Fourteen
Snape pushes him away, just enough to put some space between them. He stares at him like he's a difficult problem he's trying to solve, like an Arithmancy theory that he can't understand. A blink of his eyes, then in the next they are shut, a pained expression on his face. He breathes through his nose, a hand at his forehead.
Sirius stands still, a grip on the table, heavy breaths that sound too loud for this quietness. He has no words to offer, no thoughts. He thinks it will hit him in a bit, when his heartbeat slows to normal.
Snape opens his eyes, smooths down his clothes. One glance at Sirius, one look and he turns around, walking towards the door.
Sirius tastes blood in his mouth. His or Snape's, he isn't sure. It could be both. That's a thought.
A thought barely formed, because Snape turns the handle and Reg is coming in.
A judgmental glance at him, at the wand on the floor, at the table shoved out of place. They look like they were fighting. It felt like a fight. Yet Reg judges only him for it.
"You will stay here." Snape addresses Reg. "The house is secured under the Charm." He walks, takes the wand off the floor and he lets it rest on the table.
"Do you propose that I should hide?" Reg asks. He's skinnier than last time, Sirius thinks.
"No." Snape tells him. "It's not a proposal. It's what you will do." He walks towards the kitchen, opening cupboards, perhaps in the chance that there is anything salvageable.
Reg doesn't like what Snape says. He follows him. Sirius is still grabbing the end of the table.
"I can still provide information. I am in a position to gather intel." Reg is standing at the threshold between rooms. He seems gathered, but his hands are clenched at his sides. A tell of his, when he feels wrongfully judged.
Snape turns around.
"You are no longer an asset." Snape stares at him. "You are a liability."
Reg seems hurt, like he's been dismissed.
"It's not personal." Snape continues. "But you will be used against us again and that is something I would prefer to avoid."
"Snape's right." Sirius finally speaks. They both turn to him. A passing glance at Snape, before he focuses on Reg.
"We nearly got caught twice." Sirius searches his pockets, pulls out his cigarette pack.
"I didn't ask you to..." Reg starts.
"Still came though." Sirius lights a cigarette.
Reg scoffs, looking at the floor.
"You shouldn't. Everyone is looking for him," he points at Snape, "and you dragged him off to Bella."
"Yeah, because he is so compliant when he doesn't want to do something." Sirius mocks.
"Do you understand the stakes?" Reg raises his voice. "Is it a game for you? All of this? Playing war so you can brag later to your buddy Potter?"
Sirius gives him a hard look. Their mother said something similar.
"Yes, Reg, I'm risking my life for the thrill of it. I'm so exhausted that I can't use magic right now for a good joke later. And you know, James is probably laughing as he hides because his kid is targeted by the most malicious wizard to exist. We sure laughed our asses off when we learnt about Peter betraying us. It's all so comical that I thought, hey, why don't I go to our crazy cousin's house to spice things up a little?" Sirius takes a drag from his cigarette. "Not to save your life, just because it seemed like a good idea to spend the morning there. All while nearly escaping Malfoy Manor. It's been a fantastic fucking time so far."
Reg opens his mouth.
"Save it." Sirius tells him and he leaves the table, walking towards the door.
Thankfully, no one stops him.
_____
He passes by the small abandoned garden. There are rocks that hurt his feet -they were probably here before, but he hadn’t noticed them; his mind had been too preoccupied.
He slams the fence door shut, but it's broken, hanging loose, never closing properly. He thinks of tearing it down. Then again, he has no energy for it. A toss of his cigarette, only for a new one to replace it. They have money now; they robbed Malfoy's personal vault. He can continue smoking without a stop if he wants to.
Molly would disapprove, but she's far away. Remus would say the bad-boy image means nothing if he can’t even get his voice out, before inevitably stealing one himself.
He makes it to the beach. He still has no fucking clue, where they are. It doesn't matter. It's a house, protected now and Reg will make a fuss about it, but Snape will make him stay anyway—safe, but still judging Sirius for his recklessness and inability to think. He will be safe, until the war is over—and maybe, if Sirius dies by the end of it because he's reckless and stupid—Reg might even forgive him.
He pulls off his socks and steps onto the cold shore. It would be a good place to visit in a summer day. When Harry would be a little older and they could hold him as he would feel the water for the first time. Maybe he would laugh, brave like his father. Maybe Lily would convince Remus to dive too, abandoning whatever book he would be holding for a moment.
Maybe Snape would be here too.
Sirius scratches his head. He really fucked up this time. He doesn't know when this mess started. Maybe from the time they left Lily and James.
The worst of it all, is that he doesn't know what to say if Snape asks for explanations. If he says what the fuck was that, there is nothing that Sirius can answer.
They have three Horcruxs and Reg, and an army of Death Eaters on their back. They barely make it an hour without arguing and Sirius with one move decided to make everything worse. Even if it wasn't a decision. It was... Something.
The thing is that he doesn't like men, especially men like Snape.
James was—is—an exception. James isn't a man, never was. He is a best friend and a brother and Sirius's guiding fucking light. James is James. And that is a thing of its own. A separate entity from desire and fleeting relationships that don't last. That Sirius never cares enough for them to. They were nice, the girls, bubbly always, funny, and aware of the notion of having fun. They liked him just enough for that. He has the looks, he knows he does, and the brazing personality to match it. Easy. Fleeting. Enough.
He kicks at the water, staring at the empty horizon where the sea stretches to meet the sky.
He misses the steps, the sand and the wind cover them. He misses them until he feels the presence just behind him. He isn't sure if it's Reg or Snape. He isn't sure what will be worse.
"Did you have enough brooding?" Snape asks and Sirius smiles around his cigarette.
"How's Reg?" He asks.
"Demanding. Must be a trait of the family." Snape replies. "But he will stay put."
Sirius makes a sound, of agreement or defeat, he isn't sure.
"So, what's next?" He asks.
"We have to replenish our potions. So a necessary visit to your apartment can't be overlooked any longer." Snape comes and stands beside him. Sirius sees that he doesn't wear the shoes.
"We have to buy some clothes." He says.
Snape moves his head in agreement.
"The new Horcrux is an empty diary. I showed them to your brother. Perhaps they should stay here with him." Snape looks ahead.
"All of them?" Sirius asks surprised.
"Everything is a gamble from now on." Snape replies. It comes out resigned, calm perhaps. "But if we get caught, I prefer not to have all of them with us. We can't keep suppressing their presence."
"Okay." Sirius replies and he looks at his feet sinking into the water, into the sand.
The sun will set in a while. They should sleep, regain their strength, some clarity of mind, before they go to his apartment tomorrow.
It had been hectic so far. More hectic than usual.
He moves, hiding his feet entirely.
"Are we going to talk about it?" He asks, because someone has to say it. Or perhaps they shouldn't, perhaps even this is a mistake. A question out of place.
Snape is silent at his side. Sirius doesn't dare turning.
Then there is a sigh, quiet and gone too fast, but Sirius catches it. He turns.
Snape is still looking at the sea.
"There is nothing to talk about." Snape says. He has his hands behind his back. A straight black line—except for his hair, which shifts backward in the wind, revealing his face.
"A reaction after three days fighting for our lives, almost losing -adrenaline makes people do bizarre things."
Snape spares him a side glance.
"Great talk." Sirius says and he laughs. A pass of his fingers through his hair.
"I'm eloquent enough for the both of us." Snape replies. Cutting with an underlying humour.
Sirius will take it.
"Where are we?" He asks and Snape unclasps his hands from behind his back, bringing them forward.
"Tinworth. This is a house owned by the Weasley family. Arthur had mentioned it once."
"Is it safe?" Sirius asks, because they are going to leave and Reg will stay.
Snape is looking at him, a slight raise of his eyebrows a silent is anything safe?
"Safe enough." He says.
There is a cut on his lower lip. He doesn't know if it is from the fight or from him. He doesn't ask.
"We need supplies." Snape says and Sirius nods.
"Give me a minute." He replies, excepting Snape to leave, or at least to command him into action.
He doesn't. He just stay there, his feet into the cold water, looking at an orange sky somewhere afar.
_____
When they return, Snape sits on the couch and opens his bag, examining the potions. He will do it again in the morning before they leave. Sirius is so used to the motion that he doesn't even shake his head anymore.
Reg is sitting at the table, the Horcruxes in front of him. His shiny curls fall to the side of his face as he looks at them closely, as if merely watching could destroy them.
"Any luck?" Sirius asks and it's a wrong tone, but that's all he has for now. Perhaps he was never patient with Reg, but he was never patient in general.
"No." Reg replies. He is annoyed by the tone, by Sirius breathing the same air as him. Maybe if it was the other way around, Reg wouldn't have come for him.
"Our mother tried to trade us for you." Sirius tells him. He isn't even sure why he does. Just a testament that Reg was never abandoned as much as he likes to pretend that he is.
His brother raises his stare. Dark eyes, almost black -but not really, they aren't consuming like that- look at him.
"Do you want me to apologise?" He asks. "Because I hold the same accountability for her actions as I have held for yours all these years. None."
"Fuck, Reg, you are insufferable, do you know that?" Sirius turns, opens a drawer. An absent-minded movement.
"Fine. What do you want?" He crosses his arms, rests his back on the chair. "Do you want to hear a thank you?"
Sirius regrets even trying to start a conversation. Reg will stay put. Snape said so. There is no point in engaging in anything further.
He looks across the couch. Snape has fallen asleep with his bag open on his lap. A sign of his exhaustion.
"Answer me this first. Why did you come?" Reg continues.
Sirius moves past him to where Snape is sleeping. He takes the bag, closes it. If it falls, if the potions inside break, Snape will be unbearable.
"Because I wouldn't let you die." Sirius answers. He puts the bag on the floor. A warming charm, barely functional, and he turns around. Reg is watching him.
"Because?" Reg asks.
"Do you need me to spell it out?" Sirius asks.
"It will be welcomed, yes." Reg raises his chin. "Because it's by chance that we are sitting here, having this conversation. A series of events irrelevant to you and me specifically. I contacted Severus, because he happened to be decent to me at school, because I thought that maybe he isn't biased enough to turn down a chance to bring the Dark Lord down, even if the information came from me. And you just happened to be with him. Circumstances irrelevant to our relationship -yours and mine."
"Even if nothing of that happened..." Sirius starts, but Reg smiles so dismissively he stops.
"Please." He says. "You forgot you had a brother in the first chance you've gotten. Let's not pretend otherwise."
"Because you never listened." Sirius tells him. "I tried to tell you, how messed up everything you said were and you hated me for it."
"You hated me first." Reg tells him. "I got what I deserved." He adds. "I hope that makes you happy."
"Of course it doesn't." Sirius stands above him.
"No? Because I remember that your nasty comments at school were for all of us."
"Are you seriously blaming me? For the choices you made, for the choices you're trying so desperately now to fix?" Sirius is ready to raise his voice, a glance back at the couch and he takes a breath instead.
"You made your choices too." Reg tells him. "You chose to leave."
"You never wanted to." Sirius answers back.
Reg looks at the wall, at the window. Then behind Sirius.
"The truth is," Reg starts, "that if you never met me in that room, if I never came to Snape with that information, you would learn about my death and you would think nothing of it. I would be another Death Eater." He focuses on Sirius again. "And it's not that I judge you for it, it's that I find it funny that you try to pretend that it's not true. That, it's just some deep brotherly love that moved your hand, that compelled you to come and rescue me. Your love, Sirius, has conditions, terms that should be met and when they do, your loyalty and affection are unwavering. But I never met them. Few people do. Potter is one. He checks all the boxes, perhaps better than anyone. A dazzling hero. That's why you left and ran to him in the first chance you've gotten."
Reg gets up and it's so unfair. Everything he says. Truth in parts, not whole. Perhaps because that's what he sees. Perhaps because that's all Sirius ever showed him.
"So thank you for saving me. I'm glad I met your conditions for that to happen."
A nod, as he gathers the items of the table and puts them in the bag.
It's unfair, Sirius wants to scream to him. It's unjustly wrong. He left, because he was suffocating in that house. He left, because with James he could breath. He left and he never looked back, because he was unwanted, by the house and its people.
"I will continue to research them tomorrow." Reg tells him. "I'm going to the bedroom. Goodnight."
And Sirius watches him leave, without saying anything at all. Because what does it matter? Reg is safe -even if he's resentful.
What does it matter to explain when every explanation turns and twists?
He sits on the empty chair. He wants booze, but he has none, so another cigarette it is.
He watches the wooden surface of the table, old lines covering it. Used by people who passed by here. He scratches one with his nail.
He stops when he thinks that it's not his to mess with.
A look at Snape's sleeping figure. It's funny, truly laughable really, that Reg saw Snape in all his worst glory, his most nasty traits exposed to the world and he chose him.
Perhaps it's not funny. Perhaps it's fitting. Reg chose a truth to rely upon instead of a facade. A person that says you're a liability and not I would save you no matter what. Even if Sirius believes it, even if he did nothing to show that he does.
He feels his eyes closing, a drag from a cigarette to keep him awake, to avoid a troubled sleep.
He opens them with a jolt, the smell of something burning. Snape has a murderous stare in his eyes as he yanks him out of the chair. There's water on the table as Sirius tries to steady himself.
"If we die in a fire, I will personally haunt you." He says and he drags him to the couch.
"Sleep." He says and he pushes him down.
"What will you do?" He asks, because he isn't sure he's awake.
"I will make sure you won't die." He tells him and Sirius nods, closing his eyes again.
_____
The fireplace is small, an afterthought in a summer house. Still, Severus lights it and sits on the floor in front of it. Black is sleeping on the couch, the rise of his chest barely visible under exhaustion.
They need to buy supplies; they don’t have time to check the magic of the house—Regulus can do that while he waits.
Perhaps he should inform Arthur about taking over his house. He will not mind, Severus thinks.
They need a base, a semblance of one, somewhere to hide the younger Black and the Horcruxes. Somewhere to return, if anything too drastic happens again.
It's not ideal, but Severus has learnt to work with obstacles before.
He looks at the fire. Small and fragile, the humidity of the sea, the salt carried through the wind has trapped the place in a shade of loneliness. It's quiet, perhaps Regulus will appreciate it, after Voldermort's commands, after the screams of his victims. Perhaps it will turn him mad.
It doesn't matter. He will have to endure it, even if he doesn't like it. They all do. Endure and proceed. There are worse fates.
Black makes a noise in his sleep, soft and muffled as he curls into himself.
Severus levitates the couch to put it closer to the fire.
The last thing he needs is a sick Black. He already has his hands full. With Black and everything else.
His eyes hurt from watching the fire too closely. He rubs them—a soothing motion, an excuse to close them for a little while.
Black jerks in his sleep, restless even in that. Severus grabs his wrist, to wake him perhaps, or to ground him. There is a hole in the front of his shirt. Ready to set everything on fire even while sleeping.
Severus sighs. It was inevitable, he supposes—a mistake was bound to happen. When one is walking close to a storm for too long, it's only a matter of when and not if.
It will pass. He keeps saying that. It will pass, as every fight until now did. Every grab of arms and throats. Every cutting insult. It was nothing more than that. An extension of a fight. A physical release of a long-burning tension.
They have fought countless times. They will fight again. Fundamentally different in everything.
Black is impulsive, he has earned his name. Severus just needs to refocus and not get caught up in that impulsivity. Enough mistakes were made.
He rests his head at the end of the couch. Black's breath has eased, he can hear it without turning his head. The beating of his pulse has slowed down. He lets go of his hand.
He needs to sleep. Another hour at least. To gather his thoughts. To think of the next step, of tomorrow.
The ceiling is a light blue. Like Harry's room. Lily had wanted to make it green, deep, like a forest. But she had already rejected the red Potter had proposed, so they settled on blue.
How stupid. As if the child can't decide his own path? As if it needs the reckless red, as if his father’s legacy isn’t inheritance enough. His godfather's.
He rubs his eyes again. He hopes Lily isn't too lonely in the house. There is no light blue ceiling there.
He spares Black a glance, then looks away again as he traces a cut on his lip with his tongue.
He has enough potions to heal it, it will be like it never happened.