Part II
Sirius stiffened as soon as he woke. It had been nearly a week since he found Snape in the ally, yet they had hardly spoken to one another. Sirius spent his time soundlessly cooking and cleaning, and though he wasn’t thrilled to act like a housewife, he took a minimal amount of pride in the small acts of care. Snape slept practically without cease. He drifted in and out of a deep slumber, and when his eyes opened, they were unfocused and confused.
Sirius turned himself over. He slept with his back to Snape, not wanting to admit to himself that he shared a bed with him again and again. He could have slept on the couch, but to do so would be to say that Snape had a superiority over him, in his own home. Clearly there was no way Snape would recover if he was shifted onto the small couch, so Sirius had determined that sleeping next to one another was the only solution. He was appreciative of Snape’s lack of complaints.
A vile smell hung in the air, and Sirius realised Snape had vomited once more. The man had been doing so less and less, but it always caught Sirius off guard. He would clean the mess with cleaning spells, not wanting to have to reposition Snape.
This time, however, the bile mixed with blood Snape hacked up, the frame of his body shaking and convulsing. He looked like a hanger being pulled from the closet, ensnarled in the others as it was tugged loose from between different clothes.
“Shit, shit,” Sirius whispered, not knowing what to do. “Oh man, Snivels - shit, can you breathe?”
Sirius reluctantly placed his hand on Snape’s back, trying to steady the man. The shirt he had placed the man in the night before was soaked with sweat, and Sirius realised that Snape must have thrown up in the night.
“Okay, okay, yeah keep - good, breathing, like that. Yeah, that's a little better.” Sirius brought his other arm around the man’s waist and pulled Snape's body against his own. The man was nearly limp, but his backbone dug angrily into Sirius’s chest. He ignored the discomfort, focusing instead on calming Snape.
“Stop-,” Snape tried to speak but he entered another fit of racking coughs.
“Shh, don’t talk, okay? Just try to breathe, and don’t cough. If you can.” Sirius was still unsure of what to be saying to the man. He didn’t know how to help him recover his strength, how to stop him from coughing up all of his own blood.
“Stop touching me,” Snape stammered between gasps of air. “Get your fucking arms off of me, Black.”
“Right, that’s going to really help,” Sirius replied, annoyance threatening to break his determination to help Snape.
“Dammit, Black, I mean it,” Severus grunted before coughing again, choking on the bile in his throat. He jerked forward and the tips of Sirius’s fingers pressed against the violently contracting muscles in Snape’s stomach. The man retched again, and Sirius pulled away, propping Snape up onto a stack of pillows. He tried to calm himself as he fetched his wand from his end table, absentmindedly flicking it towards Snape to clean what he could. Certain things had become habitual, a part of a routine he tried to follow as he cleaned and dealt with Snape. He leaned back over the large bed to press the back of his hand against Snape’s forehead.
The man wasn’t burning up, the fever that coursed through his veins subsided. Sirius was grateful for that, at least. If Snape didn’t make any more progress, he felt he would have no choice but to bring him to the healers.
He had resisted from doing so so far, knowing the man would be sent directly to Azkaban after treatment. Voldemort’s branding methods limited Sirius’s options if he didn’t want Snape to suffer that fate.
He rushed into his kitchen again, damping and pressing ice into the folds of a cloth.
Sirius returned to the bedroom and began to pat the cold rag across Snape’s skin. Snape flinched at the sudden coldness.
“Shh, it’s okay baby, this is going to help you.” Baby? Sirius heard the word eject itself from his mouth, but he elected to ignore it. Chances were Snape wasn’t listening to a word he was saying.
His heart pounded through his chest, but he continued to draw the cloth across Snape’s pale skin. The ice had long melted but the rag was still cool. Sirius folded it and placed it on Snape’s forehead.
Snape’s breathing steadied and he laid back, his fists balled into tight fists.
“Baby?” Snape remarked weekly, trying to suppress the shiver that passed across him.
“Bastard.” Sirius spat, but his cheeks flushed. He turned away and messed with a pile of towels as he tried to think of what to do next. He turned to face Snape asking, “Are you thirsty? Hungry?”
“I don’t want to eat,” Snape replied, averting his eyes.
“Are you fucking hungry?” Sirius repeated, tired of Snape's indifference to his health.
Snape was silent. He didn’t look at Sirius.
“Are you hungry or what? I will hurt you if you don’t fucking respond.” Sirius was angry, throwing the words roughly at Snape.
“Please,” Snape whispered. “You should have left me to die.”
Sirius froze. Time seemed to suspend itself as he stood glued to the spot, biting his bottom lip and staring at Snape. He couldn’t respond to that.
“You need a shower,” Sirius said finally, moving towards Snape. “The cleaning spells only do so much, and it’s been a week.”
“I can’t. Black, I hate to break it to you, but I don’t see myself being able to stand that long.” Snape wouldn’t meet Sirius’s eyes. His body was shivering and Sirius could see through the man’s thin shirt that his muscles wouldn’t stop spasming.
“Fuck, Snape, don’t you think I’m aware?” Sirius snapped. Redness seeped into his cheeks. “If I get you into the shower can you wash yourself? You can sit or something.”
“I need water,” Snape replied, ignoring Sirius’s question. “To drink, I mean.”
“If I leave you here are you going to try and leave or - you know, hurt yourself?” Sirius glared at the man, but he knew he needed to be careful leaving Snape alone.
“Probably,” Snape replied with a shrug, but before Sirius could argue, the coughing returned. Sirius realised that the man’s request for a drink was earnest and rushed out of the room, filling a tall glass with cool water. Sirius returned and held the glass to Snape’s lips, willing him to drink. Snape drained the glass quickly, downed a second, then gasped for a breath. He curtly nodded his thanks.
Sirius approached Snape, looking at him timidly.
“Your shirt off,” He said, glancing away.
Snape smirked as he pulled the thin fabric over his head. Once his chest was bare and exposed though, his confidence seemed to falter. He crossed his arms awkwardly, trying to cover his exposed skin.
Sirius took in the man: his ribs poked through his pale skin, sharply contrasting with the dark hair that lined his lower stomach. He wasn’t attractive by any means, but Sirius didn’t want to look away.
Snape eventually moved his hands to the edge of his trousers, and Sirius stared at the scars that tattooed the man’s chest. The first night Sirius had been too busy trying to stop the bleeding to have noticed them. The scars were angular, a set of thin white lines that suggested Severus had been harming himself far longer than just in the ally. They continued down from his shoulders to his wrists, the number of lines increasing the longer Sirius looked.
“Don’t.” Snape practically snarled. Sirius could see the pain in his eyes, so he didn’t ask about any of the markings. Sirius noticed that Snape’s hands hadn’t moved past the buttons of his pants. He wished the man would hurry up so that they could move on from the terrible awkwardness of the situation.
“Bring me to your washing room first. I don’t see why I need to undress here rather than there.” Snape’s voice was softer than before, the words scratching the edges of the room rather than tearing a gash through its middle. Sirius wasn’t in the mood to argue, though to him it made sense to spend as little time on the bathroom floor as possible. He slipped an arm against Snape’s back, supporting him as they walked to the shower. He ignored how smooth Snape’s back was, how the skin felt like chilled ceramic.
Sirius was scared to leave Snape alone in the shower, so he left the door cracked open as he left to clean the bedroom and warm them some breakfast.
He cracked four eggs open into his favorite red pan, absentmindedly adding shredded parmesan and thyme, the way the family cook always used to prepare them. Sirius buttered slices of sourdough and halved the strawberries he had bought at the muggle farmer’s market the day before yesterday. He split the food onto two plates which he placed across from one another at his small coffee table, beginning to spoon his breakfast into his mouth as he pondered what had driven Snape to such drastic measures.
His thoughts were broken when Snape stumbled out of the bathroom, his hand raw as it gripped the wall. His other hand held a towel around his body. Snape’s hair hung in dripping waves, the dark strands framing his face.
“Where did you put my clothes?” He mumbled angrily. His frown lessened slightly at the sight of food.
“Trash,” Sirius replied between bites, looking up as if it were the obvious choice.
Snape didn’t look angry, didn’t look threatening as he usually did. He looked as if he was going to burst into tears any moment.
“Some of us don’t have money to throw around,” He spat, the hurt in his voice carrying across the room.
“You can borrow my clothes.” Sirius looked at Snape curiously, “You really wanted to keep the tattered robes you tried to kill yourself in? Have you forgotten that they’re covered in your own blood and vomit or-”
“Fine,” Snape grumbled, waiting expectantly for Sirius to procure something for him to put on.
“Are you going to insist upon robes or can I give you something more comfortable?”
“Anything, just hurry up Black. Your flat is fucking freezing.”
Suddenly, Sirius felt bad. Snape looked like he was struggling to stand, and knowing that the man was cold despite having taken a hot shower sent guilt running through him.
Sirius stood, instinctively sliding his arm around Snape’s back as he walked back into his bedroom to procure a clean set of clothes. He sat the man onto the newly made bed as he reached into his armoire. Sirius pulled out a pair of light pink sweatpants and the smallest t-shirt he could find, handing them to Snape with a gentle smirk.
He heard Snape’s sighs of protest as he left the room, leaving the other man to change.
“Do they fit?” Sirius called to him, tone hinting at amusement. “They’re the smallest I have. You’re smaller than me, you know.”
Snape grunted in ascension, which Sirius took as his cue to re-enter the room. He picked Snape up and brought him to the coffee table, sitting the man in the chair opposite his own.
“Food should still be hot,” Sirius informed Snape as he gestured to the plate of food. "Warming spells."
The pair ate in stiff silence, neither having anything to say to the other for a long while. When Snape had cleared his plate he cleared his throat, and Sirius looked up, suddenly alert.
“You can cook.” Snape remarked; it was less of a complement and more of a question.
Sirius shrugged. “My Aunt loved to. She tried to teach me.” He didn’t feel like elaborating further.
Sirius felt grateful that Snape did not push the conversation further. They sat awkwardly together, unsure of what to do. Sirius didn’t want to leave Snape alone as he feared he would never see him alive again.
“She didn’t join the Dark Lord because of you,” Severus said, interrupting the silence. “Bellatrix.”
Sirius looked up, startled. He hadn’t realised that Snape would know his eldest cousin.
“What? How do you-” Sirius began, but Snape cut him off.
“You spoke of her that night.”
Sirius was silent for a moment. “How do you know that? That it wasn’t my fault?”
“That is not of your concern,” He said sharply. After a moment’s pause though, he continued. “She joined to protect Regulus. Got addicted to the power. She realised it was the only way she would be able to amount to anything.”
Hearing his brother’s name sent a stab through Sirius’s heart.
“Wait, what does Reggie have to do with any of this?”
Snape looked genuinely sad as he peered into Sirius’s eyes. “He joined the Dark Lord too. Almost a year ago.”
Sirius felt the world stop. Guilt threatened to choke him, but needed to know more.
“Is he safe then? Is he going to be okay - can I get him away?”
“No, I don’t think so. Your brother joined by choice.”
“As opposed to?” Sirius was annoyed, angry, scared. In truth, he wasn’t sure what to feel.
“Obligation,” Snape voiced, staring directly into Sirius's eyes.
The heavy silence felt inescapable. It seemed to accompany their every move, to invade any and every conversation. It would take control of the room, smothering the two men.
“Why did you?” Sirius questioned the man across from him, suddenly desperate to know what had driven Snape to such an extreme. He needed to understand his brother. “Why did you join, you know, him?”
“Voldemort.” Snape seethed. He looked directly at Sirius when he spoke again, his voice stronger than should have been possible. “His name is Voldemort. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself, you know. You and the headmaster and the rest of your gang are only increasing his power when you don’t speak the name.”
Sirius nodded, secretly admiring Snape's confidence. He wished he was brave enough to say the name. He vowed to do so in the future.
“To get away,” Snape whispered, after a moment. He didn’t provide any context.
Sirius stood after another long moment of stillness, walking over to the oak desk in the corner. He pulled a fresh roll of parchment and a quill from a small drawer on the left before sitting back down across from Snape, his brow furrowed and mind bent with new determination.
“Who are you writing to?” Snape inquired.
“Minerva,” replied Sirius. “She’ll know what to do with you.”
Snape tensed. His fists clenched, but whether in fear or anger Sirius was unsure.
“Don’t. Black - stop, you can’t.” The words tumbled out of Snape’s mouth, and Sirius put his quill down with a sigh.
“You already said I couldn’t take you to Dumbledore. Now Minerva’s a danger too?”
“Minerva would be the one in danger.”
“Care to elaborate?”
“Anyone who’s around me is at risk. The Dark Lord is surely looking for me, and if he finds whoever is keeping me… He won’t treat them kindly.”
“Right, you’re surely invaluable. Precious ‘Dark Lord’ got his panties in a bunch because of how much he misses you?” Sirius sneered. He hated Snape’s sense of self-importance.
“Precisely.” Snape had an irritating way of waiting for Sirius to guess what he meant, of leaving Sirius to fill in the gaps in his own understanding.
“You’re important then, is that it?” Sirius voiced.
“Precisely,” repeated Snape.
“And what exactly puts you in such an irreplaceable position then?”
“Potions. You might recall, I’m better than most.”
“Snape if you don’t want me to send my damn letter you better give me a reason to believe you. There’s something wrong - broken, with you, something you need help with. Give me half a reason not to drop your goddamn arse off at the nearest mental hospital.” Sirius was tired of Snape’s games, of the incomplete answers and discontinued conversations.
“What makes you think I wouldn’t just… break everyone there and walk away, fully intent on living my life as I please? I’m sure your perfect little Pureblood self-”
“I’m not.” Sirius fumed. “I could care less about all that bloodline bullshit.”
“I’m sure you think less of me, Black - whatever your reasons may be - but magic courses through my veins just as it does yours.”
“No wand though,” Sirius retorted. Snape looked at him quietly, reading into his thoughts.
Snape tilted his chin upwards, a taunting smile pulling at his lips. He narrowed his eyes, and Sirius’s glass shattered. The windows began to shake, an invisible force pressuring them to crack. Snape’s eyes continued to bore into Sirius, cutting through the layers of his clothes.
“Stop - Jesus - how are you doing that?” Sirius started to panic. He already knew Snape didn’t have the limits of a normal man. A single shard of glass from the broken glass rose into the air. It danced in the air around Sirius, who backed away in fear and confusion.
“Fine, you made your point. Stop it - fuck, put it down. You can stay here, that’s fine. I promise I won’t - uhh - that. Won’t send her the letter.” Sirius hated how shill, how frantic his voice sounded as it bounded through the air.
“I’m not staying here,” Snape smirked as he let the atmosphere return to normal. “I’ll leave at sundown. I’d sooner burn your house to the ground than sleep in your bed another night.”
Sirius laughed, knowing fully well Snape hadn’t meant it as a joke. He chose to ignore it, knowing that once he retrieved his wand he would be able to keep Snape safely inside.