Part I
Islington’s weather had not yet ceased its fluctuations. The sun rained down onto the backs of pedestrians weeks before, but the winter cold resurfaced again. The sudden briskness in the March air was met with a frown from Sirius Black.
He wished he’d thought to wear the luxurious cobalt robes Minerva had gifted him at Christmastime. They were made of thick wool and cashmere, and provided a sense of comfort and warmth the jeans and tank he sported simply did not. The heavy layers would have been ideal, especially as the day drew on and sunlight faded into moonbeams.
He ran a hand through his hair before knocking on the Potters’ door. He had once again forgotten to drag a comb through it, and wanted to look minimally presentable - his friends had become something of sophistication as of late. Sirius saw the door swing open and James flashing his familiar smile, the glint in his eyes so reminiscent of simpler times. Lily beckoned him inside, and Sirius stepped into the Potters’ cozy living room.
It felt like years had elapsed since he had seen his godson, when in reality a single month had not yet passed them by. Harry crawled across the carpet towards him, gobs of something orange covering half of his mouth.
“Carrots,” Lily murmured, embarrassed. She rushed to pick the boy up, bringing him into the kitchen where she gently pressed a damp cloth to his face. James grinned at Sirius, slapping his back and pulling him into a tight embrace. Neither knew how to express their relief that they were both alive and well.
The visit passed peacefully, James and Lily filling Sirius in on all of Harry’s newest developments. “Well, he had just started scooting - you know, crawling, but with his stomach still on the ground - when he decided to grab everything in sight,” James informed Sirius.
Sirius relished his friends’ company, but he couldn’t help but notice how much they had changed, matured even, since Harry entered their lives. They spent their time tending to their child and to their home rather than partying and running through midnight streets as they used to. A part of him missed the James that would spend hours trying to crack the secrets of a new transfiguration spell, the James that would sit beside him in the dark, blushing and embarrassed of how he had acted prior to the setting of the sun.
A knock rang hesitantly at the door. James looked up, pulling his arm away from around his wife’s shoulders. He stood and pulled the freshly painted door open.
Sirius craned his neck to see who stood at the threshold of the Potters’ house, who had made James tense and frown almost instantaneously.
“I’m not - get the fuck away. I mean - Lily?” James’s exasperation filled the space between them and Sirius stood, finally seeing Snape’s figure cloaked in shadows at the doorway. “Pathetic git,” James mumbled as he walked away.
“Severus-,” Lily started, her brow creasing.
“Lily - Lily, please. Please hear me out, it’s very important. You-”
“No, Severus. I’m sure you mean well, but we’re done. I don’t want to see you here again, ever. Please just leave, now. It's better for the both of us.” Lily bit her lip in guilt, but she remained firm in her decision.
Snape seemed to become desperate, and Sirius saw the frustration burning beneath his pale skin. His eye twitched and his posture stiffened, becoming almost painful to look at. Bags hung under his eyes, indicating that he had not slept in days. He looked so much older than he should have, the stress of war weighing on him as much as it did Sirius. Perhaps more.
Severus tried a last time. “Lily you’re in danger, I - please let me explain I need to -”
Sirius had forgotten how scary Lily could be when anger coursed through her. Memories of her shouting at him and James surfaced as her voice rang out into the space.
“Severus, I really don’t want to hear it. I just don’t want to hear any more of your bullshit excuses. I’m sick of your groveling apologies, of your feeble attempts to make up for all the crap you've done and put us - me! - through.” She sighed and shook her head, voice trembling but steadfast in it’s conviction. “I know your choices haunt you, Severus, but that’s not on me. Leave them - leave Voldemort, fight with us if you want a better life or a free conscience - but don’t come to me again. I don’t want to see you anymore.” Lily looked at Snape a last time before turning, picking up her son, and marching down the long hallway that led to her bedroom. Sirius saw Snape begin to tremble, saw the breaths fail to come forward, but he hardly had time to acknowledge what was going on before James clumsily shoved the door shut.
The mood turned tense. Sirius could hear Lily’s anger through the thin walls of the house, her anger releasing itself through harsh motions and bitter grunts. The sound of a pillow thrown against the wall, the muffled thump of a book roughly shoved back into its place on the shelf. An aggravated, sarcastic laugh as she muttered thoughts to no one other than herself.
Sirius exchanged a glance with James before gathering his things, preparing to return to his home. “Give Lily my best, will you?” Sirius said, looking down as he walked out the door. James nodded, but Sirius could tell his mind had pulled away from it’s dock, the wind pulling it to a distant island of deep contemplation and thoughtfulness.
The air had been chilly before, but it had transformed into a sour, unfriendly cold when Sirius stepped out the door. He could hear the crunch of dried mud under the soles of his worn boots, could smell the sharp tang in the air that always signaled a coming snow. He thoroughly regretted not having brought a sweater or jacket as the cold bit into his hands, gnawing at his exposed ankles and his nose, which had been left barren to the ruthless wind.
Sirius focused on a warming spell. While he took pleasure in the comforts of muggle ways of warmth - blankets, sweaters, and heaters even - he had long since mastered how to fill himself with the magical sort. The spell covered his entirety, cloaking him in a sea of heat. The sensation traveled along his arms, crawling from his chest down into the heels of his feet until every inch of his skin felt like it had been warming underneath the summer sun for days.
It took Sirius a moment to hear the soft cries that emitted from a few feet away, but once they became distinguishable he picked up his pace, realising that the shallow whimpers were that of someone in pain. He listened intently, trying to follow the sporadic moans. He rounded the corner, turning into an old alleyway towards Snape’s unmistakable form.
Snape hunched over, his back towards Sirius, who found himself filled with exasperation - Snape demanded pity and attention, when he didn’t even deserve a glance from Sirius. As Sirius couldn’t see anything wrong with him, he almost dismissed the man, sure he was crying over his failures in life. Snape was strong enough to take care of himself; there was no doubt in Sirius’s mind that he knew the same warming spells he had just cast upon himself.
Indeed, Sirius nearly ignored the man, nearly turned his back and prepared to Apparate away with a crack to the ledge just outside the door of his flat, but suddenly he caught sight of Snape, of a sharp flash of ruby contrasted with porcelain skin. His eyes hooked on Snape’s thin fingers, holding a wand that he traced down the lines of his neck, whines of distress softly accompanying the motion. A very unusual movement, almost resembling a part of some dark magic ritual, Sirius thought, until he saw the pool of liquid garnets that spilled across and from Snape’s hands, falling across the pavement and seeping into the cracks of the alley floor as they pooled from the man’s robes.
Sirius spun himself around and rushed towards Snape, harshly pulling his shoulder back. Thin scarlet lines tore across the map of his skin, each producing their own river of blood. A deep gash mangled one of his thighs and his wrists bore extensive lacerations.
Sirius’s breath caught. He lost himself to shock, to shame and to incomprehension. He attempted to absorb the sight, to understand what was going on, the reasons behind Snape’s seemingly rash actions.
Sirius swallowed, sure now of what Snape had been trying to do. His hands quivered as he bent down and spoke to the trembling, dying man. Snape’s vacant eyes distracted him. They were unfocused, lacking their usual strength and indignation.
“Okay, okay.” Sirius’s voice wavered. “God, oh God.” Sirius quickly slipped the wand from between Snape’s thin fingers. It scared him that Snape didn’t fight back. The dynamics of this interaction were so far from those of their usual hostile exchanges that Sirius found himself losing sight of the hatred he commonly thrust against the man. He looped one of his arms under the man’s legs, wrapping his other under Snape’s back.
“Can you hold onto my neck? Just - I’ll take you to Dumbledore.” Sirius repositioned the man so that Snape’s bony hips wouldn’t dig into his stomach. “Fuck Snivelly, why the hell would you do this?
“Black?” Snape mumbled, confused. He blinked his eyes in an attempt to clear his vision. Sirius didn’t know what to say. His mind spun.
Sirius nearly dropped the gaunt man when Snape started struggling against him. The motions were weak but they came as a surprise after Snape’s tame manner.
“Stop… Black, no - you can’t -” Snape stopped and titled his head to the side, vomiting onto the pavement below. Sirius staggered back, moving away from the bile.
“Well. Jesus, you’re really in shit shape,” Sirius murmured, trying to sound casual though his heart raced.
“Let… me - Black you can’t - can’t - stop, stop . I - you, please - stop -,” Snape stammered.
“God, Snivels, could you just shut the fuck up? I’m carrying - I’m saving your miserable ass here and you tell me to stop ?” Sirius scoffed, but peered worriedly down at the man he held awkwardly in his arms. His tone softened, “I know you might think me heartless, but I’d never just let you die.”
Sirius nearly fell forward as he stumbled on the loose cobblestones. He should have thought earlier to simply Apparated away with Snape, and now he couldn’t reach his wand. Putting Snape back down would be more trouble than it was worth, plus he had never managed to master transporting others as many of his peers had.
“Dumble… No… Stop, he can’t... know. Bad...choices… die and hurt and Black, oh,” Snape began to murmur words. The phrases were incoherent, but Sirius managed to piece together enough. His gut told him to trust the feeble man; Snape clearly had demons he didn’t understand.
As Snape leaned over to throw up again, Sirius broke into a trot, moving as fast as he could towards his apartment.
“Lily - kids… Mmm friends, good now bad ahh hurt with - and fearing death. Me… well hurt... all see, yes.” Severus struggled to push his words out. Sirius nodded to him.
Severus began to sob. “All fault - All my fault. Just gone, please… pleases. Father - stop, pleaseithurts. You don’t underst-” Severus gasped for air. Sirius began to panic, if Severus died he wouldn’t know how to explain it. The guilt would haunt him forever.
“Okay, okay Snivels just hang in there. I can see my flat. Yeah.” Sirius paused to grasp Snape’s hand. He gave it a little squeeze before shaking his head and hurrying on.
Sirius finally reached the door to his flat. He unlocked it with a quick spell under his breath. Snape still tried to converse with him, or perhaps with someone who wasn’t present.
“Mum, it hurts - Make it stop, please, please.” Snape’s eyes filled with madness. “PLEASE I- NO- I didn’t.” The utterances seemed to get caught in his throat. He could no longer push them out.
Sirius set Snape down onto his bed and pulled out his wand. He began to murmur healing spells, tracing the wounds Snape had created. He was thankful that Regulus had spent the time to teach him such basic yet important skills. He wondered where his brother was now.
As soon as Sirius began to heal the lacerations, Snape began to bawl. The shreeks filled the flat, and Sirius paused, wondering if he was further hurting the man.
“Snivels, please, calm down.” Sirius heard his voice trembling. “I’m going to close the cuts then, now, okay? It’s going to hurt, but you’ll feel better soon. Or at least eventually.”
Severus didn’t have much strength to move, but he resisted Sirius’s help as much as he could. Sirius pushed forward, ignoring the tears that bordered his eyes.
“Regulus taught me how to Heal. He used to say he was going to be a Healer. Yeah. He was a Slytherin, you know, maybe you ran into him?” Sirius tried to cover the sobs with his words. He hoped they would provide Snape with some comfort. “I left home when I was 15, I left Regulus, but my mom used to talk to me whenever she was tending to my injuries. She would -”
Sirius paused, the words clogged in his throat like hair in a bathtub. The affection his mother had shown him had been sparse. It felt almost sinful to speak of.
“Anyway, James’s parents were much kinder. They wouldn’t let Bella - Bellatrix, my cousin? They wouldn’t let her in when she showed up, trying to get me to return home. They were the family I never had, I guess.”
Sirius felt his cheeks flush. It was uncomfortable talking about his past to Snape, even if he doubted the man was lucid enough to comprehend his words. He made himself continue, whether for himself or for Snape he wasn’t sure.
“Bella was always very… Well, extreme, to put it lightly. When she heard I ran away from the family she freaked out. I think that’s why she joined your little cult.” Sirius looked down. He had never admitted that he blamed himself for Bellatrix’s turning.
Sirius was almost finished closing the wounds. He had only the large gash on Snape’s stomach left to tend to. The blood had begun to clot, and Sirius left the room to fetch a warm rag. When he returned, the bed was empty. At first he believed that Snape had fled, but soon realised that the man would not have had enough strength. He took a few more paces, peering over the side of the bed onto the floor.
Snape lay crumpled on the wooden parquetry, like a discarded paper filled with incorrect notes. Sirius wanted to cry - the man looked so frail, so weak. So exhausted, broken by tragedy and the horrors of the world.
Sirius pushed the sentiments to the back of his head, forcing the emotions to float outside of his body. He needed to concentrate as he heaved Snape up once more and placed the man onto the bed. He pressed the cloth into the layers of Snape’s skin, trying to clean it, to wipe the clotted blood away.
He felt another tear slide down the smooth skin of his cheek.
“Fuck, Snape,” Sirius began, knowing fully well he didn’t truly mean the words. “Why the hell am I taking care of you? Bitch. I should have left you in the cold.”
Sirius gulped down guilt; the remark felt wrong. Snape’s vulnerability, as well as his own, unmoored him. Sirius had said things to the man that he had previously hardly admitted to himself.
He finished dressing Snape’s wounds, wrapping a soft piece of gauze around the thinnest part of the man’s stomach. He looked up hoping for some variation of thank you, but Snape had fallen asleep.
Sirius took the opportunity to cook himself some dinner - baked chicken and pasta with a fresh tomato sauce he prepared himself. He smiled as he remembered his Aunt teaching him how to carefully cut the stalks of chives, to mince garlic and sauteé onions. He recalled her laughter as she taught him which spices went together and tried to explain that not everything needed to be doused in salt. Sirius never had the innate instincts for cooking that ran through his family’s bloodline, but he could manage well enough.
He grumbled to himself as he set aside a portion of the meal for Snape. Sirius didn’t expect the man would be staying with him long - only until he figured out what to do, who to tell - but he was sure Snape would be starving when he woke. He’d noted earlier how loosely his skin hung from his bones, his figure too lanky to be healthy.
Sirius poured himself a full glass of whiskey and went to eat next to Snape. He figured it would be wise to watch over him, to make sure that he didn’t attempt another escape.
The room was quiet, the clanking of his fork against the porcelain bowl echoing through the blank air. The only other sound that of Snape’s breathing, an orchestra of raspy and strained sounds that occasionally broke the quietude.
Sirius had nothing better to do than to observe the strange man he had saved, to ponder Snape’s choices. His long hair matted on his forehead, a blanket of sweat spreading across his pale skin. His legs bent at odd angles, so much so that Sirius had to resist the urge to straighten them.
The jumbled words that had trickled from Snape’s mouth on the way returned to Sirius and he dug his nails into the palm of his free hand. Snape had spoken of Lily, of death and danger. His words created a cloud of fear and mistrust that Sirius found himself unable to shake. The man had spoken of his father, and spoken directly to his mother, the relevance of which Sirius didn’t understand. There were, in fact, many things he did not understand.
When Sirius finished his meal, he brought his bowl and utensils to his kitchen, lathering them with soap and water before placing them in a rack to dry. Exhaustion seeped through him, so he began to prepare himself for bed.
Sirius stepped into the shower. Hot droplets of water traced the curves of his muscles as he ran his fingers through the strands of his wet hair, trying fervently to wash away the events of the day. He breathed in the smell of artificial rain and daffodils, the scent of the sweet soap he washed his body with, before turning the water off at last and stepping into his apartment’s dry air. When he stepped out into his bedroom, Sirius sighed. Never had he planned on sharing his bed with his sworn nemesis.
Sirius tried to gently nudge Snape over, carefully so as not to undo any of the Healing spells he had cast earlier. He pulled a heavy blanket around the man’s shoulders and laid down beside him, cursing as he did so. Sirius pulled his silken covers up to his neck and let sleep consume his entirety.