The Taming

Severus had intended to wait until Monday to force Black to be examined by Pomfrey. It was the perfect time; they had a herbology class that ended just before lunch. Severus could easily persuade Black to accompany him to Pomfrey's after Professor Sprout dismissed them.   

Unfortunately, his resolve quickly crumbled as he felt the odd glances and whispers from fellow students. It was mostly the female fifth-years and higher who would stop mid-conversation to glare at him before talking quietly amongst themselves, though not quiet enough as Severus could still hear the majority of their conversation. 

They assumed he was to blame for Black's strange behaviour. Their speculations varied from Amortentia to Imperius curses to blackmail. He couldn't help but scowl when he heard their ridiculous speculations. Did they truly think so little of him? Did they truly believe that he craved attention so much that he'd go out of his way to coerce Black of all people? Severus wasn't enough of a masochist to seek affection from a person who had ostracised and harassed him for seven years. 

He didn’t make any attempt to dispel their speculations. He knew firsthand that words were meaningless in this situation. No, Severus had to find the cause of the strange behaviour and put an end to it himself.

He made his way over to the 'marauders’ who were sprawled out on the quidditch field. Black and Potter were both dressed in their quidditch uniforms, their faces slick with sweat and their hair windswept. They must've just finished practice. The four of them had been tossing a quidditch ball amongst each other; Severus didn’t care about the bloody sport enough to know which one it was. 

Black was about to toss the ball back to Potter when his eyes met Severus’s. The Gryffindor paused for a moment and placed the ball on the ground, his carefree smile softening into one that was almost shy. Merlin, whatever curse he was under must have been very potent if it could make Black smile at the sight of him approaching.  

“Snape! Miss me already?” He asked, smirking devilishly. Severus tried not to lose his resolve as the rest of the marauders looked over at him. 

He straightened his posture and attempted to calm his nerves. Since they were all seated, he had the upper hand in the event that they tried to attack him. “I need you to accompany me,” he said, purposely ignoring Black’s ridiculous question. 

The Gryffindor looked surprised by his request before quickly scrambling up. “Where are we going?” he asked. Merlin, he was so trusting. Severus could be leading him towards his death right now, and the dunderhead would be none the wiser. Alas, Black was not worth the Azkaban sentence. 

Severus pursed his lips. “It’s a surprise,” he gritted out, attempting to sound unassuming. Like hell, he was going to reveal his cards to Black so soon! There was no way he’d agree on his own to go to the infirmary. 

“Sounds like Sniv is going to mur-” Before Pettigrew could finish the sentence, Potter punched his arm, effectively shutting him up as he let out a pathetic cry and began nursing his injury.

Severus's eyebrows furrowed at that. What made Potter stand up for him? Severus was about to question it, but before he could, Black grabbed his hand and pulled him away from his mates. "Sure, I’ll come with you; lead the way!” he replied loudly to cover up the bickering of Pettigrew and Potter. 

If Severus gave a shite, he’d question their odd behaviour, but the only thing he cared about at the moment was clearing his name. He even chose not to comment on the fact that Black had turned around and gave his friends a very ‘subtle’ thumbs up.

What he couldn’t ignore, however, was the fact that Black was still holding his hand. “You can let go now,” he said passive-aggressively. 

His comment had the opposite effect, as Black had gripped his hand tighter. “I know, but I don’t want to,” the Gryffindor replied like a petulant child. 

Severus scowled at him, but before he could say anything, Black interrupted him. “Please? I promise I’ll be quiet the rest of the walk,” he pleaded. 

He let out an irritated huff. Would arguing against it truly be worth it? It didn't matter if he was holding hands with Black or not; the other students would find a way to portray whatever interaction the two of them had as romantic. He looked at Black, who was giving him the expression of a kicked puppy. 

The walk to the infirmary was rather long, and it would be nice not to hear the Gryffindor's irritating remarks. He reluctantly acquiesced; this annoying behaviour would all be over soon. Severus could handle fifteen minutes of handholding. 

During their walk, Severus tried to ignore a handful of things, like Black's stupid smile, which had not left his face since he agreed to hold his hand, the pointed glares of classmates, and the warmth of Black's skin. Why was his hand so bloody warm? It felt like a furnace when Black first grabbed him, but the coldness of Severus' hand altered it into the warmth of a cosy jumper. 

He was also surprised by how calloused his hands were, as pure-bloods were known for keeping them soft. It was one drop in the pool of ludicrous rules and standards that pure-bloods held, one more thing to set them apart from those with ‘tainted’ blood. Only muggles performed manual labour, whereas pure-bloods relied on house elves and magic. 

As they approached the infirmary, Black's steps slowed. "Erm, Snape... where are we going?” he asked, hesitancy laced in his voice. 

Severus began tugging him along as the Gryffindor’s feet started to drag. Shite, he was beginning to realise where Severus was taking him. “I told you it was a surprise,” he gritted out. 

Black completely halted his steps. “Why are you taking me to the infirmary? Do you think there’s something wrong with me?!” 

“Obviously,” Severus responded without any hesitation, “why else do you think I’ve been so nice to you lately?” 

The Gryffindor’s eyes widened. “That was you being nice?!” 

Severus scowled at him. "Oh, sod off!” he hissed out before attempting to pull him to the door. 

Black yanked back harder, causing Severus to collide into the Gryffindor's chest. Black placed his free hand on Severus' hip to keep him steady. "Why do you think there's something wrong with me? Give me an example," Black nearly demanded. 

When Severus looked up, he was surprised by the Gryffindor's earnest expression. It had looked abnormal on his usually untroubled face. The way that his eyes bore into him made Severus feel uneasy, distracting him so much that he hadn’t yet noticed their proximity. “You’re talking strange,” Severus attempted to argue, but his voice came out in a hushed whisper, rendering his argument ineffective.  

“I just wanted to show you how smart and sophisticated I am,” he replied, pouting slightly. Severus was about to respond when he felt Black's thumb start to rub against his hip bone. He froze for a moment before taking in their closeness. Their fronts nearly pressed up against each other, so close that Severus could see the ring of grey in the pure-blood’s irises. He quickly pulled himself away from the perverted Gryffindor. 

Severus, not wanting to appear affected, continued with the conversation, “You and sophisticated don’t belong in the same sentence, Black.” 

A look of hurt quickly turned devious as a smirk grew on his face. "Oh, really? How about I show you how sophisticated I am? If I’m able to prove myself, then you’ll have to go with me to Slughorn’s party,” Sirius proposed.

Severus raised a brow. Slughorn’s party? Why would Black want to go with him to that? The Gryffindor had been pestering him about Hogsmeade all this time. Whatever, he could just agree and not go, but first he needed to make sure he manipulated Black into doing what he wanted. Severus crossed his arms, “I’ll only agree if you agree to get evaluated.” 

“Fine, but this is pointless! There’s nothing wrong with me,” Black complained. 

“Quit being facetious,” Severus hissed, his patience running thin. 

He grabbed onto Black’s sleeve and pulled him towards the door, the dunderhead finally allowing him. “Hey! I am not a fascist!” He argued. 

“That’s not what I said, dumbass!” Severus finally snapped at him. 

Before Black could rebuttal, the infirmary door slid open, and the two were met with a concerned-looking Pomfrey. “Boys, what’s all this commotion?” she asked, her eyes darting between the two, checking for any injuries.

Severus spoke up first, “Black needs to get an examination.” 

The mediwitch’s brows furrowed as she saw no physical injuries on the Gryffindor. “Is he ill?” She asked. 

“Yes,” Severus said at the same time that Black replied with “No.” 

Severus gave him a sharp glare, which made the Gryffindor stiffen up. “I-erm, yes, I am!” 

Their responses had made Pomfrey more confused than she was before. She let out a sigh before fully opening the door. “Come inside; let’s get you checked out,” she said. 

Pomfrey guided Black to one of the infirmary beds, forcing him to sit down on the hard mattress. “Do you have any symptoms?” She asked, her back facing towards them as she grabbed for her supplies. 

Black gave Severus an uncertain look before the Slytherin pushed him to speak, “I am acting…strange?” he said. 

The mediwitch turned back around, “Strange how?” She asked. 

Black just stared blankly at her, unable to reply, before giving up and looking over at Severus for answers. 

Both pairs of eyes were now on the Slytherin. “His eyes are dilated, his speech patterns are strange, he’s behaving abnormally, and his temperature is very high.” He suppressed a blush as he remembered just how he found that last part out. Was there any way that he could hunt down every student that saw him hold that cretin’s hand and oblivate them? 

He ignored the shocked look that Sirius had given him, as if he too were learning about his symptoms for the first time. 

Pomfrey frowned, "Well, that certainly doesn’t sound good," she said as she grabbed Black’s jaw, forcing him to look into her eyes as she cast a Lumos charm. Black winced, squinting as the light shone right into his eyes. “Hmm, his pupils are reacting to the light,” she murmured, mostly to herself. 

She then deftly went through the rest of the check-up. The Gryffindor had no fever, no imperius curses, no amorentia, nothing; the dunderhead was completely and utterly healthy. Still, Severus was stubborn and refused to admit there was nothing wrong with the Gryffindor. “Has he come in recently for any Quidditch-related injuries?" He suggested trying to clutch at straws to try and unearth the reason. 

“I am one hundred percent positive that there is nothing wrong with Mr Black. In fact, he is one of the healthiest wizards I have ever seen in my years of working at Hogwarts! Mr. Snape, I am shocked at how much you care about Mr. Black’s well-being! It’s nice to see the two of you finally put aside your differences and care for one another,” she said, giving him a warm smile. 

Severus had nearly choked as soon as those horrific words came out of the mediwitch’s mouth. Him caring about Black? The mere thought alone made him sick to his stomach. At that moment, he had wanted to argue back and tell her that he didn’t give a shite about Black’s health but instead wanted to find the source of the reason why Black wouldn’t stop bothering him. 

Black had been giving him a smug smile the entire time and continued to give him one as they walked out of the infirmary, which made Severus even more agitated than he was before. “So, when are you going to show me how you’re not uncivilised?” Severus asked, trying to find a way to distract himself from his fantasies of wiping that moronic expression from the Gryffindor’s face. 

“Right now,” Black said, grabbing Severus’s hand and pulling him towards the room he had in mind, ignoring the Slytherin’s protests. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Black had taken him to an unfamiliar room within Hogwarts, which wasn’t saying much as the school was filled with plenty of secrets. The room was clearly long abandoned, with cobwebs marking every corner and a thin layer of dust sprawling across every surface. 

Severus stayed near the doorway as Black ventured in further. The room was filled with musical instruments, all in disrepair except for the piano sitting in the middle of the room. To Severus’s surprise, Black had sat down at the piano bench. 

Remaining by the spot near the door, Severus crossed his arms, “This is how you’re going to show me you’re sophisticated? By fiddling with a couple of keys?” he asked sarcastically. 

Unfortunately, his biting remark had no effect on Black. “What’s more sophisticated than a bloke playing the piano? What’s your favourite song? I’ll play it,” he said, lightly pressing on the keys to see if they were still in tune. 

When Severus remained silent, Black continued, “Come on! How am I going to put up with my side of the deal?” he asked.  

Severus had no idea why he was still playing along with this; however, his curiosity far outweighed his logic at that moment. He stepped away from the door, taking only a few more strides forward before stopping again, refusing to get any closer to the Gryffindor than necessary. “Chopin prelude opus twenty-eight, number four,” he replied quietly, oddly self-conscious.  

"Merlin, that one’s depressing! And fairly easy; why don’t you pick a harder one?” He asked as he continued to play around with the keys. 

“You asked me for my favourite; that’s my favourite,” he bit out, annoyed at Black’s comments. Who was he to judge what Severus liked? His taste was rubbish anyway if his escapades were anything to go off of. 

Black raised both of his hands, “No need to get so defensive. Which minor?” he asked.

Severus’s shoulders untensed. “E,” he replied coolly. 

The Gryffindor gave a nod before positioning himself properly in front of the piano to play. Severus raised a brow at that. Was he going to play without any sheet music?  

Then he began. Severus felt his eyes widen slightly at how clearly the notes came out; the keys felt as though they were going through him. The familiar melody started to bring back memories, ones from a simpler time when he hadn’t yet shown signs of magic, when his father hadn’t yet spiralled. 

He recalls when he was younger, sitting on the floor as he looked up and watched his father play. Their piano wasn’t nearly as posh as the one Black was playing; it was stained, and a few of the keys made no sound. It was handed down to Tobias by his mother, Adiela Snape, who taught children how to play. Any piano that had graced the Snape household had been used ones given to Severus’s grandmother by her students.  

Adiela Snape had taught all her children how to play, though her eldest, Tobias, had been the only one to stick with it into adulthood. Sometimes, when his father was in a good mood, he’d teach Severus how to play a few songs. They were always duets, ones easy enough for his smaller hands to reach. 

This song, however, was the one that his father would play the most. Perhaps it was because he enjoyed playing it, or perhaps it was because he knew it was Severus’s favourite. 

Tobias had stopped playing soon after he got into an accident at the mill. His hand was crushed in a machine, and it never quite healed properly. Sometimes late at night, when Severus would have trouble sleeping, he would hear his father stumble through the song before slamming his hands down on the keys in frustration. One evening, he heard more than keys being smashed, and when he came down the next day, the piano was gone. 

The last note of the song reverberated through his body, pulling him out of his thoughts. Silence hung around them before Black decided to speak up. “Snape, are you okay?” he asked.

Severus had been shocked at the lump that had formed in his throat. Suppressing it, he replied with a dry, “Yeah.” 

Black scooted over on the bench and patted the empty space next to him. Severus didn’t know why, but he actually sat down next to the dunderhead. The flashback had evidently made him unable to think clearly. 

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

“Do you know any songs?” Sirius asked, trying to not give away how shocked he was over the fact that Snape hadn’t put up a fight. 

However, Sirius couldn’t have his cake and eat it too, it seemed, as the Slytherin had given him a look. “Come on! I’m just trying to be charming! Let me be charming,” he said the last part softer.  

Snape pursed his lips and looked down at the keys on the piano. “Fantasy in F minor, D nine hundred forty,” he mumbled out reluctantly.

Merlin, the Slytherin sure had a type when it came to music. Luckily, Sirius knew that song as well, and fortunately, it was a duet. He hadn’t played the song much, but he could remember what the sheet music had looked like, and he proceeded from there.

He played at a slightly slower tempo; he didn’t know Snape’s skill level and didn’t want to trip up the Slytherin for fear of angering him. Sirius heard the slight intake of breath as he started playing.

Snape had been reluctant to join, his hand hovering over the keys, so Sirius just kept repeating the first section that he played on his own, hopefully encouraging Snape to join in. After his fourth time repeating the lone melody, Snape finally joined him.

Sirius couldn’t help but smile. He looked over to Snape, who was fully concentrating on his fingers. Snape’s notes came out quiet as he hesitantly pressed on the keys, recalling how the melody went. 

It was oddly nice to have someone playing with him. Sirius hadn’t told any of his mates that he knew how to play the piano; he knew that they would make fun of him for it. Well, maybe not Moony, but certainly Wormtail and Prongs. Their hands came together and pulled apart throughout the song; at some parts, they were so close that they’d brush up against each other, and it’d send a small shiver through Sirius’s body.

Snape’s hands were pale, and his fingers were long and thin; there was something about them that always drew Sirius’s attention towards them. Oftentimes, during potions, he’d find himself watching the Slytherin’s hands as they deftly worked through the steps. They were softer than Sirius imagined, recalling how they felt in his. He had hoped he'd find an opportunity to hold them again, but for now, he'd soak up the brief moments when they'd touch during the song. 

When they finished, there was an air of silence similar to the one after Sirius first played. Sirius looked at Snape, who took a few seconds to look back at him. “Where did you learn to play?” Sirius asked.

That seemed to be the wrong thing to say, as Snape looked away from him and instead focused on his lap. Fuck, how did Sirius manage to muck things up every time he opened his mouth? The Slytherin fiddled with the pilled fabric of his robes. “My pa, I only know duets, not much else,” he mumbled before looking back at Sirius. “What about you?” he asked. 

Sirius was shocked that Snape was moving the conversation forward. Typically, Sirius had to bulldoze his way to responses when it came to the Slytherin. “It was a form of rebellion,” Sirius said. He felt oddly vulnerable, admitting that, and turned to playing a random melody on the piano to self-soothe. 

“How is playing the piano a form of rebellion?” Snape asked incredulously. Sirius couldn’t blame him for questioning it; he supposed that it sounded odd to someone who lived in the muggle world. 

A huff of laughter escaped Sirius’s lips. “Kind of strange when I say it out loud, yeah? In pure-blood culture, things like music are seen as something lesser. Something for the house elves or wood nymphs to perform. Pure-bloods see it as a waste of time,” Sirius explained. Music was something that the pure-bloods thought should be played for them, not by them. 

“Oh,” Severus said softly. 

“Yeah... I had my family's house elves teach me how to play, and once I could read music on my own, I played purely muggle songs. It was a subtle way to say fuck you to their blood-purity bullshite... I got a lot more bold with my rebelliousness as I got older,” he shrugged. 

Sirius changed the subject quickly to avoid awkward tension. “So, are you going to Slughorn’s party with me?” he asked, hopeful. 

Snape scoffed before replying, “Sure, but I’m not going to be pleasant.”

Sirius smiled. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

The Slytherin looked at him for a moment. He opened and closed his mouth a few times as if he were battling over whether or not to say something. Then, out of nowhere, he stood up. “Your hair is frizzy,” he said before abruptly leaving, slamming the door on his way out, leaving Sirius to self-consciously mess with his hair. 

He had completely forgotten that Snape had retrieved him right after Quidditch practice; hell, he had just now noticed that he was still partially in his uniform. That had meant that he had Quidditch hair…Fuck! Though not even a terrible hair day could prevent the warm fluttering feeling in his chest.  

Sirius’s smile soon disappeared when James appeared out of seemingly nowhere, plopping down right where Snape had sat moments ago. Had he been under the invisibility cloak?

“Wow, Pads I didn’t know you had it in you! I mean, that bit about how you learned to play was bloody brilliant; what charm did you use to make it look like you were playing?” James said as he poked around on a couple of keys, the sharp noise irritating Sirius. 

“Why did you come? How long have you been here?” Sirius asked; he had oddly felt as though his privacy had been invaded. 

“You were gone for a while.” James shrugged. “I looked at the map and saw you were in an unfamiliar room with Sniv, and your name wasn’t moving. Thought Wormtail might’ve actually been right, and the git really did kill you... Hey, you think Lily will say yes if I ask her to accompany me to Slughorn’s party since Sniv is going with you?”  

Sirius had forgotten the original reason he was pursuing Snape for a moment. The warm feeling he had felt moments ago was now completely gone. "Um, probably?” he said, still a little in his head after what happened with Snape.

Sirius had listened to James go on about Evans and what he had planned to do to ask her to go with him. All the while, Sirius had oddly wished that it was Snape who was sitting next to him