Twelve
Black breaks his chains -smashes them more precisely- with a force that almost lingers on his skin. Severus doesn't know if it's the borrowed wand, unable to serve him properly, or just Black's anger vibrating in the air around them.
"Do try and be subtle." Severus says as he caresses his wrists. He sees the trembling, tries to stop it, but Cruciatus is truly unforgiving. He fails. He really needs to find his bag, a potion to reduce the side effects.
A single step, and Black is in front of him, pulling at his hands as if examining the damage. He can't, a few scratches from the chains is all he sees. He mumbles a healing spell -he's terrible at it, healing magic requires a precision which Black lacks in the best of days- leaving Severus winching. His left hand has stopped pulsing, but his right echoes his heartbeat. Randomly healed spots, a half success.
Severus stays silent anyway.
"Oh, fuck you." Black says. "I know I'm shit at it." Then he opens Severus palm, putting the wand inside. "Let's go."
"I'm not the one keeping it." Severus wraps his fingers around it and the pushes it at Black chest.
"I'm this close to killing you." A measurement, a space between fingers. He is trying to seem calmer than he is, more composed. Yet his eyes are focused, intent to harm, attack -to kill perhaps.
Severus looks Avery's unconscious body outside the cell. The blood on the bars, at Black's face.
"While I'm usually much better than you in dueling", Black scoffs, "the circumstances right now don't let me perform on the best of my abilities."
Black looks down, Severus's fist on his chest trembles.
"Fuck, and you wanted to keep going." He says and he snatches the wand away. "Seriously, how much of an idiot are you?"
"Avery needed to be inside the cell. We needed to be able to restrain him. I explained it to you countless times."
"I restrained him alright." Black replies.
"You just..." Severus breathes. "Fine."
"It is, isn't it?" Black pushes it and Severus grabs his jaw. Red spots turn into lines above Black's stubble, at the start of his cheeks, as Severus's fingers move on the skin.
Black smirks. He's high on adrenaline.
"Keep your defiance for upstairs." Severus tells him.
"My defiance got us out." Black stares at him as he casts the spell on the lock, the door opening with a creak, stopping on the body on the ground.
"Sure." He mocks.
"Sure." Black echoes, his jaw moves under Severus's grip.
An unpredictability in a carefully crafted plan. A glitch in a cautiously constructed system.
Black yells, when he should be quiet, retreats when he should be attacking.
He smirks when Severus grabs his jaw, while he's violent in the times Severus tries to be helpful.
The feel of his heartbeat is under Severus's fingers. The rush of the nearly murder of Avery, a rhyme of fatal pounds.
Severus pushes him back and away as he walks towards the door.
"Try to follow my lead next time."
"Sure." Black says behind his back, hitting Avery with a spell to make him completely useless.
____
The house is vast, with rooms that repeat their names—upper living room and lower, left and right—unusable for the few people actually living here.
Destined to be cared for properly, yet remaining idle, their only purpose being their mention, their numbers.
The Malfoy Mansion has three kitchens, stuffed to the brim, with only one of them used.
It has wings and corridors, all dust-free, yet the residents occupy only one.
It's a labyrinth, this place, a disorientation for the people that come for the first time. He suspects that is its purpose—along with showcasing the wealth the Malfoys hold.
Severus knows his way. He has been here more than once; he knows which corridor leads to the office, where Lucius's hidden vault rests.
He needs an elf first—one instructed to open it. One who will die when Severus takes his things and leaves.
He can't afford to think about that now. The other cells are empty. He is thankful about that at least.
Black checks as they're passing through, a stop, a look, just to be sure that no comrade of his is here, that they're not leaving anyone behind.
Severus is relieved. Ignoring their pleas would be difficult, and Black—Severus knows—would not simply pass them by.
"Lucius said it's only Carrow." Narcissa isn't home. Lucius implied where she is—where Severus will head next, if they escape this place.
"Doesn't matter." Black responds. He has stopped in another door, the stony steps are to their right. A step and ascend will begin.
"It does." Severus tells him. "No matter how precious they think we are, they won't hesitate to kill, if they think we'll escape. The torture after will be less. It will be a torture, not death."
"Cowards." Black says darkly.
"Yes. And?" Severus asks. "Does it matter whether you die at a coward's hand or not?"
Black turns, ready to keep going, to leave the dungeons and their wet humidity.
"They're scared of you." He says as his foot touches the first step, as he matches Severus height.
"They should," Severus replies—because it's true, because the statement serves no other purpose..
Black hums. "I agree."
"Is he scared of you?" Another step and Severus follows.
"No."
"Why?"
"Because he doesn't need to."
Black is almost amused.
"I know my limits, Black. That is where my strength lies. I know what I can and cannot do."
"It's obvious that you're not," Black says, grabbing his arm. Severus winces.
"There." He continues. "Your limits."
"I set the bar, Black." Severus takes another step. "This is nothing more than a calculated inconvenience."
"Great." Black replies, his anger is easy to spot. It manifests so openly, as his eyes hold judgment and threat, as he stomps on the rest of the stairs.
They find the door, dark and stony, high enough to reach the ceiling. A golden handle—because the ancestors of this ancient house couldn't help themselves, mindlessly throwing away galleons for a gilded cell door.
Severus takes a breath. They have to be fast, preferably not engaging in fighting. He will not be much of an asset and Black despite his adrenaline rush, he is beaten up too.
"Open it." Severus says and Black does.
The smell of this house, so different of the wet cells, so different from who lives in it, always leaves him amazed.
Spring, as every room contains at least three vases of Narcissa's flowers. A garden she so tentatively cares for. Because no-one can do it right, she had said. Because she likes it, Severus had thought.
Black turns to the right, and he really is quiet, his feet seem as if they are not touching the ground. A dog in human form—watchful, elusive, loyal. Perhaps he barks too much.
One arm stretched, ready to shield Severus from an attack, the other gripping his wand in front of him.
Severus can hear him breathing, he can hear himself breathing. Vast space, unoccupied with nothing but lifeless furniture, the cry of Draco is missing to give it some life, because Narcissa don't leave her son alone behind.
"Who are you?" A voice and they both jump.
"Take away your wand boy. I was made with excessive detail for you to blow me up."
Portraits. They are at the corridor which contains the portraits.
"The quality of people coming here is reduced every time." A blonde man with a stern expression looks down at them. His barely rosy cheeks reduce the insult.
"I wonder what this boy does, inviting beggars in our home." A woman holding a wine glass joins the conversation.
"Fuck, I hate portraits." Black says and he's a little breathless from relief.
"Don't say things like that." Another man replies, ignoring Black entirely. "Remember what happened to Claude." A move of his hand, a mimic of explosion.
"In my time..." The first man starts and Black groans as they pass by them.
"Not fond of them?" Severus asks.
"I had my fair share." He replies, without looking back.
They are at the end of the corridor. Two steps and they will be in the kitchen.
A step and they will pass by the first living room.
They should have casted...Black turns and he taps the wand on Severus's shoulder. Another flick, a swirl at himself as the Disillusionment settles.
Severus allows himself a smile.
He raises his hand, vaguely seeing where Black is to drag him forward. It lands on his arm, as a fist grabs his shirt on his stomach.
A tag once, as Black retreats his hand so Severus can guide them.
They pass by the living room, the fireplace is lighted, but he can't see anyone inside.
Black puts his palm blindly on top of his own.
The door to the kitchen is closed. Of course it is, the servants should be hidden from the guests.
Black squeezes his hand. Severus rolls his eyes, as he pushes the door open.
Three elves turn around. Scared from the sound, for who entered in.
They stay still, eyes wide open, blue and green, and blue again.
"Master Narcissa doesn't allow games." The braver one says, fidgeting. "She is displeased when the guests are playing with her servants." He is on the verge of crying.
Black closes the door. He is about to do something stupid.
He breaks the charm on himself.
"Hey, we are not with the guests." He says and the elves take a step back.
"I won't hurt you." Which doesn't sound very convincing because he is covered in blood, he's holding a wand pointed at them, a man three times taller from the elves in front of him.
His wrists are covered in red circles.
"Wigby is here to help the guests. The guests should wait in the living and Wigby will bring them the food."
"No, no." Black tells them, stepping closer. The elves freeze. "I'm not...I'm not like them."
"What about the other?" The one that hadn't speak yet asks and he's looking straight at Severus.
"There is no..." Black starts and Severus stops him.
"Break the spell, Black. They see me." He says.
Black complies after a moment.
"The Mansion helps Dobby."
"Interesting." Severus replies and he walks towards him. There is nowhere to go. The counter is just behind him as he touches it with his head.
Why would it be so tall, when the elves are the ones using it, escapes Severus.
He reaches with his hand and he yanks the elf forward.
"How many guests are here right now?"
"You're scaring him." Black says.
"Two." The elf answers.
"Do you know where they are?" Severus asks as Black tries to remove the grib his has on the tiny arm. It's futile, because Severus doesn't put pressure on it, his hand is just there, not meant to hurt.
"Dobby doesn't. Dobby can tell if he concentrates."
"Concentrate then." Severus commands.
"Maybe be more..." Black starts and Severus glances at him.
"Dobby is instructed to help the guests." He says and the elf nods.
He hears steps outside. He doesn't know how much time is needed for Dobby to concentrate, so he changes his question.
"Is there anyone in Lucius's office?"
"The Master's office is off limits." Dobby replies.
"Good." Severus says. "Take us there."
"Dobby can't." The elf says. "Nobody can get in if Master hasn't allowed it. Dobby will get in, but the guests will not."
"I believe we will succeed." Severus tells him and the elf clicks his fingers, a glimpse of satisfaction in his eyes. He thinks that something will happen to them.
He's wrong of course. His face falls as all three of them stand inside Lucius study.
Dobby takes a step back and Severus lets him.
"Open the vault." Severus commands.
"Dobby can't take anything from Master's vault. He can only put things in. Dobby is bound not to steal."
"Open the vault." Severus tells him again.
Black moves in front of the elf.
"You're scaring him." He says, then he turns to the elf. "Is it a curse, if you steal?"
A nod in reply.
Black side glance is hard. "We had those. Back at home."
"It doesn't matter." Severus tells him. Because the elf will die as soon as they leave. As soon as Voldemort comes and learns about their escape.
"This curses are nasty things." Black continues. It's better that he doesn't think about the after right now. "Some of them..."
"Fine. Let's leave then." Severus mocks him. "Leave our wands along with the other things inside the vault. Doom everyone in their fates."
Black drags a hand down his face.
"Do you understand what...?"
"Perfectly clear, Black. I told you at the start. I'm willing to do what's necessary. You can leave. You can hide if you like. Turn a blind eye as I carry the burden."
Be a coward, he doesn't say. He doesn't have to. Black looks back at him as if he had.
"You are fucking smart. Think of something." Black tells him.
Severus frowns.
"Think of something." Black says again, desperate, hard, accusing. As if Severus has the solution and he refuses to use it.
Severus closes his eyes.
"You're thinking." Black says and he hears the smile, without seeing it. Severus wants to murder him.
"It's a gamble." Severus hears the frustration in his voice. He hopes Black hears it too.
"My favourite solutions." Black replies. Severus opens his eyes.
"Open the vault." He looks at the elf. Black tries to protest and he turns his attention on him. "Trust me."
The elf doesn't cry, resigned to a fate he already knew. He closes his eyes, as he stands in front of the vault. His own magic and the house become one, Severus can feel it, before he hears a click, then several bars turning.
The elf starts to grow purple, then red.
Severus starts untying his shoes. They were a gift from Lucius from a birthday long forgotten now. That and the silk ribbons Narcissa had given him so he could tie his hair, because she thought it would look good on him. The ribbons he traded for a pack of cigarettes. He never tied them anyway.
He huffs as Black stares at him as if he's crazy.
"If we die here, I hope you become a ghost, trapped in this house forever." He tells him and he shrinks the shoes.
Three steps and he grabs the elf who shakes. He puts him inside the shoes. Another shrink to fit.
"There." He says. "A gift from Lucius."
He doesn't know how the bound works. He doesn't know if it's the item, the gesture, or if it will work even if Lucius would never give him anything.
He doesn't know what the elf will do, if it does work. Free to leave at any point.
Black lips are parted.
"Not a word." Severus tells him. The shoes were charmed to never be wet. Perhaps it will work because it's Lucius magic.
"A gift from Master." The elf says. For a moment nothing happens. For a moment, Severus feels the decreasing beats under his palms as he's holding the elf.
For a moment he fears he made another mistake.
It was a gamble, a deduction, nothing solid.
He feels the life leaving the body with every breath.
"Dobby is a free elf." He says and Severus realises that he has his eyes closed.
He opens them, retreating his hands, checking as the skin returns to its usual colour.
Black rush forward, his hands on Severus face. He falls back, his bent knees not steady enough to support him and Black's excitement.
"You are absolutely mad." He tells him. "Absolutely insane."
"I am." Severus replies annoyed. "No more gambles."
Black is staring at him and then he laughs.
"Be quiet." Severus says.
"Yeah, yeah." Black breath hits his face.
"Dobby will help you out." The elf speaks and Severus is almost surprised to hear him.
Severus turns to look at the elf, but Black hands are on his face. He pushes him back, as he gets up.
"You'll guide us out." Severus says sternly and the elf nods.
"The other ones in the kitchen..." Black starts.
"Enough." Severus opens the vault and he doesn't know if it's his voice or the magic that comes from within it that shuts Black up.
"Fuck." He says and Severus agrees with the sentiment.
There beside their wands lies another Horcrux.
_____
"What does the curse do?" Snape asks Dobby as Sirius gathers their stuff.
The elf seems unsettled, but he answers anyway. Snape saved his life. Snape gave him his freedom.
"Dobby's blood will boil if he steals. Dobby will explode. Dobby can't explode now. Dobby is free."
"Excellent." Snape answers. He stopped listening halfway through.
He takes his bag from Sirius’s hands and starts searching.
"You will take us out of here and then you will hide. You will make sure not to be spotted by anyone."
"Dobby will take you out. Dobby will take you at the end of the wards."
Snape stops searching. He looks at the elf.
"Can't you take us out from here?" Sirius asks, because Snape is ready to snap.
"Dobby can't. Not anymore."
Snape's jaw is ready to snap.
"He would have been dead. He couldn't have taken us out anyway." Sirius tells him.
A side glance as Snape takes out a vial.
"Your hand," he tells Dobby, raising his palm. His knife is on the other.
"Dobby can't. Dobby is helpful. Dobby will..."
Snape, impatient, grabs the hand and cuts it, staining the floor.
"What are...?"
He stuffs the elf's mouth with a potion before Sirius can form an entire sentence. The cut closes.
"If you stopped questioning me with every breath, this would be much easier."
"I'm..." Sirius starts only to earn another hard stare.
"I did what you asked me." Snape says. "Now close your mouth and let me work."
Sirius wants to argue, he wants to say that he does trust him. That it's so unfathomably bizarre that he doesn't know if he should laugh or scream. Snape would say that he's a fool.
He yanks the elf backwards as he drops a brown liquid on the floor where Dobby's blood is. It turns orange as it hisses and boils.
As if the elf actually boiled to death.
"Why?" Sirius asks.
"Use your mind." Snape replies.
"Dobby is free." Sirius says. Snape drinks a potion; the trembling in his hands lessens but doesn’t disappear. "Dobby didn't die." Sirius continues and the elf nods.
"Great." Snape says. "You're almost there." A mock. "Did you take everything?" Snape asks and Sirius checks, while he's trying to think what does Snape action serves.
No one will search for an elf who left. If he’s found out, he’s dead, but once he's gone, no resources will be spent on him. For Voldemort they are less, moving decorations, less than that.
"You're covering for Malfoy." Sirius tells him. "If Dobby leaves, he will think that Malfoy helped us."
"Which he did." Snape empathizes every word. As if he wants to remind him.
"Well..." Sirius says.
"If you're thinking that it's a negotiation, a conversation of sorts, you are wrong." Snape tells him. He turns to Dobby.
"Can we apparate to the end of the wards?"
The elf shakes his head in denial. He is equally thankful and scared of Snape. Sirius understands the sentiment.
"Where can we go?"
"The garden." A breath as if he's disappointing Snape. "The end of the wards is after the garden. A secret door. Then out."
Snape raises his wand—a movement, a tremor—and hides part of the elf. He grabs his wand tighter.
Sirius is faster. He casts the charm correctly. Snape seems mad with that too.
"Run." He tells to the distorted space in front of him. "Don't get caught."
A crack as the elf leaves.
"You did a good thing." Sirius says.
"Your praise is truly the last thing I need."
"I'm just stating facts." Sirius says and Snape turns, trapping him at the wall.
"Do you find yourself funny?" He asks. "Do you think you are amusing?"
It's so disorienting, this constant swift, dread, then anxiety, anger, hope. Brilliance.
"I do what I can." A shrug of his shoulder. He thinks that Snape will grab his jaw again. A touch to express his frustration.
"Focus." He says instead and it's worse. It's so much worse. Truly bewildering.
"I am." Sirius replies. He is. Entirely focused. Snape is too.
There is a feeling, unique to past days, when he and James were on the verge of doing something crazy, a breath away from it, when the possibilities were endless.
Sirius feels like that right now.
Snape turns after a moment, two, more.
"Be ready." He says and he hits the part of the floor where the boiled blood is.
A black spot on its wake, steps at the corridor as Snape apparates them outside.
____
They hear the distance sounds of shouting as they are running through stoney paths between flowers. There are so many fucking flowers. His breath comes out from his mouth visible and white -a reminder that it's the start of the winter and not fucking spring.
Dobby said garden, but this is not one, it's a fucking field.
"How much more?" He asks as a blast echoes behind them.
"Not long." Snape says and it's a lie. A motivation. "Don't stop."
He's on edge, because he can't fight how he normally would. If it comes to that Sirius will be on his own. Serves him right, Sirius thinks, this anxiety, for pushing his limits to their end.
Snape pass the last of the flowerbeds first, a turn to the right as the elf instructed and they are out in the open on an actual field, green and smooth, trimmed with precision. There's a forest across the other side, pines big enough to be here since always.
Sirius hears the shouts, a blast again too close to his liking. He turns just enough to see two figures on their trail.
"Don't stop." Snape says and Sirius throws a blast of his own, before he starts running again.
Snape is in front of him now. Grey socks covering his feet as they sink to the wet ground. It's both endearing and powerful. Soft if his whole presence didn't scream lethal.
Maybe Sirius should have given him his shoes. Snape would have killed him, before he finished his offer.
A blast to their right. The Malfoys' beautiful estate will be ruined. Sirius smiles at the thought.
Something almost hits him.
"Protego." Snape says and he covers just enough of his left side. Efficient in its half state.
"They are going to catch up on us." Sirius says. They are exhausted, beaten up, while their pursuers sat around, eating Malfoy's food, a break to torture them.
"Run faster." Snape says, when he's slower than him. When every step he makes visibly pains him.
"If you are about to purpose something stupid, better hold your breath." He continues, before Sirius can form the thought. "If someone is to stay behind, that would be me. I have already told you before."
"Yeah", Sirius says and it's hard, "the plan of your death."
Sirius increases his pace, just a little, just enough for it to be a challenge. Snape clenches his jaw and follows as if he can't help it, as if even this idiotic thing, who's going to run faster, is something that he can't let go.
Sirius smirks at him—just before a blast lands between them. He’s not hurt, he thinks, but his head buzzes.
"Snape." He says. Then again, because he can't hear his own voice. "Snape."
There's smoke, the remnants of the spell, as Sirius gets up from the ground, blindly searching for the man.
A hand grabs him and he turns around a wand ready.
Snape flinches and speaks, but Sirius can't hear him.
A sigh, that he recognises and Snape points behind them. He's trying to tell him something, a command no less, his impatience indicates as much.
Snape grabs his shirt, furious, as if Sirius is deliberately ignoring him—demanding, even now.
He feels a breath at his ear. Rapid stops, he's probably yelling, probably because Sirius senses it at the way his fist moves where it clenches his shirt, at how his mouth is almost touching him. It's futile, Snape realises it too.
He moves, puts his hand above Sirius own as he holds his wand and points it back, trying to show him what he wants. A spark, a barely there fire as he looks at Snape again, watching his mouth moves slowly, deciphering the words.
Fire. Burn the place down.
And Sirius does with the same intensity he had back on the cave. With more to compensate for his exhaustion. With more, because he's feeling reckless and high, like he's diving towards the ground and he's not sure if he'll stop in time, if he'll stop at all. If cares enough to.
Random spots catch up first, nothing grand, but they multiply with each hit. A man comes out of the smoke and the heat. Sirius thinks he's burning. He hopes he does, he hopes this whole place burns to the ground as Snape said, as he commanded.
Someone yanks him. Snape. Sirius still can't hear, but he sees the door, vines covering it as if it's just another part of a wall.
Snape cuts them—sloppy work. It should be exhilarating, seeing Snape being sloppy, except it’s not. It’s whatever the opposite of that is. There’s a small hole at the bottom—probably how Dobby got through—and it helps. That, and Snape’s resilience..
Another yank and he drags them inside, barely passing between the thick vines, intertwined with wood.
There is a fountain at the center of what looks like a terrace, white marble charmed to shine under any weather.
Sirius thinks of destroying it too.
But Snape is impatient.
"Did you lose them?" Sirius asks and a part of him wants to hear a no, a denial, an excuse to keep burning.
Snape doesn't answer. Sirius realises that he also can't hear.
He keeps moving forward, following Snape barefooted and unrelenting as they pass the fountain. Another door, stoney this time and Sirius doesn't have the patience, he blasts it down. Half of it falls and he realises he's on the verge of exhaustion.
A step and the burden of the wards leaves him. The pressure of being in a place that he doesn't belong, that he's unwanted.
Snape turns. Taps his mouth. A move Sirius watches as he is meant to.
Follow.
Snape says and, Sirius does.