Eight
Black collapses onto the dusty bed and sleeps after sending Potter another letter. They have to know. Pettigrew will never reach them now. Not ever. And Severus takes dark satisfaction in being right.
He closes his eyes and he almost pictures Potter's face falling as he reads the words, as he learns slowly about the betrayal of one of his friends, of the person he wanted to be the last stand between Voldemort and his family.
It will break his confidence on a fundamental level. It will help him stay put.
Lily will grasp, she will be shaken, but she won't cry. She will keep the wound of broken trust hidden in her chest and she will stride forward. She had done it before, when Severus was the one that did that to her. She's been doing it all her life with Tuney's every nasty comment.
Lily is fierce and emotional, but in the end she is sufficient, clear headed in the face of danger.
She will keep Potter going.
She will focus on the positives -they chose Black in the end, they are safe.
And Severus thinks -because they know each other too well- that she will smile secretly, while she's alone, because Severus protected her, because she was right for listening to him.
She won't tell Potter -even though they both know, that their safety is due to Severus's insistence and Lily's trust in him. She won't, because she isn't that kind of person. But she will keep it in her heart, as a quiet reassurance.
And Severus believes she will think of something like, oh you're going to be unbearable from now on and she will smile again and then when they meet she will tell him, don't say anything to James, don't be like that.
It's funny, a few years back his and Lily's friendship was hanging by a threat, not even that, and now he watches closely how the seemingly most tied group crumbles before his eyes. He gets a dark satisfaction from that too.
Black is still asleep when Severus finally convinces Kreacher to clean the bathroom. They won't use the house, it needs to appear abandoned -only a room and a bath until they have to go again. A few days waiting for Regulus Black to appear -or not.
It's risky to stay in a place too long. By now Voldemort will know that Severus is the Secret Keeper. He smiles at that. They will all come for him, while the real answer will walk around in front of their eyes. A good lie needs foundation.
A weakness can work as a weapon.
He thinks of waking Black, interrogating him for every filthy word that came out of Pettigrew's mouth, to find out when his loyalty swifted, to uncover every clue that he gave without them knowing.
Black is sweaty on the dusty bed. Nightmares that form in groans, in silent cries, in half spoken pleas. He wants to feel victorious -he is- but there is no pleasure in that sight.
So he leaves him be. It will be more efficient for the future. Black can't help in this state.
He fills the bathtub with water. He expects the elf to fix it just enough to be lukewarm, but clouds of steam fill the room, until the place and the things in it are only shapes.
When he gets in, he can understand how anyone can be arrogant growing up like this. Hot water at their disposal, a room big enough to be a house. Everything in plenty, grand proportions, too much because it's achievable. Too much until it becomes the norm.
He closes his eyes. A moment, that's all he wants. A moment, even if he doesn't have the time to relax, to be still.
His wound has closed, but the after effects still linger. It isn't much, a day or two, for him to be on his feet again. Pettigrew is worthless -even as a traitor.
He pictures the moment he will kill him. Lines opening in his body, bleeding wounds as he would cry out in pain. As he will plea for a mercy that Severus won't give him. People like him are what he hates most. Not an inch of loyalty in their body, content with mere survival.
At least Black is fiercely loyal. It will lead to his death one day, but his existence won't be totally worthless.
_____
When Black wakes up, Severus is sitting on a chair, playing with the locket in his hands.
He stops as the man seems ready to say something, but after a minute of just staring, Severus concludes that it won't happen.
"We need to go." Severus says and Black rubs his eyes with his hands.
"How long was I out?" He rests his head on the pillow, looking at the ceiling.
"Enough." Severus replies.
Black lets out a broken laugh. "Efficient as always." He says, as he gets up.
"Someone has to be." Severus tells him. He waited for Black to be more compliant, but he has rise ready for a fight.
Black turns to him, a look, ready to kill.
"Has Reg come?" He asks.
"No. I don't think he will. Not now at least. We can't afford to stay here waiting."
"Now we can't afford it. But when you spent five days in that sad hotel, we could?"
Severus gets up.
"I had to think of the next move then. Rushing to danger is your speciality."
Black takes a breath. Clenches his fists.
"I think you should wait for Reg." He says. He is looking at the floor as if he wants to set it on fire. "Convince him to come with you. Search for the rest of the Horcruxs together."
"While you're..." A gesture to continue, a mockery.
Black glances back at him. Now he wants to set Severus on fire.
"I will hunt Peter down." A conviction. A single death threat. "I will find him and I will cut his head off. I will present it to James." Manic and lethal.
"An excellent present for a birthday." Severus tells him and Black takes a step towards him.
"Convince Reg. He will be useful." He says, even though he seems he wants to say something else entirely.
"Are you imbecile?" Severus crosses his arms. "Haven't you grown out of these childish impulses? Running towards danger without a plan, is what got us here."
"I don't need a plan." Another step. "I just need to find him."
"And then? Kill him, and then what will it solve? The Dark Lord will still be alive and invisible and you will be three feet under the ground."
"Peter can't kill me." His breath comes out ragged, but it's not anxiety this time. It's focus on a single goal.
"He would have." Severus is losing his patience. "He could, if you don't stop viewing him through the lens of your childish memories. He is weak, but cunning and desperate. That makes him dangerous."
"He's not as dangerous as me."
Severus scoffs.
"Wait for Reg." He says and it's a warning, as if he challenges him to try and stop him.
"Black."
"You can orchestrate your high intelligent plans along with Reg, I even give you the right to laugh at my funeral if I die. But I won't stay here, while he's out there breathing."
"I'm sure you have an inch of a brain in that head of yours." Severus says.
Black is in front of him now, but Severus doesn't flinch.
"Killing Pettigrew won't help Potter in the long run. It will be a momentary release and nothing more."
"What would you do?" Black yells, letting out a cruel laugh a moment later. "Oh, I know. You wouldn't be an idiot enough to trust him, you wouldn't be stupid enough to fall for his lies, you wouldn't choose him to be your friend. Because you are above all the rest of us, you have an intelligence that we couldn't understand, you found Lily at six and you knew even then that she was worth it."
"It is the gist of it, yes." Severus says and Black grabs his shirt.
"Be your insufferable self then and leave me do what I must."
If he keeps yelling like that, his throat will close. Maybe Severus should let him. A mute Black for a day or two wouldn't be the most terrible thing.
"Because my thoughts are beyond your comprehension, let me spell it out for you. You will not go to kill Pettigrew. Not now at least. And that is final." Severus says calmly.
"Stop me." Black tells him, just as calm. A kind of lethality that doesn't need screams to shake an entire house.
"I could." Severus almost raises a smirk. Almost. Black grabs his face, as if he wants to shake him, as if he wants to crush him.
"You are lethal when you don't play the clown." Severus says and Black parts his mouth as if he has too much air to let out. "Your brother is a valuable asset and he's proven to be of help.
Yet, if I'm going to take a risk, I deem you as the most logical risk to take."
"Are you nuts? Are you completely insane?" Black stares at his eyes, as if he's trying to find the answer to his question.
"I leave the insanity to you." Severus says and Black's hands press his scalp. "In the uncertainty of it all, I'm certain for your loyalty to Potter."
Black seems like he ran around the house ten times. Sweaty, breathless.
"Going to the shack wasn't wrong." Severus says and Black closes his eyes. "Look at me." He commands and he opens them again. "Forming an alliance with your brother was the right move. Unfounded, yet right. Your instincts worked."
Severus takes a breath and Black watches him.
"Pettigrew will die. I told you before. He will die a painful death. We just need to make sure that we'll laugh at his funeral. So, focus. Use the tiny part of your brain still functioning. Use your destructive nature to make sure Potter survives."
Severus tries to shake his head. He can't. Black holds him still, watching. A predator.
"But first do take a bath." He says.
_____
Sirius snatches the locket out of Snape's hands, he walks to the bathroom, closing the door behind him with force. A childish move, Snape would say. He will say it, as soon as, Sirius leaves the bathroom.
He feels like he will explode. He feels like his veins are growing larger, the blood and the oxygen inside too much for him to bear.
He grabs the locket tight, opening the water. The room seems used, cleaner, because of course Snape has already made Kreacher bind into his will, because he already soaked in here, with his thoughts and his fucking brilliance.
He throws the locket down, a petulant movement, as much as it is the throw of his clothes. To be clean, because Snape commanded so.
Because Snape is still right, even in that.
Sirius feels the first shiver of sweat, before he fully covers himself in hot water. It had been years before he's done it. He was still in a house similar to this. A boy who should be clean and presentable, appropriate fragrances and highly costly products, a brush of his hair, robes comical for his age.
James had laughed when he told him. And Sirius laughed too.
He isn't sure he will hear James laugh with him again. Because in the end, Sirius judgment of people is shit, because his recklessness, his utter stupidity almost cost James' life.
He dreamt about it. James's death, rats eating his body. He dreamt of Lily's tears, of the hateful look she had on her face. He dreamt of her death, the surprise when she asked Sirius weren't you supposed to protect us. He dreamt of James killing him after.
Harry, an orphan, a dead body, a display in Voldermort's hands.
He dreamt about Peter. Sirius was asking why, why, why as he was killing him again and again.
He saw Remus at the shack, alone, abandoned, then a killer in a wolf form, eating James, then Reg.
He dreamt about Snape. Unmoving, watching the worst of it all, unfolding in front of his eyes, his hands crossed, saying utterly disappointing and then Avada Kedavra.
Snape who sits on chairs and plays with lockets which contain souls as if they are pens. Snape who takes baths and thinks of masterful plans, who commands and waits for Sirius to just cave.
Snape who should stay and wait for Reg so they can join their intellects, while Sirius dies meaningless deaths. Snape who dismisses it entirely as if the idea is outrageous.
Snape who stood firmly against Sirius rath, against the rattle his magic caused to the air, against the pressure he put on his head, against the proximity -the violation of his space, which he so much values.
Snape who speaks with clipped sentences like focus and look at me and Sirius does, because he doesn't know where else to look, because he is right there, before a knife, before a flee as if he alone knows the right way.
Snape who breathes and even that feels deliberate and calculated, who stares impassively as Sirius rages, resigns and watches. Snape who said you will stay and that's final. A leash between commands and harsh words, between bring me my bag and you're lethal, between take a bath and i will make sure Pettigrew suffers.
A promise that comes out as certainty, quiet and clear as the breath that hit his face.
It's making his blood boil. It's making him angry. It fills him with anticipation, with a brutal need.
Sirius knows he's hard. Anger does that to him. A frustration that needs to be released somehow before he erupts.
He acts upon it, because he can't go and kill Peter, because he can't make Snape fight him until they both bleed.
He moves his hand between his thighs and he grabs his cock with the same ferocity he grabbed Snape's head. It's painful, it's grounding. He breathes through it, matching a breath that isn't his own, eases his hold, focus, focus, look at me and Sirius bites his other hand to quiet himself, to barely hide the moans.
He's fast and punishing, efficient, like a wrist turning just enough to fire a spell of unknown origin.
He finishes with black surrounding his vision, black like his name, like this damn bathroom, like eyes and hairs and clothes.
"Fuck." He says and he feels better. He feels like an absolute piece of shit.
It's nothing. A methodical type of release, just to move forward. Even if Sirius has never been methodical a day in his life.
______
"It's Salazar's Slytherin locket." Black says as he emerges from the bathroom.
Severus puts his hand on his forehead. There is so much unpredictability in that man, that it makes his head hurt.
"What?" He asks after a breath.
"I haven't thought about it before, since you're always have it around your neck..." A pause.
"Do continue."
Black throws the locket and Severus catches it.
"I'm pretty sure that's it. We have a book at my house about important artifacts through the centuries." He mocks, a move of his palm. "Salazar's Slytherin locket, Rowena Ravenclaw's diadem, Helga Hufflepuff's cup and Gordic Gryffindor's sword among others."
"And you think that somehow the Dark Lord found it."
"Stop calling him Dark Lord." Black says.
"Would you like to run every time I say his name? Perhaps the adrenaline keeps you high."
Black bounces his foot.
"If Reg comes, maybe he will confirm it."
"We won't wait for your brother. We agreed upon it."
"If by agreement you mean that you command and you expect me to follow like a well-trained dog."
Severus moves his head to the side. A well trained dog obeys, it doesn't challenge him in every turn.
"Are you implying that he found all the artifacts and used them as Horcruxs? Four of them."
"He has the ego for that." Black says.
Severus gets up. He looks at the locket. Gold with a snake on it. An S. He looks back at Black.
"Did a bath enhance your intelligence? You should do it more often."
Two fingers parted as a response.
"So where are the others?" He asks. It's a possibility. Black is right. Voldemort has the ego for that kind of thinking. He has the insanity to search for specific items to place his soul. A mere jewellery wouldn't do it. It needs to be as significant as he views himself.
Trust my instincts, Black had said and then he nearly got himself killed.
Trust my instincts, and Regulus Black proved to be an ally.
It needs caution. This route, this unwilling reliance on something that isn't a fact. Just a thought, just a guess.
"The book doesn't say." Black says and he is already waiting for Severus's disapproval.
"I didn't fucking write it. Don't look at me like that."
Severus looks at the locket again. Plays with it in his hands.
"Can you be more...?" Black searches the pockets of his jeans, finds the package, takes a cigarette out.
"Eloquent questions." Severus tells him. "Your forte."
"It's a dark artifact. The darkest of them all. And you just... It's not a fucking toy."
"Most things -if not all- don't hold power, unless you give it to them."
"A Horcrux doesn't fall into that category."
"And yet." Severus says as he puts the locket back, around his neck.
Black watches him. Takes a drag from his cigarette. Let's the smoke out.
"You're seriously unhinged." He says and the bouncing of his leg doesn't stop.
_____
Snape doesn't want to leave the locket with Kreacher. He will give it to Reg, if and when they meet again.
He argues that, while the elf is left with an order to help Severus, his loyalty lies with the Black family as a whole and if Reg dies, nothing is stopping him from presenting the locket to either of his parents. Sirius can't say he disagrees.
What most pureblood witches and wizards fail to understand -and many from the rest of the population- is that while the elves are bound by magic to obey their masters, they have a personality of their own, they can play favourites, they find ways to bend the rules if they please. Kreacher is an obvious example of that. He hated Sirius with ferocity, while he adored Reg. And while he had to obey him, he had to warm his bath and to bring him food, the water was always a little less warm, the food a barely enough proportion.
It didn't help that Sirius hated him too, he viewed him like a grumpy uncle who always spoke of rules, who never hid anything from his parents, instead he ran straight to them to report any misbehaving of Sirius, who shook his head like he was viewing a constant disappointment. Kreacher to him is an extension of the family. And Sirius hates his family.
Except Reg. What he feels for his brother is complicated, but it sure isn't hate. Maybe that's why he tolerates Kreacher.
What Snape wants though, it's to interrogate him. While he is convinced that the rest of the Horcruxs are exactly what Sirius told him -and isn't that a win- they don't know where to begin.
Snape is trying to get Kreacher to talk to him, but the elf is elusive, disappears as soon as Snape opens his mouth and murmurs under his breath about demanding half-bloods that don't know their place.
When Sirius is sure that Snape has reached his breaking point and he will tear down the house, when he watches him stand still, a wand grabbed tight at his side, a frown directed at the floor as if it personally offended him, he offers to help.
"You're approaching it wrong." Sirius takes a drag from his cigarette. "If Kreacher doesn't want to do something, he will avoid it as much as he can." He puts one foot on top of the other, watching as the vein on Snape's neck becomes visible.
"One summer, he left all of my clothes dirty inside the school bag. He washed it at the last minute, before the school began, leaving them just a bit wet, because he claimed that red was a hideous colour and that the dirt of it couldn't go away no matter how he tried." Sirius almost smiles. "He is petty like that. You just have to know how to get to him."
"And I imagine it was too much for you to clean them yourself." Snape says.
"How can you turn everything I say into an insult for me?"
"Facts, Black. It isn't an insult, if they are facts." A cross of his arms, a tap of a finger. "And?"
Sirius frowns, he doesn't understand.
"Did you get to him?" Snape asks.
A disbelief that turns into laughter. He almost chokes with the smoke.
"Yeah, yeah I did. The next summer I started wearing Reg's clothes."
Snape nods, a barely there amusement.
"Also", Sirius adds, because he feels like it. "He is always close enough to listen."
"I see." Snape says. Then he takes a breath. "It's a pity how disappointed your brother will be with the performance of your elf. It is, as if he hasn't trained him enough. I will make sure to inform him about the lack of help I received from him, the next time I see him." He speaks loud enough to be heard.
There is a crack and Kreacher appears.
"Master Regulus has trained Kreacher properly. It isn't master's fault that Kreacher didn't understand. Severus Snape can talk to Kreacher. Kreacher will help. Kreacher will not fail his master."
Behind Kreacher, Sirius smiles at Snape's stare, at the slightest upturn of his lips.