Fifteen
They wake and they walk around the house in silence. A trip to a nearby town, quick and stale, for clothes, for food. Just the necessities. Reg is talking to Snape in hushed tones, an open palm explaining whatever theories he can think of about the Horcruxes.
He demands a means of communication, in case he discovers something -and he gets it, only when he promises Snape that he won't leave the house under any circumstances. Maybe he’s better suited to be an older brother to Reg. He would roll his eyes if he told him.
They agree to come back here once a week. A scheduled appointment. And with that they leave.
Sirius apparates the two of them to his apartment. Inside the small bathroom as a last-minute thought, in case the place is compromised, in case it's in ruins like everything else.
He's woken up in a bad mood.
Snape barely touches his arm when they land.
He appreciates Sirius thinking, though. A quick scan around and a small nod, is all he does, but he won't do anything else but that.
The bathroom seems fine. Intact, not exploded. He liked this house, when he first found it. Noisy and small, close, yet only for one. A bachelor's place, James had said, where they could meet before and after their outings. There were barely any, because James married too soon and there was a war on the way.
Snape parts his lips to say something, Sirius is already half through a breath of a sentence, when they hear the sound that's coming from inside. Steps on the wooden floor, drawers opening like someone is searching.
Snape puts a finger on his lips, a hush, and Sirius shakes his head, rolling his eyes. They've been here before, in this state, and then Snape had been stabbed in the stomach.
Sirius raises his wand in front of him as he turns toward the door. Snape has enough stabbing for a lifetime.
He touches the handle and he looks back at the man. A nod in response. They can't afford to leave. They need the potions.
"I'll go first." Sirius whispers.
"If it's too grave..." Snape starts his warning, but Sirius cuts him off.
"I'll take you and leave."
He doesn't know what he's expecting when he opens the door, perhaps Death Eaters tearing down his tiny flat. He hears his heart pounding in his ears. The fear, the adrenaline. He's both tired and ready for a fight. Perhaps he's totally crazy.
At first he sees no one. But his wardrobe door is open and someone is standing behind it. Three steps, light and quick and he's there. The intruder hasn't even had time to draw his wand fully.
A grey, worn coat and Remus brown eyes are what he registers first.
He hates himself for hesitating—Remus lowers his wand, stepping toward him for a hug. He hates that his instincts go to danger first, not relief—that it takes him a moment too long to return both gestures.
Peter really messed him up.
He's hugging Remus tightly in the next breath. With no words, no loud explanations. Desperately, to erase his hesitation, to compensate for the fact that the first thing he will ask is what Remus is doing here.
As if Remus hadn't been a constant in this house, when everything were alright and safe.
Is anything safe?
He turns his gaze to Snape. He stands, just a step away, watching as always. A constant to Sirius shame and anger and vulnerability. A gaze that never misses his blind spots.
"Touching." He says. "Lupin." A nod and then he moves to the wall at the left side of the bed, where he had hid some of his potions.
"Snape." Sirius hears Remus's greeting. He's still in Sirius hug. He smells of forest and old clothes, of books and familiarity.
"Where have you been?" Remus asks, his hands move Sirius away, just enough to look at him. They rest at each of Sirius's arms. "No one from the Order knows where you are, nobody knows what you do. The only reason they haven't declared you dead or..." He doesn't say traitor, but that's what he means, that's a thought that everyone has. That's a thought that Sirius has about everyone. Well, everyone except Snape.
The war would be over if he was one.
"It's because Dumbledore says that you're doing something important." Remus continues.
Snape scoffs. "As if he knows." He has his back turned to them.
Remus is looking at him, then at Sirius, a move of his head, a silent question.
Sirius sighs. He shrugs. Where to begin?
"Are you back?" He asks Remus. "For good?" He has scars under his left eye, on his cheek.
"I wasn't able to convince them." He looks at the floor. "An order came and many of the packs answered. They will join his side. I came to inform the Order. A meeting happened yesterday."
"Unsurprising." Snape mocks. Remus looks at him, ready to answer, a step and Snape stills. He still doesn't look, but Sirius can see the grab of his wand. Even in the large living of James, they took one end each. "It was Albus's mistake to send you for the negotiations. An elementary one, if I may add."
Remus is ashamed. He tried so hard for that mission.
"The werewolves answer to power." He says. It's calm. It's defeated.
Snape glances at him above his shoulder.
"The werewolves answer to people that don't hate them." He says. "And you hate them greatly." A smirk as if he's saying like you're hating yourself.
Remus clenches his fists.
"Albus, biased as he always was when he came to you -all of you- gave you a chance to reconcile with your nature. It's truly unsurprising that you failed."
"You don't know how they operate. How they think. They are..."
"I know that when one receives enough obscure and hate, they stop hoping for anything else. I know that they will turn to someone who will offer something else. The werewolves were a lost cause from the start. As most creatures are. Asking them to bleed for you now is hypocritical." Snape raises an eyebrow. "And you were the worst person for it."
"You never change." Remus says.
"I don't need to." Snape turns around again.
Remus shakes his head. A breath to collect himself. And then he brushes Sirius hair out of his face. His expression softens. "Arthur said not to worry, that you aren't alone, but..." A glance at Snape. "I came here to check, if you left something behind, an indication of where you are. Where have you been?"
There are bags under his eyes. Remus never found himself handsome, despite what they told him. But he was, he is. A haunted professor that searches constantly for love and the meaning of life. Open to be soft in a way neither he or James ever were.
"Busy." Sirius answers. "I will...I will tell you."
He can feel Snape's gaze, even if Sirius's eyes are on Remus. He sits on the edge of the bed, Remus takes the chair across from him.
"There is something we're working on." He starts.
"We?" Remus asks and he knows the answer, but it's so unbelievable that he has to ask.
"Me and Snape."
"Okay." Remus says and he waits for more.
"Okay." Sirius tells him, because that's all he can give him.
He doesn't ask though. He takes the hurt of not being trusted, and he hides it behind a sad smile.
"Did you...?" Sirius asks, but he doesn't want to be heard. It's illogical, because Snape knows, he was there, he watched it happening in all its glory. And yet, he doesn't want to talk about Peter with Remus and someone else hearing him. It's a betrayal to the cause, yes, but it's the personal aspect that cuts too deep. Remus can understand in a way nobody else will.
The flat is small, there is nowhere to hide.
He takes a breath. "Have you..." It's not difficult. Remus probably knows. Everyone knows.
Sirius is looking at the wand on his hands. His fingers. The missing nail. He wants to say it. To take it out of his chest. To share the burden. He bounces his foot.
"You know the spell, Black." Snape says and Sirius turns around. "I had enough sentimentality. I prefer not to hear any more of it as I work." Annoyed expression, clipped tone as if in cue. A lie. A performance. An offer. Sirius doesn't know if he can tell, because it's too obvious, or because he had watched him so closely.
"Muffliato." Sirius casts to Snape's already retreating face.
He has lift one of the boards, the wards they had put weeks before still holding. He is untangling it slowly with circling moves as if he's brewing a potion in an invisible cauldron in the air.
"On a scale of one to ten, how close are you to killing each other?" Remus asks and Sirius looks at him again. A rub of his face, then a sigh.
"That bad?" He asks.
"It's been..." A side glance at Snape. "Strange." Sirius settles on a word.
"Okay." Remus laughs a little. "At least you're alive."
"Yeah, yes. He's been..." He presses the skin under the missing nail. "Resilient."
"He always was,” Remus says. He’s not mean; he was never mean to Snape. He just didn’t like the person he and James were when they had been involved with him.
The silence settles. The noise of the lifting floorboards and Snape is the only sound.
"I learned about Peter,” Remus says. “You were the first to find out." A statement.
Sirius nods. He doesn't look at him, he just takes two cigarettes out and he offers one to Remus.
They light them and when his it's half burnt, Sirius finds the courage to speak.
"He would have killed me if Snape wasn’t there. I didn’t see it coming, Moony. I never thought..."
"Yeah."
"Do you think he always hated us? I keep thinking about it. Do you think he just… pretended until now?" He looks at Remus, expecting an answer. Knowing the kind of expression he will have. Sirius is sure it's the same. "I will kill him." He states. Remus takes his hand, a squeeze like he wants to tell him that it will not change anything. Sirius already knows it. He will still kill him.
"I don't think..." He looks at the floor, at Sirius again. "I don't think he hates us. I think that we didn't mean to him, what he meant for us."
Sirius gets up. He's pacing the room.
"You don’t try to kill people unless you hate them. You don’t just abandon… He was searching for James when I found him. Do you understand what that means? He was searching for James to offer him on a silver plate. And I was ready to... Because I'm a fucking moron. What would have happened if he wasn't there?" He points at Snape, who sees the gesture, but can't hear what Sirius is saying.
It’s surreal—Sirius is yelling, and Snape is meticulously packing potions into a bag. He stares at him for a moment.
"How can he...? We were fucking brothers. How can he...?" He is pacing again.
"I don't know." Remus tells him. "I tried to think of when and why and I found no answer. Just that he's..."
"A coward. That's what he is. That he cares more about saving his fucking skin." Sirius yells.
"Yes." Remus gets up. "We will stop him." A hand on his shoulder. "He will answer for his crimes."
Sirius thinks of Snape's spell. Of the way Peter's finger bled.
Remus hugs him again.
"I can’t tell you what we’re doing with Snape,” Sirius tells him. It’s easier when Remus holds him, when he doesn’t have to look. “Not yet."
"I trust you." Remus says.
"You shouldn't." Sirius replies and it's like he's hearing Snape repeating these exact same words.
Remus laughs.
"I still do. Just don't do anything too reckless."
It's Sirius turn to laugh.
"I know, I'm asking too much." Remus release him. A pause, a stare. "We will get through it."
Sirius isn’t so sure anymore. He used to be—certain and convinced. About a lot of things. Someone else.
Yet he wants to offer Remus something. He wants to offer a truth. A part of him that existed - that still does. Not the brave, stupid boy he was. Not that.
That person trusted Peter and made Regulus hate him. That man that was definite, bound to a certain image, a fixed place in the world, who was mocking Snape with a mindless brashness, would say a joke now to ease the sadness in Remus face. A joke with which he would hide all the ugliness under.
He rubs his face, his finger stops at a cut on his upper lip.
He had chosen a joke as his parting words to James. Back then, he had thought it was better—that James needed a strong front when he was falling apart.
Sirius might die, and James will never know.
His finger lingers on the cut. If he keeps rubbing it, he’ll make it bleed again. He should stop. He doesn’t.
"Moony,” Sirius starts. “I’m in love with James,” he says. And it’s an explanation. It feels like one. “Always was."
Remus runs a hand through his hair.
"I know,” he tells him, and it’s better than any façade.
______
Before they part ways, Remus squeezes his shoulder. He doesn't say anything, their little stolen moments of privacy are gone -Snape can hear them now.
A squeeze, as Remus tries to convey support and goodbyes, a see you in better days, and I'll be here. Sirius touches him back.
Perhaps they won’t recognize the people they’ll have become by the time they meet again. Perhaps Sirius will be able to tell that he spent weeks and days beside this man, only by a worn coat and an old book he will be holding.
Perhaps there will be a time when they'll relearn one another. Maybe the empty seat at a table for four will stop aching then.
"Keep him alive." Remus says to Snape as a departing statement. He thinks he's been too quiet for Sirius to hear.
"I try to." Snape replies with an arrogant scoff.
They are a foot away from each, but Remus raises his hand for a handshake. Snape eyes the gesture for longer than necessary as if the mere thought of returning it pains him. He is very still when he raises his own hand.
Snape hands him a bag just before he leaves, the bottles clattering inside.
"You never show us." He warns and Sirius smiles.
"This is..." Remus says as he eyes the content of the bag.
"I prefer the population of the creature that hate us not to increase." Snape replies. "A day before the moon, Lupin and you will be fine."
Sirius laughs. He is so full of shit. He's so obvious. Had he always been this obvious?
"Do you find something amusing, Black?" Snape turns to him.
"No." Sirius tells him, but the mirth in his voice carries on.
Snape rolls his eyes and takes his own bag from the floor.
"Thank you." Remus tells him and he tries to express it with his bend back, but Snape has already dismiss him.
"Ah, he didn't do it for you." Sirius says, an uplift of his lips. "It's because, it's sufficient and necessary."
Snape shoots him a glare.
"Two words that you barely know how to use, let alone actually understand them."
Sirius smiles at him. Then he raises his middle finger.
Another roll of his black eyes.
Remus tilts his head as he observes him. Sirius just shrugs, unconcerned.
"You know," Snape continues, "I broke too many fingers pointed at me back at Cokeworth when I was younger. I imagine it will be easier now."
"Oh." Remus says and he frowns.
"It was a joke, Lupin." He says, but it doesn't feel like it. "No need to get dramatic about it."
"No," Remus says, shaking his head. "It's just—Albus mentioned something, and I didn’t think much of it. It's... Arthur Weasley knows. I think there was an attack at Cokeworth. A man died."
Snape stays perfectly still. He blinks once, twice, then his hands twitch before he clicks the bag shut.
"Do you have someone...?" Remus asks, tries to.
"No." Snape replies. He clutches his bag to his chest. He needs a new one, Sirius thinks. One with a handle that's not broken.
"We need to leave, Moony," Sirius says, urgency threading his voice. Remus catches it immediately. Sirius already has his palm around Snape’s arm. He presses it, just enough. "We are going." He says.
Remus doesn't argue. He stares, then offers a nod Sirius barely sees as the swirl of apparition takes them away.
_____
"What are we doing here?" Severus asks. He watches the ground; frost has started to form in the corner of the stone.
"Checking." Black answers. "If the man attacked was..."
There is a grave beside hers. A name only. Tobias Snape. Someone thought it was appropriate to put him beside her. Not leaving her to rest even now. He, still there, a leash around her throat and her wrists even in death.
Poisoning the ground until it reached her.
Black reaches out, but Severus moves away.
"There is no point in coming here. Better yet, it's dangerous coming to a place Death Eaters passed." He casts another glance at the ground. "I'm leaving."
"Snape," Black tells him. Perhaps he wanted to add another word, another sentence, a hand reaching out, but Severus has already stated his destination.
Regulus is up, looking outside the kitchen window. He's drinking the coffee they brought him. The house smells of it.
"Why are you alone?" He asks. Then he raises his wand. "What did Kreacher ask you before we met"
He's smart. Cunning. Not taking unnecessary risks. An ideal partner, if he hadn't chosen to pledge his loyalty to Voldemort. A decision not so smart.
Black apparates before Severus can reply, nearly colliding with him.
"I just wanted to see if..." he begins, unafraid of his brother's raised wand.
"Well, you saw. Are you satisfied now?" Severus tells him.
"I need an answer or else I will attack." Regulus warns.
"Not now Reg." Black is looking at Severus.
Regulus sends a spell toward his feet.
"I said not fucking now." Black yells at him.
"Fights need tactic, some need allies to be fought. He asked me if I still believed that." Severus answers. He's angry—at the answer, at its necessity, at the way Black is looking at him.
Regulus lowers his wand.
"We need to be consistent when..." He starts, but Black interrupts him.
"I am satisfied, yes." Black tells him. Accusing and hard.
Tobias was attacked by Death Eaters. He died. Better people than him have succumbed to the same fate—people who didn't deserve it.
Someone managed to kill him at last. Severus regrets that he wasn't the one to do it. Even if it happened because of him. Even if Voldermort's followers were searching for him. He takes pleasure in that at least. That he played a part in his death. Because they share the same name, the same blood.
"Did you not want to be sure?" He asks.
"I simply don't care. If he died, or not. I have bigger problems that need my attention. His death means nothing to me. He was a nobody. Going there, risking to get caught. For what?"
"To know that the monster is dead." Black says, because he's clumsy, because he wasted all his eloquent sentences to charm the girls at school. "To know that you won't meet him again." And now he is just this angry, messy human being who thinks that can stare at Severus and say whatever though comes into his mind.
"I'm taking the potions upstairs." Regulus speaks as he takes the bag off the table. "They need to be hidden."
"Thanks Reg." Black says so easily, effortless and true enough for Regulus to pause, stare, taking a moment to answer.
"Yes." He says, a frown. "I don't need..." Then as if he decides against it, as if he finds it unnecessary to answer anything, he just takes the bag and he leaves.
Black is still staring at him. He hasn't stopped since the land here in this fake sanctuary.
"He was no monster." Severus tells him and it surprises him. It angers him. For a moment he thinks that Severus will defend him. As if. As if he would ever defend him. He is not his mother. He never was.
But Tobias Snape is not a monster. Perhaps there was a time that Severus viewed him as such. He doesn't remember it. His back was barely red and he still viewed him for what he was.
"Monsters hold a mythical allure, a terrible dread in their names. Men, however dangerous, bleed and die."
Black moves. He is in front of him in the next second. His hands on his face. He puts a lock of hair behind his ear.
Severus doesn't need consolation. He doesn't need comfort.
His father is dead and he feels nothing of it. No, he feels relief. Finally, he wants to scream. Finally.
His hands tremble from anger as they rest uselessly on his side.
It's so bizarre, not knowing what comes first. If he knows the feeling, if he has a first taste of what it is, he can catalogue it, suppress it, put it in order.
"He's dead." Black tells him, as if he needs a reminder. His breath smells of the cigarettes he shared with Lupin.
"So?" Severus asks.
Black brushes the skin under his eyes. Severus pushes him away, but Black doesn't budge; he doesn't leave.
Severus doesn't need support. A person who he wished gone disappeared. Why would he need support.
"If my parents died..."
"This isn't some heartfelt moment." Severus stops him. He wanted him dead. Gone. In a place where he could never see him again.
He should be happy. He feels empty instead.
The monster is gone. Black said. But he's not, isn't he. He will never be. He will be here, every time someone looks at his back, every time someone drinks a little too much.
He will be there if Severus decides to go see his mother's grave.
It's the dread of the realisation. While Tobias was still alive, he was just a man in a house Severus had left behind. In a house that if he wished he could never visit again. A man that he spared no thoughts for. Not anymore, not if he could.
A man that Severus knew that one day, he would die.
And now that he's dead, nothing changed. No burden is lifted, no memories are erased.
Severus is like he was an hour ago. A month before, a year.
"What are you thinking?" Black asks and Severus looks at his eyes again.
"I don't need..." Severus starts. Anything. Nothing more than what he needed this morning.
What he needs is to find a way to end Voldemort. What he needs is to know the number of the Horcruxes.
Tobias died. And nothing changed.
"Saviours." Black tells him. That. He doesn't need that. He isn't even in a position that would require a saviour. He had been. Now it's not one of those times.
"This offers me nothing." Severus says.
Black puts his hand on top of his. Severus realises that he's clenching the side of his shirt. He tries to take it away, but Black grabs it harder. Makes it stay there.
"They shouldn't have put him beside her." Severus states. Whoever arranged that was foolish. They shared a marriage and a child and nothing of that mattered. In her death she was finally free. Free enough perhaps to escape. Free enough to think of escaping. Free enough for Severus to forgive her.
"It would be preferable if the place at her side was empty. More fitting." Severus speaks. Meaningless words. Impractical. They shouldn't have gone to the graveyard.
He blames Black for that.
Black who finally removes his hand, who finally takes his stare and his breath away.
"Is that what you want?" He asks and he takes his wand out.
"What?" Severus tastes the storm, the chaos that is the entirety of Black's existence and he takes a step forward. "What are you doing?" He asks as Black moves his wand, a word, a place at almost formed.
"Going to the cemetery. Taking him out." He says like it's the most common thing, the most logical sentence he ever said.
Severus grabs his shirt.
"Are you insane?"
Black smiles. He seems crazy.
"That place is compromised. We aren't going to set foot there again." He grabs him tighter. A warning. "Don't make me repeat myself. The last thing I need is to try getting you out of whatever cell they throw you this time."
That stops him. The energy is still there, the need to do something.
"Welcome back." He says and Severus is certain he's mad.
He blames it -the madness- because he knows what Black means. He can tell from the haze of his thoughts from the moment Black grabbed his arm and took him out his apartment.
"When this is over then." He says. "I will take him out of there. I will never tell you what I did with him. It will be like he never existed." Black speaks like it's a promise. Like it's a certainty.
Severus breathes. Black watches him.
Severus is still angry. Lost.
He wants to say many things.
That he doesn't need Black to do it -he can do it himself.
That if he thinks that he knows him, that they are friends somehow, they are not.
Severus learnt him, because he had to, because it was crucial to predict how Black would react, futile as it was.
That it's not a give and take. Black knows nothing about him. Nothing that Severus wasn't forced to give.
As Black pushes his hair behind both his ears as if he's a child, as if they are friends of long years. As Black rests his forehead on his, speaking softly, saying, "Okay?"—as if it's a secret—Severus wants to ask him:
What are you doing to me?