Cordelictus

by Fabula Rasa

***

Chapter One

"You're up early."

Snape snorted. "You say that to everyone who rises before lunch."

"Mm. It's a shame you missed breakfast, though."

"I most certainly did not. I had a most healthful and refreshing breakfast of soft-boiled eggs and toast right here not two hours ago."

"That's not what I was talking about." Sirius put his arms around the other man's hips and rocked them close.

"Honestly, Black, you ought to consider taking some sort of potion for that priapism. There are ways to help people like you, you know."

"Hm. Your sex drive could run rings around mine, and you know it." He brought his arms around Snape, who was pouring water for a fresh pot of tea with his back to him. He nuzzled the bit of neck tilted near him. "I did want you this morning, though. I was quite disappointed to find you were gone."

Snape hid his smile. "I'm sure you took care of your little problem."

"No, actually. Thought I would wait for you." He found the cleft and began slowly rubbing himself on it. Snape gripped the counter.

"Your godson--"

"Is still sleeping. It's seven-thirty, he'll be out till eleven, and if I want to take you on my own kitchen table I bloody well will."

He leaned his head back. "Haven't I anything to say about it?" His voice had gone husky.

"Oh, I'm hoping you'll have plenty to say. Some more of what you were saying last night would be good. Shall I quote?"

"Don't you dare."

"Let's start with 'fuck me, Sirius, God, fuck me harder,' shall we?"

"You--"

"And then we can progress to 'please love, please, so good right there Jesus yes--'"

Snape whipped around and pushed him against the table behind them, pinning his arms down none too gently. "I have had just about enough of you," he growled. He saw Sirius's irises darken and knew instantly what he wanted. He ground their cocks together and felt Sirius buck into him. "Do you want it right here? Do you want me to fuck you here?" His voice was rough and low, and he brought his mouth up to husk in Sirius's ear. "Do you want my cock in you, Black? Is that what you want? Do you want to feel me come inside you?"

Sirius moaned and dropped his head back, fluttering his eyes closed. Snape watched him, transfixed. From the beginning his lover's acute sensitivity had been a source of endless delight and fasination to him. Once, he had made Sirius come from his voice alone-- arms tied, stretched on the bed, he had withstood forty-five minutes of the sweet obscenities that he loved whispered in his ear, and at the end it had taken only one long lick up his cock and he had come in a gorgeous fountain, a sight so unbelievably arousing that Snape had thrown himself on top of him and ground his cock on the still pulsing one and their seed had mingled as he came.

Sirius was watching him, heavy-lidded. "What are you thinking about?"

He bit back the first answer that sprang to his lips. It was disturbing how often he was having to do that. "I was thinking about before. What watching you come does to me."

"Does it now." Their mouths met in a long, slow kiss. "Let go of my hands."

"No."

"I want to touch you."

"No." Snape moved his mouth down, brushing his lips over the bare chest underneath him. The sight of Sirius in the morning was one he would never get used to, no matter how often he feigned indifference to it-- wild mussed hair, bare chest, faded jeans just resting on the hipbones. Leaned back against the table like this, he was probably none too comfortable, Snape mused.

"Get off. This is starting to hurt."

"Hm. You weren't so concerned about my comfort last night."

"I was just coming in here to apologise."

"Were you now. Let's see if I can't make you more comfortable." He snaked a hand between them and rubbed the hardness he found.

"Oh, fuck. . . Severus, stop, you're going to make me come. . . oh God please, just do it--"

"Morning." Harry shuffled in, eyes puffy, hair a tousled wreck, and headed to the fridge. Sirius shoved him away so hard that Snape only just caught himself in time, landing against the opposite counter. The counter clipped his back and he gritted his teeth.

"Good morning, Harry. You're up early. Got any plans for the day?"

"No, not really." Harry gave a trememdous yawn and lifted the orange juice to his lips. "Thought I might have a swim in a bit. Want to come?"

"Sure. I'd love to. Let me have a shower first and I'll join you."

Harry raised his eyebrows. "Shower first? All right. I need something to eat, anyway." He headed back to the fridge and pulled out a beer.

"Harry. That is not breakfast."

"Oh. Yeah, you're right." He dug in his trousers for a pack of cigarettes and smacked them on the table. "Now we're in business."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Where did I go wrong?" He plopped in the chair and shook out one of Harry's cigarettes, lighting it with an absent flick of Snape's wand, resting on the table. Snape himself walked out without a word.

Harry grabbed an apple for the bowl on the table and bit. "Well," he said around a mouthful of fruit, "there's one place right there."

"What do you mean?"

"Sirius." Harry gave him a level gaze. "One of these times he's going to fracture something when you do that. It's not like I don't know you're fucking."

"Watch your language," he said reflexively.

"God. Listen to yourself. My eyes can bear the sight, you know."

Sirius ran a hand over his face. "Yeah. I know. I'm sorry."

He took another juicy bite of apple. "These are really good. Anyway. I think you're apologising to the wrong person."

Sirius took a long drag. "When did you get to be so smart, hm?"

"Trust me. I know all there is to know about screwing up. I'm the resident authority." He tossed his apple core into the sink.

"Nice shot. Have you heard from her at all?"

"No. And I don't expect I will."

Sirius nodded. "Give it time."

"Yeah. I had six years, and I still managed to fuck it up."

"Does she love him?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe so. Who knows. Sometimes I think she never even knew--" he sighed. "Maybe if I had ever managed to get the words out, it might have made a difference."

"Yeah," he answered softly. He stubbed his cigarette out and tossed it in the sink after the apple. "I'll be down to the cove in a bit, all right?"

"Sure, Sirius."

The bedroom was still when he entered. He caught sight of Snape's back in the closet. "Severus, I--" He stopped. "What are you doing?"

"I have some things I need to attend to at Hogwarts. I can't idle here forever. I can't seem to find my other shirt, though. If you turn it up, send it on, will you? I can't think what could have become of it."

He watched Snape throw his few things in the battered valise, his chest clenching.

"Severus, please. Don't do this."

"Don't do what." Snape's face was a mask.

"This. I came in here to tell you--" God, I sound pathetic, he thought. "What I mean to say is, I'm sorry about earlier. I shouldn't have done that. Pushed you away like that, I mean. It won't happen again, I swear it. Just please, don't go."

Snape stopped. "Yes, it will," he said at last.

"What will?"

"It will happen again. Harry has been here ten days and in all that time you've not so much as brushed my hand to pass me the salt in front of him. And if he's happened upon us, you've acted as though I'm on fire. Well, I'm relieving you of the bother. Go and be the exemplary godfather you so yearn to be. I'll still be around to fuck when he's gone." He fastened the clips on the valise with a snap.

"I don't--" His mouth was dry.

Snape's mocking smile never reached his eyes. "Relax, Black. I'm making it easy for you." He picked up the valise. His hand was on the knob when Sirius spoke.

"I don't want it easy."

"You don't know what you want."

Certainty hit him in the gut. "Oh yes I do. I--" His throat closed. Snape was watching him. Of a sudden he had an idea. "Come on." He grabbed the valise and tossed it on the bed. Ignoring Snape's noise of protest, he pulled him out of the room and into the kitchen, where Harry sat over a bowl of oatmeal. He looked up, startled at Sirius's intent expression.

"Harry."

"Yeah?"

"This is Severus. Severus, this is Harry."

"Okay," Harry said slowly.

Sirius pulled Snape to him and kissed him. Snape's lips did not open, but he ignored that and kept kissing. He ran his hands through his hair, around his back, then curled them on his arse. Snape went stiff with horror.

He stopped and pulled back, still looking at him. "Severus is my lover. We've been sleeping together for the better part of a year, off and on, but what he doesn't know-- what I've been too much of a coward to say-- is that I love him. I don't expect he feels the same way, but there it is. As long as he's here, I doubt I will be able to keep my hands off him, whether we're in the bedroom or out of it. Anyway." He dropped his hands. "Still want that swim?"

Harry's mouth was open. A dollop of oatmeal that had stuck to his spoon landed on the table with a gentle plop. He was as motionless as Snape. "Um. . ." he said faintly. "Sure. Okay. I'll. . . be right there."

Sirius nodded, seemingly satisfied. Then he looked at Snape and frowned. "No," he said slowly. "I can do better than that." With one hand he swept the fruit bowl off the table. Harry's oatmeal only escaped because his quick Seeker's reflexes snatched it away in the nick of time. In one powerful motion, Sirius pushed the Potions master flat on the table, knocking him clean off balance, and planted his lips on his. Sirius arched his whole body into the kiss, prying Snape's lips open and thrusting his tongue inside. Snape threw his arms up in depair and setttled them onto Sirius's bare back, opening to the kiss. It seemed to go on for a good three minutes, and when Sirius was satisfied he had done his job he stood up.

"All right. That's what kissed is supposed to look like. And now, if you lads don't mind, I definitely need that shower." He strode off to the bathroom, whistling aimlessly, leaving Snape to pick himself up off the table with as much dignity as he could muster.

Harry spooned his oatmeal into his mouth with a bland expression, enjoying Snape's discomfiture.

"I, ah-- ahem. Mr. Potter." He gave a curt nod to Harry and stalked off. He would have been most disconcerted to have seen Harry's grin at his back as he left the room.

Sirius stood under the weak shower head with his head bent, letting it drip off him. He was eating up the minimal resources of his house's hot water heater, but he couldn't find it in him to care. Snape had probably showered hours ago, and Harry didn't usually acquaint himself with the business end of a bar of soap until much later in the day. He closed his eyes and tried to slow his heart. Fuck, but that had been a stupid thing to do.

Not so much kissing Snape in front of Harry, though that had felt awkward enough, and the boy was probably digging his testicles out of his thoracic cavity with a teaspoon even now. But what he had said-- oh, fuck. He pounded his head against the side of the shower. Black, you stupid git. He had made a rare idiot of himself, all right. And now would come a conversation, no doubt-- Black, you know I'm fond of you. Oh, fuck fuck fuck. The sex might be unutterably good, and they might have developed a certain ease with the pricklier sides of each other's personality, but it was still Severus Snape, Slytherin bastard, he had just bared his heart to back there, and that tongue could cut as quick as it could kiss. It was just that he had been seized by an unaccountable panic, seeing him standing there holding that valise, his hand on the knob, and he had known that if he let him walk out that door he would never have any sort of chance at. . . . God, he didn't even know what. There weren't enough synonyms for cringe in the English language to describe what he was feeling now.

He jumped at the arms that came around him. This was new. Snape had not ever expressed an interest in showering together, wrinkling his nose at the idea of sharing his ablutions with anyone, even someone with whom he was sharing his bed. Sirius leaned his head back and relaxed into the embrace.

"So."

"So."

Snape turned him around and shifted him so their groins fit together. "So there is some truth to the myth of Gryffindor bravery, after all."

Sirius gave a half-laugh. "To which add foolhardiness, impetuosity, and periodic idiocy."

"Indeed." Snape brought his mouth close and brushed their lips. "You caught me off guard, there," he murmured, "and I'm afraid I might not have been at my best. Allow me to see if I can redeem the honour of Slytherin." He deepened the kiss, moving with a slower sensuality than Sirius had. He twined his hands in the wet mop and rocked slowly against him.

"Oh. . mmm."

"Like that, do you?" Snape turned him gently around. "Let's see what else you might like." With one slippery finger he pushed at his entrance, probing delicately, teasingly. Sirius groaned. "Yes?"

"Yes."

He continued his desultory probing, bumping every now and again against the prostate. Sirius groaned and pushed back against him. Snape bit his lip to stifle his moan at the sight of his lover's abandon. With the water planing off him, Sirius's skin was slick as a seal's. He rubbed his cock against the cleft, pushing at him, and slipped just inside.

"Jesus-- please, Severus. . ."

He did not need another invitation. He pushed all the way inside, sliding in with such ease that they both gasped at how deep he went. They rocked back and forth in silence, punctuated only by moans. At last it was too much, and their pace quickened. Sirius bent over as much as he could, clutching on the towel bar, as Snape's thrusts became harder, his breathing louder.

"So tight," he muttered. "God, you feel good." He began to pound him, knowing he was hitting the sweet spot at every thrust, feeling Sirius's convulsions begin. He curled his hand around the slick cock and jerked it in time to his thrusts.

"Ah--ah, Severus, come with me, I'm coming, so good, so--ah--"

Come flooded Snape's hand, and he loosed himself then, driving in at a frenzied pace. He bit Sirius's neck to stop the words spilling out of him, and heard himself sob in delight as the first wave hit him, and he came in that tight sweet hole harder than he ever had, fucking him like a madman.

For long moments afterward they leaned against the side of the shower for support, ignoring the water that had run cold and the tremors in their legs.

"Sweet Merlin," Sirius said, panting, when he could speak again. "We are definitely too old for that."

Snape laughed. He was still trying to catch his breath. "Promise me," he muttered, "if I have a stroke while we're doing this someday, you will put me in my clothes before you call Albus."

"Someday? So you might be planning on doing this with me on a regular basis?"

Snape closed his eyes. "Until our bones are too brittle to risk contact."

Sirius shut the water off and grabbed two towels from the shelf. One advantage of the tiny bathroom was that things were always within reach, he thought as he tossed a towel at Snape. He tied it at his waist and looked at Snape, clutching his towel, still leaning against the shower wall.

"You coming?"

"Just-- give me a minute."

Sirius grinned. "So I take it this means you're staying."

Snape toweled his hair. "For the time being, I suppose." He opened his eyes to see Sirius watching him. "Black. There's something you should know."

Sirius's face shuttered. "No, there isn't."

"Black, I--"

"No." His tone was angry. "I don't need the speech, all right? It was-- I shouldn't have said it, all right? Forget I said it. Please let's just forget it."

"I can't," he said quietly.

Sirius gripped the washstand, his jaw clenching. "If you feel the need to give me the speech, can we do it later? And not, perhaps, while your come is still dripping from my arsehole? Do you think we could manage that, hm?"

"Black, you irritating little prat, will you just shut up for one bloody minute and stop assuming you know everything that I am going to say before I open my mouth?" He made an effort to lower his voice. "What I was trying to say, before your manifold interruptions, is that what you said earlier. . . goes for me as well."

"Oh." Sirius raised his eyebrows. "That's it?"

"Well. . . yes."

"That is the most pathetic declaration I have ever heard."

"It is not a declaration. It is a simple statement of agreement."

"I see. I lay you across a table, give you the kiss of your life and swear my undying love, and this is what you come up with?"

"I cannot believe I am having this conversation. Really, I might have known better."

Sirius grinned. "So. You love me."

"Somewhere, this discussion took a wrong turn."

"Then say it to my face. Come on, I dare you. I've got ten galleons says you can't look me in the eye and say it."

"This is the most childish-- are we thirteen again, Black? Besides, I doubt you've even got ten galleons." He stepped out of the shower and pulled on his pants.

"Come on, Severus. You never used to back down from a dare." His voice was mocking, but his eyes were watchful.

Snape sighed. "Ten galleons, and you tell Potter about the time you pulled your pants down to Madam Pomfrey because I'd made you believe there was Testicle Shrinking potion in your pumpkin juice."

"You're on. Let's see your stuff."

Snape advanced on him. He pressed him to the wall by his shoulders and brought his face an inch from the other man's. Their height was exactly equal, their eyes level. "You irksome, adolescent, egomaniacal bastard. You have irritated and enraged me for the better part of thirty years, and I won't stand for another minute of it. In the interest of persuading you once and for all to shut up and leave me the hell alone, I will tell you, just this once: I love you, you little prick. I love the way you pull on your pants in the morning, I love the way you drink your tea, I love the way your hair falls in your face when you read, I love the lines around your eyes when you laugh. I've loved you so long I hardly know when I began, and I love you so well I shall never be able to stop. Your feeble little mind can hardly wrap itself around the degree to which I love you, and you needn't preen yourself overmuch for your bravery today, because if you hadn't said it, I surely would not have been able to contain myself much longer. I love you, and only you, and shall never love another my life long, and when you are tired of me and toss me out on my ear, underneath my hatred will still be love, and more love, and yet more. And if, by some undeserved mercy of God, I am fortunate enough to die before you, my last words to you will be: I love you, Sirius Black."

Sirius did not move, could not even breathe. Snape released him. "Let that be a lesson to you in declarations. Laid me on a table, indeed. My back is still smarting."

He pulled his shirt on, hung his towel, and opened the bathroom door. "Are you planning on standing there all day?"

"I--" Sirius cleared his throat. "Yeah. Be right there."

He slipped on his jeans and followed him into the bedroom, a sheepish expression on his face.

"Severus?"

"What is it."

"You're right. I don't actually have ten galleons."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "I knew it. How typical."

"However. . . there are ways I might make it up to you."

"Oh, I don't know, Black. I'm hard put to it to think of anything you could do in bed that might be worth ten galleons."

"Why, you--" Sirius grabbed his arm and twisted it deftly behind his back. With his other arm he pulled Snape to him and pinned him against his body. "We'll see about that, you arrogant swot. You'll be begging for it before I'm done, you--"

"Guys?"

Harry stuck his head in the bedroom door which Sirius had neglected to fasten.

"Are we ever going to have that swim?"

"Um-- yeah, Harry, be right there."

Harry cocked his head at them.

"Are you going to let him go?"

"Oh. Right."

He released Snape and they straightened up as Harry shuffled down the hall to the bathrooom. Sirius considered telling him not to expect hot water, but thought better of it. Snape turned and faced him.

"'Begging for it?' Please, Black. As if more evidence were required that your development was arrested at age fifteen."

Sirius ignored him, and brushed a stray strand of hair off his face in an oddly tender gesture. He frowned. "I didn't, you know."

"Didn't what."

"Earlier, I said I'd laid you across a table and sworn my undying love. But I didn't, did I."

"Black--"

He held up his hand. Walking to the dresser, he pulled open the top compartment and slipped something smooth and shining into his palm. He came and stood in front of Snape, who was eyeing him warily.

"Black. Don't even think about it. You--"

In one rapid motion, Sirius flicked open the blade and sliced a vicious cut right down his forearm. The blood rose in a red swell, coating his arm. He dropped to his knees and raised his arm in the ancient blood oath of one wizard's loyalty to another. The blood fell on his upturned face in heavy droplets. Snape's face was pale.

"Sirius--"

"Die et nocte,
Dormiens et vigilans,
In vita et in morte,
Totus tuus et semper tuus.
Sanguinem cordis mei in manus tuas tenes.
Si perfidiosus ero, illa hora mors mea veniat."¹

He spoke slowly and solemnly, his arm never wavering. Snape hesitated, then quickly clasped the blood-drenched arm in his hands and placed it on his chest. He spoke the reply in a low tone.

"Hoc votum tuum acceptum est.
Die et nocte,
Dormientes et vigilantes,
In vita et in morte,
Relictus sumus."²

Then, in token and as proof of the new power over the oath-taker's life, he ran the tip of his finger over the wound and sealed it. Sirius rose lightly to his feet and flicked the knife shut. They were still for a moment; then Snape extended his hand, and Sirius pressed the knife into it.

"You don't have to," he whispered.

"Sirius. I have done this before."

"I know."

"But this is the last vow I shall ever make."

"I know that too."

Snape sliced his arm in the same way that Sirius had done; a little less skilful with the knife, he slipped and cut deeper than he had intended. Sirius made a motion for his arm but he pushed him away, dropping to his knees. He repeated the ancient, awful words that gave one wizard the power over another's life. He had a flash of Professor Mickle in History of Magic, the words "Cordelictus" etched on the board, and beneath it the words "dark magic." Sirius clasped his arm and spoke the words of acceptance in a clear, firm voice, then moved quickly to seal the wound. When they were done he closed the blade and set it on the dresser, its blade marooned with their mingled blood.

The air around them shimmered with the force of the dark magic. The Cordelictus was the ancient feudal oath sworn before warriors and mages, the oath of ultimate loyalty. By a word the oath-receiver could destroy the life of the oath-taker, and by the touch of his hand he could heal. Voldemort had demanded it of all his followers, but when the newly-fledged Order of the Phoenix had offered it to Dumbledore, he had refused. To recieve such an oath from another was an act of ultimate domination. To take such an oath mutually was the most dangerous and intimate act known to wizardkind.

"So." Sirius's voice was faint. "We ought to get cleaned up."

"Yes." He smiled grimly. "I don't suppose Harry will believe we cut ourselves shaving."

Sirius reached for him, and their mouths met. Their kiss was almost shy in its hesitancy, and they could feel the Cordelictus snaking its way through them and tingling their lips.

God, I love you.

"Me too."

Snape pulled back. "I didn't say anything."

"Yes you did. You just said--" They both stopped.

"Well. All right. Try this one." Snape closed his eyes and thought.

Let's apparate young Potter to the south of France and spend the day making love on the sofa.

"Forget it. That's the one piece of decent upholstery in this house."

Snape laughed aloud. "My God. Mickle never said anything about this."

"I would imagine not. I wonder if it works for images and memories as well as articulate thoughts."

"Let's give it a try." Snape opened his mind and let the doors of memory swing open. Sirius saw the press and swell of a Hogwarts corridor, and beside him, chattering to him, a young Lucius Malfoy and Evan Rosier. Severus? Severus, are you paying any attention to what I'm saying? Of course, Lucius. And out of the corner of his eye, with a jolt he saw himself, seventeen and impossibly handsome, jogging up a stairwell. No, you weren't, you were watching that dolt Black again. And then Sirius felt the scene from the inside, felt the lust and longing surge in him, and he pulled himself out with a rush, breathless.

"My God." He panted a moment. Even such a brief vision had drained him; they would have to be careful. "Even then. . . you--"

"Yes."

They watched each other, but it was not enough. The need for physical touch in the wake of the Cordelictus was overwhelming, and they rested their foreheads together.

"I think perhaps we ought to lie down for a bit."

"Potter will probably come scratching at the door in a minute."

"I forgot to tell him the neighbours' grand-daughter always sunbathes nude about this time of day. That ought to take care of him for a while."

"Is that so? I wondered what you were doing out there all this time."

Sirirus chuckled, then stopped at a sudden stab of pain in his belly. "Jesus," he said quietly. "You're really jealous, aren't you?"

Snape closed his eyes. "Sorry. I'm going to have to control that."

"I'll say. Come lie down."

They carefully wrapped themselves on the bed, entangling their limbs as much as possible. They drifted for the rest of the day like that, opening their minds to one another in turn, exploring, discovering. They learned how to have an entire conversation, and how to share a specific memory. They moved slowly, cautiously, but even so it was exhausting and unsettling. When Harry finally peeked back in at them around lunch, they had drifted off together. Fortunately the blanket they had pulled up covered the sight of the blood, and the bloody knife on the dresser escaped his notice. He sighed and headed back out to the cove alone.

¹"By day and by night,
Sleeping and waking,
In life and in death,
I am entirely and ever yours.
You hold my heart's blood in your hands.
If I prove faithless, in that hour may my death come."

²"This your vow has been accepted.
By day and by night,
Sleeping and waking,
In life and in death,
We have been bound."

Chapter Two

"What do you think, my boy? Wonderful, aren't they?"

Dumbledore's whispered question startled Snape out of the coma into which he had begun to slip. He grimaced in what he hoped was a passable imitation of a smile, but Dumbledore was paying him no mind. He was busy nodding in time to the shawm, zink, kortholt, sacbut and krumhorn concert he had put together. What to Dumbledore was clearly the music of the angels sounded for all the world to Snape like the death throes of a flatulent cow. He rearranged his robes and shifted to encourage blood flow to his paralysed arse cheeks.

His eyes wandered the hall. For the sake of the concert, Dumbledore had banished the high table and granted the players the dais. The long trestle tables had been cleared out as well; the students, whose torment was no doubt acute, were perched on chairs that lacked even the minimal padding of Snape's. With nowhere to hide, the faculty sat in the front rows, chewing their tongues to stay awake. Why, why had Albus decided this was a good idea? He shot a surreptitious glance at the headmaster. He wouldn't put it beyond the old manipulator to have set them all up for this. Faculty meetings had been sparsely attended of late, and Dumbledore might have intended this as some sort of punishment. Then again, there was no telling with him. He appeared to be genuinely enjoying himself, though whether that was because of the music or the evident misery of his companions was anyone's guess.

Oh, stop judging everyone else by your own twisted standards.

He gave an involuntary start. Two months after the Cordelictus and he was still getting used to it.

Black, get out of my head.

Oh, come on. From the look on your face you're not enjoying this any more than I am.

Where are you?

Right behind you and to the left. Watching you fidget.

I beg your pardon. I do not fidget.

Whatever.

There was silence in his head for a minute, and he felt himself slipping into a coma again. He tried reciting potions ingredients to stay awake.

Oh no you don't. That's almost as bad as what Albus calls music.

Then get out of my head, you idiot.

Can't. I'm bored.

Of a sudden Snape felt an image uncoil in his brain: the two of them rutting on the bed in Sirius's cottage, the windows thrown open to the summer sunlight. The sweat on Sirius's back, the sweet grunts in his ear. He gasped at it, and coughed to cover his gasp and shock of pleasure. A hand began thwacking his back.

"All right there, my boy?"

"Fine," he croaked, gripping the arms of his chair.

Sorry. Didn't mean to set off such a violent reaction.

Right. I'll bet you're bloody sorry. Albus is not stupid, you know.

He doesn't have any idea about this and you know it.

Of course I know it. If he did, he'd have hurled us both from the highest turret of this castle weeks ago.

You're probably right there.

Silence fell again, and he let his mind wander. Black had proved much more adept than he at treading silently into the other's mind, and delighted in surprising him with a comment on a thought he had not been aware he was having. He shifted. It would not do to have his thoughts wandering off course-- Black would be sure to pick up on that. He tried to push away the delicious image Black had thrown at him, of their lazy summer lovemaking, of languid limbs under cool white sheets.

Me too, love.

Get out.

You sure about that? You know, for some reason I can't seem to get the thought of fucking you out of my head today. Do you know what you sound like when you come with my cock in you? Do you want to hear it?

No. Don't you dare make me hard sitting next to Albus Dumbledore.

It's your own fault. It was a stupid decision.

It most certainly was not. If you are going to be teaching here, and we are going to be around each other every day, we cannot allow ourselves to indulge like that. Weekends away are one thing, but here at Hogwarts we must maintain some sort of order and decency.

If I were a woman, would you object?

Yes.

Liar.

Shut up.

I'll tell you what's stupid about it. We're both being driven slowly insane by it, for one thing. You need me as much as I need you. How many times a week are you jacking off?

Stop it. God, stop it.

I know I'm up to twice a day. Sometimes three. Pretty damn impressive for my age if I do say so. Take this morning, for instance. All I could think about was fucking you, of the sweet slide of my cock in your tight arse. I had to bite the pillow to keep from yelling, I came so hard. And all I could think about was wanting to shoot all that lovely come so far up your arse you'd choke on it.

Please please don't do this.

Don't do what? Come on, what else do we have to do? I'll leave you alone if you tell me when was the last time you jerked off. And where.

Really?

Promise.

Oh, very well. Last night, in the bed. Or maybe it was early this morning. I couldn't sleep. It might have been about two or three.

Now why do I know that's not quite the truth?

I don't know what you mean.

Come on, Severus, tell me the truth. I'll make you happy you did this weeekend.

How happy?

Oh, you have no idea.

Well then, since you ask so nicely. It was actually earlier this afternoon.

Really. Tell me more.

It was right after double potions with the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff sixth years. They are spending every class working on their potions projects now. All I have to do is sit there and look intimidating. Mostly I am contemplating my lunch. Today I contemplated. . . you.

Did you, now?

To the degree that I developed a little. . . difficulty that required my attention.

Not so little, if memory serves. Far, far distant memory. Was it good?

Yes, actually.

Trousers on or off?

Black, really.

On or off?

Off.

Really. What a delicious image. Where did you sit?

The sofa in the sitting room.

Did you take your trousers off to spare the house elves the trouble of cleaning them?

Naturally.

You are such an old liar. You used your fingers on yourself, didn't you?

Yes.

God. Oh God, how unbelievably hot. I'm getting hard thinking about it.

Are you now?

Snape, we have a problem and we need to talk about it.

Which of our many problems can you possibly mean?

This one. With the Cordelictus. . . we're not going to be able to stay away from each other like this. Let's face facts here, this is not exactly normal behaviour for forty-one year old men.

Speak for yourself. I won't be forty-one for another month at least.

Oh, I felt that spasm of dread there. You're afraid I'm going to do something loathsome and terrifying for your birthday, aren't you?

It had crossed my mind.

Not my style. Which you ought to know.

I miss you.

I know. I can't do this, Severus.

I know. But if we are around each other too much. . .

So that's it. You're afraid the Cordelictus will show.

It will, you know.

No one will be attuned enought to it to. . .ah, so that's it. Daddy might find out.

Shut up.

Oh, that's got your back up. Why? So Dumbledore is the closest thing to a father you've ever had. Lucky you, I say. I wasn't mocking.

Yes, you were.

Sirius tried again but found the wall resolutely up. It filled him with an odd panicky sensation now, to be around Snape and unable to enter his mind. The need he had for it unsettled him. He shifted and clenched his fists and tried again.

Snape could feel the battering at the wall of his mind. He frowned and tried to concentrate on the music, such as it was, drumming his fingers on his armrest. The knocking did not stop. The man clearly was not going to leave him alone. It was a bluff, he knew; he had found he could not bear to be around Black and not be connected with his mind. Disconnection gave him the oddest feeling-- a coldness and aloneness that made his chest tighten. When he could stand it no more he opened, with a rush of relief.

Severus, goddamnit, don't do that to me again. Ever.

You made me angry.

You frightened me.

That brought Snape up short. That was the name of the feeling, then. Fear. Yes, that was exactly it. It was fear that he felt when he couldn't find Black's mind; blinding, heart-racing fear.

I know. It frightens me, too.

Tell me why you were angry.

It's not important. Forget about it.

Well, I can concentrate on this particularly nice krumhorn solo or tinker about with you some more. If you don't tell me I'm going to snatch that krumhorn and stuff it right up your arse. And don't even think it.

Such a lovely set-up, too. Why do you care, anyway, Black?

Because I shived you off and I'm not quite sure why. Most of the time I know, but just don't care. Having it the other way round is irritating.

No articulate repsonse came through, but he didn't sense the wall. Just a hesitation. Then an image, and the familiar vertiginous sensation of being sucked into Snape's memories. No sooner was he pulled into this one than he was clawing to get out. He saw himself, laughing. His arm resting on Jamie's shoulder. Young. Fifteen, maybe. Don't show me this, Snape. Please. Then his own thoughts were swallowed in the memory.

So, what are your plans for the holidays, Snape? Jamie's voice, gibing, and then his own, cutting him off. Say, we were just reading about the family habits of vampires today. I bet your family has Christmas lights tacked to the inside of their coffins, don't they? Uproarious laughter from the little knot of Gryffindors behind him.

Oh fuck, Snape, damn it, I didn't know. How could I have known they had died? Jesus, if I could take it back. . .

I know.

Is that what you think of, every time I tease you about anything? Do you still see the little Gryffindor shit, lording it over his pathetic minions, making your life hell? Please tell me 'no'.

Of course not. Only occasionally. And I did my fair share of making your life hell, I do realise.

But you still think I'm mocking you.

That's because most of the time, you are.

Yes, but in a happy way.

My eyes are going to roll back in my head.

So. . . you're terrified Albus will find out about us. Do you think he'll disapprove?

Dear God, of which part wouldn't he?

My my, aren't we the hypocrite? And in case you missed it, that was mockery.

I am not a hypocrite.

Your wizarding blood may be blue as the Danube, but you've got a yellow streak in you a mile wide. Hm, blue and yellow make. . . Slytherin green. Purity and Cowardice. You might consider embroidering that on your banners.

Oh, shut up. And it's the Cordelictus I'm thinking of and you know it.

There's nothing he can do about it.

Obviously not. And just as obviously, you've never seen Albus really angry. Trust me, this would get him there.

That's where you're wrong. I've seen him terrifyingly angry.

When?

Sirius opened his mind and found the memory. Dumbledore pacing his office, his brow thunderous, his eyes cold and glittering, his voice a wintry lash. Give me one good reason, boy, that I shouldn't throw you out of this school and snap your wand in a thousand pieces. No matter what you may have your friends believing about an innocent prank gone awry, you and I know the truth of the matter. Don't we, Sirius? Yes, sir, his voice gone very small. Now get out of my office while I think about what to do with you.

Well. That's surprising.

What is?

I always assumed he patted you on the head, fed you a crumpet, and told you to run off and behave like a good boy.

You have never believed he cares anything about you, have you? Severus, do you honestly think this would change his opinion of you?

I don't care to find out.

Oh, thank God, they're finished. No. Oh sweet Christ, they're starting again. Please, please make them stop. In about five seconds I'm going to leap up and start stomping on those instruments. What are those things anyway?

Those are the zinks. Or they may be the shawms.

You're making that up.

Actually, no. Now leave me alone. I'm going to try to catch up on my sleep.

All right. Just answer one question for me first.

What is it?

What were you thinking about during double potions that made you so hard? Tell the truth, or I'll know.

I already said. I was thinking about you.

What were we doing?

I was thinking. . . if you must know, I was thinking of your mouth on me.

Really. Like that, do you?

You know that I do.

So there you are, sitting at your desk staring down those hapless children like you're God Almighty, and all the while you're thinking of Sirius Black's mouth on you, sucking you off. I'm sure the Board of Governors would be happy to hear it.

Oh, sod off.

Another silence fell, and Snape wondered for a minute if Black was really going to leave him alone. He propped his head on his hands and let his eyes drift shut. Black's voice when it came was softer than before, but it still made him jump. Dumbledore shot him a glance.

Let's play a little game, shall we?

Let's try not to get me sacked, shall we?

Oh, relax. Here's the game I have in mind. It's called What Could We Be Doing Right Now.

Absolutely not.

I'll begin then. Let's just pretend for a moment, shall we, that I've sneaked up to Harry's dormitory and nicked that invisibility cloak, to which I have a reasonable claim anyway. Did I ever tell you I was the one that bought it for Jamie?

How unsurprising.

So anyway, let's say I've got that cloak on. I wonder if there's any chance I could kneel between your legs and get my hand up your robe without being noticed.

I would be likely to notice.

I could unfasten your trouser placket with just one hand, I know from experience. Tell me, are you hard right now?

Getting there.

Then I would have to go a bit slow. I would use my hand for a bit. Just my fingers actually, rubbing right underneath the head just the way you like-- the way that produces those delicious little sounds you have no idea you are making. And I might flick my tongue out once or twice, just to taste you. I love the extreme saltiness of your first few drops. I would swirl it around to get you nice and slick before I took you into my mouth.

God, stop.

I think I would start just with sucking. It would take me a few minutes to relax before I could get you any deeper, so I'd ram you against the side of my cheek for a minute--

Oh, God.

Something wrong? As I was saying. Then when I took you in I would swallow you, just the way you like. All the way back, and you'd be fighting not to come, it'd be so good. I might use my hand on your balls-- that's something I love about your body that I've never said, how heavy and glorious and fuckable your balls are, how much I love to roll them in my fingers, and I might press on that sweet spot right underneath them that drives you so wild.

Ah.

You're breathing fast, I can see it from here. Are you dripping for me yet?

God, yes.

Then I'd better clamp those lovely balls to make sure you don't come yet.

Sirius, stop.

Ah, you must be hard now, if you're saying my name. Are you ready for me to fuck you yet?

Oh.

Because right now all I can think about is driving my cock so far up your arse, you'll have to swallow when I come. I want to grab your hips and push so far into you, you'll scream, I want that tight sweet hole fucking my cock, I want to hear you begging for it. God, I need in you now. Severus, please, I can't wait for this weekend, I'm going to crawl out of my skin, I've never been so hard, I can't bear seeing you like this and not touching you.

Just at that moment, the krumhorns finished with a flourish. The entire school broke into wild, sustained applause in a rapture of joy at the torture's end. Dumbledore was beaming as he rose to embrace the conductor, but whatever he was going to say was drowned in the mad stampede for the doors.

Sirius. Follow me.

Snape made his way out the side door and into a disused corridor. He did not look behind him, but he did not have to. He yanked open the door of the little broom closet. Three paces behind him was Sirius, who wrenched the door open and slammed it. Snape's hands were on him before he had even finished fastening the latch. They tore at each other like starving men, their mouths hungry and rough.

"Please, Severus, I can't wait--"

He ripped down Black's trousers with one hand and freed himself with the other. They were cock to pulsing cock, and Snape moaned at it, rubbing himself, fingers tight in Sirius's arse. They were grinding helplessly, and Snape was fighting his climax, wanting--

His thought must have been heard, because the next instant Sirius was shoving him away and kneeling, swallowing him whole, running his tongue along the ridge, sucking him until his knees buckled.

"Oh-- Sirius-- I can't--"

He abandoned control and grabbed a fistful of dark hair, ramming himself into that mouth, thrusting rapidly. His orgasm hit him like fire shooting out of his balls, it was too much to swallow and he knew it but he couldn't stop, try as he might he could not restrain the cry that tore from his mouth at the sight of Sirius's throat working as he bucked and spasmed into it.

He collapsed back against the wall, his eyes sliding shut, trying to slow his breathing. When he opened his eyes Sirius was level with him, watching him, and he pulled him close for a languorous kiss, tasting the bitter musk of himself on the other man's tongue. He snaked a hand down and curled it around the erection pressing into his leg.

"Tell me what you want."

"Just-- oh, please, yes--" Snape increased his rhythm and pulled him closer. Sirius rested his head in the crook of his neck as he thrust. "Jesus, yes-- oh, Severus--" He rolled his head backward as his thrusts became faster, more frenzied. He moved his hand on top of Snape's, guiding him. "Fuck, yes, just like that--" His moans increased in volume, and Snape could just see Filch on the other side of that door, but he didn't care, if that was the price of Sirius's release, so be it. Sirius jerked forward and shot come in a wide spray, heaving a final groan.

They collapsed together, not wanting to move. Snape was the first to speak.

"I have to go."

"I know."

Neither one moved.

"Black. I'll do better than that this weekend."

"Oh, I don't know," he replied lazily. "That wasn't bad for a three foot square broom closet."

Their grip on each other tightened.

"I have to go," he said again.

Sirius was the one to break the embrace, and he almost moaned at the loss when his arms fell empty at his side.

"Go quickly then, while I can stand it," Sirius murmured. Snape pulled the door open and strode out without a backward glance. He could feel the pull of the Cordelictus, could feel every nerve in him screaming to stop, and had to bite his lip to stifle a sob. This was unbearable. How could they have been so foolish? They would never survive this. He marched to the dungeons in a haze, students scattering at his scowl. He flung back the door to his office and slammed it with an oath that died on his lips when he saw the grave countenance of Albus Dumbledore, seated on a stool by the window.

"Severus. We need to talk."

Chapter Three

Sirius stayed in the closet for longer than was really necessary, just leaning against the wall, his eyes closed. He pushed down the pain that tore at him as Snape moved further down the hall, like a limb being slowly ripped off. It was getting worse each time, not better. When the emptiness had settled on him, he pushed the hair out of his eyes and threw back the door. He knew where he needed to go and marched down the corridors oblivious of the swirling knots of students.

He knew Remus's wards as well as Remus knew his, and he pushed the door open slowly. Good. Remus was off somewhere. He knew the book he was looking for and ran his finger along the spines, searching. When he found it he curled in an armchair with the dusty tome, his legs thrown over the armrest. He was absorbed instantly, and didn't glance up when Remus opened the door.

"Sirius. You gave me a start."

"Sorry."

"Want some tea?"

"Sure." He turned the page, not looking up.

"God, that was unbelievable." Remus shucked off his robes and rolled up his sleeves, yawning widely. "How did you manage to sit there so serenely through it all? I was eating my tongue just to stay conscious."

"My superior mental faculties kicked in."

"Right. What've you got there?" He peered over Sirius's shoulder. "Blood bonds, hm. Fascinating stuff. I've got a seventh year Ravenclaw, Molly Crimshaw, who wants to do her final project on them. I've not signed off on it yet-- she might not be ready for some of that stuff. Molly's a pretty timid sort."

"Hmph." Sirius flicked through a few more pages. "Not for the faint of heart."

"I'll say." He craned over from the tea table and read over his shoulder again. "Which one in particular are you looking up? Ah, Cordelictus. Actually, I've got another book around here that's better on the subject than that one. Hang on a second, I'll find it somewhere." He bent and rummaged around the back of several shelves.

"Here we go. This one talks more about the history of that particular blood bond. The problem with it, of course, is that there are quite a few things we don't know."

Sirius looked up sharply. "What do you mean?"

"Well, in its conception the Cordelictus was a feudal oath, tendered by a warrior to his war mage. It was a way of ensuring loyalty-- the oath-receiver can end the life of his vassal by a word should he prove unfaithful, show cowardice in battle, et cetera. It was much in vogue during the third goblin rebellion."

"Right."

"As a bond, it's designed to work in a kind of pyramid form-- one oath-receiver taking the oaths of several vassals, maybe even several dozen. The problem comes in when that balance is upset."

"How so?"

"Well, when an oath-receiver takes the oath of only one vassal, for instance. It can create a sort of unnaturally strong bond. The oath's force requires dissipation, in a way. And worst of all, of course, is when it's taken mutually."

"Oh?"

"Cordelictus was never designed for that sort of situation, and as with any magic that gets turned to other uses, it gets sort of knocked off its center, if you see what I mean. Bad things can happen. But here, take this book. It's better than the other one. It will tell you some of it."

"Thanks."

Remus cocked his head at him. "Any particular reason for your interest?"

"No. No reason. Just desperate for something to think about during the concert, is all."

Remus watched him. "Sirius. I know you're protective of your students, but if you think there's any chance some of them might be mucking about with this-- please, Sirius, go to Albus at once."

"You think it's that dangerous, then?"

"It doesn't get any more dangerous, because it doesn't get any more unpredictable, and no more terrifying adjective can be applied to magic."

Sirius gave a wan smile. "You're a good teacher, Remus."

"You're just saying that because you like my tea. Lemon?"

"Sure. What are you, my grandmother? What are you doing with fresh lemon?"

"I have friends among the house elves."

"So." Sirius sipped the perfectly steeped tea. "If I did know someone who had attempted Cordelictus, what would be your advice to her?"

"I would say what I did before-- go to Albus at once. But if she's telling you she's 'attempted' it, I wouldn't much worry. Like suicide, it's not the sort of thing you can get wrong and fail to notice. A failed attempt would land you in the infirmary with a tourniquet around your arm, and that's about it. You might try to find out who she's been trying this with, see if you can pressure the boy a little bit. Honestly, though, I doubt that any student here has enough magical power to pull something like this off. And a good thing, too. The last thing we need is a castle full of hormonal teenagers capable of forging blood bonds with their fuck du jour."

Sirius was silent for a moment as he finished his tea. "Thanks for the book, Remus, you've been very helpful," he said as he rose.

"Anytime. And you might--" He stopped, his face going very white. He stood up slowly. "No," he said softly.

Sirius cast about for something to say, but nothing appeared. He had never noticed before that in moments of stress Remus's face went so white it turned almost ashy.

"Sirius. Tell me you haven't."

"As I said, thanks for the book. I'll see you in hall tonight."

"Tell me-- for the love of God tell me-- you haven't done what I think you have."

They stared at each other for a minute. When it became clear Remus was not going to drop his gaze, Sirius sighed. "What I have done or have not done is my own business."

"The hell it is! Sirius, you idiot, do you realise--" He grabbed the back of a chair to steady himself, running his hands through his hair. When he spoke again his voice was very still. "Do you realise what it is you have done?"

"Yes," Sirius replied calmly. "I realise exactly what I have done. And I would do it again."

"Then the more fool you." Remus pushed off the chair and began to pace the little room, his voice rising. "I swear to God I don't understand you. Not for the life of me can I understand you. You want to fuck Snape, well and good. There's bound to be something there you see that the rest of the universe doesn't, I'm willing to accept that, though why you'd want to fuck someone you've hated all your life is beyond me. But this. . . Sirius, what part of your body were you thinking with? How could you let him put you in this situation?" He tore at his hair in frustration.

Sirius slammed the book on the desk. "First of all, let's get this straight." He almost laughed at the unintended joke. "Severus did not put me in any situation. The Cordelictus was my idea. I wanted to do it, I did it, and I didn't expect or demand it from him. And as for the other. . ." He fixed Remus in his gaze. "Yes, I'm fucking Snape. I'm sorry if that disgusts you. Though I think you might find a better cover for your jealousy than revulsion."

Remus turned and gripped the windowsill with white knuckles. Neither one of them said anything for a minute. When Remus spoke his voice was quiet.

"You've put your life in his hands. What guarantee do you have. . . how do you know you can trust him?"

"I know."

Remus gave a short laugh at that. "Have you forgotten. . ." He trailed off.

"I haven't forgotten anything."

He swallowed. "Do you. . ."

"Yes."

"And he. . ."

"Yes."

"Then this is exactly the sort of thing I would expect you to do," he said quietly. He sighed and collected himself. "Are you all right?" he asked at last.

"Depends on what you mean by all right."

"How long?"

"Two months."

Remus raised his eyebrows. "Jesus. How have you. . . how can you. . ."

"I can't. It's tearing me apart. It's tearing us both apart."

Remus sat heavily in his chair, steepling his fingers in thought. "You don't need that book-- you could probably write it. You know more about the Cordelictus already than you're likely to learn in there." He looked up. "What can you tell me that I don't know?"

Sirius smiled thinly, watching the scholar in his friend awake. "We have mind access."

"You. . . unbelievable. How often?"

"Whenever we want it, provided we are in physical proximity."

"Interesting."

"Of late I have been noticing that we can be on opposite ends of the hall and communicate. At first we had to be touching. I am wondering if the distance will continue to stretch-- if eventually we might be capable of communicating out of each other's physical presence."

"My God. I had no idea. What else?"

"We can share memories, images, those sorts of things. At first it exhausted us to communicate that way. Now, I notice we seem to need it, like a chemical addiction."

"Yes," he said slowly. "The bond grows stronger, not weaker, over time."

"Physical separation is becoming. . . more difficult."

"Why do I have the feeling that's an understatement?" Remus leaned back in his chair and looked out the window. "You know, don't you, that you can't survive without him. Your life is literally bound up together now."

"I know."

"If anything were to happen to either of you. . ."

"I know."

Another silence fell. Sirius just watched him, the emotions playing across the handsome face, light to his dark, open to his closed.

"Sirius. May I ask you another question?"

"Yes."

"Why him?"

Sirius heard the unspoken question. "Remus," he sighed. "I never thought. . . until this happened. . . I just did not think this was part of me. I did not go looking for it in any way, shape, or form."

"I'm sorry," Remus said at last. "I'm sorry I didn't take it well."

Sirius gave a grim laugh at that. "No one is likely to, should they find out. But it isn't really about anyone else but the two of us."

"Yes," his friend answered faintly. "That much is clear."

Chapter Four

Snape stood for a minute, his only sign of life the rapidly clenching muscle in his jaw. "Headmaster," he said at last. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"No pleasure in this visit for either of us, Severus." He sighed and tapped the small scroll he was holding against his leg. "There are two conversations we need to have, but this one must come first. I received an owl just as we were coming out of hall. I looked around for you, but you had disappeared, so I thought I would wait here. I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not. Should I pour us some tea, or shall I require something stronger?"

"Very much stronger, I think." He dropped the letter on the table in front of Snape; his voice was very soft. "Draco Malfoy is dead."

Snape went white and sat down heavily in his armchair. He stared at the letter on the table before him, but it was a minute before he could trust himself to speak.

"I'm sorry, my boy," said Dumbledore gently. "I know what this means to you, and I cannot begin to imagine your loss. He was fortunate to have had you as his godfather."

"How. . ." He swallowed and found he could not go on.

"He was murdered by a group of former Death Eaters seeking to avenge their defeat. They took young Malfoy's change of allegiance during the war very hard indeed."

"Where?"

"He was at home, at Malfoy Manor."

"At home?" Snape's brows drew together. "But that's impossible, Headmaster. I set those wards myself. Nothing should have been able to get through them. You know, you were there, you helped me set them."

"I know." He nodded. "No one got through the wards, Severus. Whoever killed him was already in the house. A servant, perhaps."

"No. Impossible. The Malfoys have never sunk to employing human servants, and Draco was no exception." He sunk his head in his hands. Draco, Draco. He saw the sharp elfin face of the eleven year old boy that first day of classes, eyes shining with ambition and adoration. Strange how that was his chief memory-- not the pert toddler who had crawled on his knees, or the conflicted, complex young man he had become. He had a sudden stab of longing for Black, and wondered what it would feel like to share grief, and if he could bear to do it. He pushed the memories away and concentrated.

"No, Albus, I cannot believe a house elf. . . you haven't said how."

Dumbledore paused. "No, I haven't. I was hoping you might not ask. It is not an easy thing to hear."

"Albus, what did they do to him?" His voice was taut and still.

"They bound him and hung him by the neck in the library, using magic to prevent asphyxiation. Then they ripped out pages of Lucius's books and rammed them down his throat with his wand, which they left sticking out of his throat. When they were done they eviscerated him, then re-hung his body using his own intestines."

Snape swept the table clean with an angry motion. Bottles went clattering and rolling. One broke and glugged its contents on to the floor. He gripped the table until his knuckles ached, willing down the howl of rage and pain at the thought of his godson's shattered body swinging from that lovely chandelier.

"It was my fault," he whispered at last, when he trusted himself to speak. "I was the one who persuaded him. . . He would have done anything I asked him to. I promised him. . . I promised him he would be safe. That I would make him safe." He made a sound that might have been a bitter laugh, then collapsed back in his chair, eyes closed. "When did this happen?"

"This morning. It was the Minister who owled me. They found his body about one o'clock. The Manor was deserted."

They found his body about one. And he had spent his afternoon rutting in a broom closet like an animal. When he should have been at his godson's side.

"Severus. There was nothing you could have done, even if you had been there. There must have been quite a few of them from the looks of things."

"I promised him," he said softly.

"Not every promise can be kept. As I know to my sorrow."

Snape looked up at that, into the headmaster's sad eyes. "What are you not telling me, Albus?"

"This was pinned to his body. The Minister sent it on to me with the letter." He handed a blood-spattered slip of parchment to him. At first all he could see were the red-brown stains on it. Then he noticed the rust color of the ink.

"They wrote it in his blood."

"Yes."

"Death to all the traitors," he read slowly. "And eternal torment to the Arch-Traitor." He fingered it. "Well, they have their wish."

"You know what this means, Severus."

"It means I am their next target, yes, I see that. But here at Hogwarts. . ." He stopped, thinking. "You think I am not safe here."

Dumbledore did not reply. A lesser wizard would not have met Snape's eyes with the honest gaze he did.

"You think I am not safe anywhere," he finished. "Albus, what is this? Who are they?"

Dumbledore spread his hands. "I don't know. Every Death Eater that I know of has been executed or imprisoned. No one that I know of is left." He sighed. "Never have I seen a clearer demonstration that evil is a Hydra. No sooner do we cut off its head than two more spring up in its place."

Snape frowned. His eyes kept coming back to the blood on the piece of parchment. Draco's blood. From where, he wondered absently. The possibilities made his stomach churn.

"And the Minister. . ."

"Wishes to turn a blind eye. To see in this a random, desperate act. And maybe he would be right, were it not that Igor Karakaroff was killed night before last."

Snape's head came up with a jerk. "Karkaroff?"

"Executed, like young Mr. Malfoy. Not quite as brutally. Perhaps his killers did not know him as well as they knew Draco. News travels slowly from Durmstrang, or else we might have heard of it sooner and been able to alert your godson."

Snape rose and paced. "Those wards we set. . . I simply do not see how they could have been violated. Was Karkaroff killed at Durmstrang?"

"Yes, in his office."

"Durmstrang's wards are every bit as stout as ours."

"Yes."

The obvious conclusion hung unspoken in the air. Snape picked up the threatening note and tapped it on the table, thinking.

"Severus. I will be frank with you. I am afraid."

"Afraid? You?"

"I will grant you that not many times in the last hundred years have events conspired to make me so. I am not afraid of evil that wears a face. Tom Riddle was to be loathed and fought against, but for all his power, and it grew to be considerable, never did I fear him. He was weak at his core, hollow. But this. . . something in me, Severus, tells me to be afraid. An evil we cannot see or name, that strikes from darkness to no purpose other than petty vengeance, for no master other than hatred-- of this I freely admit I am afraid, for it speaks of what we have become, of the darkness that still eats at our world, and which I am beginning to think we shall never exorcise."

"You cannot protect me," he said softly.

"No."

"I never expected it. Not then, not now."

"I know, my boy. I know." They were silent for a few more minutes, each lost in thought. Dumbledore rose. "I will do everything I can, you know that. Before I came here I re-set the wards."

"That did not help Draco or Karkaroff."

"No." They looked at each other. Dumbledore walked to a shelf and ran a finger over a gryphon's horn perched on the shelf. "Very fine, this," he said absently. "It must have cost you a fortune. But there, that's you all over again: there's no getting in your way if you will have something, and to halifax with the cost." He set the horn down. "Which brings me to the other subject."

Snape watched his fingers, willing away any nervous tics. When he was confident he had his voice under control he spoke, though he could not look up. "Albus. Sirius Black and I are lovers."

"Yes."

Snape was aware that his swallow sounded very loud in the quiet room, but his throat was unaccountably dry. "There's more," he managed.

Dumbledore turned at that. "You are referring to the Cordelictus?"

"I. . . how did you. . ." Nothing articulate was coming out, so he shut his mouth and sat back down.

"How, Severus? You honestly wish to ask me how? How could I not, would be a better question. The minute the two of you walk into a room, the air hums with it. It is almost unbearable."

"You have known all this time."

"Of course. But put your mind at rest-- I doubt there is anyone else at Hogwarts who can discern it. Anyone human, that is."

He peered out the high window into the hedge. "I have been reflecting," he said. "Life does not care for happy endings, does it? All of our joys-- they come at terrible prices. Voldemort's first defeat, bought at the price of James and Lily's life. His second-- at what incalculable cost have we purchased that? I wonder." He sighed again, and turned. "I think you know, Severus, what my opinion is of what you have done. Blood oaths are a dark and dangerous business. Have you become so accustomed to following your own law all these years that you thought you could walk the halls of this castle shimmering with dark magic, and that I would say nothing? The risks to which you have exposed the both of you. . ." He frowned and shook his head. "What the end of this will be, I cannot see."

Snape said nothing, watching the floor.

"I think the world was a good deal safer when the two of you spent your passion in hating each other." He looked like he might be wating for a reply, or a defence that did not come. He sighed and picked up his cloak from the chair. "The students will have to be told of Draco's death, of course, but I would prefer to keep the manner of it secret, for now. Forgive me if I sound like poor Fudge, but I don't want to start a panic."

"No, of course not. There is no need for that. I, too, would prefer to keep this between us."

"So be it." He rested a hand briefly on Snape's shoulder. "I'll see you in hall tonight."

"Yes, Headmaster."

"Good afternoon, then."

"Good afternoon, sir."

When he was gone Snape sat lost in thought for a long time. He was roused when a timid house elf ventured in to light the lamps against the gathering dark. Snape tossed a shoe and sent the creature scuttling in terror. Then he extinguished the lamps, sitting motionless in the dark until quite late.

Chapter Five

He knew it was Black before the door opened all the way, even before he heard the cat-like footfall in the darkened room. Wards clearly meant nothing to the man.

He came and sat in the straight-backed chair Snape used to torture students during tutorials, saying nothing for a while. At last Snape stirred and looked at him as though seeing him for the first time.

"What are you doing here?"

"Albus told the school at dinner. I know you want to be alone now, but I need to know you're going to be all right. I'm just going to sit here with you a while."

"Go away, Black."

"In a bit."

"Black." He sat up and made an effort to focus on him. "Tonight is not the night for you to be here. Nor is any other night, for that matter. I will ask courteously for the last time. Please leave my office at once."

Sirius said nothing, but moved quietly into his mind. He pushed him roughly out.

No, Severus. You've had five hours to sit here alone. Now you're going to have some company.

Black, you little shit, get out of my head.

He accompanied his words with as emphatic a slam of the mental door as he could manage.

"Snape. Listen to me. You did nothing wrong. It was Malfoy's choice not to return to school this year. You did everything you could to make the manor as safe as possible. You are not to blame here."

"Spare me your hollow sympathy and inane platitudes. Of course I am to blame. Recognition of one's own guilt is, I know, a foreign emotion to you, but it is one with which I am intimately familiar, and I prefer to be left alone to enjoy it. Now get out of here." He sank back and turned his attention to the empty fireplace that he had been contemplating before Black's intrusion.

Sirius pushed gently at the door of his mind, but Snape had barred the door. He fought down the unease of being shut out, and continued to sit quietly beside him. When it was clear he had no intention of leaving, Snape turned to him again, his eyes glittering oddly.

"Black. This is not the night I intended to do this, but you are rapidly leaving me no choice. Get out of here and do not return."

Sirius rose and went to the fireplace, igniting a blaze in the cold ashes with his wand. "The nights are getting colder. You're going to freeze to death if you sit here like this all night."

Snape pushed himself up out of his chair. "You pathetic moron," he hissed, his voice low and menacing. "Do you really not see what is going on here?"

Sirius turned at that, frowning.

"I have larger concerns than you to deal with. Our little diversion is over. I admit, it was enjoyable while it lasted-- more enjoyable than I would have foreseen, even-- but now it is over, and your presence in my quarters is an unwelcome intrusion."

Sirius said nothing, his eyes narrowing. Snape circled closer.

"You Mudblood cur. Is nothing I am saying penetrating that thick skull of yours? I am finished with you. Get. Out." He delivered the last in a deadly whisper, the kind that turned first years to jelly in their seats. Sirius looked unconcerned. He picked up a poker and stabbed at the fire. Snape grabbed the poker from his hand and hurled it across the room with a clatter.

"Idiot!" He yelled. "What must I do to be rid of you? Why must you make me do this tonight? Tonight, of all nights? Listen to me, Black, and listen carefully. You have been a most entertaining addition to my bed, but that is all. Do you honestly think I have ever felt anything for you other than distaste? Distaste masked by lust is still, nonetheless, distaste. Oh, Severus," he pitched his voice in a cruel mimic, "I love you. I want you, I need you. Fuck me, Severus."

"Stop." Sirius's face had no colour in it.

"You sad little shit. It turned out to be easier than I had ever thought it would be, seducing you, convincing you of my love. Azkaban laid your defences low, Black, or I would never have been able to do it. You were so pathetically needy. What greater proof of that could there be than your allowing me in your bed? I never dreamed you would give me so much more-- that you would willingly hand me such power over you. And when you did, all I could think of was this moment. The moment when I would tell you it was all a sham. That I have never ceased to hate you, to despise you." His lips curled back in an unpleasant grimace.

"Snape. Stop whatever it is you are doing right now."

"Oh, don't worry, Black, it's a hollow victory, I assure you. After today, what energy can I possibly spare for you? You are beneath notice, beneath my concern. Destroying you is not nearly as enjoyable as I had thought it would be, and I shall miss fucking you, but if it frees me from the irritating claustrophobia of your presence, my delight is complete."

"What the hell are you playing at, Snape?" His voice shook only a little.

"My, my. How the years do change us. Of all the epithets I could have justly hurled at you all those years ago, stupid was never among them. But Azkaban robbed you of more than just twelve years, I see."

Sirius stood with his back to the fire, his fists clenched. "Snape. Think very carefully before I walk out that door."

"Oh, for the love of God." Snape brought his face inches from the other man's. "You still think this is some sort of lovers' quarrel, don't you? A result of my grief-crazed state, perhaps? How desperate you must be right now to believe that," he mused. "What a consoling thought. Then you might not have to face your own humiliation, or the possibility that what I am telling you is nothing more or less than the truth."

"No." Sirius shook his head. "It isn't."

"Isn't it? How do you think I survived all those years in Voldemort's inner circle, Black? I have what is called a talent for deception. If you think you can look at me and tell the truth from a lie, then you have learned to know me not at all. Voldemort himself never knew what I was. What presumption makes you think you could?" Snape's rage overmastered him, and he shoved the other man against the wall. "What's the matter Black-- do you want it so bad you'll take it even from someone who hates you? Do you?" With one hand he grabbed a fistful of hair and slammed Sirius's face into the wall, turning him so his arm was twisted behind him. He gasped in pain.

"That's right," Snape purred in his ear. "Now you're getting it. But maybe what you need is. . . what's the word? Closure. Yes, that's it. Oh, I can give that to you all right." He tore down Sirius's trousers and pressed himself against his struggling form, rubbing himself. "God, I shall miss this. What a sweet arse you have, Black. Well, not to worry. I'm sure Lupin will be happy to step in to the breach. Or what about your godson? He's grown to be quite the man, hasn't he? Perhaps I shall have a crack at him myself," he said softly.

Sirius tried to wrench his arm free, but Snape twisted it further. He cried out as the pain shot through his arm in a white-hot wave, and he knew a bone had snapped.

"Severus," he managed to gasp.

"Silence!" Snape roared. "Do not presume to use my name again! You impudent whore, you worthless slut-- what ever made you think I wanted you as anything more than an object with which to amuse myself? It is time you learned the truth of your place in my life." With one hand he pushed his hard length into Sirius's cleft, shoving brutally until he was sheathed. The blood he could feel oozing around his cock only excited him further, and the other man's cries of pain drove him over the edge. Sirius's face battered the stone wall at every thrust.

"Severus-- no, please. . ."

Snape pumped furiously, grunting and gripping Sirius's hipbone with crushing force, holding him in place as he drove in over and over, coming at last in a violent spasm of groaning.

When the last of his climax had left him, he pulled his bloody cock out and released Sirius, pushing him against the wall, where he slumped, his face white with pain. Snape tossed him a towel from under a cabinet. "Clean yourself up and get out of here. And try not to drip anything disgusting on that carpet-- it's an antique."

He paused on his way to the sitting room, stepping over the huddled body.

Black, he called in his mind. You still want in my head? Very well. Feel what I feel when I look at you.

Sirius closed his eyes against the wave of hatred and revulsion that crashed over him as Snape opened his mind to him one last time. He quietly retched into the towel he held to his bruised face as the sitting room door slammed shut.

Chapter Six

He had known that the arm, at least, he could not mend on his own. Bone-mending was painful work, difficult enough to perform on someone else, and quite impossible on oneself. Madam Pomfrey, though, was out of the question. This left him but one other option that he could think of. He would have preferred to get himself cleaned up before he tried it, but the pain in his arm was too much-- he would have to get it mended. The pain from the Cordelictus was more of a slow hemorrhage. Looking down at his shirtfront he was surprised to see there was no blood. He felt as though his heart's blood were spilling out of him in gallons, but he knew what he was feeling was the slow bleed of magic. The Cordelictus had been seriously ruptured, and he knew there was a grave possibility he might die from it. He needed medical assistance from someone trained, and he needed it now.

Hermione woke with a start to Sirius standing over her bed.

"Lumos," she said, casting back the covers. She paled at the sight of him, and he knew he didn't need a mirror to see how bad it was. His face was probably the worst of it. "Sirius," she breathed. Though they were careful around their peers, neither Harry, Ron, nor Hermione could ever get used to Professor Black. "My God, what happened to you?"

"I need your help," he managed. "My arm-- please." He slumped down on her bed, steadying himself, thanking every god he knew of that Hermione was Head Girl with her own rooms.

She nodded, her wartime training with Madam Pomfrey taking over. "Sit still. Can you extend it for me? All right, just leave it. I'm going to have to touch it." He winced as she gently felt it, magically probing with the tips of her fingers. "This is some break you've got here, Sirius. The ulna's snapped clean in two and the radius is partially fractured." She glanced at him. "I don't know how you can bear it."

"It's not so bad," he said through a tight jaw.

"I'll bet. Let me get my wand. Try to hold as still as you can, now. I know this is going to hurt." She ran her wand back and forth over the arm several times, as he gripped the bedcovers in a white-knuckled fist. It was a difficult break to mend. She chewed her lip; whoever had done it knew what they were about. "All right, hold it still for a bit while I work on your face. Sirius, may I ask what happened to you?"

"I slipped getting out of the shower."

"Very funny. Are you hurt anywhere else?"

He hesitated. The pain and burning in his rectum was intense, and he knew the bleeding hadn't stopped yet.

"Sirius. I did this during the war because I'm good at it, and I'm even better at keeping my mouth shut. Please, let me heal you. You can trust me."

He closed his eyes. "I'm fine, Hermione, thank you."

"No, you're not. You're in pain. Sirius, you might have internal injuries. Please let me examine you."

He shook his head. "You can't help, Hermione. It's a magical drain."

"A magical drain? How did--? I suppose you cracked your head on the toilet seat when you fell, is that it? Well, we've got to stop it immediately. You could die if this keeps up."

"I know," he said faintly. "But trust me, there's nothing you can do. If there were, I would let you do it, believe me. I don't have a death wish. But you can't help me with this." He stood, a bit more steady on his feet. With the screaming pain in his arm gone, he could feel the torn Cordelictus more acutely, the magic spilling out of him at every step. He would have to lie down soon.

"You know, you were right. You really are good at this." He felt his newly healed arm and gave her a small smile, which she did not return. "And Hermione. . ."

"Don't worry. Mediwitches keep their patients' secrets."

He nodded. "Thank you, Hermione."

"Sirius, please, can't you tell me what happened to you? You've got to let someone help you-- if not me, then Professor Lupin or--"

"No," he said, more firmly. "Get some rest now, Hermione. I appreciate your help."

"All right, but I think you're being ridiculously stubborn."

"So noted. Good night, Hermione."

"Good night, Sirius."

He slipped out her door without another word, aware of her anxious gaze on him. His one concern was to get to his rooms before he collapsed, and he succeeded, though he made it no farther than inside his door before he crumpled to the floor. He held on to consciousness for a few more minutes, too weak to move himself, before the blackness swallowed him.

"Turn to page four hundred and seventy of your textbooks and complete the potion described there. When you have done this, you will write a scroll eighteen inches long discussing the properties of this potion, its history, and various uses. Due tomorrow. Any questions?"

The seventh year Gryffindor and Slytherin double potions class knew better than to ask any. Snape appeared to be in a foul mood, even for Snape, and their survival instinct was strong enough after six years to keep them quiet. He narrowed his eyes at them from behind his desk as if daring them to make a sound.

"Well?" he demanded, his voice rising. "What are you waiting for, you imbeciles? Get to work!"

They jumped and quickly flipped open their textbooks. Snape did not move, but remained behind his desk watching them.

"What the hell's the matter with him today?" Ron muttered to Hermione.

She did not reply, but peered at him from under her hair. He was even paler than usual. They read in silence and began to assemble ingredients at their cauldrons, casting occasional fearful glances at Snape, who remained motionless, glaring at them. It was a situation tailor-made to send Neville Longbottom into nervous collapse, and Harry had more than once to quietly correct his shaking hands before they were all blown to smithereens. Snape, for once, appeared not to notice.

When they were about halfway through the potion, Hermione took the opportunity to sneak surreptitious glances at Snape. He was if anything paler than he had been at the beginning of the hour. He caught her eye as she was staring and scowled at her, but she dropped her gaze slowly and without discomfiture, thinking. The class might have gone off without incident had not Neville been unable to sustain the pressure of Snape's silent gaze. He made the crucial error of adding the clover dew at precisely the worng moment, and his cauldron bgan to roil and smoke.

Snape leaped from behind his desk. "Longbottom, you monumental idiot, what new stupidity have you managed?" he growled as he pushed back his chair and swept down the aisle. If he had been a panther his fangs would have been bared. He had not gone five steps, however, before the unthinkable happened. He stumbled, losing his balance. The rest of the class watched in shock, but Harry's quick reflexes kicked in, and he grabbed his arm just in time. He hauled Snape upright and was shoved roughly away for his trouble. Snape snatched his arm away with a snarl.

"Get your hands off me, Potter. That will be fifteen points from Gryffindor for daring to lay hands on a teacher, you impudent whelp."

Harry opened his mouth to protest the injustice, but caught Hermione's look as she quickly doused the inferno of Neville's cauldron. Snape's face was positively murderous. "Give me a reason to make it fifty, Mr. Potter, and I swear I will," he hissed.

Harry resumed his seat, his eyes on his nematodes. Snape was clutching the table, breathing heavily.

"Get out, all of you," he gasped. They froze, unsure what to do. "I said, get out!" he bellowed, and they jumped to their feet, clutching their textbooks and scurrying for the door like first years. Hermione paused to put Neville's things right before she left.

"Didn't you hear me, you irritating little busybody?"

She calmly gathered her things and followed Harry and Ron, who were waiting just beyond the door. She was unusually silent the rest of the day, especially after Transfiguration, in which Sirius dismissed them all to the library to research their next project. Hermione had tried to stay behind to ask after his arm, but he had cut her off and made his way quickly for his office. He looked little better than he had last night. She considered staying after class to ask Remus if he knew what was wrong with Sirius, but her medi-conscience got the better of her, and she subsided into quiet thought for the rest of the day.

The suffering of the potions classes in the next week was acute. Snape demanded a new scroll of at least eighteen inches every day, yet he showed no sign of marking the ones they had turned in. In fact, he returned their first batch to them with only broad green-ink slash marks through their paragraphs, telling them he would not be insulted by such shoddy attempts and instructing them to do them over again. They dutifully complied, and the next day he piled their scrolls on the desk and made a bonfire of them with an igneus charm. When Ron, who had been up until three in the morning working on his, made a muffled noise of protest, Snape had taken away an indecent number of points and looked like he was twitchy to take more.

Even his Slytherins were afraid for their lives, although when Zabini and Goyle gathered their courage and asked if they could come to tutorial that evening, he had not refused outright.

"I'd like to see what he would have said if I'd asked for tutorial," Ron had muttered under his breath to Hermione, who had reflexively kicked him.

"Can't hurt me. I finally got that steel shin-guard installed this summer," he had grinned back at her, and had lost Gryffindor another ten points for smiling. Harry had kicked him then, much harder.

For Snape, each class looked much the same, and about halfway through the week he stopped being able to tell the difference. He was pretty sure he had just assigned the seventh years the first years' homework, and vice versa, but the first years had been too terrified, and the seventh years too jubilant, to protest. The sorry sods, he thought, as he stumbled through his office door to the sitting room at the end of the day. He sat on the sofa and closed his eyes, balling his fists against the pain. The slow bleed of the Cordelictus was excruciating, and although he knew of a few potions that might dull it somewhat, he had eschewed them all. As long as he could control his thoughts, he could survive, and the pain was a way of focusing.

Meal times had been the worst of it. He still felt the connection then, in Black's presence, much as he fought it. He ate little but sat brooding over his stew, summoning to mind every infuriating image, every hurtful memory of Black that he possibly could, in order to wrap himself in a wall of hatred. He could not risk an intrusion into his mind, and Black might still be capable of it. He had shown himself remarkably adept at it before. This evening he had been more successful than most, and had even carried on a conversation with Flitwick while rehearsing in his mind the events of the end of fifth year, when Black had charmed his house badge to read "I Wet the Bed."

All in all, it had been a successful evening until just after dinner, when he had been distracted and most unwisely walked along the main corridor on his way out, and had had the misfortune to encounter Black stalking down the deserted hallway. He had frozen, unsure of what to do as the man advanced on him. Black had narrowed those feral eyes at him.

"Get out of my way, Snape," he had said in a low growl, and brushed past him, the other man's loathing sweeping over him in a wave so intense he could taste it in the back of his throat.

Well, there's progress, he had thought.

He relaxed down on to the sofa, shutting his eyes tighter against the pain. He had just started to think tonight might be the night sleep was possible when the timid knock came at his door. Oh, hell and all his angels, he thought with a groan. Tutorial. He had completely forgotten. For a moment, he pondered throwing back the door and roaring at them, but a twinge of his atrophied conscience couldn't quite let him use his own House so abominably. He staggered to the door and wrenched it open.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Come in already, if you're coming."

Clearly they were thinking better of their idea as they shuffled into the office, clutching their scrolls nervously. He sat in his chair and tapped his fingers on the table.

"Yes? You had questions? Now would be the time to ask them, if you can manage to string two words together, which from the state of your essays I doubt. Come on, let's have it then."

Then Zabini stepped forward. "Quietus," he said, in an altogether different voice from his usual mild stutter, and that was the last thing Snape heard before the cords snaked out of Goyle's wand and his head hit the floor with a crack.

Chapter Seven

When he woke, he was unsure how much time had elapsed or where he was. He tried to work on these questions before he allowed his eyes to open, knowing only that he was still alive. He seemed to be lying on a bed of some sort, or a mat. His left arm was tightly bound to his body. There was a low throb deep in the wrist. They had been clumsy, then, and injured him, but had taken care to bandage him. Clearly his captors preferred him to be conscious when torture began. He lay still for as long as he could before the pain in his limbs necessitated movement.

"Awake, are we?" Zabini's smooth voice was back. "Let's bring the professor some water, shall we?"

Clever boy, thought Snape. He's done this before. Win a little bit of trust with courtesy. Never raise the voice. Yes, that's how it's done.

"Hold his head up. He had a nasty fall. How is your head, Professor?"

"It's fine." He flinched at the rasp of his voice. Unconscious for some time then. Possibly drugged. He struggled to focus.

"Allow me to congratulate you, Mr. Zabini. I would never have thought you capable of it."

"No, of course not. Gregory, be careful there. Not too much water at once."

Snape caught sight of other figures moving about on the edge of his fuzzed vision. Three, maybe four. Young. Tall. Seventh years, sixth years.

"Did you get all of Slytherin House to help you, Zabini? Or did you just inherit Malfoy's thugs?"

Blaise pulled up a wooden chair and straddled it, his handsome head resting on his hands, his smile pleasant. "Oh no, not everybody. But you'd be surprised. I'm wondering if you have any idea what's going on here?"

"You intend to torture and kill me as brutally and probably as slowly as possible, in revenge for my supposed treachery to Voldemort's cause."

"Supposed!" He spat the word, his face distorting with anger before the courteous mask snapped back into place. "It's just as I thought. You haven't any real idea. You never did. Do you think I, or any of us, care anything about Voldemort?"

He swallowed. His tongue felt too large for his dry mouth, and he was having difficulty following the conversation. "No," he whispered. "I would imagine your motives are much more. . . personal."

"You're goddamned right they're personal. Where do you think my parents are, Professor Snape?"

"In a cell in Azkaban."

"My father is. My mother died there two weeks ago. She was in solitary and only fed every other day, they say, so it was a bit before they found her body. I don't guess the rats had left much behind by then." His tone was light and conversational. "But you've got the Order of Merlin pinned to your chest, haven't you, Professor?"

He was silent because he knew no respose was possible. He also knew that he was a dead man. It didn't matter to Blaise that Esme Zabini was an homicidal maniac, any more than it mattered to Goyle that his father had snapped the necks of Muggle children when they ceased to amuse him. Snape swallowed again and tasted his own death in his mouth.

"How's the hand, Professor?" he asked solicitously.

"Fine," Snape croaked, reaching his right hand weakly around to feel the bandage. He gasped and fought the retch at the nothingness his hand encountered.

"We'll send the other one on to Dumbledore when we're done here, not to worry. And your feet, wrapped separately. Your genitals we will probably stuff down your throat, preferably while you're still breathing, so you can choke on them." Zabini rose lightly, with a small smile. "Well, then, let's begin, shall we? Crucio."

Sirius jerked awake in a cold sweat. He lay staring at the ceiling, heart pounding, listening, every nerve still. The sound had seemed so real, and in the half seconds before full consciousness he almost believed it had been. He sat up and pushed the hair out of his face, glancing at his watch on the nightstand. A dream, nothing more. It was probably to be expected. He had settled back on his pillow when he heard it again: his name, screamed in his head, by a voice wracked with pain. Not a voice. The voice.

He threw back the blankets and hit the floor as Padfoot, loping down the deserted hallways to the only place he knew to go. The door to the dungeons was unwarded and slightly ajar, and Padfoot could smell the wrongness before he nudged the door back. His eye caught the scattered papers and the overturned jars before it saw the puddle of blood on the table and took in the object resting in it. He shook himself out and rose as Sirius, staggering in horror to the table. Beneath what was unmistakably Snape's severed hand was written in blood: So To All Traitors. Sirius sank to his knees, shaking. His scream of rage shook the walls of the castle.

Aurelius came and sat down beside him for a while.

Relio. Where have you been? I've been looking everywhere for you.

I've been waiting for you.

May I come with you now?

No, not just yet. In a bit.

I won't be any bother. Please Relio.

Soon, fratello mio. Soon. Fra poco.

Is Mamma angry about the vase? I didn't mean to break it. I know I oughtn't to have hid the pieces like that. I didn't know it was so valuable.

No, it's fine. I'll tell her it was me.

He'll hit you.

Let him try.

"Say, what's that he's babbling?"

"I dunno. Sounds like French or something."

Zabini's voice again, as Aurelius went away. "You idiots. It's Italian. Hold him down again."

Dumbledore regarded the drawn faces before him. Flitwick, wringing his hands anxiously; Trelawney, wrapped in even more diaphonous layers than she wore in the daytime, chewing her nails; Vector, pacing furiously. Lupin, frowning, arms crossed by the mantel. By the fire sat Sirius, very still, his eyes shadowed.

"Albus." Madam Hooch spoke from the window ledge. "Have you any idea who could have done this thing?"

"Yes, Rolanda, we have some. All the seventh and sixth year Slytherins are absent, and one or two of the fifth years. We have reason to believe they are complicit somehow in Professor Snape's disappearance."

Flitwick frowned. "Ought we perhaps to send out search parties around the grounds? Might they be in the Forbidden Forest?"

"No, Filius, I'm afraid that's not possible. Harry here has a map that can plainly show you none of them are anywhere on the Hogwarts grounds."

Harry, leaning in a corner near Lupin, handed the Marauder's Map around to Professor Flitwick, who gave a little cry of astonishment when he saw it, and a sharp look at Remus and Sirius. "Extraordinary," he muttered, squinting at the tiny dots. Most of them were motionless in their dormitories, since it was still just two thirty in the morning. He watched the little cluster of dots in Dumbledore's office swirl as each of them moved.

"Now. Naturally we canot hide what has happened from the students. They will be frightened-- as frightened as we are." Dumbledore paused; he looked very old tonight, and very tired. "We must do our best to reassure them and to that end I have asked Hermione, as our Head Girl, to be present while we discuss this situation. Let me make this very clear: Professor Snape will be returning to Hogwarts. I will see to that myself. What I need from all of you is an assurance that you will keep this school running as close to normally as possible, given the circumstances."

"Albus." Vector's voice was thin and tight. "You can't possibly think. . . I mean, what are the odds. . ."

"That he is still alive, you mean?"

Sirius stirred from his corner and spoke. "He's alive," was all he said. Remus watched him, but said nothing.

"Now. I wish to speak with Sirius and Remus alone, please. The rest of you, get some rest. I will let you know the moment we have anything to report." The faculty shuffled out, whispering quietly. "Harry and Hermione, stay a moment, if you will." When the door had shut on the others, Dumbledore looked to the figure staring into the fire.

"Sirius. Tell us what you are hearing."

He looked up, startled.

"Yes, of course I know." Dumbledore's voice was tense and weary. "Did you honestly think I could fail to?" His frown deepened. "You invoke a blood bond of that power within the walls of this castle and expect me to remain ignorant of it?"

Sirius met his gaze calmly. "Albus. You knew this was likely to happen, didn't you?"

"I had had some warning, yes. Draco's murderers left a note indicating Severus would be their next target. I shared it with him at once. We both knew something like this might happen."

"Draco's. . ." Sirius's voice trailed off. He sunk his head in his hands. "You went to him that afternoon, didn't you, and warned him."

Dumbledore's voice was soft. "Yes."

The fingers clutching his hair went white. "Ah, God," he moaned. "Fucking hell."

No one said anything for a minute. Harry, who was looking from one to the other of the adults, cleared his throat. "I-- I'm sorry, I don't quite. . ."

"He was trying to save your life," Hermione said quietly. "Wasn't he? You shared a blood bond, and he tried to rupture it so you would be protected when he was killed. That's the night you came to me to heal you-- the night after Draco was killed, the night after he found out he would be next. That's it, isn't it?" She had the same eagerness of voice that she got when solving a difficult arithmancy problem. Remus shot her a look.

"Bloody hell!" Sirius leaped out of his chair, his eyes blazing. "Goddammit, Albus, you knew. You knew all along. You should have come to me. You knew what he would try to do and you let him. Fuck you, Albus."

Harry looked at his shoes. He had never heard anyone talk like that to Dumbledore, or so much as swear in his presence before. Sirius was carding his hands through his hair, and looked like he was trying to control their shaking.

"I'm going after him," he said in a quieter voice. "You can come or not, you and whoever else wants to. But I'm not coming back without him." He walked quickly out the doors, not looking back. He had not answered Albus's question, and he knew it, but he had no intention of sharing what it was he was hearing in a low drone inside his head, over and over.

Sirius. Sirius. Sirius.

Blaise Zabini cocked his head and frowned. Inwardly, however, he could not have been more pleased. Snape had proved to have all the stamina he had hoped. Several hours of regular bouts of Crucio, and he was still at intervals conscious. Really, it was most encouraging. The anesthetic poultice on his hand was beginning to wear off, too-- it was evident from the way he clutched at it that he was starting to be in considerable pain.

He considered. Crucio was getting a trifle dreary. There was only so much that was going to happen with that, and if he killed him that way it would lack the necessary drama.

"Strip him," he ordered. It was fascinating, the level of pain one could inflict with Crucio and yet leave no outward mark. He ran a hand over the smooth, muscled skin of Snape's back, which twitched under his touch.

"All right. See if you can't haul him up and tie him to the foot of the bed there. That's right. Yes, turn him more this way." They yanked his mutilated arm from his side, and earned Zabini's dipleasure when he passed out from the pain of it. He came to when they hurled a glass of water in his face. "Gregory. Try the whip a bit. See if you can get as much of the skin as raw as possible. It will help with this next bit."

Goyle, standing nauseatingly close, unfurled a short whip that Snape recognized at once as a baku. A Muggle device from the Philippines, fashioned from the tail of a sting ray, its venom intact. He tried to calculate how long he would he be able to withstand the venom, and then all thought was lost as the first lash descended on his back. He was grateful that he had hours ago lost the ability to scream, and tried to shut his mind down to keep it out of dangerous paths. He must keep up the wall as best he could, he must be strong-- he crumpled under it, and his scream was a faint moan.

Chapter Eight

They had finished with the baku before he had thought they would, actually. At least, he was still conscious, and he had learned enough of Zabini's ways to know that was a bad sign. How had he missed it all these years? The blossoming of a perfect psychopath, right under his very nose. Hogwarts' Head Boy. The model Slytherin, the Slytherin the whole school could actually like. Poor Draco could have sat at Zabini's knee and taken lessons in sadism.

Goyle, breathing hard, dropped the baku. The boy showed a real talent for his work. After the first few clumsy strokes, he had really grown into it. Snape could feel the blood running down his back, his arms, the tops of his thighs. And now Goyle was pulling him up, positioning him back onto the bed, no, just halfway there, and he felt what he knew with a panicked certainty was Goyle's meaty phallus nudging at him, and the next minute he was being split in two, and he knew his own blood was being used for lubrication, and he had no way to brace himself against the terrible onslaught, and no reason to hide the shame of his tears. And in his head he heard a voice say, this is what you deserve. This is what you did. He tried to scream no, but he had forgotten what language he ought to be speaking, and when Aurelius came back he scolded him.

Vero. Mamma told you to clean your boots before you came in. And now look what you've done? You've made a mess, right here on the carpet where he's going to see it.

I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, please, I'll clean it up.

Here, let me help. Don't cry, for heaven's sake. Try not to snivel all the time.

I'll try, Relio, I will. Please don't be mad at me. Per favore.

I'm not mad, piccolo. Just looking out for you, all right?

Don't go.

I'll be back.

Sirius. Sirius. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Mi dispiace.

He shut his eyes and went away into his memory until Goyle was done.

It had been a difficult meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, to say the least. He had known it would be, and had pleaded with Albus, but the headmaster had been firm. And so, when they had all gathered at the table in the Shrieking Shack under the yellow circle of light, Dumbledore, with Fawkes on his shoulder, had laid out for them the strategy. Contain the Death Eaters wherever possible. Kill without regret when it was not. Protect the innocent at all costs. To this they had all assented, but silence had fallen when he explained the next part of his plan.

"Voldemort wishes above all things to have a single target to destroy, and that is what we must never give him. He is not such a fool that he will not know who leads this resistance. It is my head he will be after, and every one of yours. We are fewer than they, but we are far stronger, if we stand united. However, I may not always be with you to lead you and guide you. I am going to try to draw as much of Voldemort's attention and energy away from this place as possible, and Minerva will be with me. Therefore, you will need a battle commander who is always available to you, and my years, among other considerations, will not let me be that person. You need a commander who knows their tactics, who can think as one of them. You need a commander of outstanding courage and clear thought, whose willingness to sacrifice for our cause is unquestioned."

He paused and looked around the table at the grave faces. "I am and will remain your war mage. But Severus Snape will be your battle commander, and his voice is in all instances to be obeyed as mine."

No one moved or said a word, though Snape noted Harry's eyes went wide with shock. "You have all sworn your loyalty to me, and I have accepted it. I now ask that you do the same for him. Severus." He nodded to Snape, who sat with his arms crossed, examining the faces at the table from behind narrowed eyes. Without haste he rose and stood, expectantly. The hush in the room was deadly. The seconds ticked by, and then it happened. Sirius Black stood and walked slowly around the table to where Snape stood.

He planted himself a few inches from Snape and stared him down. Snape did not flinch. He had prepared himself for this moment, and braced himself for what he knew was going to come. Nothing, though, had prepared him for what happened next. Black reached into his sleeve and pulled out the vicious looking knife that was never far from his grasp, flicking it open. The blade shimmered dully and caught the light. Dumbledore was very still. Snape's eyes narrowed to hate-filled slits. Do it, you fucking bastard, he thought. I dare you.

And then Black dropped gracefully to one knee, turning the knife hilt-first to Snape, who clutched it for a moment in shock before he realized that Black was baring his chest to him in the time-honoured gesture. He recovered, and with only a moment's hesitation touched the knife to Black's chest, forehead, and uplifted hands.

"My hands shall be swift to do your bidding, my mind to follow your will, my heart to hear your call. This I swear, and will not repent." Black's voice was firm and clear as he spoke.

He rose lightly and held out his hand for the knife, which Snape returned hilt first, as it had been given. The little queue had formed at once behind Black, and all the oaths had been tendered and received in the same fashion, not with the sword of Godric Gryffindor, as their oaths to Dumbledore in his office had been, but on a Muggle switchblade owned by Sirius Black. It's just not possible to unpeel all the layers of that irony, he had thought, watching the small solemn group disperse. He had caught Black's eye on the way out and nodded, stiffly; his gesture was returned, and then he was gone.

"What do we do now?"

"Quiet. I'm thinking." Zabini chewed his lip and pondered. Snape was fading in and out of consciousness in a most frustrating manner. The venom in the baku was taking its toll a bit too soon; he had hoped Snape might be fully conscious for this next part, since he had planned it very carefully. He was furious with Goyle for his little contribution to the proceedings; rape had not been part of his plan, and its crudity repulsed him. He had known what reaction the flogging was triggering in Goyle's Cro-Magnon brain, but had not thought he would dare to lose control in front of all of them like that. It had been disconcerting, to say the least, and now Snape appeared to have lost consciousness altogether.

No matter, he thought. This next bit would be sure to jar him out of it. But best to leave Goyle out of it. "Vincent," he said, turning to Crabbe. "Bring me that flask over there. The one we brought from his office."

Crabbe's eyes widened; clearly he did not like the idea of being promoted to henchman-in-chief. His hands shook as he handled the glass bottle.

"For heaven's sake, Vincent, be careful. The last thing we need is for you to spill that on yourself."

This did not serve to steady Crabbe's nerves. Zabini snatched it away from him.

"Right. Now, stretch him out as flat as you can, on his stomach. I need as much of the skin on his back and legs exposed as possible. There we go." He swirled the purple liquid around, peering into it. It looked harmless enough, but Blaise was a clever potions student, and he knew what he had. "You two over there, hold his arms. And you hold his legs. I don't expect he'll stay still for this."

Zabini stepped closer and examined the open weals along Snape's skin. They were perfect. Quite a few of them had stripped away the flesh altogether, leaving muscle exposed underneath a bloody ooze. He could not have asked for better. Really, all things considered, Goyle had done a fine job of it. Carefully, he tipped the flask over top of the deepest weal, along the left side of Snape's back, and let a little bit of the viscous stuff drip into the wound.

A terrible hissing sound, and a little cloud of sulfurous smoke. A scream then, long, drawn-out, and hoarse. Zabini smiled. Conscious again at last.

The screams, he remembered, were the worst part. Cut off by a group of Death Eaters that vastly outnumbered them, huddled for safety in the little cave under the embankment, they had been forced to listen to the screams of the victims, unable to save them. They were lucky to have escaped with their lives; it was impossible to know if any of the others had been so fortunate.

"I say we get our wands out and charge 'em," growled Moody. Snape ignored him, standing at the mouth of the cave, listening. "Skulking in here like cowards," he grumbled. "That's not how wars were fought in my day."

"Shut up, Alastor." This from Black, who leaned against the cave wall, his eyes closed. Snape turned.

"They'll not be done for some time," he said calmly. "They probably intend to burn everything. We'd best make ourselves comfortable and wait. And absolutely no magic-- we must not risk alerting them to our presence."

"Why in blazes don't we just appparate ourselves out of here, I'd like to know," Moody mumbled under his breath.

"Because they will have set up apparation shields around the entire perimeter of the village," Snape answered shortly. "They're getting more cautious, and better at it. We have no choice but to wait here."

Moody snorted. "And what are a few more lives lost, eh, Snape? Especially if some of them happen to be Muggles?"

"Oh, for Christ's sake, will you just shut up already? Snape's right. There's nothing we can do." He settled back against he wall, wincing as he shifted. Snape watched him carefully. Black had taken a glancing curse off his upper arm as they dove for cover, and it appeared to be giving him some trouble. Black had a surprisingly cool head in battle, and if he were seriously wounded it meant relying on Moody more than he cared to, in case they did have to fight their way out.

The three stranded warriors huddled white-faced in the little shelter, not daring to stop their ears to the sounds of the carnage on the bluff above them. It was impossible to tell how much time elapsed. The moon rose after a bit, but the noises continued-- revelry now, less order, less control. Snape calculated, and looking up his eyes met Black's.

"They'll be gone soon. We can try breaking for it within the hour, I'd say."

"I say we take some of them with us when we do."

He cocked a contemptuous eyebrow at Moody. "Don't be absurd. There are still forty to fifty of them, at the least. Even off their guard, the three of us are no match for them. At best, we could get six or seven of them before we were apprehended. I'll not trade our lives for the satisfaction of a meaningless revenge. "

"You'll not! You'll not!" Moddy sputtered. "Listen to me, Snape. You may be Dumbledore's pet Death Eater, but as far as I'm concerned, your sympathies are still open to question. What sort of leader would sit here like you've been, letting that abomination go on up there? I think you've kept us in here to keep both sides of your bread buttered, I do indeed. No matter who wins this war, you're set, aren't you? Keep all your options open-- that's the Snape way, all right."

Snape said nothing, though the muscles in his jaw twitched. "Shut your ignorant mouth," he said though clenched teeth. "If you dare to challenge my orders again, I'll have your oath for it, you blundering Cyclops."

"Why you-- how dare you--" Moody launched himself at Snape, knocking him off balance. Black's good arm reached to pull Moody back, but missed. Moody was wrestling the larger man to the ground, trying to wrench the wand out of his hand. Black had the collar of Moody's robes in one fist, but the older man had the fire of moral outrage in him, and was impossible to contain. He elbowed Black sharply in his wounded arm while clawing and kicking furiously at Snape, prone beneath him. Under any other circumstances it would have been amusing, the two younger wizards trying to fend off the wizened old hellcat. At last, Snape gave a hard kick to the other man's middle and sent him spawling against the wall of the cave.

"Petrtificus Totalus," Snape and Black shouted together, and Moody tipped over with a thud. His head struck an outcrop of rock with a nasty crack as he did so.

"Hm," Snape said, bending over him. "It appears he is unconscious as well as immobilised. Well." He looked up. "I think it suits him." He grabbed the old man by his heels and pulled him over to a corner.

Black slid down the wall, his face white. "Easy, Black." Snape helped him down gently, taking the opportunity to probe the wounded arm. His hand came away warm and wet.

"Goddamnit, Black," he muttered. "You'll never be able to apparate in this condition. What the hell were you thinking?" He carefully peeled away the layers of robe and shirt to expose the wound, and blanched when he saw the extent of the damage. Apparating out was the least of Black's worries. With a curse wound like that, he would be lucky to make it through the next few hours.

"Oh, I don't know, Snape. I've never been mortally wounded before, and today just seemed like the day, you know?"

Snape's expression was grave. "You should have said something earlier."

"And you would have done what, precisely?"

He was silent, assessing the extent of the damage. The curse was eating through to the bone, and doubtless the poison had entered the bloodstream hours ago. There was no telling how much blood his robe had soaked up. A skilled mediwizard might still be able to save him, but only if he had treatment in the next hour. Snape sat back on his heels and listened to the sounds above. It would be at least that, and probably more, before they could get out of here, and then only if the war party thought to remove the apparation shields as they departed. Not that Black was going to be able to apparate, or even remain conscious very much longer.

"Snape. Forget it. There's nothing you can do."

He dug in his waiscoat pocket and pulled out a tiny vial. "Drink this. It will at least dull the pain."

"You carry this stuff around with you?"

Snape said nothing, but glanced briefly at his left forearm.

"Ah. That bad, is it?"

"Only on some days."

Black's breathing eased a little, and he let his head relax against the rough stone behind him. "So I calculate I've got maybe forty-five minutes of consciousness left, maybe a little less. What do you think?"

"I would have to agree." Snape rose and began gathering bits of sticks and furze.

"What are you doing?"

"You'll be going into shock soon, and you'll need the warmth. I'm going to try a fire."

"Are you mad? You said no magic and you were right. They'll be on us in an instant."

In reply, Snape plunged his fingers back in his waistcoat pocket and pulled out three matches. Black gave a dry hack of a laugh.

"Quite the Boy Scout, aren't you? What else've you got in there?"

"Boy Scout?"

"Never mind." He watched in silence as Snape tried to light the little pile of turf with one bedraggled match, which sputtered out, then the second, which died as well. "Ever read any Jack London, Snape?"

"You know, about ninety percent of the time your conversation is wholly unintelligible to me, Black."

"Oh? What about the other ten percent?"

"Just partially unintelligible."

He laughed again, but began to cough. Snape got the little fire going on the third attempt, and blew on it carefully. Satisfied, he rose and wiped his hands.

"This cave is damp enough that there may be a water souce in the back. I'm going to go check." He returned in a minute with a bit of brackish water cupped in his hands. He knelt and held his hands to Black's mouth. "Drink."

He swallowed the foul tasting water gratefully. When he was done he closed his eyes for a bit. When he opened them he was wrapped in Snape's torn robe, and the blaze was crackling merrily.

"Snape."

"Mm." He was sitting on his heels, staring into the fire, poking it a little.

"How long was I out?"

"About fifteen minutes."

"Damn." He tried to shift, but the pain was too intense. The potion kept it under control if he stayed still. "How much pain do you deal with on a daily basis?"

"I use about four vials a day."

"Jesus wept."

They were silent another few minutes, listening to the sounds above.

"Snape. I never did tell you."

"What's that?"

"You're a damn fine commander."

Snape looked up in surprise, his eyes narrowed as though expecting an ambush.

"I mean it. I would have--" he paused while a cough overtook him. "I would have liked to be there when it ends, you know. To finally take him down."

Snape stirred the fire.

"You don't think we're going to win, do you?"

"Do you?"

There seemed no answer to that one, so they sat in silence some more. After a while Black spoke again.

"Hey, Sundance."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Forget it. I want to ask you something."

"What is it?"

"Harry."

Snape looked up at that. "What about him?"

"I need-- ah, Christ. I need you to look after him, Snape."

He frowned and looked away. "I will be happy to hand your commission to Lupin, or whomever you think should--"

"Not Remus. You."

"How on earth do you expect me to look after a boy I can barely stand to be in the same room with, Black?"

"Liar."

Snape sighed. "More to the point, why would you want me to?"

"Because Harry has no idea how powerful he is. When he finds out, he's going to need help. From someone who can show him what to do with that kind of power."

"What not to do, you mean."

"That too, yes."

Snape snorted.

"Snape. Please."

Their eyes met, and Snape read the pleading in the other man's eyes. "Very well," he sighed.

Black visibly relaxed, and let his eyes fall shut again. After a minute he brought his head up with a jerk.

"Let yourself sleep, why don't you?"

"No. I want to stay awake as long as possible. Odds are, if I go to sleep I don't wake up. You know that."

"Very probably."

"Talk to me."

Snape hesitated, casting about. "What was that thing you called me?"

"When?"

"Earlier. Sundance?"

"Oh." Black laughed. "Muggle film reference. You wouldn't know it."

Snape watched the moon float over the moors below. He could make out the little path leading from the bog now. "Tell me about it."

"It's a western. About two outlaws in the turn of the century American West. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid. They took from the rich and gave to - well, themselves and their gang. Cassidy was the handsome, witty one. Sundance was the straight man. They were the last great highwaymen."

"What happened to them?"

"They escaped their pursuers and made it to Bolivia."

"And lived happily ever after?"

"Well, no. They died in a shootout against overwhelming odds in Bolivia."

"I see. That's a lovely story, Black, thank you."

"Anytime. Ever been to the cinema, Snape?"

"Of course not."

Black shifted a little to cradle his arm. "Tell you what. Next time you're in London, I'll take you. What do you say?"

"This is meant to be an incentive to life?"

Black's eyes started to drift shut. "Black. Stay with me," he said in a harsh voice. "Tell me. . . tell me the worst thing you ever did."

"Oh, that's an easy one. Quite a few choices there. Although I'd have to go with killing James and Lily."

Snape quirked an eyebrow.

"I was the one who persuaded them to make Peter the secret keeper. It was my brilliant idea, every bit of it."

"You regret a murder you did not commit. How very Gryffindor of you. And I do not regret the murder I did commit. How pleasingly symmetrical."

"I'm surprised at you, Snape. I would have thought you had committed more than one murder."

"Go to hell, Black."

"All in good time."

Thay sat in silence for some minutes, listening to the wind sigh across the fells and scud and eddy inthe mouth of the cave. The sounds of demonic revelry above showed no signs of slacking.

"So who was it?"

"Hmm? Oh. My stepfather."

Sirius sat up straighter. "Fucking hell. You don't say. You parricidal little shit. What, did you get tired of waiting for the stacks of galleons in the vault? Or-wait, no I've got it. He tried to send you to summer camp, didn't he?"

Snape looked at him as though he had been coughed up by a cat. "You know, Black, every time I allow myself to think you might have even one redeeming characteristic, you remind me of my error. This conversation is over."

The silence stretched out again. Sirius leaned his head back and closed his eyes for a long while, listening to the faint sucking sound of the wind. When he opened his eyes Snape had not moved.

"How old were you when you offed him?"

"I told you, I have no intention of exchanging any more words with you. Try to die quietly, if you can. Why you would want to waste the last moments of your sorry life in petty squabbling is beyond my ability to understand."

"Then stop squabbling. Come on, Snape. You know, that was always your difficulty. You have the sense of humour of a trout. If you had ever learned to laugh at yourself, others might have found less occasion to do it for you."

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Do not presume to analyse me, Black. Your difficulty was ever to discern the line between mockery and humour. Had you learned to discover it, others might have been less eager to toss you in Azkaban and throw away the key."

Sirius watched the slow drip of water down the rock face puddle to a dark spot in the stone. "And you accuse me of cruelty," he said softly.

Snape found no reply. He watched the wind ruffle the stunted firs at the mouth of the little cave. "I was eleven," he said at last.

Sirius's head came up with a jerk. He said nothing.

"It is curious," Snape began slowly, "that of the many actions for which I ought to feel contrition, that is the one I contemplate in this hour. The one for which I persuaded myself I felt no remorse."

"What did he do?"

"What the hell does it matter. Nothing. He irritated me. I didn't care for the cut of his suits, and he made me eat my vegetables. Is that what you expect to hear?"

Sirius shook his head. Snape closed his eyes and settled back against the wall. Sirius watched him for a while before he spoke.

"I expect he deserved it."

Snape's eyes flew open. "You know nothing of it."

"So tell me."

"He-" Snape cut himself off, then began again. "He was not a good man."

"How did you do it?"

Snape shifted. "Poison."

"Pretty advanced, for eleven."

"I was precocious."

"Is that why you came to school knowing so much dark magic?"

"I suppose."

"Snape."

"What is it?"

"I apologise for the crack about summer camp." The silence stretched again, and Snape thought Black might be drifting off, but his eyes were wide when he glanced at him. "Snape."

"What?"

"What was the greatest joy of your life?"

Snape considered. "Do you mean the fact that brings me greatest joy, or the moment of greatest joy in my life?"

"The latter."

"Ah." He furrowed his brow in thought. "It will seem inconsequential."

"Try me."

"I can remember a day-I can't have been more than six or seven at the time-when I went out riding with my brother. He had received a horse, or a pony I suppose it must have been, for his birthday, and he spent whole days at a time on the back of that creature. A fat, mean-spirited thing it was, too. I was quite jealous. And then one morning he asked me if I wanted to go out riding with him, and I said I don't have a pony like some people, and he said no matter, we can share. And he lifted me up in front of him and held me there, and off we went. We rode over the hills around the house and out onto the moors. I can remember the shadows the clouds made on the hills, and the colour of the light. Isn't it curious?"

Sirius was looking at him with an odd expression on his face. "What was his name?"

"Merrylegs."

Sirius laughed, and Snape's lip gave a twitch.

"Aurelius. He died the year after."

He gave a sharp glance at Sirius as though expecting a comment that didn't come. "What about you? The moment you realised you were free of Azkaban, I suppose?"

"No. Not even close. The first time I held Harry in my arms after he was born."

Snape frowned. "Really."

"Yes."

"Why?"

Sirius dropped his eyes. "I can't describe it. I didn't know it for joy at the time- it was so much fiercer and sweeter than anything I have ever felt before or since. I just felt marvelously-- explained, I suppose. As though my existence had been justified, and it had nothing to do with any of the things I had thought it did. I felt so utterly humbled, and so completely at peace. It was one memory I fought to keep from the dementors. I suppose I felt like I would truly lose myself if they were ever allowed to touch it. Maybe it's the memory that kept me sane."

Snape looked as though he were tempted to comment on that last, but thought better of it. His eyes were unreadable. "I see," he said quietly.

Sirius began to shiver, and his face lost what little colour remained to it. Snape rose and sat down beside him, settling the robe so it covered the both of them, enclosing Black in with his body heat. Gingerly he pulled the other man into his arms, warming him. When Sirius did not object, he knew the end was not too far. He could make him comfortable, at the least.

"Is this all right?"

"Yes. Thank you."

Snape settled in closer and stretched his legs out. "You know, Black, I envy you."

"I always did know that. What in particular?"

"Sod off. Dying, I mean."

Sirius looked at him sharply. "Has it been that bad, Snape? Your life, I mean?"

"No. Just terribly. . .long."

"I suppose. . . I suppose you've got a point there. I wish my life had ended right after I held Harry. The rest seems like sorry, pointless anti-climax. A hopeless muddle."

"I wonder. Do you think, Black, that at the moment of death we can be granted the gift to go back to any moment in time we choose, to experience it one last time? Are we taken back to the last moment we felt ourselves to be truly alive, when we were most fully and completely ourselves?"

"I think that would be a wonderful thing to believe. God, I hope it's true."

"Well. I guess you'll find out soon enough."

"I guess so." He shifted a little and stared out the mouth of the cave, a small smile playing on his lips. "Gryffindor-Slytherin, '79. Final quarter. Farris takes a Bludger to the shoulder and goes down. The right-wing Gryffindor Beater takes aim at the Slytherin Chaser carrying the Quaffle."

"Are you saying, Black, that the most fulfilling moment of your existence was bashing me in the head with a piece of wood?"

"No, but it's up there."

"Besides, I made that goal. Your Bludger failed in its purpose."

"Maybe so, but that was sure a nice noise it made with your head."

Snape gave a low chuckle. "How utterly metaphorical of your life, Black. Win the battle, lose the war."

Sirius smiled. "In our present situation, I'd have to say it's an appealing strategy." Another wave of shivering seized him. Snape wrapped him closer, both arms around him now. "So. . . so cold."

"That's the shock. It will be all right."

"I know. It's not. . . it's not so bad." He relaxed into Snape's warmth. He raised his head. Snape's face was an inch from his. "There are things. . . I would do over."

"Like what?" Keep him talking, he thought. Keep him conscious as long as you can.

"I don't know. No, that's a lie, I do. We might have been friends, you know."

"I don't think so, Black. There's no reason to get maudlin just because you're dying."

He gave a weak smile. "Quite the bedside manner you've got there, Snape."

"So I've been told."

"Hey, Snape."

"Mm."

"I think we've progressed from bicker to banter."

Snape could not bite back the chuckle that rose at that one. "Albus will be pleased."

"Yeah." Black's head sank, and he was probably beyond registering that it was on Snape's shoulder. His eyes slid shut, then came back again. Snape was watching him carefully, eyes on his. He bent slightly closer to see if the pupils were blown. Sirius lifted his face fractionally. They stayed that way for several seconds. Together they closed the tiny gap between their lips in a delicate brush. Their lips stayed touching. Then Sirius's head lolled back, his eyes just open.

"Nice," he muttered. They held eye contact for a minute, then Sirius's eyes slowly closed on the darkness. "Sorry," he mumbled, as he slipped out of consciousness.

"What's he saying now?"

"I dunno. Gibberish, most likely."

Sirius, Sirius. Sorry, sorry, so sorry.

Chapter Nine

It had all sounded so much more noble when Zabini had talked about it in hushed tones in the common room. They had felt like conspirators, like rebels. It had sounded fun, not like the hard, dreary work it was turning out to be. Crabbe rummaged through the drawers of the musty kitchen, searching for a stray buscuit tin or even tuna, anything to eat. None of them had thought it would take quite this long for Snape to die, and they were getting hungry and restive. All except Zabini, sitting riveted next to Snape, scalding off his flesh with that godawful smelling swill, poking him and prodding at him and cruciating him at intervals. There hadn't been much else for anybody else to do, except Goyle, and he was so embarrassed at what had happened that he had taken himself off to one of the back rooms of the little cottage and no one had seen him since.

Crabbe tried to push the drawer shut, but it was old and sticky, and it took a good shove to get it back in its grooves. The drawer screeched as it shut, which is why he didn't hear the back door, which no one had thought to lock, swing open. Nor did he hear the click of toenails on the lino. He heard and saw nothing until he landed on the floor so hard the wind was knocked out of him and he couldn't scream, which in any event he would not have been able to do, because the dog's enormous jaws closed on his throat and ate his trachea before he could so much as gurgle a wet protest.

The dog stepped gingerly over the spreading puddle of blood, licking its froth-flecked jaws, relishing the bitter richness of human. It crouched in the doorway, waiting.

Snape lifted his head weakly. He knew that the venom was far advanced now, and he could no longer differentiate between memory and event, or tell exactly where he was. Every now and then a moment of clarity would come, but at first the pain was so fierce it beat back the consciousness. After a while he gave up and let himself drift, knowing that his increasing lack of sensation meant the poison had almost completed its work. He felt nothing after that but peace, and an odd sense of floating. He opened his eyes to see a large black dog standing over him. He licked his lips and tried to speak.

The dog was gone, or maybe his dream shifted. It was Sirius now. He wondered if Sirius was already dead. If he had been unsuccessful, how long would Sirius be able to survive without him? The dream Sirius bent down and appeared to be saying something, but from very far away. His voice sounded as though through a tunnel, and he only caught bits of it.

". . . be all right. . . get you out of here."

He tried to shake his head, and licked his lips. His throat was too dry to work. I can't leave, he tried to say. Aurelius will be coming back soon. He will be cross if I'm gone. I have to wait here.

Dream Sirius was frowning, and saying something to him, but a maroon haze was settling around the edges of everything, eating at the borders of his vision. He felt fingers close on his shoulder, felt himself being shaken, but knew it was no use and slipped backward.

He wiped his stirring rod on the silken cloth and frowned at the interruption.

"Come in."

His office door creaked open, and Sirius Black stepped hesitantly across the threshold. Snape spared him only a glance before starting in on the dragonfly hearts with his pestle. Black came and stood right beside him, watching him as he worked, leaning on the worktable.

"Is there something I can do for you, Black?"

"Just wanted to let you know I'm recovering nicely, thank you. I'm sure you've been pacing the floor at nights with worry."

"I've hardly been able to bathe or feed myself. Was there anything else?"

"Two things, actually. One is, to thank you for saving my life."

"It was unavoidable."

"Quite. And the other is, to see if you'd like to go have a pint with me at Rosmerta's."

Snape's pestle faltered, then resumed at a quicker pace. "No, thank you."

"No?"

"Black." He laid the pastle aside. "You might have. . . misunderstood. . . certain things. Despite the well-known proclivities of many pureblooded wizards, I do not actually. . . that is, I am not a homosexual."

Black's laugh burst out of him. "What, you think I just propositioned you? Sometimes, Snape, a pint is just a pint. Besides, what makes you think I am, either?"

"Oh." He stiffened, then picked up the pestle again. "I beg your pardon then. I suppose I thought. . . that is, after you. . ."

"After I what?" Black asked curiously.

"After you kissed me, I thought you--"

"What?" He thought for a minute Black was going to lunge at him. "You arrogant swot. I'm holding on to consciousness by a thread, barely able to lift my head, mortally wounded for Christ's sake, and you're accusing me of making advances to you? You kissed me, you perverted bastard. I came in here to try to make you feel better, to let you down easy, and you--"

"Let me down easy?" Snape's voice rocketed up an octave. "You unbelievable little narcissist. Still captain of the Quidditch team, aren't you, convinced every sentient human within a fifty mile radius is overcome by the power of your charm. How dare you be so presumptuous as to assume-- what on earth could have possessed you, you--" He sputtered.

"Fine. It was a mistake, then. So prove it."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said, prove it. Show the depth of your distaste. Rip the lid off your revulsion. I dare you to kiss me again, and then we'll see who's overcome."

"I never in the first place--"

"Whatever. I won't quibble. See, the thing is this, Snape. I've had plenty of time to think, lying in that infirmary, staring at the ceiling. And I can't quite get my mind away from that kiss. At first, it was mainly horror, but advancing delirium does things to a body, so I was willing to forget it. Except, I can't."

"Can't. . . what?" Snape asked, though he knew.

"I can't seem to forget the little thing that happened there, whatever it was. Not actually a kiss, really. More along the lines of intimate oral proximity. The truth is. . . ." He reached over and idly fiddled with the edge of the dragonfly bag, and his voice softened. "The truth is, I would like to know."

Snape considered. "Very well," he said at last. "But I've no idea how to proceed."

Black gave a wry smile. "Why do I have the feeling that would be the same were I male or female?"

Snape drew back. "By your sluttish standards, I am sure the rest of the world--"

"Oh, shut up. Now come here."

"Absolutely not. You come here."

"For Christ's sake, Snape, you are rapidly curing me of the desire to even be in the same room with you, let alone kiss you." Nevertheless he edged closer, until they were standing inches apart.

"Now what?" Snape muttered.

"Now. . you know."

"I assure you I do not."

"Merlin's beard, how different can it be?" Black closed the gap between them, brushing his lips against Snape's and pulling him closer, hands on his hips. They pushed awkwardly at each other for a second or two, then opened their mouths at the same time. Snape's little involuntary moan made Black's breath hitch in his chest, and there was no sound but the increasing rasp of their breathing in the room for a long time.

They broke off slowly, and kept their heads close, panting. "Jesus God," whispered Black.

"That. . .yes." Snape managed.

"More."

Snape's head bent to his again before the word was out of his mouth. Their kiss was hungrier this time, fiercer and deeper, and they opened to each other more, letting fingers dig into flesh. When Snape felt Black's hardness collide with his own, he groaned aloud, then realised the groan had been not his but Black's, and the thought made the blood rush into his cock so he could hardly bear the pounding of it. He could not help pushing harder into him, and Black met him, and he realised too late they were thrusting into each other as they kissed, grinding and thrusting faster as their kiss picked up pace, and he felt it happening too late to stop it, and his orgasm hit him so hard his knees gave, and he felt Black pant as he bucked into him, and they collapsed, shaking, holding each other up, sweat-beaded foreheads resting together.

"So," breathed Black, when he could speak. "Pretty different, as it turns out."

"No, no different."

The voices that had danced at the edge of his hearing suddenly shot closer. A woman's voice. Warm, familiar. Ah. Pomfrey. He cracked an eye and saw white-- curtains, probably. Pomfrey was talking to someone beyond the partition. Footsteps going away now. Her definite tread moving in the other direction. He tried blinking a few times, experimentally. That seemed to go well enough, so he tried turning his head.

"Awake?"

He tried to focus on the dark shape by the window. Sirius.

Yes, I'm still here.

"So. You're going to want to know first things first, I imagine." It did not escape him that Sirius moved quickly to verbal communication. "Madam Pomfrey has done a remarkable job putting you back together, I'd say. You're on quite the cocktail right now, so you should be feeling no pain, which is a good thing. You've got several bones mending, and the flesh is re-growing nicely. There will be scarring, I'm afraid. Probably quite a bit." He saw Snape's eyes flick down and retreat. "Your hand has been re-attached, but it's not ever going to be much use to you. Some things even magic can't fix, it seems."

"How long?" He was startled at the hoarseness of his voice and hated the weakness he heard.

"You've been back here four days."

Four days. Good God. He glanced at Sirius and could see, now that he stepped from the window, that he looked rather the worse for wear and could use a shave. Several dozen questions rocketed through his head. What had happened to Zabini? Goyle? Had it been Black who had found him, or had he hallucinated that? What were the students saying? There was really only one question he needed the answer to, but the blank wall in his mind told him what he already knew. He shut his eyes.

"My hand," he croaked. "Is that all I've lost?" He watched the blanket. He heard the chair creak as Sirius sat back in it. There was no answer for a long time, and he assumed after a bit there wasn't going to be one. He tried to turn over and close his eyes.

"I don't know," came the soft answer.

He struggled to find the words. "I did. . . I did what I thought I had to do."

"I know that. But you did it."

"Yes." He swallowed, and Sirius rose and helped him with the glass of water by the bed. He leaned back and closed his eyes. He felt Sirius watching him.

"You understand my difficulty here, Snape."

"Yes," he said again, because he couldn't think of anything else.

"Do you? I'm not so sure. I understand what you were trying to do. But what happens to us is not a decision you get to take on your own like that." He kept his voice calm and even. "I don't know that we would have found any sort of solution, had we discussed it. But you never gave us that chance, and your plan certainly didn't work any better. In fact, you owe your life to the fact that it didn't. If you had managed to sever the bond completely, I would never have been able to find you."

"You. . ." He swallowed. "You heard me."

"I heard my name. It was enough to give us a start on locating you."

"Where?"

"An old hunting lodge on Fanshawe's family property. The property was confiscated, of course, after the war, but the cottage was deep in the woods and no one ever went there."

"Draco."

He nodded. "Yes. They were responsible for his death. They had managed to learn to apparate, somehow, and sneaked to Hogsmeade to do it. They weren't directly responsible for Karkaroff, however -- that was a group of Durmstrang students. Appparently your Slytherins and that crowd have been in close contact over the past year, planning this for quite some time. Albus is talking to the headmasters at Durmstrang and Beauxbatons about it, but I doubt if he'll get anywhere, or if they'll credit it could be students behind the violence."

Snape made a weak noise that might have been a snort, expressive of his feelings about administrators.

"All in all," Sirius continued, "it took some doing on their part. There must have been a considerable mastermind behind it."

"Zabini." He tried to sit up. "Where is he."

"He's dead. They all are, except Goyle."

"All dead," he whispered. "They were children."

"They were monsters."

"They were what their lives made them. I should have been able. . ." He fell back against the pillows. He was tired, so tired. How could he have slept for four days and still be tired?

"Bullshit, Snape. The facts of their lives are incidental. The facts of your life were much the same -- in many ways worse. These were spoiled, angry little beasts looking for an object on which to exercise their vengeance. You had nothing to do with it."

Snape rubbed his brow, which had begun to ache.

"Here. Drink this down. You need to sleep now."

"No. Please. I want to stay awake a bit more."

"All right." He set the glass back down.

"Sirius. I need to --- I am sorry. . . for what I did." He could not look up.

"I know that. I heard."

"You need to know. . . I did not. . . I would not have you think that I was capable -- physically capable, that is, of -- that I--"

"Severus, if you're trying to tell me you had to use a Turgidus spell to rape me, I know that full well."

His throat closed at hearing the words, and a wave of nausea hit him. He shut his eyes against it. "I don't expect -- I have not the audacity to ask for your forgiveness," he whispered. "I wanted -- I simply wanted you to live, and if it meant you spent that life hating me instead of loving me, I was willing to abide that choice."

"That choice--" Sirius stopped and lowered his voice. "That choice was not yours to make."

"I know." He pulled his blanket tighter around him, suddenly cold. "I am sorry. And I don't ask for an absolution you cannot and should not give." He turned himself to the wall, shivering. He heard Sirius turn and listened to the light tread retreating across the long room. Leaving. He bit his lip until he tasted blood.

Then the steps were coming back, and another, heavier blanket was being settled about his shoulders. A quilt was wrapped across his body. "Here. You're freezing to death."

He relaxed into the radiant warmth of the blankets. Pomfrey must have had them spread by the fire.

"Now, I'm going to insist that you sleep." He handed him the potion in the little glass by the side of the bed.

"All right," he mumbled. He drank it down and turned back over. "Where -- what are you going to do?"

A pause. "Would you like me to stay here for a bit?"

"I -- if you like."

"All right then. I'll be here."

He settled himself in the chair again and watched Snape's breathing even out. When Sirius was certain he was asleep, he quietly dragged his chair around so he could watch his face while he slept.

Chapter Ten

"Come in." Sirius did not look up when the knock sounded but continued flipping though the heavy book on his lap, scribbling notes as he read.

"Sirius?" Remus stuck his head in. "I haven't seen you in hall all day. You still alive in here?"

"Hm? Oh, sorry. Just finishing up a last bit of grading before term's end tomorrow. You know how it is. On the other hand, you probably don't, you're so ruthlessly organised." He ran a hand over his face. "How's your week been?"

Remus collapsed in a chair, stretching out his legs and yawning. "About like yours, I'd say. God, what a misery."

"Mm." He continued scratching in silence.

"Is Harry coming to your house for Christmas? Or do the Weasleys own him for the holiday?"

"No, I actually won that one. For a bit, anyway. He goes to the Burrow for Boxing Day." He set his quill down. "Remus. I can't believe I've forgotten to ask you. You will join us for Christmas, won't you?"

"Sure, if you'd like. I mean, I'd love it. Really. I was hoping you'd ask, but if you didn't I was just going to show up anyway."

"I should bloody well hope so. And bring some of that good liquor, will you? Yours always tastes better than mine."

"That's because it is better than yours." He watched the quill scrawl on the parchment, a meditative frown on his face.

"Remus. Say what you have to say."

"Am I that obvious?"

"Opacity was never your long suit. Out with it."

"I want to know how you're doing."

"I'm fine, thanks."

"Sirius."

He set the quill down and pushed the parchment aside. "What is it you want to hear, Remus? Tell me so I can say it and we can move on to something else, all right?" He picked up a book and began flipping through its dusty pages.

"Sirius. Is it that bad?"

He did not reply, but a muscle in his jaw twitched.

"If you need to talk to someone--"

The book slammed shut. "Let's just drop that little farce, shall we?"

"I--" He dropped his hands into his lap. He sighed and closed his eyes, leaning his head back. "Okay." He chewed his lip in frustration. "Do you remember how easy it used to be for us to talk?"

"Along about 1981, sure I do." Sirius pulled another book from his desk into his lap and began writing on another parchment.

"It's just that I--"

"It's just that you want everything to be like it was before Azkaban, and I can't do that. I have no idea who that person was -- hell, most days, I can't even remember. This is what we do, Remus. We talk about books, and Quidditch, and Harry. Not the other stuff. Certainly not this."

"All right," he said slowly. He smoothed his robe on his knees and stood up. "I'll see you in a few days, then."

"Yeah."

Remus paused at the door. "Happy Christmas, Sirius."

"Happy Christmas, Remus."

Snape stepped out of the tub carefully, mindful of his balance. It was surprising how much losing the use of a relatively small, albeit crucial, part of one's body could distort one's whole movement. He grabbed the towel with his good hand and quickly dried, wrapping his long high-necked bathrobe about him. In former days, he would have been content to sling the towel about his waist and march around his quarters half-clad, but no more. The network of silvery white scars covering his body repulsed and sickened him, and he kept covered as much as possible.

He combed his hair without looking in the mirror, then padded into the sitting room and poured himself a generous glass of whiskey. He tried to drink it slowly, savouring its rich burn, not acknowledging to himself that it held little burn for him these days. Drinking like an Irishman, he was, and winced at the choice of words as a memory assaulted him. D'you know why God made whiskey, Snape? Do tell. Why, to keep the Irish from taking over the world, of course. Soft laughter. A summer breeze ruffling dark hair.

"Happy Christmas," he muttered to no one in particular as he began his second over-large glass. He gave in and simply knocked it back this time. God, yes. There it was. Glasses number three and four came even easier. He let his eyes slip shut, listening to the roar and crackle of the fire.

He must have drifted off, because when he woke he had the distinct feeling of someone else in the room. He raised his head and squinted at the figure standing in front of him.

"Black?"

He got a scowl in answer. "Merlin's nightgown, are you drunk, Snape?"

"I -- no. Yes. It could be. How did you -- what are you doing here?"

Sirius rocked back on his heels, surveying him. In all the years of their acquaintance he had never known Snape not to hold his liquor. It was a disturbing sight. Snape was not even trying to get up, just sitting half-sprawled on the sofa with the curious passivity of the drunken. "It's Christmas Day. Are you aware of that fact?"

"Thank you, Mr. Cratchit, I am. I was just about to run buy myself a goose. Now remind me. Which ghost are you?" His sibilants were only slightly slurred.

"The ghost that's here to kick your sorry arse. Did you get my owl?"

"I don't remember. Wait. Yes. It's over there."

"Generally the custom is, when someone invites you somewhere, that you reply in the affirmative or the negative in a timely and courteous fashion. Jesus, listen to me, I sound like you. Why the hell didn't you write back?"

"I -- I'm not sure. I think I decided to get drunk instead."

"Well, get undrunk. Put your clothes on. You're coming with me."

He struggled to focus. "All right. Where am I going?"

"To my house, you hopeless sot. For Christmas dinner. Had you completely forgotten?"

"All right. No. I mean, yes, I do remember. I hadn't forgotten." He pulled himself up and waited for the room to settle back. Too soon the pleasant haze was dissipating. "Shall I put on my Father Christmas suit?"

"No, your ususal Lord of the Undead attire will be fine. Just get it on. And be quick about it, or the pudding will be a mess. Make a Mrs. Cratchit joke and I'll deck you."

"You made pudding?" he called from the bedroom.

"Made is probably an overstatement of the case. Remus brought it."

"Ah. The ever-helpful Lupin."

"To whom you will bloody well be polite. And try not to frighten Harry. Not collapsing on the floor in a hiccuping heap would also be good. Although I have to say, it would make me feel right at home. That's always what the holidays were like at my house, with my uncles about. Are you ready, yet?" He stuck his head in the bedroom door. Snape hurriedly snatched up a shirt to cover his bare chest.

"Just about."

Sirius looked at him. "Go on, put your shirt on."

"I will. Turn around."

"Turn around? You have got to be kidding me. Put the ruddy thing on."

"No." Snape's eyes were fierce. To put the shirt on he would have to expose his chest, or his back. Either way, he was not going to do it. "Get out of my bedroom and give me some privacy."

"Snape." Sirius was advancing on him. "What the hell is your problem? It's not like I haven't seen your chest before, for the love of God."

"Not -- not like this you haven't." His voice was barely a whisper.

Sirius was directly in front of him now. He gently reached up and removed the shirt from Snape's grasp, letting it fall. Snape turned his head aside, fighting the impulse to cover himself with his hands before that penetrating gaze. The shame of it scalded his face, what he must look like. His swallow sounded very loud in the quiet room.

Sirius brushed a hand over the ropy scars on his chest, tracing the line of one with a delicate finger. He flinched.

"Don't."

"Why not?"

"I am disgusting. Stop and let me get dressed."

"Disgusting?" He was frowning. "Is that what you think?" His face was a bare inch form the other man's. The last of the whiskey surged through Snape's veins, and he pushed forward in an attempt to meet the lips that were abruptly turned away. Oh, dear God, he thought. Idiot.

"I'll wait for you in the sitting room." He paused in the doorway, but didn't turn. "And you're not disgusting. You're -- not disgusting at all."

Snape quickly buttoned himself up, his good hand practiced at it after these months. He surveyed himself in the mirror. Lord of the Undead, indeed. He fished in the wardrobe and emerged with a bright red scarf, which he knotted at his throat. He squinted at his reflection. Oh for heaven's sake. He ripped off the scarf and tossed it on the bed with a sigh. He shoved his useless hand in his waistcoat and considered. He was aware it made him look a trifle Napoleonic, but he hated to have the thing dangling at his side, out of his control. It didn't feel like a part of him at all. Keeping it in his robes kept it out of the sight of his classes, too. To date, the Granger girl was the only one who managed to keep her eyes firmly on his face when he spoke. Annoying little chit. He emerged scowling a minute later.

"Ready?"

"As I'll ever be."

"Sober?"

"Regrettably."

"Let's go then. I brought the motorcycle -- it's parked just outside."

"Angels and ministers of grace defend us. Black, wait," he called to the retreating back.

"What's the matter now?"

"I -- apologise for earlier. I should not have done that."

Sirius stopped. "Why? Didn't you want to?"

"You know what I want," he said quietly.

Sirius watched him, apparently thinking. He stepped forward until they were eye to eye. "I didn't get you anything for Christmas, Snape."

"I'm hard to shop for."

That got a quirk of the lips. "Let's see if this fits, shall we." He brushed his lips against Snape's. Snape stayed resolutely still, resisting the urge to grab him and thrust his tongue into his mouth. When the gentle kiss was over, he kept his eyes closed for a just a few more seconds, savouring it. Better than the whiskey, by far. He opened his eyes and saw Sirius's irises darken in the familiar way. He could tell the exact level of arousal by the subtle shift of colour he saw.

"You're trembling." Sirius's voice was a husk.

"Am I?"

Can you hear me?

You know I can.

Sirius bent his lips to his again, more insistent this time. Snape was careful to let him push his lips apart, to let him take the initiative. He shifted his stance a little to allow his cock more room as the blood began to fill it. Sirius broke off, smiling.

"Hard for me already?"

He didn't trust himself to reply, and Sirius didn't seem to need one. He kissed him again, rougher and needier, and this time Snape allowed himself a groan and a push back into his mouth. He tried to keep his hips away, but Sirius was having none of it, and ground their hips together. Snape broke off and gasped when he felt the firm legnth of Sirius's denim-clad cock against his own.

Severus. Do you need to come?

Oh yes, please yes.

Sirius began deftly pulling their trousers down so they stood cock to cock, furiously rubbing.

Oh God oh God oh God too soon fuck yes fuck --

Slow down, baby.

Can't can't can't please yes --

He threw back his head and released when he felt Sirius's fingers tighten in his arse, pulsing into that gloriously hard cock that rubbed and pressed his length. Ah, so good. Two months of sexual frustration poured out of him, and he sobbed aloud with the pleasure and relief of it. Sirius's arms were holding him up as he came back to himself.

Two months?

Yes.

You've not been jacking off at all?

No.

Not once?

I couldn't.

Couldn't, couldn't?

No.

He was aware of Sirius still rubbing slowly against him, his need unfulfilled.

Tell me what you want.

I think you know what I want.

He had a shot of pure panic. For this, he would have to be naked. Maybe he could keep it dark.

If that's what you need. But you're beautiful.

You don't know. You haven't seen.

Show me.

Slowly, Sirius peeled off the layers -- waistcoat, trousers, shirt, underclothes -- until his lover was naked. "Nox," he muttered, when he saw the faint trembling begin. He ran his hand over the scarred chest and arms. Snape flinched away when he reached for his hand. "You're beautiful."

I'm hideous.

Turn around.

Please. I can't.

All right.

With a graceful motion, Sirius pulled off his T shirt and toed off his jeans. He pulled Snape close when he was completely naked, and they let their bodies re-settle, finding the angles and hollows again, burrowing into the delicious warmth.

You feel so good. I want in you now.

Bed.

Right.

Together they stumbled through the doorway to the bedroom, kissing as they went. Sirius pushed him down on the bed and straddled him, rubbing, kneading.

Turn over turn over turn over.

I --

Please. Oh God, please.

Hesitantly, he shifted and turned over, his throat tight. The deepest scars were on his back. They were more furrows than anything -- long purplish white grooves that ran the length of his back. They were nausea-inducing. He felt Black's non-response, and knew he was trying to mask his revulsion. He buried his face in the mattress so he wouldn't have to see.

He jumped at the sensation of a tongue running up the middle of the longest and widest scar. His hand clenched the sheets. Don't don't don't.

Quiet. You're beautiful. Let me.

He forced himself to relax, biting back a sob. The tongue continued its patient bathing of every scar, ending at the tip of each one with a kiss. Severus, the voice called. Come back.

I'm ashamed. How can you touch. . . that.

Feel what I feel. The door in his mind snicked open yet wider, and this time he felt a flood of desire. Not his own. Sirius's. His arousal. His need. His -- ah, God. He arched into the caress when he felt it.

You see?

The tongue was moving lower now, laving his buttocks, spreading them gently. He raised his hips ever so slightly and felt the tongue slide between his cheeks. Lower, lower -- please please please.

Patience, lover. I'm getting there. You want my tongue in you?

I want to feel it fucking me.

Like this?

Oh yes yes yes that's it. Oh, Sirius.

The tongue flicked and teased his hole, wetting him, driving him mad. Then it was gone, and a warm, slick finger was in its place. He cried out and pushed back against it. More, more.

How's this?

More more more.

Like that?

Oh. Oh, yes. I need -- now, I need you now.

Need what?

Your cock. In me.

Fucking you?

Fucking me. Please.

In a smooth motion, Sirius was pulling himself up and slipping into the cleft. He spread his legs as far as he was able and tilted himself up, hungry, eager, feeling his cock start to fill and twitch again. The slick cock battering at his entrance made him groan.

Do it, just do it, in me now.

In answer Sirius pushed home in one thrust that left him gasping.

Too much?

No, no, God, no.

Sirius pulled out slightly and adjusted his angle to what he knew was the perfect one for hitting Snape's prostate. The shudder and groan he got when he hit the sweet spot made his cock pulse.

Do that again.

Make me.

Bastard.

Prick.

Sirius began picking up speed, trying to delay his orgasm but knowing he wouldn't be able to, knowing the smelltastesound of Snape was sending him too soon over the edge. Too sweet, too fucking sweet. He felt Snape arch beneath him, scrabbling for purchase, and knew he was fucking the mattress.

Severus-- too good, I can't-- oh God, what are you--

Snape had begun to clench and unclench his arse in a rhythmic pattern that was driving him wild. He tried to hold back but couldn't, pounding him too hard, he knew it was too hard. Teetering on the edge of his orgasm, inspiration struck and he threw wide the doors of his mind. Severus. Let me feel you.

That was the last conscious thought he was capable of as a flood of white-hot sensation scalded him, and he knew he was shouting his release. He could feel not only his own orgasm, but Snape's as well, and he knew Snape was feeling his. He could feel the cock, his own cock, driving into him, could feel Snape's shockwaves of delight, could feel every nuance and twitch that coursed through both their bodies as they rode their climaxes. Oh oh oh oh yes yes stop too much too much God love you love you yes stop God yes.

They lay panting, shivering in the aftershocks.

Are you there?

You can ask?

Sirius tried to keep his eyes open, tried to still the tremors shooting through his legs. My God. I had no idea that was possible.

I wonder if we'll ever get to the end of discovering the things this bond can do.

I hope like hell not.

He yawned and pulled Snape closer. "I'm sorry," he whispered aloud.

"For what?"

"Everything. The last two months."

"'S okay," he mumbled.

"No, it isn't. I wanted -- I wanted to hurt you."

Snape was silent.

"Can you forgive me?"

He frowned, gathering his thoughts. Thinking in the afterglow of the most powerful orgasm he had ever had was difficult, but what he had to say needed saying.

"Sirius. The things you and I are capable of doing to each other -- they can't be forgiven. Forgiving is something other people do. People who don't -- who can't -- do the things that you and I can do. Am I being at all clear?"

Sirius propped himself on his hand. "I think. So. . . that's a 'no', then?"

"Do you forgive me for what I did to you?"

"It isn't -- it isn't like that."

"You see what I mean."

They regarded each other steadily, black eyes on grey. A line of Muggle poetry from a lifetime ago floated through Sirius's head: Costing not less than everything.

"Yes, that's it precisely."

He settled on the broad black-haired chest, tracing the scars absently. No flinching this time. The right hand reached over to stroke his head.

That pudding's bound to be a wreck.

Oh. Well. I wouldn't worry about it.

Oh?

Yeah. There isn't a pudding, actually.

The hand paused in its stroking.

There's not really a Christmas dinner, is there?

Um. Not as such.

Not as such?

Well. It was mainly a ruse to get you to come. I thought you might not if you knew it was going to be just me. Thought you might be too pissed. And in the event, you weren't going to come anyway.

I was. . . afraid.

They clutched each other tighter, slipping into sleep.

What about Lupin and Potter?

Hm? Oh. . . Harry's at the Burrow as of this afternoon. Remus doesn't come until tomorrow. Will you. . . will you come down?

If you want me.

They lay swooned for a long time, neither awake nor asleep.

"Severus." His voice sounded strangely loud after the other way of talking.

"Mm."

"This won't ever get easier, will it."

It was not a question, but he answered it anyway.

"No, it won't."

"All right." He shifted and nestled further into the cushioning arms. "Better get some rest then. It's going to be a long life." He yawned and hitched the blanket up around them. "Happy Christmas, Snape."

Snape watched him settle easily into sleep like a cat. He cautiously resumed his stroking of the smooth back, careful not to wake him. He wanted so to be able to gather both arms around his lover, to touch him with two whole hands. He wondered idly if the ache of that would ever go away. Probably not.

"It is now," he murmured to the moon. His last thought was to wonder if the Cordelictus made it possible to share dreams as well. With that comforting idea, he let his eyes slide shut, determined to find out.

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