Twenty-Four
When the cigarette burned, Snape fell onto the other side of the bed.
Sirius thought of getting up, retreating to the couch, an unspoken agreement of the past days, a carving of separate space where there was practically none.
But Snape said nothing, and it felt childish, prudish in a performative way, for Sirius to leave on his own.
When they had already shared a bed-this bed. When Sirius struggled between the thoughts of Snape and Severus.
When Snape had already fallen asleep.
So he stayed, and sleep must have caught him somewhere between a second cigarette and the absent-minded way his finger brushed against Snape's own.
He wakes to find Snape still sleeping, a first in all these months, a sign of Snape's exhaustion, of the small amount of rest Sirius had managed.
He gets up. He needs coffee, he thinks, as he opens the curtains to this room, barely an inch, because they are hiding and they need to lie low.
He needs to wake Snape up, because they should leave, he himself said so, but a glance at him makes him retreat from the thought.
Snape needs a moment of rest. He has a war to fight.
Maybe that's what makes Sirius hesitate. Or maybe it's the thought that Snape is still naked beneath the covers, and he will get dressed again as soon as Sirius wakes him, jolted back into action and plans and strategies.
Where he will be Black again.
Sirius. Sirius.
He needs coffee. Or to get a fucking grip. But the sky is still dark and it will be for at least an hour or two, so he decides a bath is the closest he will get to clarity.
He lights the fireplace, before he closes the bathroom door.
Bathrooms, necessary for their utility, always hold a separate meaning for him. A type of grounding, or unravel expressed into a mundane place.
Despite the house, the people in it, the danger, the exhaustion, the silence, a retreat in a bathroom meant solitude. Quietness. Four walls that hid him. Alone.
Even when he left, when he went to the Potters, when there was no need to hide, because there the meals were loud, talkative, a back and forth between people that wanted it, the talks and the learning, Sirius sometimes hid in the bathroom across his bedroom.
An excuse never questioned, because Sirius was happy there, he was, because even the reprimanding was done gently, without the tight grip of failure with every exhale, because James' parents treated him like a son.
And still, sometimes Sirius hid in the bathroom.
He felt guilty then, afterwards, guilty, because really what else he could have asked for, he got it, what he wanted. An escape from his house, a family that actually cared, a brother that wanted close and not away, a space where he could just be.
It didn't happen often. And afterwards, he would emerge and laugh with James, they would argue, and fly on their brooms, and they would eat a pie Euphemia made, they would send a letter to tease Remus. And Peter.
And the guilt of want, something more, something else, something Sirius couldn't understand, would fade away slowly. Pushed down. Because Sirius had made it out of the grips of Grimmauld Place, number twelve.
Because he had friends who loved him, who chose him.
A family to return to in summers. At Christmas.
Because he wasn't an ungrateful child.
The water falls on his skin. On his hair. Over his closed eyelids.
He wants now. Again. He wants the war to be over. Today. Yesterday. A week before.
He wishes it to be over, to know what happens next. He wants to be patient. Practical. He wants to be better.
He wants Snape to be a nod in the hall.
He wants to wake him up and fuck him. Or be fucked by him. He doesn't care. It doesn't matter.
He wants for yesterday to linger. He wants Snape to survive.
Maybe they will drink coffee once. Twice. Maybe they will pick up a gift for Harry's birthday. They are both his godfathers.
Maybe Sirius will leave the bathroom door open. Snape has seen him anyway. Cry, shout. Naked in every sense.
Maybe he will allow Sirius to speak to him with familiarity. Severus. A disruptive mirror of his name in a joke no one’s laughing.
Maybe he’ll stop wanting. Be ungrateful. Maybe one day he will think that he has enough and he will mean it.
Maybe Snape will be wrong for the first time in his life. Maybe afterwards Snape will say, thismeans something, and it will be for then, not now, because now it fucking means something.
Because Snape let Sirius touch him, everywhere, in places Sirius wanted and the ones he didn't know that he did.
Because he sighed and let Sirius say his name—he said his back.
"Severus." He says, because he can, because the bathroom is his for now and he can say whatever the fuck he wants. Because Snape let him anyway.
He let him, with his head tipped back, with his exposed neck, with his legs around Sirius. He let him, with Sirius hands on his back.
"Fuck." He says, and moves his hand to his cock—a moment of lingering heat, an echo of a burning Sirius is desperate to hold onto.
Maybe he should open the door now, maybe Snape will wake up and see him.
"Severus. Severus." Sirius says and he will say it then, as Snape watches, his name evidence to whom Sirius is thinking, a defiance against Snape's Black.
Again, faster, as he stands under the water, as he thinks of what Snape might say, as he thinks that he will wake up as Sirius says his name loud enough to be heard.
He thinks of biting his arm, of suppressing the moans, the breaths, the name. The name.
He doesn't. He can't. He is selfish and ungrateful. He pushes boundaries and crosses lines.
And Snape lets him. Grounds him. Protects him. Kills for him.
"Fuck." It's unbearable to be seen, and for it still not be enough. Of being too much.
Maybe Snape will allow this. Maybe he will open the door, drawn in as Sirius calls him, calls for him. Maybe he will watch him, as Sirius touches himself for him. Maybe he will demand for Sirius to finish, because they have more pressing matters at hand, and he will cross his arms and still watch as Sirius unravels.
Maybe he'll say Black in that demanding tone he reserves for Sirius's name alone.
He finishes with that thought, to the sound of a voice that isn't here, a voice that exists only his head, because Snape managed to crawl even here, in a space that Sirius always held for himself, an exposure around four walls.
Where he lets himself be an ungrateful child—when he agrees with her, for the first and last time.
Where the failure of them both-his and his mother's-echoes.
He lets out a laugh. The only sound now is the water, the only echo Snape's voice in his head.
_____
There's already coffee on the table when Sirius emerges from the bathroom. Servants attending to their every need. Hogwarts tries to teach unity and knowledge and brilliance and yet it falls into the very world it exists.
Snape would surely have something to say about it. He smiles at the thought. He looks at the bed, really looks this time, as he takes a step.
He needs to wake him up. They need to leave. Snape will be furious that he hadn't already. That he stalled, that he wasted time.
Sirius is ready for it now.
He thinks he is. He passes his thumb over Snape’s cheek, moves a strand out of the way, a last moment of stillness, of lingering in a fevered dream.
When Snape moves, Sirius knows that war is coming. It is here. He's ready for it.
Snape blinks, once, and he's not. He is anything but.
"We need to go." Sirius says, and he is quiet, while he tries not to be, because this is it.
Snape brushes his hands over his eyes. Sirius thinks it’s the first time he’s seen him wake up. That he is not ready, that this is too domestic, and they have a plan and Horcruxes, and a war to win.
"What time is it?" Snape glares at him, as if it's Sirius fault that he overslept, that he slept at all.
Sirius laughs. He can't help it.
Snape pulls the covers off himself, a move and he's already up, naked and barefoot.
"We will leave in ten." He says and it's such a contradiction to his state that Sirius falls silent.
Sirius expected a repeat of the first time: retreat, withdrawal, everything boxed up and named nothing.
This isn’t what he expected. Not what he prepared for.
This is ordinary purpose. Snape is naked and annoyed and ready to bark orders. It's such a contrast, and that's what disorients Sirius-the domesticity of it. It's something married people do. People who live in the same space.
Not his parents, surely not.
But maybe Lily and James. Maybe people who have a routine.
Snape casts a side glance as he walks to the bathroom, a clear view of his back.
"In ten." He repeats as if Sirius is an idiot.
"I heard you the first time." Sirius says and it's childish, but Snape rolls his eyes and closes the bathroom door.
Sirius stands still, watching it.
Snape said, we leave in ten, like it's a morning drill. Like it's a middle ground.
He hears the water running. They are moving, the plan, the mission, they are, because they can't do otherwise.
And yet Snape got up naked. Like a silent
acknowledgement. Like it was stupid to pretend otherwise the first time.
It happened. That's the base.
Sirius drinks three large gulps from his coffee, the fourth still in his throat when Snape emerges.
They stare at each other. Sirius swallows the coffee, and Snape parts his lips to speak.
There is a knock on the door, that shifts their attention.
Another.
Sirius leaves the cup on the desk, he draws his wand, as he's stepping towards it.
Snape puts his hand on him, a stop, a stare, a press of his lips.
Another knock.
"I have the ability to open this door." McGonagall's voice comes through and Sirius lets out a breath. "But I would prefer it if you've opened it yourselves."
There’s an edge to her voice, urgency masked beneath authority.
Snape hears it too, so he lets go of his arm. A step and he's opening the door.
McGonagall looks at the corridor, once and she's in, the door closed behind her.
"We have an inspection from the Ministry." She says, and then she looks at Sirius. "Stop pointing your wand at me mister Black." She adds, a blur of irritation and fondness.
"An inspection?" Snape asks.
"Yes. More precisely an investigation on the school because it might hides dangerous criminals." A pointed look.
"Us." Snape states.
"You." McGonagall agrees.
"We were leaving." Sirius tells her. "We will leave now."
And it hits him then, that there is a part of him unsure if that's possible. Maybe McGonagall will choose to...Fuck, he's becoming paranoid.
"Where are they?" Snape asks.
"Albus arrived an hour before them. He is keeping them occupied."
"How convenient." Snape mocks and McGonagall is almost ready to send him to the headmaster's office.
"He’s been dismissed, as we've been informed," McGonagall says. "They intend to escort him to the Ministry."
Snape lets out a dry laugh. McGonagall nods with a raised eyebrow.
"How much time do we have?" Snape asks.
"Not much." McGonagall answers.
"How did they know...A student." Sirius taps his foot on the floor.
"I believe so too." She says. "No need to stall. I'll guide you out."
Sirius nods. Snape's already picking up his bag.
Sirius grabs Snape’s wand from the floor—a thought he won’t let linger in this moment of rush.
He gives it to him.
"Follow me." McGonagall says, with a slight tilt of her head, she transforms into her animagus form. It had been truly fascinating the first time she’d done it, back in the classroom. It was an idea in the making.
"Do it too." Snape says, as he puts his hand on the handle.
"What?"
"Transform too." Snape tells him. "A dog, even as big as yours, is unrecognisable. If we are spotted..."
Sirius puts his hand on top of his, turning the handle, opening the door.
"After you." He says.
"Black." There, that's it, that's the tone.
"I won't flee." Sirius tells him and he takes a step, following McGonagall into the corridor.
It's still early, the students are probably waking up now, a different quietness from last night.
They take one turn, then another, descending a staircase, a stop at an alcove. Distant voices that Sirius isn't sure to whom they belong to.
Snape’s hand is in his sleeve. Sirius’s hand is on him.
They move again, an opening of a door that Sirius is sure that leads to a classroom, but it's a plain room, another door that leads only to stairs. Down. And the air shifts, it smells of potions, damp stone, and mold.
Snape is looking ahead. If he's impressed by this quick tour there is no evidence to his features.
They stop, and Sirius stares down a poorly lit corridor, a door at the the end of it.
McGonagall transforms back.
"The door leads to the Greenhouses. Leave the grounds, and then apparate immediately. Here." A piece of paper that Sirius takes. "Gentlemen." She says, a nod—a bow so subtle it barely exists.
And she passes by them, ready to take the road back.
"The school should be evacuated." Snape tells her. He doesn’t turn—he keeps looking straight ahead—but McGonagall stops. "I believe your students is your priority." He says. "And they will be in danger. Albus doesn't see it. Or he does and he simply doesn't care. They are here already. And they will be here again. The moment you refuse, they will attack. The students will be the soldiers. A pile of their dead bodies will be the only thing blocking this school’s door." Snape says flatly, coldy.
McGonagall turns, but Snape is already moving.
"Thank you." Sirius tells her and he follows him.
_____
The air shifts again, it gets warmer now with every step upwards. They open a small door to a supplies room, dry herbs and flowers, two shovels at the wall. Sirius takes a step, but Snape stops, looking around.
A tilt of his head, a closer inspection to the shelves, a breath, as he raises his arm and takes three different things. He glances at Sirius, then tucks the items into his bag.
A step and he's beside him.
"We might be able to make some healing potions after all." He says—and in that blink of a moment, Sirius thinks that whichever side Snape’s on will win.
Sirius laughs—a release of adrenaline, of that thought, of a certainty long gone but suddenly found again, here, in a storage room, in a school neither of them spoke without cursing each other.
Snape stares at him.
"Please do tell me the joke." He says.
"It’s unbelievable your head hasn’t burst." Sirius tells him.
A moment of silence.
"A mind dies from idleness, not thinking." He responds. Another step and they're at the door. "You still have yours." He says.
"Ah, and in what category am I?" Sirius smirks—maybe smiles. He isn’t sure.
"Guess." Snape tells him, as they walk into one of the greenhouses.
The sudden humidity feels suffocating.
"I would say, since you're always loud about my lack of brains that idleness suits me." Sirius watches as the sun is slowly creeping from one side of the vast room.
Leaves shift, as if alive. Flowers tremble slightly, like they’re waking.
"You would, wouldn't you." Snape tells him. He is a step ahead. "And yet—"
Sirius doesn't have time to ask what the fuck is that supposed to mean. He doesn't get the chance, as Snape unlocks the door with a move of his wand.
The morning air hits them—cold, vast.
And they are outside. And the world is grey, freezing, but oddly bright, too loud. Even when it's not. Even when the sun has barely started rising.
They are on the run again, as if they ever stopped, pursued by men in the castle that promises safety.
Sirius wonders if they will ever stop. He knows they will. Snape will win the war. That's the clarity, the safety for now. The reassurance. Because Sirius saw a storage room, while Snape saw opportunity, healing potions. He saw a use that Sirius missed.
He wonders what happens when they do stop.
If it's better or worse.
An ugly thought, because James is relying on that. Harry. Lily. Remus. Everyone is relying on that. The winning.
On Snape figuring out the answers.
They pass by the greenhouses one by one, his breath travels to the air above, the grass has little droplets of water frozen on its end.
Sirius glances back—a passing check for eyes on them. They are at the exit.
He turns, and Snape is already pushing the gates open. He passes by, and Sirius follows a step back.
They are still on the grounds, they need to rush to the end of the wards, the Forbidden Forest again, or the road back at Hosgmead.
Snape raises an arm to halt him—one step, and he’s suddenly in front. Danger, Sirius thinks, and his wand is already up, pointed forward.
There, just a few steps away, stands Narcissa Malfoy.
"Severus." She says, and then. "Cousin."
She stands still, chin raised, fingers folded in front of her stomach. Black laced robes and long blonde hair, an irregularity of the Black's blood colours. Cold, untouchable—fitting for this winter morning.
Sirius is going to kill her the moment she tries to attack.
He might, even if she doesn't.
"Move." He says, and her eyes turn to him. She always unsettled him—more than Bella—even though they’d barely exchanged words.
A riddle behind smooth skin and minimal expressions.
"Severus." She says again. Even that is spoken in an untraceable tone.
"Move. Now." Sirius tells her. A step that he doesn't make, because Snape is still holding him in place. As if he's unsure too.
"What happened?" he asks—decision masked as inquiry.
Sirius doesn't stop staring at her. His magic ready to burst.
"I need your help." She says simply.
The silence is what makes him look. Snape frowns.
"How perfectly timed, cousin." Sirius tells her. "There are people searching for us right now."
"I am aware." She responds, and Sirius wants to punch her. Crack her perfectly symmetrical face, her little arrogant stare. "That's why I'm here." A turn to Snape. I searched everywhere for you."
"It's fortunate you never found me." Snape says, and Narcissa does something so alien, so foreign to the situation, to who she is, that Sirius thinks she lost it too.
She smiles. Barely. Gone in the next blink.
"Fortunate indeed." She says.
The hold on Sirius’s arm loosens. Snape stays in front of him.
"I'm not here to kill you." She tells him. "Either of you."
"You can try." Sirius says. The flicker of irritation that passes through her eyes is worth it.
"The Black blood runs deep within you cousin, even if your name in the tapestry is scorched." She says it flatly, as if it means nothing more.
"How's Lucius? Still alive?" He asks and Narcissa's blue eyes turn vacant.
She looks at Snape again.
"After your escape the Dark Lord was very displeased." She says, as if she's speaking of a dress she bought that was unfitting. "Lucius received his judgment—even though he wasn’t there to prevent the outcome." She looks at Snape as if she knows that wasn't the case. That her husband came and left an insignificant trail for them to escape. "It happened in our house after all. It's only fitting." She continues and if Sirius didn't know any better he would think that she believes everything she says.
"Is he alive?" Snape asks.
"Yes. The other two aren't."
"Bellatrix?" Snape asks.
"My sister welcomes the punishment for her incompetence." A barely there press of her lips.
Snape nods.
"You stole something from Lucius." She says, and Sirius freezes. He’s not sure if she knows what the item is.
He feels Snape tensing. Sirius is aware that he doesn't want to kill Narcissa. He knows that he would if she were to take the diary.
Whatever is necessary.
"The item you stole belongs to the Dark Lord." She states it like it’s meant to move them. "Lucius hasn't told him it's gone yet." The implication is there. He will know it eventually. He will kill Lucius Malfoy when he does.
"Severus. Please. Give it back to me." No pleading in her voice. No cracks.
And yet.
"I can't." Snape tells her, and then. "Flee."
"The war is almost won." She says. "The Dark Lord is going to prevail." She adds and even that is spoken flat, coldly.
"Narcissa."
"I'm protected. There is always someone in the house with me. With Draco." She says. "Give me the item back, and I'll leave."
"I can't." Snape says, and Sirius feels shattered.
Because Snape doesn't want to hurt her. Snape had once saved her life. He'd even fought Sirius over it.
Because Narcissa had treated him like a human being.
Narcissa Black before Malfoy. With her prejudices and her biased judgement, with her superiority air, and her pure-blood features had treated the half-blood skinny poor boy from Cokeworth with dignity.
Something Sirius, with all his rebellion and defiance, can't claim for himself.
"Do you want him to win?" Sirius asks her.
"The cause embodies all our beliefs." She responds. Fuck, he can see why Snape likes her. For the same reasons Sirius wants to set her on fire.
"If we give you the item back, he will win." Sirius tells her. "So you will be safe forever. You. And your son."
Narcissa's eyes stay on him. He knows the cruelty of his statement, he almost feels it echoing in her cold stare. The impossibility of choices, Snape had said.
It is exactly that.
Her husband—or her child's future.
Sirius doesn't know if she will raise her wand, if she'll turn and leave. She is a stillness in a family full of noise.
Then she turns her eyes on Snape again.
"The item should have been in Gringotts." She says. "Lucius should have put it in his vault there. Like Bella did."
Here in the middle of a stoney path Narcissa Malfoy offers a middle ground. A solution. A personal win. She wants her family to survive. Her piece of shit husband. Her son.
She offers—and in doing so, severs the threads that might harm what she values most. And it has nothing to do with purity of blood, of names lost in a glorious past. Just two people. Narcissa might still believe in things that Sirius despises, she might still believe them afterwards. And yet, here, she wants the same thing as Sirius. For her beloved to survive.
She offers more than she thinks she does. Sirius almost holds his breath.
"Do you know what the items are?" Snape asks—as if they hadn't almost betrayed each other.
He asks and he gives her the dignity of pretending that she didn't cave.
"No." Narcissa says, and she untangles her fingers. "I know they're valuable. I don't want to learn anything more. Lucius doesn't know either. That's why he kept it. To uncover its purpose."
"Lucius is an arrogant idiot." Snape says.
"He wants to keep his options open." She responds.
Severus sighs, like he's tired. Narcissa ignores him.
"Be quick." Narcissa says. A step, a stop as she's passing them by.
"Send my regards to Regulus." She tells him, and Sirius isn't sure if that's a warning, or a nod to a name they once shared.
Narcissa Malfoy walks away with the choice she made.
She chose her son.