Regulus had meticulously calculated the timing. He specifically chose a Tuesday morning when his mother, Walburga, was guaranteed to be out of the house attending a tedious pureblood society luncheon. He sat patiently by the massive stone fireplace in the drawing-room, waiting for Severus's arrival via the Floo Network.
To be entirely honest, he was deeply worried that if Walburga were present, she would instantly aggressively interrogate his half-blood friend about his lineage and completely shred little Severus's already fragile self-esteem. In this specific regard, his father, Orion, was vastly preferable. The patriarch was, at worst, overly silent and completely unenthusiastic about guests; he posed very little active threat to the mental health of visiting minors.
As for Sirius? He didn't particularly care about Snape's existence outside of school grounds. When Regulus casually mentioned that he had invited the Slytherin boy over, Sirius had merely shrugged with aristocratic disapproval. Unless someone was actively, aggressively provoking him, Sirius generally couldn't be bothered to pay attention to them.
At a little past ten o'clock in the morning, the crackling orange flames in the fireplace suddenly roared, turning a brilliant, violent emerald green.
Severus's lanky figure abruptly spun out of the magical fire. A few seconds later, he wobbled violently, his worn boots catching on the stone hearth. He pinwheeled his arms and steadied himself at the absolute last second, narrowly avoiding falling flat on his face onto the expensive Black family rug.
"Hi... Regulus. Sorry I'm a bit late. My mum left for the market a little later than usual, so I had to wait to use the powder—" Severus stammered, hastily and aggressively brushing ash and soot off his black robes. This was the brand-new, completely plain wizarding robe Lily Evans had lent him, and he clearly considered it to be an item of immense importance.
"Severus! Excellent timing!" Regulus smiled warmly. He stepped forward without hesitation and pulled the stiff, surprised Severus into a brief, friendly, back-patting hug.
Pulling back, Regulus quickly noted that Severus's usually greasy hair was actually clean and washed, and the borrowed robe was impeccably ironed. It was painfully clear that Severus highly valued this meeting and had put a massive amount of anxious effort into dressing up to meet pureblood standards.
Crack!
"Welcome, young Master Snape, to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black!"
Kreacher appeared out of thin air in the center of the drawing-room. He was balancing a massive, ornate silver tray that was easily three times larger than his own head. With surprising grace, he set the tray—laden with delicate lavender honey cakes and steaming Darjeeling tea—onto the low coffee table. The ancient elf then bowed so low his snout brushed the carpet. "Kreacher humbly asks Master Snape to please change into these comfortable house slippers!"
"Oh... thank you," Severus mumbled, looking completely, overwhelmingly flattered to be addressed as 'Master' by a servant.
Regulus gave Kreacher a warm, deeply grateful smile.
Sitting in a high-backed armchair near the window, Orion Black lowered his morning edition of the Daily Prophet. He offered Severus a stiff, brief nod, managed to ask the boy's name in a somewhat gentle, though entirely disinterested tone, and simply said, "Welcome to our home." With that absolute bare minimum of pureblood courtesy fulfilled, Orion immediately stood up and swept out of the room, leaving the space entirely to the two children. If not for strict aristocratic courtesy, Orion likely wouldn't have bothered to appear in the room at all.
With the terrifying patriarch gone, the suffocating awkwardness Severus felt immediately dissipated by more than half. He gingerly sat down on the edge of the plush velvet sofa. As they chatted, eating the exquisite pastries and drinking tea, Severus couldn't stop his dark eyes from curiously, hungrily examining the long, high-ceilinged room.
Pale morning sunlight streamed in from the tall, street-facing windows, catching the dust motes and making the heavy, silver-threaded brocade curtains sparkle. The room boasted impossibly thick, dark carpets, a massive, glittering crystal chandelier, and olive-green walls hung with magnificent, clearly ancient magical tapestries.
Severus's eyes widened as they lingered on the heavy wooden mantelpiece and the glass display cabinets lining the walls. His gaze snapped from crystal vials filled with genuine, shimmering dragon's blood, to preserved manticore claws, to massive, coiled runespoor skins... all casually displayed alongside an assortment of highly illegal, dark magical objects.
The Black family actually uses incredibly rare, highly expensive, restricted potion ingredients as casual living room decorations?! Severus thought, his mind blown by the sheer, careless display of wealth. Is this... is this the extraordinary, terrifying taste of the oldest pureblood families?
Eventually, his awe-struck gaze turned to the absolute centerpiece of the room: the enormous, wall-to-wall tapestry covering the far end of the drawing-room.
Embroidered onto the faded, heavy fabric was a sprawling, infinitely complex family tree that traced its roots directly back to the Middle Ages. Woven into the very top of the tapestry in massive, glittering gold threads were the words:
The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black Toujours Pur (Always Pure)
Severus paused, holding his teacup. He was deeply impressed, though he didn't fully understand the crushing, toxic psychological weight those golden words carried. The sheer scale of the enormous family tree clearly left a deep, aspirational impression on the half-blood boy from Spinner's End.
Regulus simply set his tea down, got up, and led Severus directly to the tapestry, allowing him to examine the intricate embroidery up close.
Near the very bottom of the sprawling branches, Severus easily spotted two familiar names woven in gold: Sirius Black and Regulus Black. Scanning higher, he recognized dozens of historically significant names: Bellatrix, Narcissa, Phineas Nigellus...
"What do you think of it?" Regulus asked softly, a strange, unreadable smile on his face. "Quite impressive, isn't it?"
"The House of Black is truly... remarkable," Severus said reverently, unconsciously mimicking the exact same awe-struck, sycophantic tone Lucius Malfoy often used when discussing bloodlines.
Regulus's smile vanished. Absolutely not, he thought fiercely. I cannot let Severus buy into this toxic, self-destructive nonsense about pureblood supremacy. It's exactly what ruins him.
"Indulging in a dead past. Living with a perpetual, suffocating siege mentality..." Regulus said. He considered his next words incredibly carefully, letting his voice drop into a solemn, slow, and perfectly clear cadence. "Severus. I have to constantly, daily remind myself—do not ever let golden threads and ancient names like this distract you."
"Distract me?" Severus blinked, looking away from the tapestry.
"Because if you stare at the past for too long," Regulus said softly, staring directly into Severus's dark eyes, "you will become completely blind to the future."
Out in the hallway, Sirius, who had been quietly coming downstairs to grab a snack, froze mid-step. He stopped dead on the wooden stairs, his heart suddenly feeling as though it had been struck by a massive, invisible hammer.
"Regulus, you're confusing me. I don't understand..." Severus asked, his brow furrowing as he looked back at the magnificent tapestry with deep confusion. "Is there something inherently wrong with honoring this?"
"If you live inside a walled fortress for too long—if you obsess over keeping your blood 'pure' and keeping the world out—you will eventually become terrified of everything outside those walls," Regulus explained, walking slowly along the length of the tapestry, speaking words that Severus only half-understood. "And if you refuse to actively participate in the real, changing world... the source of your own self-esteem becomes incredibly, dangerously limited."
Regulus knew from his past life that when trying to manipulate or guide highly intelligent, deeply defensive people like Snape, you couldn't just explicitly preach to them. You had to plant the seed and let them figure out the profound meaning themselves for it to truly take root.
Regulus was genuinely sincere in his desire to save his friend, but he was simultaneously actively practicing the dark art of linguistic manipulation. He wasn't entirely sure how well his modern philosophical concepts were translating, but he pushed forward.
"It's simply not enough, Sev," Regulus continued softly. "What is locked inside this 'pure' siege is never enough to truly fill a person's heart. It's not enough to let someone actually become their own, powerful self."
He leaned in closer. "Severus, let me tell you a massive, foundational secret about our world. The concept of being 'born noble' or being inherently superior because of your last name? It doesn't actually exist."
Out in the hall, Sirius stood completely paralyzed on the stairs. Endless time seemed to freeze around him as Regulus's utterly unbelievable, fiercely rebellious words echoed repeatedly, deafeningly in his ears. Regulus... believes that?
"Too many people in this house have completely forgotten what it actually takes to earn true respect in the real world," Regulus said, gesturing dismissively at the golden tapestry. He turned to Severus, a warm, genuine smile breaking across his face.
"But enough of that. Let's not talk about such boring, dusty topics," Regulus pivoted smoothly, completely pretending he hadn't heard the floorboards creak under Sirius's weight in the hall. "Do you want to see my room before we head out to Diagon Alley? I also desperately need to introduce you to the eagles."
After offering a polite, casual greeting to Sirius—who was looking incredibly pale and highly unnatural standing frozen on the stairs—Regulus led Severus all the way up the winding staircase to his bedroom on the top floor.
The large bedroom was still heavily decorated with traditional silver and green Slytherin banners, which Regulus had kept up for appearances. But Severus's attention was immediately drawn to the fact that one entire wall of the room had been aggressively converted into a massive, floor-to-ceiling bookshelf.
Severus's eyes widened comically. His jaw practically unhinged as he stared at the hundreds of heavy magical tomes packed tightly onto the shelves. "Merlin's beard... so many books. Regulus, this is... these are all the required textbooks from first year all the way through seventh year! Are you seriously reading all of these?!"
"I firmly believe that aggressive, long-term previewing is absolutely necessary," Regulus said smoothly, walking over to the shelves. "We only have seven short years at Hogwarts, Sev, and we need to use our time with maximum efficiency. Think about it: if you perfectly preview and master the material beforehand... you can completely slack off during the actual classes at Hogwarts. That gives you vastly more free time to explore the castle, practice advanced magic, and discover hidden treasures."
While speaking, Regulus casually pulled out a massive, highly expensive stack of brand-new third-year textbooks from the shelf.
This seemingly highly reasonable, yet academically heretical line of gamer-logic reasoning greatly shocked Severus. Before his brain could fully process the insane concept of 'studying years in advance just so you can slack off later,' the highly serious-looking Regulus had aggressively shoved the massive, heavy pile of third-year textbooks directly into Severus's arms.
"Here. You can try previewing them too."
(As recorded in the unpublished manifesto: The Art of Language: A Draft by Regulus Black: "Sometimes, speaking profound truths is merely a tactical tool used to completely divert the other person's attention... allowing you to physically execute a pre-planned action while their brain is still buffering.")
Up on the windy, slate roof of Number 12 Grimmauld Place, Regulus casually cast a silent Scouring Charm to clean up a patch of fresh bird droppings that had recently become a frequent nuisance. He then formally introduced the massive golden eagles, Godric and Regina, to Severus.
As Severus stared up at the majestic, terrifyingly lethal birds of prey, Regulus carefully watched his friend's face. He saw a highly complex, turbulent mix of emotions welling up in Severus's dark eyes: intense fascination, deep longing, and finally... a crushing, bitter disappointment at his own lack of such powerful companions.
An unknown Muggle philosopher once said: Envy and jealousy, at first glance, often appear to be the exact same emotion. However, Envy fundamentally contains the motive "I wish I were as good/successful as you." Jealousy, on the other hand, contains the deeply toxic motive "I wish you were as miserable/poor as me."
Which one of those dangerous emotions was Severus currently feeling?
Regulus firmly chose to believe it was the former. After all, they were rapidly becoming genuine friends, weren't they?
Standing on the roof, watching Snape stare hungrily at the eagles, Regulus suddenly, terrifyingly understood exactly why the teenage Severus Snape had eventually joined the Death Eaters so resolutely in the original timeline.
Think about it, Regulus realized. When a highly powerful, fiercely charismatic, and universally feared "Sales Leader" (Voldemort) actively approaches a severely abused, dirt-poor child who possesses nothing in the world but raw magical talent... When that leader publicly affirms the child's worth, paints glorious, intoxicating "big pictures" of a pureblood utopia, and makes the boy truly believe he can finally possess all the power and respect he so desperately craves... of course he takes the Dark Mark.
Many people, especially teenagers, don't actually know what they truly want out of life. And for the things they have never possessed—like wealth, respect, or love—they will harbor fiercely unrealistic, easily manipulated fantasies.
Presumably, Regulus thought grimly, the Dark Lord was undoubtedly an absolute, terrifying master of the Dark Art of Language.
A dangerous, highly ambitious thought suddenly sparked in Regulus's mind. If Severus desperately needs a charismatic leader to give him purpose and power... could I... could I step up and become his "Sales Leader" instead?
Could I aggressively follow the Dark Lord's exact psychological recruitment path, thereby leaving the Dark Lord with absolutely nowhere to go?
Regulus shook his head, instantly chasing the chaotic, megalomaniacal thoughts out of his mind. Hey, slow down. One massive conspiracy at a time.
He didn't have the mental bandwidth right now to get caught up in the exhausting internal struggle of guessing how to out-manipulate Voldemort. He needed to focus on the present.
He turned to the empty air beside the chimney. "Kreacher, could you please come up here and take a picture for us?"
Crack!
"Kreacher is always willing and highly honored to serve the young masters!" the ancient elf appeared instantly, holding a heavy, brass magical camera. He raised the flashbulb. "Please say cheese, young masters!"
"Cheese~"
Click!
In a blinding flash of magical light, two ambitious young wizards and two massive golden eagles were perfectly captured against the London skyline, immortalizing their rooftop friendship.