Blood On The Stones
Severus lunged.
The moment his body hit Sirius, the world blurred.
No spells. No hesitation. Just fists, teeth, and raw violence.
They hit the ground hard, the impact knocking the breath from Sirius’ lungs. His wand skidded across the stone. Useless now.
Severus was on top of him.
And then—the first punch landed.
A wet crack split the air as his knuckles met Sirius’ cheekbone.
Sirius choked on a curse, but another blow came before he could react.
And another.
And another.
Severus wasn’t stopping.
Sirius’ head slammed against the stone. Stars exploded in his vision.
Severus’ hand wrapped around his throat.
Squeezed.
Hard.
Sirius’ vision darkened.
“You think this is funny?” Severus’ voice was low, shaking. Not with fear. With rage.
Sirius gasped, clawing at his grip.
Severus tightened it.
“You humiliated me.” His breath was hot, furious. “In front of everyone.”
Sirius’ pulse slowed.
Spots danced in his eyes.
Severus leaned closer, whispering—
“Who’s laughing now?”
But then before he could taunt him further or land another blow, hands grabbed him.
Dragged him back.
Severus snarled, fighting against the grip, but there were too many.
Potter. Lupin. Pettigrew. Holding him down.
“Get OFF me!” His voice wasn’t his.
Something was wrong.
The shadows twisted—mocking. His skin burned.
His fingers dripped.
Blood.
Whose?
The laughter returned.
“You lost.”
Severus’ breathing was ragged.
Sirius lay motionless, chest rising and falling shallowly.
His face was a mess. Blood smeared across his cheekbone, his lips split, his eye swelling shut.
And yet—he was smiling.
A broken, bloody grin.
“You’re a monster,” Sirius rasped.
Severus froze.
The shadows whispered.
“They’re right.”
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The world was too quiet.
Severus sat in the infirmary, his hands stained.
Dried blood, dark under his nails. Not his.
He stared at them. Stared at the way his fingers trembled against the white sheets.
Across the room, Sirius lay unconscious.
Bruised. Swollen. Barely breathing.
Severus should have felt victorious.
Instead, he felt nothing.
Madam Pomfrey had dragged him here. Someone had. He barely remembered.
There had been yelling. Potter screaming, Lupin shaking, Dumbledore’s voice sharp as a knife.
He didn’t care.
None of it mattered.
The shadows in the corners of the room whispered.
“You did this.”
Severus clenched his jaw.
“And you liked it."
The door creaked open.
Dumbledore stepped inside, eyes like cold steel.
He did not sit. He did not speak.
He just watched.
Severus forced himself to meet his gaze.
His voice, when it came, was hoarse.
“Am I expelled?”
Dumbledore sighed.
“No.”
Severus blinked.
“No?”
The headmaster’s expression darkened. “Not yet."
Dumbledore stepped closer.
“What you did tonight—” His voice was soft. Too soft. “You understand the weight of it, do you not?”
Severus swallowed. Did he?
“Violence leaves a mark, Severus. On them. On you.”
Severus’ fingers curled into the sheets.
“Black started it.”
“Did he?” Dumbledore’s gaze pierced him. “And you ended it?”
Severus didn’t answer.
“I will not save you from yourself again,” Dumbledore murmured. “Next time, I will let you fall.”
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That night, Severus did not sleep.
The walls shifted in the dark. The whispers grew louder.
“We saw you.”
Severus pressed his hands against his ears. “Shut up.”
“You wanted to kill him.”
He squeezed his eyes shut.
“You still do.”
The shadows stretched, reaching for him.
Severus did not move.
Because part of him wondered if they were right.