Mein Herz

Chapter 2: It Ain’t Easy

01/12/1979

S.B

Within the next month, Sirius sat at Albus Dumbledore’s desk, drumming his fingers against the wood while waiting for the Headmaster to descend the stairs. Last night, Sirius had received Dumbledore’s Patronus requesting an early morning meeting. Unfortunately for Sirius, the Headmaster hadn’t given any details about the meeting. Sirius sighed impatiently as he rested his chin against his other fist.  

Bloody hell, I’ve been here for fifteen minutes. Should I leave? No. I should just wait.

With another sigh, Sirius looked back to the staircase, then down at the desk. He had sat here many times with James. One time, he and James had tried to turn Snape’s hair into cat ears. However, Snape had blocked the hex and sent it bouncing back at James. Sirius hadn’t stopped laughing at James’ furry ears until Professor McGonagall had crept up behind them.  

His fingers traced the grooves in the wood as he smirked at the memory, but the amusement was short-lived. That was another lifetime—before war, before they had real enemies to fight. Now, everything revolved around the Order, the war, and the endless paranoia that came with it.   

His foot tapped against the floor impatiently. If this wasn’t about a mission, he was going to kill Dumbledore for waking him up at this ungodly hour.   

The sound of soft footsteps echoed from the stairwell, and Sirius straightened in his chair, eyes locking onto the spiraling staircase as Dumbledore finally appeared. The Headmaster descended slowly, his violet robes trailing behind him. His expression was calm, but there was something distinguishable in his blue eyes—a quiet weight to his gaze that made Sirius instantly wary.  

“Ah, Sirius,” Dumbledore said smoothly. “My apologies for keeping you waiting.”  

Sirius waved a dismissive hand, though impatience still prickled at his skin. “It’s fine, Professor. Just—what’s this about?”  

Dumbledore moved toward his chair and sat with a measured sigh. He laced his fingers together, studying Sirius for a long moment before finally speaking.  

“I need you to work with Severus Snape.”  

Sirius nodded respectfully, “Oh, yeah, sure…” He then shot his head back up to look at the Headmaster. “Wait— what ?”  

Dumbledore continued, unbothered by Sirius’s outburst. “Severus has expressed an interest in joining the Order.”  

Sirius scoffed, shaking his head while giving Dumbledore a sarcastic laugh, “Oh, you’ve lost it, haven’t you? Snivellus wants to fight against Voldemort? Pull the other one, Dumbledore. It’s got bells on it!”  

Dumbledore’s gaze remained steady. “He has not yet taken the Dark Mark, but he is being courted by Voldemort’s ranks. He claims he wishes to walk a different path.”  

Sirius’s fists clenched. Dumbledore couldn’t be serious. “And you believe him?”  

“I believe he is at a crossroads,” Dumbledore said. “And I mean to test him.”  

Sirius exhaled sharply, rubbing his hands over his face. “Alright. Fine. And where do I come in?”  

Dumbledore leaned forward slightly. “There is a safe house deep in the Yorkshire moors. It was once used by a group of Aurors during Grindelwald’s rise, but it has been abandoned for years. I need you and Severus to go there together, ward it, and establish it as a viable Order safe house before our enemies can claim it first.”  

Sirius frowned. “That’s it? A bloody errand?”  

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled, though there was an undeniable sharpness beneath them. “The house has not been touched in decades. I suspect you will find it less than accommodating.”  

Sirius leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “You’re testing him.”  

Dumbledore nodded. “Yes. And you.”  

Sirius let out a dry laugh. “Brilliant. Because what could go wrong, sending me to the middle of nowhere with him?”  

“I trust you will not let your history cloud your judgment,” Dumbledore said mildly.  “I do believe you’ve done the same to him.”

Sirius clenched his jaw, biting back the first dozen retorts that came to mind. Dumbledore was right. The Shrieking Shack back in 1976. He hated this. He hated everything about this. But the war didn’t care about personal grudges, did it?  

“Fine,” he muttered. “But don’t expect me to be nice.”  

Dumbledore’s lips twitched in something resembling amusement. “I would never ask that of you, Sirius.”  

And somehow, that only made him feel worse.  

A few hours later, Sirius stood outside the decrepit stone cottage in the middle of the Yorkshire moors, staring at the twisted, rusted gate. Wind howled through the valley, making the ancient house groan under its own weight. The sky was the color of damp parchment, thick with storm clouds. Next to him, looking just as thrilled as Sirius felt, was Severus Snape.  

“This is absurd,” Severus muttered, folding his arms over his chest. “Surely you could have handled this task alone.”  

Sirius turned to him with a sharp grin. “Oh, trust me, Snivellus. I’d rather be anywhere else. But Dumbledore, in all his infinite wisdom, thought we’d make a great team.”  

Severus sneered, his dark eyes glinting with resentment. “That old coot is testing me.”  

“Testing both of us,” Sirius corrected. He turned back toward the house, taking in the half-collapsed roof, the wild overgrown grass, and the unmistakable feel of dark magic lingering in the air. Something had happened here. Something old and heavy.  

He glanced sideways at Severus. “Well? You coming, or do you need me to hold your hand?”  

Severus scowled, but he stepped forward, his wand already drawn. “Let’s just get this over with, Black .”  

Sirius snorted. “Glad we’re on the same page, Snivellus .”  

And with that, the two of them pushed open the rusted gate and stepped inside. When they pushed open the door to the cottage, Sirius immediately gagged and grumbled, wand in hand, “Merlin, it reeks in here.”  

“I believe that’s you smelling your own scent,” Snape retorted with a smug grin.  

Sirius shot Severus a sharp glare and snapped back, “At least I can afford a bath.”   

Snape merely humphed and turned his nose up, stepping further into the cottage. The floor groaned under their feet, dust swirling in the dim light filtering through the grime-covered windows. The air was thick with mildew and old wood, the kind of staleness that came from a place long forgotten. 

Sirius sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Right, let’s get this over with.”  

Snape was already moving, wand in hand, muttering incantations under his breath as he began reinforcing the perimeter. Blue light shimmered briefly along the walls before settling into the foundation, old wards strengthening with each flick of his wrist. Sirius, meanwhile, leaned against the nearest wall, watching him with mild boredom.  

“You move slower than my great-aunt on a broomstick,” Sirius drawled.  

Snape shot him a venomous look. “Unlike you, Black, I actually care about the quality of my spellwork.”  

Sirius rolled his eyes but pushed off the wall, deciding to speed things along. He flicked his wand at the door and, without much thought, muttered, “ClaustrumMaxima.”  

Golden magic rushed along the doorframe, sealing it with a faint hum of energy. Sirius dusted off his hands, satisfied. “There,” he said. “Job done.”  

Snape exhaled sharply, giving the room one last cursory glance before nodding. “Finally. Now, let’s go.”  

He stepped toward the door, placed his hand on the handle, and twisted. It didn’t budge. Snape frowned and tried again, this time with more force. Still nothing.  

“The door isn’t opening,” he muttered.  

Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Use your wand.”  

Snape gave him a slow, seething look before flicking his wand at the door, murmuring, “ Alohomora.” A small spark of magic flared… and then fizzled out, as if it had been absorbed into the very wood. His grip on his wand tightened. He turned back to Sirius, voice dangerously low.  “This isn’t funny anymore, Black. What did you cast?”  

Sirius cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, so maybe it was ClaustrumMaxima.”  

Snape inhaled sharply through his nose. “You absolute imbecile.”  

“Alright, first of all—”  

“That is a containment ward!” Snape snarled, whirling on him. “Not a standard ward charm! You’ve sealed the entire bloody structure!”  

Sirius blinked. “…Oh.”  

“Oh?” Severus’ voice was nearly a growl. “That’s all you have to say?”  

Sirius grinned sheepishly. “Uh… at least we know it works?”  

Severus turned back to the door, trying a far more aggressive counter-curse. The magic struck the barrier and was promptly absorbed, vanishing as though it had never existed.  A muscle twitched in Severus’ jaw. He turned back around, slowly, eyes gleaming with pure, unfiltered hatred.  

“We are trapped,” he said, enunciating each word as if speaking to a particularly dense child.  

Sirius sighed dramatically and flopped into the nearest dusty chair. “Well, I suppose we’re roommates now.”  

Snape let out a noise that sounded vaguely like he was being strangled. “I loathe you.”  

Sirius smirked. “You say that now, but wait until I start snoring.”  

Severus dragged a hand down his face, muttering something about ‘having suffered enough in life already’ before turning back to the door, determined to undo Sirius’s mistake.  

Sirius leaned back in the rickety chair, watching Snape with mild amusement as the git furiously tried—and failed—to unravel the containment ward. The only sounds in the cottage were the flicks of Snape’s wand and the occasional frustrated huff when his counter-charms fizzled uselessly against the magic. Dust floated in the stale air, settling back onto the warped wooden floor, undisturbed except for their presence.  

Sirius could have helped.  He could have gotten up, paced around, maybe even taken a crack at undoing his own mistake. But honestly? He wasn’t in a rush. There was something weirdly satisfying about watching Snape struggle, his usually smug face twisted in concentration as he tried to outwit a spell Sirius had thrown up by accident.  For someone who prided himself on being smarter than everyone in the room, Snape wasn’t having much luck.  

While slouching in the chair, Sirius smirked. “I’ve got to say, Snivellus, this is a real confidence boost. Watching you fail at spellwork you supposedly mastered? Highly entertaining.”  

Snape ignored him, his wand slashing through the air as he tried a more complex counter-curse. The magic crackled and shimmered against the barrier—then faded into nothing.  

Sirius snorted. However, Snape’s grip tightened on his wand.  

Good. Let him stew in his own frustration.  

But as the silence stretched on, something in the air shifted. It wasn’t just tension—it was something else. Something Sirius couldn’t quite place. This caused his smirk to fade. Before he could talk himself out of it, he cleared his throat.  

“How are you doing?” His voice came out more serious than he expected, lacking the usual mocking edge. “You know, with your mum and everything?”  

Snape froze. His wand hovered midair before his grip slackened slightly. For a moment, he didn’t react at all. He just stood there, stiff, as if Sirius hadn’t spoken. But Sirius could tell he had.  

The question had hurt.  

It hadn’t even been a month since Eileen Prince died. Sirius hadn’t gone to the funeral—he doubted Snape would’ve wanted him there—but he’d heard it was small. Barely attended. A quiet end for a quiet woman.  Sirius didn’t know much about her, just that she’d been a pure-blood witch who made the mistake of marrying a Muggle bastard. He knew Snape hadn’t exactly grown up in a warm, loving household—hell, Sirius could tell on the first train ride to Hogwarts.

Snape finally spoke, his voice gruff and defensive. “Why do you want to know?” He didn’t turn around. “So you can go off and make fun of me with Potter and Lupin?”  

Sirius blinked. He hadn’t expected that. Normally, that would have been an invitation for him to throw a jab back, to keep the familiar rhythm of their insults going. But for once, he didn’t.  Because something about the way Snape said it—like he genuinely believed it—sat uncomfortably in Sirius’s chest.  

He let out a slow breath. “I’m not asking so I can run off and laugh about it.” His voice was steady. Honest, even. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I just—” Sirius hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I dunno. I figured it couldn’t have been easy.”  

Severus still didn’t turn. But something about the way he held himself had changed. The usual sneer wasn’t there, the biting response delayed. He just stood there, tense and unmoving, like he was waiting for the catch. Sirius didn’t know why he cared. Maybe it was the fact that he knew what it was like to lose a parent—even if his own wasn’t dead.  

“It doesn’t matter,” Snape muttered, finally breaking the silence.  

Sirius tilted his head. “Of course it matters.”  

“No, it doesn’t.” Snape’s voice sharpened, like he was trying to shut the conversation down. “She’s gone. Talking about it won’t change anything.”  

Sirius was quiet for a moment. Then, in a voice just above a whisper, he said, “I get it.”  

While shaking his head, Snape scoffed. “No, you don’t.”  

Sirius let out a short, humorless chuckle. “Yeah. I do.”  

Severus finally turned, just slightly, enough to glance at Sirius from the corner of his eye. “Oh, really? Enlighten me, Black. Did your dear mother, Walburga, finally croak? Did they throw her a lavish funeral in that mausoleum you call a house?”  

Sirius didn’t take the bait.  

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his locks. “No. She’s still alive. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t lost her.”  

That made Snape hesitate.  

“What I told you at the Leaky Cauldron was true,” Sirius continued.  

Snape said nothing, but Sirius could feel the way he was listening now.  

“She hated me,” Sirius said simply. “Maybe not at first. But by the time I was fifteen, I might as well have been dead to her.” He gave a bitter smile. “She actually burned me off the family tapestry. Can you imagine that? Your own mother pretending you never existed?”  

Snape didn’t reply.  

Sirius shrugged. “So yeah, I get it. Losing a parent… in some ways, it happens long before they actually die.”  

For the first time, Sirius saw something unfamiliar in Snape’s expression. It wasn’t anger, it wasn't the usual resentment. It was something quieter.  Something Sirius recognized.  

Grief.  

Snape looked down at the wand in his hands. He should have said something cutting, something to push Sirius away and end the conversation before it got any deeper.  But he didn’t. Instead, the silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.  

After a long moment, Snape straightened his posture. “The door still isn’t opening.”  

Sirius blinked at the abrupt shift. “Yeah?”  

Snape flicked his wand at the handle again. Nothing happened.  

“Maybe ask the door nicely?”  

Snape turned to glare at him. “Prick.”  

And just like that, the tension snapped, replaced by fresh frustration. Sirius leaned back with a smirk. “Relax, Snivellus. We’ve got all night to figure it out.”  

Snape groaned. “Merlin, help me.”  

Sirius just laughed. And for the first time, he didn’t think Snape completely hated the sound.

Sirius kicked at a loose floorboard, watching as dust swirled in the dim candlelight. The flickering flame barely did anything to warm the cold, stale air of the cottage, and every breath he took carried the scent of old wood, mildew, and something faintly metallic. 

Snape had finally stopped trying to blast his spell away, slumping down against the far wall with his arms crossed, looking every bit as irritated as Sirius felt.  

“This is ridiculous,” Snape muttered.  

Sirius, sprawled lazily in the rickety chair he’d claimed earlier, let out a slow breath. “Oh, come on, Snivellus. A bit of alone time with me—what more could you possibly want?”  

Snape shot him a glare so sharp it could have cut through steel. “I want to be out of here and as far away from you as humanly possible.”  

Sirius grinned. “Well, you’re out of luck.”  

Snape sighed heavily and tilted his head back against the wall, eyes fluttering shut. Sirius tried not to stare.  

It was easier to hate him when they were at each other’s throats. But right now, in the dim candlelight, without the sneer or the sharp tongue, Snape looked… different. The usual hard angles of his face were softened, the exhaustion making him seem less like the bitter, spiteful rival Sirius had spent years tormenting and more like—  

Sirius quickly looked away. Bloody hell, Black, get a grip.  

After a moment, Snape sat up again, shifting as though he had just come to some grand realization. “We can send a Patronus to Dumbledore,” he said, as if the answer had been obvious all along.  

Sirius groaned. “No.”  

“No?”  Severus blinked.

“That’s what I said.” Sirius rubbed at his face and sat up. “No. We’re not calling for help.”  

Snape scoffed. “Are you being serious right now?”  

Sirius grinned. “Always.”  

Snape looked ready to hex him. “Black, we’re trapped. You sealed the bloody house with a containment ward, and you clearly don’t know how to reverse it. Sending for Dumbledore is the most logical solution.”  

“Not happening.”  

Snape made an incredulous noise. “Oh, forgive me—are you embarrassed ? Is your precious pride going to suffer if the great Sirius Black admits he made a mistake?”  

Sirius’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, he didn’t answer.  It wasn’t about pride. Not exactly. It was about the fact that the war had barely started, and the Order had no room for mistakes. Everyone had a role to play—Lily with her sharp mind, James with his unwavering loyalty, Remus with his level-headedness. Sirius had to prove he was just as capable, just as useful. He wasn’t a kid anymore. He wasn’t some reckless schoolboy causing trouble for the fun of it.  If he called for Dumbledore now, they’d all see it—see him as careless, as someone who screws up.  

“I’m not about to call for help like some useless sod who can’t handle a simple mission,” Sirius muttered.  

Snape let out an aggravated breath. “This is beyond idiotic.”  

“Yeah, well,” Sirius shot back, “you’re free to try and fix it yourself. Oh wait, you tried that already.”  

Snape scowled but said nothing.  A long silence stretched between them.

Sirius shifted, glancing around the cottage. “So,” he said, changing the subject, “unless you’ve got a hidden escape route tucked away in your greasy robes, we should probably figure out where we’re sleeping.”  

Snape curled his lip. “I would rather not sleep at all.”  

Sirius grinned. “What, scared I’ll hex you in your sleep?”  

Severus leveled him with an unimpressed lo

Sirius smirked, stretching his arms above his head. “Except soap and hairbrushes, apparently.”  

Snape exhaled sharply,“I hope you fall through the floorboards.”  

Sirius laughed and stood, brushing dust off his clothes. He wandered toward the doorway of what must have once been a bedroom, peering inside. The room was small, with a long-forgotten bedframe in the corner and a fireplace filled with soot.  

“Well,” he said, turning back toward Snape, “unless you want to share, we’ll have to pick between the floor and whatever’s left of that mattress in there.”  

Snape’s face twisted with disgust. “I’d rather die.”  

“That’s the spirit.”  Sirius chuckled. 

Despite the bickering, Sirius could feel the exhaustion creeping into his limbs. It had been a long day, and if they were stuck here for the night, he might as well get comfortable.  He pulled off his outer robe, tossing it over the back of the chair before flopping down onto the old mattress with a groan. Dust rose around him, and he coughed, waving a hand to clear the air.  

Snape peered at him from the doorway. “You’re disgusting.”  

Sirius smirked, stretching out. “And yet, you can’t stop looking at me.”  

Snape rolled his eyes so hard it was a miracle they didn’t get stuck. Without another word, he turned on his heel and disappeared into the other room.  

Sirius chuckled to himself.  He didn’t know when it had started—the little moments where Snape didn’t seem quite so terrible, the way Sirius found himself watching him more often than he probably should. Maybe it was just the novelty of being alone together, stuck in some abandoned shack with nothing but their own stubbornness keeping them company.  

f Sirius rolled onto his side, staring at the cracked ceiling above him. Dust still clung to the air, disturbed from when he’d flopped onto the mattress, but that wasn’t what was bothering him.  

Proximity effect. That’s it. A voice in his head reasoned, the more logical part of him trying to wrestle back control. You’re stuck in this place, and he’s the only other person here. It’s just your brain playing tricks on you.

But another voice—one he didn’t like as much—whispered back. You were staring at his neck. His jaw.

Sirius clenched his jaw, exhaling slowly through his nose. Yeah, so what? People have necks. 

But it wasn’t just that. He had noticed the way Snape carried himself now—still sharp, still full of bite, but steadier. He wasn’t the scrawny kid Sirius used to hex in the hallways, the one who hunched over his books like he was trying to disappear into them. His voice was lower, more deliberate. His eyes were harder, more resilient.  

He looked older. Sounded older.  

Sirius pressed his palm over his face. Get a grip. 

This was Snape. Snivellus . The same miserable git who spent years trying to out-duel him in the corridors, the one who had hurled just as many insults at James and Remus as they had at him. The same Snape who had looked ready to curse him just hours ago.  

And yet…  

He turned his head toward the doorway, listening to the faint rustling from the other room. Snape was probably settling into his miserable little corner, muttering curses under his breath about how much he hated Sirius’s existence .  

Sirius huffed a quiet laugh to himself, rubbing at his temple.  

This is just boredom. That’s all.

Just boredom. Just the proximity effect. Nothing more .