Chapter Text
Part I
Looking Up
The revolver bites into his temple and the blood pounding in his ears blocks out everything else. He brings his focus back on himself, on his hands, the expression on his face, schools it to blank. It’s not the first time this has happened but today may as well be when his luck runs out, it had just been that kind of day. He hears the familiar click of the gun being cocked then hysterical laughter that he supposed would be bone-chilling if he hadn’t heard almost every day for the past two years. “Can we get on with it?” He asks. Not that this hasn’t been great. Riddle laughs again then squeezes the trigger.
He wakes bolt upright, gasping. His heart is hammering so hard in his chest he can hear it.
“Fucking hell,” he mutters. Another brilliant start to the day. Nothing like a near heart attack to get you going in the morning. Miles more effective than caffeine. He shakes out a cigarette and lights it with a match. He wonders if he ever did wake up dead from one of these fucking dreams how long it would be till someone found him. Eaten by rats at age 20 in a south London bedsit was not the way he had envisioned his life going.
He eyeballs the digital clock on his nightstand. It’s only half eleven. Another seven hours to kill before he starts work. The hours stretch out before him long and empty. By the time he’s showered and shaved he’s decided he’ll take the tube up town to the university library where he’ll mainline coffee and pretend like he’s paying to be there (even though his torn jeans and cheap canvas bag always made him stand out like dog’s bollocks). Later he’ll take the 611 to the Hog and clock on.
The night passes uneventfully, he busses tables, keeps out of the way, and helps out lugging gear where he’s needed. The girls on bar slip him shots occasionally. Dumbledore tells him to see him after his shift and he supposes he’s got another job for him, he doesn’t wonder about the legalities of said jobs, just does what he’s told. He owes the man his life after all, and much more besides.
He knocks on the open door of Dumbledore’s office.
“You wanted to see me boss?”
“Come in Severus, we’re just finishing up.” The man says with a smile. He was always smiling at him like that, which Severus found unusually disarming. He had been the first adult person ever to treat Severus with any sort of kindness. Not that Severus would admit it to anyone but he would probably do anything for the man because of that.
Dumbledore was speaking to a guy about Severus’s age, he had a mop of light, floppy hair and spectacles and was shaking Dumbledore’s hand enthusiastically.
“Severus this is James Potter, his band has a couple of slots with us next week. James, Severus Snape.”
Thrilled, I’m sure, Severus thinks.
James Potter grins at him, he’s handsome, in a dull sort of way. Severus raises an eyebrow contemptuously and gives him a sarcastic approximation of a smile. What a massive tool.
“They’re called The Marauders, they’re rather good actually.” Dumbledore says to him after he leaves. “You might like them Severus.”
Severus makes a scoffing, non-commital sound.
“Severus, sit my boy.” Dumbledore always ‘my boy-ed’ him, like Severus was some eager young dilettante rather than the broken and world-weary ex skin head that he was. “Severus, what do you think you would like to do with your life. Have you given any thought to that?”
Severus’s brow furrows. “Uh, this?” He says, he doesn’t bother to keep the scorn out of his voice. What in the hell was someone like him supposed to do with their life?
“Let me put this another way. Severus, what is the square root of oh I don’t know, four hundred and sixty?”
Severus looked at Dumbledore quizzically. The daft old coot had finally lost his marbles.
“Humour me Severus.”
Severus shook his head. “Twenty one and I suppose point four four something. What is this?”
Dumbledore punched into a calculator and raised his considerable eyebrows. “And what would I get if I were to say, combine baking soda with hydrochloric acid?”
Severus doesn’t say anything and Dumbledore gestures at him encouragingly.
“I’d say you’d probably get carbonic acid and sodium chloride. In other words the stuff they put in drinks to make it fizzy and table salt. What is this, are we opening a lab? Shit boss not even Riddle dabbled in that shit himself. I’ll do it but shit, that stuff can get real serious real fast.”
Dumbledore laughs at him, his grey eyes twinkling. “Oh dear, no no, my boy, no. I was simply proving a point to myself. Severus please, do me a favour.”
“Anything.”
“Just have a think about what you might like to do. Make it as unrealistic and fanciful as you like. Just think about it. Please, for me.”
Severus nods slowly. “Mm hmm. Okay.”
“Thank you Severus. That was all. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
That night in bed while he tries to sleep Severus thinks about what the old man had said. Yeah ok, Dumbledore was right, he knew chemistry; for some reason the equations he read in the books he found at the library stuck in his head. What did that prove. Unrealistic as you like, he said. Well, there was fanciful for you. He couldn’t imagine himself doing that kind of thing for a job anyway, it seemed dull, he’d rather cook meth if he were honest. He scoffs at himself, cooking meth is about all you’re good for, you fucking loser. He thinks of his good for fuck-all father working at the mill most his life and then later, after the accident, cashing benefits and drinking full time. That’s about as much as life had in store for Severus. He thinks if Dumbledore knew that he wouldn’t be asking him any of these preposterous bloody questions. Fuck this, he thinks. Fuck the old man and his stupid fucking ideas. What did he know about him anyway.
“That was good guys. Just remember to keep it tight yeah?”
Sirius swings his guitar strap off his shoulder and pats himself down for cigarettes. “What does that even fucking mean Potter? You’re so full of shit now that you’ve started getting us actual gigs.”
James fiddles with the head of his Les Paul. “Who the fuck asked you Black?”
“I’m the lead fucking singer babe, don’t you forget it.”
“Not for much longer if you keep playing like that.”
“Whatever,” Sirius says in a voice he knows gets him hated almost as much as it gets him laid. “I’m gonna coast on my looks anyway. I don’t even need you guys.”
Over at the drums Peter splutters with laughter.
“Hey.” Sirius says. “What are you laughing at Pettigrew?”
Peter laughs again and keeps looking at him like Sirius’s own pet puppy. Anyone else it might annoy him but Peter was like family, like a brother. And anyway, Sirius liked being admired. And why not? If other people looked like he did they’d take advantage of it too. You had to use whatever you had at your disposal. And it wasn’t as if he had much else going for him these days.
He didn’t have the money anymore that was for damn sure. And he did used to have a lot of it, or at least his parents did. He sometimes really can’t believe he’d done it but mostly he’s just glad he had. Fuck the lot of them. His father, the Right Honourable Orion Black, he’d never had one good word to say to him in his whole life (and the thing about his father that he hasn’t ever told anyone, not even Jamie, is that he knew. He knew what Sirius was, long before he’d figured it out himself, he knew). And Walburga, well, she’d basically ignored him, she’d probably think he was still there if it wasn’t for his father so vocally and joyfully disinheriting him. And his little brother, little Young-Nazi creep that he was, he was probably just excited to get Sirius’s room. If it wasn’t for the Potters taking him in he’d probably be sucking dick for a living by now, though the thought of how bad that press would be for his father almost made it sound appealing.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going Moony?” Sirius says sticking a fag in his mouth.
“Got a class fellas. I’ll see you tomorrow night though eh?”
“What a fucking ponce.” Sirius says and grins at him. Remus knew he didn’t mean it, wasn’t like any of the rest of them could have done it was it. Sirius had left their terrible posh wanker school at sixteen when he had left home, no one to pay for it anymore even if he hadn’t hated every second there. And James and Peter had just scraped by with the bare minimum, James too obsessed with the music to care and Peter, well, their dear Peter had barely two brain cells to rub together, but bless him, they loved him anyway. Not that Sirius had regrets mind, he might be a shiftless layabout but a day didn’t go by that he wasn’t thankful he escaped from that drab nightmare of a life. Get a job your father picked, wear a tie, morning commute, kids in the suburbs. He’d rather die.
Their gig at the Hog the next night goes well. More than well. Fucking fantastic actually and the turn out is good. Better than they could have hoped for. James smiles smugly at them after, I told you, he says. And well, Sirius doesn’t have a single smart ass thing to say to him because getting them a slot at the Hog was a good coup, and they’d proven them selves tonight, Sirius can feel it, they’d done good, which means more gigs will be likely. And if old Dumbledore liked you that was as good a shot at something as you were likely to get. The Hog was known for cultivating young talent, and many bands before them had been signed on the strength of their time there alone. Scouts from London’s top labels were known to come to the Hog on the regular and it was rumoured that even the suits at the top listened to Dumbledore.
“You go on without me.” He tells James as they finish tetrising their gear in to James’ old hatchback. He had his eye on a fit looking bird who was standing up front during their show, she’d given him the eye after as they’d lugged their stuff out. He’s pretty sure she’ll be waiting for him when he goes back in. “I’m gonna stick around for a bit.”
“Jesus Christ. Don’t bring her home with you Siri.” James says. “You do that again mum will bloody kill us both.”
Sirius grins and winks at them and heads inside. Something will happen at their next gig that he will much later look back on as the start of the rest of his life, but right then he’s blissfully unaware of this. And when he goes back inside the girl’s smiling right at him and he makes out with her by the bar and she blows him the the toilets and when she gives him her number he doesn’t even bother to keep it and all is right with the world.
The Marauders. Stupid fucking name anyway.
And they all looked like toff public school dipshits. (Well, except the ugly one on drums, he couldn’t quite place him.)
Pity Dumbledore was right. They sounded insane. That was the annoying thing. God, they were good. They had a sound that Severus hadn’t heard much around London before, and he’d heard pretty much everything. A four piece, post punk revival for sure but tight and spare and cool as hell. And dammit if their lyrics weren’t slick too.
They just seemed so... pleased with themselves. It made his lip curl and his skin itch just looking at them. With any luck they’d tank their next show and he wouldn’t have to see them around again. It had happened before.
Except, except... the lead. When he had started singing Severus had looked up and he hadn’t looked away. He had watched their entire goddamn set from start to finish even though he was supposed to be working.
It was not supposed to happen like this.
Severus had this friend. A girl. She was his best friend actually, or used to be, even though she didn’t really speak to him anymore. The thing was, he had thought of her as his one. Too good for him for sure but she was pretty, my God was she pretty.
And yet.. his heart had never tried to escape his chest like it was doing now for her. This was such a fucking bummer. Didn’t he have enough to deal with?
The kids back at school had all called him a fag. How in the hell had they seen it before he had?
Jesus those fucking lips, that jawline, the way he moved. He was hard just thinking about it.
After, he sneaks into Dumbledore’s office so he can look up his name in his files. Sirius Black (lead vocals) he reads and his heart skips a bit because his name is as stupid as his own.
He watches Sirius Black pick up some insipid looking slip of a girl after the show. Watches him stick his tongue in her mouth, (God, Severus could tell he was a good kisser, he could just tell), watches her tug him into the bathrooms after her.
What an absolute dipshit.
“Who the fuck is that asshole?” He asks James.
“Severus Snape.” James tells him. “He’s Dumbledore’s man.”
Severus Snape. He feels the words over in his mind, the harsh staccato syllables.
“The fuck is he looking at me for?” They had just finished their second set at the Hog, they’d had a prime Friday night slot this time and it had gone even better than their first. The boys were riding a high and they had all stuck around after with the aim to get as shitfaced as possible, even Remus.
“He didn’t seem to like me much.” Says James. “Probably just planning my murder. I wouldn’t worry about it, he’s just like that so I’ve heard.”
Sirius swallows. The kid was ugly as all hell. He was tall, like Sirius, but slight, had a long angular face with a big beak of a nose tacked on and clumps of unwashed hair falling forward over his face. It was face you could just punch. Sirius thinks about slapping it. He’s suddenly aware he’s breathing hard.
The kid was still staring at him. Sirius bites on his bottom lip.
“Oi Black!”
Sirius turns, only now noticing that James had kept walking. He glances back once then follows after.
“You alright mate?”
Sirius shoves him with his shoulder, “Where’s that fucking drink at Potter you slack tart?”
Severus Snape, he thinks. Severus Snape.
The next time they play Sirius sees him watching from the side of the stage.
He hams it up for him, swaggers back and forth across the stage like he’s some kind of rock god, like he’s not just a nobody small time band geek that stacks shelves for a living, like he’s fucking Jagger.
He has no idea why he’s doing it, just wants to get some kind of reaction out of him. The boy just looks at them impassively, but his eyes bore right through him.
Later that week they are introduced. It goes terribly. Sirius has never met anyone who he’s had such instant mutual animosity with. Snape scoffs at him like he thinks Sirius is ridiculous and it makes Sirius feel small. He wants to mark up that face of his, break that stupid fucking nose.
“You’re timing was out on the fifth Black.” Snape tells him silkily. His voice is deep, deeper than you would expect, and it has a dark velvety timbre to it. Shit.
“Who the fuck asked you?” Sirius says. They were drinking at the club after a late gig. He thinks he’s got something going with one of the birds on the bar and he was making him look like a fool. “Nice nose mate. Wanna keep it in your own business?”
Snape had made a mocking, derisive expression then looked him up and down. “Nice jacket.” He had said and had got up and left after knocking back his drink. He nods at the bouncer in the corner and they leave together.
Sirius sniffs and tries to pretend he hadn’t got to him. He had just bought the jacket. He had thought he looked good.
Stupid fucking cunt.
You know he was right Siri, James said to him later, your timing was out.
He fucks the girl in the small dressing room out the back and he tries not to think about that mocking, sneering face as he comes.
Severus makes up his mind to call Lily. She was his only friend after all, maybe she’d still talk to him after everything. Then again maybe not. At least if she doesn’t want to she can just not answer.
He has an ulterior motive to getting in touch with her again after so long. Of course he does, ulterior motive is his middle name. This is why he has no friends.
He would dream about him. On stage, beautiful and arrogant and unstoppable and he had resigned himself to waking up every day with a raging boner. It was past a joke at this point. He had actually started missing the PTSD fuelled flashbacks of Riddle and the bloody Death Eaters that had inexplicably taken a back seat. And then he’d get to work and he always seemed to just be there, slouching around with his dick head friends. So he had thought that maybe if he saw her it might somehow jolt him back to being straight again. It was worth a shot.
And he missed her too, you know. Like a lot.
“I’m sorry,” he goes with, “things got a little out of hand. Can we meet?”
She doesn’t hang up offhand, which he regards as a win.
“Snape you absolute cock.” She tells him. “I should just tell you to get fucked.”
He chooses a Starbucks a couple of blocks from the Hog. They order over-sweetened iced drinks with extra shots of espresso and thick whipped cream on top like they used to. I’ll pay, says Severus. Yeah you will, she says.
She’s as beautiful as always; high cheekbones, eyes you could drown in, the thick hair that framed her face and the deep brown skin that Severus used to think matched so perfectly with his own translucent white. It occurs to him now what an insufferable little git he was back then. Her eyes skewer him and he knows he will have to explain to her. Or attempt to.
“Where’re your little Nazi friends?” She asks.
Yeah he deserved that.
“I don’t do that anymore.” He tells her.
“Yeah I heard.” She says. “Your piece of shit friends called me a—“
“—yeah I know.” He says. “I’m so fucking sor—”
“And you just stood there and let them.”
He nods. “I know I did. I tried to apologise later—“
“It was too late then. You don’t understand Sev.” She says. “You have no idea what it was like for me in Cokeworth. You remember my mum’s white right? And my sister? And like, pretty much everyone we went to school with? Do you think that’s the first time I’ve heard that word? I actually used to think you understood.”
“I - I never thought of all that I guess.”
“You've never had to. Look I’m just trying to explain why I didn’t take your calls, why I didn’t want to see you. Why I still don’t think I can…”
“—I want to prove to you I’ve changed. Please. Can you- do you think you could let me?” He reaches into his pocket. “I can give you… three pennies and this plastic lighter that’s stuck on the high setting. It’s a pretty good deal.”
She studies him. “Ughhh. God I hate you. I can give you one day at a time, that’s all.” She says. “And no promises.”
“Perfect.”
“No it’s not. You haven’t won.”
“I know.”
“You grew your hair back.”
“Yeah.” He says, unconsciously bringing his hand up to finger the ends. “Hey Lils, I don’t think any of those things, for the record. I didn’t then and I don’t now.”
She nods. “I believe you.”
“Good.”
“You know that means very little Sev and I still haven’t forgiven you. You can’t manipulate your way out of this one, I know you too well.”
He holds his hands up. “I wouldn’t.”
“Sure. How’re you doing then?” He marvels at her capacity to care about him still, even in her anger. He knows for sure he wouldn’t be that forgiving. He’s never been more sure in his life of how much he loves her. He tries to summon the kind of pure carnal lust that he feels every time he looks at that bastard Black and he knows he can’t. Knows he won’t ever feel that way about her.
Well I’m probably queer now, so there’s that. He thinks of telling her. Maybe one thing at a time though.
But despite that he’s not as bothered by it now as he’d thought he’d be, and maybe he was never really all that surprised.
“I’m ok.” He tells her. He reaches tentatively across the table and nudges her hand. After a moment she nudges back. “Now.” He says.
It was a start.
A few weeks later he makes the mistake of introducing her to that nob head Potter and the rest of them thinking bringing her to the club would win him some points with her. He regrets it instantly.