Mein Herz

Chapter 9: Potter and Potions

10/12/1979 — 20/12/1979*

S.B

Sirius Black never had to “act natural.” Until today.

Standing rigidly in his own bedroom doorway, he was failing spectacularly at appearing casual while blocking any possible route to his closet. James Potter, brushed past him, sprawled comfortably across Sirius's bed, and watched him with growing suspicion.

“Pads, you'll never believe who Dumbledore just let join the—” James froze mid-sentence, apple hovering before his lips. His sharp hazel eyes darted over Sirius's disheveled appearance—bare chest, tousled hair, and the telling way his gaze kept flicking nervously over his shoulder.

A knowing smirk spread across James's face. “Late night? Or early morning?”

Sirius forced his shoulders to relax and manufactured a languid grin that felt wooden on his face. “Something like that.”

“What's got you so jumpy? You look like you've been caught with your hand in McGonagall's biscuit tin.”

Sirius needed a diversion. Fast. “What were you saying about Dumbledore?”

James groaned theatrically, collapsing backward onto the bed. “Oh—right. Guess who's our newest Order member?”

Behind him, Sirius felt the slightest movement from the closet. He stiffened imperceptibly as James tossed his apple core into the bin and sat up, expression incredulous.

“Snivellus.”

Sirius's heart stopped.

For one horrific moment, he thought James had somehow detected Severus's presence—that he was about to point directly at the closet door and—

His brain caught up. Oh, the Order.

Sirius forced a laugh that sounded hollow even to his own ears. “You're kidding.”

“Wish I was. Dumbledore's letting him in,” James scoffed, raking fingers through his perpetually messy hair. “Apparently, we're all supposed to play nice now.”

Sirius could practically feel waves of tension radiating from the closet, where Severus was undoubtedly absorbing every word.

“Is that right?” Sirius kept his arms firmly crossed, the picture of calculated disinterest.

James leaned forward conspiratorially. “And get this—supposedly he never took the Mark.”

The closet seemed to pulse with silent indignation.

“I dunno, mate,” James continued, shaking his head. “It's just—bloody bizarre. Am I supposed to believe Snape suddenly had a change of heart? Or has Dumbledore finally lost it?”

Sirius hesitated. The irony wasn't lost on him. If someone had suggested months ago that Severus Snape would be hiding in his bedroom—let alone fighting for the same cause—he'd have laughed until his sides ached.

James snorted. “I'll believe it when I see it.”

Then it happened.

The closet door clicked.

Sirius's blood crystallized in his veins.

Please, Severus. Not now.

James's head snapped toward the sound, his reflexes honed from years of Quidditch. “What was that?”

Sirius flung himself against the door. “Nothing.”

“That definitely came from—”

“Wind.”

James's eyebrows shot up. “The wind?”

“Yep.”

“In your closet?”

“Mhm.”

James tilted his head slightly, his Animagus instincts clearly engaged, ears practically pricking for another sound.

Fuck. Why did he need to be a bloody stag?

His eyes swept over Sirius again—this time cataloging everything. The tousled hair. The bare chest. The desperate door-guarding stance. James's suspicion transformed into delighted revelation.

“You've got someone in there!”

Instead of sighing with relief—too obvious—Sirius did what any reasonable person would do.

He lied unconvincingly.

“No,” he said immediately.

James's grin widened to predatory proportions. “Right. And that definitely wasn't someone shifting around in there?”

“Definitely not.”

A dangerous pause followed. James's mischief radar was clearly pinging off the charts. Then—before Sirius could react—James lunged for the closet handle.

Sirius moved with lightning speed, his wand suddenly in hand. With a sharp flick and muttered incantation, an invisible force caught James mid-lunge and spun him forcefully away from the closet.

James stumbled, genuine surprise replacing his playful expression as he regained his balance.

“Drop it.”

Sirius's voice was glacial, commanding—a tone he'd never used with his best friend. His wand remained pointed steadily at James's chest. James blinked, the playfulness draining from his face, replaced by confusion and a flicker of hurt.

“Sirius, what the—”

“I said drop it.” The edge in Sirius's voice carved a boundary that had never existed between them before.

A tense silence filled the room. James stared at him, searching his face for something—any trace of the Sirius he knew. Finding none, James slowly raised his hands in surrender, the gesture alien between the Marauders.

“Fine,” he said quietly. “Whatever's in there must be important.”

Sirius lowered his wand but maintained his defensive stance.

James took a step back, his expression shifting from hurt to careful neutrality. “Never thought we'd have secrets.”

Sirius swallowed the lump in his throat. “This one's not mine to tell.’

James nodded slowly, processing this. Then another sound—a longer, more deliberate shifting that seemed to fill the entire room with crackling tension.

James's nose twitched.

Sirius went rigid.

James sniffed the air and froze, his Animagus senses clearly working overtime as his expression morphed from neutrality to confusion, then to something far more curious.

Slowly, he turned back to Sirius. “Wait a second.”

Sirius held his breath.

“Is it Remus?”

Sirius choked. “What?!”

“Oh my God. It is, isn't it?”

“NO.”

“I KNEW IT!”

Sirius shoved him away, his face turning bright red. The thought of Remus still made his gut churn with guilt.

“It's NOT REMUS.”

James studied Sirius, his playful expression fading as he stumbled backward. For the first time in memory, Sirius Black appeared genuinely uncertain—not his trademark reckless bravado, but authentic hesitation.

That unsettled James more than anything else.

His gaze darted between Sirius's rigid posture and the closet door. Sirius stood pressed against it like a sentinel, shoulders taut, breathing carefully measured. Both defensive and protective.

James wasn't naive. He could press the issue, but something in Sirius's stance gave him pause—a silent warning that crossing this particular line might have consequences neither wanted to face.

“You know I hate when you go all secretive, right?” James exhaled, raking fingers through his untidy hair.

Sirius attempted a smirk that never quite materialized. “Yeah, I know.”

After weighing his options in the lengthening silence, James finally reached for the doorknob. “Fine. I'll drop it.”

Sirius remained motionless, still vigilant.

“But—” James fixed him with a meaningful look. “You'll tell me eventually, yeah?”

Sirius swallowed hard. “Yeah.”

James snorted. “Liar. See you at the next Order meeting.”

With that parting shot, he stepped into the hallway, pulling the door shut behind him.

As James's footsteps faded into silence, Sirius slammed against the closet, gulping air like a drowning man. His head cracked against the wood while vicious curses spilled through clenched teeth. With a trembling hand, he flicked his wand.

The closet door creaked open, revealing Severus—arms crossed, eyes gleaming with dangerous amusement.

“That,” he drawled, gliding out with the calculated poise of a predator, “was the most pathetic performance I've ever had the misfortune to witness.”

Sirius hurled himself face-first into the mattress with a muffled, primal sound. “Just let me die in peace.”

“You couldn't lie convincingly if your life depended on it, Black.” Severus's words cut like ice, though his lips twitched upward.

“Don't push me. Not now.” Sirius's voice carried a raw edge that hung in the air between them.

“He will discover us eventually.” Severus knelt beside him, close enough that Sirius could feel the heat radiating off him. “It's inevitable.”

Sirius's eyes snapped up, vulnerability and defiance warring in his gaze. “You're thinking that far ahead? About us?”

“I find my tolerance for you has become... unexpectedly addictive.”

The smirk remained fixed on Severus's face, but something dangerous flickered in his eyes—something that made Sirius's breath catch.

Sirius exhaled sharply, throwing himself onto his back, staring at the ceiling as if it might collapse on him at any moment. “Christ, Snape. You make it sound like a disease.”

“Would you prefer flowery declarations?” Severus's voice dripped with mockery, yet his fingers inched closer to Sirius's on the bedspread.

Sirius barked a harsh laugh. “God no. You'd poison the words just by speaking them.”

Severus watched him through narrowed eyes as the crackling tension between them shifted from volatile to something equally dangerous but far more intoxicating.

“Potter won't stop digging,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper. “He sensed something was wrong.”

Sirius's face contorted. “He can smell secrets like blood in the water.”

“How fitting for the company you keep.” Severus's lips curled into something too sharp to be a smile.

"One more word and I'll hex you." The threat was empty and they both knew it.

“What's your brilliant strategy, then? Continue this farce of shoving me into hiding places like your dirty little secret?” Severus's words were casual, but a blade's edge lurked beneath them.

Sirius's eyes flashed dangerously. “What if that's exactly what you are?”

Something flickered across Severus's face—a momentary crack in his armor that vanished as quickly as it appeared. His fingers brushed against the sheets, mere millimeters from Sirius's hand, the space between them electric. “The great Sirius Black, reduced to skulking in shadows. How the mighty have fallen.”

“Not all of us revel in the darkness like you do, Snape.”

“Would telling him truly be so catastrophic?” The question hung between them, deceptively simple.

Sirius jerked upright, raking fingers through his hair, his face a battlefield of conflict. “You have no idea what you're asking.”

Severus held his gaze, something calculating and almost vulnerable flickering behind his carefully constructed mask. “Then we continue this dangerous game.”

“Dangerous?”

Severus's fingertips ghosted over Sirius's wrist, the touch so light it might have been imagined, yet it sent violent sparks racing up Sirius's arm. “You forget,” he whispered, “I've always excelled at keeping secrets. The question is whether you can.”

The warmth of that touch lingered like a brand, though Severus's expression betrayed nothing as he rose to his feet, methodically straightening his clothing.

His eyes darted toward the door, suddenly alert. “Your watchdog is still here,” he hissed, voice dropping to a whisper. “I can sense him.”

Sirius froze, blood draining from his face. “Fuck.”

Severus's lips curved into a smile that promised nothing good. “Indeed.”

Their standoff was shattered by a persistent tapping. Both men whirled toward the window, wands instinctively drawn. A regal tawny owl perched impatiently on the sill, a thick envelope clasped in its beak.

Severus's eyes narrowed. “That's...”

“Not one of ours,” Sirius finished, moving cautiously toward the window. He cracked it open just enough for the bird to extend its head through. The owl dropped the envelope directly into Sirius's hand before departing with a dignified hoot.

Sirius turned the envelope over, examining the heavy parchment and ornate wax seal. His eyes widened. “It's from the Potions Guild.”

Severus went perfectly still.

Sirius extended the envelope toward him, something unreadable flickering across his features. “It's addressed to you.”

Severus didn't move to take it. His face had become an impenetrable mask.

“Aren't you going to open it?” Sirius asked, his voice uncharacteristically gentle.

“It's likely a rejection.” Severus's words were clipped, precise, betraying nothing.

Sirius snorted. “Bullshit. You've been working on that research for years. Even I could see it was brilliant, and I barely passed Potions.”

Severus's eyes flashed dangerously. “Don't patronize me.”

Sirius closed the distance between them in two swift strides. “Take the damn letter, Severus.”

Something in Sirius's tone—the raw command, the use of his first name—made Severus extend his hand. He took the envelope with fingers that didn't quite tremble.

Too easy. Sirius thought smugly.

The seal broke with a satisfying crack. Severus unfolded the parchment with methodical precision, his expression giving nothing away as his eyes scanned the contents.

Sirius watched him hungrily, searching for any crack in the mask. “Well?”

Severus looked up, his face still utterly unreadable.

“They've accepted my application.” His voice was flat, controlled. “The examination is scheduled ten days from today.”

For a heartbeat, Sirius simply stared at him. Then his face split into a grin so bright it transformed him. Without warning, he seized Severus by the shoulders.

“You bloody genius!” He laughed, the sound startlingly genuine. “I knew it. I fucking knew it.”

Severus remained rigid beneath his touch, studying Sirius's face with calculating intensity. “Your enthusiasm is... unexpected.”

Sirius's grip tightened. “Are you joking? Do you have any idea how big this is? The youngest candidate in decades.” Something fierce and proud blazed in his eyes. “Dumbledore will announce it at the next Order meeting. Everyone will know.”

Something flickered in Severus's expression—a momentary crack in his armor that revealed a glimpse of raw vulnerability. “Everyone,” he echoed, his voice carefully neutral. “Including Lily.”

Sirius's expression hardened. “Lily Evans can choke on her own jealousy. She made her choice.”

The bluntness of it—the fierce, unexpected loyalty—made Severus study him with renewed intensity. “You surprise me, Black.”

From somewhere in the house, they heard the distinct sound of footsteps approaching. James, returning.

Severus stiffened, his eyes darting to the door. The letter crumpled slightly in his grip.

Sirius's hands dropped from Severus's shoulders, the momentary celebration evaporating as reality intruded. A confused mix of emotions crossed his face – frustration, resignation, uncertainty.

“How do you want me to handle this?” Sirius asked, his voice low and unexpectedly serious.

Severus's eyes remained fixed on the door, calculating. His fingers smoothed the parchment with careful precision, tucking it into the pockets of his pyjamas. When he spoke, his voice was measured.

“I don't want Potter to know,” he said simply. The admission hung between them, weighted with unspoken complications.

Something like disappointment flickered across Sirius's face, quickly masked. He nodded once, sharply. “The closet again, then?”

Severus's lips thinned. “I need to change… shower too.”

“Bathroom’s open. Just go in there.” Sirius huffed a humorless laugh. “Not exactly how I pictured celebrating your achievement.”

“This isn't...” Severus paused, searching for words with uncharacteristic hesitation. “We're not at that point yet, Black.”

The footsteps grew louder. Tension crackled between them, thick enough to cut.

Sirius's jaw tightened, but he stepped back, giving Severus space. “Right.”

Severus moved toward the bathroom, his movements fluid and controlled. At the threshold, he turned back, something inscrutable in his gaze.

“But perhaps someday.”

The words were so quiet Sirius almost missed them. Before he could respond, Severus had slipped into the bathroom, pulling the door closed behind him.

Sirius stared at the bathroom door, conflict written plainly across his features. Then, squaring his shoulders, he turned to face the bedroom door just as the handle began to turn.

James’s eyes, usually so quick to spark mischief, were softened with concern as he leaned against the now open doorway. The fading light of dusk filtered through the narrow window, painting the room with gentle hues of amber and shadow. Sirius stood next to the unkempt bed, a scattered array of books and half-empty potion vials strewn about—a testament to nights spent wrestling with both magic and emotion.

James cleared his throat softly. “You’re actually serious about this, aren’t you?” He asked, his tone measured yet unmistakably gentle.

Sirius offered a short, humorless laugh, the sound more brittle than ever. “Ironic, isn’t it?” he murmured, his gaze fixed somewhere between the ceiling and the floor, as if searching for a solution in the shadows.

There was a heavy pause as James waited, giving his best friend the space he so rarely afforded. Sirius’s fingers trembled slightly as he brushed them over his hair, a habitual gesture when he was on the verge of unraveling. Finally, his voice dropped to a hesitant whisper.

“I don’t know if this is real,” Sirius confessed, eyes glistening with unspoken conflict. “If… he wants it.”

For years, James had suspected that Sirius was attracted to both men and women. Though James never confronted him about it, he couldn't help but notice the way Sirius's eyes would follow certain men across rooms, how his voice would soften when speaking to the handsome bartender at their usual pub, or how he'd find excuses to approach the dark-haired student always occupying the corner table at the library. And now, here Sirius was, finally confirming what James had long observed—there was actually a man in Sirius's apartment, waiting while they had this conversation.

James’s brow furrowed as he stepped closer, his tone low and cautious. “You mean he’s stringing you along?”

Sirius shook his head, a bitter smile briefly flitting across his face. “No. It’s not like that,” he replied, his words tumbling out in a rush of vulnerability. His hand curled into a fist as he tried to ground himself, and after a moment of strained silence, he added, “We’ve kissed. But nothing more.”

The admission hung in the air, heavy with both hope and uncertainty. James’s eyes widened in surprise, he vividly remembered countless nights of Sirius waltzing back into their dormitory, tie askew, face slightly flushed, lipstick staining his collar. Sirius Black had never been one to wait for anyone or anything he wanted. “And you’re waiting? Since when do you wait for anything?” he asked softly, as if testing the weight of the truth.

Sirius’s laugh was quiet, almost lost in the hush of the room—a sound of disbelief at his own predicament. “Imagine that—me, actually waiting for someone,” he said, his voice faltering. “It’s new. For both of us.” His gaze fell to his calloused hands, the ones that had clutched wands and dared to defy fate, now betraying him with their uncertainty.

James stepped forward, his usual boldness replaced by a tenderness that spoke of years of shared battles and secrets. He rested a steady hand on Sirius’s shoulder, feeling the subtle tremor that belied his defiant exterior. 

“So you like him,” James said, the realization dawning slowly as he watched Sirius’s guarded expression soften into a quiet vulnerability. “Like really like him?”

For a long moment, Sirius said nothing—only the sound of his shallow breath punctuating the silence. His eyes, usually so fierce and unyielding, now shimmered with the vulnerability of someone unaccustomed to waiting, to hoping. “I’m not sure what I want anymore,” he admitted, his voice a fragile confession. “I thought I’d always be the one to chase, to never let anyone get close enough to make me care… but now it’s different.”

James offered a small, wry smile—one that mingled reassurance with the unspoken promise of loyalty. “Well, when he finally decides what he wants, I guess I’ll have to deal with it,” he said, half teasing, half resigned. “Though, if you ask me, I’ll probably hate every second of it.”

The humor, light and familiar, brought a brief spark of warmth back to Sirius’s eyes. Still, his hand remained loosely curled around the worn fabric of his blanket, as if seeking comfort in its rough texture.

James moved toward the door but paused, his gaze locked onto Sirius. “You’ll tell me when you know, right?” He asked, the question carrying the weight of countless shared confidences and unspoken agreements.

Sirius nodded slowly, his voice steadier now. “Yeah. When I know.”

For a long, quiet second, the only sound was the soft rustle of fabric and the distant hum of the flat settling into the early morning. James didn’t push for more, not this time. Instead, he gave Sirius the one gift he understood was most needed—time. With one last squeeze of Sirius’s shoulder, James turned and left, the door clicking softly behind him.

Alone now, Sirius exhaled deeply, a mix of relief and apprehension swirling within him. He stared at the closed door, the silence echoing the uncertain beat of his heart. In that quiet moment, he realized that waiting wasn’t weakness—it was the raw, honest price of something that might, one day, be real. And though he wasn’t sure if he was ready, or if he truly wanted it, he also knew that this was a beginning, however tentative.

In the dim glow of the morning light, Sirius allowed himself a small, wistful smile. The path ahead was murky and uncharted, but for now, he would face it on his own terms—one hesitant step at a time.

Sirius stood there, watching Severus from the kitchen counter, the hum of morning fading into a quiet silence. Severus, hair still damp from the shower, hunched over a sea of crumpled parchment, focused entirely on the task at hand. Sirius’s gaze softened as he took in the familiar sight of him—so intent on his studies, so absorbed in the weight of his own thoughts.

“Are you going to spend all morning like that?” Sirius asked, his voice breaking the silence, though he kept his tone light, teasing. He moved to Severus’s side, standing behind him, his hands resting casually on the back of Severus’s chair. But Severus didn’t seem to notice, too lost in his own calculations.

“Everything needs to be perfect. Unlike you, I don’t have leisure time with my studies, and you certainly are distracting.” Severus didn’t look up, his words clipped as always.

Sirius leaned in slightly, his breath warm against Severus’s neck. “You’re beautiful when you work.”

Severus scoffed, the corners of his mouth twitching as he tried to hide the faintest trace of amusement. “I recall you saying there would be grease stains on my papers when we were in school.”

Sirius’s gaze softened, an unexpected wave of regret washing over him. He stared at the damp strands of Severus’s hair, some falling haphazardly over his face, the deep black so rich it reminded him of raven wings, dark and glossy.

“I think my shampoo in the bathroom helps with that,” Sirius teased gently, his hand reaching out instinctively, fingers brushing through the dark strands of Severus’s hair.

Severus flinched, pulling back slightly, though he didn’t push him away. “Don’t. It’s distracting,” he muttered, though there was an odd edge to his voice—more vulnerable than Sirius expected.

“Tenderheaded, are you?” Sirius asked, a playful grin tugging at his lips.

A short scoff escaped Severus’s lips, but this time, there was no sharpness to it, just a quiet laugh that came and went as quickly as it appeared. There was a moment of stillness between them, the air thick with something unspoken, something more than teasing and banter. Sirius stepped closer, and this time, Severus didn’t retreat. His gaze met Sirius’s for the first time since their conversation began.

“Severus…” Sirius began softly, his voice taking on a more serious tone. “I know I've said it before, but I need to tell you again.” He hesitated, letting the words hang in the air. “I don't want this to be temporary. I want this to be real.”

Severus's expression was unreadable, his gaze flicking between Sirius's eyes and the papers on the table, but for the first time, Sirius didn't feel that cold wall between them. Instead, there was a flicker—something unguarded, something raw.

“I'm not asking for grand promises,” Sirius continued, emotion threading through his voice. “I just need to know that what's between us matters. Because it matters to me.”

For a long moment, Severus didn't respond. Then slowly, he reached up, his hand trembling slightly as he cupped Sirius's face, thumb brushing over his jaw with unexpected tenderness.

Sirius's breath caught as Severus leaned in, pressing their lips together. It wasn't hurried or fiery like before—it was deliberate, answering questions neither had dared ask aloud. When they pulled away, their foreheads rested together, both breathing a little faster.

“I want us to be real,” Sirius whispered, certainty filling his voice. “Not just a secret or something fleeting.”

Something shifted in Severus's guarded expression—uncertainty mixed with a new softness. He nodded slightly.

“We'll see,” he whispered, no distance in his voice—just a small crack in his long-worn armor.

Sirius smiled, fingers brushing Severus's cheek. “That's all I need for now.”

Severus's lips twitched before he pulled Sirius into another kiss, filled with quiet affection rather than desperation.

“Satisfied?” Severus asked, arching a brow as he pulled away, voice level despite the flush on his cheekbones.

Sirius grinned. “Yes. Now go back to your nerdy things.” He pressed another quick kiss to Severus's lips—brighter, more teasing, like a secret shared mid-laugh.

Severus turned back toward the table, hand lingering where Sirius had touched him. The silence between them felt charged but comfortable.

“Distracting menace,” Severus muttered, smoothing a crumpled page.

"I try," Sirius replied, settling back with his mug. “It's kind of my thing.”

Severus began scribbling on parchment, fingers drumming against the wood. “You've done nothing but hover around me all morning. If this is your version of moral support, it's deeply inefficient.”

“You'd rather I leave?”

Severus glanced up briefly. “No,” he said flatly. Too quickly.

Sirius smirked. “Didn't think so.”

He watched Severus work, noting the tension in his furrowed brow and ink-stained fingers.

“You don't have to destroy yourself over it,” Sirius said quietly. “You're going to crush that exam. You always do.”

“This isn't school, Black,” Severus replied reflexively. “This is the Guild. This is my career.”

“I'm not saying don't take it seriously. Just don't forget to breathe.” Sirius stepped behind him, wrapping his arms around Severus's shoulders. After a moment's tension, Severus relaxed.

“You're hovering again,” he muttered.

“Yeah, but this time with perspective.” Sirius rested his chin on Severus's shoulder. “I meant what I said earlier. I want to be with you. Not pretend. Not something we hide when James walks by.”

Severus stilled.

“I don't even know if you want more,” Sirius continued hesitantly. “Or if you want me at all. Maybe you're just tolerating this until it's no longer convenient.”

Unexpectedly, Severus leaned back against Sirius's chest—barely perceptible, but deliberate.

“If I didn't want you,” he said, voice low, “I wouldn't be here.”

Sirius's breath caught. It wasn't romantic, but it was real. He pressed a soft kiss to Severus's temple. “Good. Because I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere.”

Severus exhaled, something coiled inside him beginning to relax. “For now,” he muttered.

Sirius grinned. “Fine. For now. But I've got staying power, Snape.”

“God help me.”

“Too late for that.”

They remained that way—Severus pretending to read, Sirius watching him slowly transform into someone almost soft. And perhaps that was what made it real.

S.S.

The last ten days had blurred into a haze of parchment, cauldrons, and Sirius Black's persistent, maddening presence.

Severus hadn't invited him that first night—Sirius simply materialized with takeaway containers and that insufferable grin, draping his coat over the armchair as if staking a claim. Somehow, it evolved into an unspoken routine. Not discussed. Not negotiated. Simply accepted.

Each evening after dinner, Sirius would appear with some new “strategy” for the dissertation, though his assistance typically manifested as distracting commentary and surprisingly perceptive questions. One memorable night, he'd insisted on testing the translation potion prototype despite Severus's explicit warnings.

For three excruciating hours afterward, Sirius spoke exclusively in Ancient Greek, thoroughly pleased with himself. Severus had been considerably less amused.

Between paragraphs and potion stirrings came the kisses—each one distinct, each one slowly unraveling something tightly wound within Severus. Against the kitchen counter, Sirius had caught him mid-sentence, pressing him against the worn edge until Severus's thoughts scattered like dropped ingredients. His mouth had tasted of bergamot and tobacco, tongue tracing the seam of Severus's lips with deliberate precision until they parted on a reluctant sigh.

Once, against the bookshelf, Sirius had captured Severus's wrists above a row of rare manuscripts, teeth grazing his lower lip as he whispered, “You're going to ruin your precious footnotes.” His breath had ghosted across Severus's skin, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in its wake. Severus had hexed him mid-laugh, and Sirius had grinned through the glittering mustache the jinx bestowed, eyes darkening when Severus's gaze lingered too long on his mouth.

At night, Sirius would sleep beside him—a careful distance maintained, a warmth in the darkness that Severus pretended not to crave.

Some mornings, Sirius was already awake when Severus emerged. Once, he found the Gryffindor conducting a chaotic symphony in the kitchen—eggs dancing in the pan, toast balanced precariously in his mouth like some domestic whirlwind. The eggs were charred, the tea overly sweet, the toast face-down on the floor. Yet Severus had consumed every bite, silently cataloging the taste of unexpected care.

Now, December 20th had arrived. The exam day.

The flat was perfumed with steam and expensive soap as Severus stood rigidly by the mirror, surreptitiously adjusting his posture whenever Sirius glanced his way.

"You're sweating through your shirt," Sirius observed from his sprawl across Severus's bed. "You'll ruin the robes."

“I am not sweating.”

“You're glistening, then. Like a nervous debutante.” Sirius stood and held up the deep green robes with silver accents—far finer than anything in Severus's wardrobe. ‘Try not to look like you're walking into a funeral.”

“I always look like I'm walking into a funeral,” Severus muttered, but stepped forward, allowing Sirius to help him into the garment.

Sirius straightened the collar and smoothed away a wrinkle. “You're lucky I have good taste.”

“I feel ridiculous.”

“You look terrifyingly competent,” Sirius replied, his hand lingering on Severus's arm, sincerity replacing his usual sarcasm. “In a dangerously hot, might-poison-your-coffee kind of way.”

Severus snorted. “I should hope so.”

Sirius moved behind him, fingers carefully gathering Severus's damp hair. “Do you trust me?”

“No.”

“That's fair.” Sirius hummed while combing back the dark strands, then used a gentle charm to secure them. “There. You look like someone who knows seventeen ways to kill a man and write about it in a peer-reviewed journal.”

Catching his reflection, Severus had to admit he looked... formidable. Sharp. Someone worthy of serious consideration.

He remained silent, merely smoothing down the robe and straightening his shoulders, avoiding Sirius's reflected gaze.

“Hey,” Sirius said, stepping beside him. “You've got this.”

Severus gave a terse nod. “Of course I do.”

The response was automatic, but Sirius smiled as if hearing the unspoken beneath it. Then he leaned in, pressing his lips to Severus's with deliberate intent.

This kiss wasn't playful or hurried. It began as a gentle pressure, a warm brushing of lips that gradually deepened. Sirius's hand came up to cradle Severus's jaw, thumb tracing small circles against his cheekbone as their mouths moved together in unhurried exploration. The faint taste of coffee and cinnamon lingered on Sirius's tongue as it swept against Severus's, a slow dance of reassurance and something deeper neither dared name. Each soft movement seemed to say what words couldn't—confidence, faith, connection—the press of lips becoming an anchor against the day's uncertainties.

When they finally parted, Sirius's eyes had darkened to storm-cloud gray, his voice barely above a whisper. “I'll be there. Waiting.”

Severus couldn't find words adequate to respond. He nodded once more and turned toward the door before his expression betrayed him.

It was time.

Time to validate years of work and sacrifice. Time to prove to the Potions Guild that he was more than just a Slytherin with a brilliant mind and too many shadows.

And perhaps—just perhaps—time to acknowledge what Sirius Black was becoming to him.

The examination chamber enveloped Severus in its austere atmosphere—ancient stone walls exhaling the ghosts of centuries of potions, parchment crackling under the weight of academic scrutiny. Three Potions Masters regarded him with gazes as cold as the draft seeping through towering arched windows, offering no introduction—merely a silent command to begin.

This is what everything has led to, Severus thought, feeling strangely calm despite the pressure constricting his chest. Years of work. Nights without sleep. Even those maddening days with Black commandeering my space as if he owned it.

The theoretical portion unfolded as a relentless barrage of complex formulations. Severus answered with the precision he'd honed since childhood, quill gliding across parchment with quiet confidence. His mind, for once, was blissfully clear—no distractions, no doubts, no memories of how Sirius had firmly guided him that morning, hands decisively arranging his robes, brooking no argument.

Then came the practical assessment.

A cauldron gleamed before him, surrounded by rare ingredients and deliberately vague instructions. Beyond skill, this test probed for intuition—the ability to detect the subtle traps laid within seemingly straightforward tasks. As he worked, Severus felt a curious detachment, as if observing himself from a distance. His hands moved with practiced efficiency, each motion calculated and economical.

They expect me to fail, he realized, noting the expectant glances exchanged between examiners. They're waiting for a naïve teenager to stumble.

Halfway through, he spotted it—an innocuous step that would have destabilized the entire potion if followed exactly as written. Without hesitation, he made the necessary adjustment. The liquid darkened, thickened, and settled into precisely the correct shade.

He stepped back, allowing the silence to speak for him.

One examiner tilted his head. “You almost ruined the batch.”

Almost isn't the same as did, Severus thought, meeting the man's gaze unflinchingly. “Almost.”

After a brief pause: “You may go.”

No indication of success or failure. Simply dismissal.

Severus turned and departed, the tension he'd suppressed for hours finally uncoiling as the heavy doors closed behind him. For a moment, he leaned against the cold stone wall, allowing himself three measured breaths. It's done. Whatever comes next...

The December chill assaulted him first, but then came the sight of Sirius—casually leaning against a low stone wall, wand twirling between his fingers with affected nonchalance. The moment their eyes met, Sirius straightened, pushing off the wall with fluid grace and striding toward Severus with purpose.

“Well?” he demanded, eyes scanning Severus's face with an intensity that seemed to pierce through his carefully constructed façade.

Severus exhaled. “They didn't say.”

Theywouldn't give me the satisfaction, he thought bitterly. Not someone with my history.

“Bastards,” Sirius scoffed, studying him for a moment before stepping closer, invading Severus's space with casual authority. “How do you think you did?”

Severus despised that question—the uncertainty it forced him to acknowledge. How could he possibly know? The silence stretched between them as he considered and discarded several responses.

Sirius nodded as if hearing the unspoken, his hand coming up to grip Severus's shoulder firmly. “You look like someone who hasn't breathed in three hours.”

“Four,” Severus muttered before he could prevent himself.

A commanding grin spread across Sirius's face. “C'mere.”

Severus tensed as Sirius pulled him forward, one arm wrapping decisively around his shoulders in a firm embrace that left no room for resistance. The warmth was immediate and overwhelming—leather, cedarwood, and something uniquely Sirius enveloping him. Though brief, when Sirius pulled away, keeping one hand possessively at the nape of Severus's neck, the contact left behind an uncomfortable warmth in Severus's chest that he couldn't quite name.

Why does he affect me this way? Severus wondered, unsettled by how much he'd wanted to yield to that touch.

Sirius's thumb brushed against Severus's pulse point before he released him. “Let's go. I made food.”

“You burned food,” Severus countered, arching an eyebrow, trying to regain some equilibrium.

“One time,” Sirius replied, his tone making it clear the matter was settled as he took Severus's elbow, steering him toward the apparition point.

Severus gave him a pointed look, recalling multiple culinary disasters.

Sirius smirked, but then, with unexpected softness underlaid with absolute conviction: “You're gonna pass. I know it.”

Severus didn't respond, but something about the certainty in Sirius's voice settled in him like a slow-burning ember. He believes it, Severus realized with quiet surprise. Without reservation or doubt.

The door had barely shut before Sirius moved.

In one fluid motion, he turned Severus and backed him against the wall, one hand braced beside Severus's head, the other curling possessively around his hip. For a heartbeat, Sirius simply looked at him, eyes dark with intent.

“You've been wound tight as a spring all day,” Sirius murmured, thumb tracing slow circles against Severus's hipbone. “Let it go now.”

Severus felt his breath catch, the sudden reversal of positions leaving him momentarily disoriented. This was Sirius's domain—his territory—and the realization sent an unexpected thrill through Severus. The hand at his hip burned through layers of fabric, each slow circle of Sirius's thumb sending ripples of sensation across his skin.

Before Severus could marshal a cutting remark to regain some semblance of control, Sirius closed the distance, capturing his mouth in a kiss that silenced any protest. Severus stiffened instinctively, old defenses rising, but they crumbled embarrassingly fast beneath the insistent pressure of Sirius's lips. Heat bloomed in his chest as he found himself responding, hands hesitantly coming to rest on Sirius's chest, feeling the steady heartbeat beneath his palms.

When did I become so predictable? Severus wondered distantly. When did he learn to disarm me so effortlessly?

The kiss deepened as Sirius pressed closer, one hand sliding into Severus's hair to angle his head precisely as he wanted. The sensation of fingers threading through his hair, pulling just enough to tilt his head back, sent a jolt of electricity down Severus's spine. With deliberate pressure, Sirius's tongue traced the seam of his lips, and Severus opened to him without conscious thought, surrendering to the invasion.

The taste of Sirius—coffee, cinnamon, and something wild that defied categorization—flooded his senses. Severus felt his analytical mind, always calculating and observing, gradually quieting beneath the onslaught. For once, he allowed himself to simply feel—the solid warmth of Sirius's body against his own, the skillful exploration of his mouth, the faint stubble scratching pleasantly against his chin.

This is madness, Severus thought with the last remnants of his rational mind. He had spent years building walls, crafting defenses, maintaining distance—yet here he was, yielding to Sirius Black of all people, allowing him past every barrier with barely a token resistance. More alarming still was the realization that he had no desire to stop.

Sirius seemed to sense this surrender, his grip tightening as he pressed Severus more firmly against the wall, thigh slipping between Severus's legs. The pressure was exquisite, drawing an unbidden sound from Severus's throat that he would later deny making.

When they broke apart for breath, Severus was mortified to hear words escape him, unguarded and raw. “Thank you.”

The vulnerability in his own voice was appalling. Severus immediately wished to snatch the words back, to bury them beneath his usual armor of sarcasm and distance. But Sirius stilled, pulling back slightly, eyes searching Severus's face with an intensity that made retreat impossible.

“For what?” His thumb traced Severus's lower lip, refusing to allow him to look away.

Severus swallowed, acutely aware of his own rapid pulse, the warmth of Sirius's hand still cupping his face, the lingering taste of him on his lips. How could he possibly articulate what he meant? For waiting outside the examination hall without being asked. For believing in his success when Severus himself harbored doubts. For somehow knowing exactly when to push and when to remain silent. For being the unexpected anchor when Severus felt himself drifting toward the darkness that had consumed so much of his life.

The weight of all those unsaid things pressed against his chest. Words—usually his carefully honed weapons—failed him completely.

Instead of answering, he tried to initiate another kiss, a desperate attempt to redirect from this dangerous emotional territory. But Sirius held him firm, one hand cupping his jaw with unmistakable authority. "Tell me," he insisted quietly.

Pinned beneath that steady gaze, Severus felt stripped of all his protective layers. No occlumency could shield him from this penetrating scrutiny. The words, when they came, were painfully honest. “For... knowing what I needed. Even when I didn't.”

Something softened in Sirius's expression, a rare tenderness that Severus had glimpsed only in unguarded moments. Then Sirius leaned in again, this kiss gentler but no less commanding. His hands framed Severus's face as their lips moved together in a rhythm that felt increasingly familiar, increasingly necessary.

Severus found himself melting into the contact, the tension of the day finally unraveling under Sirius's careful ministrations. Each stroke of tongue against tongue, each brush of lips, each shared breath seemed to communicate what neither of them could fully articulate.

“I want this to be real,” Severus whispered against Sirius's lips, echoing the words Sirius had offered him days ago. He despised the nakedness in his voice, the exposed nerve of need, but could not disguise it.

Sirius gripped him tighter, one hand sliding possessively down Severus's side to pull their bodies flush together. The heat between them intensified, and Severus felt himself arching into the contact, seeking more of that intoxicating friction.

When Sirius spoke, it was barely above a whisper, but it carried the weight of absolute certainty. “It is real.” There was no question in his tone, only declaration. “And I'm not letting you run from it anymore.”

The words settled into Severus like a binding charm, both terrifying and exhilarating. For once in his life, he found himself not wanting to flee, not needing to guard against vulnerability.

Instead, he surrendered to the moment, to Sirius, to the unprecedented feeling of being truly seen and still wanted.