Chapter Text
Severus,
I hope you are doing well. The knowledge of what you were forced to endure this terrible year weighs on me constantly. This is to let you know that, should you wish it, the position of Potions Master is still open at Hogwarts, and it will be until the new school year begins. Regardless of our disagreements on your classroom management methods, I have never doubted your qualifications for the position. Please let me know if you would like to return at the earliest.
Best Wishes,
Minerva
*
Dear Professor Snape,
I don’t know what to say really.
Everyone around me thinks you’re a turncoat. It’s going to take a long time for them to get around to it, I’m afraid. The Malfoys are back in the public eye and no one has a problem with it. Seems unfair.
I don’t know what to think myself. I think you’re the bravest man I’ve met along with Sirius. You sent me out there to die. I know why you did. I know you didn’t have a choice. I can’t blame you. I wish I could. At least then, I wouldn’t have to blame Professor Dumbledore.
I loved him. If he asked it of me, I would have done it. If he had just sat me down and told me that I was a Horcrux, I would have walked into that forest. Why didn’t he tell me? Why were you the messenger?
Did he care about me at all? Or was I, as you put it, ‘a pig for slaughter’? Did he care about you?
I wish I knew. I could go to his portrait for answers but I’m scared. I want to forgive him, is the thing. I want him to be my kind mentor who was the one person always on my side. But that’s not really true, is it?
Sirius can’t forgive him. Every time Dumbledore comes up as a topic of conversation, he gets angry. But I understand why. If Dumbledore had done the same thing with him, I don’t think I could forgive him either.
He gets a bit weird when your name is brought up. I don’t know much about what happened between you two, and you will call me an impertinent busybody for this, but I think you should talk.
Thank you for everything you did to protect me. It must have been difficult for you to show me those memories. I’m glad you did.
I hope you’re doing well, Professor.
Regards,
Harry James Potter
*
Dear SeverusSnape,
God, you’re such a fucking prick. It was a real arsehole move to not be there at the Order of Merlin ceremony. You’d wanted one so fucking bad you were willing to throw me back into Azkaban and now, when you were finally getting it for something good, you just fucked off.
Why wouldn’t you just tell me
In any case, I picked it up for you since you clearly had better things to do. I’m sending it to you with this letter. Finally, the acknowledgement you’ve wanted since you were but a thought in whatever egg you were hatched from. I hope it was worth it, Snape. I really do. I wake up every day and look around, a free man with my godson ALIVE, with a new nephew on the way, a new job that I never expected I’d do. I wonder if it’s worth it.
Most of the times, it isn’t.
Sirius
*
The pub-- with its backlit tiny tables stuck closely together, low ceilings, and clientele that could only be called riff-raff-- was the sort of place Narcissa Malfoy, James Potter, and probably even Sirius Black would call seedy. But, so far, no one had come to bother him. He melted into the background. With his yellow teeth, sallow skin, and hunched shoulders from the gravity of a world that just would not stop punishing him, he fit right in with the blokes here.
The liquid in his glass swirled as his hand shook it. He wondered, for a good minute, what would have happened if magic had not cast her eye on him. He would definitely not have secured the upward position of a Professor, but then again, it had been his worst mistake rather than any ability he had that secured him that job. He would probably be one of the men here.
He would have dreams of mobility for a few years before it was beaten out of him. He was brilliant; perhaps, he would try his luck in London, try to push forward some innovation in Chemistry or any other sciences before realising the doors were shut for him. He would come back to Cokeworth once the cost of living proved to be too high. His father would finally accept him once he was grown and as much of a failure as him. He would introduce him to the bottle to commiserate. He would marry a girl as ugly as he was but without the intelligence to match. He would get frustrated and angry with her, and then he would have treated her and any child she would have with the same contempt and bitterness that his father had treated him with.
He drank from the glass, finally, chugging it down so that he didn’t have to think about what was going down his throat. He wondered if he should try to pick a fight and get beaten up, just so that he could feel something. The bartender was an old man, probably from a time when the mill was still working and when working people in the town actually had a tomorrow to look forward to.
He got up and went to the bar. “I’ll have another.”
The man looked at him sceptically. “I think that’s enough for you.”
Severus attempted to sneer but only managed a squint. “Oh fuck you, I know my limits.”
“Oh, I don’t think you do. I’m going to ask you to leave.”
“And what will you do if I refuse?”
The man looked at him tiredly. “Nothing. Don’t have a choice, do I? I just want to keep my pub running.”
Severus was not so far gone as to not feel shame. “Alrigh,” he said, slurring through the vowels, his accent bleeding through.
Once he came outside, he realised he didn’t want to go back to Spinner’s End yet. He didn’t want to go anywhere. There was only one place that came to mind now.
He walked past the playground, past the river, to the hill with the grass. He looked at the river and wondered what he was alive for. The use of his years had been fulfilled, even if he had pushed it to failure at the very last minute. Lily’s son was safe. What was he supposed to do now?
He swayed. Then, suddenly, he felt a weight on his shoulder, red plumage and a sight so familiar it made him want to look away from the shame.
“Why are you here?” he asked the bird.
Fawkes looked at him placidly; he had an irritating and devastating resemblance to his master.
“I can’t give you anything. I’m not him.”
Fawkes just flapped his wings.
Severus sighed. “I suppose I don’t have a choice. Dumbledore would haunt me for eternity if I don’t.”
He sat down on the grass, thinking, once again, of the many times he had been here with Lily. He held out his arm, and Fawkes perched on to it.
“It must be nice,” he said. “To start again every time you die. You can make as many mistakes as you want and be reborn from them.”
Fawkes trilled. The corner of Severus’s mouth lifted.
“Now that I think about it, that sounds a lot like what he would have said. He probably would have told me that if he saw me now.”
Fawkes was silent. He flew off Severus’s arm to something he’d spotted in the grass, a worm.
Severus lay his head back and looked at the night sky.
“I don’t think it’s worth it either.”
*
Severus,
I do wish you would respond to me. I find myself longing for your company these days. Lucius and Draco grow more distant by the day, and I fear the days of us existing as we once did before the Dark Lord’s resurrection are far gone.
I do not know where you are staying. I could not find you in that terrible muggle dwelling. If you are in need of a place to stay or money or anything at all, do not hesitate. I know you will but do not look at it as a debt. There is nothing I could give you to repay the cost of my son’s survival.
Yours,
Narcissa
*
Narcissa,
Thank you for your kindness. Could we meet for lunch on Tuesday, 12 PM? Somewhere discreet?
S
*
Severus looked around the filthy house for what would hopefully be the very last time. He had already transported his meagre belongings to the temporary abode Narcissa had arranged for him. If he were smarter about it, he would have attempted to sell Spinner’s End house. But this area had been dead for decades anyway. It had been dead even when his parents were alive; that was always the main problem. It was time to put the beast out of its misery. Fawkes trilled from where he sat perched on Severus’ shoulder. He rolled his eyes.
“Yes, I know. There’s a perch where we’ll be going. Unfortunately, you’ll have to do with my unfortunate upper-body strength for now.”
Severus took a deep breath. The mill had gone out of use a long time ago; the air had long since stopped smelling of smog, but he could still smell its strong redolence from his memories. The filth would always linger in Cokeworth. It could be burned to the ground and still somehow remain unchanged.
He lifted his wand and pointed it at the house. "Confringo," he said, and a wall came down. He repeated the incantation again, and again, and again, until every part of the house– the kitchen sink where his mother had bathed him as a boy, the ratty old chair his father collapsed in with his bottle after coming home from the pub, his boyhood bedroom where he laid on his mattress and dreamed of the day he would finally get out– was gone.
When it was all finally ashes, he was breathing heavily. Fawkes nudged at him with his beak, and Severus realised his face was wet. He sighed.
“That’s that," he said. “Burned to the ground and hopefully it will stay that way.”
He took a final look at the town that was never his home and apparated.
*
The days went by faster than expected but slower than he’d hoped. He found himself staying in a small cottage Narcissa had found for him in Dover, most likely chosen for its proximity to France should he ever need to leave immediately. He disliked it very much, but it was as far away from the Scottish Highlands as one could get, and that would do for now. It was a shame because he quite liked Scotland, and despite everything, his love for Hogwarts would overpower all the suffering he had faced there. It felt like a new kind of grief to leave it all behind.
There was no home for him anywhere. That was certain. If he ever had a home, it was Hogwarts. But the thought of going back made him feel ill. Despite Minerva’s offer, there was nothing to be gained by going back. There were few things in the world he enjoyed less than teaching a bunch of easily distracted dunderheads. But, what was he supposed to do now? Even as a boy, his dreams were always ineffable, cloudy shapes that would become clearer as he reached within grasping distance. All he knew was that he wanted to be someone .
Narcissa visited regularly. He could tell that it gave her some comfort from her domestic troubles.
“I do think you’ve spent enough time moping about now,” she told him as they walked alongside the coastline of Shakespeare Beach. "How long will you be morose?”
“I’m always morose.”
“There’s always room for improvement. What will you do next?”
Fawkes was flying in the sky alongside the seagulls who looked amusingly nonplussed at the sight of a mythical bird in their midst.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly.
“Well, if you’re free, I have a task for you.”
Severus looked at her stonily. Her face was impressively unsettled.
“I need some potions for my migraines. As you can imagine, I get a good sum of them nowadays,” she said wryly.
Severus shrugged. It would be doable. Narcissa had always paid him handsomely.
“I have several friends who would appreciate those potions as well,” she continued. “I could put in a word if you want.”
Severus’s immediate response was to refuse, but he knew it would be against his own well-being to do so. He nodded. It would be easy money, enough to sustain him if not invigorate him.
“That would be good. A pseudonym would be best. I can’t imagine the old crowd will be happy with me.”
“Oh, don’t be daft now. Of course, they’ll know it’s you. And you overestimate everyone’s loyalty to him. I do believe everyone’s quite relieved though they won’t say it.”
“Is that the case for you?”
“You know full well it is,” she said viciously.
They were silent for a bit. Then, she said, “He asked about you. Dear cousin Sirius.”
Severus flinched.
“I saw him when I went to visit Droma the other day. He was there as well. He tried to pretend as if he didn’t care. Sirius has always been so dully transparent.”
Severus laughed, thinking of the way he’d collapsed in front of him at his revelations about Potter.
“Well, he is a Gryffindor.”
“Truly the worst of the houses,” she sniffed.
“Did you tell him?”
Narcissa looked at him from the corner of her eye. “I did.”
Severus closed his eyes.
“I wouldn’t have done it if I thought you didn’t want me to,” she said.
“I didn’t want you to.”
Her lips quirked upwards.
“My dear, you have always been dully transparent as well.”
Severus had nothing to say to that.
*
The orders poured in swiftly. Severus had thought he would be a pariah but he should have known better. Slytherins were dependably self-serving, and no Potioneer alive in Britain could provide a better product than him.
Even though it was nothing more than a bunch of temporary remedies for the most spoiled and rotten class of Wizarding Britain, it made him happy. Brewing always made him happy. The crushing of dung beetles, the scent of nightshade, the satisfactory change of colour from soft blue to lilac–sometimes, he thought it was what he was put on earth for. It was nothing like the all-encompassing high the dark arts gave him, a euphoria so intense that he would give anything and everything to experience that level of feeling again. This was much more simple, but at least it did not ask him to give his soul.
Unwittingly, his mind went back to that night in Albania, when he was ill from the dark magic and it was Sirius Black of all people who nursed him back to health. He had used a family remedy to help him. He had been meaning to ask for the recipe but never got around to it. If Black was in possession of one, he imagined all the old Wizarding families had some kind of recipe as an heirloom. And wasn’t that a fascinating thought? A network of secret formulas all around Britain. For all he knew, someone already had the cure to Dragonpox and simply refused to release it.
Long ago, Lily and he had talked about it. It must have been in second year, so early on that Severus had forgotten about it. Lily was getting attention for her potions skill, though she grit her teeth against Slughorn’s constant “I’d never guess you were a Muggleborn, Lily. You’re that good.”
“They have no idea how lucky they are,” she’d said enviously once, looking at the Purebloods as they worked. “They have no idea how much they know just by existing.”
“That’s where they’re weak too,” he said. “They think they know everything so they don’t think they can be wrong. But we both know that if you crush the sopophorous bean instead of slicing, it releases the juices better.”
Lily beamed at him, and Severus smiled at her joy.
Right then, Sirius Black called out, “Oooh look at Snivvy’s nasty teeth. Maybe we should get together and donate a toothbrush along with some shampoo to help him out.”
The incinerating bitterness that was Pavlovian with those memories was muted now. He knew himself well enough to know it would never be gone completely, but there was so much more he could focus on. He could think about Sirius Black in those memories with amusement. He knew him now. Before he would have said it was James Potter that caused his cruelty, that gaining his approval fueled most of his behaviour, but he knew better than that now. From the beginning, they’d recognised something in the other that just got on their nerves, made them want to kill each other and laugh at the dead body. If only that version of himself could see him now.
As he crushed dragon claw into a fine powder in his mortar and pestle, he thought about Lily, and this time, he really thought about her, not his love or guilt or jealousy, but his best friend. He thought about all those times they would sneak into the potions cupboard to steal ingredients so that they could practice; the times they would meet in Hogsmeade to experiment together, after which they would go to the Hog's Head Inn because that was the only place other students wouldn’t visit. He thought about that last birthday with Lily, smoking their cigarettes and talking till dawn like they hadn’t done since before Hogwarts. And for once, he was able to think those things without feeling like he should go jump off a cliff into the deepest, coldest sea. He could finally let go of her with the simple, uncomplicated grief of someone who’d lost their dearest friend.
Fawkes observed him for a minute from the open windowsill where he was perched. Once he was satisfied, he flew away into the open sky, leaving behind a single red feather.
*
One Year Later
“Number 4, where are you?” Sirius called out for the third time that hour. The passers-by looked at him strangely but he didn’t give a damn. This was routine for them. “Number 4!”
Number 4 sauntered lazily towards him, her face the definition of unimpressed. He reached down and picked her up before she could get away again.
“Now, what am I going to do with you?” he grumbled as he carried her inside the Magical Menagerie. “When the kids come for a pet to take to Hogwarts, I’ll just have to warn them about your disappearing act, won’t I?”
Her puffy tail swished. He placed her in front of her litterbox. Kneazles 1, 2, and 3 looked at them indifferently. Number 4 ‘meowed’ at him and her eyes went shiny.
“Oh don’t look at me like that, sweetheart. You’ve used those eyes on every poor sap on your little trip. You’ve been fed well.”
He turned away to check on the spiders when he felt a tug on his pant leg. He looked heavenward, then down, and sighed.
“Alright then, come along.”
He went back to the pantry and got out a packet of Kneazle treats. He bent down and she ate two paw-shaped ones from his palm. She then showed him the side of her face. He huffed. He stroked her fur behind her ears as she closed her eyes.
“You’re a spoilt one, aren’t you, angel? Yes, you are.”
“Am I interrupting something?” Harry’s voice called out, amused. He looked up to see Harry leaning against the reception counter.
“Harry! It’s good to see you!” He stroked her head gently one more time and engulfed his godson in a hug. “How’s your training going?”
Harry’s smile flattened into a slightly pained one. “Oh, it’s the same. Not much sleep. A lot more reading than I thought.”
Sirius’s smile went smug at that. “Oh well, you know, it’s still not too late. You can still change your mind. D’you know the Puddlemere United are holding trials for all sorts of positions? You can still try out for Seeker. They would be more than happy to–”
“Padfoot,” Harry stopped him with a tone of finality.
Sirius’s mouth thinned. His godson's tendency to take on the responsibility of the world always left him feeling a tad inadequate. He could picture James shaking his head at his side - at a son who had grown up far too long without anyone to truly need them, and the godfather who kept trying and failing to protect him.
Harry was still glaring at him, forcing him to concede. This was perhaps one of the very few disagreements between them. When Harry had told him a year ago about his plan to skip his seventh year to directly go into the Auror programme, he had blown a gasket.
“Why on earth do you want to join that bunch of bootlickers?” he had asked, too surprised to soften his words.
“Bootlickers?! I told you about this over a year ago! I told you I wanted to be an Auror!”
“Well, I thought you’d grow out of it! I wanted to be a gigolo at 16. Am I a gigolo now?”
“Oh yes, because me deciding to be an Auror is the fucking same as you being horny at 16!”
Sirius cursed Lily for passing down her acid tongue at times like these.
“Well, one of them is honest work. The other looks honest when it’s the most corrupt institution that’s ever existed.”
“Things will be different under Kingsley.”
Sirius laughed cynically. “Just because the tree has been pruned doesn't mean it’s still not rotten.”
Harry rolled his eyes. There was something oddly satisfying in watching that petulant gesture, in Harry's willingness to be childish with him.
“Well, that’s too bad. I’ve already made up my mind. I don’t want another Voldemort to ever rise up again.”
Sirius was stricken. “That’s not your responsibility anymore, Harry. Voldemort is gone. You don’t have to live in his shadow anymore. You could do anything. Be anything.”
“I know, Sirius,” Harry’s face gentled. “But, I want to do this. It’s not that I have to, though that’s a part of it, the responsibility thing. I just can’t sit quietly knowing his supporters are out there, or others who still use dark magic.”
Sirius then understood, for the very first time, what it felt like to be a parent whose child was making the wrong decision while they could only stand aside and watch it happen; to see the verdant path they’d envisioned crumble into ashes while another unlit, entrapped path beckoned instead.
But, he also remembered being seventeen. He remembered himself, Prongs, Moony, and ugh, Wormtail, cooling their legs by the lake and deciding that they would join the Order of the Phoenix. It had seemed obvious then, to fight, because how could he do anything else with the world as it was? He understood the sentiment. He was immensely proud of Harry for it. But, he would never stop wishing Harry had chosen a job that did not involve the institution responsible for so much suffering in both their lives.
Number 4 rubbed herself against his ankle, and he couldn’t help but smile. He picked her up and stroked her back gently. Harry smiled.
“She really likes you,” he said, laughing.
“A real pain in the arse, this one,” he muttered, feeding her another treat.
Just then, Roberta pushed open the door and flounced inside. Roberta was the eccentric older witch who owned the Magical Menagerie. He had walked in a little less than a year ago to find himself an animal companion upon Harry’s advice. He had done it on one of the days when the memory of Remus was overwhelming; when it felt like if he didn’t go out and do something normal, he would instead do something that would be both pointless and liberating. Roberta had taken one look at him holding the prickliest fire crab on display and promptly offered him a job.
It had been the best thing that happened to him over the past year.
“Sirius, I’m back now. Thanks for watching the shop,” she said. “You can take a break if you want now. I can man the shop.”
“That would be great actually,” Harry piped up. “I need to talk to you about something. We could do it over ice cream at Fortescue's?”
Sirius bid Roberta and Number 4 goodbye and they headed off.
The stares were still present, but the shine had worn off over the past year. Most of the awe reserved for Harry as “The Boy Who Lived” had now transferred to their current minister, Kingsley, and Harry could not be gladder for it.
They picked up their ice cream (strawberry and peanut butter for Harry and a plain vanilla for himself. He'd never liked excessive sweets all that much, one of the few conditionings of his parents that seemed natural to him), and sat outside the porch.
“What do you want to talk about?”
Harry rummaged through his bag with his free hand and took out a textbook. Sirius’s eyes bugged out at the cover. There was a black background against which a green cauldron actually bubbled away as a wand floated on top of it.
Potions- Volume 1. By Severus Snape.
He laughed despite the shock and reluctant fondness.
“That’s the most Snape-looking book I’ve ever seen.”
“I said the same thing to Hermione!” Harry said, grinning. “This is going to be mandatory reading for the first years. He’s got a list of books through to seventh year.”
Sirius’s stomach squirmed. “Has he now?”
“Yeah! They’re really good, Sirius. Absolutely incredible. It’s got better instructions than even The Prince’s textbook. I’m almost jealous of the new students. If I’d had these, I would have been a much better student. Hermione’s been complaining all week!”
“You learned directly from the author,” Sirius said with irony.
“Believe me when I say Snape’s a much better teacher when he’s not talking.”
Sirius held his hand out and Harry gave the book to him. He carefully ran his fingers down the embossed letters and hovered over the bubbling cauldron.
“Has it been published yet?” he asked quietly.
“No. It’s coming out next week. Along with all the other volumes. His Publisher approached the Ministry about it. They wanted to publish it but just ran it by us given his reputation. It was so good that we had to assign it as required reading. Kingsley agreed, thankfully. ”
Sirius grimaced both at Harry saying “us” and at the reminder of Severus’s standing in the Wizarding world.
“That’s good,” he said. “Severus has always been great at Potions.”
“I sent him a letter after he disappeared. I never got a response back,” Harry said ruefully.
Sirius looked at him surprised. “You did? Why?”
Harry’s cheeks pinked. “Nothing. Just didn’t feel right, not thanking him, after everything he’d done. I wanted to ask him a couple of things too, about Dumbledore.”
Sirius looked away. “Ah.”
“Have you seen him after the war?”
Sirius sighed. “No, I sent him an alcohol-scented letter one time. But that’s about it.”
Harry looked displeased at this. “Okay.”
Sirius licked his ice cream. “I don’t know what I would say to him if I even saw him again.”
“Really? You don’t have anything you want to say to him?”
Sirius looked at the ground.
“Look, I’m not good at this stuff. Hermione’s the one who understands feelings better in our group. But even I can tell that you should talk to him about…whatever’s going on between you two.”
Sirius grimaced. “There’s nothing going on between us. Well, not anymore, at least.”
“Why? What happened?”
Sirius didn’t know whether to be impressed or appalled at Harry’s magnanimity.
“I don’t know, Harry, maybe it was the fact that he told you to let Voldemort kill you. How am I supposed to forgive that? How are you alright with that?”
Harry’s eyebrows pinched together. “That wasn’t his fault. It was Dumbledore’s plan.”
“Dumbledore had a lot of plans. He didn’t have to go through with it. We got a lot done by not listening to him. And the one place where it mattered, he decided to be the obedient little servant,” Sirius said coldly.
“But this was the most important part of the war, Sirius,” Harry’s eyes pierced him with his conviction. “It wasn’t something he could gamble with. My life isn’t as important as the future of the wizarding world. The choice is clear, even to me.”
“Yes, it is,” Sirius insisted. “Your life is more important.” He did not add that he thought Severus understood and believed the same thing, which was why the betrayal cut so deep. “If it were up to me, I would have let Voldemort live if it meant you would get to live too. We would have figured out something else later.”
Harry smiled in that awkward way of his that said he had no idea what to do when someone showed him love. Sirius had been the same, and then James consistently assaulted him with so much affection that he stopped being surprised. He wondered when Harry would stop being surprised, whether he would take as long as he did.
“I can’t change your mind, Padfoot,” he said quietly. “But I know when you both worked together, you got impossible things done. And if I’ve learnt anything from the two of you, it’s that holding onto old hurts just eats you up from the inside.”
Sirius winced.
Harry took another bite of his ice cream.
“And well, you seemed happier around him. That’s worth something,” Harry said, embarrassed.
Sirius barked out a laugh. He didn’t know if “happy” was the right word for it, but he had felt less alone with Severus. “I don’t know if I want to be talking to you about this.”
Harry looked a bit ill. “Neither do I. So you could just go and see him already so that I never have to bring it up again.”
“I’ll think about it,” Sirius said, with finality. “Now, tell me, how are things going with Ginny?”
Harry’s face brightened and he predictably started chattering happily about how well things were going for Ginny, how she would be graduating this year and how she’d done so well on her Quidditch team trials. Sirius nodded, half-listening, his mind picturing the life that lay ahead, his godson growing up, building a life with the girl he loved. Where would he fit in with that life? The fun uncle who his godson’s kids would love? Some strange circular reenactment of the life he was supposed to live if James hadn’t died?
No, he decided. That life and all possibilities of it were gone. These would be different children in a happier future. He could be someone better. Harry and Remus deserved it, as did their families.
The pull to go towards the address Narcissa had loftily given to him in a perfumed envelope became insistent.
*
Sirius found himself standing in front of a door of a nondescript cottage, homely but not miserably so, with a thatched roof, yellow brick walls and a garden out front. It looked warm and inviting, unlike any place he would have imagined for Severus. He knocked on the door. There was no answer. He knocked another two, three times before it was flung open in his face.
Severus stood in front of him, looking annoyed. He looked the same; his hair was still greasy and his robes were still black, but the weariness on his face had eased. Sirius could feel the heat creeping up his cheeks. Severus’s face stilled and went empty when he saw Sirius.
“What are you doing here?” he asked finally.
The sound of his voice instantly made Sirius relax. He hadn’t realised how much he’d missed it.
“Heard you’re releasing a book,” he said, side-stepping the question. He barged his way inside. Severus looked mildly put off but closed the door behind them anyway.
The inside of the house was a mess. Papers strewn about everywhere, three cauldrons bubbling away, a large tabletop filled with crushed and sliced ingredients.
“I am,” Severus confirmed.
“Why?”
Severus huffed. He ran a hand through his greasy hair. “You’re not here to ask about that. What do you want, Black?”
It stung. “Alright. I want to talk. We didn’t get a chance to because you ran away after the war like a coward–”
He felt himself being shoved back. He blinked and then there was Severus in front of him, his face like death, eyes ablaze with rage. His hands curled around Sirius’s collar.
“You will not call me a coward,” he snarled. “You can call me any epithet that you wish. I would deserve it. But don’t you dare use that word for me.”
“Why’d you run away then?” he goaded. “You never showed your face after the war ended!” I never got to sort things out with you without admitting defeat.
Severus let go of the collar and scoffed.
“Did it ever occur to you that I was tired, Black? I’d lived through the aftermath of one war. I just wanted to leave it all behind!”
“And me?!” he shouted. “You wanted to leave me behind too. Stupid old Sirius Black. Oh yes, just throw a bombshell in my face, fuck me for over a year, and then just disappear. Like I was nothing!”
Severus deflated. “I–that’s not true. I thought you hated me after what I did.”
“I did! But I didn’t want to, you moron. I wanted you to tell me why you did it so I could forgive you.”
There’s silence. Sirius’s hands shook and he felt like he’d just run a marathon. He had already known this. The truth of the matter was that Harry was right. He’d always understood why Severus had done what he did.
How many times had he spent in Azkaban wondering why he agreed to the switch to Peter? Why he went after Peter on the night of James and Lily’s deaths? Why they didn’t tell anybody else about the switch, not even Dumbledore?
He knew what it was like to be fighting for so long that you felt tired, when you couldn’t be as brilliant as you usually were because you were so angry and despairing and exhausted.
“You're always on my mind,” he said quietly. His words hung in the space between them and its weight made his shoulders slump. Harry was wrong. There was nothing to be gained by coming here. He shook his head.
“You know what, this was a mistake. I’m just going to go.”
He turned to go when a firm hand clamped onto his shoulder. He turned around and Severus kissed him. He responded immediately, opening his mouth and pushing them towards the nearest wall, but Severus spun them around and he found himself against the wall instead. He got his hands underneath Severus’s robes and felt the welcome touch of bony ribs. God, how he had missed this. He had woken up so many nights gasping, soaked with sweat and grasping after a dying dream.
He finally pulled himself away to breathe. Severus looked at him just as desperately, his already dark eyes were pitch black. He squeezed his eyes shut and then opened them. He drew himself up and looked away, blinking away the arousal.
“I’m sorry,” he said haltingly. “For the way the knowledge of Potter’s death affected you. But I can’t be sorry for doing it.”
Sirius closed his eyes.
“It was–It was the worst thing I’ve ever done,” he said, in a thin voice. “But I had to do it. There was no other way, given how much Dumbledore kept from me. I couldn’t have risked anything else.”
“Yeah,” Sirius said tiredly. “I know. That’s all I ever wanted to hear from you, you asshole.”
Severus let out a disbelieving sound.
“Narcissa told me you asked where I was. You could have visited me anytime you wanted.”
Sirius folded his arms. “Maybe I wasn’t ready.”
Severus nodded. “Neither was I.”
“And what about now?”
Severus looked nervous at that. He looked at the cauldrons for some reason and then back to Sirius.
“I’ve been brewing a lot of different combinations for the books, to render the best results.”
Sirius nodded.
Severus let out a deep breath. His eyes were affixed outside the window.
“One of the potions I brewed was Amortentia. For the past twenty years, it’s had the same smell for me. You can imagine I was rather shocked when it was different this time. I thought there was something wrong with my modifications initially. I even followed the actual textbook.” He laughed dryly. “But of course, my potions are perfect.”
Sirius took a step closer.
“It smells of wet dog and firewhisky,” he said wryly. “Honestly, it’s ridiculous that you come after me for my hygiene–”
Sirius kissed him this time, cupping the back of his neck and twining the other around his waist. Severus followed instinctively, kissing back fiercely and cupping underneath his jaw. It was so tender that Sirius didn’t know what to do with it.
They didn’t waste any time. Severus led him to the bedroom where their clothes came off and they found themselves more desperate for each other than they ever had been. The only difference was that they had time now, so it was as frantic as it was slow. Sirius slowly eased Severus in finger by finger until he was sobbing and yanking at his hair. When he finally sunk in, it was like a pleasure unlike anything else. Spurred on by gasps and moans and keens, they managed to come three times, with Severus switching them over the last time and hitting a spot that Sirius didn’t know could hold that much rapture.
Afterwards, they panted through the aftershocks and stared at the ceiling. Sirius took his hand and threaded their fingers together. The calluses on both their hands were rough, but they provided a sharp comfort together.
“What now?” Severus asked drowsily.
“I’m thinking I should go and brew some Amortentia,” he murmured, his eyes feeling heavy. “How much do you want to bet that it’s cigarettes and the Hogwarts potions storeroom?”
Severus laughed quietly. He gripped their hands tight.
Their eyes closed. They slept more peacefully than they ever had in their lives.
Fin
*