Work Text:
The late afternoon hour ticked by as Sirius sat in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place with Remus for company. His old friend was weary and worn from the recent full moon; his eyes glazed over with exhaustion as he spoke, as he listened to the meagre chit-chat Sirius offered in return. He didn’t feel like chit-chat today. Nor did he feel chatty the day before, or the day before that. He didn’t have the heart to tell Remus to go, his shrinking self-preservation insisting his tired old friend stayed. If he was left alone, Sirius knew, as he took a sip of the wine Remus has brought over, he would down the bottle- open another bottle; drink himself to oblivion.
Anything to numb the things inside him that clawed and screamed out from his chest.
“I’m sorry, Pads,” Remus yawned, his eyes drooping.
“It’s fine, Moony. You can stay in a spare room upstairs- you’re tired.” Sirius forced a smile.
“I’m not the company you wanted tonight,” Remus continued, apologetically, standing from his chair, “I promised to listen to you vent about the meeting three days ago.”
Don’t remind me, Sirius thought, automatically pouring himself another glass full of the wine.
“Just... try not to let him get to you so much, Pads.” Remus spoke as they walked upstairs to the spare room, “he’s not that bad- I mean... he makes me a very difficult potion every month, a potion that makes my life so much easier...”
“He’s still a cunt, Moony.” Sirius muttered, leaning against the doorframe as Remus collapsed on his bed.
“You’re not much better to him.” Remus challenged, before falling asleep.
Sirius sighed, frustration building within him as he stomped his way back downstairs. He was in a sour mood since the last Order meeting, made all the sourer by Moony’s defence of Snivellus. He knew his last interaction with the man had made him look foolish. Sirius had made a comment about Snivellus’ aggravating his Death Eater masters enough to smack him in the face to shut him up. Snivellus had sneered at him and commented that Sirius would be the first person ever to make it through a war in better condition than when it started- another jab at his practical house-arrest at Grimmauld Place.
As if he didn’t know how useless he was in this war, Sirius thought, downing what was left of his wine. As if he didn’t know how detached he was from the world- locked away in Azkaban for so many years, on the fringe of society as Padfoot for a year only to be locked away once again in Grimmauld Place. For his own good, Sirius glowered.
Once upon a time, in his youth, he would have rebelled the instructions Dumbledore had placed on him; he had never been one to obey.
But now, he was... he lacked his youthful spark. He felt old and useless.
Even his hair was greying in faint streaks, compared to the vivid inky black on Snivellus’s head.
He must be utterly miserable to be at a state where he was touching jealousy towards that man’s hair...
He was about to pour himself another glass of wine when a shimmering silver bird appeared in the kitchen before him- Dumbledore’s phoenix. The silver patronus was followed by a smoky red vortex circling around its plumage.
“Remus, Severus has sent an emergency signal, please follow the red smoke to assist.”
Sirius lifted his head to the ceiling, knowing there was no way that Remus would be in any state to ‘assist.’ He suspected that Snivellus would not send an emergency signal for something minor. He smirked to himself, emboldened by the wine in his system.
It would be no good to leave the smarmy bastard in whatever danger he had put himself in, Sirius decided, outstretching his hand to touch the red vortex that had been sent to Grimmauld Place.
He relished the opportunity to go rescue Snivellus, knowing the task would shut the bastard up during the next Order meeting.
His fingertips brushed the red smoke, transporting him far away from the warmth of Grimmauld Place to the cold stone brickwork of another old home in a distant countryside.
. . .
Sirius heard sounds coming from the next room. Sounds that made him uncomfortable; sounds that sobered him up slightly and hit home how much danger he was in at that moment- how much danger Snape put himself in on the regular, Sirius conceded reluctantly. A zapping sound tickled his ear, like a bee buzzing statically. Laughter. Sirius was familiar with this sort of laughter.
It reminded him of the guards that sent him to Azkaban.
Many, many, years ago when no one in the whole world believed he was innocent of the crimes he had been accused of. Too numb from shock to defend himself, he had heard the same laughter he heard now and it made him feel sick with rage.
He stepped out of the room he landed in, coming face to face with a window in the hallway of the old country home. The afternoon sun was setting beyond the horizon and night was about to fall. The last of the sun’s warmth brushed through the bare fields beyond, in the very far distance a tractor pulled a cart of hay through the mud. Sirius pulled his eyes away, his eyes drawn to the sights of the outside world as if it was pornography, something wild and unseemly, something he could look at but not experience anymore.
A pain drenched cry pulled him from the window and back to the hallway, leading him towards another room.
“It would be sadder if you had called the S.O.S signal yourself, Snape. If you had called the signal for help and no one came, I’d be feeling a great deal of regret over my choices if I were you.”
The voice sounded familiar, but unplaceable. Sirius listened in, waiting to see what was going on.
“Instead, your slip up goes unnoticed. We’ll just have to kill you instead of any other Order members that you sided with instead of the Dark Lord.” the familiar voice continued with a smirk, “I suppose that’s something you must have anticipated. Be loyal to no one and no one be loyal back.”
Why wasn’t Snape saying anything, Sirius wondered.
“We’ve waited long enough for a double bounty, just do it.” A second voice demanded.
“How long have you been lying to the Dark Lord? How long have you been lying to us?” the first voice demanded, “It doesn’t matter. You get what you deserve, Snape, in the end.”
Sirius wasn’t sure what to do at this point, he had learned that Snape had not sent the Emergency message- it had been a trap set for whoever came to Snape’s rescue. But Snape didn’t appear to be part of this trap at all. There seemed to be some question over his spy role- the two men in the room with him suspected something.
Sirius knew that if he jumped into the room right there and then there, he would compromise Snape’s undercover role completely. It was best that these Death Eaters thought the Order thought little of Snape- it gave more credence to his support of Voldemort-
“Avada-!”
Before Sirius could finish his thought, before the Death Eater could finish his Unforgivable Curse, Sirius burst through the room disarming the masked man.
Shock and disorientation cascaded through the dank room. Sirius dodged the hexes and spells that were thrown at him, enjoying the thrill of a fight, the risk, the adrenaline. Until he nearly slipped on sticky blood that had spilled across the floor. Until he saw the battered body lain out unconscious to the wall.
He grew hot around the neck, his anger and disgust overpowering, dismantling his restraint. He sent the two Death Eaters propelling towards the opposite side of the room, knocking them down but not quite out- Sirius ran over towards the wretched body on the floor, almost hesitant to touch the bruised and bloodied man.
“AVADA-!”
Sirius grabbed hold of Snape, apparating away from the room in a manic rush.
. . .
He landed terribly, a school boy error. It had been a while since he had apperated, he realised, wincing at the sharp cut to his ankle, so he would chalk this splicing injury as just him being out of practice. He had landed harshly against a boulder, a large rock that had rolled into a deep dark wood long ago from a hilltop that no longer existed. He had bumped his torso into this boulder, a bruise forming beneath his shirt. He looked around, seeing that Snape had landed as poorly as he had done- not being able to prevent his disorientating collapse onto the moss soaked ground, his face pressed against the greenery.
At least he had landed somewhat softly, Sirius sighed.
He stood up and gave the man a light tap with his foot to stir him.
“Snape? Wakey-wakey.” Sirius smirked, “time to get up.”
When the man didn’t stir from his incessant shaking and knocking, he sighed, realising he was in a worse state than he realised.
As he had shook him, his cloak had come aside slightly, revealing his arms to be bound behind his back by a thick rope. Sirius rose an eyebrow, finding it a show of poor sportsmanship for the two unknown Death Eaters to have tied him up rather than risk Snape being able to defend himself. He reminded himself grimly that this was not a duel, with polite rules, this was all-out war where cheating just meant you had the upper hand.
Sirius knelt back down, feeling the rope wrapped tightly around the man’s thin wrists, his fingers plying at the rope trying to unbind it, brushing against the bump of bone that jutted through the skin of Snape’s perilously narrow wrists.
“Don’t worry, Snivellus, I’ll get these off... although perhaps it would be safer for me if you were kept tied up.” Sirius joked, reaching into his shirt pocket for his wand.
Confusion seeped through his mind as he pulled out something much shorter than his expected wand length, something splintered and fractured.
He had broken his wand as he had landed against the boulder.
Sirius cried out in frustration, sending echoes of annoyance reverberating through the deep dark woods, bouncing passed trees and bramble like a cold wind. The noise stirred Snape, his face scrunching up in pain against the moss. For a short moment in time, Sirius watched the hurt man return to his senses, return to his body after his brief time unconscious. He saw the confusion on his bloodied face, his sense of disorientation in his bruised eye. He saw his chest deflate with an exhalation of relief- relief that he was no longer about to be murdered by the Death Eaters he was with previously. Sirius felt like a voyeur watching him unfold, unaware that he was also in the forest with him. Sirius coughed, eventually drawing attention to his presence.
The small sound was enough to break the relief Snape felt, his dark eyes darting towards Sirius, lifting and turning himself over as best as he could with his arms bound behind his back.
His dark eyes, as best as Sirius could tell through the swelling of his bruising, filled with flashes of shock and trepidation at it dawned on him that he had been rescued by someone he hated. Sirius almost smirked, almost enjoying the schadenfreude of having listened to Snape practically call him a useless waste of space in this war to now being the one to rescue his petty, annoying, self.
“Black, you should not be here-” Snape spoke accusationally, shifting and tugging at the binds around him.
“I think the words you are looking for are ‘thank you’ you ungrateful git.” Sirius sneered, a strange sense of discomfort at his position above him, the man stuck on the ground unable to raise himself with his injuries and his arms out of action.
“What are you doing here?!” Snape hissed, managing to sit himself up and wincing as the muscles in his ribs burned.
“Rescuing you, of course.” Sirius chuckled, making his way to kneel on the ground beside Snape, annoyed that he shuffled away from him, wanting to put distance between himself and he clearly, “who were the Death Eaters in that room with you, Snape? The ones’ that were seconds away from death cursing you if I hadn’t heroically saved you just in the nick of time.”
He felt a shiver of delight and guilt intermingle within him as he saw Snape practically squirming away from him. He ... wondered why he felt such delight in his discomfort, Sirius wondered. It was a familiar feeling: one he had felt often at Hogwarts.
Snape looked up at him as if he was as dangerous to him as the Death Eaters he had narrowly avoided murder, had been beaten and tortured by.
“I’m sorry.” Sirius spoke, his words on autopilot, his words speaking to alleviate the guilt he felt inside, the realisation of the impact of his poor behaviour towards Snape in full view as adults.
There was nothing more humbling, more dismaying, than realising a man feared you more than a Death Eater...
“You can go now, Black.” Snape snarled, scrambling to get his wrists free, “fuck off back to your mother’s house, you’ve done all you need to do.”
“How do you plan on getting home, Snape?” Sirius sighed, “what’s your plan to untie yourself?”
“I see you haven’t thought to use your wand to cut the rope. Why would you do something helpful like that when you could treat someone appallingly, it comes so naturally to you-”
“I hate to cut you off when you’re on a roll there, Snape, but my wand is currently out of action.” Sirius made the effort to convince Snape of his honesty on this point, pulling out the shards of his wand from his pocket, “where is your wand?”
“Do you think I would be in this situation if I had my wand on me?” Snape rolled his eyes, as much as he could with a swollen eyelid.
“I grant you that,” Sirius chuckled.
For a moment the two men sat mutely on the cold ground, the sound of the wind howling through the trees around them. Sirius stole a quick glance at the man beside him, sensing his unease, his distrust, his apprehension towards him.
He had wanted to rescue Snape as a laugh but this wasn’t funny at all, Sirius thought. He had wanted to gloat, to enjoy how wrong he had been, to prove he was better than Snape... but all he had done had landed them defencelessly in what he hoped was the Forbidden Forest- he had been attempting to apparate to somewhere close to Hogwarts to get Snape back to the school grounds.... All he had managed to do was become confronted with his predatory violence of his youth and the aftershocks of this rage on the man beside him.
He hadn’t aimed for an epiphany but here it was, in all its unwelcome hurt.
“Where have you taken us?” Snape asked, surveying the area around him cautiously.
“The Forbidden Forest.” Sirius answered.
“... Which part of the Forest?” Snape continued.
“I must have become distracted during the fight, this isn’t where I would have landed...” Sirius trailed off, “still, we can’t be too far. How are your legs?”
“Excuse me?” Snape snapped.
“Well, unless you want me to carry you like a damsel, you’re going to need to be able to walk through unsteady terrain.” Sirius smirked, a shot of pleasure at the glare Snape threw at him, “Well? Are those sticks you call legs capable of walking or not?”
Sirius watched him move his legs, noticing the shiver of pain on his face, knowing he would never share this with him. He realised the main barrier to Snape getting up and walking was his bound arms- if his legs and ribs were injured, pushing himself up without his arms free would be near impossible.
“If you wanted me to help you to your feet, all you had to do was ask, Snape.” Sirius smirked, reaching out and burying his palms under his arms, the stiffness of his blood-stained shirt pressing against his fingertips as he launched Snape to his feet before he could protest.
“Would it not be easier to just untie me?” Snape seethed, as threatening as the disorientated and wounded man could posture at that moment, “or would that be too dignified?”
“I’ve tried that.” Sirius sighed, “whoever those bastards were who tied you up and beat the shit out of you tied those ropes tightly.”
Snape shook his head with annoyance, unwilling to engage any further now he knew he was stuck as he was.
Sirius began to walk, stepping over branches and roots on the darkening floor.
He didn’t walk too fast, his pace as careful as he could manage as he suspected Snape would struggle with his legs.
He could hardly believe that he was in a situation where he needed to consider Snape’s comfort, his capabilities. His inner teenager, the part of him that had arrested development, a frozen in time sensation within him, could hardly believe the situation he was in.
The part of him that had grown up, the part of him that desperately wanted to grow up, be a good role model- be someone his godson would respect... that part of him was... happy to have the chance to both do something helpful for Snape.
But he also found himself strangely wanting to spend this time in the woods together, Sirius dawned, he wanted to demonstrate to Snape that he was a better person than he used to be.
He needed Snape to agree that he had changed, he was the only one in the world who could tell him he was a better person- a good person, Sirius realised; he was the one he had hunted, he was the one he had hurt, after all.
He wondered at what point Snape became his new moral compass, his new means to measure his behaviour, the temperament of his soul.
. . .
They walked through the woods in quiet, stilted company. Sirius gave small flickering looks to Snape walking behind him, sensing he was putting a lot of effort into walking. He felt Padfoot stir within him, nudging him and whimpering to convince him to .... to what? Sirius wondered, what on earth did he want to do to Snape there and then in these dark, cold woods. Woods that grew darker as the hours slipped away.
“Snape?” he spoke quickly, unsure what he was going to say, but finding he needed to say something.
Snape didn’t respond, his energy spent with keeping himself walking. One step and the next. His wrists hurting from his attempts to pull himself free from the ropes behind his back. He preferred to walk behind Sirius, preferred to have him in view- he felt if not safer this way, but less on edge. In less danger.
“Snape?” Sirius repeated.
He paused his walk, taking a look at the man as he stood. He felt a wave of shock as he peered at him- all the wine he had drunk had now long left his system and he was standing clearly for once. Snape was in an awful way- how could he have made him walk all the way they had like this? Sirius took a step towards him suddenly, his body acting before his mind could cooperate.
“What are you doing?!” Snape balked, flinching further away from him.
Dark eyes fixed on him for more sudden movements, more threats, more danger.
Sirius felt a sharp sting within his chest at the realisation that, in Snape’s view, Sirius was still a vicious, hurtful person.
He just... he just wanted to help him. He felt he had to- he had to help him.
“You’re really hurt.” Sirius announced, raising his palms out like a white flag.
“You’ve only just noticed?” Snape narrowed his eyes contemptuously, “of all the people Dumbledore could have sent to assist, he sends an oblivious mutt to come to my rescue. Aren’t I lucky.”
“He didn’t send for me, he sent for Remus.” Sirius confessed, “but Remus has only just got over the last Full Moon. I saw the red smoke and ....”
“... And thought you would come by and gloat at not only the severity of my injuries but the fact I am no longer able to be a spy for the Order.” Snape muttered, “this must be such a gift for you.”
“You think I want to see you injured?” Sirius argued.
“Well, you didn’t come to my rescue with anything to heal me, so what more can I assume?” Snape seethed.
Sirius sighed, thinking he had been so foolish to leave so unprepared. He thought back to that late afternoon, when he saw the message from Dumbledore: he had wanted to gloat, he knew, but now he was here... he couldn’t.
Now he was sober he realised he wanted to be more than what Snape saw him as. He felt awful in ways he hadn’t expected- he hadn’t come prepared to rescue Snape because when he had left he had been drinking. He hadn’t thought to take healing potions despite the ample supply that existed within Grimmauld Place (thanks to Snape no less). He had got Snape out of the Death Eater hellhole before they killed him, but he had apparated poorly away from the scene, hurting his own leg and breaking his wand in the landing.
His eyes fell to the ground, moss and red leave covered. He felt as if he had been scolded.
“I am sorry.” Sirius offered, “you’re right. When I saw your emergency message I... I did want to gloat. You called me useless in the last meeting so I thought it would be funny to be the one to get you out of the situation. But, it’s not funny. I got you out, but I’ve landed you here with no means of healing you, my wand broken. Maybe I am useless.”
Sirius sighed, unable to lift his eyes from the ground, his mood as wet as the mulch on the gnarled rooted earth, the wet red leaves, the sharp rocks-
“You’re not going to get any pity from me-” Snape rolled his eyes.
“Shut up, Snape.” Sirius spoke as he made a bee line for the sharp jagged rock on the ground beside a fallen tree trunk, “turn around for me.”
With a grin he held the rock in his hand, thinking it might just do the job.
“I’m not taking my eye off you.” Snape spoke defensively.
“Yes, yes, I’m told I have that effect on people, but please, do try to resist looking at me for one moment so I can try to untie those ropes around your wrists behind your back.” Sirius grinned, watching the typically defensive man roll his eyes at his bolster.
It did not escape Sirius’ notice that Snape had a fleeting-blink-and-you’ll-miss-it flustered look to him at his choice of words.
Did Snape actually think he was handsome, Sirius wondered, an ego boosting smirk playing with the corners of his lips as he stepped closer towards Snape, noticing that he did not step back from him this time.
He stood close to him, the man’s shorter frame allowing him to tower over him on the uneven floor of the forest. He grabbed hold of his wrists, tilting them towards him as he carefully used the rock edge to saw through the rope. Snape was tense, Sirius felt, a rigid posture of someone about to spring away once he had been freed. He felt the anxiety radiate from the man and felt such overwhelming guilt within him. Sirius felt like the vicious monster he used to be at school with Snape, and if he was a vicious monster, Snape, whilst silent, was screaming through his body language that he felt like prey once again.
He sawed his way through the thick rope, working to unbind Snape’s wrists free for him to move his arms again. Sirius reached the last of the threads of rope and decided to use his hands to tear at it, rather than risk slicing through to Snape’s skin. Finding it hard to get to grips with the threads, he knelt down on the cold damp ground, wet moss soaking through to his knees. He pulled the thread towards his teeth and began gnawing through the tough material.
“What are you doing?!” Snape hissed over his shoulder, seeing the kneeling form behind him.
“What does it look like, I’m getting this rope off you.” Sirius muttered through his gnawing teeth, his hands gripping hold of his pelvis for leverage, the warmth of his breath against Snape’s pulse.
“Get the fuck off me!” Snape seethed, his leg swinging back and striking Sirius in the rib.
The surprise at getting kicked caused Sirius to tear at the rope, finally freeing the unprepared man, both ricocheting to the muddy forest floor.
“If you had any muscle on you, Snivellus, that kick would have hurt me.” Sirius spoke darkly, rubbing his side, “honestly, the ingratitude of some people.”
Snape had landed on the floor and found it hard to move his arms. The lack of circulation had made them numb and slow; landing on the ground reminded him just how hard it was to get back up again. His ribs hurt from the beating he had received from the Death Eaters. His head ached from his injuries, hurt all the more from this additional fall.
“Snape?” Sirius repeated, “come on, get up.”
Snape winced, hating himself for his weakness, his inability to force his body to comply to what he needed to do- hated himself for his weakness in front of Black.
He would have rather have been hit by the death curse in the countryside meeting place for the Death Eaters.
He wouldn’t have to deal with this anymore, this anger, this pathetic adolescent hate, this... fear in his chest whenever he was in proximity to Black. He felt defeated.
“Here, grab my hand.” Sirius spoke gruffly, extending his own hand down to Snape.
He couldn’t sink any lower, could he? Snape sighed, shuffling his broken body and extending his numb arm out, his hand tingling from the blood returning to his extremities. He felt an odd electric feeling as Black grabbed hold of his numb hand, the blood that had made its way through to his fingertips tickling beneath his skin at the contact. Snape waited for the inevitable sharp pull he expected Black to use, to fling him to his feet, to pull his arm out of its socket and leave him worse off than before because of course he would-
“There you go,” Sirius spoke, having grabbed hold of one hand and with his other hand supported him up with the other.
The hurt didn’t happen. The tension in Snape’s body had nowhere to go, nowhere to course through him. He felt the warmth of Sirius’ hands on his hand, his shoulder, his grey eyes running up and down him assessing him. Snape shrugged him off, disconnecting the warmth from his body, the contact severed. Snape turned and began walking again, as if he knew what way to turn, as if he knew the way from where they stood in the Forbidden Forest to the school grounds where they needed to reach if they had any chance of surviving.
“Right then. You’re welcome, by the way.” Sirius sighed, finding his own hands tingling from the touch on his delicate bony hands, those long fingers that for one fleeting moment had gripped hold of him as if he was a lifeline pulling him from a collapsing world.
. . .
Snape felt his head pulsating with a throb of pain that made it hard to see. It was hard to see anyway, with his bruised eye swollen. He was relieved to have his wrists free. He felt somewhat safer now he had a means of defending himself, he had felt revoltingly vulnerable with his arms stuck behind him in Black’s company.
He was still on edge.
The anxiety, the anticipation, of attack from Black was making him feel sick. He kept a few steps behind him, his eye fixed on where he was at all times. It was the only way he could be sure, the only way he could walk within the same realm as Black. He hadn’t said a word since the lunatic had nibbled his wrists free from the rope, his teeth, his lips, brushed against his skin as he tore through the thick threads around him.
He was waiting for the turn. Waiting for the onslaught. It always came, without fail. Sometimes he got so sick of the waiting that he baited Black to reveal his vicious self, get it out of the way.
He was unsettled by the awareness that Black was behaving unusually. He was not breaking him down, not commenting on his hideousness, his repulsiveness. He felt more disgusting than ever, Snape thought, perhaps it was too easy for Black to attack his appearance since he had been so ferociously beaten up by Death Eaters. It was just too easy for him.
He hadn’t changed.
For what reason would Black change his ways towards him, why change the course of a lifetime?
“We should probably think of setting up camp before it gets too dark....” Sirius spoke, his voice appearing out of nowhere.
They had reached an open space, flat and sheltered by a large tree. A narrow river streamed through the woodland, in the darkening daylight the clearing appeared the best place to pause.
The thought of being in the Forbidden Forest at night with Black, with no magic to defend him, sent a shiver down Snape’s spine.
“Sniv- Snape? ... Do you happen to have a lighter?” Sirius asked, “I really wish I had landed better earlier, and not snapped my wand in half. I could just make a campfire easily.”
Severus forced his hands to cooperate and search through his pockets. No lighter in his trouser pocket, but he did have one in his cloak pocket, a water pouch too.
“You get the water, I’ll take the lighter.” Sirius instructed, attempting to reach for the silver metal object in Snape’s hand.
Snape snatched it out of his grasp, giving Sirius a cautious look.
“As if I would give you a weapon, Black.” Snape spoke darkly, “you get the water.”
“Fucking Merlin,” Sirius muttered under his breath, turning and walking away to the river, “I certainly do have my work cut out with you.”
“Don’t talk under your breath, Black. If you have something to say then fucking say it.” Snape seethed, feeling mocked and belittled by the other man.
He knew inside he was baiting him, sick of the waiting, sick of the waiting to be attacked.
Sirius turned back to look at him, an anger rising within him, an annoyance- the other man was so frustratingly difficult, so unaccommodating of his attempts to show him he was not the same man he was at school.
“I’m obviously not going to set you on fire.” Sirius spoke as calmly as possible.
“I know what you are capable of, Black.” Snape said, an eerie calmness masking his face, his recent burst of anger, paranoia and anxiety overtly subdued.
Sirius felt a coldness within him spread, a shiver of disgust towards himself turning his face away from the other man and his dark eyes.
Sirius thought back to that bad moment, that aberration of his morality, that attempt at... at what?
Hurting Snape?
Causing him fear?
He had always, from the moment they had met on the carriage on the Hogwarts Express... the other man, then a boy, had drawn him and his own self had rebelled against this. It was a headache, to be so divided, to be harming the very person he wanted to...
But he couldn’t. He couldn’t then, he certainly couldn’t now. His younger, vicious, self had made sure of that.
All he could do was apologise, sincerely.
“Snape. I am... I really am- I don’t know why I-”
“Just get the water.” Snape barked, averting his eyes from the hold that Sirius’ intense gaze had on him .
He turned to collect the few dry bits of wood that littered the forest floor to build a campfire between them.
. . .
The flames cackled before Sirius’ eyes, a gnawing hunger pecking at his stomach. He wished he had eaten a bit of food with all the wine he had drunk in Remus’ weary company.
He had left Grimmauld Place so unprepared, he sighed, further highlighting how out of touch he was with the war and its demands. Not like Snape. Not like men like Moody. No, he had volunteered himself to save Snape predominately to jeer at him. To gloat. He hadn’t put thought into how he would actually save him. He hadn’t brought anything in case he needed healing; nor had he brought any supplies...
It was too quiet.
He sighed, turning to look at the beaten man sitting as far away from him as possible whilst still being able to feel a flicker of the campfire heat.
He took a sip of the water pouch he had filled up, realising it needed to be refilled. Stepping up, he felt the dark eyes of the man behind him, always watching, always suspecting the worst of him. He made his way through the gnarled roots of the gigantic tree they sat beneath and dipped the pouch into the running river. His hand cooled and froze in the water, a tense shiver coursed through his muscles. He made his way back to the fire to bring the heat back to his bones.
He looked up and saw Snape huddled up, avoiding his eye now he had turned to face him. He sighed, making his way slightly closer to him, cautiously, as if approaching a startled animal that was poised to attack.
“Have some water.” Sirius offered him the pouch.
He wondered if Snape would say anything more to him. If he had anything else to say- anything beyond his silence that drove him mad.
Sirius felt like poking the startled animal, to see what would happen.
He knelt down beside Snape, shoving the pouch in front of his face and disturbing him from his stillness.
“Stop it.” Snape spoke simply, turning his head away.
“You need to drink something.” Sirius sighed, “you’ll get sick. You’re already injured... I should have cleaned those cuts really-”
“Don’t.”
Sirius examined him again, a concern rising within him as he looked at the man who looked weaker and wearier than earlier on in the afternoon. He had a pallor to him that was a step beyond his usual sallow tone; his eyes had a glazed appearance as if he found it hard to focus. The blood on his hairline suggested he had experienced a head injury in his attack. The bruise on his eye socket was darker.
“Severus...” Sirius spoke, his name so unusual on his tongue.
So pleasant to say.
“I’m going to get that blood off you at least,” Sirius informed, tearing a strip of his shirt at the hem, pouring water onto the strip like a sponge.
Snape stared at him like he was mad.
“Don’t touch me.”
“You can hate me later, but Dumbledore wouldn’t be happy if you end up dying of a blood infection on my watch.” Sirius sighed.
“Dumbledore will not care one iota if I dropped dead in your company.” Snape spoke drolly, sincerely.
The sharpness of the words prickled through Sirius’ chest.
“That’s not true,” Sirius scoffed, cautiously lifting the wet cotton to the man’s head.
“I was only useful as a spy for him. Other than that, without that, I am worthless to him.” Snape continued, squirming away from Sirius’ hand, “just go away, Black. You got what you wanted.”
“I got what I wanted?” Sirius rose an eyebrow, “I want to clean that wound on your head and I haven’t managed that yet.”
“You didn’t want me in the Order. You didn’t want the man you tormented for years to have any use above yours in this war. You only opted to ‘rescue’ me to gloat.” Snape spoke bitterly into the darkness, his face hidden by the shadows casted by the fire in the wood, “I would rather you fucked off and left me alone.”
Sirius sat solemnly on the ground, his knees and legs damp from the twigs and leaves on the floor.
The weight of the man’s defeat fell upon him.
He remembered the day he had told Snape how to access the Whomping Willow, sending him off on a dangerous path that touched death- he just hadn’t thought it through. Now, the man on the ground faced the same confrontation with mortality.
The same breath of death on his neck.
Instead of sending him to his doom, as he had done as a foolish violent child... he wanted nothing more than to pull him from this bleakness, away from this abyss he seemed incapable of stepping away from himself...
He shook his head, a sad twitch tugging his lips downward, weighing his soul down as tears seeped in like the sea through a hole on a sinking ship.
“I’m sorry, Severus.” Sirius spoke, “I am so, so sorry for how I was. For how I have been towards you all these years. I can’t fix this, I can’t ... make the years go away. But I am so ashamed of myself. Please, let me... I don’t want you to die. I don’t want you to hurt. Let me clean your wounds before you become unwell.”
“What game are you playing, Black?” Snape sneered, “you’re sorry? You think your sorry brings anything to this? That it makes any difference?”
Sirius didn’t know what to say, his guilt and shame totalled his mind and made it hard to think before the glare of the man he had tormented for over seven years.
For what?
For what reason did he torment him?
Sirius recalled the way he had felt about Snape from the moment on the train. His mind too young to realise it at the time but he felt things, things he hadn’t expected to feel for another boy. Things he had denied. Things he had tried to push down. He lashed out, redirecting his feelings, challenging them into a dark and twisted vortex of misery and malice.
He realised how shameful it truly was, there and then, to manifest his attraction to the man as violence for all those years.
He knew it was more than this- he had wanted to distance himself from his Slytherin family and had pushed against Snape’s interest in being housed in the same place his family had studied for generations.
He had pushed back on his family’s pure blood supremacy, sure, but he had kept their viciousness.
He had latched on to the reasons James had hated him- the petty rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin, the jealousy he had for Snape’s friendship with Lily; his morbid interest in the dark arts he had mistook for a worshiping of dark magic.
“Please let me try.” Sirius asked, his voice cracking, his voice quiet in the dark.
Snape picked up on the fractures in his spoken word, the threat of ... crying coming from the man.
There was something about other people crying that made Snape apprehensive, as if the person was crying because he had crossed a line with them, had done something wrong, something unintentionally harmful. He remembered the times his mother had cried, how it usually meant she was unavailable to him for days on end. He remembered Lily crying on occasion, how he had done all he could to make her not upset. Even if she wasn’t crying because of something he had done to upset her, he felt a pull of anxiety to make things better before they got much, much worse.
It was happening again now.
That same anxiety, the thought that Sirius Black, of all people, would cry because he wouldn’t accept his apology.
The anxiety he felt there and then was a glimmer of a reminder that he wasn’t as terrible as other people thought he was; he didn’t want people to be so hurt they cried. He didn’t want this at all.
His dark eyes met those greys.
For a moment they locked eyes, a connection as thin as thread growing between them for the first time.
A connection based on more than hate, more than history, of baggage.
Before Sirius’ eyes leaked from his unspoken tears, Severus slowly took the damp strip of torn cotton from Sirius’ hand, brushing the dried blood from his head until the rung water ran clear into the soil between them.
. . .
Padfoot had ran around the forest, sniffing around, picking up the scent of a rabbit.
He came back to the campsite with a dead grey rabbit dangling between his jaws; scampering around Snape as he shivered into his cloak. He nudged the man on the knee, cocking his head as he heard Snape wince at his touch. He dropped the rabbit to the ground, licking Snape’s hand with his rough tongue before transforming back into a man.
Sirius grinned as he stood over Snape, saving the taste of his skin to memory as Snape wiped the drool from the back of his hand on his trousers.
“Did you hunt this rabbit for a reason?” Snape eventually asked.
“You might be capable of surviving by photosynthesis, but I need sustenance.” Sirius summarised.
“... do you intend to eat it as it is?” Snape quizzed, “how are you getting the fur off?”
“Ah, yes. Actually, that may be... a challenge.” Sirius narrowed his eyes as he picked the rabbit up by the scuff of its neck, “do you think that rock I used to cut through the ropes on your wrists will be able to skin the rabbit?”
“... Did you not have to use your teeth to finish the job?” Snape smirked slightly.
Sirius thought the smirk was as close as he was going to get to a smile from the man.
Progress was progress.
. . .
“Severus, why did... why did those Death Eaters attack you?” Sirius broached, each word a cautious step forward, as if the words were stepping stones across a river, each stone a risk of sinking.
Severus peered at him through his curtain of hair, the tiredness on his face preventing him from appearing his usual intimidating self.
“I’m just... confused, I suppose.” Sirius continued, “if you don’t want to talk about that, it’s fine.”
“They realised what side of the war I was really on.” Severus answered plainly, “I slipped up.”
“What happened?” Sirius probed, his curiosity peaked by the absence of detail.
“They wanted to attack a group of muggle women camping in the countryside.” Severus explained, “I did not.”
“.... So they attacked you instead.” Sirius concluded, darkly.
Severus didn’t say anything else. It was too ... recent.
It was another thing to push aside, throw it into the crypt within his mind, his chest.
“Severus?” Sirius’ voice pushed through the walls he raised in his mind, yanking him from his thoughts.
“...What?”
“We should probably sleep, get up with the sun and make our way out of here.” Sirius suggested, “you look like you could do with some rest.”
Severus rolled his eyes, avoiding eye contact with the other man.
The campfire shimmered before them, a source of warmth in the darkness.
Sirius took his jacket off, wrapping it around his shoulders like a tiny blanket. He lay on the ground, his head resting on the earth warmed by the fire before them. Laying on his side, he watched as Severus eventually found himself too tired to fight sleep any longer. He watched him fall to his side, trying to find a place that didn’t aggravate his injuries. He saw him grip hold of his dark cloak like it was a blanket, gripping hold of it as if it was his last attempt at holding on to consciousness.
As his eyes slowly closed, Sirius liked to think that Severus falling asleep in his company was a sign of trust that had not existed between them in the past. A small seed of trust that he wanted to water, to give light to; to watch thrive and grow. He didn’t have the horrible monster in him anymore, the vicious thing in him that lashed out instead of let people in.
He watched Severus fall asleep, his hand slowly letting go as his grip on the cloak slackened.
Only then did he sleep too.
. . .
Sirius was woken by a shiver that overtook his body, running riot ransacking his muscles and bones with shakes of chills. He groaned as he wrapped his arms around himself, attempting with all his effort to conserve some heat- and then he remembered he was outside in the forest and not in the confines of Grimmauld Place. How awful it had been, to be locked up in Grimmauld Place, that he was almost just fine with being cold as long as he was outside-
A groan pulled him from his rambling thoughts. He sat up sharply, noticing the fireplace had simmered out, their source of warmth gone.
Their source of light, gone.
He heard the feint chatter of teeth, of shivering muscles taut and strained.
Sirius squinted in the dark, the shadows of trees in the moonlight above only went to highlight the total blackness of the space he lay.
He felt his way through the ground, seeking the cold, shivering man in the dark. His hands scrapped through the damp earth, fingertips seeking the other, feeling for the other-
“Severus?” Sirius spoke, relief lifting his voice as he finally felt the other man, his arm gripped hold by his hand, “Severus?”
He was too cold, Sirius could tell that obviously. He huddled beneath the cloak he wore, his clothes not warm enough despite the coverage on his body. Sirius suspected his slight body made it harder to conserve heat; his thin wrists came into his mind, the narrow pelvis he had grabbed hold off to chew through the last threads of the rope from the wrists, his hands tied behind his back.
He pushed closer to Severus, his exhausted form huddled into himself beneath the cloak. Sirius felt around his cloak, as if trying to find the lighter Severus had on him earlier, the lighter that had sparked the campfire earlier on. Frustration and panic built up within him as he couldn’t find it. He considered pulling his broken wand out of his pocket, to attempt a fire charm, knowing deep down it would never work, he would never be able to light anything with a split wand.
A slight, cold, palm landed on his hand; thin fingers wrapped around his wrist.
The chilly tips sought out the warmth within Sirius’ skin, his body conserving more than Severus’ ever could.
An idea snuck into Sirius’ mind, an idea that only existed within this odd topsy-turvy world he and Severus seemed to occupy within this wood. The idea would have been madness just the day before, Sirius sighed, he would have had to have had a wand held to his head, death spell locked and loaded, to make him consider the idea. Within this night, they had... achieved a tentative peace, a stalemate at the very least.
Would Severus fight him if he went ahead and huddled up beside him beneath the cloak?
Would Severus think he was trying to attack him, or hurt him, demean him, if he wrapped his arms around him, pressing his wiry body to his chest- for warmth of course, Sirius assured himself. He edged himself closer and closer, until his body lined up behind Severus. He edged closer and closer, until his chest pressed against his back, his thighs pressed and tucked up behind his thighs. He lifted an arm, draping it carefully around Severus, half expecting the man to stir and realise what he was doing- to lash out and think the worst of him.
He felt his breath hitch as Severus leaned into him in his sleep, his body surrendering to the life affirming warmth his body offered. Sirius wrapped his arms tighter around his waist, his face pressing against the boniness of his back, his dark strands of inky black hair brushing across his forehead.
He couldn’t believe it. Sirius was astonished at how life had found itself, how the world had turned to this as if it was always supposed to turn this way: Severus wrapped up in his arms, his heat protecting him from the deathly chill that circled them both in the woods. He felt as if he was made to hold Severus, his body sculpted to lay with him like this. His chest beat soothed and satiated against Severus’ back. His face pressed into his shoulder, inhaling the scent of the man.
He felt his breathing turn to gold, knowing that Severus’ scent filled his lungs, his blood, his mind
He felt Severus’ shivers come to a halt, his body relaxing again; his skin warming with the heat shared beneath the cloak. His breathing settled, the slow rise and fall of his chest signalling the depths of his sleep in his arms.
Sirius found it hard to fall asleep only because he didn’t want the spell to break, didn’t want the night to end, he... he didn’t want the hold to break.
He couldn’t deny it to himself anymore, couldn’t fight it.
He was a lost cause, falling for the man he had tormented, had lashed out against; he was doomed for heartbreak.
And he knew he deserved it and worse.
. . .
The warmth Severus felt beneath the thin black cloak was a divinity amongst the aches and hurts he had endured in the last day. The indignity of being ‘saved’ by Sirius Black of all people, the confusion and manipulation he felt facing his rescuer’s conscience... it had all caused his head to throb with pain that was beyond the hits he had struck the back of his skull.
This warmth was all he had, he had no idea where it came from, had no desire to move or to question its blessing. He was too afraid to move in case it caused his precious warmth to pass over and abandon him to the deathly chill that haunted the Forbidden Forest at this time of year.
His wounds felt less severe in this warmth; his head clearer, As if he had been dosed with Healing potion in his sleep.
He had never woken up so ... content.
The heat pressed against him, a firmness, a secureness, a comfort.
A presence pressed against him, a hardness-
Severus opened his eyes, something not making sense- he remembered passing out exhausted in the forest. Passing out on the mud and sticks and leaves. He had woken up freezing cold at one point, half awake and half asleep, shivering uncontrollably until the chill passed him over, leaving the warmth-
Hands?
Severus felt hands and muscular, toned arms, heavy around his waist.
He stirred, the aches flooding back to him as he moved, his muscles uncooperatively twisting around to see what was going on around him.
Alarm shot through his blood, the dread must have been noticeable as it drew Sirius from his rest.
“Severus- I can explain-”
“No, you cant.” Severus spluttered, shifting himself away as much as he could with his stiff and wretched body.
“You were freezing-! The campfire went out- I couldn’t find the lighter to set another fire,” Sirius babbled.
There couldn’t be any other reason
Severus didn’t know where that thought came from, whether it came from himself or Sirius Black.
He didn’t know where the sense of disappointment came from either.
“Severus?” Sirius spoke, noticing the distance in his eyes, wondering where he went just then.
He glared at Sirius, a frown settling on his brow as he forced himself up from the ground, snatching his cloak from the other man who hadn’t moved.
Sirius shifted his shirt down, the untucked material long enough to cover the erection lifting his trousers, claustrophobic beneath his clothes. He lowered his eyes, the dark haired man picking up the water pouch and making his way to the running river in the periphery of his vision.
. . .
Sirius had not expected the walk from one end of the Forest to be as long as this, but then again, Severus’ injuries made it hard to walk briskly; his own minor injury on his leg slowing him slightly. He kept his eyes on Severus, turning every few minutes to make sure he was keeping up, Severus insisting on walking behind- to keep an eye on him, the ‘dangerous Sirius Black’.
The daylight hours passed in a slug of exhaustion, both men’s legs weary by the time the sun was setting. The trees shielding them from the last of the suns rays, setting the haunting chill upon them once more.
An odd unspoken sense of expectation grew within the open space they had decided to set camp for the night. Sirius flicking eyes at Severus, the man so slumped and so silent.
He wished he would speak.
He hadn’t spoken since the morning. Sirius had the sense to know he had greatly overstepped by wrapping himself up around the man who was so apprehensive and on edge around him.
For all the reasons in the world, Sirius knew, his brow furrowing with his awareness.
He sighed, making his way to sit ... close enough to speak to Severus, but not too close that he would move away from him.
Seeing the man’s shoulders tense, Sirius wondered if he had sat too close still.
“Severus, I... I am sorry. For not asking before I... well, you know.” Sirius began, “but I was only, honestly, trying... to help. You were freezing. I was... a bit cold. Body heat was all I could think of to help- neither of us have a wand...”
“Enough, Black.” Severus cut him off, “forget it.”
Another moment of quiet passed between them before Sirius spoke again.
“Can I ask this time?” Sirius offered, adrenaline rising in his chest, “before the fire burns out. Can I... can we... stay warm together tonight?”
He wanted so much for Severus to say yes, to say yes to him being close to him, to say yes to him having his arms around him, his chest pressed against his back, his legs tucked up behind his thighs, his scent, his soft breathing-
He watched Severus unbutton his cloak slowly, watched him unwrap it from his shoulders and toss it towards him, his hands catching the thin material.
“If you’re so cold, keep it.” Severus spoke, a harshness subdued in his voice.
Severus pretended a sharp shiver didn’t pass through his skin as the cloak lifted from him, his own sheer stubbornness keeping him from looking at the man who held his cloak.
The man who only wanted to hold him for survival, nothing more
Sirius held the cloak in his hand, the dark material rough where Severus’ blood had poured and dried out on the surface. His fingertips ran over the hem of the collar, the cloak feeling so empty and cold without the other man wearing it.
Severus stepped away from him, distance divided by the shimmering lick of flames from the campfire.
. . .
Severus had tucked his arms through the sleeves of his jumper, huddling his hands around his own torso to conserve heat in the night.
The fireplace had shimmered to embers, to coal, and now just empty air where flame and heat had once been. He had woken to his muscles splintering from shivering, his body tension so tight he thought his bones would break beneath the pressure he was under trying to coax his body into conviction that he was actually warm.
He remembered the night before, sleeping in absolute bliss compared to this. He remembered the time before he realised, the time where he felt so content, so warm, so safe. Before he realised it had been Black tucked up behind him, arm heavy and tight around his waist. His hips rutting against him, his erection unmistakable-
He turned onto his back, his body surrendering to the freeze around him. His eyes looked up from his place in the earth, gazing up at the stars above through the gaps in the trees. The sky looked beautiful, the stars so clear. If he was going to freeze to death at least he would see something awe inspiring before he did-
“Severus.”
Severus flinched. He thought Black had long gone to sleep, warm beneath the cloak he had stubbornly threw at him. But there he was, stood up straight as he lay down on his back, his dark brown hair lit up by the stars, his eyes reflecting the small slither of moon.
“Can I ask again?” Sirius attempted, kneeling himself closer to him, his eyes peering cautiously into his, “can I hold you? Keep you warm?”
He remembered the divinity of the warmth he had felt before, a warmth like no other.
He wondered if it would be the same. Would it be the same knowing right from the start that it was Black holding onto him? That it was Black’s body warming him?
Before he could speak, before he could think, his body acted on autopilot, taking the reigns from his free will- the essence that kept him cold and stubborn: he nodded.
It was so slight that Severus wondered if the man would even see it.
He felt the man lay his own body on the ground, edging closer to his cold skin, his cold clothing. He rolled onto his side, facing away from Sirius, as the man pressed himself as close to him as possible- his body on edge with trepidation and expectation, of anticipating hurt that associated any shared time and space Severus shared with Sirius in their past. He closed his eyes, a mix of dread, embarrassment and relief blended within him in a nauseating spin of feelings he squashed down within him. He felt Sirius lift the cloak over them both, tucking their body heat in amongst their laying forms.
His breath hitched as a heavy arm carefully slipped over his waist, his torso.
How could one man radiate such warmth, Severus wondered, his body screaming out for Sirius’ heat like a baby bird screeching for its mother’s food. He felt his heart slacken, his breath deepen as tiredness approached him; he felt betrayed by his body, his mind on edge by the proximity to Sirius, expecting the man to do his worst-
“Is this okay, Severus?” Sirius asked, his words hot against the back of his neck.
Severus said nothing, pretending to have fallen asleep.
He couldn’t.
What could he even say?
Yes this is okay this is more than okay but I hate you I fear you I hate you this is everything I need your warmth your heat your arm wrapped around me your hot breath warming the back of my neck I despise myself for wanting this and wanting you-
There was nothing to say.
. . .
The coldness penetrated his skin, broke through each pore on his flesh, buried into his bones.
Stone cold walls, he used to tap his forehead against the stone cold walls of his cell in Azkaban.
The tap wouldn’t hurt at the start but the pressure built, a bruise would work its way to the surface of his skin.
He would focus on this flick of pain when the dementors patrolled, when the cold wind and rain billowed through the cell bars, when the air turned to frost with each passing day-
Sirius jolted awake, sitting up and gasping for breath, feeling for a bruise on his forehead, feeling the cold chill on his skin as the wind blew roughly against him.
Severus had woken with a shock, his heart shooting up through his chest so fast he thought he would be sick. He chased his breath, looking around the open space they had set up camp to see what had caused Sirius to wake so suddenly.
There was nothing out there.
“Black?” Severus whispered.
Sirius said nothing, his right hand touching the earth, the softness of the mud, the firmness of the sticks and twigs. His left hand patted the ground between the two men, his palms seeking something his words could not explain. Jumbling lines of speech ran tied up and hobbled in his throat, speech was out of the question.
Another hand, the same hand from the night before, the first night, their first night.
He felt the warm, bony hand beneath his palm, pressed beneath his own sweaty palm but not crushed by him. He didn’t want to hurt him.
Severus felt his breath leave him as Sirius placed his hot hand on his, electric shocks shot up his arm, through his chest, down his legs. He felt something stir within him, overwhelming over and above all the pain his body carried. A stark difference his body craved as much as he had the heat from Sirius’ body the night before, had attempted to deny himself with stubbornness and pettiness.
He watched the other man return to his head, from whatever night terror had taken him from the woods, he recognised the disorientation, his own sleep plagued with terror. He watched the man come back. His tormentor, his bully, his attempted-murderer, the digger of the crypt in which he abandoned all capacity for self-care, self-worth. He saw him bite his bottom lip, dabbing it with the inside of his mouth, his lips took on a light in the dark, a light Severus’ eyes followed.
Suddenly they were close, their faces leaned in and tilted to the other, as if the world around them had turned so insignificant, only the other mattered. A shiver ran through Severus, the cold air almost a warning bell, almost trying to snatch him away from the inevitable. Sirius leaned closer, encouraged by the absence of recoiling from Severus, emboldened by the way his dark eyes fixated on his lips, magnetised by his lips. He lifted his hand from the earth, placing his warm palm against Severus’ cheek, his cheekbone a sharp bump beneath his thumbprint.
His mouth caressed the other man’s in a soft and gentle brush of lips.
He felt his chest fracture with the pounding of his heart, his lungs, feeling Severus lean into his hand, his lips.
Only to pull away.
“Severus...” Sirius spoke, so afraid of him retreating, so disappointed with the severing of their connection.
“You are going to hurt me.” Severus voice whispered, barely a breath of sound.
“No.” Sirius said quickly.
“This is a game to you. Hurting me.” Severus’ voice sounded lost, lost in the dark that surrounded them, lost in the agony and ritualistic harm of their shared youth.
You are prey to Black; he will use you and laugh, use you and discard you like everyone else, use you because you have use, both body and torment sport for Black. You deserve to be hurt, you deserve to be harmed, to be ruined. His lips his breath his warmth.
“No.” Sirius repeated, leaning forward and resting his forehead against Severus’ head, his hand holding his so afraid to let go.
He lowered his chin, kissing the bruise on Severus’ eye socket, trailing his cheekbone to below his ear, his breath hot and eager against his skin. He felt his cock stiffen as Severus hitched his breath, inhaling sharply with unmistakable arousal. He turned his face towards his lips and found Severus sought his first.
The darkness kept their kisses a mystery, anticipation ran through Sirius’ blood, apprehension that if he would part from Severus’ lips for one second and he would disappear into the dark. He rose his hands, both hands, gripping hold of him so tightly, one hand on the back of his head, his fingers lost in the dark strands of his hair, matted with blood he had not been able to dab away-
He felt him wince and flinch against the hand on the back of his head.
“Sorry, I- I forgot. Are you okay?” Sirius spoke, “I didn’t mean to- that wasn’t me hurting you on purpose.”
He felt himself freeze as Severus paused, his lips hesitant as if reminded of who he was and the danger he has posed to him in the baggage of their shared existence.
“Please.” Sirius heard himself say, his words working of their own volition, speaking from his heart in ways his pride would never allow.
His hands trailed Severus’ face, planting a palm against his jagged cheekbones.
His other hand found another hand, Severus’ hand, in his.
“Please.” Sirius repeated, “come back.”
Severus found himself on a precipice, staring into the abyss, knowing he was going to leap head-first into it, knowing it would hurt, wanting it to hurt, wanting so much for this hurt to take away all his other hurts. He wanted to hurt because it was something to feel, something to hurt him hard because why else would he want to kiss Sirius Black, what deep shame could resided within him to feel anything else towards the man that had hurt him so deeply as a boy, so permanently.
Severus knew he was broken to want this.
He didn’t want to think anymore. He leaned in, seeking the other man’s lips, the bristles of his goatee scratching him, his lips warm and soft, surprisingly soft.
Sirius felt the adrenaline, the surge of insanity driving bliss take over him. He shifted his body, leading Severus to the damp ground on his back, his hands trembling as he unbuttoned the man’s shirt, his bare chest pale and thin, gaunt, bruised. He dove his face into his shoulder, his mouth soft on the space between his neck and shoulder. He felt hands grip hold of him, fingertips tight against his back, drawing him in. His teeth nicked against the edge of his collarbone, summoning a quickening gasp from Severus, drawing his own maddening arousal to the furore.
Too eager, too demanding, both men lay side by side beneath the cloak for warmth, unbuttoned shirts a window to the parts of the other they had never known in all their long years in each others lives, hate and anger and fury and fear was all they had known before. In the dark of the wood, the warmth of the cloak, Sirius and Severus explored and devoured the other, hands wrapped around the other, their hips pressed, their chests pressed, their aroused cocks hard and heavy in the others hand, their bodies so entwined an end and a beginning was hard to define.
Sirius thrust his hips into Severus grip, their hands wrapped together around their tight gripping and stroking, hammering palms. He heard the small gasps of bliss from Severus against his ear, the other man’s forehead pressed against his shoulder as exhaustive euphoric tantalising ripples shook through his body, a tension building through his wiry frame, an impossible hardening of his cock in his hand as he cried out, incapable of holding back, incapable of silence, of stoicness, incapable of unresponsiveness as Sirius stroked streams of pearly cum from him. A feral arousal took over Sirius, hearing him so spent, so destitute by the force of the orgasm he had brought him to. Sirius groaned, the gasping needful bucking desire to rut into Severus’ grip on his hard cock, his stroking drawing him wild, his surrendering to the other man’s hand, the power he had over him there and then was terrifying, it was ethereal, it was-
A force shook through Sirius’ body as his own release shot out of him, coating Severus’ hand as his had coated his own. A sticky, slick bliss existed between them; the warmth existed between them, beneath the cloak, beneath the tree tops, beneath the night stars.
Sirius wrapped his arms around Severus, drawing him to his chest, feeling the remnants of hesitation from the man surrender as he held him to his chest, sweat and heat and aftershocks of bliss sending their bodies into exhaustion. He felt the man surrender into his arms, his warmth, his chest.
Severus felt the hurt within him, a splintering, a defeat, a final hurting infliction upon his soul.
He had allowed himself to feel hurt, had allowed Sirius Black to hurt him.
He was broken, so fucking broken, he hated himself for laying beside him as if none of it mattered as if they didn’t have seven years of torment between them as if they were just two men in the woods.
He hated himself with such inescapable finality that he could not bring himself to crawl out from Sirius Black’s arms.
. . .
Dumbledore sat in his office chair, a desk between himself and the two men who had crawled out of the Forbidden Forest. One man walking in a stumble as his legs buckled with his injuries and exhaustion from the cusp of the trees to the castle; one man as a giant black scruffy dog, following Severus’ side even though he had no reason to carry on following him.
He stared at the two men, waiting for an explanation.
“I instructed Remus to go to Severus.” Dumbledore began.
“Remus was recuperating from the full moon.” Sirius explained.
“You are supposed to be at Grimmauld Place.” Dumbledore countered.
“I saw the message, no one else was there to take it.” Sirius rose an eyebrow, “no one else was at headquarters at the time.”
“Please return to Grimmauld Place, I need to discuss things with Severus.” Dumbledore dismissed.
Sirius briefly looked at the man stood unreadable, detached, beside him. He wished the man would turn to face him, turn to look at him, say goodbye to him. He shook his head, thinking it was insanity to think that the man who had blanked him, had ignored him, had walked off in silence detached from him as they had woken in each others arms.
He had said nothing, he had no idea how Dumbledore was going to get him to speak.
He turned to leave, closing the door to the office behind him.
Finding himself incapable of going down the staircase that led from Dumbledore’s office to the rest of the school.
He found himself waiting.
Unwilling to leave things in silence.
. . .
“Rodolphus and Rabastan had suspicions. Bellatrix had raised her own suspicions with her husband. They went to test it. Test my commitment to their ideals.” Severus explained, “they did not want to meet to discuss anything to do with the war, they had no information. They wanted to torment a group of muggle women camping in the countryside. I attempted to convince them this was foolish. They took that as evidence of my lack of commitment.”
“If there was genuine belief that you were compromised, you would not be stood here telling me.” Dumbledore muttered.
Severus did not mention the flash of green, the half conjured death curse that had been thrown at him before Sirius Black had disapperated them both from the scene.
“I took the liberty of contacting Olivander to send a replacement wand for you.” Dumbledore said, pulling the familiar double from his drawer.
“Go back to the Manor. Go to Voldemort before he summons you himself.” Dumbledore instructed.
Severus said nothing.
“You can convince him of your commitment. You’ve done it before.” Dumbledore encouraged, “it is imperative that you convince him, Severus.”
Severus said nothing.
He placed his wand into his pocket, turning to leave the office.
He paused at the door, his feet weighed down by his mind. He sighed, turning to Dumbledore, the old man watching him.
“Black will need a new wand.” Severus found himself announcing.
He closed the door behind him as he left.
. . .
“Severus!” Sirius called out as soon as they were about to leave the school grounds.
He had followed the man as he walked with purpose in silence, he had followed him as Padfoot to avoid being seen and identified by anyone at the school- the last thing he wanted was getting sent back to Azkaban.
His four legs found it easy to keep up, where his two legs found it more of a challenge.
“For fucks sake, Severus, stop!” Sirius shouted.
Nothing again, not a word.
“Is this what your going to be like from now on then?” Sirius yelled, rage and frustration building within him at the sight of the back of the man’s head.
He remembered waking up for the second morning in a row, wanting nothing more for there to be more mornings like those- having his wishes and desires snatched from him as soon as Severus woke and walked away. However much he knew all this was an impossibility, it was something he knew, very deep down, very, very deep in the far corners of his soul... he knew he had always wanted this.
But he had sabotaged his wants, ripped them up as he had spent year after year attacking and chipping away at the body and mind of the man who ignored him pointedly now.
“What did you think things would be like, Black?”
Now that he had spoken, his voice steady and sombre.
Sirius stood still, seeing his expression as blank as a mask.
He wanted so much to peel back this wall, this mask, this defence-
The walls and masks and defences he had necessitated.
Sirius sensed he was in survival mode and felt an unpredictability in the air.
“I don’t know, Severus, but... I had hoped that things would be... different.” Sirius finally spoke.
“But there not different.” Severus spoke slowly, “everything is the same.”
“... I am different.” Sirius said, the simplicity of his words felt so empty and unfulfilling, incapable of reflecting the cataclysmic change within him.
“You are not.” Severus rebutted, not meeting his gaze.
Turning to leave, Sirius reached out to stop him. His hand on the crook of his elbow.
“Let go. I need to leave.” Severus stated, his eyes surveying the world before him as if he knew he was never going to see it again.
The woodland he and Sirius had walked across, had walked out of.
Had apparated, crash landed in to as enemies, circumstances twisting and warping the foundations that existed within them into something almost... something almost something else.
“Where?” Sirius asked, seeing that Severus had hardly taken steps to seeing a healer for his injuries.
“Work, Black. Some of us still have jobs to go to.” Severus muttered.
“Dumbledore sent you back there?” Sirius spoke, disgust on his face, shock creasing his handsome features, “but they will kill you.”
“Nothing has changed.” Severus spoke.
Not quite believing it.
“But they tried to kill you!” Sirius repeated, “if I hadn’t have pulled you out of there... you’d be dead.”
Severus looked away, looked far away in his mind.
Desperately trying not to look at the places Sirius took up in his mind.
“Nothing has changed.” Severus repeated, pulling free from Sirius’ grip on his arm and disapparating away.
. . .
Sirius made his way back to Grimmauld Place, a roaring fury within him, a sadness swirling like a whirlpool within him. He slammed the door to his house-arrest prison, causing the house to shake with his anger. Remus ran into the hallway from the kitchen.
“Where have you been? You’ve been gone for two days.” Remus shouted, his own rage and worry brewing, “one moment you’re here, where you should be, the next I head a patronus message was sent for me to get Snape out of danger and you took it!”
“You know where I’ve been then.” Sirius sighed, “I’m sorry, Moony. Yes, I went to get Severus-”
“Severus?”
“Yes. Severus. He didn’t send the message, by the way. It was a trap. A few Death Eaters suspected him, his not safe. If I hadn’t gone, Remus, he’d be dead.”
“Someone else should have gone! Look at you risking your life and freedom for Snape.” Remus sighed, “come in, come have a tea with me.”
Both men walked into the kitchen, empty of all other Order members at this time. He slumped into his usual seat, a feeling of claustrophobia kicking in.
“Remus I have something to say, I need to say it, I need to make it real.” Sirius spoke, nerves and sickness swirling within him.
“Pads, what the fuck is going on?” Remus spoke quickly, his own worry, his own stress for his friend and his evident plight causing him to freeze up.
“I like Severus. I have feelings for him, I mean.” Sirius said, relief floating through his body as he made it true, made it real, “I think I always have. No. I know.... I know it.”
Remus sat frozen, taking in all that was said.
“Well, say something, Moony.” Sirius sighed, the relief he had felt inside twisting into fear.
He had never told anyone about his feelings for men as well as women.
He never had a chance to.
“Snape?” Remus repeated, “but you hate him. He hates you. Sirius, what do you expect to happen? You- we- we were all so horrible to him. I don’t think you get just how.... awful I feel inside when I think back to how we were. How can you not-?”
“You think I don’t?” Sirius asked.
“You seem to think that just because you have feelings for him...” Remus trailed off.
“Say it.”
“You seem to think that just because you have feelings for him, these feelings that I am happy that you can admit, by the way,” Remus assured, “but... you have hurt him enough, Pads.”
Sirius thought back to his lips on his, his groans, his cries, his biting kisses.
He thought back to his cock in his hand, stroking him, the thickness imprinted in his palm.
“I think there is a chance.” Sirius spoke quietly.
Remus leaned back, unhidden annoyance on his face, frustration. Sirius could be so... stubborn. So entitled. Thinking with his co-... heart instead of his head. He rubbed his own head, his scarred face weary with the strain he had been under healing from the full moon and waiting for Sirius to get back to headquarters.
“Sometimes, when people gamble, Pads, they lose. Please bare that in mind.” Remus sighed.
. . .
The Order meeting was the only interesting thing Sirius had to content with over the last few days since he had returned from the Emergency Message mission for Severus. He had spent the days fixating on where the other man was, whether he had managed to convince Voldemort that he was on their side, instead of the Order, all along. Whether he was dead or alive.
He drank to dull the thoughts of his own uselessness.
What could he do to help him?
He had no idea where he was.
He had no idea where he left to when he had disapperated from their last interaction just a few steps away from the school grounds.
He drank a Hangover Cure potion as he listened to Dumbledore speak, cognitively aware that Severus was not in attendance for this meeting. He looked around the room as if he was nodding hello to everyone, meeting Remus’ eyes and knowing that the other man knew what he was really doing, who he was really hoping to see.
“A disappointing development has occurred since our last meeting.” Dumbledore announced, “Severus Snape will no longer be in attendance of Order meetings as his role as spy is no longer possible. He has been discovered compromised by Death Eaters two days ago, managing to apparate away before he was killed. I am thankful for the work he has done, it was a difficult role to work.”
“Is he hurt?” Molly Weasley enquired with concern, “perhaps I can visit at Hogwarts, let him know-”
“That’s very kind of you to offer, Molly, but Severus is no longer at Hogwarts.” Dumbledore said, seeing the confusion on her face, on other people’s faces, “he decided that, as he was no longer a spy, he no longer needed a cover job. He resigned, without notice, and departed. And no, he did not leave a forwarding address.”
Sirius realised that in a previous life, one only a few days ago even, this news would have rocked his world. It would have been the cherry on top of his misery sundae, the uppity-Slytherin dark-arts freak, out of his spy role that made him look down his hooked nose at Sirius. Not only was he out of this role, he was also out of the cushy little job at Hogwarts too.
It made him feel awful, made him feel shameful for having wished this on his enemy- if ‘enemy’ was the right word he could allocate to someone he had tormented for seven years and destroyed.
“Where is he?” Sirius asked, causing heads to turn at the concern he had for the man everyone knew he despised.
“As I said, Sirius, he did not leave a forwarding address.” Dumbledore repeated, turning on to other news and developments within the Order.
Sirius felt his head swim, as if foggy with his own blood. He didn’t hear another word during the rest of the meeting and then all of a sudden it was the end and people were standing to depart Grimmauld Place once again. He forced himself to stand up too, making a bee-line for Dumbledore before he went back to Hogwarts.
“Sirius, what can I do for you?” Dumbledore offered, his face friendly, his tone warm now that business was done with the meeting.
“It’s about Sev- Snape.” Sirius began, “you must have an idea where he is.”
“Why are you asking about Severus?” Dumbledore asked.
“Well, I realise.... I was, and have been, awful towards him. Going on the Emergency Message mission changed me.” Sirius struggled to explain, struggled to understand it all himself let alone explain to another person such as Dumbledore.
“Change is never easy, Sirius.” Dumbledore assured, “but... I have never been given the impression that Severus is in the same space of ‘Forgive and Forget’ that you stand in currently.”
“I think... there is a chance. I can’t let this go.” Sirius confessed, “not that it is in motion.”
Dumbledore considered his words, considered his sincerity.
“I might have an idea where he could be. Just an idea.” Dumbledore managed, “but if Severus does not want to see you, you must promise me that you will not harass him, not torment him-”
“I promise.” Sirius interrupted.
He didn’t need to be told twice.
. . .
His second escape from Death Eaters had been a narrow one, and the days that followed made him wonder why he even bothered to live.
Not when he felt as miserable as he did.
He had apparated back to Hogwarts, looking around at the grounds as if for the last time once again. He walked his tortured, wretched, body to Dumbledore’s office and informed him that it was not possible to convince Voldemort that he was a Death Eater any longer.
He resigned from Hogwarts, his hated job as potions’ master had been a cover designed by Dumbledore to facilitate his spy role. As he was no longer a spy he no longer needed a cover role.
As one thing fell from him, one thing after the other, he felt his life spiralling.
He stepped out of Dumbledore’s office a man with no job, no security, nothing.
He knew the second he stepped out from the office a second time in so many days that neither a job nor security were going to be necessary where he was heading.
Walking off the grounds of the place he hated, the place he had been tied to almost his whole life, the place he had had enough of, he disapperated to another place he hated.
Spinners End.
The old house was just as it had been left the previous summer. Dilapidated. Soulless. Devoid of attachments. Connections.
He stepped through the door and felt the curtain of pressure and pointlessness fall upon him.
Slamming the door felt a worthless endeavour but he did it all the same, channelling the bleak into kinetic energy. He was so pathetically feeble that slamming hardly came through.
At first it was ideation. At first, it was just dreaming. Longing.
The dreams grew foundation, grew scaffolding and brickwork as ideation turned into planning, planning into preparation...
He had never felt so useless in all his life, so pointless, so directionless.
Occasionally amongst the daunting trees of his misery towering over him, he felt his mind lured backwards to the strange lands of the Forbidden Forest, the strange and unusual place that Sirius Black took up in his head.
A sink hole.
The man would only drag him down further- as if this was possible.
He couldn’t fall any further, the earth had reached the core.
This was the end of the world.
It was time for him to step out into the other side- if another side existed.
At one point in the fractured space he was in, he found himself sat in his old kitchen, the space his mother had stirred a pot of watery broth for them to survive on.
Instead of broth to survive on, Severus brewed a potion to die on.
Moonbeam petal.
Sycharoth stem.
Betal Serum.
He stirred the thin liquid, pouring it into three ceramic mugs.
Hardly any cutlery existed within this house but mugs.
Three would be enough.
He downed one mug quickly, unwilling to let the metallic bitter taste linger.
The first step was hard- he felt such despair, such unfair despair that he was in this hell hole space in his head, his mind a badlands of misery.
He threw his fist into the glass window in the kitchen, the shards shredding his pathetic skin, his pathetic wrists, his pathetic blood sprouting from his pathetic veins. His Dark Mark. He didn’t want to die with this mark on him. He picked up a shard of glass and, as if he was peeling the bark from a stick, he hacked away at the soft skin that made up his Mark.
Blood dripped from his fingertips but he couldn’t feel it.
He tugged his sleeve down, covering the sight, the ghastly sight of stark red.
The sting he felt was a distraction, almost distracted him from downing the second mug of poison.
He felt the blood swim through his head, sense and dizziness swimming through him.
It was easier to focus on this.
Easier to focus on this than his life collapsing around him like a dying star.
Easier to focus on this than the desperate wanting within him that even dying could not suffocate, could not drown. The unfairness at the end of all things, the final bleak misery of his life, to want something so impossible and so humiliating. To have found a ground of comfort in the arms of the man who hurt him so permanently and so appallingly. What was wrong with him?
He was pathetic.
He was pathetic.
He was pathetic.
A knock at the door- an alien sound invading his collapsing senses.
As the potion swam through him, things became harder to process, became a jumble of what he could see and hear stepping over each other to try to make sense of things as they happened.
He held the third mug tightly in his hands.
Someone walked into his house.
Someone walked in to his kitchen.
“Severus.”
He must be losing it, must be losing the last strands of sense as Sirius Black stood in his kitchen staring at him, expecting something, expecting him to push back, to tell him to leave.
“Severus?”
Sirius looked around the kitchen, seeing no real space to sit down, recalling that he saw a two seat sofa in the living room he had walked into when he stepped into the house. He led the man into the living room, shocked by his compliability to his requests.
He looked unwell.
“Severus?” Sirius repeated again, the man sinking into the sofa.
Sirius saw the mug in his hand, the mug so tightly held in his hand.
“What is that your drinking?” Sirius asked.
He was behaving so strangely, so off, so unusual.
His eyes so far away, so unfocused.
“Sev?” Sirius repeated, alarm rising in his chest.
He wriggled the mug out of Severus’ hand, sniffing at it. Even with his passable knowledge of potions, he knew this was not good.
Not safe.
“I’ll get you some water.” Sirius announced, anxiety rising in his chest.
He just wanted to make things right, to make things better for Severus, like his own happiness, his own soul, rested on it.
It was impossible to find a glass, the mugs were covered in the same swill Severus had brewed... he had drunk two mugs, half a mug left- he had taken it from his hand.
He felt a chill on his face. The window broken.
Panic struck him. Things felt so off, so wrong, so unsafe.
He needed to get help.
He went back to the living room, sat beside Severus, trying to make him speak, trying to make him engage as he sunk further into the chair, his eyes fading off.
He sent his patronus to Remus, the other man appearing quickly, stepping into the house.
He knew it was an emergency as Severus did not tell him to fuck off as he checked his vital signs, announcing that he needed to go to hospital, quick.
Sirius didn’t think about the fact he was a wanted man- Remus thought of it for him.
Charming his appearance to look different.
Sirius swooped down upon Severus, clasping his arms around his waist, picking him up, supporting him with his shoulder. His head lulling as a deep unconsciousness took him.
Remus looked distraught, following the disguised Sirius as he apperated to St Mungos hospital, helping to support the wrecked form of the man that Sirius had fallen head over hills for. Remus could not understand where this had all come from, his mind raking over the shared lives they had lived and seeing fields of hurt- a once barren field sprouting a sprig of... something.
A healer saw the pair of men supporting Severus and summoned a stretcher, Sirius placing him stretched out on flat surface, his eyes popping at the trail of blood soaking and spilling from the cuff of his shirt.
The nurse pushed him away to a side room, the door swinging shut, blocking Sirius and Remus from entering.
“Sirius.” Remus spoke, guiding his old friend to sit down on the waiting room chair.
Sirius sat down, shock seeping from him as if the membrane holding his body together was bursting at the seams. He looked towards Remus, desperate for him to make this better.
“He’s in the best place.” Remus spoke, “it will be okay.”
Sirius clung to his words, clung to his offer of positivity even if it felt too flimsy so hold him and Severus afloat in this nightmare storm and sea.
Hours seemed to pass, ticking by like boulders onto Sirius’ shoulders.
Remus shook him to attention as a healer stepped out of the ward room Severus was being treated within.
“What’s happening with Severus?” Sirius asked, stepping out in front of the healer.
“The man you brought in ages ago?” the healer checked, looking sheepish, “he ... discharged himself. I thought he would have gone through this way and gone back with you...”
“He’s.... gone?” Sirius repeated.
The healer nodded.
“He left this, his prescription.” She spoke, handing him a long list of medicines, “if you can, please convince him to come back here, he shouldn’t have been able to discharge himself so quickly but we are so busy right now he just... we didn’t notice until he was gone and his papers signed off.”
Sirius took the parchment from the healer, watching her step around him and carry on with her rounds. He looked down, sensing it would take ages to wait for this script to be filled. Remus came closer to him, taking the parchment, telling him to get out of the hospital before someone ended up recognising him and sending him back to prison.
“I’ll get this sorted, just go.” Remus spoke.
A sudden thought his Remus, causing him to grab hold of Sirius before he left.
“Don’t .... Sirius, he’s clearly in a very bad way at the moment. Please, don’t .... don’t make things worse for him.” Remus begged.
Sirius knew Remus spoke from memory.
Sirius knew that Remus spoke from years of knowing him, years of friendship.
He knew he had done so much wrong.
But Remus’ request still stung, still latched on to a part of him that was reluctant to accept his past.
“I’ve changed, Remus.” Sirius assured.
. . .
Sirius returned to the house he had found Severus, the run down dilapidated shack of a house so sapped of life’s comforts. The door had been left unlocked. He stepped in for the second time that day, closing it shut behind him with a quiet click.
He looked around. The house was quiet. The mugs of poison had been tidied away, the broken glass swept away, the window pane fixed. The blood cleaned away. He found a staircase and stepped up the creaking steps, his feet heavy on the wooden slacks. He counted each step: fourteen.
He came to two doors, one shut, one pushed ajar.
He took a deep breath and stepped into the room with the ajar door, peering around and seeing a small bed and not much else.
Nothing.
No sign of Severus inside the room, the space so blank and open there would be no place for him to hide.
In anxiety, he tried to enter the second room, the door locked, charmed, warded, to prevent entry.
Panic shot through him, stress and concern screaming at him to get into the room in case Severus was inside finishing the morbid job he had started earlier that day.
He banged his fists on the door as if his sheer force of his fists could shatter the fields.
He shouted, his voice so desperate, so afraid.
“What are you doing here, Black?”
Sirius jumped in surprise, shock surging through his blood as he backed away from the door and looked down the staircase where the voice had come from.
At the bottom of the steep stairs, Severus stood, tired and pale and blank.
“What am I doing? What the fuck are you doing?” Sirius yelled, rushing downstairs towards the man, his actions like a magnet pushing Severus away further.
“I live here.” Severus explained, “you don’t.”
“You just left the hospital. You didn’t even stay to collect your prescription.” Sirius interrupted, the hurt and shock within him too strong, “Remus is getting it for you.”
“Oh, wonderful. It doesn’t concern either of you.” Severus said, a shade of anger flashing on his otherwise blank face. He made his way to the backdoor in the kitchen, further avoiding Sirius.
He seemed to struggle with the handle, the wood pane that the door had been constructed by had swollen by the years of rain and absence of varnish. His injured wrist hung limply by his side, unused.
Sirius followed him, the small concrete square that constituted a garden left little room for him to stand. It gave him an excuse to be stood close to Severus, at least. He watched him pull a rolled up cigarette from a packet of tobacco in his trouser pocket, lighting it with his wand and inhaling deeply. A pale hand held the packet out towards Sirius, stitches poking through where his shirt sleeve skimmed over his wrist. Sirius felt so lost, so out of his depth, swimming in the other man’s misery and trying desperately to dive down and reach him, trying to drag him back to the surface so he could breathe. So he could live.
He took a cigarette, feeling embarrassed that in all his years of so-called rebellion against his rich family he had actually never smoked a hand-rolled cigarette before. Severus seemed an expert in putting the cigarettes together, whereas he had always bought ready made packets. Looking around at the character of Spinners End, it became starkly obvious that this was not a matter of choice Severus had to make but all that could be afforded.
The quietness was a strange comfort. Both men appeased by nicotine, both men lulled into the lullaby effect that smoking outside had. The cold breeze sharp on their faces, the Northern autumn air dropping as the evening wore on. An airplane flew through the sky, the muted scream of muggle technology howling through clouds above. The sound of teenage chatter passing through the alleyways that divided the terraced houses from one road to the next was very loud and then suddenly very quiet as the pair walked on to their own destination away from Spinners End.
Eventually, Severus stubbed out his cigarette, depositing the end in an old ashtray on the ground before stepping back indoors. Sirius’ eyes followed him, unwilling to let him out of his sight.
. . .
“That’s twice I’ve saved your life now.”
Sirius had stepped back into the house, made his way to the living room where he found Severus sat on the sofa reading a book as if he hadn’t just that morning made a very intentional attempt to end his life. He sat down on the other side of the sofa, feeling the age and worn down fabric on the palm of his hands as he lowered himself down.
“Why did you leave the hospital so quickly, Severus?” Sirius attempted.
The silence that followed made Sirius think the man was never going to speak again to him but then he did, his words quiet and steady.
“I was given an antidote so there was no need to stay.”
“Surely you understand that one antidote would not be... all there was to it.” Sirius pushed.
“As I have said, several times now, Black, it does not concern you.” Severus spoke, building bricks higher and higher around him, a wall he needed there and then more than he would ever say.
“I don’t... Severus...” Sirius snapped, “I care about you. I’ve said it now, I told you I was different. That I had changed. I wouldn’t want to see an enemy as hurt as you are now- and you’re not my enemy. I mean it. What happened in the woods- what I said.”
Severus put his book down and stared at him. He may not have been very eloquent, but his bluntness had clearly caught Severus’ attention enough for him to react.
“I did not expect you to be so clingy, Black.” Severus spoke, harshly, “if I had known that you would be stalking me days after you came in my hand, I would have just given you the cloak and willingly froze in the woods. You never used to latch onto the people you slept with, if I recall.”
“I didn’t know you paid any attention to who I slept with at school, Severus.” Sirius winked, despite the awfulness of the situation.
“You say you’re a different person, Black,” Severus began, “If you are so different why are you here, tormenting me-”
“Tormenting you?” Sirius balked, rising from the sofa, looming over the blank-faced man, “I- I saved your bloody life! I am here making sure that you remain alive! I want to know why you tried to kill yourself! Why you quit your job at Hogwarts! Why you have left the Order! Was it my fault, Severus, was it because I made you think I was gloating before? Because I’m sorry, I am so sorry-”
“Not everything revolves around you!” Severus shouted back, standing up and squaring up to the taller man, a menacing darkness in his eyes, “you have no right-”
“I’m sorry!” Sirius whispered, “I- I just want to help.”
“There’s nothing to help, there’s nothing left to fix.” Severus confessed softly, his mind wandering to the dark abyss within him, slipping, falling back again.
He felt as if he was drowning, a physical instinctual washed over him, as if his body and soul had abandoned his broken brain to at least try to save his entire self.
The abyss within him had other ideas.
“Just go. Leave me. No one would ... even think to assign an iota of blame to you. No one would even know I was gone.”
Sirius took hold of him, his hands grabbing hold of his shoulders, causing his head to swing back like a rag-doll, blank black eyes meeting grey eyes so alight with life it almost caused Severus to recoil. Sirius’ eyes could not draw away from those black eyes.
He couldn’t believe what he had heard.
Severus couldn’t believe what he had said.
He must be out of his mind to have said what he said.
Of course the man wasn’t going to leave now, he scolded himself.
It was almost as if he didn’t want Black to go, didn’t want to actually be left alone.
He truly was pathetic.
“I’m going nowhere.” Sirius finally spoke, his voice fractured but holding on tight, “nowhere.”
Severus shook his hands off him, sinking back down into his thread-bear sofa. Sirius watched him, his eyes too afraid to part from him, too afraid of losing him- as ridiculous as that sounded in his head. The man sunk his head into his hands, his hair falling over his face as he sat in silence.
He had never seen the man like this and a startling realisation hit him- that he had almost been here himself, he had almost reached this point. Azkaban, death after death, after death, living and rotting in caves on the run... not being the godfather he needed to be to Harry... it had all brought him to the brink, drinking himself almost to the brink of death at his own hand. A slow motion suicide instead of the efficient means Severus had opted for.
But he had been there, where Severus sat there and then.
And he would do anything to pull him out.
His eyes noticed a movement outside the window, a quick, brisk walk on the street towards Severus’ house.
Remus
“I- I’ll be one second, Severus, please don’t move.” Sirius announced, eyes flicking from Severus sat on the sofa to Remus approaching the door.
He stepped towards the front door, opening it slightly before Remus knocked. His eyes wide and worried, a large paper bag heavy in his hands.
“Pads, is ... he here?” Remus asked quietly.
“Yes, I’m taking care of everything.” Sirius updated quickly, his eyes falling to the bag, “is all that for Severus?”
Remus nodded, remembering the wait in the apothecary department at St Mungos, the potioneers eyeing him with suspicion and pity as they made up the medicines. Remus could ignore it all.
He was used to judgement.
“I’ll message you.” Sirius said, taking the bag and saying goodbye to Remus- Remus grabbing hold of the door before it could close, giving Sirius a surprise.
“If... if you... Sirius- I swear, if you make this worse for Snape, I will never forgive you. You will never forgive yourself.”
“Have some faith in me, please.” Sirius begged, “I promised.”
Remus lowered his head, feeling ashamed for saying it- again.
But he knew he would feel even worse if things went so wrong and he had been too cowardly to do anything.
. . .
Sirius sat back down on the sofa beside Severus, dropping the heavy paper bag on the floor. He had hoped to have garnered some type of reaction from him but he still sat with his head in his hands. Sirius wanted to make things better, wanted to make things right but struggled to think.
He shivered. Spinners End was a cold place, it seemed. Sirius looked around the living room and saw cracks in the walls, the old wallpaper peeling back from years of neglect. He wished there were more things in the room to see, to gather clues about the life Severus had lived as a child. He wondered if the absence spoke for itself. There were no pictures, no photos of a mother or father; no ornaments or collectables. No artefacts of the Dark arts on the shelves. Not even a cauldron in the corner of the room.
“Are you sure this is your house, Severus?” Sirius caught himself asking.
The stupidity of the question was enough to grab Severus’ attention. The man lifted his tired face from his hands, his lank hair falling away from his face.
“... Am I sure?” he repeated.
“This isn’t the sort of place I saw you living in, that’s all.” Sirius explained, “apart from the books anyway.”
Severus looked around, feeling nothing but contempt for the house he sat in.
“I thought there would be some darker wallpaper, at the very least.” Sirius continued, seeing that this conversation was getting more out of the man than anything else he had tried so far.
“Is this room too bright for your sensibilities, Black? Pull the curtains if the wallpaper hurts you so much.” Severus sighed, pushing himself off the sofa, stumbling on a dizzy spell that hit him.
“Where are you going?” Sirius asked, the small brief conversation having passed.
“It doesn’t concern you.” Severus dismissed, making his way out of the living room.
Sirius sprung up from the sofa following him into the kitchen, seeing him begin the slow ascent up the steep staircase. Sirius watched him, following him, his eyes drawn to the back of the man’s thighs beneath his dark trousers, his eyes rising up the man’s legs, the hem of his too long jumper covering up the parts of his body Sirius had been greedily looking towards.
Severus did not speak, did not say a word. He just climbed into the narrow bed in the corner of the room. He buried himself beneath the thin duvet, disappearing from Sirius’ eyes and causing a dull ache in his chest. He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him, the room darkening without the lighting from the hallway to brighten the place. He knelt down beside the bed, seeing that Severus was facing the wall, his back to him, his hair long at the back, his shoulders high even when he lay down, incapable of relaxing.
He suddenly remembered the medicine bag that Remus had carried over.
“Severus, before you fall asleep, don’t you think you should have some of the medicine you were prescribed?” Sirius suggested, his voice quiet in the dark.
Sirius could tell, somehow, that Severus was not yet asleep.
He was just ignoring him still.
He sighed, pulling his new wand out of his waistcoat pocket and summoning the paper bag up the stairs and into the room. He searched through the bag: a Draught of Peace, a Dreamless Sleep, a second and third dose antidote to be spaced out over the next twenty-four hours... Sirius noticed that the second dose needed to be drunk soon. A note on the prescription reading that if the treatment was not adhered to, then Severus would need to be hospitalised.
He shook the man’s shoulder gently, making it impossible for him to be ignored.
“Why wont you just leave me alone?” Severus eventually spoke, his tired voice splintering with exhaustion.
“You have a choice, take the antidote- and the next one in twelve hours, or I take you back to hospital.” Sirius instructed, a firmness and finality to his voice that made it impossible for Severus to ignore.
Severus sat up, taking the small vial from Sirius’ hand wordlessly, drinking the disgusting tasting antidote quickly to avoid gagging.
“Right, now roll up your sleeve.” Sirius instructed, picking up the jar of healing balm.
“...Have you lost your mind, Black?”
“You wont do this yourself.” Sirius explained, looking up at him expectedly, before quietly adding, “I promise I wont say anything, if you don’t want me to. But... if you don’t treat your injuries they will only worsen-”
“It does not concern you!” Severus seethed, so frustrated at the stubbornness from the other man.
“- they will only worsen and you might end up in hospital again.” Sirius laboured the point that seemed to be the main concern Severus wanted to avoid more than anything right then.
He sighed heavily, reluctantly removing his jumper and discarding it towards the end of the small bed. Roughly, his healthy hand unbuttoned the cuff on his injured arms’ sleeve and extended his arm towards where Sirius knelt.
It was lucky it was as dark as it was, Sirius thought, he felt as if he would be unable to hide his horror if he had seen what Severus had done to himself in the cold, setting sun of day. He felt the stitches along his fingertips as he gently applied the healing balm to his skin, feeling him shake with evident pain beneath his hands from the discomfort of the medicinal balm on his wounds.
He carried on shivering, shaking, when Sirius was finished with the balm.
Sirius remembered the forest, the two nights they had shared together beneath Severus’ cloak to conserve heat. He remembered what else they had done and realised the last few nights he had spent locked back up at Grimmauld Place had been... so lonely.
He realised he hadn’t let go of Severus’ arm, holding onto a part of his wrist that was not injured.
He realised that Severus had not told him to let go, had not shook him off, even when it was evident that he had finished the task of applying the healing balm to his wounds.
He hadn’t told him to go.
Sirius looked into his eyes and saw a sadness that could not be contained even with his attempts at stoicism, even with his attempts to burry it all.
“Do you ... do you still want me to go?” Sirius broached, regret punching him hard in the stomach as he risked losing this moment, risked all this... progress he had made with getting this close to the man.
Severus shook his head, so slowly, Sirius wasn’t sure if he imagined it.
He watched as the man shuffled backwards on the bed, making space for Sirius to join him in the small narrow bed. A bed as spacious as the space beneath the cloak they had shared in the forest at night, Sirius noticed, turning to face Severus to offer to transfigure the bed into something larger when his words were cut off by Severus kissing him.
He felt his thoughts evaporate into the cold air around them, the sun setting into night, the room dark and blind. Their kiss turned desperate, a frantic need for closeness, for comfort, for... something, something Severus could not make sense of.
His body had transformed into something he hardly recognised.
His body throwing himself into Sirius’ lips, his arms, his chest.
He felt his mind screaming at him to stop, to tell him to leave, but he was out of control now. He wanted to stop feeling his misery- replace it with the distractions sex brought him- even if the next morning he would regret it, regret it so much. Sirius would hurt him, he knew, tearing the other man’s shirt off, but he didn’t deserve to feel anything soft or sensual, he didn’t deserve care.
He wanted to hurt and the man who had hurt him for seven years could do it one more time in his bed.
“Severus,” Sirius groaned as his mouth was freed by Severus kissing his throat, hands unbuckling his belt, “we should stop. You’re not thinking-”
His words were cut off by Severus’ hand digging through his trousers, his underwear, stroking the tip of his cock with his thumb, circling him and teasing, testing his resolve. Sirius felt his mind give way to pleasure, to the arousal building within his cock, his stomach fluttering with the adrenaline of the acts that had transpired. He felt his body bucking against Severus’ thumb, wanting, demanding, more. He felt his body screaming for sex, it had been so unbelievably long, and here he was being offered it on a plate by the man beside him...
Severus grip tightened around his shaft and Sirius felt his eyes roll back at the touch.
He remembered the forest, remembered how good it had felt, how Severus had cried out softly against his shoulder as he came in his hand, how they had fallen asleep together beneath the cold stars above...
But two days later Severus had tried to end his life.
That was the reason he was here, right now, in his bedroom, making sure he stayed alive.
He stood up, stood away from the bed, cold reality pulling his clothes back up and buckling his belt.
He had promised he would not make things worse and ... he knew that the other man was not in the right state for sex, that he would be taking advantage of him.
He would make him feel worse.
“We’re not doing this.” Sirius spoke firmly, “I want to, I really do, but I don’t think you do- not for the right reasons.”
Severus didn’t say anything.
A childish, egotist part within him screamed at the humiliation of rejection.
He was too pathetic to fuck.
He had been wrong, it seemed.
Sirius didn’t want to hurt him.
Now he was stuck with these other thoughts, these other feelings, these other memories filling his head from the last few days, the last week, the last lifetime... He felt sick, he felt disorientated, he felt the sting of his wrist against the shirt he still wore and felt sicker still. It was too much, he began to spiral in his head all over again-
Sirius lifted a vial of the prescribed Dreamless Sleep to him, suggesting he take some as it had been the healers orders. With a shaking hand he took the vial. A hand he tried so hard to steady but realised there was no point in shielding his patheticness from Black anymore- he had seen him at the core of his lowest point, he had seen him at the edge of this world, almost stepping over to the next.
He sipped the drink, feeling the potion take work as it first melted his walls away as if they were ice, causing him to break down in tears he no longer had the capacity to hold away. Sirius sat back on the bed, shuffling back up to him, wrapping his arm around him and helping him sip what was left of the potion.
He felt the soothing bliss of letting go, of his mind swimming away from him, into a far off space where it could not catch him. Long enough to let him sleep. He had a faint realisation as he sunk down towards his pillow that he was actually laying with his head tucked up against Sirius’ chest, the other man’s arm cradling him.
He was wrong about Black, Severus’ final thoughts flittered away.
He was wrong
He was wrong
He was wrong
. . .
The morning came by slowly, as if filtering through a haze. The curtain’s billowed in Severus’ childhood room, the cracks in the glass letting through a breeze that, come winter time, would turn the bedroom into a freezer. He recalled his youthful years waking up too early, watching the clouds of breath billow before his face.
What would this year be like? Severus found himself wondering. An odd question to ask from someone who had come close to ending his life. A question that asked about a future he hadn’t planned on being a part of.
Would he fix the house? He was an adult wizard, after all. He could fix all the major issues the house had faced: the leak in the roof, the cracks in the windows, the bareness of his furnishings. He had some money now- something he and his mother never had, something his father had never given when he dropped by. Although, he narrowed his eyes... the money would run out eventually, since he had no job now. For the first time in decades, he was without a job.
The thought was enough to make him ill, make him full of dread, make him not want to think of a future he could not occupy.
He opened his eyes.
He was alone.
His memory took a tumble down to the day previously and felt so ashamed and embarrassed. He was glad he was alone. He had acted so pathetically. He had spiralled, spiralled as his life fell apart. He had been caught, snatched from his plans and intentions, carried off to hospital where he was forced to ingest an antidote, a tube forced down his throat to administer the bitter tasting drink. He had not wanted to take the antidote.
He scrunched himself up beneath the duvet, coming face to face with the scent Sirius had left behind.
He grabbed his head, pulling on his hair with mortification as he recalled... propositioning Sirius.
He didn’t want to be seen ever again. He... recalled thinking how he would regret his actions at the time- we’ll he certainly did burn with regret.
So much regret- so much shame. He hoped Sirius had gone away, never to return. Like he had told him to.
He felt a loose thread of cotton from his shirt tug on his stitches, wincing at the pull. He couldn’t handle any of this anymore: what had happened to him? What had caused him to destruct so viciously this time? He just... lost control of himself.
Burying his head deep under the duvet, deep under the pillow, he cringed with his shame in hiding.
. . .
Sirius had woken up early. Very early. Unnaturally early, for him. He had slept poorly anyway, pressed on the edge of the bed as he had held Severus. He had stroked his shoulder as he lay dozily in the cramped bed, the other man the only reason he stayed. The only reason.
He had felt tempted to neck a bit off the Dreamless Sleep prescription Severus had been given- it wasn’t as if the man couldn’t just brew his own to replace it... as he lay there at three in the morning, the sound of police cars driving by stirring him from his fitful sleep in alarm.
Frustration had kept him awake for a few hours- his cock rock hard and tempting from the offering Severus had presented to him; the absolute giving of his body... to be used, to be hurt by him. He knew, deep down, that Severus had... not been in his right mind. There was no other reason why the man would want to have sex with him. He knew, he knew. He... tried to let it go- being rejected – in a way. Not being wanted for the reasons he wanted to be wanted.
When he couldn’t feel his legs anymore, he decided he would get up. He plied Severus from his chest, the man gripping on tightly to the shirt he had ripped open so ardently the night before, placing his fast asleep body on the mattress as he himself rolled off. He made his way downstairs, closing the door behind him.
He wondered if there was any food in the house, but somehow he doubted it. He looked through cupboards and just found the mugs Severus had used to.... the one’s he had used, Sirius concluded his thoughts, not wanting to remember that awful moment.
He wanted to focus on helping Severus- and, right now, his help focused on finding something to eat.
As he closed the door to the cupboard, he saw a familiar wolf patronus approach him. Remus’ voice asking if he was available, if he could come in. Sirius guessed that the message meant that Remus was stood outside the house on Spinners End and made his way to the front door, deciding he would make a trip to the shop to get some groceries for Severus alongside a catch up with his oldest and dearest friend.
“Pads- Merlin, you look tired.” Remus commented, stepping aside so Sirius could close the door quietly.
Sirius reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out his packet of cigarettes, sneakily lighting the end with magic in the deserted street.
“I hardly slept a wink.” Sirius confessed, walking with Remus towards the alleyway he had heard a pair of teenagers walking through the day before when he and Severus had been smoking out in the back garden.
It was quiet, hidden. They could apparate without any muggles noticing them. He used his wand to alter his appearance slightly, knowing that going to Diagon Alley to go grocery shopping for Severus would be ... a mistake undisguised.
“Come to the shops with me, Moony.” Sirius asked, “I’m starving.”
As they landed in the markets of Diagon Alley, Remus grabbed hold of Sirius, stopping him in his tracks as the man placed bread in his basket.
“He’s... okay, he took Dreamless Sleep so he’s out for the count right now. He took the first of the two antidotes as well.” Sirius updated, his hand on Remus’ arm, so grateful for Remus’ support, “I’m... shopping for him right now. There’s nothing in that house right now.”
“You need to get back to Grimmauld Place, Sirius.” Remus stated, “Dumbledore will go... insane when he finds out you are here.”
“He doesn’t need to know, Moony.” Sirius assured.
“He has ways of finding out.” Remus sighed, “Pads... you are getting yourself invested, you are investing your feelings... your time... your energy... into a man you have an established terrible history with. A man who has very recently experienced what I presume to be a near-death experience getting away from Death Eaters who found out he was a spy- twice. A job loss- a loss of a home that he has known for most of his life at Hogwarts... I know you have these feelings, I am not judging you for these feelings, but...”
“I know, Remus.” Sirius spoke slowly, “I... know. I’ll have you know that I have been putting these feelings I have second. I said I wouldn’t make things worse for him. I know you are looking out for me... and in your own way, I can see that you are looking out for Severus-”
“We don’t get on, Pads, but... seeing him like that yesterday was awful.” Remus sighed, “I just can’t believe this has happened. I want to help but he, rightfully, hates me. I don’t want to overstep. I’ll... keep Dumbledore off your back, if... if you think, if you truly think... you are helping him.”
Sirius packed the basket in his hand full of groceries for the man he wasn’t supposed to have feelings for.
“Thank you, Moony.” Sirius conceded.
. . .
Severus eventually made his way downstairs, incapable of smoking indoors. He disliked the way smoke stained the walls, lingered on the curtains until it made everything stale. He had to smoke outdoors, even if the weather was awful. Like there and then.
The rain was heavy. Fat, pelting drops poured upon him, drenching him. He didn’t want to repel the water away with magic. Didn’t want to summon an umbrella- if there even was an umbrella indoors. He just wanted to feel the water on him. Feel the coldness, even if it made his skin sore, even if it made his hair stick to his face, even if his clothes were soaked to his bones. The coldness, the wetness, despite its harshness, it had a rejuvenating effect. But what he had to rejuvenate for was the question. He had nothing. Nothing left to give. No more use to offer.
He found himself smirking at the foolishness of his earlier morning thoughts. His wondering about how the house would be once winter came, his contemplations on fixing the house up in ways he never could as a child... it had been so stupid.
He struggled to see a point in it all. He had no purpose... he was not a potion master at Hogwarts. He was not Head of Slytherin House. He was not a spy. He was not in the Order. He could no longer work to recompense his greatest mistake. He could no longer avenge the loss of his old friend.
He heard sounds coming from his kitchen- paper bags, doors closing with a magnetic snap. He leant away from the wall, wondering what was going on. He pushed open the stiff back door, stepping into the kitchen-
“Fucking hell, Severus! You gave me a heart attack!”
Sirius Black was stood in his kitchen, putting food away in his cupboards and unpacking plates and bowls, knives and forks. The things he didn’t have. The things he never had in this house.
He found himself looking away from him, a vulnerability falling over him that he hated, feeling exposed for what he was beneath Sirius Black’s eyes. Feeling so pathetic-
“Would you like coffee?” Sirius asked, pulling a hob kettle from one of his shopping bags.
Severus couldn’t find the words from his mouth, couldn’t find the words to tell the man to go, to leave, to put the fucking kettle on...
“Severus?” Sirius repeated, before noticing how sodden the other man was from the weather, “have you really been out in the garden in this weather?”
“How can you still be here?” Severus spluttered, the words falling from him in a jumble, “how can you still be here after everything that... I’ve done.”
“Severus,” Sirius spoke, putting the kettle down on the kitchen counter.
He stepped towards Severus, the man avoiding his eyes. He wanted so much to help him raise his eyes again, to not feel so weighed down by everything on his mind.
He didn’t want to admit it, knowing Severus would be furious, would be dismayed: but he saw his vulnerability, saw his hurt and did not recoil, did not turn away.
“You think I’d rather be stuck at Grimmauld Place?” Sirius joked softly, “you’re better company than my mother’s portrait, Severus.”
Severus said nothing, the water dripping from his wet clothes on to the floor. He felt a shiver pass through him from the damp.
“You’ll catch a cold if you’re not careful.” Sirius commented, attempting to work the gas hob. He gave up and decided it was safer to just use magic to heat up the kettle for a hot drink, “Severus, I do have a question actually...”
Severus stared at him, expectantly, waiting for whatever question he had, dreading the worst.
“Where is your bathroom?” he asked, “only, I thought, seeing as you’re going to catch a cold standing around in that rain.... maybe you could do with a hot bath? And, I really need a piss.”
Severus exhaled. He had expected worse from him, still... still expecting something cutting, something sharp from him. Even though he had admitted to himself the night before that he had been wrong about Sirius Black.
But his actual question brought up other awkwardness. The sheer class difference between the two men was startling- Sirius Black one of the richest men in wizard society, whereas he was born in poverty and hadn’t made any adjustments to the minor steps he had taken up the wealth ladder.
“Well, Sirius. The toilet is outside and the bath isn’t really a bath.” Severus explained.
“So, it’s a shower?” Sirius clarified.
Severus sighed, stepping to a door Sirius hadn’t noticed before. It was adjacent to the door that led to the staircase.
“There is a tin bucket downstairs in the cellar.” Severus explained, peering down to the dark dusty floor beneath the house.
“Are you joking?” Sirius tilted his head in confusion.
The dark look Severus threw at him assured him that he was not.
“I didn’t know that was possible.” Sirius confessed, “sorry, I’m being rude. Okay, well, now I know. I didn’t see the toilet when I was outside before though-”
“You might have thought it was a shed.” Severus suggested.
“Right, well, like I said, I need a piss- will you keep an eye on the kettle?” Sirius said, rushing off towards the backdoor.
Severus thought the embarrassment he felt about his house and his upbringing was... preferable to the humiliation he felt towards everything he had done in the last twenty-hour hours.
The kettle boiled. He poured the water into the mugs filled with coffee granules, wondering for a moment how Sirius took his coffee- feeling ridiculous to be wondering whether to add milk or sugar... He decided to leave it rather than risk making a mistake. He took his own coffee black with no sugar and found it undrinkable whenever anyone put anything extra in his mug.
He finished his hot drink, realising Sirius had been gone a long time. He wondered if his slum of a house had been the final nail in the coffin for Black, sending him off back to his own luxuries- despite how much he protested that he hated Grimmauld Place. He went to wash his mug up, careful not to get his stitches wet, remembering he needed to take his antidote soon...
He left the mug to dry by the sink, hearing footsteps echoing from behind him.
The door the cellar pushed open, causing Severus to reach for his wand-
“I’m back,” Sirius announced, stepping onto the floor of the house from the dark staircase.
“What are you doing?” Severus exhaled, relief that Black wasn’t a Death Eater coursing through his body.
“Your bath awaits.” Sirius grinned, “I went back to Grimmauld Place and grabbed a few things.”
“Why?” Severus questioned, feeling the unquenchable dread within him.
He hated surprises.
“Come down, I’ll show you what I’ve done if you want.” Sirius offered, reaching for Severus’ hand, audaciously taking the lead and guiding Severus down the stairs to the cellar.
It was unrecognisable.
Candles floated around the room, taking away all the dank darkness. The bucket tub had been transfigured to be larger, large enough to comfortably fit an adult man; hot water with bubbles waited for him. Bottles of bath wash lined the floor beside the tub for him to use, on top of soft towels.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Sirius coughed, “hopefully my coffee hasn’t gone too cold whilst I was gone-”
“Why did you do this?” Severus interrupted, his eyes fixed on the candles, their orange glow making all the difference to the cellar.
“I want to help, Severus.” Sirius confessed, watching the firelight grace his face, highlighting his cheekbones, his hooked nose, his dark eyes, “I am... I meant it, before, when I said I was sorry-”
“You feel guilty.” Severus realised, his mind leaping to this dark conclusion, “you don’t need to, you can leave, you’ve done enough, more than enough-”
“Shut up, Severus.” Sirius interrupted, “I don’t feel good about how I have treated you in the past. That’s the truth. But I am here because I want to help, not because of guilt. Guilt helps no one. Have your bath, while it’s still hot.”
Sirius made his way up the stairs, leaving the man before he could ask any more questions- he ran the risk of the water getting too cold.
. . .
Sirius waited in the living room, sat on the sofa sipping his coffee that had gone too cold. He didn’t mind, sipping it nonetheless.
He wondered if he was doing the right thing, if he was the right person for this task of helping Severus. As much as he wanted to, as much as he desired to stay with him, he had sworn to Remus that he would do no harm.
He hoped his presence wasn’t harm to Severus now, knowing full well the anxiety and dread Severus had felt whenever in his presence, his youthful face appearing in his mind, his memory.
How could he do the things he had done?
Sirius found it hard to accept the person he used to be, the boy who lashed out and demeaned the man he wanted nothing more to care for in his present tense.
He hoped he hadn’t overstepped. Running him a bath, bringing groceries, a kettle. He knew Severus had the capabilities to do all these things himself, but he also knew how hard each of these tasks were when a person felt as bleak as Severus felt. He liked the opportunity to do something useful for the first time in what felt like a lifetime.
If he could lift some of that burden for him to breathe, he would shoulder the world for him.
How had he fallen so head over heels, so quick, so naturally, Sirius wondered, his head sinking into his hand as he saw his own heartbreak on the horizon, so predictable and so unavoidable.
. . .
Severus watched Sirius go back up the staircase, using his hand against the dusty stone wall to guide him up without a banister, without much light to help. The door closed, giving him space and privacy to step into an unexpected bath. He turned to look at the tub, finding it almost appealing. His childhood was spent being dunked into this tin, once so overwhelmingly large and deep he felt as if he was drowning when his mother washed the suds out of his hair. His body instinctively tensed up, bracing for the usual cold water- his mother was not a good witch, an unwilling witch, reluctant to use magic to make their life easier. The bath water was always cold.
But not this water. This water was so hot that the cellar was turning into a sauna. Steam and condensation fogged around him. He dipped his hand into the depths, brushing the surface of the water, breaking the tension with his fingertips. It was so stunningly hot. He took his wet clothes off, the jumper heavy from the rain. He unbuttoned his shirt, his eyes avoiding looking at any part of his body.
Sinking into the water he felt his body scream out with relief. He hadn’t realised how tight his muscles felt, how cold he had been, until he had lain down in the hot water. He submerged himself in the water, opening his eyes beneath the depth. He felt cocooned. A sudden peace falling over him. As the air bubbles began to thin from his mouth, he sat back up in the tin bath, steam rising from his wiry body.
As he reached for the bottles of bath stuff Sirius had left behind for him his eyes were drawn to the horrific wound he had inflicted upon himself on his wrist. He froze, a shiver running through his body despite the perfect hot bath.
He wondered why he had done it. At the time, he had just wanted to eviscerate the Mark from him arm, unwilling to die with it on him. He remembered it being put on him; he hadn’t been given much choice on the matter. He should have fought harder. It felt so long ago now. But now he had shredded his wrist, his inner arm. Now he had stitches holding his flesh together, now he looked a lunatic. He found himself amused that he preferred to be seen as a lunatic than a Death Eater. Some would say there was little difference.
He reached for a towel, wrapped himself in the soft material, surprised that something this soft existed just to dry people’s bodies off after a bath. He looked around for dry clothes but couldn’t find anything. Knitting his eyebrows together, he sighed, tightening the towel around himself and not relishing the fact he had to go two flights of stairs from the cellar to his childhood bedroom to find something to wear that wasn’t damp...
Pushing open the cellar door he found himself wondering where Sirius had gone- if he hadn’t left. The man must have something better to do than stick around Spinners End, with him, as much as he proclaimed Grimmauld Place to be a misery for him-
“Severus?”
Severus flinched, spinning to see Sirius walk into the small space adjoining the living room to the kitchen from the cellar door, suddenly feeling as if his towel had shrunk, that it wasn’t long enough, that his wiry body was gangly and awkward looking instead of intimidating without his clothes...
“How... how was the bath?” Sirius asked, his eyes fighting to stay at eye contact, battling to not peek at his body beneath the overlarge towel he had brought over, regretting he hadn’t taken the smaller one.
“It was... nice.” Severus spoke, his own eyes locked onto Sirius’ greys.
Finding himself falling, finding himself drawn in by those eyes.
It was unclear by either side who stepped in first, who leaned in first, whose lips met whose first.
But Sirius had surrendered.
He had surrendered to the overwhelming, blinding, desire he felt and could not pull himself away from Severus even if his common sense teamed up with Remus and tried to drag him out of the house. He felt magnetised be Severus, enraptured by his lips, as eager and as frantic as his own against his. His hands ran through Severus’ damp hair, his fingertips massaged his scalp and incited a gasp from the man that caused Sirius’ body to burn with arousal. He kissed the other man’s mouth as if he was devouring his gasps, his small, breathy cries as the large towel slipped down from his shoulders, exposing him entirely.
He felt hands ply his own shirt buttons open, both his own and Severus’ hands knotting together as they fought to strip him of his clothes, a race to be as bare as he. Sirius ripped his shirt and threw it to the floor, barging himself against Severus, pressing his back to the wall as his hands explored the tautness of his wiry muscles, the slightness of his waist, the softness of his buttocks as his nails dug into his skin. Severus unbuckled his belt, his hands glancing over his hard erection as he pulled away from Sirius’ lips, his body realising what was going to happen and unsure if he could allow this.
It wasn’t like the night before, he didn’t want to hurt. He felt conflicted, Sirius seeing the disturbance, feeling him pull away from him.
Thinking he had done something wrong, Sirius stopped, his hand caressing Severus face, leaning in to his lips.
“What’s wrong?” Sirius asked softly, “have I done something wrong?”
He hadn’t.
Not yet.
Severus didn’t want to hurt today. He didn’t want to hurt tomorrow. His dark cloud had lifted somewhat and he was drenched in the rain that had fallen upon him.
He remembered the night before.
Sirius stopping.
He had been wrong, Severus told himself.
“I keep thinking that you will harm me.” Severus confessed, his forehead resting on Sirius’.
“I wont.” Sirius whispered, “I promise. Please, I need you so much to believe me when I say that I have changed. I – I can’t be a good person unless you believe it.”
Severus’ lips hovered below Sirius’, his heart pounding against his chest.
“I feel things for you, Severus.” Sirius confessed, “things I think I have always felt. Things I was too cowardly and too foolish to understand. If you think I will harm you again, if you truly do not want to do this, I will stop.”
Severus leaned into his lips, kissing him softly again, building up as it became clear that Severus wanted him as much as Sirius did. That he wanted to believe in his change, believe he was better than he was before, that he was safe from violence with Sirius. His body felt aflame against Sirius, his handsomeness almost a divinity even after such a long time in Azkaban. He felt his senses elevate, his skin searing beneath his touch, the brush of his cock against his stomach drove him wild. He imagined Sirius’ cock inside him and gasped into their kiss, pulling away as he turned around, wanting him inside him so overwhelmingly it made his body ache.
Sirius almost groaned at the man’s action, his hands descending from his shoulders down the back of his body, his eyes taking him all in, a hunger taking over him. His fingertips trailed over old scars on the man’s back, his sense of curiosity touching and protecting, kissing the long healed lines better. He knelt down, grabbing the narrow pelvis as he had done in the Forbidden Forest when he had gnawed through the ropes that bound his wrists behind his back, only this time he pressed his palms against the small of his back, causing him to tilt forwards as his tongue sought his hole, his ears drunk on the cries that fell from Severus.
He felt Severus’ body melt around him, his body submitting and begging for him, for more. His tongue probed and teased, his hand wrapped around his hips to grab hold of his hardened shaft, stroking him slowly. He rose from his knees with a satisfied smirk on his face, his lips wet from his own saliva that coated Severus’ hole in slickness. Leaning close to Severus, his body pressed against the wall, his hips writhing for friction from the hand still around his cock, unmoving as Sirius pulled himself up.
He kissed the space beneath his ear, breathing heavily with lust as he summoned lubricant onto his fingers, a cold drop slipping from him down Severus spine causing him to shiver.
“Is this what you want, Severus?” Sirius spoke against his ear, as he teased a finger against his hole, probing his fingertips against him ghostly.
“Yes,” Severus pleaded, his body so desperate for the bliss that awaited him, no longer thinking it possible that Sirius could cause him harm when he made him feel so good, “do it, please.”
With his free hand, Sirius grabbed hold of Severus’ face, tilting his lips towards his, kissing him as he pushed his finger inside him, tasting the illicitness from Severus’ gasping mouth, his presence within him so welcome, so needed.
Severus felt his mind splinter as Sirius pushed his finger inside him, the tightness around his finger brushing nerve endings so alight that his mind was like thunder in the sky. He couldn’t believe this was happening, couldn’t believe he was in this moment. Like a dream, he carried on, emboldened by the prospect of no consequences, no strings, no afterthoughts; like a dream, he would act without thought for once.
“More, more- now,” Severus demanded, his usually deep voice tight with need.
Sirius kissed his throat, his shoulders, slowly, maddeningly slowly, he slipped his fingers from Severus and coated his cock in what was left of the lubricant on his hand. Leaning, pressed against Severus’ body still, he felt a tightness in his posture, a tension. He brushed his cock against his buttocks, pressing his tip dully against his hole, seeking permission, seeking guidance and acceptance of his body within his.
He did not want to harm Severus, every part of his mind and body was screaming at him, in conflict over protecting the man and fucking him senseless.
"Sirius, please."
Severus could hardly believe his voice was his own, he could hardly believe his body was his own, begging Sirius Black to fuck him against the wall of his childhood home.
His eyes rolled back in utter bliss as Sirius pushed into him, sheathing himself until his stomach pressed against the small of his back, his cock entirely within him, his body so entirely filled with the other man he could cry. His girth stretched him, a soreness on the edge of his bliss as he grew accustomed to Sirius’ presence within him. He gasped as Sirius suddenly kissed him, his lips soft in contrast to the pressure within him. He melted into those lips, his softness so tender upon him.
Feeling his hips buck against Sirius, he gasped as Sirius met his movement with his hips rolling into him, his hands pressing him against the wall as he leaned into him, his breathing heavy against the back of his neck as his lips parted from him, his own breathing laboured as his arousal burned.
“Is this okay?” Sirius checked, his forehead resting against the back of his head, his body bursting with restraint.
“More,” Severus breathed, writhing against his cock, “fuck me.”
Sirius felt the thread holding his restraint fray and splinter, the need in Severus’ voice sent him drunk with lust, drunk with egoising lust to be the one to please him. He thrust against his body, his arms holding him down against the wall as he slammed in and out, watching with unbreaking fascination as his cock pounded inside Severus’ hole, his body taking him in eagerly. He pressed his upper body against the wall, his mouth seeking his as he frantically pounded into him, his own cries alarming him, his own desperation unparalleled by any encounter he had ever had before in his life.
He felt made for Severus’ body, made for this moment. As if all paths led to this time and day, as if they were meant to be together, their bodies together, their breath together- his body felt electric, transcendental, as he thrust into him, animalistic need pushing him and spurring him to meet the desperate and encouraging cries Severus made as he fucked him against the wall. Severus felt his body turn to stars, his body shaking with the wave of euphoria that swelled within him begging for release.
“So close, so, co close,” he cried, his words fractured and frantic, sounding like nonsense to his own ears.
His own hand wrapped around his cock, his hips withstanding the brunt of Sirius thrusting into him, his own hand stroked his cock, too sensitive, too much, too good. He felt his body tighten, his muscles contracting, his voice breaking, his ears ringing, his eyes rolling back into blindness as he released into his palm, his seed spilling between the gaps in his fingers onto the floor in a slick puddle.
The elation in Severus’ voice was overwhelming to Sirius, his own bliss building, hoping to outlast the other man, to make him come before he did, to make him feel good, to make him feel so, so good before he did. He groaned against Severus’ elated body, tilting his head to meet his lips, gazing into his spent eyes as he cried out, forehead sweating, as he released inside him, his senses breaking away from his body as he rode out the afterglow against Severus.
Time seemed to mean nothing to either man, so satiated and so spent. A shiver came over Severus, despite the heat of the man still behind him, still enveloping him, still holding him, still inside him.
“Was that okay?” Sirius asked, a knowing lilt of satisfaction on his tongue.
“Are you seeking a compliment?” Severus smirked.
Sirius kissed the back of his head, turning his body as his leg began to stiffen. He felt himself fall from Severus, no longer inside him. He felt Severus turn around, leaning down to pick up his towel, wrapping himself up as he shivered. Sirius stepped into his trousers again, his shirt slipped on undone. His eyes caught sight of the stitches on Severus’ arm and he did something he felt was bold, thinking it almost comical that this act would be an overstep compared to what they had just done together: he slipped his hand into Severus’ hand, lifting it to his lips and flipping his hand palm forward so his inner arm was on show.
He felt Severus recoil, a look of shame on his face at the stark exposure of his injury before him.
He kissed his wrist, kissed the lines of stitches on his inner arm, careful not to pull on, or aggravate the threads or the hurt; he kissed them, accepting him, caring for him all the same. He would never harm him, his kisses said, he would protect and care for him.
He was head over heels, Sirius smiled, for Severus Snape of all the people in the world.
He met Severus’ black eyes and hoped his feelings were translated to him, he hoped he understood, hoped he believed him.
He saw those eyes dart away to the corner of the room, a silvery wolf approaching.
“Padfoot! You need to get back to Grimmauld Place, Moody and Dumbledore are here and they suspect you might not be. I’ve snuck off to another room to send this so pretend you was up in the attic sleeping off a hangover or something- just get here!”
He couldn’t believe that spending time with Severus had made him... forget the world.
Forget his world: locked up in Grimmauld Place, a useless soldier in this war.
“I think you are needed elsewhere.” Severus acknowledged.
“I’ll come back soon.” Sirius promised, “if ... if that is okay with you.”
Severus nodded, slowly, cautiously. Now that arousal had evaporated from his body he was left with shreds of self doubt, of self hate, pinching at his mind. He wondered if he had just been used by Sirius Black, he pushed the hurt at the idea down.
“Will you be okay, Severus?” Sirius asked, concern in his voice.
“I will.” Severus felt himself promise, “you need to go Bla- Sirius.”
Sirius felt his heart swell at the sound of the man saying his name.
. . .
Severus stood in the towel for a few moments after Sirius had disapperated from Spinners End. He was in a state of shock, a softness held on to him, a ghostly print of Sirius’ body against him- a surprising softness to his touch that he had not anticipated. He made his way upstairs, deciding he would lay down.
His bed had never been pleasant. His room had never been a space he had sought comfort and refuge in. That had been the woodland outside, beyond the pollution of Spinners End. Here it was dry, it was shelter, and that was it.
But right there and then, his body so satiated and so content, a soreness that distracted from his arm, he found himself feeling peace for once. So much so, he knocked back his last dose of antidote without disagreement and fell into perfect sleep wrapped up in the towel still, pulling his duvet over the top for extra warmth.
. . .
Sirius appeared in the attic of Grimmauld Place wearing a huge smile on his face. He saw himself in an old mirror, dust covered, but still incapable of dimming the happiness that radiated from him. He wasn’t sure how he was going to convince Dumbledore or Moody that he was the same miserable, drunken, bastard that had been rotting away at Grimmauld Place since the summer. He wondered if he should at least dab a few drops of whisky onto his shirt to make him stink a bit.
He climbed down the ladder to the attic and bumped into Remus loitering around waiting for him.
“There you are!” Remus whispered, “they’re downstairs discussing things, they kept making subtle hints that they wanted to see you too-”
“Thank you for the alarm,” Sirius smiled, seeing Remus give him an odd look, “what is it, Moony?”
“... It’s just, I haven’t seen you smile like this. Not since we were young. Before Azkaban. You haven’t smiled a real smile like this since you’ve been in this house.” Remus commented.
Sirius tried to hold back his beaming smile but found it impossible. He patted Remus on the shoulder, making his way downstairs to the kitchen where the two older men were speaking.
“I’m glad you could join us, Sirius.” Dumbledore announced as he walked into the kitchen.
He made his way towards the kettle, finding it already hot. He poured himself a mug of coffee, wondering if the additional caffeine was a good idea with his jittery excitement.
“There’s very little to pull me out of bed these days.” Sirius muttered, trying to find his old voice, his old tone, of hungover misery.
“Alastair and I were discussing a recent report the Ministry has received and I had hoped that you could shed some light on this.” Dumbledore stated.
Sirius suddenly felt his body tense up at the mention of the Ministry.
“It seems that there was a sighting of Sirius Black at St Mungos hospital a couple days ago.” Dumbledore stated, “which I initially believed could not be true, as you have not left this house.”
Sirius met his eyes, trying to mute the expression on his face, trying to look impassable.
“But then, I recalled, that you went to visit Severus. On a good-will mission, to improve the historical hatred between the two of you.” Dumbledore continued, “I reiterated to you that you would only be able to visit Severus if he agreed to let you visit-”
“Which, he did.” Sirius interjected.
“How it is then, Sirius, that this visit of good-will ended up with Severus hospitalised with major poisoning and severe lacerations on his body?” Moody spoke up, his eye reading a document he held in his hand, his fake eye focused on him.
“I- I can explain.” Sirius began, “I swear to you, it was... it was not what you think. It wasn’t me.”
“I am waiting for an explanation.” Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, willing to give Sirius a hearing whereas in the past he could not.
Sirius found himself in a difficult situation, found himself unsure how to proceed. He didn’t want to betray Severus’ trust but was not willing to be seen as a villain- he did not want to be seen as the monster who hurt him in their shared youth, not before the headmaster who had witnessed it all. Looking the man in the eye and having him think he was still the same bullying teenager he always was... it was too much, too great, a task for him to do.
So he told the truth.
“Severus returned from the unsuccessful encounter with the Death Eaters, as you reported.” Sirius sighed, “he was not able to help the Order as a spy, he resigned from both the Order and Hogwarts... he spiralled. I found him. I took him to the hospital for treatment. He discharged himself.”
Dumbledore took his words into consideration and sighed.
“I will speak with Severus.” He announced, standing from the table, “you are not to leave here.”
Sirius watched the man turn and disapparate from the kitchen, a massive boulder of dread, regret and shame weighing him down after what he had just done. What he had just said. What he had thrown Severus’ way.
He met Moody’s good eye, the older man wearing a tight frown on his face as if trying to work out this unpredictable mess the two men were tangled in.
Missing the truth by miles.
. . .
Severus was awoken by a knock at his front door. It was an unusually loud noise, as if charmed to be unmissable to the person indoors. He sighed, pulling himself out from his bed, unwrapping himself from the towel and duvet he had fallen asleep in. He got dressed, finding a pair of clothes in the chest of drawers that he had left behind the previous summer. He used his wand to iron out the creases.
Making his way downstairs he had the sinking suspicion that whatever was outside his door had something to do with the reason Sirius had been summoned back to Grimmauld Place. Something to do with the reason Remus had called him back, a warning, that Dumbledore and Moody were waiting to speak with him.
Pulling open his front door confirmed it.
“Severus, may I come in?” Dumbledore asked, a politeness on his tone.
Severus stood aside, letting the long bearded man walk in to his home. A familiar sense of disdain for the house, as if a magnifying glass fell upon his eyes and he could see all the unsightly cracks and disrepair whenever someone else stood in the same space he occupied.
“I have not heard from you since you left my office that day.” Dumbledore began, making his way to the kitchen, seeing a small table with two chairs and making his way to sit down as if he had had a long journey. If he had been an old muggle man, his journey from London to the north of England may very well have been tiring- but travel to a wizard was as simple as picturing the destination in your head and stepping forward into an apparation.
“How many people keep in touch with their old employers?” Severus commented drolly, offering to make Dumbledore a hot drink.
“I would have thought our relationship was slightly more connected than employer and employee, Severus.” Dumbledore added, taking the hot mug from his long fingered hands.
Severus sat down at the table and waited, pushing down the anxiety he felt at Dumbledore’s visit, the uncertainty.
“How have you been?” Dumbledore enquired.
“Fine.” Severus countered.
He watched the older man sip his drink, waiting for the attack.
“You do me a disservice lying to me,” Dumbledore sighed, “Moody received a report from St Mungos stating that Sirius Black had been spotted on the ward. Sirius claims that he was taking you for treatment as you had, according to the hospital records, drank a potentially very lethal dose of poison and lacerated your arm. Now, Severus, tell me how you are.”
Severus froze, a nausea overwhelming him, a sense of dizziness as shock hit him. He felt invaded, his privacy attacked. He felt betrayed.
“Black told you this?” Severus clarified.
“I am not getting in the middle of a school boy grudge,” Dumbledore snapped, “my concern is for your safety-”
“I don’t need your pretence at concern!” Severus seethed, “I am nothing to you anymore.”
“That’s not true.” Dumbledore assured, seeking to make a connection with the hurting and angry man, not understanding the true origin of this hurt, “I did not dismiss you, Severus, not from Hogwarts, the Order, or my friendship. You dismissed yourself. Perhaps you think I have only worked with you all these years as you have been useful to me? It is more than that, but you are a very useful, resourceful, creative, talented, man. I would not have dismissed you from Hogwarts or the Order. Sirius suggested that you had... spiralled, the loss of your role as a spy for the Order setting of a domino effect within you, one further severing after the other.”
“Black is not a psychiatrist, he should mind his fucking business.” Severus argued, “I am fine. I was ... before I was not right. But now I am fine. You can go.”
Dumbledore sensed he had intruded enough, he was convinced that the man before him had been hurting- had received treatment for injuries that were indeed not the fault of Sirius Black, as he had stated. They were self-inflicted before Sirius had even arrived to speak to him that day. Sirius had told the truth.
He took his leave, returning to Hogwarts.
Severus waited until he was alone, finally alone, to allow his anger to boil over. He grabbed the mug Dumbledore had drunk from, hurling it at the kitchen wall, watching it smash to pieces as the ceramic exploded like shrapnel.
He didn’t want to stay in this hell hole of a house.
Not when he was so angry.
Not when he felt so... betrayed.
So disappointed.
He needed air, a walk to clear his head.
. . .
Sirius stormed his way into his bedroom, the epicentre of his childhood misery, the refuge from his parents hate towards him. He had spent many years in his room, laying on his bed, staring at the ceiling above. Drilling holes into the wall with his glare.
Today was a regression, he felt as he landed on his back on the bed. He felt so scolded, so small. So young. Being told off by Dumbledore for daring to step outside. At least the man knew it was for a good reason- as shitty as it felt to have to tell him what Severus had done and how he had ended up in hospital.
He rolled on to his face, no longer wanting to stare at the ceiling like a child. He lifted his head at a knock to his door, seeing Remus step into his room.
“What did Dumbledore want with you then?” he asked, getting straight to the point, flopping down on to the bed beside him like they had done when they were in dorms together.
“I was spotted at St Mungos.” Sirius sighed, “when we took Severus to hospital for help. Moody picked up a report at the Ministry about me being at the hospital, he done some digging, found out about Severus being hospitalised and Dumbledore blamed me for it. I told him what happened, so he knows I didn’t injure him, for Merlin’s sake-”
“You told Dumbledore and Moody about Snape ... trying to end his life?” Remus froze, incredulous.
“I didn’t want Dumbledore to think I’d hurt him!” Sirius explained, seeing Remus’ expression, “don’t look at me like that.... I know... I know I have fucked up.”
“...I don’t know how fucked up you are, Pads, but you seemed happy this morning.” Remus said suggestively
“Things have certainly improved between me and Severus.” Sirius hinted.
“Merlin’s fucking ghost, you haven’t...” Remus gasped, full of shock, “he’s not thinking straight, Pads!”
“Remus you weren’t there.” Sirius snapped, “I said things have improved between us. Now, enough of this, I’m not saying anything else.”
“I cannot believe you have feelings ... for each other.” Remus spoke slowly.
“But for how long... Moony I’m so stupid. I didn’t want Dumbledore to think I hurt him so then I... went and hurt him by telling Dumbledore something ... private. He’s going to hate me all over again. I need to go. Go ... fix this. I can’t go back to having him hate me.”
Remus held his hand to his face, shielding his eyes from the room. He just knew that nothing good would come from Sirius and Snape in close contact, nothing good at all.
. . .
Sirius apparated directly into Spinners End, knowing straight away that the house was empty. He found himself calling out, regardless, as if trying to manifest the man into the same space as him.
He walked into the kitchen, seeing the shattered pieces of ceramic that had once upon a time been a mug. There were tea stains on the wall where, evidently, the mug had been thrown.
Sirius felt a sense of unease rise within him, sitting himself down at the kitchen table, waiting for Severus to come back.
He thought about how he could try to fix this- this beautiful thing he had with Severus just that morning. He remembered the sex, the first time he had had sex in so many years. But it was more than that, he had never, in his entire existence, felt so connected, felt so transcendental having sex before. He felt as if his whole entire world had come together, his life making sense in a way that it hadn’t before... before he had made things better with Severus.
The idea that he may have threatened this was terrifying.
He heard the front door open and he wondered what to do.
He felt... almost silly. Stood in Severus’ house. Uninvited. But he had never been invited before, he scoffed.
Severus walked into the kitchen, flinching as his eyes met Sirius sat at the table.
“What are you doing here, Black?”
Sirius felt the regression within Severus voice, his words, his use of his last name being spoken rather than the first name basis they had left things at earlier that day.
“Severus, can we talk-?” Sirius tried, raising from the chair and trying to step closer to him.
“You’ve said enough.” Severus argued. “there’s nothing more you can say.”
“Please. Please let me explain.” Sirius asked, “I am so sorry-”
“You have said this a lot recently, but you don’t learn.” Severus sneered, “you don’t change.”
Sirius felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise with alarm, with frustration.
“I have changed, I have.” Sirius argued, so desperate for it to be true, “I am... sorry that I told Dumbledore what happened to you. But he thought I had put you in hospital, for fucks sake. He thought I was capable of that. I couldn’t stand him thinking this. It- it isn’t true.”
Severus stood still, staring at him, his eyes fixed on his. Sirius felt exposed by the depth of Severus’ eyes, wanting so much for those angry eyes to not look at him like that- but feeling as if the world had crumbled beneath his feet when Severus looked away.
“You could have told Dumbledore anything, Black.” Severus began, no longer meeting his eyes, never to meet his eyes again, “You could have lied. People lie when they want to protect others. You told the truth because hurting me was second to protecting your ego. You told the truth because you couldn’t face the prospect of Dumbledore thinking poorly of you, that he could think or suspect that this stupid, humiliating, mistake that I made could somehow be your fault.”
Sirius felt his heart pounding in his chest, his rib bones cracking beneath the strain of his beats.
“Please, Severus, don’t hate me again.” Sirius pleaded, stepping closer, his hands clasping hold of his hands.
“You wanted to be seen as a good person- so you told the truth. This is just what happens. You want to be seen as a good person in the eyes of your imbecile friends at school- I end up hurt for seven years. But, now, you no longer want to be seen as the person you used to be at school. You ... squirm beneath even the suggestion that Dumbledore could possibly connect you to my self-harm and so you deflect his attention from that suggestion. By telling him something personal, something private. Something you absolutely knew I wanted no one knowing about.”
Severus unwound Sirius’ hands from his, feeling his chest tighten as his resolve, his stubbornness, fractured.
How dare Sirius do this to him. How dare he allow himself to fall apart, fall for him. How dare the man look so heartbroken before him, how dare he have tears in his eyes.
“You have hurt me, again, Black. You cant help yourself. You would rather I be thrown under your self-serving bus than for one moment risk having someone possibly think a bit less of you- even if it isn’t the truth. You couldn’t even pretend, even if it protected someone else. Protected me. You are a coward, Black. Go home.”
There was nothing left to say.
Sirius felt the blackness, the scorched earth, beneath both their feet. The salt on the earth so nothing would ever grow again, the fields of their recompense, the closure of their schoolboy hate... barren.
Sirius fled back to Grimmauld Place, his heart in shreds.
. . .
Remus would have found the situation amusing if it wasn’t so sad. He had seen Sirius get pushed away by girls before at school after he had done something hurtful, said something spiteful, and he had always been there to sit and listen to him work the teenage heartbreak through his system with butterbeer and chocolate frogs, through full moon adventures through the Forbidden Forest with Prongs ... and Wormtail.
Sirius was nursing a bottle of wine this time. Remus keeping him company. He sobbed his story of woe and heartbreak to him, Remus nursing a mug of tea having given up on keeping up with Sirius. Not when he was like this.
He had learned too much about their brief but passionate encounter...
“He called me a coward, Moony.” Sirius cried, “a fucking coward! The emotionally stunted bastard.”
“There, there, Pads.” Remus soothed.
“I made a mistake, Moony.” Sirius slurred.
“Well, it’s not as if you lost a friendship after all this...” Remus sighed, “you can go back to hating to each other soon enough.”
“What?! No, Moony!” Sirius spoke, his thoughts all dizzy, “I... I was cowardly. He was right. Can I make this right?”
“Pads, anything is possible. I’m surprised you both managed to get to this state, the hostilities between you both before was awful. I don’t know if you can manage this a second time...” Remus sighed.
Sirius dipped his head on the table, snoring into the wood within seconds.
. . .
Severus felt as if his eyes had swollen up in his sleep, having found it an impossible to hold back his own broken heart. His own tears. He hadn’t cried in years. He had watched and seen other people cry, looking away as his own morbid fascination over the display of feelings took over. He hadn’t cried in years and here he was in his childhood bed, his heart broken, his eyes sore, his body sore, his head hurting from the fractured sleep.
Amongst the heartbreak he felt as if he was on a merry-go-round. Anger, bitterness and humiliation seared within him.
He was a pathetic man, he knew; he was the worst of the worst.
To have gotten so swept up by Sirius Black, he must have lost his mind more than he had initially believed.
He had felt so protected, so cared for. Just for a moment. Just for a brief moment. He had felt bliss like no other.
That made it hurt all the more.
He wanted a cigarette. That was the only motive for getting out of bed, so wallowing in self-pity he was. He never smoked inside. He pulled his body together, dressing himself into the slouchiest clothing he owned. He had no reason to dress smartly any more, another pitying thought...
He descended his staircase, stepping into the kitchen and experiencing a stark reminder of the day before. The confrontation with Sirius Black. It had taken place here, in this kitchen. He sighed, his eyes welling up again. He reached for the packet of cigarettes on the kitchen table... and found a letter beside the packet.
His curiosity had always been a downfall of his.
He took the letter with him outside, the cool air a welcome wake-up to his skin. He didn’t unfold and read the letter until he lit his cigarette and had smoked half of it. Not wanting to rush. Not wanting to dive head first into what he presumed to be more bad news, more heartache.
He took a deep breath and unfolded the paper.
Dear Severus
I am writing this as I sober up, in my bedroom. Remus must have carried me off and dumped me on my bed as I don’t recall ending up here. I have behaved embarrassingly since we parted. But Remus is used to my foolishness. When a heart is worn on a sleeve, it makes it hard to tell lies.
I am sorry, Severus. Sorrier than you can ever appreciate. I know the mistake I have made. You know the mistake I have made.
You was right, Severus. About me. You see me clearer than I thought possible, you dissected and disembowelled me with your words: I am a coward. You were right, I could not face Dumbledore thinking poorly of me, I could not face him thinking I brought harm to you. If it’s any consolation, any defence, I could not imagine Dumbledore judging you for what happened, for whatever drove you to do what you did that day. I hope he didn’t make you upset. I am sorry to have told him, sorry for throwing you under the bus, as you said, to save my own self-esteem, my own sense of worth.
You are a man of consequence, Severus, a man who teaches lessons. I have learned mine. I have learned that I have a long way to go before I am the better person I thought I had already become. I have a long way to go.
I will be better, I will be better for you. You don’t have to believe me. I will be better even if you don’t believe it. My actions, my behaviour, my words, I will be better.
You are right- I am a coward, my life has been cowardly. Too afraid to face my truths.
You have always made me face my truths, even if I was not ready or able to listen. You never took my cruelties laying down, you always fought back, always lashed back. You were right.
I will be braver, for you, Severus. Even if you won’t have me back in your arms again, even if you never look at me again.
I want you in my arms again, please, if you can, forgive me for my failures. One day, please.
Yours, Sirius
Severus scrunched the letter up in his hand, hating the surge of heartbreak that shot through him, fracturing his already weak resolve. Hating that he wanted to rush to the man, tell him it didn’t matter, he had forgiven him.
But he hadn’t.
He was so guarded, so defensive, so incapable of letting his guard down. He had given it a go, had tried it with Sirius Black.
He had been hurt again.
He hated himself more than he hated Sirius Black for that.
. . .
Sirius did his best to keep himself together, holding himself together with the hope that Severus would come round to him. Would forgive him, eventually.
He distracted himself, tidying the wreck of Grimmauld Place, binning the dark relic shit with vehement pleasure. His mother’s clothing cackled and fizzed with the artefacts that had been kept in the family for too many generations...
He was sweeping the soot from the most recent fire with Remus when a phoenix patronus appeared.
“Remus, please go to the Ministry, Harry is under the impression that Sirius Black is being tortured by Voldemort.”
Sirius felt his heart freeze- Harry was in danger.
He looked at Remus, his oldest friend knowing he could never convince him to stay behind in Grimmauld Place whilst he ran off to rescue his godson.
He could never.
He grabbed hold of Remus arm, apparating them both as quick as he could to the Ministry.
For a moment he felt full of courage, full of purpose.
He was going to save Harry. He was going to protect his godson.
He was so full of courage, so full of bravery, so full of purpose, that he felt that he could give it a second go, a second attempt at speaking to Severus.
As soon as he came home from the Ministry- he never for a moment doubted he would return.
He would go to Spinners End, to Severus.
To his love, he smiled, as he admitted to himself.
He was in love with Severus Snape.
As soon as he was home from the Ministry he would make things right.
. . .