Chapter Text
Chapter One—
Coffee For Two
Harry's eyes were as green as his mother's. Lily. My Lily. His eyes were the last thing I'd seen alive, and they were all I could have wished for. His arms were around me, his countenance dripping with horror with his hand on my hallowed cheek. I hated him for being his son, I hated him for existing and took a terrible pleasure in his mockery, but In the deepest caverns of my bitter heart, I loved him as if he were my own.
If only, if only I could have swept him away from the hatred of the world. I took an oath to protect him, and as my eyes grew dim and the warmth of Harry's arms turned cold, I knew that the promise had been fulfilled.
I am not ashamed of the relief that caressed my soul. I then realized that I had been dying to feel this lightness; this innocence that was lost upon me the moment that my dearest and most loved friend left me. After my light had turned dark, the brood of vipers stuck their vangs in the veins of my wrist and refused to let go. I was tainted. With every slight thrown my way by those mediocre imbeciles, my wrath grew like a parasite. The anger turned into crippling anguish at the… at the death of Lily. But now, in body and mind, all was feather-light. Wingardium Leviosa could do no justice to this new repose.
Nagini's puncture no longer surged through my blood like wildfire; it, in simple terms, ceased to exist. My limbs were stuffed with cotton; my brain was full off fragrant flowers: roses, bleedings hearts, petunias, lilies, and daffodils. My vision was no more. There were only the light and me, and we were one. Unfortunately, this feeling, or lack thereof, was not meant to last.
The world came to me in a flash of black and white. The stiffness of the ground below me broke the bottle of curiosity within me, and I was startled upon discovering that I sat upon a lone bench, pale as the rest of the world around me, in the middle of a deserted King's Cross Station. My lips pursed and tugged into a scowl. Of course, death couldn't be as simple as dying — just my luck.
I stood with a detestable wabble as my surroundings seemed to twist around me. Grabbing the bench for support, my other hand snapped to wrap around my forearm. No. Could it be? I dared to take a glance at my bare arm. There was no skull sullying my skin. No snake to slither around my throat and squeeze what will I had left, out of me. I sagged against the bench. I clench my hands around the wood so tightly that they nearly turned as white as the world had become.
'Idiot,' I thought with a vengeance. Of course, it would be gone. I'm dead, for Slytherin's sake. Why wouldn't it be gone? With the sharpness of my eyes returned, I inspected my surroundings with heavy skepticism. Somehow, the frustrating truth of the matter is that somehow, the train waiting at the station had evaded my vision. Not wanting to discover what lied beyond the waiting grounds, my cloke just barely brushed the ground as I swept across the station. At my approaching steps, the door to the train opened with a hiss. I stiffened at the sound. With one last glance over my shoulder, I slowly trod up the stairs so familiar to me. The halls of the train seemed to go on infinity. With the gentleness of a doe, I floated down the train, looking into each barren compartment. Every door was ajar. I searched with a calmness that encompassed me slowly but surely.
Almost in a daze, I continued for an incredible amount of time until the spell was broken. I had found a closed door. With an effort of one who wishes to avoid confrontation, I slid the door open with but a whisper of sound. What sat before me was nothing I had ever expected. It was not even in the realm of possibilities that ran through my head as water does in a raging river. It would have been much less surprising to have had Dumbledoor or even my mother to appear. The last person I had expected to appear before me was none other than Regulus Black.
His eyes were wide, almost comically so. The book in his hands dropped to the floor along with his jaw. His jaw was sharp just as his eyes were regal. He was everything I could recall upon my last seeing him among the living. His hair was windswept as it had never been before. His eyes were not caged by a blackness that had always seemed to weigh on his body and mind. He appeared… healthy. How shocking.
Black, upon realizing that he had yet invited me in, he shook himself out of his stupor and motioned to the seat across from himself with an unusual amount of enthusiasm. Tilting my head, I entered the room without a word. Black had yet to speak. We both sat in comfortable silence until Black had the nerve to break that silence.
"So…"
I raised an eyebrow.
"Your dead, then?"
"It seems so," I said with a drawl.
"It took you long enough." I was not impressed with his comment.
"Yes. How fortunate you were to have died twenty years before my death. You are most… lucky." His eyes were the deepest black I'd seen in quite some time. His smile at my slight was unnerving in some regards, but to see him so, alive, in such a state was enough to melt the frost that swept over my figure. "Perhaps you could enlighten me as to what our current situation is, perhaps?"
Black picked his book up with a swiftness that could only be described as elegance. His shoulders fell from their previous stiffness as he leaned into the cushions. His lips twitched. "I had almost forgotten the shock of death. It feels like it was just yesterday, though." I gave no sign of amusement. The second son of the Black's continued. "As to our location, Snape, we are on Hogwarts Express. Not the real one of course, but the, well, sort of heavenly version."
"And where are we going? Are you," I sneered at him, "my guide to the afterlife?"
His guffaw was enough of an answer.
"Well, I know you're not the type to have your feelings spared, so no. I had no clue I'd be seeing you this day. I was, in truth, taking the train to the coffee shop."
Blaming what I had heard on my just dying, I asked him to repeat himself. He replied with the same response.
I asked in kind, "Hell has a coffee shop?"
Black leaned forward, his hands on his knees and his eyes smiling.
"Snape, I never took you to be so dull-minded." Before I could appropriate a proper rebuttal, he spoke, "This is Heaven."
Shocked to the blood in my bones, I threw myself into the cushion behind as if I had been stung. How could I have ended up in Heaven? This quite a predicament. I tortured, and I killed, and I caused more children to cry; then there were students in Hogwarts. How would anyone in their right mind allow me the entrance into a place of, should I dare say, holiness? I have committed the most atrocious sins, yet I am allowed to dwell with the pure of heart? I am surprised that the heavens did not take it as their mission to spit upon my tarnished soul. How could I—
"What are you thinking?"
Black's book lay discarded in favor of my company. How sad.
"Nothing that would concern you, Black."
He nodded. "So, death, then? I would be surprised if you were thinking about anything else."
I held my tongue, which was apparently an indicator for Black to babble on.
"I'm still unsure if I'm even dead, at times. Everything is so real here. There are a few signs that will assure you that yes, you are dead. Such as the… the sort of happiness that becomes you. Yes, yes, quit your glaring," He swept his hair to the side, "it sounds most obnoxious when stated out loud, but you'll understand it once you've been here for a longer time. And so you don't worry about a certain green spell being thrown your way, there's nothing that can do you harm here except your mind."
A loud hiss escaped from outside the train, followed by the thumping of the train against the tracks. Every thump surged through my bones, and Black's hands began to tap the side of the window.
"I can skip coffee for today. I'll show you to your house, wherever it may be." The chugging of the train turned into a gallop.
"My house?"
He threw his legs onto the cushion next to me with a slight chortle. "Yes, your house. The moment you die a house in your name comes into existence. It is your preferred home to the very texture of the walls. It won't change for a couple of centuries, though. It tends to stick to the ideals you had when you died."
I had but one response to that. "If you would be so kind, Black, as to remove your… feet from the chair, then I might be less likely to leave."
"Leave?" He did as I asked but through his face close to mine as to irritate me to a greater extent. "Where would you go? You're on a moving train in Heaven, you're dead, and you have no clue what you're doing or where you're going." His voice was silvery.
Begrudgingly, I nodded my head in acknowledgment. An air of silence swept over both of us. It was uncomfortable to a fault. Black's brows scrunched together as his incessant came to an abrupt stop.
"It's… hard. Dying. I mean, it's not hard, not really, but…" His words faded as he shook his head. "Dealing with the present is hard. Thinking of those we left behind. Thinking of what we did wrong and all the ways we failed: who we couldn't save—"
"No."
"No, what?"
"I left behind no one that will need or miss my enjoyable presence. I am not bothered by my death. I am bothered by the fact that I was deemed good enough to get into," I gestured vaguely, "this place."
His eyes narrowed. "Sure, you're a bit surly and maybe a bit too keen on the suffering of those struck by idiocy, but those traits everyone admires oh so much, they don't nullify the good that you've done."
The good I've done? What could I have done that would lift my soul out of hell-fire and into the light, even when I'd been weighed down so heavily by lives I've taken. These supposed 'good deeds' must have been recognized by Gryifndoor to have given me such a pass. Even the prospect of that or any of this happening is ridiculous. My eyes wandered back to my forearm, as black as an empty canvas.
Black hummed, seemingly pleased.
"It's incredible, isn't it? No more mark of death, no more He Who Must Not Be Named, no more worries, and no more unspeakable tortures awaiting our every mistake,"
"Yes, yes, but how is it gone?" I hissed, inpatient. "You appear to be young, around the age you supposedly died, and I the same. Why wouldn't the mark remain?"
He shrugged.
"We're dead. You-Know-Who wasn't very forthcoming about death. We are where he would never dare to follow." Taking note of my grimace, he concluded, "And when the bastard does die, I bet they'll have a 'coming home' party prepared for him in Hell.
On another note, do you think you could guess how I like my coffee? You've always seemed like the type to make accurate predictions. Not like a seer or anything of the sort. You've always been observant from what I could tell."
"Black," I growled.
He shook his head, placing the book back onto his lap.
"No, I do not enjoy black coffee. It's too bitter." He proceeded on with a mock whisper, "I prefer at least half of the cup to be heavy cream. Don’t tell anyone though; it’s a bit of a Black family secret." In another afterlife, I most have certainly pulled out my wand and hit him with a well-deserved stupify. I wouldn't be held accountable for my actions, of course. After all, I did quite recently die.
The train began to slow, as did my heart. Another question is, when did my heartbeat match the pace of the pulsing train?
Black eyes lit up with the light of a full moon. With a questioning look at me, his back straightened as he shoved the book in his pocket. The title of the novel just barely escaped my sight. He stood rather decisively and reached a hand in my direction. A single brow arched.
"Are you coming? Your new home will be awaiting you most early by now."
I stared at his hand; calloused, yet almost delicate. I placed my hand in his. Looking into his eyes, grumbled, "Don't disappoint me, Black."
His smile was winsome.
He leads me to back to the door I had entered from, and we stepped outside into the new world. It almost seems promising.