Mein Herz

Chapter 6: What is Lost, Can be Found

09/12/1979 

S.S.

The summons came at dusk, just as Severus was preparing to shut himself away for the evening. A quiet whoosh of green flames erupted in his fireplace, and the familiar voice of Albus Dumbledore echoed from the hearth. “Severus, my boy, do come to Hogwarts. We have much to discuss.”

No further explanation. No why. Just a command wrapped in politeness.

Severus exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair before stepping into the flames.

Hogwarts smelled the same. The mixture of aged parchment, candle wax, and faint traces of the lake clung to the air, as if the castle itself refused to let go of time. Severus wasn’t sure how he felt about being back—this place held too many ghosts, too many memories he had long since buried.

The spiral staircase leading to Dumbledore’s office moved in a slow, deliberate turn as he ascended. At the top, the wooden door was already ajar, as if the old man had known precisely when Severus would arrive.

“Enter,” came the calm voice from within.

Severus stepped inside, his dark eyes immediately landing on the figure behind the desk. Dumbledore sat with his hands folded, the ever-present twinkle in his eyes betraying nothing and everything all at once. The door clicked shut behind Severus, and for a moment, there was only silence.

“You seem well,” Dumbledore said, though it wasn’t a question.

Severus remained standing, his arms crossing instinctively over his chest. “You didn’t call me here for pleasantries.”

Dumbledore smiled, that knowing, infuriating smile that made Severus feel like he was already two steps behind in a conversation that hadn’t even begun. “No, I did not.”

A flick of his wand, and a pot of tea appeared on the desk. Two cups poured themselves, steam curling into the air. Dumbledore gestured toward the seat across from him. “Please.”

Severus hesitated for only a second before lowering himself into the chair. He didn’t touch the tea. Dumbledore observed him carefully, fingers tapping together as if he were weighing his next words.

“You have been keeping busy,” he said finally.

The statement was neutral, but it sent a ripple of unease through Severus’s chest.

“I assume you’ve been speaking with your sources,” Severus said evenly, keeping his tone indifferent.

“I don’t need sources to see that you are troubled, my boy.” Dumbledore’s voice was gentle, but his gaze was piercing. “You stand at a crossroads, Severus. And I fear you are not alone in your dilemma.”

The words were chosen carefully, deliberately. Dumbledore knew.

Severus stiffened, his fingers twitching against his sleeve. “I have been fulfilling my obligations. Just as you asked.”

“Ah, yes,” Dumbledore said, tilting his head slightly. “Your task. Or should I say tasks.”

A pause. Severus remained silent.

Dumbledore lifted his tea and took a slow sip before setting it down with a soft clink. “I must ask, Severus… do you truly understand the path you are considering?”

His breath came a little sharper, but he forced himself to remain composed. “I understand what must be done.”

Dumbledore studied him for a long moment, then leaned forward slightly, his voice quiet. “Then tell me, what must be done?”

A simple question. One Severus should have been able to answer. And yet, nothing came. Because at that moment, in the dim light of Dumbledore’s office, Severus felt the weight of it—the choice he was pretending wasn’t really a choice at all. He could hear Regulus’s voice in the back of his mind, ‘It’s not what you think it is.’ 

Severus could see the flash of Sirius’s sharp grin, the way his expression softened when he said, ‘I don’t hate being around you’. Could feel the remnants of his mother’s presence in the house, lingering in every untouched corner, in the silence around the broken piano.

Severus clenched his jaw. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”

Dumbledore sighed, sitting back. “On the contrary, I think you would be surprised at how much I would understand.”

Severus exhaled slowly.

The next words out of Dumbledore’s mouth, however, nearly made him freeze.

“Regulus Black has already made his choice.”

Severus' stomach dropped. Dumbledore’s expression did not change, but there was something sad in his voice.

“I suggest you think long and hard about whether you wish to make the same one. Perhaps take the advice you have been given.”

Severus stared at Dumbledore, heart pounding, but he didn’t respond. Because for the first time since this entire damn thing began, he was certain he knew exactly what choice he had to make. Severus nodded and understood that it was his time to leave. 

When he returned home, Severus found Regulus standing on his doorstep.

The young man was pacing, biting the ends of his fingernails, twisting his tie over and over in his hands. He looked nervous—something Severus had rarely seen before. Back at school, Regulus had always carried himself like an owl—watchful, calculating, never acting without purpose. Calm and collected, a perfect Black heir, never letting his mask slip.

But tonight? Tonight, he looked like he was coming undone.

Severus slowed his steps, boots crunching against the damp ground. “Regulus.”

Regulus’s head snapped up. The moment he saw Severus, his expression shifted from worry to relief. He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark curls before stepping forward.

“We need to talk,” Regulus said, voice lower than usual, urgent.

Severus studied him, noting the way his hands trembled slightly as he shoved them into his pockets. “Do we?”

“Don’t do that,” Regulus snapped, suddenly sharp, his composure cracking for just a second. He took a breath, forcing himself to level his voice. “Just let me in. Please.”

The please was what did it. Regulus Black did not plead. Without another word, Severus unlocked the door and stepped aside.

Regulus didn’t wait for an invitation. He slipped past him and into the house, shoulders tense, eyes darting toward the shadows like he expected something to be hiding there. Severus closed the door with a soft click, watching as Regulus took a few restless steps into the sitting room before stopping, fists clenched at his sides.

Then, without preamble, Regulus turned and rolled up his sleeve.

Severus’s breath stilled.

There, dark against his pale skin, was the Dark Mark. 

Fresh. Raw. The edges of the ink still healing, the skin slightly inflamed, as if it burned.

Regulus wasn’t looking at him. His gaze remained fixed on the wall, jaw tight.

Severus felt something cold settle in his stomach.

“You already took it.” His voice came out flatter than he intended.

Regulus swallowed, finally meeting Severus’s gaze. “I did.”

Severus didn’t know what he had expected. Maybe this—maybe not this.

Regulus let out a breath, rolling his sleeve back down with slow, deliberate movements. “And I need you to listen to me.”

Severus exhaled sharply, moving to sit in the chair by the fireplace, gesturing for Regulus to speak. “Go on, then.”

The younger Black hesitated, shifting his weight before finally sitting across from him. For a moment, the only sound in the room was the faint crackle of the fire.

Then Regulus leaned forward, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You cannot do this, Severus.”

Regulus’s voice was low but urgent, his knuckles white against the arms of the chair. “It’s not what you think it is. They will torture you. And I thought I knew what I was getting into.” His breath hitched slightly, but he pressed on, words tumbling out faster, more desperate. “This has always been an expectation of the Black family. I had no choice. But you—”

A sharp inhale, an exhale, as if saying it aloud forced him to relive something he hadn’t yet processed.

“You’re a half-blood, Severus. They will torture you until you—”

“Enough, Black.”

Severus raised his hand to silence him, his voice measured, but his pulse had quickened.

Regulus clenched his jaw, fingers digging into the fabric of his sleeve as if he were resisting the urge to rip it back up and show Severus again—to force him to see what had been carved into his skin. A tense silence followed, stretching between them like a blade.

Then, more quietly, Severus spoke. “You made your choice.”

Regulus exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “I had to. You don’t.”

Something flickered behind Severus’s dark eyes, a calculating gaze settled onto Regulus. “And you regret it?”

Regulus didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, but the weight of it was crushing.

“It doesn’t matter if I regret it,” he murmured. “I have no way out.”

The room felt colder, despite the fire flickering in the hearth. Severus studied him, taking in the tightness around his mouth, the way his usual composure had shattered into something raw. He had never seen Regulus like this—never seen him afraid.

Regulus swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly. “You still have time.”

A muscle in Severus’s jaw twitched. He should have expected this. Should have anticipated that Regulus, of all people, would be the one to corner him, to tell him what he already knew but didn’t want to admit. Severus sat back, fingers tapping idly against the arm of the chair. His voice, when he finally spoke, was quieter than usual.

“You’re too late.” A pause. Then, with something dangerously close to amusement, he added, “Your brother beat you to it.”

Regulus’s head snapped up, eyes narrowing. “Sirius?”

Severus smirked, but there was no real malice behind it. “He got to me first.”

“And you listened?” Regulus stared at him, something flickering behind his gray eyes. 

Severus exhaled, shaking his head. “It’s more annoying than you can imagine.”

Regulus sat back in his chair, staring at Severus like he was trying to make sense of something impossible. He had spent years living in Sirius’s shadow, years resenting his brother for always standing apart, always choosing the opposite path. And yet here he was—watching the man he had come to save tell him that Sirius had already done it.

A bitter laugh escaped Regulus’s lips. “I should’ve known,” he muttered, shaking his head. “He always had to be first at everything.”

Severus didn’t respond. He was too caught up in his own thoughts, in the realization that Sirius had changed the course of his life before Regulus even had the chance.

Regulus let out a slow breath. “I guess that means I don’t have to try to convince you, then.”

Severus shook his head. “No. But I appreciate the effort.”

Something passed between them—an unspoken understanding, a rare moment of shared ground.

Regulus stood, straightening his sleeves. “If you’re really out, then be careful,” he warned, his voice serious now. “They won’t take it lightly.”

Severus nodded, watching as Regulus turned toward the door.

As the younger Black reached for the handle, he paused. Without looking back, he murmured, “Sirius doesn’t win often, you know.”

Severus smirked to himself, exhaling. “I know.”

And this time, he didn’t mind it so much.

S.B. 

Smoke curled in the dim light as Sirius took a long, slow drag of his cigarette. The bitter taste filled his lungs before he exhaled, watching the smoke dissipate toward the low ceiling of his flat. His eyes glazed over with the remnants of a dream that still clung to him like a stubborn shadow.

In that vivid, disjointed dream, Severus had been impossibly close—standing so near that their bodies nearly touched. Sirius remembered the way Severus’s dark eyes had burned with a fierce intensity, the way his long, pale fingers had trailed lightly over Sirius’s collarbone, and the warmth of his breath had ghosted over his lips. The dream wasn’t innocent; it had been raw and charged, stirring emotions Sirius had always denied. And now, as he fought to push that memory aside, he chastised himself silently—he shouldn’t be feeling this about Severus.

The quiet of the night was broken by a soft knock at the door—a knock so gentle it made him pause.

His mind went to James first, the way his best friend never knocked so quietly—never knocked at all, really, just barged in with that boyish grin, Lily at his side, rolling her eyes but smiling. But James wouldn’t come tonight.

The next thought was Remus. Remus would knock like that, gentle but assured, then open the door before Sirius could even answer. But even if it was Remus, Sirius wasn’t sure he had the heart to see him.

And then—Severus.

Severus would knock just like that. Would stand in the doorway, fiddling with his sleeves, keeping his posture stiff and indifferent as if he weren’t choosing to be here. As if his presence wasn’t deliberate.

With a heavy sigh, Sirius stubbed his cigarette into an overflowing ashtray and shuffled toward the door. When he swung it open, there stood Severus—just as he had imagined, yet somehow changed. The dark eyes that usually shone with cool indifference were shadowed with a troubled expression. The doorway framed Severus in the soft moonlight light, and for a moment, time seemed to slow.

“Alright, Snape, what is it?” Sirius asked, his voice rough with a mixture of irritation and a hidden dread. He tried to steady himself, the memory of that forbidden dream still echoing in his mind, urging him to retreat yet binding him to this moment. 

Severus’s gaze faltered for just a moment before he spoke in a low, steady tone: “It’s Regulus.”

The word hit Sirius like a physical blow. His heart hammered in his chest as he took a trembling step backward. “What about him?” he managed, voice strained and hoarse.

A silence fell—a silence so thick it nearly smothered him. Then, in a voice that was barely above a whisper, Severus said, “He took the Mark.”

Those words slammed into Sirius’s entire being. The room spun, and he felt as though the ground itself was closing in. His breath caught, and for a moment, nothing made sense. His little brother—his stubborn, brilliant, kind Regulus—had succumbed to the very fate they had both tried to fight against.

Anger surged within him, hot and uncontrollable. Without thinking, his fist smashed against the wall beside him, splintering plaster and echoing through the silent flat. 

“FUCK!” Sirius roared, the sound raw and desperate, as if trying to expel the unbearable truth lodged in his chest.

In that instant, anger gave way to an overwhelming sorrow. The fury that had built up inside him evaporated, replaced by a gut-wrenching pain that forced tears to his eyes. He turned away from Severus, pacing the small room as if running might somehow chase the pain away. His vision blurred, and he could feel the crushing weight of Regulus’s betrayal—or rather, his loss—settling in like a curse.

“Why… why would he do it?” Sirius choked out between bitter gasps, his voice trembling. “Why the fuck would he choose that?” His hands clutched at his hair, pulling at it in vain attempts to hold himself together. The taste of anguish and regret was bitter on his tongue.

Do not cry in front of him. A voice whispered in Sirius’ mind.

Severus stood quietly, his face an impassive mask that barely concealed the turmoil behind his dark eyes. He did not speak, for words could not mend the broken pieces of Sirius’s heart in that moment.

Sirius’s anger, his despair, and his raw, unfiltered pain poured out as he paced, each step heavy with loss. Memories of Regulus—of the hopeful boy who had once looked up to his family with wide, innocent eyes—flashed through his mind, mingling with the bitter truth. His breath came in ragged gasps as he fought against the despair that threatened to consume him entirely

Sirius leaned heavily against the cold, worn wall, his chest heaving with ragged, uneven breaths. Every inhale was a struggle, as if the weight of his grief had turned the very air into lead. His vision blurred at the edges, and the dim light of the room only intensified the shadows dancing across his grief stricken face. He felt utterly alone—every echo in the silence a reminder of his loss, every beat of his heart a painful throb of regret and sorrow.

Without a word, Severus stepped closer. His usual guarded posture softened, and before Sirius could react, the steady hand of Severus rested gently on his arm. The touch was simple—no flourish, no grand gesture—but it was enough. It was as if that silent contact broke through the dam of anger and hurt that Sirius had so desperately tried to hold back.

In that instant, something within Sirius shattered. The restrained anger, the carefully hidden vulnerability—all of it spilled over. His eyes widened with a sudden, overwhelming sorrow, and without warning, the dam of his self-control crumbled. A choked sob escaped him, raw and unbidden, and then another, until his entire body was wracked with quiet, anguished cries.

He closed his eyes, feeling the warmth of Severus’s hand grounding him even as his heart splintered with each tear. In the silence that followed, the only sound was the soft, steady presence of Severus beside him—a silent promise that maybe, just for a moment, he wasn’t as alone as he’d believed.

Sobs wracked through Sirius, shaking him to his very core. In that moment, he cared nothing for how Severus might judge him—nothing about how weak or pathetic he must appear. The weight in his chest was crushing, stealing the breath from his lungs. All the years of childish fights, the cruel words, and petty rivalries that once defined their interactions seemed utterly pointless now. Regulus was gone. Not dead yet, but lost… marked and torn away in a way that felt irrevocable.

His knees buckled, and before he could stop himself, Sirius crumpled onto the cold floor. His hands clutched desperately at his hair as if trying to anchor himself against the overwhelming grief. His forehead pressed against the rough wood, and his cries echoed in the quiet flat, raw and unfiltered. Every sob was a jagged reminder of what he had lost—of the innocence that Regulus once possessed.

Then, amidst the torrent of anguish, movement stirred. Without a word, Severus followed Sirius’s collapse, his dark eyes betraying an emotion Sirius had rarely seen. In an awkward, almost hesitant gesture, Severus knelt beside him and gently pulled the broken man into his arms. Despite Sirius’s greater height, in that moment he felt insignificantly small against Severus’s steady embrace. The warmth of Severus’s robes pressed against him, grounding him as the sobs continued to wrack his body.

Through tears and ragged breaths, Sirius managed to choke out, “I’m sorry…” 

His voice trembled with regret and despair. It wasn’t merely an apology for his anger or the reckless cruelty of his younger self—it was for everything: for the torment he’d inflicted on Severus, for laughing at Regulus’s loyalty, and most of all, for failing to protect his own brother.

Severus said nothing, simply holding Sirius close. His arms, usually so guarded and unyielding, were gentle now—an unspoken promise of presence and understanding. The silence between them was heavy with shared loss and unspoken confessions, a fragile bridge built on raw emotion. In that moment, as Sirius’s tears soaked into the fabric of Severus’s robes, he felt a bitter mix of anger and despair—yet also a quiet relief that he was not alone.

Time blurred as they remained like that, tangled in grief and haunted by ghosts of the past. When at last Sirius managed to pull himself back, his voice came out broken and remorseful, “I’m sorry… for everything.” His words echoed off the walls, a futile attempt to make sense of the cascade of emotions flooding through him.

“I believe you.” Severus responded, his voice quiet but certain. The same voice he’d use when answering a complex question regarding potions. 

There was no denying it now.

Not under Severus’s frame, not in the space between his own ragged sobs, not in the silence that had settled thick between them. The feeling in Sirius’s chest—coiled tight and unfamiliar—had a name.

It wasn’t hatred. It wasn’t jealousy. It was something else entirely. Something Sirius had spent years ignoring, pushing aside, mistaking for rivalry and resentment.

His breath shuddered as the weight of it crashed over him, leaving him feeling raw and exposed in a way that had nothing to do with grief.

All those times in the Great Hall—his eyes had always found Severus’s dark head of hair before he even realized he was looking. Too used to knowing where his enemy was, he told himself. Keeping an eye on him.

But no. That was a lie. He had been searching. Seeking.

And in classes—Merlin—in classes, he used to deliberately sit close, claiming it was to taunt him, to make some offhand remark that would earn a sneer or an exasperated sigh. But he hadn’t been paying attention to Severus’s irritation, not really. He had been watching his hands. The way his long, pale fingers moved over parchment, over the delicate curve of a quill. The way he brewed potions with a precision Sirius could never dream of matching.

For years, he had convinced himself that what he wanted was to see those hands bloodied and bruised, to break Severus in a way that would make Sirius the victor of some unspoken war between them.

Now, as Severus hovered over him, the scent of old parchment and faint herbs lingering in his robes, Sirius wanted something entirely different.

Sirius wanted those hands on him.

Not in anger. Not in battle.

But clinging to his back while he kissed the indifference off Severus’s face.

The thought was so visceral, so sudden, that Sirius almost recoiled from it. His chest tightened as he forced himself to breathe through the rush of it, through the impossible rightness of it.

His fingers raked through his hair as he tried to steady his breath, but it only came out in uneven gasps. A sharp, humorless laugh escaped him, brittle and exhausted.

“I’m so stupid,” Sirius choked out, his voice shaking.

Severus didn’t respond right away. He remained still, watchful, the silence between them stretching thick with something Sirius couldn’t name. Then, hesitantly, his hand moved—awkward, uncertain—but it landed on Sirius’s back, rubbing slow, uneven circles. The touch was stiff, hesitant, but it was there. And for the first time, Sirius realized that Severus wanted to stay.

He could have left. Could have sneered, let Sirius collapse into himself alone. But he hadn’t.

Sirius swallowed hard, his throat burning as he forced himself to speak. “I’m sorry, Severus,” he said, quieter this time. “I really am.”

“Stop saying that,” Severus murmured, voice quieter than Sirius had ever heard it. “You did what you could to stop him.”

Sirius let out a shaky breath, shaking his head. “Not just Regulus, Severus.” He turned toward Severus now, looking him directly in the eyes, needing him to hear this. “For how I treated you.”

Something flickered across Severus’s face—surprise, maybe. Suspicion. But he didn’t move away.

Sirius pressed on.

“The more I—” His throat tightened, but he forced himself to push through. “The more I spend time with you, the more I realize just how fucking wrong I was.” He let out a breath, shaking his head. “You’re incredibly intelligent, Severus. And you’re loyal—more than anyone ever gave you credit for.”

Sirius’s heart hammered in his chest as he continued his confession, his voice raw with the weight of every regret. Despite the tension in the room, he couldn’t stop now—he had to let it all out. He remembered every time they’d fought, every sneer and barbed remark, and he swallowed hard before continuing.

“Despite getting sorted into different houses, you were always loyal to Lily. No matter what. I could never be like that. And until now, I didn’t realize—” His voice caught mid-sentence, and he exhaled sharply, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. “I didn’t realize how I’ve been acting like the Gryffindor version of my mother.”

The words burned as they left him, searing through the layers of his hardened pride. Though Severus’s face remained a carefully neutral mask, Sirius could feel his gaze, piercing and assessing, as if weighing each syllable he’d uttered.

With his hands curled tightly into his knees, Sirius admitted in a hoarse whisper, “I let that anger and hatred for Slytherins push my brother away. And I let it turn me into an absolute dick to you. I don’t even know if I can fix any of it. But I am sorry.”

A long, suffocating silence followed—too long, it felt, stretching out with every heartbeat. Shakily, Sirius dragged both hands down his face, his voice barely above a whisper, “Merlin, you probably don’t give a shit, do you?”

Before he could add another word, Severus shifted beside him. At first, it was a barely perceptible movement—a slight adjustment of his stance—but then, to Sirius’s utter disbelief, Severus reached out. His fingers brushed lightly against Sirius’s tear-streaked cheek—light, hesitant, uncertain.

In that moment, as the cool touch trailed away the salty tracks of his grief, Sirius’s mind reeled. He remembered how Lily used to gently wipe away Severus’ tears, a tender act of comfort that he had longed for as a child. This wasn’t Severus’s typical way of comforting—he never touched, never consoled, never lingered. But now, the memory of Lily’s kindness made Sirius understand: this was the only way Severus knew how to show care.

Sirius’s breath wavered as he stared at Severus, the mix of understanding and sorrow in his eyes hard to ignore. Despite the tumult of emotions coursing through him, he saw in Severus a tenderness that he hadn’t expected, a vulnerability that made him ache. Severus’s fingers remained there, cold yet gentle, tracing away the tears as if trying to erase all the pain, though hesitating as if second-guessing every contact.

Finally, in a steadier tone than before, Severus murmured, “I don’t know what to do with your guilt. But I know that you’re not your mother.”

The words hit Sirius like a quiet accusation. He blinked, his breath momentarily stilled, his body rigid with the realization. “I—what?” he managed to choke out.

Severus shook his head softly, exhaling as if letting go of a heavy burden.

“You heard me, Sirius,” he replied simply.

The name landed between them like a weight, subtle yet unmistakable. Sirius swallowed hard, lips parting as if to speak, but the flood of emotions held him silent. Severus never called him that. Never once had he said his name without contempt, without venom, without the sharp edge of an insult lurking behind it. But now, in the quiet of the flat, in the lingering remnants of grief and exhaustion, it was different.

Sirius searched Severus’s face, half-expecting a sneer, some cruel twist of his mouth as if he had said it by accident. But there was nothing like that. No mockery. No malice. Just a quiet truth between them that neither of them had expected.

His heart clenched, the sound of his own name—his real name, not Black, not mangy mutt, not some half-hearted insult—making something inside him twist.

He licked his lips, trying to steady himself. “You—” His voice cracked, and he cursed himself for how fragile he sounded. “You don’t call me that.”

Severus’s expression didn’t shift, but something in his dark eyes flickered—an unreadable emotion, one that Sirius couldn’t quite place.

“Does it bother you?” Severus asked, voice measured, as if he already knew the answer.

Sirius let out a breathless, humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “No,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair. “I just didn’t think I’d live to hear you say it like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like it means something.”

Severus paused, his thumb still gently wiping away the stray tears that traced down Sirius’s cheek. The soft motion was both deliberate and tentative, as if Severus was rediscovering an old, familiar comfort he hadn’t allowed himself in years. 

“And if it does?” he murmured, his voice low and steady, yet carrying an undercurrent of genuine concern.

Sirius exhaled slowly, the sound heavy with unsaid words and painful memories. With a trembling motion, he reached up and, without hesitation, took Severus’s hand in his own. The contact was electric—a moment that made the world seem to pause.

His rough fingers closed around Severus’s wrist, feeling the subtle warmth pulsing beneath the pale skin. As Sirius’s gaze dropped, he marveled at the fine details of Severus’s hand: scars etched along the knuckles, each one a silent testament to past injuries, and nails clipped short with the precision born of countless hours spent brewing potions. The texture of Severus’s skin, smooth yet marred with history, told a story that Sirius had only ever seen from a distance.

For a long, suspended moment, neither spoke. The only sound was the soft hum of the beginnings of rain against the windowpane and the quiet rustle of fabric as Severus’s  hand remained in Sirius’s. The gentle pressure, the careful warmth—it was almost as if time itself had softened around them, making space for something neither had dared admit.

Sirius’s thoughts churned as he stared at their joined hands. Every harsh word, every childish squabble suddenly felt trivial compared to the fragile intimacy of this moment.

What are we doing? he wondered, feeling an unfamiliar mix of tenderness and longing ripple through him. 

“Severus,” Sirius finally whispered, his voice unsteady, raw with something he couldn’t quite name. The word alone felt heavier than it should have, like saying it had changed something between them, like it meant something more than it had before. He swallowed, his fingers still loosely curled around Severus’s hand. “What is this?”

A pause stretched between them, thick and uncertain, before Severus finally murmured, “What do you want it to be?”

His mind reeled for a moment as he searched for a familiar, easy answer—a response he’d given countless times before when a pretty girl in the Gryffindor common room or under the warm candlelight of the Great Hall had asked him that very question. In those moments, he’d smirked, tilted his head, and with effortless charm replied, “Whatever you want it to be, love.” It had always been simple, a throwaway line that never truly mattered.

But now, this wasn’t that. This wasn’t for a fleeting flirtation. This was about Severus. And Sirius found that he couldn’t lie his way through it this time.

A tightness gripped his throat as he struggled for the right words, desperate not to sound like a complete idiot. What did he truly want it to be? His chest ached, and his fingers tightened around Severus’s hand. Finally, his voice came out rough and barely above a whisper, “I don’t know... but I know I don’t want it to be nothing.”

The confession was unguarded, hanging between them like a fragile truth. Sirius trembled at the thought of how Severus might respond—if he’d meet his vulnerability with indifference, with rejection—but Severus didn’t laugh or scoff. Instead, he simply watched.

And in that charged silence, as every unspoken emotion flickered in the space between them, Sirius wished he could hold onto that moment forever.

Sirius felt as though he were holding his breath, each moment stretched taut by the weight of his own words. The raw honesty he’d just bared hung between them like an unyielding tether, leaving no room for his usual charm or quips. Severus had not spoken immediately; he simply observed, his gaze dissecting every nuance on Sirius’s face as if searching for a hidden lie or a careless punchline. But there was nothing to find—only the truth.

After what felt like an eternity, Severus finally broke the silence with a measured tone. “That’s a foolish thing to say, Black.” 

The remark stung, and for a moment, Sirius’s grip on Severus’s hand slackened. Yet Severus did not withdraw; instead, his thumb moved in a delicate arc over the back of Sirius’s hand—a touch so slight that Sirius wasn’t sure if it was real, though his racing heart told him otherwise.

Severus’s gaze then shifted down to their intertwined hands. His fingers twitched, hesitating as if debating whether to pull away, but he remained. 

Lowering his voice further, he murmured, “Because if it’s not nothing, then it has to be something. And that something… could be dangerous.”

A knot of conflicting emotions tightened in Sirius’s throat. He could feel his chest constrict, not from grief alone, but from an unfamiliar mix of longing and apprehension. When Severus’s dark eyes met his again, they were no longer shrouded in cold indifference; instead, they bore a subtle invitation—a challenge to reveal what lay beneath.

Severus’s whisper sliced through the still air, “So tell me, Sirius. What does this look like to you?”

Sirius’ heart pounded in his ears as he slowly leaned in, each inch forward stretching time until nothing else existed.

His breath, warm and trembling, brushed Severus’ cheek as he whispered, “I’m sorry… I’m sorry for everything I’ve done… for how I treated you.” His words carried raw regret and a desperate yearning for absolution, each syllable a fragile confession.

Severus’ gaze lingered on Sirius’ tear-streaked face, a softness replacing the usual guarded severity. After a moment of silent contemplation, Severus shifted, his tone tentative. “Do you want me to go?”

“No,” Sirius replied firmly, his voice cracking slightly. “Stay a while longer. Please.” His eyes, still glistening with tears, pleaded silently.

Severus’ gaze softened as he regarded Sirius’ vulnerable form. After a long, heavy pause, he asked, “And where should I sleep, then?”

A bittersweet smile tugged at Sirius’ lips as he offered a quiet solution. “You can sleep in my bed.” 

For a moment, Severus’s expression flickered—an amused, almost teasing glint replaced his usual reserve. 

“I’ll stay if you wash your bedding, mangy mutt,” he said, his tone playful yet carrying a subtle edge of affection.

Sirius’ heart tightened at the unexpected retort—a rare warmth in Severus’s usually cold tone. It made him both blush and smile through his tears. In that brief moment, grief and regret mingled with a tender hope. Without another word, they both understood that something irreversible had begun to heal between them.