked around again, he noticed that Sirius and Regulus were both absent, no doubt having a much-needed talk. He was struck with a twinge of worry, but pushed it back. He shouldn’t interfere. They needed some time alone to sort through things. Sirius would talk to him about it if he felt like it. Nado and Kuny were trying to sneak their way into the kitchen, looking for whatever smelled so good in there. For spies, they weren’t very subtle.

“What kind of shoulder surgery?” Jules asked, trailing after their mom. “Re had one a few years ago, too!”

Remus winced and shot Leo an apologetic look for his over-inquisitive brother. “Not quite the same, Jules.”

“All he does is sleep now,” Finn said teasingly as he took a step back and stretched out his leg with only a slight wince. “My jacket has drool all over it from the car ride here.”

Leo shot Finn an unheated glare as he sat up and opened his mouth to shoot back a reply when all of a sudden he went pale as a sheet, eyes dazed. Everyone in the room froze, looking at him nervously.

Finn was kneeling in front of him in a flash, Logan already holding his hand too tightly from his spot beside him. “Leo?”

The blond squeezed his eyes shut and leaned into Logan heavily. “Hurts,” he managed to grit out while Logan wrapped an arm around his waist and held him close, combing his fingers through a riotous mess of curls. He locked gazes with Finn and saw a different kind of pain from Leo’s, but identical to Logan’s, reflected there as he watched helplessly.

Maybe they should’ve accepted the risks and stayed at the hospital. They’d be sitting ducks there, but at least it wouldn’t be this. Logan would take the uncomfortable chairs and the nurse who talked too much and the stress over the heavy weight pressed against him, the shaky, too-measured breaths, the soulful brown eyes that matched his own.

It felt like all the decisions he’d been making recently were the wrong ones. It would be nice to not put his partners through pain because of his poor decisions for once.

Hope was by their side then, holding out a glass of water and two pills. Logan hadn’t even noticed Finn set the prescriptions down on the entryway table. “I think it’s time to take these now.” Leo refused to move from his current spot, but he took the pills and followed them with a quick drink of water. A muffled “thank you” was murmured into the material of Logan’s shirt, quiet and a little tense.

Hope just smiled sympathetically. “You’re probably going to get really sleepy in the next thirty minutes or so,” she continued, giving the three of them a look. Like she knew something. “So if there’s any conversations that can’t wait until the morning…”

Loops came by his eerie observation skills naturally, it seemed.

Logan looked to Remus and the others, hoping that all the planning could wait until the morning. They were exhausted. Surely they’d be ok without them for a few hours.

“Go get some rest,” Loops said gently, motioning down the hallway. “There’s a guest bedroom down there, second door on the left. We’ll talk tomorrow.”

Finn made a beeline for the bathroom as soon as they reached the bedroom, muttering about how he’d needed to use the restroom since they’d all piled into the van. Leo toed off his shoes while Logan hovered, unsure if he should offer to help or not, his heart still in his throat. Leo just sent him a weary, affectionate smile. It tugged viciously at Logan’s heart and made him want to pull his partner close and not let go. Ever.

“I’m ok, sweetheart.”

He could’ve cried at the relief of hearing that nickname again. “You sure?” He asked, just to be safe.

Leo’s face was inscrutable as he cautiously sat down on the bed. “If I keep telling myself that… eventually I’ll start to believe it, right?”

Logan didn’t have an answer to that, not at first. But he remembered the feeling from after missions that had gone belly-up, the few that he wasn’t sure he was going to make it out of. The disbelief that somehow, after all of that, he was still alive and ok. It felt like trying to find his way through a snowstorm when all he could see was blinding, overwhelming white.

He wasn’t about to let Leo navigate that without a guide.

He sat down next to Leo and grabbed his hand, moving down to the pulse-point at his wrist and feeling tendons flex and shift under his fingertips. It beat, steady and strong, when he pressed down lightly. He knew Leo could feel it, too.

“You’re here.” Logan said simply. It was a tactic he used on bad days, when everything got to be too much. That little pulse, a sign of life and resilience. The two of them shared that now, that resilience and refusal to die that flowed through their veins.

Leo stared at him, eyes so soft and a hue that Logan wanted to engrave into his memory. “Logan,” he said quietly, right as Finn flung the bathroom door open again. His mouth was in the process of opening to tell a joke when he saw the two of them and snapped it shut again with an audible click, unsure of what to do next.

Leo shared a look with Logan and a conversation passed between the two, silent but apparently crystal clear. Finn couldn’t quite tell if it was excitement or anxiety dancing in his stomach, but either way he wasn’t sure he liked the sensation.

He had a feeling he knew what was coming. They’d been tip-toeing around this conversation for too long now, and they’d finally reached the tipping point. However this conversation went, he knew their relationship would never be the same, and that scared him. There was comfort in things known and familiar, after all.

This felt like hanging out of a perfectly-good plane and not knowing if the parachute strapped to his back was going to work or not.

But everyone who took the jump said it was worth it, in the end. Finn desperately hoped they were right.

“I think we should talk.” Logan said quietly, patting the open spot on the bed next to him. The dreaded words. No one ever wanted to hear those words.

Finn made his way towards them, too afraid to make eye contact, and sat down gingerly. Feet firmly planted on the floor, one hand braced on the bed, tense and ready to get up and take flight if he felt like he needed to. “We’re finally going to have this conversation, huh?” he asked with a fake laugh that fell flat, finally glancing up. Looking at the two of them, side by side and seeming to just know each other in a way Finn felt like he didn’t, he wondered where he fit into all of this.

If he fit in at all.

God, he hoped he fit in.

“Look,” Leo started, voice steady and resolute like he was getting ready to rip off the proverbial bandaid. It did nothing to calm Finn down. “Logan and I talked a while ago, about us. And, um – well, we want to be together. All three of us.”

Finn blinked once, twice. The words weren’t exactly computing, not after spending so long telling himself that this would never happen, could never happen. “Oh.”

“You had to know,” Logan said, sounding confused. “You had to know how we felt. None of us were exactly subtle.”

“I… I hoped.” Finn managed to get out before he got distracted by Logan’s soft touch against the curve of his cheekbone, creating his own constellations out of the freckles there. Finn let his eyes close and focused on the point of contact. He had hoped, even if he’d tried to stamp it out most days. He’d hoped and he’d yearned and he’d ached, and now – finally, unbelievably – he might be getting exactly what he’d wanted. “I knew how the two of you felt about each other, I just… wasn’t sure where that left me.”

“Finn…” He heard the sheets rustle as Leo scooted closer and opened his eyes again.

“Can you blame me?” Finn let Leo hold his hand and slot their fingers together, a painfully delicate motion. He stared down at them, noticing faint green bruising from an IV line and deeper, purple discoloration from that one time Finn tried to catch himself before he hit the ground after a brutal punch. They matched, in a sick, twisted way.

But they were both healing – skin stitching itself slowly back together and aches fading little by little. There was a poignant symbolism there, Finn thought, musing over the words he needed to say. Talking about the doubts and the hurt and the confusion surrounding the three of them might be painful in the moment, but healing would always follow, even if it took a while.

He was thrilled that they wanted him, don’t get him wrong, but that didn’t have the ability to just wipe away the hurt of the past week. “You seemed happy together, just the two of you.” He thought of the coffee shop and watching them from his table with June. Or the hotel room the next day, the stolen glances and furtive touches. “I didn’t want to get in the way of that, not if I wasn’t wanted.”

One of the other two made a broken sound; Finn wasn’t sure who it was. The hand on his cheek moved to his chin and Logan ducked his head to meet Finn’s eyes again, fierce and sincere – a combination that encompassed the very core of the fighter.

“I’ve wanted you since that crazy New Year’s party.” He said with conviction and Finn laughed a little at the memories.

“Then why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Why didn’t you?” Logan challenged, signaling a change in the winds. Finn could see the storm brewing in those green eyes. “We were partners. Adding a relationship to the mix would only complicate things.”

“So what changed?” Finn let his frustration bleed through, ignoring Leo’s squeeze to his hand. “You’re saying two completely different things right now and it’s confusing as hell.”

Logan bit back, voice suddenly loud and harsh. “You think this is how I wanted to fall in love?”

Leo and Finn stared at him. No one had mentioned love. Not yet, at least. Logan seemed to recognize the intensity of his words and his shoulders slumped, but he didn’t take them back. Finn wasn’t sure if he was grateful for that or terrified because of it.

“It’s not supposed to be this hard, is it?” the brunet asked, voice a softer murmur. “Why couldn’t the three of us be normal and meet at, like, college or a coffee shop or something?”

Silence greeted him, heavy and suffocating.

“Because these are the cards we were dealt,” Leo said finally, looking between the two of them. “And yeah, it might be a shitty hand, but don’t you think it’d be worth it? After all that we’ve been through, choosing each other instead of letting the fear pull us apart?”

“Sounds like something out of a romance novel.”

Leo shrugged his good shoulder at Logan’s words, a conscientious effort to keep the other side of his body completely still. Finn ached a little at the sight. “Love isn’t easy, not for anyone. It’s a choice you make, day after day.” Blue eyes the color of a cloudless afternoon sky were calm and free of conflict when he looked at them again. “I’ve made my choice. What about you?”

Finn stared at him for what felt like forever, then blurted, “Did you rehearse that or something? What the fuck, Nutty.”

The resulting smile on Leo’s face was a welcomed reprieve from the earlier storm, placid and radiant. How was Finn supposed to do anything else but lean over, cup his cheeks in his hands, and press his lips against that smile?

Leo kissed a little distractedly, like he wasn’t quite sure what he wanted to do first. The hand not caught in a sling flitted from auburn hair to fist in his t-shirt, then migrated lower to wrap around Finn’s back, long fingers splayed against his spine. But his mouth was soft and sweet against Finn’s, returning his kisses happily, and the combination of the two were just so Leo that Finn’s stomach swooped and his heart flopped in his chest.

He pulled back for air, an unfortunate necessity, and took in the sight in front of him. Leo’s eyes were still closed and that smile still graced kiss-swollen lips as he swayed towards Finn, clearly wanting more. Finn smiled too, irrevocably charmed, and kissed his cheek, his jaw, that cute little indent in his chin, then the curve of his smile again. He could never, not in a hundred years, get enough of this.

And then Logan met his gaze from beside the blond, eyes fond and warm as he watched them and ran his fingers up and down Finn’s thigh, the motion raising goosebumps on Finn’s arms – the air dense and volatile around them like the instant before lightning struck. Finn needed to kiss him, too. To learn the difference between the way he kissed to keep up pretenses on a mission and the way he kissed when he meant it. Finn kept Leo close with a hand on his waist and tilted Logan’s head up to kiss him, deep and intense. It was thrilling and a little wild; so different from kissing Leo, but just as captivating. Always unpredictable, the kiss morphed from charged to surprisingly, achingly gentle – a thunderstorm melting into a comforting spring shower. Finn was reminded of shoving the couch up against the wall nearest to the window during storms as a kid, watching the raindrops track down the glass, and the sound of the world going silent save for the wind and the thunder and the rain hitting the roof like the pounding of drums – a symphony just for him to witness. He sighed against soft lips and sank into the kiss, listening for the intricacies of this new, unknown melody.

The rustle of clean sheets, a hitch in breath followed by a deep exhale, the steady beat of the old clock hung on the wall, a hum against his lips.

Then Leo was leaning in to kiss Finn’s pulse-point, firm enough to bruise and tender enough to make Finn’s eyelashes flutter. Finn canted his head to the side, stretching his neck to give Leo more skin to claim, and pulled Logan in again. A duet shifting to a trio and slotting perfectly into place, patching the gaps in the music that Finn didn’t even notice were there.

This was worth it. It had to be. As much as it would kill him – or any of them, really – to love them and then lose them, that would still be better than not loving them at all.

They’d wanted this for so long now, all of them. Even with all the stress and hurt and doubt, Finn couldn’t help but feel a little giddy. For fuck’s sake, he was kissing Logan. It wasn’t part of a mission. And Leo was still pressing kiss after kiss to his neck because he wanted to. They wanted each other.

Screw panicking about losing them. Finn was done missing things because he was worried about things that might not even happen. It wasn’t something he could just will away or turn off, of course, but he could actively make sure he was living in the current moment. And right then, the current moment was making out with his boys in a cabin in the middle of nowhere.

He loved the current moment.

The kiss turned to simply smiling against Logan’s mouth, delirious with contentment, so Finn broke away and pulled Logan in for a hug, then gently maneuvered Leo to join them, making sure his wound was well out of the way. They stayed like that for a long time, relaxing in the closeness and adjusting to the newness of all of this. And even though it was new, it was already something they were quickly getting addicted to. The string connecting Finn’s heart to theirs cinched tighter and pulled sharply. For the first time, he didn’t mind it in the slightest. It was no longer a painful reminder of what he couldn’t have, it was an exhilarating sign that were all irreversibly intertwined, both in each other’s arms and in this crazy mess that was their lives.

Leo interrupted the moment with a yawn, blinking sleepily. Finn smiled a little at the sight – he almost felt like he was doing too much of that in the past few minutes, but sleepy Leo was simply adorable.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed.” Logan urged. It would be a tight squeeze, the three of them in that bed, but now they could cuddle and press close without pretending it didn’t happen the next morning. Finn sighed happily at the thought and headed for the light switch. The light from the lamp on the bedside table illuminated his way back to his boys, all soft and stretched out next to each other under a pale comforter. It was a much-needed reprieve from the chaos of their current situation that Finn was all to eager to take advantage of.

He watched as Logan propped himself up on one arm to look down at Leo, hand trailing through that tuft of gray hair and then tugging on it playfully. They shared a smile before Logan leaned down the rest of the way to kiss him, assured and familiar and unrushed. They’d done this before. The knowledge didn’t tear at Finn’s heart like it would have a week ago, because now he knew that they felt the same way about him. And he was falling for them, too. Watching the two boys he was half in love with already so comfortable and loving with each other? How was Finn supposed to handle all the emotions bubbling over in his chest? He crawled into bed next to Logan and flicked the lamp off, settling the room into darkness.

Logan settled in to sleep facing Finn and with Leo’s reassuring warmth behind him. His eyes closed and time slowed, a blessed mercy. The events of tomorrow felt years away in that still, quiet moment. But there was something prodding at the back of Logan’s mind – some strange, uncomfortable feeling that he could quite place, until he realized that everything was too still, too quiet. His mind flashed to the litany of “what ifs” that had looped in his brain like a mantra back in that hospital room and he rolled over quickly, shuffling over until his head was pillowed on Leo’s chest, far away from the bandages.

Thump-thump.

Leo’s chest rose and fell under Logan’s head as he breathed and Logan let himself relax, reaching blindly behind him until he found Finn’s arm and flung it over himself, loosely intertwining their fingers over his chest. Finn moved in closer to press against his back and tangle their legs together. He sighed before going still again, breaths deep and even.

And Logan finally, finally let himself drift off to sleep.

#lumosinlove #sweater weather #coast to coast #coops #remus lupin #sirius black #o'knutzy #finn o'hara #logan tremblay #leo knut #clandestine #cw: hospital #cw: injuries #cw: mentions of blood #cw: medical drugs

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snapextherapy · 3 years

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hp characters as things i have said

snape: take a break. fuck a twink. do a few lines

regulus: at this point, I don't even know what a woman looks like

lockhart: please, if i wanted to hear how "bad communism is" I'd spend time with my military-loving family, or Middle School Boys who just got done reading animal farm

sirius: I want to conform to the punk aesthetic, but all I have right now is disappointing my mother

remus: ive gotten 5 hours of sleep in the past 2 days. I can see God and she fears me

harry: dude, like fuck Suicide Squad (2016) but you already KNOW my internal monologue be playing like the mayor reading off Harley Quinn's criminal tinder bio

ron: why the FUCK does everyone think all i do is eat? I also shit.

hermionie: the only good book George orwell has ever written is ender's game

draco: i may look fine, but deep down, inside my shoe, my acrylic toenail is falling off

mcgonagall: *after seeing someone say that Mr Big (zootopia) was modeled after the godfather* no, the godfather was modeled after Mr Big. the godfather WISHES he was Mr Big

dumbledore: *someone jokes about telling ppl stupid stories in hopes to embarrass him* jokes on you, everyone already knows I'm a dumbass

voldemort: you wanna come over and do a Scooby doozy seance?

#my post #pro snape #harry potter #regulus back #gilderoy lockhart #ron weasley #hermionie granger #draco malfoy #albus percival wulfric brian dumbledore #professor mcgonagall #sirius black #remus lupin #voldemort

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ashesandhackles · 3 years

Text

Inferius

(They are corpses that have been bewitched to do a Dark Wizard's bidding)

(i)

To the Dark Lord

His brother may call him an idiot for believing in their parent's spiel, but Regulus Black was never a fool. He understood what was going to happen when the Grimmauld Place went a week without fights, in deadly silence that he didn't have to keep to his room, or the basement (when things got uglier between his brother and parents) anymore. He understood the phrase calm before the storm better than anyone, and eyeing the ugly resentment on his brother's face during the meal, Regulus decided to spend the rest of the day in the basement.

Kreacher was the one who came to him in the night with sandwiches after the muffled shouting from upstairs had stopped, and said, "Master Sirius ran away."

Regulus nodded, throat dry, "Good riddance" because he couldn't have said anything else, he knew where his brother was going to go. He knew what it meant, (he is going to be the heir, no longer the shadow, the spare) and yet, it curiously felt like a sting of betrayal and abandonment.

The night when he ordered Kreacher to come back after the elf's service to the Dark Lord, he had kept the elf in the basement within his own blankets as the elf tried to calm his violent shivering, a curious ringing in Regulus's ear and the phrase calm before the storm struck his mind again. He was scared, the same fear he felt when he had watched Sirius spit blood in the basin. He asked his brother, furiously back then, "Why do you keep provoking them?"

"Because it feels good" Sirius had replied, wiping his mouth. The curious ringing in his ear happened then, and he knew what was going to happen before it did. He wasn't prepared then, for his brother leaving. He wasn't prepared for his instincts to be right. But he had to be prepared now, he owes it to this elf who had paid for his foolishness, for his trust in Dark Lord and if he was right, because this time he was sure he was, because as they say, truth is bitter, betrayal burns and both of them are churning in his system, and what he was about to do never felt more right.

He is not the child who hides in his basement so that he cannot see the evidence of his parent's cruelty, he is not the child who will ignore Dark Lord's cryptic sentences about his immortality, he is not a child who does not feel the horror of what he has been asked to do in name of an ideology. So when Kreacher wakes up, Regulus asks him quietly, "What happened?"

This time, he was prepared for his instincts to be right.

(ii)

I know I will be dead long before you read this

Mulciber had Regulus Black in a chokehold, he probably would have spit in that arrogant face that now looked so much like Sirius Black's that he would have happily choked the younger boy to death. However, this boy looked much thinner and almost ghostly, as if he hadn't eaten or slept for days, and whatever his resemblence to his blood traitor brother, he liked the kid until he chokes, "Fuck..", he struggled against the hold and decides to put on a sneer, "..you".

"You are rethinking your loyalties? Right bit of coward, aren't you, Regulus? Blood traitor like your brother to boot," Mulciber had gotten what he wanted when the offense at being compared to his brother, once again, registered in the boy's eyes. The kid seemed to want to protest his difference from his elder brother, but the moment had passed and Regulus Black said nothing.

With enormous satisfaction, Mulciber let him go, and Regulus massaged his throat and started to laugh, a hollow, desperate sound of a madman, "What a little piece of gormless shit you are, Mulciber. And a fool - I am betraying the Dark Lord? He is going to betray us all. All of us, every last bootlicker."

Mulciber snarled, "The moment you are disloyal, you are marked for death Regulus. Our disloyalty would be paid for by our life. You knew that as soon as the mark had been branded to our skin."

The boy's grey's eyes narrowed and he seemed to spit with spite Mulciber didn't know he was capable of, "And yet, Mulciber, he wouldn't have any qualms treating you like a throwaway servant. Forgive me if I have a bit more pride than that. I have had enough."

Mulciber gnashed his teeth, "Listen to me, he will kill you. Or he'll make one of us kill you. If this is the time you have chosen to worship your blood traitor brother's path, then you are going to be sorry. You are going to get yourself captured, tortured and killed, hopefully not in that order. You are the heir of the most influential pureblood family - surely you know what happens?"

Regulus's eyes were cold, as if he was calculating something. Mulciber thought the kid looked rather like a corpse already. How pitiful.

When Regulus spoke, it was a whisper, "I do. I really do", after which he promptly wrenched the door open and left. That was the last Mulciber saw of the young heir.

(iii)

but I want you to know it was I who discovered your secret.

He was thirsty, so thirsty- he crawls to the edge, ignoring Kreacher's sobs. Why was he doing this? his tired brain demands an answer. Why?

This was a moment of glorious Gryffindor heroism, he would have thought. He is doing what his brother would have done, he had been born to replace his brother again, and again. To be an heir Sirius refused to be, to be a Death Eater because that is what is expected of him and that is what he believed in, he was the much better son and heir the Blacks deserved but not wanted.

So he cups water in his hand, because even in the tale of glorious heroism, he is playing the part his brother would have done, and now he was forever resigned to play his shadow. He could hear Kreacher sob harder when hands from the water grabbed him- but for one infinite, one brilliant moment, he realised. Sirius would have never been put in this position in the first place, because Sirius isn't foolish enough to join the Death Eaters. This strike against the Dark Lord, a covert strike of a follower who had been disillusioned, like a docile snake rising from the grass, so Slytherin, was completely his own. The thought made him smile as bodies dragged him underwater.

(iv)

I have stolen the real Horcrux and intend to destroy it as soon as I can.

Regulus's fingers broke the surface, he had been clawing ferociously at the water as if it was a wall he could climb, he opened his mouth to scream, to ask someone to help him and when his mouth formed the words, water rushed in, choking him.

A little part of him is glad the water cuts off his scream, because he knew whose name he was about to scream to come and help. Because that was the name that had been screaming in his head for days since Kreacher's return, Help me, Sirius!

The dead hands were pulling him under and his life was dwindling out of him,the blackness covered his lids, he could feel the hands choke him, (to be one of them, to serve the Dark Lord by protecting the fake locket he had planted) and that little part of him is glad he is dying like this, and not by the Dark Lord's hand.

He didn't think he could have tolerated the fact that his last second of life would be spent staring at the end of the Dark Lord's wand, the man who was going to betray them all, the man who cares about nothing but his own power.

Regulus had known his death was looming the moment he made up his mind, and yet, he struggles with Inferi as if he wants to live.

Help me, Sirius.

(v)

I face death in hope that when you meet your match,

If Mulciber thought he'd been in this position with the half breed pointing his wand between his eyes back during Hogwarts, he would have laughed himself hoarse. And yet, when he looked at the deranged face of Remus Lupin who looked more like a beast than a man at the moment, the fear of God was knocked into him. Remus Lupin's voice was both a desperate demand and a threat, "Where is Regulus Black?"

How the hell should I know? Mulciber wanted to say. Did you ever see this coming? The Dark Lord gone because of -good lord- an infant, and Sirius Black thrown into Azkaban for betraying the Potters. For all Mulciber knows, the world had gone mad. He could hear Regulus's sneer in his head as he stared up at the half breed and started to speak. Remus Lupin looked like he wanted explanations as well, from him, from anyone, to understand how the world had gone bleeding mad.

"Tell me where he is"

(vi)

you will be mortal once more.

No one knew where and what happened to Regulus Black, (except Kreacher but no one thinks to ask a house elf) and no one would recognise him if they did.

Not even the long awaited Dark Lord's equal, because all the bright green eyes saw was a grey, decayed dead body attacking him along with the mob (if Regulus Black were alive, he would smirk at the irony, oh the allegory of it all).

And briefly, briefly, within the ring of fire which the rest of the Inferi's collapsed against each other to move away from, Regulus Black's body recognised the light.

R.A.B

*Note: Lupin makes an appearance because he gave Harry information about how Regulus managed to stay alive for few days after defection in HBP when talking of Karkaroff's death. He obviously got that info second hand. Sirius's info is also second hand : "From what I found out after he died, he got in so far, panicked and tried to leave-". Hence the Mulciber scenes.

#regulus black #sirius and regulus #the black family #kreacher #regulus and kreacher #black brothers #sirius black #inferi #inferius #horcrux #remus lupin #posting old fanfics on here #with some tweaks #harry potter fanfic #regulus black fanfics #regulus black oneshot #hp fanfic #hp characters #character study

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adharastarlight · 6 months

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Reg: I'm going to change so people think I'm less depressed

Reg changes from his black hoodie to a red one that he stole from james

#the marauders as things ive said and done #marauders #regulus black #james potter #jegulus #dead gay wizards #james x regulus #regulus arcturus black #regulus kinnie #sirius black #remus lupin #starchaser #wolfstar

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hellouniversegoodbyeworld · 3 years

Text

Martial, Epigrams. Book 1. Bohn's Classical Library (1897)

BOOK I.

TO THE READER

I trust that, in these little books of mine, I have observed such self-control, that whoever forms a fair judgment from his own' mind can make no complaint of them, since they indulge their sportive fancies without violating the respect due even to persons of the humblest station; a respect which was so far disregarded by the authors of antiquity, that they made free use, not only of real, but of great names. For me; let fame be held in less estimation, and let such talent be the last thing commended in me.

Let the ill-natured interpreter, too, keep himself from meddling with the simple meaning of my jests, and not write my epigrams for me.1 He acted honourably who exercises perverse ingenuity on another man's book: For the free plainness of expression, that is, for the language of epigram, I would apologize, if I were introducing the practice; but it is thus that Catullus writes, and Marsus, and Pedo, and Getulicus, and every one whose writings are read through. If any assumes to be so scrupulously nice, however, that it is not allowable to address him, in a single page, in plain language, he may confine himself to this address, or rather to the title of the book. Epigrams are written for those who are accustomed to be spectators at the games of Flora. Let not Cato enter my theatre; or, if he do enter, let him look on. It appears to me that I shall do only what I have a right to do, if I close my address with the following verses:----

1 Let him not make them his own, by the false interpretation which he puts upon them.

TO CATO.

Since you knew the lascivious nature of the rites of sportive Flora, as well as the dissoluteness of the games, and the license of the populace, why, stern Cato, did you enter the theatre? Did you come in only that you might go out again?

I. TO THE READER.

The man whom you are reading is the very man that you want,----Martial, known over the whole world for his humorous books of epigrams; to whom, studious reader, you have afforded such honours, while he is alive and has a sense of them, as few poets receive after their death.

II. TO THE READER; SHOWING WHERE THE AUTHOR'S BOOKS MAY BE PURCHASED.

You who are anxious that my books should be with you everywhere, and desire to have them as companions on a long journey, buy a copy of which the parchment leaves are compressed into a small compass.1 Bestow book-cases upon large volumes; one hand will hold me. But that you may not be ignorant where I am to be bought, and wander in uncertainty over the whole town, you shall, under my guidance, be sure of obtaining me. Seek Secundus, the freedman of the learned Lucensis, behind the Temple of Peace and the Forum of Pallas.

1 That is, a copy with small pages; a small copy.

III. THE AUTHOR TO HIS BOOK.

You prefer, little book, to dwell in the shops in the Argiletum,1 though my book-case has plenty of room for you. You are ignorant, alas! you are ignorant of the fastidiousness of Rome, the mistress of the world; the sons of Man, believe me, are much too critical. Nowhere are there louder sneers; young men and old, and even boys, have the nose of the rhinoceros.2 After you have heard a loud "Bravo!" and are expecting kisses, you will go, tossed to the skies, from the jerked toga.3 Yet, that you may not so often suffer the corrections of your master, and that his relentless pen may not so often mark your vagaries, you desire, frolicsome little book, to fly through the air of heaven. Go, fly; but you would have been safer at home.

1 An open place, or square, in Rome, where tradesmen had shops. 2 Have great powers of ridicule, which the Romans often expressed by turning up or wrinkling the nose. 3 People will take you into their lap, and then jerk you out of it, as if you were tossed in a blanket

IV. TO CAESAR.

If you should chance, Caesar, to light upon my books, lay aside that look which awes the world. Even your triumphs have been accustomed to endure jests,1 nor is it any shame to a general to be a subject for witticisms. Read my verses, I pray you, with that brow with which you behold Thymele 2 and Latinus 3 the buffoon. The censorship 4 may tolerate innocent jokes: my page indulges in freedoms, but my life is pure.

1 In allusion to the jests which the soldiers threw out on their generals while they were riding in the triumphal procession. 2 A female dancer. 3 A dancer in pantomime; a sort of harlequin. 4 Alluding to Domitian having made himself perpetual censor.

V. THE EMPEROR'S REPLY.

I give you a sea-fight, and you give me epigrams: you wish, I suppose, Marcus, to be set afloat with your book.

VI. ON A LION OF CAESAR'S THAT SPARED A HARE.

While through the air of heaven the eagle was carrying the youth,1 the burden unhurt clung to its anxious talons. From Caesar's lions their own prey now succeeds in obtaining mercy, and the hare plays safe in their huge jaws. Which miracle do you think the greater? The author of each is a supreme being: the one is the work of Caesar; the other,2 of Jove.

1 Ganymede. 2 Comp. Eps. 14, 22.

VII. TO MAXIMUS

The dove, the delight of my friend Stella,3----even with Verona4 listening will I say it, ---- has surpassed, Maximus, the sparrow of Catullus. By so much is my Stella greater than your Catullus, as a dove is greater than a sparrow.

3 A poet of Patavium, who wrote an elegy on the dove of his mistress Ianthis. See B. vi. Ep. 21; B. vii. Ep. 13. 4 The birth-place of Catullus.

VIII. TO DECIANUS

In that you so far only follow the opinions of the great Thrasea and Cato of consummate virtue, that you still wish to preserve your life, and do not with bared breast rush upon drawn swords, you do, Decianus, what I should wish you to do. I do not approve of a man who purchases fame with life-blood, easy to be shed: I like him who can be praised without dying to obtain it.

IX. TO COTTA.

You wish to appear, Cotta, a pretty man and a great man at one and the same time: but he who is a pretty man, Cotta, is a very small man.

X. ON GEMELLUS AND MARONILLA.

Gemellus is seeking the hand of Maronilla, and is earnest, and lays siege to her, and beseeches her, and makes presents to her. Is she then so pretty? Nay; nothing can be more ugly. What then is the great object and attraction in her? ----Her cough.

XI. TO SEXTILIANUS.

Seeing that there are given to a knight twice five pieces,1 wherefore is twice ten the amount which you spend by yourself, Sextilianus, in drink? Long since would the warm water have failed the attendants who carried it, had you not, Sextilianus, been drinking your wine unmixed.2

1 Ten sesterces, the usual sportula, or donation from the emperor. 2 The Romans used to drink their wine mixed with warm water.

XII. ON REGULUS.

Where the road runs to the towers of the cool Tivoli, sacred to Hercules, and the hoary Albula 3 smokes with sulphureous waters, a milestone, the fourth from the neighbouring city, points out a country retreat, and a hallowed grove, and a domain well beloved of the Muses. Here a rude portico used to afford cool shade in summer; a portico, ah! how nearly the desperate cause of an unheard-of calamity: for suddenly it fell in ruins, after Regulus had just been conveyed in a carriage and pair from under its high fabric. Truly Dame Fortune feared our complaints, as she would have been unable to withstand so great odium. Now even our loss delights us; so beneficial is the impression which the very danger produces; since, while standing, the edifice could not have proved to us the existence of the gods.

3 A plain near Tivoli.

XIII. ON ARRIA AND PAETUS.

When the chaste Arria handed to her Paetus the sword which she had with her own hand drawn forth from her heart, "If you believe me," said she, "the wound which I have made gives me no pain; but it is that which you will make, Paetus, that pains me."

XIV. TO DOMITIAN.

The pastimes, Caesar, the sports and the play of the lions, we have seen: your arena affords you the additional sight of the captured hare returning often in safety from the kindly tooth, and running at large through the open jaws. Whence is it that the greedy lion can spare his captured prey? He is said to be yours: thence it is that he can show mercy.

XV. TO JULIUS.

Oh! you who are regarded by me, Julius, as second to none of my companions, if well-tried friendship and longstanding ties are worth anything, already nearly a sixtieth consul is pressing upon you, and your life numbers but a few more uncertain days. Not wisely would you defer the enjoyment which you see maybe denied you, or consider the past alone as your own. Cares and linked chains of disaster are in store; joys abide not, but take flight with winced speed. Seize them with either hand, and with your full grasp; even thus they will oft-times pass away and glide from your closest embrace. 'Tis not, believe me, a wise man's part to say, "I will live." To-morrow's life is too late: live to-day.

XVI. TO AVITUS.

Of the epigrams which you read here, some are good, some middling, many bad; a book, Avitus, cannot be made in any other way.

XVII. TO TITUS.

Titus urges me to go to the Bar, and often tells me, "The gains are large." The gains of the husbandman, Titus, are likewise large.

XVIII. TO TUCCA, ON HIS PARSIMONY.

What pleasure can it give you, Tucca, to mix with old Falernian wine new wine stored up in Vatican casks? What vast amount of good has the most worthless of wine done you? or what amount of evil has the best wine done you? As for us, it is a small matter; but to murder Falernian, and to put poisonous wine in a Campanian cask, is an atrocity. Your guests may possibly have deserved to perish: a wine-jar of such value has not deserved to die.

XIX. TO AELIA.

If I remember right, Aelia, you had four teeth; a cough displaced two, another two more. You can now cough without anxiety all the day long. A third cough can find nothing to do in your mouth.

XX. TO CAECILIANUS.

Tell me, what madness is this? While a whole crowd of invited guests is looking on, you alone, Caecilianus, devour the truffles. What shall I imprecate on you worthy of so large a stomach and throat? That you may eat a truffle such as Claudius ate.

XXI. ON PORSENA AND MUCIUS SCAEVOLA.

When the hand that aimed at the king mistook for him his secretary, it thrust itself to perish into the sacred fire but the generous foe could not endure so cruel a sight, and bade the hero, snatched from the flame, to be set free. The hand which, despising the fire, Mucius dared to burn, Porsena could not bear to look on Greater was the fame and glory of that right hand from being deceived; had it not missed its aim, it had accomplished less.

XXII. TO A HARE.

Why, silly hare, are you fleeing from the fierce jaws of the lion now grown tame? They have not learned to crush such tiny animals. Those talons, which you fear, are reserved for mighty necks, nor does a thirst so great delight in so small a draught of blood. The hare is the prey of hounds; it does not fill large mouths: the Dacian boy should not fear Caesar.

XXIII. TO COTTA.

You invite no one, Cotta, except those whom you meet at the bath; and the bath alone supplies you with guests. I used to wonder why you had never asked me, Cotta; I know now that my appearance in a state of nature was unpleasing in your eyes.

XXIV. TO DECIANUS.

You see yonder individual, Decianus, with locks uncombed, whose grave brow even you fear; who talks incessantly of the Curii and Camilli, defenders of their country's liberties: do not trust his looks; he was taken to wife but yesterday.

XXV. TO FAUSTINUS.

Issue at length your books to the public, Faustinus, and give to the light the work elaborated by your accomplished mind,----a work such as neither the Cecropian city of Pandion would condemn, nor our old men pass by in silence. Do you hesitate to admit Fame, who is standing before your door; and does it displease you to receive the reward of your labour? Let the writings, destined to live after you, begin to live through your means. Glory comes too late, when paid only to our ashes.

XXVI. TO SEXTILIANUS.

Sextilianus, you drink as much as five rows of knights 1 alone: you might intoxicate yourself with water, if you so often drank as much. Nor is it the coin of those who sit near you alone that you consume in drink, but the money of those far removed from you, on the distant benches. This vintage has not been concerned with Pelignian presses, nor was this juice of the grape produced upon Tuscan heights; but it is the glorious jar of the long-departed Opimius 2 that is drained, and it is the Massic cellar that sends forth its blackened casks. Get dregs of Laletane wine from a tavern-keeper, Sextilianus, if you drink more than ten cups.3

1 Seated on the benches allotted them in the theatre. See Ep. 12. 2 The vintage of B. C. 121, in which year L. Opimius was one of the consuls, was extremely celebrated, and is frequently mentioned by the Roman writers. 3 The number to which persons at feasts usually restricted themselves.

XXVII. TO PROCILLUS.

Last night I had invited you----after some fifty glasses, I suppose, had been despatched----to sup with me to-day. You immediately thought your fortune was made, and took note of my unsober words, with a precedent but too dangerous. I hate a boon companion whose memory is good, Procillus.

XXVIII. ON ACCERRA.

Whoever believes it is of yesterday's wine that Acerra smells, is mistaken: Acerra always drinks till morning.

XXIX. TO FIDENTINUS.

Report says that you, Fidentinus, recite my compositions in public as if they were your own. If you allow them to be called mine, I will send you my verses gratis; if you wish them to be called yours, pray buy them, that they may be mine no longer.

XXX. ON DIAULUS.

Diaulus had been a surgeon, and is now an undertaker. He has begun to be useful to the sick in the only way that he could.

XXXI. TO APOLLO, OF ENCOLPUS.

Encolpus, the favourite of the centurion his master, consecrates these, the whole of the locks from his head, to you, O Phoebus.1 When Pudens shall have rained the pleasing honour of the chief-centurionship, which he has so well merited, cut these long tresses close, O Phoebus, as soon as possible, while the tender face is yet undisfigured with down, and while the flowing hair adorns the milk-white neck; and, that both master and favourite may long enjoy your gifts, make him carry shorn, but late a man.2

1 Encolpus, a favourite of Aulus Pudens the centurion, had vowed his hair to Phoebus, is order that his master might soon be made chief centurion. Martial prays that they may both obtain what they desire. 2 Extend his youth as long as possible.

XXXII. TO SABIDIUS.

I do not love you, Sabidius, nor can I say why; I can only say this, I do not love you.

The following lines, in imitation of this epigram, were made by some Oxford wit, on Dr John Fell, Bishop of Oxford, who died in 1686:

I do not love thee, Doctor Fell; The reason why I cannot tell. But this I'm sure I know full well, I do not love thee, Doctor Fell.

XXXIII. ON GELLIA.

Gellia does not mourn for her deceased father, when she is alone; but if any one is present, obedient tears spring forth. He mourns not, Gellia, who seeks to be praised; he is the true mourner, who mourns without a witness.

XXXIV. TO LESBIA.

You always take your pleasure, Lesbia, with doors unguarded and open, nor are you at any pains to conceal your amusements. It is more the spectator, than the accomplice in your doings, that pleases you, nor are any pleasures grateful to your taste if they be secret. Yet the common courtesan excludes every witness by curtain and by bolt, and few are the chinks in a suburban brothel. Learn something at least of modesty from Chione, or from Alis: even the monumental edifices of the dead afford hiding-places for abandoned harlots. Does my censure seem too harsh? I do not exhort you to be chaste, Lesbia, but not to be caught.

XXXV. TO CORNELIUS.

You complain, Cornelius, that the verses which I compose are little remarkable for their reserve, and not such as a master can read out in his school; but such effusions, as in the case of man and wife, cannot please without some spice of pleasantry in them. What if you were to bid me write a hymeneal song in words not suited to hymeneal occasions? Who enjoins the use of attire at the Floral games, and imposes on the courtesan the reserve of the matron? This law has been allowed to frolicsome verses, that without tickling the fancy they cannot please. Lay aside, therefore, your severe look, I beseech you, and spare my jokes and gaiety, and do not desire to mutilate my compositions. Nothing is more disgusting than Priapus become a priest of Cybele.

XXXVI. TO THE BROTHERS LUCANUS AND TULLUS.

If, Lucanus, to you, or if to you, Tullus, had been offered such fates as the Laconian children of Leda enjoy, there would have been this noble struggle of affection in both of you, that each would have wished to die first in place of his brother; and he who should have first descended to the nether realms of shade would have said, "Live, brother, thine own term of days; live also mine."

XXXVII. TO BASSUS.

Yon deposit your excretions, without any sense of shame, into an unfortunate vessel of gold, while you drink out of glass. The former operation, consequently, is the more expensive.

XXXVIII. TO FIDENTINUS.

The book which you are reading aloud is mine, Fidentinus but, while you read it so badly, it begins to be yours.

With fruity accents, and so vile a tone, You quote my lines, I took them for your own. Anon.

XXXIX. TO DECIANUS.

If there be any man fit to be numbered among one's few choice friends, a man such as the honesty of past times and ancient renown would readily acknowledge; if any man thoroughly imbued with the accomplishments of the Athenian and Latin Minervas, and exemplary for true integrity; if there be any man who cherishes what is right, and admires what is honourable, and asks nothing of the gods but what all may hear; if there be any man sustained by the strength of a great mind, may I die, if that man is not Decianus.

XL. TO AN ENVIOUS MAN.

You who make grimaces, and read these verses of mine with an ill grace, you, victim of jealousy, may, if you please, envy everybody; nobody will envy you.

XLI. TO CAECILIUS.

You imagine yourself Caecilius, a man of wit. You are no such thing, believe me. What then? A low buffoon; such a thing as wanders about in the quarters beyond the Tiber, and barters pale-coloured sulphur matches for broken glass; such a one as sells boiled peas and beans to the idle crowd; such as a lord and keeper of snakes; or as a common servant of the salt-meat-sellers; or a hoarse-voiced cook who carries round smoking sausages in steaming shops; or the worst of street poets; or a blackguard slave-dealer from Gades;1 or a chattering old debauchee. Cease at length, therefore, to imagine yourself that which is imagined by you alone, Caecilius, you who could have silenced Gabba, and even Testius Caballus, with your jokes. It is not given to every one to have taste; he who jests with a stupid effrontery is not a Testius, but a Caballus.3

1 See Juvenal xi. 163, and Mayor's note. 3 A play on the word Caballus, which, as an appellative noun, meant a hack-horse.

XLII. ON PORCIA.

When Porcia had heard the fate of her consort Brutus, and her grief was seeking the weapon, which had been carefully removed from her," You know not yet," she cried, "that death cannot be denied: I had supposed that my father had taught you this lesson by his fate. She spoke, and with eager mouth swallowed the blazing coals. "Go now, officious attendants, and refuse me a sword, if you will."

XLIII. ON MANCINUS.

Twice thirty were invited to your table, Mancinus, and nothing was placed before us yesterday but a wild-boar. Nowhere were to be seen grapes preserved from the late vines, or apples vying in flavour with sweet honey-combs; nowhere the pears which hang suspended by flexible twigs, or pomegranates the colour of summer roses: nor did the rustic basket supply its milky cheeses, or the olive emerge from its Picenian jar. Your wild-boar was by itself: and it was even of the smallest size, and such a one as might have been slaughtered by an unarmed dwarf. Besides, none of it was given us; we simply looked on it as spectators. This is the way in which even the arena places a wild-boar before us. May no wild-boar be placed before you after such doings, but may you be placed before the boar in front of which Charidemus was placed.1

1 By Domitian, to be torn in pieces. See Sueton. Life of Domit.

XLIV. TO STELLA.

If it seems to you too much, Stella, that my longer and shorter compositions are occupied with the frisky gambols of the hares and the play of the lions, and that I go over the same subject twice, do you also place a hare twice before me.

XLV. ON HIS BOOK.

That the care which I have bestowed upon what I have published may not come to nothing through the smallness of my volumes, let me rather fill up my verses with Τὸν δ̕ ἀπαμειθόμενος.1

1 Let me rather use frequent repetitions, just as Homer frequently repeats these words.

XLVI. TO HEDYLUS.

[From the Loeb translation]

When you say "I haste; now is the time," then, Hedylus, my ardour at once flags and weakens. Bid me wait: more quickly, stayed, shall I speed on. Hedylus, if you do haste, tell me not to haste!

XLVII. ON DIAULUS.

Diaulus, lately a doctor, is now an undertaker: what he does as an undertaker, he used to do also as a doctor.

XLVIII. ON THE LION AND HARE.

The keepers could not snatch the bulls from those wide jaws, through which the fleeting prey, the hare, goes and returns in safety; and, what is still more strange, he starts from his foe with increased swiftness, and contracts something of the great nobleness of the lion's nature. He is not safer when he courses along the empty arena, nor with equal feeling of security does he hide him in his hutch. If, venturous hare, you seek; to avoid the teeth of the hounds, you have the jaws of the lion to which you may flee for refuge.

XLIX. TO LICINIANUS.

O you, whose name must not be left untold by Celtiberian nations, you the honour of our common country, Spain, you, Licinianus, will behold the lofty Bilbilis, renowned for horses and arms, and Catus1 venerable with his locks of snow, and eased Vadavero with ita broken cliffs, and the sweet grove of delicious Botrodus, which the happy Pomona loves. You will breast the gently-flowing water of the warm Congedus and the calm lakes of the Nymphs, and your body, relaxed by these, you may brace up in the little Salo, which hardens iron. There Voberca 2 herself will supply for your meals animals which may be brought down close at hand. The serene summer heat you will disarm by bathing in the golden Tagus, hidden beneath the shades of trees; your greedy thirst the fresh Dercenna will appease, and Nutha, which in coldness surpasses snow. But when hoar December and the furious solstice shall resound with the hoarse blasts of the north-wind, you will again seek the sunny shores of Tarraco and thine own Laletania. There you will despatch hinds caught in your supple toils, and native boars; and you will tire out the cunning hare with your hardy steed; the stags you will leave to your bailiff. The neighboring wood will come down into your very hearth, surrounded as it will be with a troop of uncombed children. The huntsman will be invited to your table, and many a guest called in from the neighbourhood will come to you. The crescent-adorned boot 3 will be nowhere to be seen, nowhere the toga and garments smelling of purple dye. Far away will be the ill-favoured Liburnian porter 4 and the grumbling client; far away the imperious demands of widows. The pale criminal will not break your deep sleep, but all the morning long you will enjoy your slumber. Let another earn the grand and wild "Bravo!" Do you pity such happy ones, and enjoy without pride true delight, while your friend Sura is crowned with applause. Not unduly does life demand of us our few remaining days, when fame has as much as is sufficient.

1 Catus and Vadavero are names of mountains near Bilbilis. Botrodus is a small town; Congedus and Salo, riven. 2 The name of a town. Dercenna and Nutha are fountains. 3 Worn by senators. 4 See Juvenal, iv. 75.

L. TO AEMILIANUS.

If your cook, Aemilianus, is called Mistyllus, why should not mine be called Taratalla?1

1 A meaningless jest taken from Homer's words (Il. i.465).

LI. TO A HARE.

No neck, save the proudest, serves for the fierce lion. Why do you, vain-glorious hare, flee from these teeth? No doubt you would wish them to stoop from the huge bull to you, and to crush a neck which they cannot see. The glory of an illustrious death must be an object of despair to you. You, a tiny prey, canst not fall before such an enemy!

LII. TO QUINCTIANUS.

To you, Quinctianus, do I commend my books, if indeed I can call books mine, which your poet recites.1 If they complain of a grievous yoke, do you come forward as their advocate, and defend them efficiently; and when he calls himself their master, say that they were mine, but have been given 2 by me to the public. If you will proclaim this three or four times, you will bring shame on the plagiary.

1 A poet that recited verses to Quinctianus; the same, probably, that is mentioned in the next epigram. 2 Manumitted; released from my portfolio.

LIII. TO FIDENTINUS.

One page only in my books belongs to you, Fidentinus, but it bears the sure stamp of its master, and accuses your verses of glaring theft. Just so does a Gallic frock coming in contact with purple city cloaks stain them with grease and filth; just so do Arretine1 pots disgrace vases of crystal; so is a buck crow, straying perchance on the banks of the Cayster, laughed to scorn amid the swans of Leda: and so, when the sacred grove resounds with the music of the tuneful nightingale, the miscreant magpie disturbs her Attic plaints. My books need no one to accuse or judge you: the page which is yours stands up against you and says, "You are a thief"

1 Earthen pots from Arretium, a town of Etruria.

LIV. TO FUSCUS.

If, Fuscus, you have room to receive still more affection, (for you have friends around you on all sides), I ask you one place in your heart, if one still remains vacant, and that you will not refuse because I am a stranger to you: all your old friends were so once. Simply consider whether he who is presented to you a stranger is likely to become an old friend.

LV. TO FRONTO.

If you, Fronto, so distinguished an ornament of military and civil life, desire to learn the wishes of your friend Marcus, he prays for this, to be the tiller of his own farm, nor that a large one, and he loves inglorious repose in as unpretending sphere. Does any one haunt the porticoes of cold variegated Spartan marble, and run to offer, like a fool, his morning greetings, when he might, rich with the spoils of grave and field, unfold before his fire his well-filled nets, and lift the leaping fish with the quivering line, and draw forth the yellow honey from the red1 cask, while a plump housekeeper loads his unevenly-propped table, and his own eggs are cooked by an unbought fire? That the man who loves not me may not love this life, is my wish; and let him drag out life pallid with the cares of the city.

1 Stained with vermilion.

LVI. TO A VINTNER.

Harassed with continual rains, the vineyard drips with wet. You cannot sell us, vintner, even though you wish, neat wine.

LVII. TO FLACCUS.

Do you ask what sort of maid I desire or dislike, Flaccus? I dislike one too easy, and one too coy. The just mean, which lies between the two extremes, is what I approve; I like neither that which tortures, nor that which cloys.

LVIII. DE PUERI PRETIO.

[Untranslated]

LIX. TO FLACCUS.

The sportula1 at Baiae brings me in a hundred farthings; of what use is such a miserable sum in the midst of such sumptuous baths? Give me back the darksome baths of Lupus and Gryllus. When I sup so scantily, Flaccus, why should I bathe so luxuriously?

1 Sportula. A present from the richer class to the poorer; nominally the price of a supper. See Dict. Antiqq. s. v.

LX. ON THE LION AND HARE.

Hare, although you enter the wide jaws of the fierce lion, still he imagines his mouth to be empty. Where is the back on which he shall rush? where the shoulders on which he shall flail? where shall he fix those deep bites which he inflicts on young bulls? why do you in vain weary the lord and monarch of the groves? 'Tis only on the wild prey of his choice that he feeds.

LXI. TO LICINIANUS, ON THE COUNTRIES OF CELEBRATED AUTHORS.

Verona loves the verses of her learned Poet; Mantua is blest in her Maro; the territory of Apona is renowned for its Livy, its Stella, and not less for its Flaccus. The Nile, whose waters are instead of rain, applauds its Apollodorus; the Pelignians vaunt their Ovid. Eloquent Cordova speaks of its two Senecas and its single and preeminent Lucan. Voluptuous Gades delights in her Canius,1 Emerita in my friend Decianus. Our Bilbilis will be proud of you, Licinianus, nor will be altogether silent concerning me.

1 See b. iii. Ep. 20.

LXII. ON LAEVINA.

Laevina, so chaste as to rival even the Sabine women of old, and more austere than even her stern husband, chanced, while entrusting herself sometimes to the waters of the Lucrine lake, sometimes to those of Avernus, and while frequently refreshing herself in the baths of Baiae, to fall into flames of love, and, leaving her husband, fled with a young gallant. She arrived a Penelope, she departed a Helen.

LXIII. TO CELER.

You ask me to recite to you my Epigrams. I cannot oblige you; for you wish not to hear them, Celer, but to recite them.1

1 To plagiarise them from me, and then to recite them as your own.

LXIV. TO FABULLA.

You are pretty,----we know it; and young,----it is true; and rich,----who can deny it? But when you praise yourself extravagantly, Fabulla, you appear neither rich, nor pretty, nor young.

LXV. TO CAECILIANUS.

When I said ficus, you laughed at it as a barbarous word, Caecilianus, and bade me say ficos. I shall call the produce of the fig-tree ficus; yours I shall call ficos.1

1 An untranslatable jest on the double meaning of the word ficus, which, when declined ficus, -i, means piles or someone afflicted with it; and when ficus -lis, a fig-tree.

LXVI. TO A PLAGIARIST.

You are mistaken, insatiable thief of my writings, who think a poet can be made for the mere expense which copying, and a cheap volume cost. The applause of the world is not acquired for six or even ten sesterces. Seek out for this purpose verses treasured up, and unpublished efforts, known only to one person, and which the father himself of the virgin sheet, that has not been worn and scrubbed by bushy chins, keeps sealed up in his desk. A well-known book cannot change its master. But if there is one to be found vet unpolished by the pumice-stone, yet unadorned with bosses and cover, buy it: I have such by me, and no one shall know it. Whoever recites another's compositions, and seeks for fame, must buy, not a book, but the author's silence.

LXVII. TO CHOERILUS.

"You are too free-spoken," is your constant remark to me, Choerilus. He who speaks against you, Choerilus, is indeed a free speaker.1

1 Free from all restraint, for he may say all sorts of things against you without fear of contradiction.

LXVIII. ON RUFUS.

Whatever Rufus does, Naevia is all in all to him. Whether he rejoices, or mourns, or is silent, it is ever Naevia. He eats, he drinks, he asks, he refuses, he gesticulates, Naevia alone is in his thoughts: if there were no Naevia, he would be mute. When he had written a dutiful letter yesterday to his father, he ended it with, "Naevia, light of my eyes, Naevia, my idol, farewell" Naevia read these words, and laughed with downcast looks. Naevia is not yours only: what madness is this, foolish man?

LXIX. TO MAXIMUS.

Tarentos,3 which was wont to exhibit the statue of Pan, begins now, Maximus, to exhibit that of Canius.

3 Tarentos, a place in the Campus Martius, in which was a temple consecrated to Plato, and filled with statues of Pan, the Satyrs, and other deities or remarkable personages. On Canius, a humorous poet of Gades, whose statue, it appears, was put there with Pan's, see above, Ep. 61; B. iii. Ep. 29.

LXX. TO HIS BOOK.

Go, my book, and pay my respects for me: you are ordered to go, dutiful volume, to the splendid halls of Proculus. Do you ask the way? I will tell you. You will go along by the temple of Castor, near that of ancient Vesta, and that goddess's virgin home. Thence you will pass to the majestic Palatine edifice on the sacred hill, where glitters many a statue of the supreme ruler of the empire. And let not the ray-adorned mass of the Colossus detain you, a work which is proud of surpassing that of Rhodes. But turn aside by the way where the temple of the wine-bibbing Bacchus rises, and where the couch of Cybele stands adorned with. pictures of the Corybantes. Immediately on the left is the dwelling with its splendid facade, and the halls of the lofty mansion which you are to approach. Enter it; and fear not its haughty looks or proud gate; no entrance affords more ready access; nor is there any house more inviting for Phoebus and the learned sisters to love. If Proculus shall say, "But why does he not come himself?" you may excuse me thus, "Because he could not have written what is to be read here, whatever be its merit, if he had come to pay his respects in person."

LXXI. TO SLEEP.

Let Laevia be toasted with six cups,. Justine with seven, Lycas with five, Lyde with four, Ida with three. Let the number of letters in the name of each of our mistresses be equalled by the number of cups of Falernian. But, since none of them comes, come you, Sleep, to me.

LXXII. TO FIDENTINUS, A PLAGIARIST.

Do you imagine, Fidentinus, that you are a poet by the aid of my verses, and do you wish to be thought so? Just so does Aegle think she has teeth from having purchased bone or ivory. Just so does Lycoris, who is blacker than the falling mulberry, seem fair in her own eyes, because she is painted. You too, in the same way that you are a poet, will have flowing locks when you are grown bald.

LXXIII. TO CAECILIANUS.

These was no one in the whole city, Caecilianus, who desired to meddle with your wife, even gratis, while permission was given; but now, since you have set a watch upon her, the crowd of gallants is innumerable. You are a clever fellow!

LXXIV. TO PAULA.

He was your gallant, Paula; you could however deny it He is become your husband; can you deny it now, Paula? 1

1 He was said to be your gallant when your first husband was alive. You then denied it. You married him as soon as your husband died. Will you deny it now?

LXXV. ON LINUS.

He who prefers to give Linus the half of what he wishes to borrow, rather than to lend him the whole, prefers to lose only the half.

LXXVI. TO VALERIUS FLACCUS.1

Flaccus, valued object of my solicitude, hope and nursling of the city of Antenor,2 put aside Pierian strains and the lyre of the Sisters; none of those damsels will give you money. What do you expect from Phoebus? The cheat of Minerva contains the cash; she alone is wise, she alone lends to all the gods. What can the ivy of Bacchus give? The dark tree of Pallas bends down its variegated boughs under the load of fruit. Helicon, besides its waters and the garlands and lyres of the goddesses, and the great but empty applause of the multitude, has nothing. What have you to do with Cirrha? What with bare Permessis? The Roman forum is nearer and more lucrative. There is heard the chink of money; but around our desks and barren chairs kisses 3 alone resound.

Though midst the noblest poets you have place, Flaccus, the offering of Antenor's race; Renounce the Muses' songs and charming quire, For none of them enrich, though they inspire. Court not Apollo, Pallas has the gold; She 's wise, and does the gods in mortgage hold. What profit is there in an ivy wreath? Its fruits the loaden olive sinks beneath. In Helicon there's nought but springs and bays, The Muses' harps loud sounding empty praise.

1 The author of the Argonautica. 2 The city of Patavium, founded by Antenor 3 As tokens of applause.

LXXVII. ON CHARINUS.

Charinus is perfectly well, and yet he is pale; Charinus drinks sparingly, and yet he is pale; Charinus digests well, and yet he is pale; Charinus suns himself and yet he is pale; Charinus dyes his skin, and yet he is pale; Charinus indulges in [infamous debauchery], and yet he is pale.1

1 That is, he does not blush at his infamy.

LXXVIII. ON FESTUS, WHO STABBED HIMSELF.

When a devouring malady attacked his unoffending throat, and its black poison extended its ravages over his face, Festus, consoling his weeping friends, while his own eyes were dry, determined to seek the Stygian lake. He did not however pollute his pious mouth with secret poison, or aggravate his sad fate by lingering famine, but ended his pure life by a death befitting a Roman, and freed his spirit in a nobler way. This death fame may place above that of the great Cato; for Domitian was Festus' friend.2

2 Cato said that he died to avoid looking on the face of the tyrant Caesar.

LXXIX. TO ATTALUS, A BUSY-BODY.

Attalus, you are ever acting the barrister, or acting the man of business: whether there is or is not a part for you to act, Attalus, you are always acting a part. If lawsuits and business are not to be found, Attalus, you act the mule-driver. Attalus, lest a part should be wanting for you to act, act the part of executioner on yourself..

You act the pleader, and you act the man Of business; acting is your constant plan: So prone to act, the coachman's part is tried; Lest all parts fail you, act the suicide. L. H. S.

LXXX. TO CANUS.

On the last night of your lift, Canus, a sportula was the object of your wishes. I suppose the cause of your death was, Canus, that there was only one.1

1 He had hoped for several largesses; he died of mortification at receiving only one.

LXXXI. TO SOSIBIANUS.

You know that you are the son of a slave, and you ingenuously confess it, when you call your father, Sosibianus, "master".2

2 The mother of Sosibianus had been guilty of adultery with a slave. When Sosibianus calls his reputed father Dominus, as a title of respect, but which was also a term for a master of slaves, he confessed himself a verna, or born-slave.

LXXXII. ON REGULUS.

See from what mischief this portico, which, overthrown amid clouds of dust, stretches its long ruins over the ground, lies absolved. For Regulus had but just been carried in his litter under its arch, and had got out of the way, when forthwith, borne down by its own weight, it fell; and, being no longer in fear for its master, it came down free from blood-guiltiness, a harmless ruin, without any attendant anxiety. After the fear of so great a cause for complaint is passed, who would deny, Regulus, that you, for whose sake the fall was harmless, are an object of care to the gods?

LXXXIII. ON MANNEIA.

Your lap-dog, Manneia, licks your mouth and lips: I do not wonder at a dog liking to eat ordure.1

1 A sarcasm on the foulness of Manneia's breath.

LXXXIV. ON QUIRINALIS.

Quirinalis, though he wishes to have children, has no intention of taking a wife, and has found out in what way he can accomplish his object. He takes to him his maid-servants, and fills his house and his lands with slave-knights.2 Quirinalis is a true pater-familias.

2 Equitibus vernis. (See Heinrich on Juv. ix. 10.) Eques verna, the offspring of a knight and a slave.

LXXXV. ON AN AUCTIONEER.

A wag of an auctioneer, offering for sale some cultivated heights, and some beautiful acres of land near the city, says, "If any one imagines that Marius is compelled to sell, he is mistaken; Marius owes nothing: on the contrary, he rather has money to put out at interest." "What is his reason, then, for selling?" "In this place he lost all his slaves, and his cattle, and his profits; hence he does not like the locality." Who would have made any offer, unless he had wished to lose all his property? So the ill-fated land remains with Marius.

LXXXVI. ON NOVIUS.

Novius is my neighbour, and may be reached by the hand from my windows. Who would not envy me, and think me a happy man every hour of the day when I may enjoy the society of one so near to me? But, he is as far removed from me as Terentianus, who is now governor of Syene on the Nile. I am not privileged either to live with him, or even see him, or hear him; nor in the whole city is there any one at once so near and so far from me. I must remove farther off, or he must. If any one wishes not to see Novius, let him become his neighbour or his fellow-lodger.

My neighbour Hunks's house and mine Are built so near they almost join; The windows too project so much, That through the casements we may touch. Nay, I'm so happy, most men think, To live so near a man of chink, That they are apt to envy me, For keeping such good company: But he's far from me, I vow, As London is from good Lord Howe; For when old Hunks I chance to meet, Or one or both must quit the street. Thus he who would not see old Roger, Must be his neighbour----or his lodger. Swift

LXXXVII. TO FESCENNIA.

That you may not be disagreeably fragrant with your yesterday's wine, you devour, luxurious Fescennia, certain of Cosmus's1 perfumes. Breakfasts of such a nature leave their mark on the teeth, but form no barrier against the emanations which escape from the depths of the stomach. Nay, the fetid smell is but the worse when mixed with perfume, and the double odour of the breath is carried but the farther. Cease then to use frauds but too well known, and disguises well understood; and simply intoxicate yourself!

1 Cosmus: a celebrated perfumer of the day, and frequently mentioned.

LXXXVIII. ON ALCIMUS.

Alcimus, whom, snatched from your lord in your opening years, the Labican earth covers with light turf, receive, not a nodding mass of Parian marble,----an unenduring monument which misapplied toil gives to the dead,----but shapely box-trees and the dark shades of the palm leaf, and dewy flowers of the mead which bloom from being watered with my tears. Receive, dear youth, the memorials of my grief: this tribute will live for you in all time. When Lachesis shall have spun to the end of my last hour, I shall ask no other honours for my ashes.

LXXXIX. TO CINNA.

You always whisper into every one's ear, Cinna; you whisper even what might be said in the hearing of the whole world. You laugh, you complain, you dispute, you weep, you sing, you criticise, you are silent, you are noisy; and all in one's ear. Has this disease so thoroughly taken possession of you, that you often praise Caesar, Cinna, in the ear? 1

1 When his praise ought to be proclaimed aloud everywhere.

XC. ON BASSA.

Inasmuch as I never saw you, Bassa, surrounded by a crowd of admirers, and report in no case assigned to you a favoured lover; but every duty about your person was constantly performed by a crowd of your own sex, without the presence of even one man; you seemed to me, I confess it, to be a Lucretia.

XCI. TO LAELIUS.

You do not publish your own verses, Laelius; you criticise mine. Pray cease to criticise mine, or else publish your own.

You blame my verses and conceal your own: Either publish yours, or else let mine alone! Anon. 1695.

XCII. TO MAMURIANUS.

Cestus with tears in his eyes often complains to me, Hamurianus, of being touched with your finger. You need not use your finger merely; take Cestos all to yourself if nothing else is wanting in your establishment, Mamurianus.2 But if you have neither fire, nor legs for your bare bedstead, nor broken basin of Chione or Antiope;3 if a cloak greasy and worn hangs down your back, and a Gallic jacket covers only half of your loins; and if you feed on the smell alone of the dark kitchen, and drink on your knees dirty water with the dog;

Non culum, neque enim est cuius, qui non cacat olim, Sed fodiam digito qui super est oculum.4 Nec me zelotypum nec dixeris esse malignum: Denique paedica, Mamuriane, satur.

2 Mamurianus is ridiculed for his sordid and licentious life. He had but one eye, as appears from what is said below. Cestus was Martial's servant. 3 Names of courtesans, from whom Martial intimates that Mamurianus would accept broken vessels. 4 A play on the words culus and oculus. A common threat was, "Oculos tibieffodiam," often used in Plautus.

XCIII. ON AQUINUS AND FABRICIUS.

Here reposes Aquinas, reunited to his faithful Fabricius, who rejoices in having preceded him to the Elysian retreats. This double altar bears record that each was honoured with the rank of chief centurion; but that praise is of still greater worth which you read in this shorter inscription: Both were united in the sacred bond of a well-spent life, and, what is rarely known to fame, were friends.

XCIV. TO AEGLE THE FELLATRIX.

[Not translated in the Bohn - adapted from the Loeb]

Badly you sang while you fornicated, Aegle. Now you sing well; but I won't kiss you.

XCV. TO AELIUS.

In constantly making a clamour, and obstructing the pleaders with your noise, Aelius, you act not without an object; you look for pay to hold your tongue.

That bawlers you out-bawl, the busy crush, No idler you, who bring to sale your hush. Elphinston.

XCVI. TO HIS VERSE, ON A LICENTIOUS CHARACTER.

If it is not disagreeable, and does not annoy you, my verse, say, I pray, a word or two in the ear of our friend Maternus, so that he alone may hear. That admirer of sad-coloured coats, clad in the costume of the banks of the river Baetis, and in grey garments, who deems the wearers of scarlet not men, and calls amethyst-coloured robes the dress of women, however much he may praise natural hues, and be always seen in dark colours, has at the same time morals of an extremely flagrant hue. You will ask whence I suspect him of effeminacy. We go to the same baths; Do you ask me who this is? His name has escaped me.

XCVII. TO NAEVOLUS.

When every one is talking, then and then only, Naevolus, do you open your month; and you think yourself an advocate and a pleader. In such a way every one may be eloquent. But see, everybody is silent; say something now, Naevolus.

XCVIII. TO FLACCUS, ON DIODORUS.

Diodorus goes to law, Flaccus, and has the gout in his feet But he pays his counsel nothing; surely he has the gout also in his hands.

XCIX. TO CALENUS.

But a short time since, Calenus, you had not quite two millions of sesterces; but you were so prodigal and open-handed, and hospitable, that all your friends wished you ten millions. Heaven heard the wish and our prayers; and within, I think, six months, four deaths gave you the desired fortune. But you, as if ten millions had not been left to you, but taken from you, condemned yourself to such abstinence, wretched man, that you prepare even your most sumptuous feasts, which you provide only once in the whole year, at the cost of but a few dirty pieces of black coin; and we, seven of your old companions, stand you in just half a pound of leaden money. What blessing are we to invoke upon you worthy of such merits? We wish you, Calenus, a fortune of a hundred millions. If this falls to your lot, you will die of hunger.

C. ON AFRA.

Afra talks of her papas and her mammas; but she herself may be called the grandmamma of her papas and mammas.

CI. ON THE DEATH OF HIS AMANUENSIS DEMETRIUS.

Demetrius, whose hand was once the faithful confidant of my verses, so useful to his master, and so well known to the Caesars, has yielded up his brief life in its early prime. A fourth harvest had been added to his years, which previously numbered fifteen. That he might not, however, descend to the Stygian shades as a slave, I, when the accursed disease had seized and was withering him, took precaution, and remitted to the sick youth all my right over him as his master; he was worthy of restoration to health through my gift.1 He appreciated, with failing faculties, the kindness which he had received; and on the point of departing, a free man, to the Tartarean waters, saluted me as his patron.

1 I.e. I wish my gift could have restored him to health.

CII. TO LYCORIS.

The painter who drew your Venus, Lycoris, paid court, I suppose, to Minerva.2

2 Represented Venus less beautiful than she is, in order to please Minerva, her rival for the golden apple.

CIII. TO SCAEVOLA.

"If the gods were to give me a fortune of a million sesterces," you used to say, Scaevola, before you were a full knight,1 "oh how would I live! how magnificently, how happily!" The complaisant deities smiled and granted your wish. Since that time your toga has become much more dirty, your cloak worse; your shoe has been sewn up three and four times; of ten olives the greater portion is always put by, and one spread of the table serves for two meals; the thick dregs of pink Vejentan wine are your drink; a plate of lukewarm peas costs you a penny; your mistress a penny likewise. Cheat and liar, let us go before the tribunal of the gods; and either live, Scaevola, as befits you, or restore to the gods your million sesterces.

1 That is, before you had four hundred thousand sesterces; which was the fortune that a man must have before he could be a knight

CIV. ON A SPECTACLE IN THE ARENA.

When we see the leopard bear upon his spotted neck a light and easy yoke, and the furious tigers endure with patience the blows of the whip; the stags champ the golden curbs; the Libyan bears tamed by the bit; a boar, huge as that which Calydon is said to have produced, obey the purple muzzle; the ugly buffaloes drag chariots, and the elephant, when ordered to dance nimbly, pay prompt obedience to his swarthy leader; who would not imagine such things a spectacle given by the gods? These, however, any one disregards as of inferior attraction who sees the condescension of the lions, which the swift-footed timorous hares fatigue in the chase. They let go the little animals, catch them again, and caress them when caught, and the latter are safer in their captors' mouths than elsewhere; since the lions delight in granting them free passage through their open jaws, and in holding their teeth as with fear, for they are ashamed to crush the tender prey, after having just come from slaying bulls; This clemency does not proceed from art; the lions know whom they serve.

CV. TO QUINTUS OVIDIUS.

The wine, Ovidius, which is grown in the Nomentan fields, in proportion as it receives the addition of years, puts off, through age, its character and name; and the jar thus ancient receives whatever name you please.1

1 Being mellowed by age, it maybe called Falernian, Cecuban, or any other name given to the best wines.

CVI. TO RUFUS.

Rufus, you often pour water into your wine, and, if hard pressed by your companion, you drink just a cup now and then of diluted Falernian. Pray, is it that Naevia has promised you a night of bliss; and you prefer by sobriety to enhance your enjoyment? You sigh, you are silent, you groan: she has refused you. You may drink, then, and often, cups of four-fold size, and drown in wine your concern at her cruelty. Why do you spare yourself, Rufus? You have nothing before you but to sleep.

CVII. TO LUCIUS JULIUS.

You often say to me, dearest Lucius Julius, "Write something great: you take your ease too much." Give me then leisure,----but leisure such as that which of old Maecenas gave to his Horace and his Virgil -- and I would endeavour to write something which should live through time, and to snatch my name from the flames of the funeral pyre. Steers are unwilling to carry their yoke into barren fields. A fat soil fatigues, but the very labour bestowed on it is delightful.

CVIII. TO GALLUS.

You possess----and may it be yours and grow larger through a long series of years----a house, beautiful I admit, but on the other side of the Tiber. But my garret looks upon the laurels of Agrippa; and in this quarter I am already grown old. I must move, in order to pay you a morning call, Gallus, and you deserve this consideration, even if your house were still farther off. But it is a small matter to you, Gallus, if I add one to the number of your toga-clad visitors; while it is a great matter to me, if I withhold that one. I myself will frequently pay my respects to you at the tenth hour.1 This morning my book shall wish you "good day" in my stead.

1 The tenth hour from sunrise, corresponding to our four o'clock is the afternoon. SeeB. iv. Ep. 8.

CIX. ON A PET DOG AND THE PAINTER.

Issa is more playful than the sparrow of Catullus. Issa is more pure than the kiss of a dove. Issa is more loving than any maiden. Issa is dearer than Indian gems. The little dog Issa is the pet of Publius. If she complains, you will think she speaks. She feels both the sorrow and the gladness of her master. She lies reclined upon his neck, and sleeps, so that not a respiration is heard from her. And, however pressed, she has never sullied the coverlet with a single spot; but rouses her master with a gentle touch of her foot, and begs to be set down from the bed and relieved. Such modesty resides in this chaste little animal; she knows not the pleasures of love; nor do we find a mate worthy of so tender a damsel. That her last hour may not carry her off wholly, Publius has her limned in a picture, in which you will see an Issa so like, that not even herself is so like herself. In a word, place Issa and the picture side by side, and you will imagine either both real, or both painted.

CX. TO VELOX.

You complain, Velox, that the epigrams which I write are long. You yourself write nothing; your attempts are shorter.1

1 Imperfect; abortive; ending in nothing.

CXI. TO REGULUS, ON SENDING HIM A BOOK AND A PRESENT OF FRANKINCENSE.

Since your reputation for wisdom, and the care which you bestow on your labours, are equal, and since your piety is not inferior to your genius, he who is surprised that a book and incense are presented to you, Regulus, is ignorant how to adapt presents to deserts.

CXII. ON PRISCUS, A USURER.

When I did not know you, I used to address you as my lord and king. Now, since I know you well, you shall be plain Priscus with me.

CXIII. TO THE READER.

If, reader, you wish to employ some good hours badly, and are an enemy to your own leisure, you will obtain whatever sportive verses I produced in my youth and boyhood, and all my trifles, which even I myself have forgotten, from Quintus Pollius Valerianus, who has resolved not to let my light effusions perish.

CXIV. TO FAUSTINUS.

These gardens adjoining your domain, Faustinus, and these small fields and moist meadows, Telesphorus Faenius owns. Here he has deposited the ashes of his daughter, and has consecrated the name, which you read, of Antulla;----though his own name should rather have been read there. It had been more just that the father should have gone to the Stygian shades; but, since this was not permitted, may he live to honour his daughter's remains.

CXV. TO PROCILLUS.

A certain damsel, envious Procillus, is desperately in love with me,----a nymph more white than the spotless swan, than silver, than snow, than lily, than privet: already you will be thinking of hanging yourself, But I long for one darker than night, than the ant, than pitch, than the jack-daw, than the cricket. If I know you well, Procillus, you will spare your life.

CXVI. ON THE TOMB OF ANTULLA.

This grove, and these fair acres of cultivated land, Faenius has consecrated to the eternal honour of the dead. In this tomb is deposited Antulla, too soon snatched from her family: in this tomb each of her parents will be united to her. If any one desires this piece of ground, I warn him not to hope for it; it is for ever devoted to its owners.

CXVII. TO LUPERCUS.

Whenever you meet me, Lupercus, you constantly say, "Shall I send my servant, for you to give him your little book of Epigrams, which I will read and return to you directly?" There is no reason, Lupercus, to trouble your servant. It is a lone journey, if he wishes to come to the Pirus;1 and I live up three pairs of stairs, and those high ones. What you want you may procure nearer at hand. You frequently go down to the Argiletum: opposite Caesar's forum is a shop, with pillars on each side covered over with titles of books, so that you may quickly run over the names of all the poets. Procure me there; you will no sooner ask Atrectus,----such is the name of the owner of the shop,----than he will give you, from the first or second shelf a Martial, well smoothed with pumice-stone, and adorned with purple, for five denarii "You are not worth so much," do you say? You are right, Lupercus.

1 The pear-tree. The name of some spot near which Martial lived.

CXVIII. TO CAEDICIANUS.

For him who is not satisfied with reading a hundred epigrams, no amount of trouble is sufficient, Caedicianus.

This text was transcribed by Roger Pearse, Ipswich, UK, 2008. This file and all material on this page is in the public domain - copy freely.

Greek text is rendered using unicode.

Early Church Fathers - Additional Texts

#latin poetry

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snxvellussnxpe · 6 years

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&& PROMPT, CRESCENDO

death tw / death of a parent tw / child abuse tw / depression tw / domestic abuse tw / abuse tw / violence tw / injury tw

I. GO PLAY OUTSIDE.

“But–” Severus began, taking a step towards his mother. Tobias was quick to stop him, his voice barking over Eileen’s repeated plea for Severus to go outside.

“Get out!” he shouted at him. “Go on, out!” Severus felt like a dog as he ran out the door, fleeing with his tail between his legs. He ran outside and away from the house, not sure where exactly he was going, but knowing that he had to be away from there. He would go back in a few hours, when they’d quieted down and gotten their energy and anger out. He never thought of running away and not coming back, no matter how bad things got. He would enjoy the outside for a while, take a moment to live free from Tobias for a while, and then he would go back.

The playground was empty, and Severus settled behind a few bushes beneath a tree. The tears started to pour, and he wiped hastily at his face, shoulders shaking. He wanted to run back and grab his mother, take her away from Tobias. He wasn’t even like a real father, he was just this ugly, horrible thing that haunted their lives.

Someone yelled, and Severus froze. It was a girl’s voice, high and annoying. He got up slowly and peered out from behind the bushes.

“Lily, don’t do it! Mummy told you not to! Mummy said you weren’t allowed, Lily!”

He’d seen her around before, but she never ceased to capture his attention. Lily was beautiful. Her red hair flew behind her, and she floated through the air like a flicked matchstick until she touched down on the ground. She was magic. Severus knew what it looked like, had seen it with his mother, had seen it with himself. Magic was beautiful. Lily was beautiful.

“But I’m fine. Tuney, look at this. Watch what I can do.” She walked over to Severus’ bush, and he almost pulled back. But she didn’t see him. He could see each freckle on her nose, the crinkles in her dress and the smile on her face as she plucked a flower from the bush and showed it to her sister.

“Stop it!”

“It’s not hurting you.”

“It’s not right.” Severus didn’t like the other girl, Tuney. She didn’t understand. Of course she didn’t understand, her next words proved it. “How do you do it?”

There were a thousand answers to the question– most of them scathing– that Severus could’ve and shouldn’t’ve given. He didn’t mean to say anything, he didn’t want to. But Lily’s face had fallen at the other girl’s jibes, and he couldn’t have that. He wouldn’t watch someone else be made small by someone too stupid to understand. He stepped out from behind the bush. “It’s obvious, isn’t it?”

Tuney shrieked, taking a step back, but Severus’ eyes were on Lily. She was startled, but not unkind. She didn’t step away. She looked at him. Her eyes were so green, so bright. She tilted her head to the side slightly, even as Severus’ cheeks flushed under her gaze.

“What’s obvious?” she asked.

And that was the beginning.

II. GOT A PROBLEM WITH THAT ?

Severus looked at James Potter sitting across from him in the compartment and tried not to sneer at him. He didn’t care about the boy, he didn’t care one bit. His mind was on Lily, still stung from her separation from her sister, still hurting. He didn’t care about James Potter at all. His attempt not to sneer failed completely. “No. If you’d rather be brawny than brainy--”

The rest of his witty retort was cut off by the other boy sitting next to James. “Where’re you hoping to go, seeing as you’re neither?”

Severus’ face burned. So much for looking witty in front of Lily, so much for making himself seem more than the spiteful, jealous little boy he was. She knew. Part of him thought that she knew, and she would join the boys in laughing.

But she didn’t. She took Severus’ arm and pulled him up to his feet and away from the boys. “Come on, Severus, let’s find another compartment.” The boys snickered at that, and Severus genuinely considered trying to hex the pair of them. He tripped on their feet instead as they stuck them in front of him, and stumbled. His shoulder bumped Lily’s, and she took his hand, firmly towing him out of the compartment.

“See ya, Snivellus!”

“Don’t listen to them,” Lily said quietly into his ear. Severus could still feel his face burning. “They don’t know you. They’re just being mean.”

“I’m used to people being mean,” Severus said glumly. Lily paused to look over at him. Her hand was petal soft in his own, and she held onto him even more tightly. He squeezed her hand in return.

“This is your chance to get used to something else,” she told him, voice quiet like this was a secret just for the two of them. “This is our chance to start over, Severus. We’re finally here!” Her smile was so bright, he felt like his whole body was warmed by it. She shook his hand a bit. “Don’t let jerks like that take this away from you.” She pulled him along a little more and paused at an almost empty compartment. There was just one boy in there, face scarred and looking completely stunned to be on the train. Lily popped her head in through the door. “Hey,” she said to the boy, and he jumped as he looked up at her and Severus. “Do you have an issue with Slytherins?” The boy shook his head, and Lily nodded. She glanced back at Severus. “See?”

Severus didn’t, but he nodded anyway. He didn’t think he could ever disagree with Lily.

III. YOU THINK HE WAS PLAYING THE HERO ?

“He was saving his neck and his friends’ too!” Severus couldn’t believe she’d really just said James Potter had saved him. James Potter had never saved him from anything. He made a point of it, making Severus’ life miserable, making him watch him all but toss himself at Lily. He burned just thinking about James leering at Lily, smug in his own confidence as he called out a casual, ‘oi, Evans!’ at her across the courtyard. “You’re not going to-- I won’t let you--”

Lily looked like he’d just told her he’d kicked her favorite book into the fire. “Let me?” she snapped, and Severus’ heart lurched painfully in his chest. He’d never heard her so furious. “Let me?”

Severus backtracked so hard that he would’ve tripped if he’d been moving. “I didn’t mean--” he stammered hastily. “I don’t want to see you made a fool of--” He knew that was James Potter’s area of expertise. “He fancies you, James Potter fancies you!” And there it was. That jealousy, that fear, that one day she’d prefer James Potter to him, that she’d leave him in the dust for that-- “And he’s not... everyone thinks... big Quidditch hero--” He sounded like a moron. He’d lost track of what he was trying to say, tried to avoid begging her to never like James Potter that his words were completely gone. But Lily was scowling at him.

“I know James Potter’s an arrogant toerag,” she cut in, sparing him from continuing to try and stammer his way through an excuse or explanation. “I don’t need you to tell me that.” She kept talking, but he wasn’t listening anymore. He felt like he could breathe again. She was right. James Potter was an arrogant toerag. He hoped that would be on his gravestone. James Potter, beloved arrogant toerag. He tried not to smile at the thought while Lily was lecturing him, but all he could feel was relieved.

IV. MUDBLOOD

She wouldn’t look at him, wouldn’t even speak to him. He tried, he’d made an effort, he’d threatened to sleep outside the Gryffindor common room just to get her to talk to him, but that last conversation had been it. She’d made excuses for him, she’d said, and she was right. She had. And Severus had taken those for granted and let himself just slide down the hill into a place where he was irredeemable.

He didn’t go to class. Not for a full week, he just stayed in bed in the Slytherin common room. Mulciber didn’t check on him, Avery tried once but he sent her away. Regulus did, but that was complicated. It was Sirius’ fault, Severus told himself, Sirius and James’ faults that he’d hurt Lily. It wasn’t his own. It was never his own, it was always the fault of others. Never himself. Other people had always taken Lily away from him, he hadn’t lost her. She’d been taken, turned against him. And James Potter and his friends had done that.

V. COME ON, EVANS, LET’S GO.

It was the first real time Severus had seen Lily agree with James over him, and it stung. Seventh year, walking down the hallway with their hands snaked around each others... Severus’ lip curled with disgust. He couldn’t believe it. How could Lily sink to his level? An arrogant toerag, he repeated to himself, that’s what she’d called him. And now she was holding his hand, and her smile at him was genuine. He felt ill. He felt tainted just looking at it.

James’ arm went around her shoulder, and he turned them both away from Severus, who was staring at both of them with his lip still curved upwards. He probably looked insane, he knew, all glares and leering expressions. But he hated it. And he wouldn’t hide that.

VI. CAN YOU JUST GIVE HER THIS ?

Lily’s mother looked down at the letter with slightly furrowed brows, uncertain as she reluctantly took it. Severus hadn’t seen her in years, not since Lily had stopped talking to him. They used to go to King’s Cross together, and Lily’s parents used to be at least slightly happy to see him. But not anymore. Not for a long time to come.

But Lily would’ve seen the paper, he knew it. It was a big deal, it was a big story. Severus’ lip was still split from it, his face still bruised. Woman kills her husband, claims self-defense. It was a headline that made Severus’ stomach roll. It was clear Severus had been involved, that it wasn’t self-defense that had made Eileen Snape finish Tobias off, but defense of her child, her son. Her Severus. Severus had expected Lily to come see him, but she hadn’t.

And after two weeks of hoping she would, he’d decided to try and see her himself.

She wasn’t there, though, and Severus expected his letter to end up in the bin the moment the door closed behind him. He nodded at Mrs. Evans and turned away, walking back down the path and away from the house. He jammed his hands in his pockets. He wasn’t sure where to go.

He found himself in the playground, where he’d first met Lily. He sat down on the swing she’d launched herself off of and looked down at his feet. He needed to get new shoes. He needed to get new everything; he couldn’t stand looking at his own feet, or his own body. He looked down at his thin fingers, clenching and unclenching his hands into fists. He looked back towards the Evans house, hoping he would see Lily walking up the hill towards him. But there was no one there.

Severus waited until the sun had set, and went home.

VII. LILY POTTER

He never thought she’d actually do it.

He didn’t know why, but he never thought she’d actually go through with marrying him. Him, James Potter, the boy they’d spent years making fun of and loathing. But she had. She was Lily Potter now, and she was gone from him.

He curled up under his blanket and didn’t move. He watched the shadows stretch across his room and consume the room, watched it fill with darkness before lightening again. Lily Potter. How could she do this to him? How could she hurt him like this?

He wanted to see her. He wanted to write to her, he wanted to talk to her. But he didn’t. He didn’t know how. He didn’t know Lily Potter. He knew Lily Evans, and she had been beautiful, she had been smart and witty and his.

But she was gone. And James Potter had taken her away.

#ofc: prompts #ofc: crescendo #injury tw #violence tw #abuse tw #child abuse tw #domestic abuse tw #death tw #death of a parent tw #depression tw #( && who cares if no one will ever mourn me && )#( && after all this time && )

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lesbijkas · 7 years

Text

Lie[s]

pairing: none, Sirius-centric

word count: 3.6 k

on ao3

[-]

Sirius Black had lived a loveless life.

He had rejected his family, betrayed those who believed they could trust him unconditionally, tried to murder Harry Potter when the boy was only thirteen, and disappeared without a trace, unable to be brought to justice for his actions.

He hadn’t dated anyone, hadn’t left behind a child to take over the House of Black, he had merely taken his life for granted and did exactly what was expected of him. He was a dark wizard by affiliation. His house at Hogwarts had not changed that. His hatred for his family hadn’t changed that. His friends hadn’t changed that. Nothing had changed that. Nothing had changed him.

He had been as anyone would have expected an heir of an ancient and noble house, and that is what made those who thought they had known him, whether it had been for days, months, or years, try to pretend he had never existed in the first place.

Sirius Black had lived a loveless life.

His death held no love as a result.

[i]

The first person Sirius Black had ever fallen in love with had been his baby brother. He could remember only vague flashes of Regulus’ delivery: his father standing in the hallway outside of the master bedroom, his hands clasped tightly together as his mother’s grunts and screams were cut off my a silencing charm, his mother’s disheveled frame covered in blankets as the medi-witch stood over a shallow basin full of water, and the garbled wails that had filled the room, which he had almost never been in, coming from the bundle placed into his father’s arms.

He could vividly remember when he had sat down at the foot of his parent’s bed, feet dangling and not even close to touching the floor, as his mother showed him how to hold the baby. He was barely two himself, still in child’s robes with baby fat clinging to his everything, but Regulus had been so much smaller, so much chubbier, so much more delicate than he ever remembered himself being.

Regulus could fit in his lap, his eyes closed and his face scrunched up as he wasn’t truthfully asleep. His skin was rosy, soft, and smooth, fading slowly into pale skin with only rosy cheeks and ears left behind. He had a tuft of black hair on his head, a button nose that wiggled, ten toes and ten fingers that did the same, and eyes, when Sirius could finally see them after they opened to look at Sirius in what only could been awe, that matched Sirius’ and their father, Orion’s, down to the very shade.

He didn’t do much, as babies normally wouldn’t, other than rest calmly in Sirius’ arms as the adults in the room talked and the medi-witch was paid for her services. Regulus had started to squirm within a few minutes after she had left through the floo, one of his feet managing to poke out of the swaddling blanket, crying out for something, someone.

His mother took Regulus back, she treated him gently which was surprising to Sirius as she was never one to be overly so, and he was ushered from the room by his father, who was softly muttering about Regulus being hungry.

Sirius didn’t get to hold Regulus until the next week, down in the formal parlor where his parents had finally stopped showing the baby off to aunts, uncles, and cousins. He cradled Regulus gently in his lap once more, letting Regulus grip some of Sirius’ fingers with his fist, eyes once again wide looking into Sirius’ matching pair.

Dinner would be starting soon, and Regulus would be put to sleep by Kreacher before hand, so he pulled his fingers back. Or tried to. Regulus kept his grip firm, refusing to let go unless Sirius wasn’t as gentle. But Sirius had to be gentle, Regulus was so tiny and quiet and fragile, so he stopped tugging and let him be.

Regulus, without any teeth and cheeks bunching under his eyes, smiled at Sirius in the next instant, a happy sounding gurgling noise causing Sirius’ own expression to brighten because his brother, his little baby brother, was perfect.

[ii]

Sirius became intrigued by the man who would deliver milk to the muggle neighbors. When he was supposed to be asleep, very early in the morning, the house quiet other than an ominous creak every now and again, the man would show up in his automobile to place milk on the doorsteps of number eleven and number thirteen Grimmauld Place.

He liked to muggle watch when his parents weren’t paying attention. It was easy to do because his father worked in the ministry sometimes, or he went to different events hosted by families Sirius had to memorize. His mother would often leave to go somewhere too, though he never asked as he didn’t want to get yelled at.

Regulus was only three, still so tiny with such wide eyes it made Sirius’ heart burst when Regulus would smile or laugh because of something he did. When he was distracted by Kreacher, so Kreacher wouldn’t be watching him do what he was not supposed to be doing, or when everyone was asleep, he would watch those outside in silence.

Muggles were very interesting. They did interesting things and wore interesting clothes. They didn’t have magic, that much was apparent, but they had so much creativity. They had done so much without magic and would do so much more.

Sirius wanted to know them, wanted to understand them. He wanted to see their world, hear their thoughts, and simply envelope his mind in what it meant to be a muggle.

His parents, his family, all those he had ever met, would do unmentionable things to him if they knew. If they knew of his intimate desire, his want, his need, to go beyond the wizarding world, he would be cast aside, scorned, deemed a traitor, and left to die.

So, he kept his thoughts secret. He watched the muggles alone when no one was watching him. He waited for his chance.

[iii]

Sirius fell in love with his cousin Andromeda after she ran away to marry a muggleborn. A mudblood, his mother had spat. A frown had marred his father’s face, eyebrows furrowing together, lips drawn in a tight line. He said nothing when his mother blasted Andromeda off of the family tapestry. As far as she, and now the House of Black, was concerned, Bellatrix and Narcissa were now the only sisters on his uncle’s side of the family.

He had found Regulus sobbing in his bedroom two weeks later, his left cheek red from a slap most likely delivered by their mother. He hadn’t understood why he couldn’t mention Andromeda. She was nice, she was kind, she was smart, and she had always made time for her younger cousins, to tell them stories about Hogwarts and the wizarding world.

‘W-why can’t I ask about her? Did something happen?’

‘She isn’t a member of the family anymore Reggie.’

‘Why?’

Why? It was a valid question. Sirius knew it was, but their parents, their entire family, were set in their ways and views on the world. Muggles were considered scum, muggleborns less than the dirt on the bottom of their shoes. For Andromeda to run away to marry a muggleborn rather than the wizard she was betrothed to was unthinkable. Inconceivable. Indescribable. Yet, she had done it.

‘Because she married a muggleborn, and our family doesn’t like muggleborns. They think they are bad members of society and should not be a part of the wizarding world.’

Regulus looked at him with tears still glistening in his eyes.

‘Do you think that too?’

Sirius was quiet for a moment, then for two, before he answered, ‘No.’

‘Do I have to think that too?’

‘No, of course not-’

‘Sirius.’

Then, Regulus had frozen, looking over Sirius’ shoulder towards the doorway in his room. Sirius turned to look, face paling at the form of his father, his expression pinched like it had been when uncle had flooed the house to tell him Andromeda was gone. Sirius felt a lump form in his throat.

He knew. His father now knew.

He knew.

‘Come to my office. Now.’

Regulus reached out to grasp his robe sleeve, hand shaking in fear. Fear for his brother. For what could happen. For what was going to happen. Sirius only shook his head before following his father’s heavy echoing footsteps upstairs towards the office he was never allowed into unless he was being scolded. Or punished.

Sirius gulped.

(It was the last time he and Regulus spoke of such things. The last time he and Regulus saw eye to eye on such matters. Because Regulus eventually did think that, didn’t understand why Sirius didn’t, felt betrayed when Sirius seemed to change before his very eyes when Sirius had always been going to be how he was.

Regulus did exactly what Sirius vowed to never do, and he died for it.)

The office door shut behind him, his father’s expression akin to a storm.

[iv]

Alphard Black pulled Sirius aside when he was eleven. He would be going to Hogwarts in a few months. His parents, still cold and cruel as they had always been, since his father had caught him speaking sympathetically about muggleborns, only hoped what seemed to be sparks of rebellion died down within time.

Sirius would be sorted into Slytherin, they spoke of it all the time. It would sort him out. It would make him understand.

He didn’t want to be in Slytherin. He wanted to be anywhere but Slytherin. It could be Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, the sorting hat could tell him he couldn’t be a part of any house and he would happy because he wouldn’t be a Slytherin.

‘I know it has been rough Sirius, but you will be leaving soon and you will be able to make your own decisions. Follow your heart, not what Walburga and Orion tell you to do.’

Sirius hadn’t been able to speak, but he had nodded rapidly, a smile appearing on his face.

‘I will be happy to have a nephew in any house.’

And Sirius had laughed, finally, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. Alphard had winked, eyes twinkling, and Sirius finally knew there was a way out of his life after all.

[v]

Sirius could never pinpoint when he had fallen head over heels for James Potter.

They had met on the train before first year, Sirius trying to avoid his relatives or anyone he knew from the social gatherings his parents would drag him and Regulus to. James had been curled up on one of the cushioned benches, fiddling with his wand, his glasses taking up the upper part of his face. He had looked up when Sirius walked in, mouth dropping open when he realized just who Sirius was.

‘You! You’re the Black heir!’

‘No, I think you’re talking about the other Sirius Black.’

And James had burst out laughing, eyes closing as guffaws filled the small room as if Sirius’ response was one of the funniest things he’d ever heard. His laughter didn’t peter out right away, shoulders bouncing and cheeks going dark as his whole self was taken over with humor. With happiness.

‘You’re not too bad Sirius, not to bad at all.’

It was Sirius turn to smile, especially when James extended his hand.

‘Want to be friends?’

So, they had decided, right there and then, to be best friends for the rest of their lives. It had surprisingly worked out, as Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor. They sat next to each other in the Great Hall, in class, in the common room, and on each other’s beds at night when they talked about anything and everything.

They were the best of friends, for years upon years, many laughs shared between them and spread to others.

So Sirius grew up with James. He became James’ brother in everything but blood. Moved in with James when he finally ran away from his parents oh so loving care. Stood as James’ best man when he got married to the love of his life, delivering the sappiest and joy filled speech he could over champagne and cake causing James to laugh and cry all over again.

He adored James, Prongs, his closest and most trusted friend, until the very end.

Until he found James’ body lifeless in the wreckage that used to be James’ home.

[vi]

He didn’t exactly fall in love with Peter, not really. The relationship he had with him was entirely different than the ones had had before, than the brotherhood he shared with James and the adoration he felt for Regulus.

He liked Peter. He wanted to protect Peter. Peter wasn’t an outgoing person. He was mostly quiet, very shy, and didn’t make eye contact unless he trusted you. Unless he knew you, understood you, he was an imitation of a wallflower. He deserved happiness. Deserved friendship.

Sirius saved Peter a muffin when he missed breakfast, offering it with a grin and a pat on the shoulder. Peter, quiet Peter, had looked so very happy and grateful that someone would do such a thing.

Sirius would never regret bringing Peter into their fold.

Not until it was too late.

[vii]

Remus Lupin was the final piece of the friendship puzzle he had started with James and Peter. He too was quiet, but observant. Unmoving, yet vigilant. He did his work, kept his head down, and didn’t seem to talk to anyone.

He too was in Gryffindor. He shared a dorm room with the other three, and had done so for months. They had never gotten past small talk, awkward small talk that seemed to make Remus reek nervousness as if he was expecting something terrible to happen any moment.

It takes months of Sirius and James and Peter trying to connect with Remus until the other finally snaps. He isn’t another Peter, no; he’s intelligent, he’s witty, and he had finally had enough of their ‘antagonizing.’

So he opened up. Slowly, but surely, he became comfortable with their friendship, welcoming of their presence, and happy, seemingly relieved, he had friends, true honest to Merlin friends.

When they found out he was a werewolf, when Sirius finally understood what had been going on and the way Remus had acted at the beginning, Remus had been terrified it was over. That it all had been for nothing because now they all knew-

The Marauders, self proclaimed and hidden as they were, took it in stride. He was still Remus, still the snarky chocolate loving book-a-holic who owned too many sweaters than was necessary, so his major panic attack had been for nothing.

When Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs ran together for the first time, full moon shinning overhead, the world was perfect. Sirius was home.

The love he felt for Remus was so much different than the love Sirius had for James and Peter. It wasn’t obvious at first, not obvious at all, but as time went on Sirius began to notice. He noticed Remus’ eyes and how they would alight with happiness and how much it made Remus seem radiant. How his fingers would fiddle with quills and chocolate bar wrappers. How his lips would quirk minutely when they were caught by McGonagall in their latest scheme. How his eyes lashes would flutter if he fell asleep on the couch in the common room.

How he eventually felt how soft Remus’ lips were pressed against his own, hands running over scars and through thick brown hair as they both ran out of oxygen, completely uncaring because it felt so right.

How, when he saw Remus for the first time in years, his hair graying and body tired, when Remus finally knew and understood what had happened wasn’t Sirius’ fault, relief and pure love filled his eyes.

How he understood why Remus needed to move on, deserved to get close to Tonks, Andromeda’s wonderful daughter who was just as amazing as her mother. How good she was for Remus. How wonderful they were for each other.

How, even though Remus had never been fully his, there was still a piece of him that Sirius carried with him always. That his heart still burst knowing Remus was alive, that Remus was happy, that Remus had his whole life to live filled with friendship and love.

How he wished he could have done more for one of the kindest men he had ever known.

[viii]

It was impossible not to love with Lily Evans. She was truthfully radiant, a fiery being who captured hearts with her smile and minds with her soul. One who captured James’ entire self, who enchanted Remus with conversation, who raised her eyebrows at Sirius and made him feel only a few inches tall, who managed to somehow see the best in Severus Snape for years, and be friends with all those who were willing.

He watched, year after year, time after time, as she rejected James, growing fond over his declarations as he kept going, never losing his bravado in his quest to woo Lily Evans.

Sirius could remember James coming back from their first date at Hogsmeade, face flushed feeling high as a kite because Lily had held his hand and Lily had laughed at his jokes and Lily had smiled so much, and he was so ecstatic he could die right then and there, thank you very much.

He didn’t die from her smiles though. He dated her all throughout seventh year, never faltering in his complete adoration of her entire person, and all the way out of Hogwarts. He proposed to her without a care in the world, ignoring what was happening in the world because he wanted her happy and safe.

She had looked gorgeous, as always, at their wedding, smiling the whole time, laughing and crying through Sirius’ best man speech. She danced with him that night, after dancing with James, her green eyes brilliant and filled with so many emotions he wondered how she wasn’t bursting.

‘Thank you, Sirius.’

‘No need to thank me for anything Lily. I should be thanking you; you’ve made James the happiest man in the world.’

‘We’ve made each other the best we could be.’

And she was right, as always.

[ix]

The day Sirius became a godfather was the best day of his life. He was sure Lily and James were beyond happy too, because their baby, their little baby boy who looked so much like James but had Lily’s smile and Lily’s eyes, was perfect in every single way. He was the cutest, most beautiful, and chubbiest baby in the world, and Sirius cried the first time he held him.

He cried when he held Harry the second time too, Remus cooing over his shoulder (because the fucker ended up being taller than Sirius after all) and waving his fingers to see if Harry would grab them.

Sirius often thought of Regulus, of his brother who hated him, who had joined the Death eaters and was exactly what their parents wanted him to be. But it was never for long, because Harry was his own person, his own baby, his own little man.

He loved peaches, loved chewing on the antler of his soft deer plush, loved when people would tickle his tummy and play peek-a-boo in the living room, loved grabbing at his mobile made of planets and stars, sticking his toes in his mouth, riding on Padfoot’s back, hearing his mother sing, laughing with his father, sleeping in Remus’ lap, and everything else his parents dreamt up to keep him squealing and smiling.

Sirius remembered Harry as a toddler, screaming out ‘Pafoo!’ happily when he walked through the door into the living room, arms outstretched to catch the running boy, to lift him above his head with a raspberry on his stomach and a kiss to the forehead.

He is shocked when he sees Harry again, so skinny and scared, running away from home on the knightbus, falling from his broom as dementors swarm the quidditch pitch, in Gryffindor like his parents, James with Lily’s eyes but entirely Harry all the same.

He is shocked even more so when Harry finally knows, finally understands, when they will finally be able to have a life together. When it is once again taken away. When he wants to be there for Harry every way he can. In Grimmauld, the place he never wanted to return to, but could make a new life with Harry. They could be a family, the family Harry never got to have.

He loved Harry, loved Harry with all of his heart, since the day Sirius laid eyes on him he knew the kid would be loved by him, and everyone else, forever. As whispers filled his ears, Bellatrix’s cackles in the background alongside Harry’s stunned silence, he feels and expresses all of the love he can, because he is so proud of Harry.

He is so proud and would always be proud. He loved Harry more than life itself and he wanted Harry to live a full, long, peaceful life, even if Sirius couldn’t. Wouldn’t. Didn’t.

So he fell through the veil, James’ name on his lips because he wanted to say so much more, wanted to tell Harry one last time that James would have been so pleased, that Lily would have loved him so much, that Sirius is sorry because he’s gone.

He’s dead.

(And Harry screams.)

[-]

Sirius Black had lived a loveless life.

But that is a lie.

#Sirius Black #harry potter #fan fiction #not overly happy w/ this but. hey. might as well put it out there #hope you all like it #hp: Sirius #fikcja

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not-a-paedophile-blog · 7 years

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HARRY POTTER

So I'm about to read Harry Potter for the 20th time! And I was thinking of posting comments and reactions on the books, like things that weren't in the films, and things I only noticed just now despite reading them so many times because it's been 2 years and I was a young naive child then who didn't understand anything, so I'm going to do that. Here's my relationship with the Harry Potter series: -I'm a gryffindor but NOT JUST BECAUSE HARRY IS I SWEAR I took the potter more quiz and it assigned me to gryffindor and at first I was like no I'm not gryffindors are meant to be bold and adventurous and confident and funny and brave and that's not me but I spoke to my friend about it and she just said nEVILLE so I realised not all gryffindors are Harrys and Siriuses and Mcgonagalls some of us are Nevilles -I first read Harry Potter when I was 8 because in school we had to analyse the scene in the first film when Harry sees Diagonal Alley for the first time and I was so in awe of the magic I couldn't wait to get more of it and in bOOK FORM OMG -I was 8 so of course I was like Harry is good Draco is bad Dumbledore wow he is so amazing awwwwhhh Snape was actually good all along who is regulus black IM SORRY FOR MY SNAPE APOLOGIST WAYS I WAS YOUNG WE ALL MAKE MISTAKES I LIKED TWILIGHT WHEN I WAS 12 IVE DONE A LOT OF STUPID THINKSOKAY -I haven't read Cursed Child yet because I wasn't ready for it but when I finish the series this time I'm going to read it please help me -I ship Draco and Harry obviously, and Luna and Ginny, and Dean and Seamus -PREPARE FOR SPAM KIDS

#harry potter #gryffindor #hufflepuff #ravenclaw #slytherin #drarry #deamus #severus snape #neville longbottom

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jaaneman-x · 7 years

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There was no sadder tale than that of the Black brothers

Both grew up too fast though one would never truly reach adulthood

i. “You’re really leaving.” “I have to Reg, I can’t stay here anymore.” “But what about me?”

ii. “You don’t understand, Sirius” “I understand it perfectly. You’re the perfect son after all, becoming a deatheater to please dear old mummy.”

iii. “Take it Kreacher, leave me here but take the locket and hide it.” “You are very brave master, Kreacher will take care of it. Goodbye Master Regulus.” “Goodbye Kreacher, take care.”

iv. “Mum’s wrong you know, we’ll always be brothers Sirius. Isn’t that right?” “Of course it is Reggie, of course it is”

i. “You’re really leaving.” “I have to Reg, I can’t stay here anymore.” “But what about me?”

At a young age of fifteen years old Regulus Black watched his older brother walk out the door of their family home. In his lifetime he would never see his brother return to him. The night hadn’t exactly been different from many others. Whilst he hid in his room, trying to get some work done for school given over the summer holiday, Regulus could hear his parents and Sirius fighting as usual. It didn’t sound any different from the many other arguments the three of them had had in the past. Their mother and father would confront him about those he befriended and those he defended for being blood traitors or “filth”. How these topics ever came around no one ever knew, but both parties took part in the screaming match trying to prove the other wrong. Although internally Regulus knew his brother was right, after all they were all wizards why did blood matter that much anyways, he knew better to just keep his mouth shut about it and not add more fuel to the fire. Over the past few years he had watched how his brother was treated for speaking up and figured it was better if he stayed quiet anyhow. Regulus loved his brother more than anything, they were family after all, so although he never outright defended muggle borns or anything of the sort he did always defend Sirius. Perhaps not in the way that some would hope, he tried to make excuses for him to make his punishment lighter then it could have been.

This time around he had no chance to do anything to descalate the situation.

Doors were slamming, feet stomping up the stairs and his mother’s screaming voice could be heard clearly from all rooms of the house. From the room next door Regulus could hear Sirius cursing her out and rummaging around. Wanting to try and calm his brother down, the younger Black went to go talk only to find a trunk sat open on the bed being filled with things angrily. Bright red and gold banners, permanently stuck to the gloomy walls with a charm, were the only decoration left up. Posters had been placed in the charmed trunk as well along with plenty of Sirius’ other belongings.

“What are you doing?” The eldest son spun around quickly from his hasty packing, a harsh response on the tip of his tongue until he realized who stood in his doorway. Regulus was confused about what was happening and it clearly showed. Sirius packed a bit slower, keeping his eyes on what he was doing and being careful to not make eye contact with his younger brother. He knew that another look into his wide eyes as he told him his plan would keep him stuck in the toxic household forever.

“I’m leaving.”

“You say that every time you and mum fight. Then you go to one of friends house for a few days and come back.” A beat passed and Sirius didn’t respond. “You’re not serious right now, are you?”

Any other given moment Sirius Black would have taken the opportunity to make a pun out of what was just said. Of course he was Sirius, who else could he be. But it wasn’t the time for it and all Sirius did instead was sigh. Regulus’ face dropped dramatically.

“You’re really leaving.”

“I have to Reg, I can’t stay here any more.”

“But what about me?’ Sirius paused for a moment, closing the trunk and at last looking at Regulus. Instant regret filled him at the crest fallen look that he was met with. His brother look so betrayed, but Sirius knew he couldn’t stay. But he couldn’t leave him behind either. The guilt would eat him alive, any mistakes in the house would get blamed on Regulus. All of the planning that had been planned for Sirius would fall onto Reg instead.

“Come with me Reg. You can get out of here too, we can go anywhere we want and do whatever we wish. You don’t have to stay here with mum and dad. Just, come with me. Please.” Regulus opened his mouth to reply but their mother screaming up the stairs for him to just leave already got to them before he could respond. The two stood in silence for a moment, Sirius stood in front of his brother who blocked the door and he waited. When all he received was silence, Sirius scoffed.

“Why should I have thought any different.” And then he was pushing past Regulus and out the door, leaving his brother stood outside his room still. Salty tears running down his face hearing his mother yell out the door as Sirius walked away from the old home.

“Goodbye Sirius.”

ii. “You don’t understand, Sirius” “I understand it perfectly. You’re the perfect son after all, becoming a death eater to please dear old mummy.”

The pain, Regulus guessed, would probably never go away. The mark on his arm now branded him as one of them, a death eater. The snake curled along his arm menacingly through the skull and back again. He couldn’t tear his eyes from it, whether the won or not Regulus Black would forever hold the Dark Lord’s brand on him. Voldemort, the name sent a shiver down his spine, could be called with one touch to it. Whilst Regulus only felt numb, nothing but pride came from his parents when they had seen it. When it was suggested he keep it hidden they were appalled. It was an honor to bear the mark of the Dark Lord how dare he think it should be covered. It took a bit of an explaining to inform them that it had to stay secret otherwise terrible things would happen to their son before they accepted the longer shirts despite the warm weather.

In school he rarely raised his hand anymore, always being careful as to not let his sleeve fall to reveal the tattoo hidden underneath it. The only place he knew it was safe to let it show was in his dorm room. Those who shared it with him were either supporters themselves or frankly didn’t give a damn/didn’t notice. Some who knew he had the mark would ask to look at it, they would fawn over the fact he was able to get it so young. To be sixteen, pureblood and already have the mark to some was a great achievement. His cousins, especially Bellatrix, loved to tease him about it. She loved to remind him how favored he was to not just his parents but to the dark lord she had become so fond of. In return he always teased her of her out right obvious crush on the man which in turn got him either jinxed or punched. Nevertheless, most all of the family was proud of him. He was turning out just the way they wanted him to be.

The only members who weren’t very fond of it were Andromeda and Sirius, though the latter had no idea his younger brother even had the mark.

Ever since he had been left behind the two rarely spoke. There was always the unspoken brotherhood between them, defending one another to those in school who tried to harm the other but an actual conversation between them was rare. Regulus watched his brother closely though, the way he was with his friends. The Marauders, a name perfect for the group who consisted of mischief makers. Regulus quite liked the fellows apart of the small group, though he connected with Remus the most who did not judge him and in return Regulus did not judge him as well. The only one he ever had the most issue with was James Potter, the boy who had taken the spot as the brotherly figure in Sirius’ life. He had overheard James refer to Sirius as his brother before and had heard Sirius do the same. It hurt him down to the core, but he figured if Sirius no longer considered him his brother then what was the point of caring? This didn’t stop him from spending countless nights during holidays sitting in his brother’s untouched room, staring at the posters taunting him with their bright colors. A reminder of who Sirius had decided was his true family. Regulus figured Sirius no longer cared what he did or if he followed what his parents told him to do.

The yelling of his name as he walked the halls of Hogwarts to go to his dorm told him otherwise.

Regulus had been aggressively pulled into an obviously abandoned classroom that Sirius very smoothly placed a silencing charm over, no one outside of the room would ever hear whatever was about to be said.

“Show me your arm.” Sirius grabbed his left arm, pulling at the sleeve revealing a blank wrist. Before he could grab the other, the younger Black brother pulled his one arm free from his grip and took several steps back.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? What is the meaning of this?”

“You know exactly what I’m doing.” Regulus feigned confusion.

“No I do not. Now if you’ll excuse me-” Regulus moved to leave but Sirius already grasped his right arm. A hiss of pain made it’s way through his lips and he tried to pull away. “Let go of me, Sirius!”

“Our dear cousin Bellatrix told me everything Reg.” The boy froze, no longer struggling to pull away as Sirius pulled his sleeve up revealing the skull and snake. The pain, Regulus thought, would never leave him. But now it was the look on his brother’s face that cut him to the bone. His soul, whatever hadn’t been crushed, was bleeding. Disappointment, anger, disbelief and much more crossed the old boys features. Given the opportunity Regulus ripped his arm away and pulled down his sleeve.

“How could you do this Reg?”

“You wouldn’t understand it, Sirius. Just leave it alone.”

“No, I understand perfectly. You were always mother’s favorite, did exactly what she asked no matter what it was. What did it take huh? A simple please from mummy to become a death eater? To become a follower of a murderer? Is my baby brother going to go around killing off all the muggleborns he finds now?”

“Leave. It. Alone.” He tried pushing past Sirius but once more was stopped.

“No, tell me why.”

“Because the only person who could’ve stopped me no longer cared. They found a new family. A new brother to give a shit about. They left me.”

“You can’t possibly blame me for this.” Sirius scoffed. He could. Regulus very well could.

“You left me. You may have told me I could come with you but you left me. I never even got a chance to tell you yes, I would love to leave.” A pained look fell behind Sirius’ grey eyes as Regulus continued. “All you would have had to give me was time to pack and you and I would’ve gone out that door together. But no, Sirius, you left me and didn’t look back. And you have the Potters now anyways, why do you even care what I do?” Like his brother had done to him not too long ago, Regulus left without allowing him to respond.

iii. “Take it Kreacher, leave me here but take the locket and hide it.” “You are very brave master, Kreacher will take care of it. Goodbye Master Regulus.” “Goodbye Kreacher, take care.”

“Mum? The Malfoy’s have invited me out so I’ll be gone for a bit. Oh and I’m taking Kreacher with me, he’s required for something the dark lord wanted me to do.”

“Alright dear, just send something by owl so I know everything's alright when you can.” His mother’s voice rang from the living room where she was knitting something. The last thing his mother would say to him and she had no idea. Regulus said a quick I love you to her under his breath as he stood looking at the wall of family before him. His brother’s name, right next to his own, was blacked out by his mother two years earlier. He ran his finger over the scorch mark, wondering what his might look like after she found out how he had betrayed the dark lord. For some reason the thought brought a smile to the young boys face. Just like his brother, exactly how young Regulus wanted to be.

“Is master ready?” The voice of his house elf brought him back to what he was planning to do. With a nod, he led kreacher out of Grimmauld Place. Looking at the old house for the last time wasn’t sentimental. It felt more like a relief. Perhaps if all went well, there would be no need to return. He could find his brother and mend things, tell him of how he had helped to defy Voldemort and somehow work to end the reign of terror he was spreading.

It wasn’t an if, he thought to himself, it was when.

When Regulus was successful he would find Sirius. All would be well amongst the Black brothers. At last they could just be themselves in peace and fight for the right things.

“Alright Kreacher, here we go.” He took ahold of the house elf’s hand and the apparated to the cave. The place was shrouded with darkness and getting in wasn’t easy. As the boat took them across the lake he double checked that he had the locket in his pocket. There was another locket the looked exactly like the one in his pocket, it held a piece of Voldemort’s soul inside of it. It sat untouched beneath a dreadful potion ahead of them.

“I’m going to be immortal dear Regulus.” He had been told. “No one shall ever know what I have done, no one but you and I.” The conversation had stayed with him for weeks. When it came time to test the measures of which would protect his defenses for the locket, Voldemort had chosen Kreacher. At the time Regulus had agreed to what was asked of him, it was when his elf returned to his room in a moment practically dying where he realized he had made a huge mistake. He was infuriated by the thing that was the dark lord, determined to somehow disrupt his master plan in any way that he could. Thus lead to where he now sat as they landed upon the small piece of land sat in the middle of the large form around them.

“No matter what I say or do I must drink the potion alright Kreacher. Take this as an order, you must make me finish all of the potion alright? Not one drop can be spared.” The elf nodded his head and with a shaky breath Regulus dipped the bowl that had been sat next the potion into the potion. And with the first sip all he felt was pain of the past. He could remember the time his mother hit him for the first time as a child, he and Sirius had made a mess and the blame had fallen on young Regulus. He could still hear her screams as he took another bowl full. Then he was stood in front of Sirius again, the names and countless other things being shouted at him in between jinxes flying between the two as they fought. The last time they saw each other and they nearly killed one another. With every sip it got worse and worse but he kept going despite his brain yelling at him to stop. Once he began to weak to continue, Regulus fell to the ground. He felt the bowl press to his lips, Kreacher holding it to him and continued to finish the potion. Tears streamed endlessly down his face as things became more and more horrible with each drop he took. It would be worth it, Regulus thought, I will help to end the dark lord.

“Master, the potion is gone.” With what little strength he had left, he took the locket from his pocket and handed it to Kreacher.

“Please, take this Kreacher. Swap it out with the on in the basin.” He watched as Kreacher took the locket from his hand and placed it in the basin, taking the locket from within. A tired smile fell upon his pale lips when he realized his success. For a moment he thought that everything would be fine. That was until he felt something grabbing at his leg. A spirit from the lagoon had a hold of him and had begun to drag him down. He cried out the best he could and Kreacher quickly began trying to tug him loose.

“It’s no use Kreacher, I’m not going to make it back. My final order is destroy the locket. No one can get ahold of that you understand, destroy it Kreacher no matter what it takes I beg of you.” The elf nodded, still trying to tug his master out. When he realized that Regulus was almost completely gone he begun to let go.

“I will take care of it, goodbye Master Regulus.” More tears shrouded his vision but Regulus gave Kreacher one last smile.

“Goodbye Kreacher.” And he let go, and Regulus Black was pulled under. Silence fell upon the island as the elf left standing let a few lone tears fall himself before disapparating to fulfill his dear master’s final order.

#regulus black #sirius black #i love pain #black brothers #harry potter #marauders

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