Here Comes the Night
Chapter 3: Here Comes the Night
02/12/1979
S.S.
Instead of finding a spot to sleep, Severus sat at—what appeared to be—a worn kitchen table, its surface scratched and covered in a fine layer of dust. The candle Sirius had lit earlier flickered weakly from the other room, its glow barely reaching the dark corners of the abandoned cottage. The only sounds were the occasional hoot of an owl outside, the rustling of branches against the roof, and, every now and then, the faint squeak of a badger burrowing somewhere nearby.
Out of all the places Severus could be, this was the last place he would have imagined. Stuck in a miserable, decaying cottage with Sirius Black.
Some god above probably got a good laugh out of this.
Severus exhaled sharply, his fingers tapping idly against the wood as he stared out the window. The glass was fogged with age, warped slightly at the edges, but beyond it, he could still see the dark stretch of trees surrounding them, the open moors beyond. He had half a mind to just sleep at the table. It wasn’t comfortable, but at least it gave him an excuse to keep some distance from him.
Black had been more irritating than usual. Not just because of his insufferable arrogance or his recklessness—though locking them inside a bloody house certainly didn’t help—but because Sirius Black had done something Severus never expected.
He had asked about her.
Who asks about someone’s dead mum?
Black wasn’t supposed to do that. He was supposed to mock, to sneer, to smirk at Severus’s misfortunes the way he always had. But instead, he had looked at Severus with something too close to understanding, something that made Severus’s stomach twist uncomfortably.
It had been weeks since his mother had died. Since he had buried her alone, since he had sat through the dreadful silence of their house, waiting for the grief to feel real. But the world had gone on as if nothing had changed. No one had cared. And why would they?
Except… Black had asked.
And that was the worst part.
Because even though Severus had thrown his defenses up immediately, even though he had snapped at him, the words still echoed in his mind.
“Howare you doing? You know, with your mum and everything?”
It was ridiculous. Infuriating. Severus scowled at his own reflection in the glass.
Forget it.
The only thing more foolish than being stuck here was dwelling on whatever nonsense Black was trying to pull.
With a sigh, Severus rubbed his temple, willing away the tension in his skull. Sleep was probably the best option at this point, but the thought of closing his eyes in this house—of letting his guard down while Black was still awake—was out of the question. He shifted in his seat, glancing toward the other room. The light of the candle still flickered, casting uneven shadows on the walls. And there, sprawled on the battered old mattress, lay Sirius Black.
Severus could just make out his figure in the dim lighting, the relaxed rise and fall of his chest, the way his dark hair spilled over his face, messy and untamed. His outer robe had been discarded earlier, leaving him in just his shirt, the sleeves pushed up, exposing lean, scarred forearms. His usual arrogance had melted away in sleep, leaving something far too unguarded.
Severus quickly looked away, fingers tightening around the edge of the table. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. They just had to make it through the night. Then, in the morning, he could go back to pretending this never happened.
Severus remained at the kitchen table, unmoving. The candlelight flickered weakly, barely illuminating the dust-covered wood beneath his fingers. The cottage was silent, save for the occasional groan of the old house settling and the wind rattling against the window panes. It was cold. It was miserable. And, worst of all, he wasn’t alone.
From the other room, he could hear Sirius shifting on that decrepit mattress, tossing and turning like some restless animal. Severus clenched his jaw. If he had to suffer this night in silence, the least Black could do was do the same. Another long-suffering sigh from the other room. A creak of bedsprings. And then—footsteps. Severus closed his eyes briefly, already feeling the headache forming before Sirius even spoke.
The chair across from him scraped against the floor, and then flop.
Severus opened his eyes to see Sirius lounging across from him, chin resting lazily on his palm, an infuriating smirk tugging at his lips.
“What are you doing?” Severus asked, already regretting the question.
Sirius let out an exaggerated breath. “Can’t sleep.”
Severus slowly turned back toward the window. “That is not my problem.”
“Well, it is now.”
Severus let out a quiet, exasperated breath, fingers tightening against the edge of the table. Silence stretched between them. Not comfortable silence, but not outright hostile either. It was just… there. Heavy, lingering between them like something neither of them wanted to acknowledge. Sirius drummed his fingers idly against the wood, disrupting the quiet. Severus resisted the urge to tell him to stop.
“So,” Sirius finally said, breaking the stillness, “Is this what you do for fun? Stare at old windows and wallow?”
Severus scoffed. “It’s preferable to talking to you.”
Sirius smirked, as if that was the exact response he wanted. “Oh, come on, don’t pretend you’re not secretly enjoying my company.”
Severus turned and gave him a long, blank stare. Sirius grinned wider. Severus exhaled sharply, shifting his gaze back to the glass. Outside, the moors stretched out beneath the moonlight, dark and barren. Nowhere to go except back to the room where Sirius was sleeping.
Absolutely not.
Another silence fell, and Severus wished Sirius would just go away. Instead, Black remained slouched in the chair, perfectly at ease, as if they had done this before. As if they were meant to be sitting across from one another, talking like they hadn’t spent years trying to ruin each other’s lives.
“Why are you really here, Black?” The words left his mouth before he could stop them.
Sirius raised a brow. “I told you. Couldn’t sleep.”
Severus studied him carefully. Black was never silent. He was never still. He was always moving, doing something, filling every moment with words or reckless action. And yet, here he sat, in silence, staring at nothing.
“As if you don’t want to be alone with your thoughts,” Severus muttered before he could stop himself.
Sirius blinked. Then—just as quickly—he forced out a laugh, leaning back with that same arrogant smirk.
“Bloody hell, Snivellus, didn’t know you were so perceptive.”
Severus scoffed, turning away. “I regret speaking.”
“Nah, you love it.“
Severus let out a slow, aggravated breath.
Go to hell, he wanted to say, but the words stuck in his throat. Instead, what came out was: “Go back to bed, Black.”
Sirius stretched his arms behind his head, utterly unbothered. “Tempting, but no. I think I like it better here.”
Severus tensed slightly but said nothing.
“Besides,” Sirius added, glancing at him with something flirtatious in his expression, “I’d hate for you to get lonely.”
Severus scoffed but didn’t move. Neither did Sirius.
“You got a lighter?” Sirius asked, fishing through his pocket with one hand while brushing his hair out of his face with the other. The movement was lazy, effortless—like he had done it a thousand times before.
“You have a wand, Black,” Severus didn’t even bother looking at him as he drawled, resting his head against his fist. His voice was flat, unimpressed.
Sirius paused, blinking as if the realization had only just dawned on him. Then, with an embarrassed smile, he muttered, “Right… right.”
Severus rolled his eyes. Great. Just what I needed. As if being trapped in this cottage wasn’t bad enough, now it would be filled with cigarette smoke. Those blasted gods are definitely laughing at me. Just like home, eh? The thought soured in his mind before he could push it away.
Sirius, still grinning sheepishly to himself, tapped a cigarette against the table before placing it between his lips. A flick of his wand, and the end glowed red-hot. The first drag filled the air with the acrid scent of burning tobacco, curling lazily toward the ceiling.
Severus grimaced, “Do you have to?” He muttered, waving a hand through the air in irritation.
Sirius exhaled a slow stream of smoke, tilting his head back as he did. “Yeah,” he said simply. “I do.”
Severus resisted the urge to roll his eyes again.
The silence stretched, interrupted only by the occasional crackle of burning paper as Sirius took another drag. The dim glow of the cigarette illuminated his face in flickering intervals, highlighting the sharp planes of his jaw, the way his lips curled slightly as he exhaled.
Severus looked away. It was just the light. Just the damn smoke playing tricks on his mind.
Sirius shifted, his boot tapping against the floor as he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table. “You ever smoke?” He asked, voice casual.
“No.”
Sirius smirked. “Figures. You were probably too busy with your nose in a book to ever try it.”
Severus gave him a flat look. “Yes, because reading is clearly worse than willingly damaging one’s lungs.”
“Relax, Snivellus. It’s just a bit of vice. Everyone’s got one.” Sirius chuckled, taking another drag.
Severus huffed. “And I suppose this is yours?”
The other man tilted his head, considering. Then, with a sly grin, he exhaled another puff of smoke. “One of them.”
Severus didn’t want to ask. He knew he shouldn’t ask. But the words were already forming in his mouth before he could stop them.
“And the others?”
Sirius grinned even wider, leaning closer to Severus across the table, his voice dropping just slightly. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
Severus inhaled sharply through his nose, willing himself not to react. Merlin, he’s insufferable. “No. That’s why I asked.”
Sirius chuckled, tapping the cigarette against the table, letting the ash fall lazily to the surface. “Let’s see,” he mused, feigning deep thought. “Drinking, sneaking out, general acts of rebellion.” He smirked again, sharp and knowing. “Oh, and pissing you off. That one might be my favorite.”
Severus let out a slow, controlled breath. “That’s not a vice. That’s a personality disorder.”
Sirius threw his head back and laughed. Not the mocking, biting sort of laugh Severus was used to—this was lighter, genuine. It made something tighten in his chest. He clenched his fists beneath the table.
He took another drag from his cigarette, eyes flickering toward the doorway. “Y’know, I was joking earlier, but I really do think we make a good team.”
“In what world?”
Sirius exhaled a puff of smoke, grinning. “This one, apparently.” He tapped the side of his cigarette, then pointed it toward Severus. “You’re clever. Too clever, honestly. And I’m obviously brilliant, but reckless, which balances things out.”
Severus sighed, looking toward the window. His mind was beginning to drift, pulling away from Sirius’s antics and back toward the containment ward that still kept them trapped inside this blasted cottage.
And then—his fingers twitched against the tabletop. A thought struck him.
Magic absorbed magic.
His eyes flicked to the cigarette in Sirius’s hand, the glowing embers at the tip. Something non-magical interacting with the ward could disrupt its hold.
Severus turned back to Sirius, his mind racing. “Give me that.”
Sirius blinked. “What?”
Severus reached forward, plucking the cigarette right from Sirius’s fingers before he could protest. “We’ve been going about this the wrong way,” he muttered, already standing.
Sirius followed, looking both amused and mildly offended. “If you wanted a smoke, Snivellus, you could’ve just asked.”
Severus ignored him and crouched near the door, holding the cigarette’s burning tip close to the threshold. The air rippled. Not like before, when it absorbed spell after spell, but in a way that suggested the ward was reacting differently. Severus’s pulse quickened.
“What if we don’t use magic at all?” He murmured.
Sirius, catching on, grinned. “What, just set the bloody place on fire?”
Severus clenched his jaw. “No, don’t be stupid. Heat. Smoke. Something Muggle. If a containment ward keeps in wizards, it won’t keep in Muggles.”
“Fireplace.” Sirius snapped his fingers.
Severus nodded sharply.
Sirius was already moving, grabbing whatever scraps of rotting furniture he could find and tossing them into the hearth. He flicked his wand—only to hesitate, then look at Severus with a grin. “Ah, right. Muggle solution.”
Severus huffed and reached into his pocket, pulling out a box of matches he always carried for potion work. He struck one, the tiny flame flickering to life before he tossed it onto the wood.
“So you did have a lighter.” Sirius grumbled with a playful smile.
“Matches are different from butane, prick.”
Just then, the fire caught. Within seconds, the cottage filled with warmth, the smoke curling up toward the ceiling. The magic in the air shifted again. The containment spell wavered, flickering like a dying light.
Stepping back toward the door, Severus pressed his fingers against it. The magic buzzed weakly under his touch, unraveling at the edges, like it was losing the battle against the elements.
And then—
“Kick it,” he said slowly.
“What?” A puzzled look crossed Sirius’s face as he turned toward him.
“Kick the door.”
A slow grin spread across Sirius’s lips. “You want me to kick it?”
With a sharp sigh, Severus shot him a glare. “Yes, Black, I want you to kick it.”
Amusement flickered in Sirius’s expression, his stance shifting as he stretched dramatically. “See, I knew you secretly admired me. Now you’re even relying on my raw, unmatched physical strength. Although, you’ve finally gained a few pounds since our school days.”
Irritation flared in Severus’s chest and his face heated up. “Just do it before I change my mind and set you on fire instead.”
A smirk played on Sirius’s lips as he took a step back, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for battle. “You just want to watch me look impressive.”
“Or watch you break your ankle,” Severus muttered under his breath.
Ignoring him entirely, Sirius braced himself, then lifted his leg and slammed his boot against the door. The last remnants of the containment ward shattered with a deep, resonating crack. A sudden force seemed to release all at once, like the house itself had been holding its breath. The door flung open, swinging wildly before crashing against the outer wall with a thud.
For a moment, nothing but silence followed.
A firm clap on the shoulder nearly sent Severus stumbling forward. “Oh, come on, admit it, Snape. You’re so glad I was here.”
The contact was gone almost as soon as it had appeared, forcibly removed as Severus shoved him off. “Touch me again, and they will never find your body.”
Cold air bit at Severus’s skin as he stepped over the threshold, finally free from the suffocating house. A deep breath steadied his nerves, the sharp scent of damp earth and night air a welcome contrast to the stale, smoke-filled cottage.
Trailing close behind, Sirius shoved his hands into his pockets. “Well, that was a bonding experience, wasn’t it?”
“No.”
The clipped response did little to dampen Sirius’s mood. His laughter echoed in the quiet night as they walked side by side, the tension of the evening left behind them.
“Want to get a drink?” Sirius asked before he could stop himself.
“No.”
“Want a cigarette?”
Severus looked down at Sirius’ outstretched hand. Two cigarettes rolled in his palm and Severus’ gaze flicked up towards Sirius. Maybe the house wasn’t playing tricks on him because—for some reason—Severus took the cigarette from Sirius’ palm.