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When Regulus closes his eyes, he isn’t expect to see anything ever again. He definitely isn’t expecting to wake up to Kreacher crying over him in the cellars of, is this Grimmauld Place?, grumbling about trespassers and thieves and…
Regulus ventures out into Magical London. Elbowing his way onto a stool at the counter of the Leaky Cauldron, he gets caught up on things by a grizzled Tom, who’s aged about a decade, and isn’t that a kick in the teeth?
A name in the midst of the monologuing catches his ear—
“Snape? Severus Snape?”
Regulus pays, scrambling to leave.
Spinner’s End looks exactly the same. Grey. There’s no answer when Regulus knocks; he’s just turning away when the door creaks open.
Severus is pale, going paler still when he meets Regulus’ gaze. His hand slips and the door swings outward; Regulus is reaching forward before he realizes it.
“How—?” Severus’ voice trails off, his eyes darting to a framed photograph on the bookshelf. A familiar signet ring.
“You kept it,” Regulus says, heart pounding.
“You came back,” Severus rejoins.
In the photo, Regulus is waving at the photographer, then turning to press a kiss to a scowling Severus’ cheek.