Part III
“Teach me,” Sirius smirked. He knew he was a fast learner, and wanted to know desperately how Snape could do magic of such intensity without an object for the magic to flow through, without even parting his lips.
“Excuse me?” Snape said in response, fully aware of what Sirius wanted to learn.
Sirius leaned across the table, incredulously breathing his request again to the man across him. “How you can do that. Without a wand. I want you to teach me.”
“Bastard,” Snape rejoined. “Arrogant as always. You think you can learn in an hour? A day?”
“Don’t know how long it’ll take, no. Neither do you, as it would seem, but I want to start.”
Snape paused, considering the request. “An hour, Black. I’ll teach you for an hour and if you’ve made sufficient progress, another hour tomorrow.”
A smile broke out across Sirius’s face, but he felt Snape shy away from it. His bursts of open enthusiasm had always shocked Remus, too, though he still couldn't fathom why. The door to the bedroom slammed shut, and Sirius jumped in his seat. Snape’s mood seemed to improve as he realised that he could shock and scare Sirius without moving a muscle of his own.
“Concentrate, Black,” Snape drawled.
Sirius could feel annoyance rising through him. Already Snape’s lack of precise explanations, his expectant attitude, his assuming nature that Sirius would know what to do and how to do it with little guidance, were grating on his nerves. He liked having people tell him what to do, directly and with little to no room for personal interpretation.
“You’ve gotta tell me what to concentrate on. I’ve noted that there are many things in the room, as a matter of fact,” Sirius said slowly, acting as if Snape was a toddler that had trouble understanding the words. “See there, a book! The table, a chair, the feeling of my shirt, your dirty-”
“Whatever you want. You first need to learn to not let the outside world break your mindset - you don’t want to be distracted,” Snape cut in. “That’s the first step; you’ll need that mastered before you’ll be able to control movements other than your own.”
Sirius stared into the distance for a moment, waiting for Snape to tell him that his concentration was sufficiently steady. As a child, he had read novels for hours on end, stuck in the trance the words would put him in. He could remember his mother yelling to him from her bedroom, asking for ice to ease her headaches perhaps, her words not registering in his head though the sound was indeed absorbed.
He figured this counted as a form of concentration, a focus that neither sound nor movement could disrupt. Sirius tried to tap into such memories, to enter that frame of mind. He recalled the way sounds would fade to the background, how it felt to be in a world of his own where there was no pain, no duty, no bloodlines he was expected to continue.
Snape’s words punctuated the silence, bounding off of the walls that surrounded Sirius’s consciousness. Severus raised a piece of the shattered glass into the air, circling Sirius and brushing against the tender skin on the back of his neck. His concentration abruptly broken, Sirius flinched as the glass drew a fine line of blood.
“What the hell was that for?” Sirius demanded, annoyed that Snape had broken through the bubble of focus he had created for himself. The man only shrugged, unfazed and unimpressed by the level of skill Sirius was sure he possessed.
“Again.” Snape’s monotonous voice filled the room, pushing its way into Sirius’s head.
“Why? I already know how to concentrate, I don’t want to do that anymore.”
“You broke your focus when you sensed danger. When you sense danger, that’s the moment you need it to be strongest; how else are you supposed to defend yourself?”
Sirius grunted in ascent, pretending at contempt and disagreement, though in truth he was impressed with Snape’s suggestions and way of thinking. It made sense - Sirius would most need the skill of concentration when he was threatened or placed in mortal peril.
He thought back to his childhood, to when he would feel alone, to when his body felt hollow from lack of recognition and he built walls to protect himself from the words that shattered any hope of being loved. He remembered his father shouting from outside his door, though back to the muffled sounds of his brother sobbing in the adjacent room, to his mother who looked at him as though he were nothing more than a vessel for future spawn, so he could remind himself of why he had learned to shut out the world in the first place. He let go of the control he liked to have on the spaces around him. He didn’t hear Snape’s words, whether they may have been helpful or cautionary he would never know. When he felt the glass cutting across the palm of his hand he didn’t wince in discomfort, didn’t cry out or react in any way at all.
When Sirius was certain he had held his focus long enough, he pulled himself out of the trance, turning himself so that he faced Snape and could stare directly into the man’s fathomless eyes. He broke the gaze to look down at his hand, at the fiery throbbing that coursed across it.
“Heal it,” Snape murmured, intrigued by how well Sirius was doing already. “Focus on your skin, on how it was broken, and how you want it to be repaired. Imagine your blood retreating back into your veins, reversing the process.”
Sirius looked back up at Snape, surprised by the clarity in his words. He let himself slip back into nothingness, into a realm where neither pain nor laughter had a strong role. He tried to do as Snape had said, to see the bruising skin as an object that he could repair with his mind. Sirius could visualise the healing, could picture how the red droplets of blood would look as they crawled back inside him, but nothing would happen. Impatience surfaced and he broke his concentration to snap at Snape.
“This doesn't work, you realise? Are you fucking with me here, trying to get me to embarass myself by believing your foolish words? Merlin, Snape, I actually thought you weren't being an arse for once.”
“It’s not a joke, you’re just not doing it right. It’ll take time. And lots of patience for that matter. You really can’t keep expecting to master things on your first go. Took me nearly a month to even get self-healing down, much less control of others.”
“How do you fucking expect me to get it in an hour then?” Sirius demanded angrily.
“I don’t.” Snape said, peering at him with a strange mix of curiosity and exasperation. “You’ve progressed today. You can keep attempting to heal yourself, or I can do it for you.”
Sirius stretched his hand out towards the other man, willing him to fix the damage he had done. He watched intently as the skin began to mend itself, as the blood drew itself away until there was none left. The only sign that there had ever been any cuts at all were a pair of faint white lines, nearly invisible against the fair skin of his palms.
Something in the back of his mind realised that he had seen the faint scars somewhere before, when he hadn’t been able to focus on them. Sirius dismissed the thought, busy marveling how Snape had healed his wound so quickly and effortlessly.
“You could easily have saved yourself,” Sirius began, “couldn’t you?”
Snape averted his gaze, not wishing to answer any further questions. Sirius could tell his interrogations were far from appreciated, but he felt it was his responsibility to continue.
“Why were you going to-” Sirius paused and frowned. He didn’t know why the words were sticking to the walls of his throat like honey, coating it so he couldn’t speak with his usual ease.
“He’s hunting them. He’s going to kill them, because of me.” Snape had mastered the art of speaking words so low that Sirius had to lean in to hear him. He saw Snape’s hand clenching, the knuckles digging into the wood of the table, and had the sudden urge to hold it.
Sirius reached across the table and placed his hand gently on Snape’s. When the man didn’t pull away, he tried to get the fingers to relax their grip on one another. He tentatively brushed his thumb across the soft skin of Snape’s palm, trying to let him know that he was safe to open up. Sirius didn’t speak, instead choosing to let Snape choose how much he wanted to divulge.
“There was a prophecy,” Snape began slowly, “I overheard it. It was being spoken to Dumbledore, and I was passing by the door when the delivery began. I heard what it said. The prophecy spoke of the Dark Lord, saying that there would be a boy who could defeat him. I reported to him. I told him everything I had heard, that the boy would be born in late June and he thinks it means the son of Lily and James Potter. That’s why I was at their home again, I needed to warn them.”
Sirius’s grip had tightened on Snape’s hand, but when the man tried to pull away, he held it firmly. He tried to let go of his anger, knowing it wouldn’t help him to understand.
“I’m sorry, please continue,” Sirius assured.
Snape’s breathing had become less steady, so Sirius gave the hand another squeeze. He wasn’t sure why he pitied the man, other than that he could see the grief and regret that haunted his features. He knew Snape was in a very fragile state, and did not want to do anything that could send him into another suicidal rage.
“Don't you understand? Lily and Potter are going to die because of me. I don’t deserve to live. And I just - I simply cannot do this anymore."
Sirius felt a spike of fear for James, for the family he had never truly had, drive itself into his heart, but he tried to remind himself that Snape was trying to make it better. That Dumbledore would be able to help him, would be able to protect his friends. Everything would be alright. It would have to be.
Sirius couldn’t respond, though. He couldn't assure Snape that everything would be alright, though there was a nagging part of him that insisted it would never be. He was unable to ask Snape to continue, to explain, though he was sure there was more to the man’s story. One mistake wouldn't have driven the man over the edge, wouldn't have led him into such trenches of despair. Sirius knew that there was much more than what Snape had let on, but he chose not to press. He hoped Snape would feel able to confide in him eventually.
The day drew on, silence stretched between them like a string pulled taught. Tension dusted through the room, brushing up against and startling them at times, but neither broke their determined ignorance of the other. Sirius pulled an old novel from his shelf and read, trying to take in the meaning of each word, every phrase, though his mind was clearly elsewhere. His gaze continued straying from the page, sneaking childish glances at Snape, who sat stiffly in an armchair across the room. He was writing furiously in a small leather book, his quill scratching against the paper the only sound in the room.
Sirius could feel curiosity inside him, a rock stuck in his stomach weighing him down. He wanted to pry Snape open with his words, to understand him. For the first time in his life, he could see the man as something more than a Slytherin, other than someone who found joy and pleasure in hurting others. He found himself wondering what had led him to hate Snape so ferociously, why he hadn’t seen through the man’s layers of stony protection before. He wondered how he’d never seen the subtle beauty in the man’s sharp features. The curve of his cheek as it met his jaw, the long strands of raven hair that fell so simply around his forehead, obscuring the tender darkness of his eyes.
“Why are you staring?” Snape’s velvety voice filled the room, washing over Sirius and coating the air with something rich and intoxicating. Sirius wanted to breathe it in, to have the sensation fill him up more than it already did. He struggled to process the words, hearing only the cadence of Snape’s voice as it reverberated through him.
“What - I’m not. Why would I want to look at your ugly face any longer than necessary? It’s enough of a displeasure to have you sitting across from me, startling me everytime I look up, you know.” Sirius heard the insult spill from his mouth before he could stop it. He regretted it almost as soon as he had finished, horror driving into him as he saw the hurt, the that fell into the well of Snape’s eyes.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t -,” Sirius began.
“Save it, Black. I’ll remember that the next time I feel your eyes boring into me.” Snape paused, briefly. “I don’t need your pity or your remorse, just because you think I’m fragile and ready to crack.”
“Oddly specific,” Sirius remarked, nearly smiling.
Snape didn’t smile, only looking back down at his work. As the sound of Snape’s thoughts flowing onto the paper resumed, Sirius couldn’t help his disappointment. He regretted his words, missed the way the corner of Snape’s mouth would lift itself as the man suppressed a smile.
If Sirius was free to do as he pleased without fear of judgement, he would continue to look at the man, deciphering him and all of his secrets. He would stare into those endless eyes until the sun set and darkness fell, the warm ceiling lights casting shadows across the room. He would stand, would approach him and seat himself in the empty space of the armchair, so close that he would feel Snape’s bones digging into his thighs, his stomach. He would wrap his arms around the man, giving in to the sudden urge to protect and comfort him. He would let Snape bury his pointed nose into the crook of his neck, expecting him to sob. He would let him release the emotions he so clearly repressed, would pat his back and suppress his guilt for his part in the man’s misery.
But Sirius wouldn’t do as he pleased, and judgement suffocated them both as they sat in the uncomfortable silence they created for themselves, neither expressing any of what they had to say. When the sun set, Sirius indeed stood, ignoring Snape and moving into his kitchen. He proceeded to pull beans and fresh vegetables from his fridge, setting them on his counter, where he would chop them before placing them in a skillet and steaming them so that they would be tender and easy to chew. He measured rice and water, combining them into a small pot that he placed onto the back burner of his stove.
The kitchen wasn’t large, nor was it cramped in any way. He hummed to himself softly as he minced garlic, peering occasionally through the archway that separated the living room from where he stood. Snape had hardly moved all day, so Sirius made the assumption that the man was still in great pain.
As their meal was simmering softly, he approached the man with one of his many luxuriously large blankets. Sirius had noted that Snape had changed his position twice, each appearing as an attempt to contain the feeble warmth his body emitted.
“You looked cold," he mumbled as he returned to his kitchen. He almost thought he heard Snape voice his thanks, but ended up sure that he had only imagined it.
He finished cooking the meal, plating rice and vegetables and the seasoned beans. He brought Snape his dish, sitting back into the armchair across from the man. He rarely ate away from the table, but Snape had pulled the blanket tight around himself, looking too comfortable to disturb.
Neither spoke, having little to say to the other.
Finally, Sirius couldn’t help himself. His desperation to liberate himself of the guilt that drowned him overtook the portion of his mind that tried to convince him he didn’t deserve forgiveness.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, for everything we did to you. Everything I did to you,” Sirius said, the words sliding foreignly from the space between his lips.
“Impressive, Black,” Snape said emotionlessly. He gave no indication of accepting the apology.
“I really mean it though. I fucked up so bad and I don’t know what I could do to ever make up for all the shit I put you through, but I’m sorry, Snape - I’m so sorry.” Sirius was gushing now, unable to stop himself from truly expressing his remorse. Seeing Snape in such a broken state had changed something inside of him, changed the very way he saw the world and everything he had done.
Snape looked shocked. He pursed his lips, the notion of food forgotten by the both of them.
“You saved me, which must count for something. Granted, Black, I didn’t want to be saved. You just fucked with my plans again there,” Snape replied, nearly smiling.
Sirius didn’t know how to respond to that. He felt a little better, knowing that he had done something right, but he wondered if he would ever have felt such remorse had he not found Snape collapsed and bleeding out in the alleyway.
“Eat,” he said, knowing that it would help the man regain his strength.
Silence settled in once more, this time as a blanket protecting them - something gentle that fell as a canopy over them, shielding them from their pasts and the horrors of the outside world.