Rats' Alley

by Fabula Rasa

The Burial of the Dead

Day One

Sirius Black raised his head and winced at the light. Bleeding pusbuckets. His eyelids felt stuck together. His mind raced to put the pieces together, and sputtered to a halt at the sight of the man sitting watching him across the sparsely furnished room. Not room. Something else.

"Snape?"

"I was beginning to think you were never going to wake up."

"Where are we?"

Snape shrugged. "I couldn't say. No place good."

Sirius sat up and looked around. A large, not unpleasant place with stone walls, and stone floors. High ceilings. Two thin cots. A table, two chairs. A heavy partition at one end. He glanced at it.

"Bathroom," Snape supplied.

"Oh. Not a good sign."

"Indeed. Our captors expect us to make ourselves comfortable."

"Captors? You've seen them?"

"No. But I have some ideas."

Sirius paced, getting the feel of the room. The windows were a good fifteen feet up, but there was ample light. Two candles were stuck in metal holders on the table. Matches were beside them.

"How long have I been out?"

"An hour since I woke, by my reckoning. There's no telling how long before that. By the light, I calculate it to be late afternoon. We were waylaid about noon or a little after. Assuming this is still the same day. But I think we'd be a good deal hungrier were it not."

He glanced at Snape, who was sitting comfortably on his cot, looking unconcerned.

"Albus will know by now."

"Doubtless."

"So. Let's hear your ideas."

Snape opened his mouth. At that moment the massive door gave a screech on its hinges, and slowly opened inwards. Neither wizard moved or reacted visibly, but their muscles tensed like jungle cats. Eleven months of war had honed their reflexes.

Lucius Malfoy stepped inside, a pleasant smile on his face. "Severus. And Sirius Black. What a pleasure to see you both."

Snape's face was impassive. "Lucius. I might have known you would be behind something this hopelessly. . . Gothic." He waved his hand contemptuously at their surroundings.

"Not to your taste? You were always such a sybarite, Severus."

"I am a sybarite? I don't know how you manage to eat with that silver spoon grafted onto your palate."

Sirius took a step forward, just to see how quickly Malfoy's peripheral vision could pin him. Too quickly. "Well, since this appears to be Slytherin old home week, I'll just show myself the door, shall I?"

"Ah, Mr. Black. I wasn't forgetting you, not at all. In fact, you figure very largely in my plans. So please, do me the courtesy of having a seat."

Sirius stood, assessing him. The wand was on him so fast he didn't even see it pulled. "I said sit down, Black." The courteous veneer dropped, and Sirius complied.

"Now. It is interesting you should bring up food, Severus, since that is precisely why I have come. Accio dinner." His wand still on them both, he moved aside for two trays of food that floated in the open door and rested on the table. "I hope you find it to your satisfaction. The house elves have been at such pains. Shall I send up your compliments?"

Snape's eyes flicked to the table and back again. "Lucius. What is it you want?"

"Why, Severus. Now who's being Gothic? What I want should be perfectly obvious. I want your treacherous head on a charger, of course, and I want to be the one to deliver it to our Lord. However," he paused, crossing his arms. "I can be persuaded to . . . modify my goals. If I am sufficiently pleased with you. Not you," he said, turning to Black. "You are of no interest to me. Sorry to be so blunt. I hope it does not affect your digestion. The chateaubriand is really quite spectacular. At any rate," he said, "think about my offer. I'm sure you'll be able to figure it out. And enjoy your dinner," he said with a final glance at Snape, and a glint of something else in his eyes. The door screeched shut behind him, and they heard the bolts on the other side slide home.

Sirius regarded the trays warily. He poked at one with the polished silver fork, and sliced it gently. Perfectly turned chateaubriand, with a light cream sauce. A pitcher of water. Nothing else. "Odd."

Snape was watching him, saying nothing.

Sirius lifted each slab of meat, sniffing it carefully. "Come give it a try. I'm pretty sure it's safe. Besides, it sounds like Malfoy has more in mind than a simple poisoning."

"I'm not hungry."

"Suit yourself."

Sirius ate the admittedly excellent beef, washing it down with the cool clean water. Snape wrapped himself in the thin blanket and turned to the wall. He said not another word the rest of the evening, and Sirius did not disturb him, being wrapped in his own thoughts.

Day Two

"Ah, good morning, gentlemen. Did you sleep well?"

Black yawned and stretched. "I'd like to have a word with those house elves, Malfoy. My mattress could use a good turning. And I'd like silk sheets, not flannel, if it's not too much trouble."

"Not at all. I shall have more comfortable bedding sent down at once. Anything else?"

"Cigarettes."

"Certainly. What about you, Severus? Anything you need?"

Snape was as impassive as yesterday. "No, thank you, Lucius."

"Really? Are you sure?" His voice was solicitous.

"Quite."

"Very well then. I have breakfast for you." With a wave of his wand, the two trays reappeared. Veal medallions and the same pitcher of water. Sirius propped himself on his arm.

"A little heavy for breakfast, don't you think, Malfoy?"

"Life is too short for such concerns. Especially yours." He gave a pleasant smile and turned on his booted heel, pulling the door fast behind him. Sirius sat down and inspected the veal, coming to the same conclusion as last night: flawlessly done meat, innocent of evil designs upon its consumers. Snape heaved himself up and went behind the partition to relieve himself. When he returned he threw himself back down on the cot.

"Aren't you going to eat?"

Snape gave him a baleful stare. "I am a vegetarian."

Sirius raised his eyebrows. "Right. Have it your way."

After breakfast he inspected the room again, searching every nook and cranny for weaknesses. Snape just watched him. After he was satisfied with his knowledge of the room, he turned his attention to the door. Probably not as strong as it appeared. The hinges were aging, though doubtless magically re-enforced. He ran a careful hand over the planking on the door, memorizing its grooves. No knob. The stonework around the door alcove was older than the rest of the room. The mortar was ever so slightly chinked at the arch. He spent some time prying at it, learning its feel.

"For pity's sake, Black, stop playing Count of Monte Cristo and sit down. You are making me nervous."

Malfoy re-appeared for lunch, bringing not only roast lamb but cigarettes and a chess board. "I thought you might be getting bored," he commented with a smile. "Let me know if there's anything else you need."

"Lucius." Snape's voice had an edge to it now. "You can let him go. I'll do what you want."

Black's gaze was sharp on him.

Malfoy's smile did not waver. "Yes, Severus, I know you will," he said, and the door clanked shut.

Sirius poked at the lamb with disgust. "God, what I wouldn't give for a slice of toast right about now. What the hell is the matter with him? If ever I get out of here, I'll be a vegetarian for life. Get over here, Snape, and eat before you faint."

"I can't."

"Fine. Be an idiot. How's your chess game?"

"Sod off, Black, and leave me alone."

Malfoy came once more in the early evening, to clear the trays from lunch and bring fresh ones for dinner. He seemed very pleased with himself. "I persuaded the house elves to exert themselves tonight, and I think you will agree with me the results are really quite extraordinary. We have steak tartare with a cold truffle and liver sauce that absolutely evaporates on the palate. Really, it is more than either of you deserve, I'm sure. I had some myself not too long ago, and I confess I am tempted to try some more. Narcissa will surely scold my greediness."

He reached for the knife and sliced himself a generous piece of the steak. "Ah," he cried as the knife slipped. "How clumsy of me." He lifted his hand to examine the damage. A few spatters of blood fell on the flagstones.

"Fuck you, Lucius," muttered Snape.

"Mm. Now there's a thought. But don't you think Black would be embarrassed?" He sucked on his finger and gave a sly grin as he cleaned it. "Have a pleasant evening, lads," and he swept out, humming something Black could not quite catch.

Day Three

Sirius began to watch Snape with considerable concern. In the forty-eight hours of their captivity, he had consumed only water, and risen only to use the toilet. His colour, not surprisingly, was beginning to look off. The only interest in their surroundings he had shown was the window, which he studied intently and, Sirius, thought, nervously.

"Snape."

"What."

"It's a matter of indifference to me whether you choose to survive this or not, but you should know I'll need to give Dumbledore a reason why you chose to starve yourself to death."

Snape snorted and rolled over on the cot. Sirius assumed he had dropped back off, and he began arranging the pieces on the chess board in another endless round of chess solitaire. He was replaying games in his head, trying to remember moves he had seen Remus make twenty years ago, games he had played in the common room with James. Always it had been like that for him -- seeing the chess board clear and entire, every move forward and backward for ten moves on either side. Unlike life. In Azkaban, he had torn bits of his tattered clothing off to make chess pieces. It had kept him sane. He looked about him, studying the dungeon again. Captivity made sense. It was life that was confusing.

When he looked up again, Snape was sitting up and watching him.

"Black. You need to know what's going on here."

Sirius shoved his bishop tentatively forward. "So tell me."

"Lucius expects me to kill you."

He glanced around the room. "How? Bashing me over the head with a chair in my sleep? It seems unlikely. He has both our wands."

Snape subsided, apparently uncertain what to say next.

"Snape. Tell me why you won't eat."

"I told you. I can't."

"Right. You're a vegetarian."

He made an impatient gesture. "Not by choice, you idiot. I cannot eat meat. It will sicken me."

Sirius gave him a skeptical look. "A meat allergy?"

"I -- not exactly." He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. Sirius noted the hand shook. He pushed away the chess board.

"All right, Snape. I've been patient. Now why don't you tell me exactly what the fuck is going on here before I really lose it. I don't like my odds of going up against Malfoy and whatever team of Neanderthals he's got lurking behind that door, all by myself. If we're going to get out of here, it's going to take the both of us. So get yourself up off that bloody bed and eat something, goddamnit."

Snape relapsed into silence, his eyes closed. Sirius watched the internal struggle carefully. He weighed his next move. The lunch tray had not been cleared, and he sliced a thin bit of the steak from the thickest and juiciest bit. Spearing it with a fork, he carried it over to Snape's cot and sat beside him. Snape's eyes opened narrowly.

"What do you think you are doing?"

"I'm going to make you eat."

"I'd like to see you try."

Quicker than lightning, Sirius's hand was gripping his hair and tilting his head back, dangling the meat into the mouth that gasped open in surprise. He wedged the first bit of it into his mouth before Snape struggled free, clawing viciously, and stumbled for the partition, retching. He listened as Snape heaved the non-existent contents of his stomach into the toilet.

He tossed the bit of meat onto the table with a sigh and waited for Snape to emerge. He came out a minute later, wiping his mouth.

"You bastard," he spat, his voice shaking. "Do that again and I'll kill you." He sank onto the bed, giving Black a rough kick off of it.

The door gave its telltale screech, and Malfoy strode into the room. He appeared to take no notice of Snape's shattered appearance, or Black's flushed and angry face.

"Well. How is your afternoon going along, gentlemen?" He glanced at the chess board. "Ah, quite an interesting game you've got going there, Black. Pity I can't join you. I understand you're quite good, really, for a halfblood. And how are you getting along, Severus?" His voice was all solicitousness.

"Fuck you, Lucius. You know how I am." His voice was trembling, and just barely under his control.

"Ah. Yes, so I do. It must be awful for you. Tell me, Severus. Are you hungry yet?"

He got no answer, but Snape leaned forward as if he was contemplating a lunge. Malfoy's wand was out and pointed at him instantly. "One step towards me, you revolting creature, and I'll incinerate you where you stand," he snarled. Sirius watched the exchange carefully, and he caught the flash of fear in Malfoy's eyes. He stored it away as something useful.

"Malfoy, I don't know what the hell your little game here is, but --"

"Why, Severus. Haven't you told him? I'm surprised at you, really I am." He was sliding his wand back into his robe. "A pleasure, as always, gentlemen. Good day for now. I'll return with your dinner in a bit. Black, how are those new sheets?"

"Splendid, thanks. Couldn't be better, you rotten little prick."

"Excellent." He gave a curt bow and slammed the door behind him. Snape slumped flat on the bed, white as a ghost.

"Snape --"

His hand was knocked away. "Get away from me, Black. I mean it. Far away."

The hours to dinner stretched in silence. Snape lay curled on his bed, shaking, his breathing shallow and fast. Sirius never took his eyes off him, and behind those eyes he was calculating, weighing possibilities. It was like chess, really. An infinite number of moves, and only one was the right one. Only one fit all the possibilities, applied to every contingency. When he found it he felt the same little hum that he did when he knew exactly where his queen was going to move. Checkmate.

He waited for the dinner trays, with the unmoving concentration of those accustomed to solitary confinement. Snape was barely conscious by that time, and Malfoy did not waste words, merely surveyed him distastefully and stepped quickly out. For Black he had not even a glance. Sirius caught the underestimation and stored that away, too.

When he was certain the booted steps were gone, he got up and studied the trays. Lamb again. A powerful, heady smell. Calculated to sicken Snape, no doubt. He picked up a knife and examined it, testing its edge against his thumb. Malfoy must be fairly confident, to allow them such sharp knives. Or maybe hopeful. He drew a bead of blood on his thumb and watched it. He tapped the knife against his lips, considering.

With catlike tread he stepped to Snape's bed and sat down, shaking him gently. "Snape. Sit up."

"I said, get away."

"Snape. If you start, can you stop?"

Whatever Snape had been expecting to hear, that wasn't it. He turned startled eyes to Sirius and slowly sat up, his eyes on the knife. "What are you talking about, Black?"

"You know what I'm talking about. Don't waste time. Answer the question."

He blinked rapidly, swallowing. "I. . .I don't know. Last week, yes. Now. . ."

"I understand. But it's our only chance, isn't it, so I guess I'm going to have to trust you."

He extended his forearm, scrutinising it. He felt Snape's trembling beside him. Deliberately he sank the knife in a quick horizontal cut across his inner elbow. The blood gushed in a hot fountain upward, and he gave an involuntary cry. The next instant Snape's mouth was on it, clamping the wound, sucking it, sucking it, draining him with desperate force, and he was sinking backward, dizzy and giddy and something he couldn't name felt oh so good, like lips sucking on his cock only better, deeper, powerful lips were wrapped around his heart sucking the deeper pulsing there, and his head fell back with a groan as his eyes slid shut.

Day Four

He woke wrapped in a blanket that did not smell like his. The light that drifted onto him was greyish. Early dawn. The room caught an unusual amount of light for a dungeon. Naturally. Another jab at Snape. He propped himself up and was surprised to find himself still woozy.

"Steady on there." A firm hand was lifting him up. He squinted at Snape, who gave him a quirk of an eyebrow.

"You look. . . better."

"And you look like hell. Drink some water."

He obeyed. His mouth felt as dry as the morning after a bender. He rubbed his face and took a closer look at Snape, who met his gaze.

"How did you figure it out? I confess I would not have thought you capable of it."

"You really do think the rest of the world is stupid, don't you, you arrogant twit."

"Well." He shrugged. "I've not been proven wrong yet. Here, I've cut some of this meat. You're going to have to eat it to get your strength back."

"Oh. Thanks." He brought the fork, which seemed very heavy, to his mouth and began resolutely chewing. "So. No meat. Dead blood, right?"

"That's right. It can be fatal to my kind."

"Carrion."

"Something like that."

"Malfoy knows. Who else?"

He hesitated. "Dumbledore."

Sirius set the fork down. "No, that I can't believe."

"Why so? It is credible to you that he would admit a werewolf to Hogwarts but not someone like me?"

"Well. . . yes."

"Because a werewolf is a bloodthirsty monster once every moon, and I am one every day of the month."

"I wouldn't have put it that way."

"Right. Drink more water."

"So you're telling me," he said, gulping the water, "you've been a vampire since you were a student." It did not escape him that Snape winced at the word.

"Since I was nine, actually."

"Nine. Holy fucking hell. That's odd, you know. It's the same age Remus --"

"I know."

"Okay." He set the glass down. "I figure I number more than your average percentage of Dark Creatures among my acquaintance."

Snape gave him a look a that, but he tucked into the meat with vigour and ignored it. "When did Malfoy figure it out?"

"He didn't. That kind of deductive cleverness escapes him. I made the mistake of telling him when I was fifteen. Apart from Dumbledore, I had never told anybody. I hadn't actually been the one to tell him, of course. My stepfather took care of that. He only did it because he assumed I would be rejected from Hogwarts once the headmaster knew."

Sirius rested his fork. "How do you live?" he asked quietly.

Snape blinked. "Very carefully." He sighed and shifted. "There is a potion I take. It curbs the -- appetites somewhat. And I can manage with. . . non-human creatures very adequately."

Sirius examined him more closely in the growing light. His hair, far from its usual lank, greasy appearance, was a shimmering curtain of silk. His skin was no longer sallow, but warm and clear, his eyes bright. Even his teeth, as he talked, flashed whiter. The harsh lines scoring his face had eased in the night, making him look at least five years younger.

"Good God," he whispered. "Look at you."

Snape turned and met his gaze, and Sirius saw with a little lurch that the man sitting beside him was handsome. "Jesus. Sucking rats may keep you alive, but it doesn't do a hell of a lot for you, Snape."

The brows rushed together in a scowl. "I don't eat rats, thank you very much. I understand that is your delicacy of choice, but I've not yet sunk to that level."

"What then? Stoats? Snakes? That would be too good to be true." He forked another bit of the meat into his mouth. "So. Tell me some more."

Snape sighed resignedly. "What more would you like to know."

Sirius paused, weighing. "Have you ever killed?"

Snape dropped his gaze. "Why do you think," he answered slowly, "I became a Death Eater in the first place?"

"Ah."

"Ah, indeed."

"So I guess my real questions is, how long -- before last night, that is -- since you had tasted human blood?"

A frown flickered Snape's brow. "You're very matter-of-fact about this, Black."

"What else should I be?'

"Well, for one thing. . ." he let his gaze settle on the other man. "Afraid."

Sirius shoved the plate away. "Sorry to disappoint you."

Snape's frown deepened. "I don't understand you at all, Black."

"You thought I would react as Malfoy did?"

Snape's jaw twitched. "As I said, that was a mistake."

"Evidently." He rose and stretched. "Malfoy ought to be here soon. You'd better wrap yourself up and look miserable as best you can. Don't let him see your face, though."

"Yes," he mused. "What you are thinking. . . it should be easy enough." He gave Sirius a coldly assessing look that was somehow more unsettling than the entire previous conversation. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." He took a few steps around the room. "Fine, actually." He shot Snape a look. "Do we need to do that again?"

Snape thought. "If you are capable of it. But not too soon."

The door screeched, and Snape quickly pulled the blankets around himself, letting his hair fall in his face as much as possible. Malfoy's step was more cautious than before, and again the Animagus in Sirius smelled the fear. He had his wand at the ready this time, and a goblet of something in his hand.

"Ah, good morning, Severus. Black. How does the morning find you?"

No answer from Snape's cot.

"Malfoy, whatever you're trying to pull here, it isn't going to work. Surrender now and we'll see that you aren't executed."

Malfoy's smile was thin. "I haven't come to bandy words with you, Black. You try my patience. Severus, have you no word for me? And here I've brought you a present." He swirled something in the goblet. "Matters got a little. . . excited at the meeting last night. At any rate, it meant a little something extra for you." He set the goblet down on the table. "And Severus -- it's fresh. Very fresh. In fact, she may still be alive."

"Malfoy, you unutterable fucking bastard." Sirius's voice shook. Malfoy paid him no mind.

"Do what I want, Severus, and this and more can be yours. You remember, don't you? You know you want it, no matter what you tell Dumbledore, no matter what you make the others believe. I know you. I have seen. Why do you fight it? Why resist? We are what we are, and there's little we can do about it."

"Is that what each m"re Malfoy tells the little psychopath at her knee?" Snape's voice was faint and bitter.

"Do it now, Severus. Do it so I can watch, like we used to. Do it and this can all be over." His voice was low and urgent, seductive almost, as he ran a finger around the rim of the goblet, and Sirius's heightened senses caught the rich reek of it. What it must be doing to Snape he could not imagine. "Rise, Severus. Kill and eat." He gave a little smile at his own joke. "So many good parts of that book, there are." He cocked his head at Snape, who did not move. "Very well. I shall not be back until tomorrow, unfortunately. Pressing business calls me elsewhere, I'm afraid. Black, if you are still alive when I return, we shall have that chess game. Although," he said with an even wider smile, "I rather think you shall be . . . unavailable by that time. So. I'll just take this with me, then." He lifted the goblet. "Good day, gentlemen," he called as he swung the door shut.

In Malfoy's absence there was no more food of any kind. No meat, no water even. They passed the afternoon in desultory conversation, calculating when Malfoy might return. Snape watched his chess game this time, though he made no move to join. As soon as it was dark, Sirius huddled under his blanket. Sleep was impossible, and to judge from Snape's quiet shifting, it was for him, too.

At last Sirius kicked back the blanket and padded over to Snape's bed.

"You need more, don't you."

"Can you?"

"Yes." The uncleared breakfast tray was within reach, and he palmed the shining knife. He sat down on the bed and rolled up his sleeve.

"You needn't worry. I shan't require as much this time, and I can be more. . . judicious. I shall try not to hurt you."

Hurt. That really wasn't at all the word, he thought, as the lips closed on his other arm this time. It was slower than before. He watched in fascination as Snape's throat worked. His eyes flicked up to meet Sirius's, and their gaze held. Snape broke off long before he felt close to passing out. A trickle of blood marked a path down the side of Snape's mouth as he pressed a finger to the wound. When he lifted it, it had sealed.

"How did you -- I've never seen anything like that," he breathed.

"Some things I don't need a wand for." The dizziness hit him then, and it occurred to him Snape might have taken more than he thought. Doubtless his suction was stronger tonight than yesterday. He felt hands sliding him down onto the bed, cushioning his head, wrapping him in the blankets.

"Sleep now," the voice whispered. He felt Snape lie down beside him, and he was grateful for the warmth. He shivered, and arms came around him. "All right?"

"Mm. Sure," he mumbled. "Snape?" he said after a while.

"Yes?"

"Ever done that before?"

The arms warming him tensed, then resettled. "No," he said at last.

Day Five

His eyes opened on darkness, but he knew it was the dark just before dawn. He blinked and saw Snape, propped on his elbow, watching him.

"Don't you ever sleep?"

"Not so much at night."

"Hm. So that stereotype's true, then."

"Only to a degree. Like most of them."

He rolled over. "What else?"

"Oh. Well, I'm certainly not immortal or anything ridiculous like that."

"No," he mused. "I suppose you're not. I mean, you've aged since you were nine. Physically, that is." The moon was full enough to see that Snape looked remarkable. A good ten years younger. No lines on his face at all. Profile like a Roman coin. Eyes wide, lips full and lush. Almost -- he quickly rolled back over.

"So." He pounded the pillow. "I have a plan."

"Hm. So do I." Snape's voice was very low.

"I wonder if your plan is the same as mine."

"That depends. How much darkness are you comfortable with?"

He turned and met Snape's eyes. "A surprising amount."

Malfoy stepped into the room cautiously, letting the door swing open well ahead of him. If his calculations were correct, Black would be a huddled mess on the floor. And Snape. . . well, he would be at his full strength. He let his mind toy with the delightful image of Black's colourless body, limp and cold, deposited on Dumbledore's study floor. With love, from your pet vampire. Nothing so crude as that on the card, of course. It would take some composing, but he trusted that he would find just the right turn of phrase. And Severus would never be able to go back, not after that. He would finally and forever be owned by him, Lucius Malfoy. Not by Dumbledore, and certainly not by Voldemort. Him.

There, in front of the bed. Oh, Severus, what a mess. He wrinkled his nose in distaste. Some blood had spattered on the blanket in which he had, pathetically, tried to conceal his victim. The old scruples. Of course. Those he would have to correct, overcome.

He toed the sorry heap, knowing Severus was behind him, watching him. He affected calm but his hand was tight on his wand. Letting down one's guard would never do.

"Severus," he whispered as he turned. "I'm proud of you."

Snape was at his side, a little smile on his lips. Lucius extracted his handkerchief and daubed at the reddish stains around that handsome mouth. "You look wonderful," he breathed.

"Do I?"

"You know you do. You always did."

"Lucius." The name was a caress as he slid closer. Their lips collided hungrily as their arms twined about each other. "Let me stay with you," Snape husked, nuzzling him.

"Yes," he hissed, pulling him closer, his kisses getting rougher, needier. He froze as the knife tip pressed against his throat. Snape pulled away gently.

"I wouldn't move, if I were you, Lucius."

Sirius tightened his grip on the white-faced wizard, his mouth inches from his ear, the knife blade flat on his trachea. "So. Malfoy. What do you think is going to happen now?"

"I -- I -- Severus, please. . ."

"Shut up, Malfoy. It's me you're talking to. Be polite to me, Malfoy, and I can make this end quickly. I'll use the knife."

"No, please. . ." his voice was hoarse under the knife. "Severus, you wouldn't. . . you can't -- you've fed, you can't want. . ."

"Ah." Snape folded his arms. "Yes, you're right there. I have indeed fed, and fed well." His eyes flicked to Black. "But what is it the most elementary study of human nature reveals to us, Lucius? Appetite begets appetite. Feeding our desires enflames them. It does not quench them. It has been too many, far too many years for me, Lucius. I have fed, yes. But I am still hungry."

"Black --" Malfoy's voice was a whimper.

"Now you're catching on, aren't you? I'm just about your only hope here."

"Black, listen to me." Malfoy's voice was rapid, but he controlled his panic. "He's not human. He has you thinking he is, that he could be your friend, be loyal to you, that he won't hurt you, but he will. He is what he is, he can't help it. If you let him kill me do you think you'll walk out of here? He won't be able to help himself, once he tastes blood. He's a blood-crazed monster, a ruthless killing machine, and he won't stop if we don't stop him. Black, you have to listen to me."

"Lucius," Sirius whispered in his ear. "If you wanted to see a monster, all you ever needed for that was a mirror." He pressed the knife further into the trembling white throat, and a drop of blood welled out. Snape stepped involuntarily closer, and Malfoy began to shake and twist in Sirius's arms.

"No -- no, please -- Severus, stop -- I'll give you anything, whatever you want --"

"Yes, Lucius," he said calmly. "I know you will."

Faster than Sirius's eye could follow, Snape's mouth clamped on the pulsing neck stretched beneath the knife. He caught a flash of teeth and what looked like fangs, then a spurt of red before the full lips closed on it with a little growl. He continued to hold Malfoy upright, his arms twisted behind him in a vise grip as he kicked and convulsed. The sound of Snape's throat swallowing filled the room. Sirius did not move, did not relax his grip as he watched. Snape's eyes flickered up to his and they locked gazes as he drank. Steadily his throat worked. A hank of hair fell in Snape's face and without thinking Sirius reached forward and brushed it out of his way as he continued to drink. Their eyes never wavered.

When Malfoy's final convulsion had ended, and he was a limp weight in Sirius's arms, Snape detached. Sirius let him fall to the floor with a thud. As an afterthought he slid the wand out of Malfoy's robe.

"I'd really like to know what became of my wand. It took me twenty-three tries at Ollivander's to get that one right, and I'd hate to have to go through that again," he said as he examined Malfoy's wand. He glanced down at Snape, who was pulling out Malfoy's fine lawn handkerchief and wiping his mouth slowly. He tossed it on top of the body.

"Let's get out of here, Black."

II. A Game of Chess

Day Eight

Snape's mouth was bent to Malfoy's neck, his lips running blood. Their eyes were locked as before, and somehow Snape was talking to him, though he never took his lips off Malfoy's lovely white neck. He couldn't catch what Snape was saying. Then there was a hand on his crotch, and it was rubbing him, stroking him through the fabric. Do you like that, the voice said. Yes God yes. Then somehow Malfoy's body had disappeared, and it was his body arched beneath Snape's, his neck that felt the pull of those lips, and the hand on his cock was moving faster, and the blood that had been in his neck was shooting out his cock, shooting in thick red spurts as he came, and the voice was saying yes yes yes come for me that's right.

Sirius woke in a cold sweat, kicking back the blankets, his heart hammering. Fucking hell, he thought, looking down at his soaked pyjamas and the spreading wet spot on his bed. What am I, fifteen again? With another oath he stripped off his clothes and tossed them in the corner, flopping back to stare at the ceiling, eyes wide.

His dreams were full of dark eyes and blood. Most of them skittered on the edge of his consciousness before they slipped away, leaving only images. "What the hell is wrong with me," he muttered to the ceiling. Three days since their safe return. Since Harry's wild embrace, the relief in Remus's laugh. Dumbledore's quiet eyes on both of them, grave above his gentle smile. Life was back to normal, or as normal as it could be in time of desperate war.

And his life continued as it had, except when he closed his eyes. And then the dreams would assault him. Dreams he didn't want to know he was having. There was no pattern he could discern, nothing they really seemed to have in common except for one thing. He woke up hard at the end of every one of them, his heart going like a freight train. He would roll over in the early dawn, fighting for the last sweet snatch of sleep, pushing down the images rocketing in his head, ignoring his dripping cock. Or worse, like this morning, he would wake in the aftermath of his completion, drenched in the sticky evidence of his twisted desire.

So Snape was a vampire. Remus was a werewolf. No difference, really. Albus didn't think there was a difference. Albus trusted him. No difference. You will think he could be your friend, that you could trust him. Do you think you will walk out of here alive if he kills me? Malfoy's lips purplish blue in bloodless death. And yes, he had walked out of that room. But not without the barest flicker of doubt, as Snape wiped those lips and stepped toward him. A flicker of uncertainty that he had been unable to hide, for only a millisecond, and Snape's gaze had shuttered as he brushed past him. Let's get out of here, Black.

"So." Dumbledore set his cup of steaming lemon tea down on his saucer with a faint chink. "I trust you are both sufficiently recovered?"

Sirius nodded, not looking at Snape. "Poppy's given me a clean bill of health."

"Yes, yes." His gaze strayed to Snape, and his voice acquired an edge. "Severus, you are looking well."

Sirius felt an irrational surge of anger. We did what we had to do. He did what he had to do. And an answering voice, deeper in him. Really? Pinning Lucius Malfoy down so a vampire could drain him of every drop of blood in his veins -- this was just one of life's unavoidable situations?

"I am fine, Albus," Snape was saying, his voice the same bored, half-contemptuous purr as always.

"Very good. And now I think we can dispense with the pleasantries." Dumbledore's voice was harder. "I take it Sirius, you are now aware of Severus's condition?"

His condition. Jesus. "I know he is a vampire, yes."

"I need your word, Sirius, that you will tell no one of this. I think you are aware of how impossible his life would become were it generally known. And how impossible his work for the Order would become. Werewolves can be registered, and are in theory, at least, tolerated. It is not so with vampires."

"I don't think," he said slowly, stealing a look at Snape's impassive face, "that Snape needs me or anyone else to protect him. But if he did, I surely would."

Snape looked over at that, his face registering. . . surprise? Suspicion?

Dumbledore appeared satisfied. "All right then, boys," he said, as though they were thirteen again. "Off with you now."

And don't get into any mischief, Sirius half expected to hear him say.

He stopped Snape on the stairs going down. "Snape. I have some ideas I want to discuss with you. Do you have a moment?"

Snape looked startled, unsettled even, before his face adopted its customary scowl. "If you must. Come with me." He stalked off to the dungeons, not looking behind to see if Sirius was following him, and shut the heavy door behind them without a word. Sirius glanced around before pulling a chair up. The darkness of the place made sense now, at least. A lot of things did, frankly.

"You mentioned a potion that you took," he began. "Did you invent it? Or has it always been around?"

Snape was still standing warily by the door. "Black. I have no intention of discussing any of this with you."

"Why not?"

"Because it is. . . private."

"Private? For fuck's sake, Snape, it's not a venereal disease."

He seemed to have nothing to say to that, so Sirius took advantage of the silence to shake out a cigarette.

"Don't do that."

"Why not?"

Again, Snape appeared to be casting about for an answer that did not come. I've thrown him off center, thought Sirius with glee. Now there's a first. Snape plunked a chunky glass ashtray in front of him.

"There. Try not to make a mess.

What is it you had to say, Black?"

He took his time lighting his cigarette and savouring the first drag. "I think in some ways, Malfoy was right."

Malfoy. Now there was an image. Snape kissing Malfoy. Lazy and familiar. Revolting, and unbearably erotic. Exactly which way does your door swing, Snape?

Snape was stiff as a board. "I have no idea what you mean. And I see no reason for us to be having this discussion in the first place."

He blew a long plume of smoke, enjoying watching Snape dither. "Which discussion is that, Snape? Is it that you don't want me to say Malfoy's name? Or that you don't want to be reminded how he died?"

"Stop." Snape's voice was a whiplash.

Sirius ignored him. "All I want to say is this, Snape. Maybe there's a middle path to steer between embracing the dark in you and suppressing it so violently. And maybe it could be turned to the advantage of the Order."

Snape frowned. He settled gingerly in a chair. "What on earth are you talking about, Black?"

He leaned forward. "What can you do, Snape?"

"I don't understand."

"Yes you do. What can you do, when you've fed? When you're not stoked up on whatever godawful potion you take, and picking rodents out of your teeth? What can you do? Tell me."

"Why should I?"

"Why not?"

"If you say that one more time, I shall put out that cigarette on your forehead."

He grinned and blew another long trail of smoke. "You can climb, I know that. I saw that much." A flash of Snape clinging to the sheer rock face of the castle wall, testing a way of escape for them.

"After a fashion," he said slowly.

"Are all your senses heightened?"

"Most of them. Hearing most of all."

"What can you hear right now?"

Snape narrowed his eyes, considering. "The conversation taking place in the Slytherin common room two doors down. The house elves in the kitchen. Every heartbeat within three-quarters of a mile."

"How clearly?"

"Shall I time your pulse rate for you?"

"How long will you be like this?"

He shrugged. "Another few days, perhaps."

"How does it feel?"

"How do you think it feels?"

"Like getting out of Azkaban."

Snape shifted his gaze away. It landed on the pack of cigarettes. He shook one out and lit it. "Leave me alone, Black," he said wearily. "Go satisfy your morbid fascination for revolting creatures by watching the flobberworms breed. Go poke Lupin with a stick. Just go away."

Sirius leaned back and propped his feet up on the low stool. "Is that why you hate him so?"

Snape's eyes narrowed to slits. "Hate him? How could I hate dear Professor Lupin, everybody's favourite werewolf? He could eat a first year in the Great Hall and everyone would melt in a puddle." Sirius watched the way he held his cigarette. By the base of his fingers, a practised, easy motion.

"Snape. Surely there has to be a way you can feel. . . maybe not this, all the time, but something better than the way it normally is. You said. . . you said the other night you'd never fed off someone before like that, not without killing them. Is there a possibility you could do that regularly?"

"What are you saying?"

"I'm saying. . . I'm saying maybe you should consider it."

"You mean instead of handing out detentions, I could simply suck the blood of recalcitrant students? Now why hadn't I thought of that before? Oh, wait," he sneered, "I think of that every day." He leaned forward abruptly and smashed his cigarette in the ashtray. "Every single goddamn day, you interfering, ignorant, idiotic imbecile."

Sirius's laugh sputtered out of him. "Intrepid? Incorrigible? Irredeemable? Any others you want to throw in there, Snape?" He let his laugh carry him away. God, he had forgotten how good it felt just to laugh. "I am awash in an avalanche of alliteration."

"Oh, do shut up."

"Come on, have a laugh now and again. That cravat's so tight you'll probably choke yourself if you laugh, isn't it?" He took a last puff of his fag and tossed it in after Snape's. "I understand what you're saying, about appetite begetting appetite. But it occurs to me -- and I could be wrong here -- but it seems to me your life has been either feast or famine. I mean, as a student here you were on the rat cocktail--"

"I told you I never--"

"Whatever. And then with the Death Eaters, experiencing that for the first time, you went a hundred eighty degrees in the other direction. And then back at Hogwarts, and nothing. You've never really tried it the other way, have you? So how do you know it wouldn't work, just a little at a time?"

"Because--" Snape took a deep breath. He sighed and shielded his face with his hand. When he spoke again his voice was low and calm. "You are attempting to apply rational logic to something that is profoundly irrational. You think this is another puzzle to be solved, like chess. But I am telling you it is not that way."

Sirius nodded. "All right. I believe you. May I ask you one more question?"

Snape considered. "A question for a question. I will answer one more of yours if you will answer mine."

"Fair enough. Fire away."

"Why does your heartrate accelerate around me?"

His throat went suddenly dry. Panic skittered in his chest. The sweat, the blood, the gasp of his nightly torments hit him in the stomach, and he blinked mutely.

"You fear me, do you not? Fear what I might do to you?"

"I --" He swallowed. "Partially, probably."

Snape was nodding. "You see," he said, as though this proved a point he had been trying to make. "What was your question?"

"Um. . . I was just going to ask if you played chess?"

Snape looked at him as if he had just given birth to a cat on the carpet. "If I play chess? Hardly, if by `playing' you mean the aimless stabbings at the board you call a game."

"You arrogant fuck. Sit your supercilious arse down and prepare to be humiliated."

They played far into the wee hours of the morning that night, hunched over the board, battling as only two well-matched opponents could do. Snape, for his part, was surprised at the level and skill of Black's game. Years of handy victories over his easily intimidated colleagues had perhaps softened his own game, and he was disconcerted to find himself struggling to keep up with the quick slice of Black's dance around a chess board. The cigarettes in the ashtray piled up, and the Ogden's dwindled lower in the bottle. When it was just their kings, their queens, Black's bishop, and Snape's knight on the board, Sirius yawned and stretched.

"God, but I'm tired. Let's continue this tomorrow night, shall we? I can barely see what I'm doing."

"You're leaving now? Just when it's getting interesting?"

"Snape. It's been interesting for three hours now. I'm going to fall over dead tomorrow if I don't get some sleep, at least. Stop taking unsportsmanlike advantage of your superior night-time vampire thing and let me get some rest."

Snape turned a startled face to him, but quickly looked back at the board. Is that the first time anyone's ever bantered you about it, Sirius wondered. Well, about bloody time. He rose and clapped a hand on Snape's shoulder.

"See you in hall. Try to get some sleep, my friend. And don't touch any of those pieces, because I'll know. "

"I'm not your friend," Snape grumbled.

"No? What are you then?"

"I am your enemy under truce."

Sirius nodded. "Possibly. But then again, how would you know? Have you ever had any? Friends, I mean?"

Snape opened his mouth to reply, and Sirius held up a hand to stop him. "Please. Malfoy hardly counts. I'll wager he blackmailed you while you were in school, didn't he, threatening you with exposure? What did you--" He stopped when the certainty of what it was Snape had had to give Malfoy settled in his stomach.

"Good night, Black," Snape said softly from the table.

"'Night, Snape," he muttered, and made his slow way out the door and back to his rooms, thinking. He was grateful for the whiskey-tinged exhaustion that kept the dreams at bay when he fell into bed that night. All he remembered when he woke was a chess dream in which the fishnet stocking-clad queen wielded a whip instead of a truncheon, the pawns were pig-tailed first-years, and the face of the king was obscured by a dark sheaf of hair.

Day Thirteen

Their chess game continued for the next few nights. When it was fought to Sirius's eventual victory, Snape had been so disturbed he had insisted on an immediate rematch. It had been so long since anyone had seriously challenged him at chess that Sirius eagerly agreed. When Remus had asked him where he was going every night, and he had told him that he was playing chess with Snape, he had laughed and said no, really, tell me where.

Poised over the board, considering his next move at one thirty in the morning, he pushed the thought of Remus to the back of his mind and concentrated on the possibility of castling. He didn't like to do it, but Snape was pushing him to the limits of his game, and it just might be necessary.

"Anytime tonight, Black," came the lazy drawl.

"Sod off," he muttered. He gave his knight a gentle push. He had always liked the knight. The curious, disruptive dynamic of its L-shaped motion pleased him tremendously. "Check."

"Oh, bloody hell. Now I have to waste time with you here."

"Give it up, Snape. It's not as though I don't see what you're doing over there. Very subtle. The level of chess played at Death Eaters Training Camp was not over high."

"Well. What with biting the heads off puppies, there was little time left over for diversion."

"Snape." He looked up in shock. "Did you just make. . . a joke?"

"Shut up."

"You did! You made a joke. A terrible one, it's true, and it wasn't even very funny, but my God, man, I didn't know you had it in you."

"Are you quite done?"

"I think so. Checkmate."

"What? Where?" Snape gripped the board in outrage. "That's preposterous! You cannot. . . oh. Oh, bloody fucking hell. Black, I have never hated you more."

"Oh, stop, you're just saying that to make me play some more."

"Damn right. Put those pieces back on the board while I get us some more liquor."

"Hey Snape." He called into the other room. Their games had begun in his office, where the carefully spelled liquor cabinet lived, but had moved of late into the sitting room.

"What."

"You're not actually affected by liquor, are you? It's just another underhanded Slytherin trick to put your opponent at a disadvantage, isn't it."

"Actually, you're not far off. Liquor does not have a. . . normal effect on my system. And if I didn't handicap you somewhat I wouldn't make it beyond the first three moves. You're quite brilliant, you know," he said, sipping the whiskey and handing Black his refreshed glass.

"Aren't you afraid of arresting the rotation of the earth and smashing us all to bits in the gravitational pull of Venus if you pay me a compliment?"

Snape did not respond, having gone meditative. Sirius had become accustomed to the mood swings and the unpredictable remarks in the last twelve days. They fell into the quick lull of their early moves, when pieces whizzed off the board and the field was cleared for battle. Of a sudden Sirius tensed.

"You don't want to do that."

"Do what."

"You touch my queen, and I'll have yours in a heartbeat."

"I know." Snape gave a wicked little smile. "What's the matter, Black? Afraid to play without your queen? A little dependent on her, are we?" He sipped his drink and watched.

"You little Slytherin shit. Just don't know when you're outclassed, do you. Fine. If that's the way you want it, that's the way we'll do it."

In two moves they were both de-queened. The game quickly moved into indiscriminate bloodshed. As he nudged his rook into position for slaughter, Sirius knocked back the rest of his drink. "Fill me up, Snape."

Automatically Snape reached across the board for the glass. His hand slipped, and the glass and the board went scattering across the room. Pawns rolled under the bookcase.

"Snape? You all right?"

"I -- yes. I think you had better go now."

He watched him. "Getting bad again, is it?"

"Black." The eyes were hard and closed. "Go now."

He hesitated. "All right." He rose. "Do you want me to--" He gestured at the mess.

"No. Just go, you imbecile."

"Fine." He righted his glass and slammed the heavy door behind him, not glancing back.

When he returned to his rooms he was surprised to find Remus collapsed on the sofa, sleeping in the quiet way he had. He thunked his shoe on the floor as he undressed to wake him up.

"Sirius? Where've you been?"

"I told you where I was and you didn't believe me. What're you doing here?"

"Oh." Remus ran a sheepish hand over his face and yawned. "I had a question I wanted to ask you, so I thought I'd wait, but you never came back. You were really playing chess with Snape? Who won?"

"Me, so far. He's making me nervous, though. Not that I'd let on. What kind of a madman would sacrifice his queen?"

"Dunno. Listen, Sirius. You all right?"

"Sure. Why d'you ask?"

"You just seem a little on edge since you got back. What really happened with Malfoy?"

"That was what you wanted to ask me?"

"Mm-hm."

"Just the usual. Whips, chains, hot pokers. Nothing out of the ordinary."

"Come on."

"The truth is, I ate chateaubriand and veal medallions three times a day and slept on silk sheets."

"Sirius."

He plopped on the sofa, lifting Remus's neat slender feet and resettling them in his lap. "My hand to God. Weird, but there it was. I was actually very well-treated."

"So what did he want?"

"Nothing to do with me, really. Just Snape. Arch-traitor, betrayer of the Dark Lord, et cetera, et cetera. All very tedious. Finally we ambushed him and got out of there. His wards were pathetic."

Remus was regarding him, blinking steadily. "You managed to kill him without your wands?"

"Yeah, all my martial arts training really paid off."

"So you'll tell me when you're ready."

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "Someday, Remus, if I can."

"Okay then." He turned over and burrowed back into the pillows. "Mind if I sleep here?"

"Sure. I'll get you a blanket. And Remus."

"Mm."

"One of my favourite things about you is the way you can let things drop." He padded off to the bedroom for a blanket.

"Yes, I'm just a bundle of maturity," Remus whispered to no one in particular.

Day Fourteen

There was no answer when he knocked the next night. He knocked louder. Still no answer. He stood in the hallway, uncertain what to do or why he didn't just go away. He tried the knob and was unsurprised to find it warded. He held a brief ethical debate with himself, then rejected the debate's conclusion and proceeded to do what he had planned to from the first.

He took a deep breath and recited the key to the ward in a low voice. "Nullam rem e nilo gigni divinitus umquam¹ ." Snape wasn't the only one with excellent hearing. The door swung open with a little creak.

"Snape?" No answer, but he didn't expect him to be in the office anyway. He stepped through the half-open door to the sitting room. No one. Curious. "Snape?" he called softly. That left only one place. He paused at the threshold of the little curtained archway to the bedroom, then pushed the curtain back and stepped through.

On the bed of the spartan little room was Snape, wrapped in about a dozen blankets, his face to the wall. "Snape?" No answer. He stepped closer. He caught a flash of glazed eyes and sallow skin.

"Get out of here, Black." His voice was hoarse.

"So. I'm guessing it's not the flu?"

"Get. Out."

He stood, uncertain. So this was why, then. The crash was harder than just leaving the stuff alone in the first place. Briefly he wondered if it was anything like heroin, and even at the distance of all these years the old longing twisted him. He retreated to the office and began rummaging in drawers and bins. He found what he was looking for, and quickly returned to the bedroom, stripping off his shirt.

"Snape. Turn over."

"No."

"Snape. Do as I say. I'm going to help you."

"You can't."

Snape began to shake, not with the frenzied shiver of cold or convulsion, but a slow rocking motion Sirius recognised.

"Hush now. Don't cry. It'll be all right." He tried to remember the nonsense things Remus had said to him that night on the cold bathroom floor, picking him up and holding him in the shower, cleaning his vomit and blood and shit off him as he wept.

He slid in beside Snape and fumbled with the knife. The blade struck home and spurted the sheets. He pulled Snape over to him and climbed on top of him, pressing his forearm to his mouth. The dull eyes focused instantly, the mouth clamped hungrily. Please let him know when to stop, he thought a second too late, and the mouth swallowed him down into warm wet blackness.

Day Fifteen

He woke when his head hit the wall with a smack.

"Black! What in hell's name do you think you are doing?"

He rubbed his head and winced. "Goddamnit, Snape. What are you trying to do, concuss me before eight o'clock in the morning? Jesus."

"Get out of my bed this instant." Snape's voice was glacial. He underscored his point by ripping off all the blankets and retreating across the room.

"All right, all right. God. Is a little gratitude so out of order here?"

"Gratitude?" Snape's face was purple with rage. "Gratitude, you little shit? You invade my rooms, you violate my privacy in the most graphic and shocking manner, you display the most profound ignorance about the basic workings of-- of my system, you show utter disrespect for what you have to have known were my wishes in the matter, and-- and you expect gratitude?"

"You know, I've never actually seen anyone have an apoplectic fit, but you could be getting close, there."

"You flea-ridden, insolent, thick-as-bricks son of a Mudblood bitch--"

His words were cut off as he landed against the wall, Sirius Black's arms pinning him. "You watch your mouth," he hissed.

The room was filled with nothing but their breathing.

"You watch what you put near it," Snape hissed back.

He released him and stepped back. "And to think," he said as he snatched his shirt off the floor. "I had almost persuaded myself that Malfoy was wrong about you. But I guess there really isn't much that's human left of you, is there."

He stalked out, and Snape stayed leaning against the wall for a long time before he slid to the floor.

" 'Nother round, lovey?" Rosmerta leaned her ample bosom over the table and Sirius let his eyes stray just a little.

"Sure, Ros. Hit me. More of the same." She returned with a flagon of the best, and slid in beside him. The pub was almost empty now, except for a few stragglers in the corner, and Rosmerta could afford to relax a bit. "Come join me, why don't you," he said, although the invitation seemed unnecessary; she was already ensconced next to him, her thigh pressing his.

"You've been at this for some time, Sirius. Something you want to talk about?"

He let his hand stray under the table and rest lightly on her thigh, rubbing a little circle with his thumb. "I don't really feel like talking, Ros."

He saw her sharp intake of breath. "That was years and years ago, Sirius Black."

"Like the rest of my life. What are you sitting here for then?"

"You look like you could use a friend."

"That's not all I could use." He turned his eyes full on her then, and knew from the way she dropped hers that he had won. She slipped out of the booth and after a couple of minutes he followed her into the back storeroom.

"Sirius," she breathed as he hitched up her skirt. He groaned to feel how wet she was for him already. God, but this was sweet. Her mouth was warm and soft, like the rest of her, her breasts lush, filling his hands, the hitch of her breath intoxicating. He propped her luscious arse on a stack of flour sacks and slid into her, watching the way she tilted her head back, exposing all that creamy flesh. A kaleidoscope of images clicked in his mind, Malfoy Snape tongues blood fucking bite groan blood Snape.

"Slow down, love. Too rough."

"Sorry." He tried to calm down and push the images out of his mind. What the hell was wrong with him? He found his rhythm and held it, willing himself to close to everything but the sweet slide of slick muscle on cock, and as he felt her orgasm building, rippling, he knew with sudden desperation he would not be able to come. He pounded more fiercely then, fingers digging into her ample hips, groaning in desperation, no no no shut down the images stop them now, but he could not stop, and he flashed on Snape's face the millisecond after he bit into Malfoy's neck, the pleasure washing over that sharp face, the flutter of his eyelids, the flick of eyes upward to lock with his own, and he was lost, gone, coming in a flood, driving into poor Rosmerta with fevered grunts, and he knew what his dreams had been trying to tell him, what he had been too ashamed to admit that he knew or even contemplate knowing: that he had been hard as a rock against Malfoy's back, pressing into him even as he pushed him forward into Snape's hungry mouth.

Rosmerta was leaned against his shoulder, panting. "That was bloody amazing, love."

Trembling, he withdrew. She was pulling down her skirt and running a hand over herself, smoothing herself like a cat. She gave him a quick kiss on the side of his face as she slid off the flour sacks.

"Don't expect I'll have an explanation for why my skirts look like someone tried to flour me. Or de-flower," she said with a throaty laugh. She stroked his cheek. "Still the best, lovey. Still the best." And then she was gone, shutting the door discreetly behind her, not waiting for or needing any response from him.

Day Sixteen

Most wars, as all soldiers, Muggle or wizard, have reason to know, are spent in waiting. Especially a defensive war, as this one was turning out to be. Thrust and parry. Gather information, and wait. Sirius sat in the rooms he was occupying at Hogwarts and stared at the chessboard. He sighed, then flipped the chessboard around and examined it from the other side. Meditatively, he moved the queen out of the way.

Godfuckingdamnit. He ran his hands over his face, and set the pieces back on their squares again. All right, replay it one move at a time. Breaking Snape's wards. Not good. But, he had been concerned. There had been that display the night before. Hadn't he reason to be concerned? Hadn't he. . .? There, that was the word he had been avoiding. Hadn't he the right to be concerned? After all, what he had done for Snape. . . had been about his own preservation as much as anything. It required both of them to overpower Malfoy, and Snape at his full strength. So it had been self-interest that had motivated him, at least partially. The first time, anyway.

So maybe it gave him no rights over Snape, no claim on him at all. And he had known that if he offered Snape the opportunity to feed, when he was in the condition that any junkie in the world would recognise as withdrawal, he would be unable to refuse. He had simply wanted to help. He narrowed his eyes. No, something else there. Azkaban had left him with the ability to see himself completely, without any subtle shadings of excuse or sympathy. The long dark had been good for a thing or two. Had he just wanted to help? Partly. And partly he had just wanted to feel that pull on his blood again, those lips sealed to his flesh, because it felt so damn good.

One last move to examine, the one he least wanted to look at. The words he had flung at Snape as he left his rooms. There really isn't much that's human left of you, is there. That had been an old gift of his: to find the raw and flick it. He had sensed Snape's desperate hatred of his vampirism, seen it in his face when Malfoy taunted him. And he had thought nothing of taking that and twisting it in Snape's gut when he needed a little self-justification.

Fucking hell.

He kicked back his chair and grabbed up his cloak. He stopped, his hand on the peg. Why the hell do I care, he asked himself. It's not like the blood-sucking bastard and I are ever going to be friends, anyway. That was a gambit he didn't have a reply to. He swirled on his cloak and stepped out the door, headed to the dungeons.

"Come in."

I don't suppose I should be surprised at finding him up, he thought as he creaked open the door to Snape's office. Snape did not turn around from his work table. Even from behind Sirius could see he looked infinitely better than the previous night.

"Yes? What is it?"

"I have something to say to you, Snape."

"Get out of here, Black." His voice was weary, not angry. He sounded tired.

"If you let me say this, I promise I will leave at once, and you won't be bothered by my presence any more."

Snape tapped his rod against the side of the cauldron, but did not turn. "Make it brief."

"Queen for queen is not a wise move."

Snape did turn then. "That's it?"

"Yes."

Snape crossed his arms and frowned, considering. "Why?" he asked at last.

"Let me show you."

"Very well." He wiped his stirring rod on the scrap of silken cloth tied to the drawer pull. "Accio chess board."

They played till dawn that night, and for the first time Snape won.

Day Twenty

"Are you ever going to move?"

"Shut up. I'm still thinking."

"Yes, I can hear the grinding from where I'm sitting."

"That's the grinding two floors above you're hearing."

"Your capacity for the vulgar never ceases to amaze me." Snape took another sip of his wine.

"The adolescent capacity for rutting in the midst of Armageddon amazes me."

"I can't think of a better place for it, actually."

Sirius tapped a captured pawn against his teeth as he thought. "Tell you what, Snape. I win this game, and you tell me who was the last person you had sex with."

"Absolutely not."

"Oh, come on. If you win, I'll answer any question you put to me."

"Do you know why these sorts of games are idiotic, Black? No one ever really answers truthfully."

"I do."

Snape refilled his guest's wine glass. "Do try to savour it this time."

They traded the next few moves in silence, picking up speed as each hastened to his endgame. For the second time, Snape proved victorious. Sirius leaned back with a grin. "All right, I'm a man of my word. Ask any question you want."

Snape considered. "I have two."

"Two? Well, I suppose I'll accept that. After all, you have won twice. Although I must point out you've had your arse kicked seven times. Ask your first question."

Snape tapped his finger on the table. Black's defiant smirk made him itch to smack it.

"Snape, your face is the very image of the phrase `cunning delight.' Ask whatever diabolical question it is you're hatching."

"Did you enjoy killing Malfoy?"

A good thing his wine glass was to his lips. The swallow bought him time. "Of course I did, you idiot. I would have enjoyed scooping out his liver with a teaspoon."

"No." Snape leaned forward. "I mean, did you ENJOY killing Malfoy." His timbre dropped a half octave.

Sirius's throat was suddenly dry. He licked his lips. "Yes," he said softly.

Snape nodded slowly, as though he had been presented with the solution to the brewing of a delicate potion.

"What's your next question?"

"Did you let me win just now?"

Sirius took another drink. "Yes."

"Why?"

"That's three questions."

Snape gave his odd one-shouldered shrug and refilled his own wine glass.

"But I'm in a generous mood, so I'll answer anyway. I was hoping you might ask me who was the last person I had sex with. In which case I would tell you Rosmerta, five nights ago."

"Why?"

"Why did I have sex with her, or why would I want to tell you about it?"

Snape studied his wine glass. "The latter."

"To see if it would bother you."

The clock on the mantel ticked, and Sirius could hear the swirling wine in Snape's glass lap the rim. He rose and stretched, reaching for his cloak. "It would be ungracious of me to follow your victory, however undeserved, with yet another punishing loss. Console yourself with your hollow triumph and prepare to be crushed tomorrow night."

"I have to leave tomorrow morning."

Sirius stopped. "You do?"

He nodded. "With Malfoy gone, there's what might be called a breach for me to step into. Albus thinks I might be able to regain Voldemort's trust."

Sirius breathed out. "Jesus, Snape, that's a dangerous game."

"I know."

"Albus really thinks this is a good idea?"

"No. But we are running out of ideas, good or otherwise."

"Yeah." He sighed. "Yeah. You watch yourself, Snape."

"I will. And Black?"

"Yes?" His hand was on the door.

"It bothers me."

Day Twenty-five

He woke this time just before the orgasm hit him. Only just, however, and there was nothing he could do to stop it even if he wanted to, which he most definitely did not. He pumped his fist around his cock once, twice, and he was coming in a rush, a sharp, almost painful blast of sensation that reminded him of being a teenager again, and the way he would sometimes pass out, for a few seconds, after an orgasm. Melinda Hapgood had been the first to call him Blackout, with that sly wicked grin that had made him want to grab her and fuck her right there on the Quidditch pitch.

Teenage sex, that was where it was at, all right. Melinda by day, Remus by night. It had all seemed so easy then, so natural, and the world had seemed like one gigantic playground, and every live human being had seemed just another glorious place to park his cock, however briefly. Lying sprawled and sated on his sheets he had a brief flash of Remus's golden back beneath him, of the quiet gasping way he would come, twisting the sheets in between his fingers. He wondered if he still came that way, not making a sound. Or maybe that had just been because he was afraid James and Peter would hear, and he hadn't trusted the silencing charm his lover had cast.

Lover. Sirius stared at the ceiling and rolled that around on his tongue. The day James had laughed and teased Ravenclaw Melinda about her Gryffindor lover, and Lily had said in that quiet voice that shot to his gut, Sirius isn't a lover. He's a fucker. Pushing her against the wall that night. What the hell did you mean by that. You know what I meant. Get your hands off me, Sirius. And then their hands were everywhere, frantic pushing gasping. And nights after that. Remus not asking. The way she would pin him in her gaze with such contempt, and God help him but it turned him on that she could look at him like that and still want to fuck him. James's jubilant voice. She said yes, Sirius. She's going to marry me, by God. That's great, Jamie. Congratu-fucking-lations.

He pushed the blankets off his body and reached over for his cigarettes. Five days now since Snape had gone. Albus had had no word in five days. He might never get any word. It might be years from now. He inhaled the harsh tobacco deeply and pondered the question of whether Snape might actually want to fuck him. Well, he probably did. So what. After all, he thought bitterly, I'm the best. Remus probably still did, too -- that much was clear, on occasion. Clear, too, that he would never cross that line without an obvious invitation.

An invitation he couldn't give. Not any more. The other night, with Rosmerta -- for the first time since Azkaban, he had tried meaningless sex again. Anaesthetic sex. What a disaster. Azkaban had robbed him of the ability to go back to that on a regular basis. He knew too much, now, about its eventual price.

He closed his eyes and let his wet dream replay in his head. Amazingly, his cock began to twitch. He let the images flood him. Oh, God. His hand strayed downward. Yes. He stroked himself to hardness lazily. So close. As he neared the brink he let himself think of Remus's face in orgasm, the quiet concentration of it, the way he bit his lip and muffled a half-sob, but no, no, it wasn't getting him there oh God please please and then Remus's face became more angular and darker and thrown back in a groan of ecstasy lips open eyes wide blood trickling God God fuck yes.

He subsided, panting. What the fucking hell was wrong with him?

Day Twenty-Seven

"What can you tell us, Severus?"

Dumbledore's face in the puddle of lamplight was grave, his eyes watchful. He had not called a full meeting of the Order tonight. Only a handful of them knew what Snape was attempting to do, and Dumbledore wanted to keep it that way. Minerva McGonagall adjusted her glasses and leaned forward. Remus took another cup of tea and sat back to listen.

"Distressingly little, actually. His mind is not. . . organised. Not as it used to be. When he regained his body, he may have been changed in some way. It is hard to say. There was always the capacity for irrational behaviour in him, but before it was coupled with cunning and purpose."

"And now?" Dumbledore took a biscuit.

"Now, he just wants more death. As much as possible. Wizard, Muggle, doesn't matter."

"Does he trust you?'

Snape hesitated. "He finds me useful."

Sirius looked at the carpet. He had noticed that Snape chose a chair in shadow, and that his hair hid part of his face. Even so, the brightness of his eyes, the warm hue of his skin, was evidence to one who knew what to look for. Voldemort must be finding him useful indeed.

Dumbledore was nodding. "That is the great thing, Severus. I don't expect, honestly, that you will have any sort of information for us. Not yet, anyway. The important thing is to gain his trust, to make yourself useful to him again. When the opportunity to do more comes, you will know what to do."

"Of course. However, he is less and less understanding of my excuses for being here and not, as he wishes, at his side. I have explained that you have granted me a temporary leave of absence, and that it is in his best interests for me to stay in your good graces, but he. . . he is less concerned about such things than he used to be."

Dumbledore's eyebrows lifted. "You mean he does not think I am very much of a threat."

"No." Snape sipped his tea.

"And he thinks there is little to gain by allowing you to play a double game."

"Precisely. He wishes my loyalties to be publicly known. I can no longer hold him off in this. If I am to stay clear of Hogwarts, I must have a contact."

"Yes, yes. Naturally, you are right. Any ideas?"

Snape's eyes strayed to Black. "An Animagus would be helpful."

Dumbledore was looking at him. "Sirius? Would you be willing?"

He cleared his throat. "Of course. But let me go on record as saying that I think the whole thing is a monumentally stupid idea." Remus shot him a look. "The risks here far outweigh the gains, it seems to me. Snape just said he isn't likely to learn anything. So why are we doing this, exactly?"

Snape scowled. "The point, Black, is simply to have me in position when the time comes, if that's not too subtle for you to understand. I realise complex thinking is not your long suit, but--"

"Oh, fuck off, Snape. What I meant is, Voldemort may have become a bit crazed, but neither is he stupid. He's bound to know you've got an agenda of your own, and he's going to try to use you to get at all of us -- you most of all," he said to Dumbledore. The old wizard's eyes were intent on him.

"Oh for heaven's sake Black--"

Dumbledore held up a hand. "No, Severus. Sirius has a point, and we both know it. But right now, I see no other way around what is undoubtedly a less than ideal situation." He drained his teacup and stood, clearly signaling that the little conclave was at an end.

"Come."

Sirius pushed open the door to find Snape standing in the midst of scattered papers and books. His office was something of a wreckage.

"What are you doing?"

"Oh." He gestured vaguely. "I shan't have occasion to come back for some time, perhaps, and there are some things I might need. Potions equipment, mostly. Books."

Sirius nodded.

"Black. Was there something you wanted? I am rather busy."

He stepped over a stack of books and made for the chair. "See? Look what progress we've made. That was borderline civil and contained not a single swear word. Packed up the chess set yet?"

"Oh. No, I hadn't thought I would have need of it. However. . ." Snape was oddly hesitant. "I don't think I care for a game tonight, Black."

"Nonsense, Snape. What are you worried about? Should be a breeze, going up against someone with my limited capacity for complex thinking."

"I told you once already, Black, I--"

"Shut up and sit down. Tomorrow you may be heading off to the serpent's lair again, but tonight we play. Double your money."

"Have you any money?"

"It's an expression. But name your stakes." He picked the chess board up from its resting place on the shelf and looked about. "Quite the havoc you've wreaked in here. Sitting room, then?"

"Black. I am very tired."

He looked him up and down. "No you're not. You look bloody fantastic."

Snape paused at that, then stuck the books in his hand back on the shelf. "Very well. One game."

Sirius grinned. "And to think. If only I had known, all those years ago, that a little meaningless stroking of your considerable vanity was all it took. Sit your arse down."

"Black. You're not concentrating."

He rubbed his forehead. "Yes I am. Just give me a minute." He reached a hand to his bishop, then retracted it. He massaged his temple. The board was difficult to see clearly tonight. Pawn to? No. He drummed his fingers on the table.

Snape watched with a small frown, arms crossed. Seeing Black hesitate over a move was a novel and disturbing experience. His opponent continued to stew, touching first one piece, then another. Finally he shook his head and stood up, knocking over his rook with a wave of his hand.

"Forget it. I concede. Whatever. Snape, what the hell do you think you are going to accomplish with this?"

"With--?"

With one hand, Sirius smacked the board off the table. Pieces rolled and scattered. Snape watched them. "You know what I'm talking about, goddamnit! God fucking damnit, just what the hell is the point here? Because you'll never make me believe that Voldemort trusts you an inch. Not one fucking inch. This is just a race to the finish here, to see if you can find out something before he kills you. This is a pointless endgame, and such an utter fucking waste I can't--" He ran his hands through his hair.

"Black." Snape's voice was calm. "You were the one who suggested I make better use of who and what I am."

"Don't you dare say this was my idea! Don't you fucking say that, Snape!" He knew his voice was too loud but couldn't seem to stop it as he paced the little room. "This is not what I meant and you know it. Why Albus is letting you do this I have no idea, but it's clear you think--" He stopped. "What do you mean by that? Making better use of what you are."

Snape glanced at the floor. "The Dark Lord has certain. . .predilections. I satisfy many of them."

"What does he do to you, Snape?"

He shrugged. "You said it yourself. I look bloody fantastic."

"Vampires amuse him." Sirius's voice was bitter.

"Yes." Snape took a swallow of wine. "But there is something else. You exaggerate the danger I am in, Black. For now, at least. Voldemort very much wants me alive, with all my. . . faculties intact."

"He wants. . . oh my God." Sirius clutched the back of his chair. "He wants you to make him a vampire, doesn't he."

Snape did not answer, but took another large swallow of wine.

"Does Albus know?"

"Yes."

"Can you?"

"Of course."

Sirius straightened. "How?"

"Honestly, Black, don't you ever read a book?"

"You mean the ones that tell me vampires are immortal, can turn into bats, and hang upside down by their feet?"

"All of which have some basis in fact. I am immune to most illness, resistant to serious injury, have preternaturally sharpened hearing, and display extraordinary physical agility."

"All right. How do you do it?"

"Why do you want to know?"

"You want me to be your contact, you're going to tell me everything I want to know."

He sighed and uncrossed his arms. "I drain. . . a victim, just to the point of death. That part is harder to do than it sounds. It's a bit like. . ."

"Stopping just before orgasm."

He gave a little grimace. "If memory serves. At any rate, the victim must remain in that state for one night. On the following night, if the individual has not died in the meantime, the. . . performer of the procedure offers his own blood to be drunk. If all goes well, the victim revives and has undergone systemic change into the desired state. There are spells, of course, very ancient and complex, that the donor must recite during the latter part of the process. It is a very delicate operation indeed, and things can go horribly wrong at any point."

"So he wants to do it but is afraid."

"Yes."

"Who did it to you?"

Snape rose and refilled his wine glass at the sideboard. Sirius thought he might refuse to answer.

"My stepfather," he said quietly.

"Are you telling me," Sirius breathed, "Sebastian Snape was a vampire?"

"Yes."

"He did it deliberately? To his nine year old stepson?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Snape cut his eyes in his odd, quick way. "I think that is a discussion for another time, if you don't mind."

The careful courtesy was his sign to stop. Here be dragons. "All right," he sighed. "All right." He rested his hands on his hips and studied the floor. "I apologise for my. . . outburst." He set his glass on the little sideboard and stood by Snape for a minute.

"Black?" Snape's voice could hardly be heard.

"What?"

"Do you. . ." He stopped.

He did not know how to get the words through his strangled throat. "Yes, please."

Slowly, Snape unbuttoned the other man's cuff and rolled it up so the lean muscled forearm was displayed. "Knife," he whispered.

Sirius shook his head. "Can't you just--"

"No."

Sirius reached in his back pocket with his other hand and pulled out his ever-present switchblade. He flicked the Harpy open with one hand and handed it to Snape, who slowly sliced a deep horizontal cut in the cephalic vein, thrumming on the inside of Sirius's elbow. Together they watched it ooze and trickle. Deliberately, Snape lifted it to his mouth and licked a long path up the forearm to the wound. His eyes on Sirius's, he clamped.

Sirius let his eyes flutter, but didn't feel the same wooziness as before. He knew Snape must be controlling his sucking, knew he wasn't really hungry, knew this was for their mutual. . . whatever. He felt Snape pull him closer, and then they were hip to hip. Groin to groin, and with a gasp he tried to pull away so Snape would not feel how hard he was, but Snape's grip was iron. And then he felt Snape's cock jutting into him, and instinctively he pressed back, and their cocks brushed, and he heard the groan rip from Snape's throat as he swallowed.

He pressed into Snape harder and began to rock back and forth, and the room was beginning to spin a little. His face felt very hot. There were fingers digging into his arse, pulling him closer, and Snape was grinding into him fast and fierce. Fuck yes, he heard his voice saying. Snape's face was buried in the crook of his arm, their faces inches apart, heads touching. The suction at his arm and the delicious friction in his groin were combining into one surge of sensation. Snape's lips were wet and hard at once. They were gripping and writhing as they humped, and as the room evaporated at the edges, his orgasm hit him and he bucked forward, hearing another, louder groan, and he knew Snape was coming hard, and his head dropped back as the pleasure took him.

When he woke, there was faint daylight in the room, and he knew Snape was gone. He squinted at the clock on the mantel. Six thirty. He raised his head and was surprised at the throbbing ache in it. Had Snape had trouble. . . stopping? The thought made his heart pound. He staggered up and reached for the glass of pumpkin juice that had been placed on the little table, just within reach. Still faintly chilled. Not that long ago, then. Had Snape waited to see if he was going to be all right? He patted his pockets for his knife. There it was, tucked in his trouser pocket. His clean, dry trousers, he thought with a quirk of his eyebrow.

And something else. He thrust his hand into his pocket deeper and emerged with an intricately graven figure that nestled in the palm of his hand. He opened his hand and blinked at it. The black king. He clutched his hand around it, breathing hard.

Well, he thought with a wry grin. Could be worse. Could have been the queen.

¹ The key to Snape's ward is from Lucretius' De Rerum Natura, ll. 149 - 150 of Book One. A rough translation would be: "Nothing is ever by divine power produced from nothing." Lucretius himself adapts this line from Epicurus' Epistle to Herodotus: "proton men oti ouden ginetai ek tou me ontos" ("First, nothing is made from that which is not.")

III. The Fire Sermon

The great black dog shuffled aimlessly up the cobbled street, sticking to the shadows of this most shadowy of streets. The few passersby, mostly the worse for drink, paid him no mind as they brushed past him. Some were slouched in doorways, their cloaks pulled about them against the misty chill. The dog paused at a large arched door with peeling red paint. Den of Delights, the faded sign read. All Kinds of Magic Welcome. A shadowy figure lurked in the alleyway just beyond. The dog made for it.

"You took long enough," the figure hissed.

"Sod off," Sirius Black replied as he gracefully shook himself out. "What do you have for me?"

Snape shook his head. "Not here. MLE"s taken to patrolling this way every so often, and it's about time for another sweep."

"Get a room then."

"For just me and my dog?"

Sirius shrugged. "When they say all kinds welcome, they mean it. Besides, I'm freezing. And no, I didn't mean you. I"ll go get a room. You climb up the outside."

"Fine."

"Give me some money."

"Circe"s teeth, don't you ever have any money? Here," he grumbled, tossing a soft leather bag at him.

"You won't regret it, matey. I"ll make it worth your while, I will," he winked in his best affected brogue as he sauntered off.

"I regret it already."

Not five minutes later Snape heard the soft slide of a window opening above. "Naturally," he muttered. "The top floor. I"ll wager he did that on purpose."

Effortlessly he pulled himself up on the ground floor window ledge, then began to scrabble up the sheer side of the building. Sirius leaned out, watching him. When he arrived at the top, Snape shoved him back into the room and leaped through, slamming the window shut.

"Very discreet, Black."

"I don't really think I would have been the one attracting attention there, had anyone chosen to look. Leave off moaning and tell me what you've got for me."

Snape was busy checking the locks on the door, peering in the closets, and securing the window.

"Oh for the love of God. I've done this a time or two before, you know. The room"s clean. Or as clean as it gets around here. Now cough it up."

Snape held up a hand and froze, listening. Neither of them moved. When Snape relaxed, Sirius spoke.

"What was it?"

"MLE sweep on the street."

"Making your life harder that way was a stupid idea."

"Idiot. Albus did the right thing. Telling the Ministry I'd defected is the best thing to get him to trust me. He sees I can't go back now."

"Which works just great, except you really can't go back now. There are placards with your face on them all up and down Diagon Alley. And not your best picture, I must say."

"Pity. I"ll send on a better."

"It works to your advantage. it's not as though anyone would recognise you from it now," he said, letting his eyes sweep over Snape's taut form. Feral was the adjective that sprang to Black's mind. His hair was a bit longer now, just brushing the tops of his shoulders, his skin like porcelain. Gone was the greasy, sallow, ill-favoured potions master of recent years. Sirius considered.

"Snape. When this is over, are you going to be able to go back to the way things were?"

Snape was peering out the window from behind the dingy white curtain. "I don't know," he said absently.

"I don't suppose you and Albus considered that part of the plan."

"don't try my patience." Snape turned abruptly, letting the curtain fall.

"I"ll try it if I bloody well feel like it. That was the deal. You get a contact, I get answers when I want them."

Snape sighed and pulled a chair up to the window, where he could sit and watch the street. "Just shut up for a bit, Black. He"s planning a raid of some sort for early next week. Tuesday, I think. Not a wizarding village. Muggles. A little fishing community up in Norfolk. God knows why. He wants all of us there, for some reason. I think it's his coming out."

"Beg pardon?"

"He wants to frighten Muggles. He reads the newspapers, did you know that? All of them. He wants to be in them, I think."

"Jesus."

"Yes. The most terrifying Dark wizard in history turns out to be just another garden variety sociopath."

"you're sure it's Tuesday?"

"I'm not at all sure. I said I believe so."

"Where in Norfolk?"

"I don't know. He makes sure I don't know things."

"What will he expect you to do?"

"You really want to know, Black?"

"Yes."

"He saves the best for me. As much as I can take, as long as he gets to watch." He flicked the curtain back and cocked his head at something. "They"re doomed anyway. I try to make it easy. There are ways."

Sirius was silent, contemplating. When he spoke Snape's voice was hard as flint. "And God damn you to hell for thinking what you're thinking, you hypocritical bastard."

"I wasn't--"

"Yes you were. Wondering just how addicted I'm getting, if I"ll really be able to break the chains and cut off my own food supply when the time comes. If I might be getting in deeper than even I know, than I'm capable of handling."

"Those are reasonable questions to ask. I never thought this was a good idea in the first place."

"So you keep reminding everyone. In case the event proves you right, you can say you always knew it: never trust a vampire."

"that's the first time I've heard you use the word," Sirius said softly.

"I'm more comfortable with a lot of things now."

"So I see." He stifled a yawn. "I bought the room for the whole night, so if you don't mind I'm going to sleep now. It took me all day to get here and it's little enough I've got for it. I'm going to get some rest and get out of here in the morning."

"Fine." Snape stayed at the window, peering out, as Sirius crawled under the filthy blanket.

"What are you going to do?"

"Watch."

"Snape?"

"What is it?"

"Does Voldemort try to fuck you?"

Snape gave him an incredulous look. "Do you really know nothing?"

"Oh, don't give me that. I've not encountered a single book on vampires that's accurate, so far. And believe me, I've looked. Hogwarts library and Remus's collection. The latter is quite frightening, I should add. His cataloguing alone is enough to keep one up of nights. Why do you suppose he shelves the Joy of Cooking next to One Thousand Years of Vampirism?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Just what I need. Lupin getting suspicious."

"You really think I have no ability to be discreet, don't you."

"I think you are likely to reveal confidences in your pillow talk that will place me in greater jeopardy, yes."

Sirius sat up. "Pillow talk. For fuck"s sake. I am not sleeping with Remus."

"You have, though."

"A lifetime ago. When you were sleeping with Malfoy."

"I never -- oh, never mind."

"Never what? Fucked Malfoy? Tell me another."

Snape said nothing, just watched the window for a long time. "Vampires don't have sex," he said at last, in a still voice.

Sirius arched an eyebrow. "Could have fooled me."

"That -- oh, forget it, Black. Clearly nuance is beyond you."

"Fine." Sirius sank back onto the bed. Sleep eluded him. At last he sighed and kicked off the blanket, getting up and sitting on the windowsill to face Snape, who remained unmoving.

"You don't put yourself in situations where you may bite. that's it, isn't it."

"Fuck off, Black."

"Nice try. Is the bite fatal?"

He shifted. "Sometimes. I've never -- if one bites--" He stopped. "If I bite, it is. . . incredibly difficult to stop. Combining that with a sexual situation, in which it is difficult enough to stop. . . you don't know how close I came. . ." His voice trailed off. Sirius had a flash of waking up on the sofa in Snape's sitting room, weaker than he had thought he would be, dizzy ten hours later.

"How close you came to draining me, you mean."

Snape looked past him out the window. "Go to sleep, Black."

"Did Malfoy make you suck him off?"

His brows rushed together at the crudity of the question. "Lucius would never have trusted a vampire that far. He took other precautions."

"Such as?"

"He gagged me. And tied my arms."

Sirius felt an odd taste in the back of his throat, like bile.

"It wasn't as awful as it sounds. He always. . . he made sure I had a good time. Lucius had his standards."

"Fucking bastard. Just because you came doesn"t make it any less rape."

If Snape was surprised at the anger in his voice, he didn't show it. "Go back to bed, Black. All this was a long time ago. None of it matters now. Nothing matters now," he said quietly.

Sirius watched him, long legs stretched out in front of him, arms crossed, bright eyes dead and hollow. He took a step forward and sank to his knees.

"What are you doing?"

"Just be still. You don't have to do a thing. Just relax." He unbuttoned Snape's trouser placket with concentration and deliberation.

"Black. Stop."

"Sh." Gently he freed Snape's cock. He could hear Snape's breathing roughen when he touched him. He bent his head and gave him a gentle lick. Snape jumped and clutched the arms of the chair.

"Hush now. it's all right." He bent his head again and began suckling gently, easing him to hardness. The long cock in his mouth sprang to life in seconds. He could taste the salt of pre-come, smell the heady musk of Snape, burying his nose in the thick thatch of dark hair at the base. He shifted a little to allow his own erection room in his trousers as he worked.

Snape's gasps and pants were intoxicating. Had the man never experienced this before? God, but he tasted good. He relaxed his throat and took him all the way back, letting him ram against the back of his throat, and Snape gave a little cry at that. If he doesn"t stop making those noises, I'm going to come before he does, Sirius thought. He closed his eyes and redoubled his efforts, sucking harder. Snape began arching up into him, thrusting. Oh, yes. can't stop now, can you. He sealed his tongue to the underside of his cock as he sucked. One hand came around to the back of his head, just resting there lightly. He"s at least done this before if he knows how unpleasant it is to have your head gripped, he thought.

Snape had stopped making any noise at all now. His thrusts were becoming more desperate, his breathing faster. He arched tremendously, and Sirius's mouth was filled with the sharp bitter flood of Snape's come as the man convulsed and trembled and did not stop pulsing. Gently Sirius milked him, easing him down. He glanced up, wanting to see his face.

"Holy fuck," he breathed, and he knew why Snape had not made any noise. Blood was running from his mouth, from the hand he had chewed and bitten in his desperation, down his sleeve, his wrist. Snape's eyes were dazed, and he was trembling, looking at his hand, anywhere but Sirius's face.

He took the mangled hand in his and brought it to his mouth. Turning Snape's head so he would have to look at him, he sucked the wound, licking it clean. Down around the wrist, in between the fingers. He pulled himself up on the arms of the chair and leaned over to start on the blood streaked face, cleaning the jaw line, the chin, the underside of his bottom lip. He nudged the lips gently. Snape recoiled as though he had been struck.

Sirius froze, willing himself to calm down. "can't you kiss me."

"I--" Snape's hand came up reflexively to cover his mouth.

So that was it. Fangs still out, then. Deliberately he lowered his mouth to Snape's and forced the lips open. He ran his tongue gently over the lengthened canines, feeling their sharp points, feeling them begin to recede as he worked and stroked and licked, and now Snape was kissing him back, his hands coming around to encircle Sirius's lower back, pulling him closer. The mingled taste of blood and come in their mouths made his cock so hard it was almost painful. Snape reached a hand down to cup him, and stopped.

"How far do you trust me?"

"You have to ask?"

The next instant he was on his back on the bed, and Snape's head was bent over his own swollen cock, and he was pleading, arching up into that unbelievable mouth.

"Oh-- oh, God, yes--" He wasn't going to last and he knew it, not after feeling Snape come in his mouth, not after kissing Snape. He could no longer process the barrage of sensations. He raised his head to see Snape's head burrowing into this groin, feeding on him, swallowing him, and he shot come so hard he really did black out, screaming Snape's name, except he knew it wasn't Snape he was saying, but Severus Severus Severus.

"He recruited me through Lucius. It was utterly predictable, of course. I was seventeen, and seventeen year olds are hardly in control of their natural appetites, let alone their unnatural ones. The promise of finally being allowed to let go, of being persuaded there was nothing wrong in it after all, was more than I could resist."

They were wrapped in the tattered blanket together, arms looped around each other.

"He wanted you for an exotic pet."

"Something like that." Snape's fingers were lazily stroking the small of his back.

"Did you ever tell anyone else?"

"No, not really. I came close, once. I might have told someone who --- someone who cared about me. But Lucius took care of that."

"How?"

"He married her."

Sirius gave a snort at that. "Malfoy spent his life obsessing over you, I think."

"It got him off." His voice was bitter.

"Is that what you think. . ."

"No." The arms tightened on him.

"you're going to have to go soon. won't do to get him all suspicious."

"I know."

"Severus."

"Mm."

"How are you going to avoid doing what he wants you to do?"

"I haven"t thought about that part of the plan yet. Maybe. . . maybe I won't avoid it."

Sirius raised himself up and began digging through his trouser pocket. "I've got something for you." He pressed a carved figure into Snape's hand.

"And here I thought you were just happy to see me." Snape turned it over in his hand. The white knight. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"it's a portkey. It can get you out of there if you need it to. it's spelled to take you to the back room of the Three Broomsticks."

"Oh hurrah. Surprising you and Rosmerta in flagrante is just my idea of rescue. I think I might prefer a grisly death."

"Never know. You might pick up some pointers."

"Idiot."

"Prat."

They lay twined together in silence.

"Black. I can't use this."

"Shut up and take it."

"No. it's too dangerous. If I were found with it --"

"it's spelled only to you. And it has a layer of protective wards an inch think -- no one will even be able to discover it's a portkey by any known spell."

Snape examined it carefully. "You did this?"

"With Albus"s approval, yes."

"It was. . . skilfully done."

"don't choke on something, there."

"What is its spell?"

"White knight to black king."

Snape set the little figure on the night stand. "You lied to me. This thing is spelled to the piece you have, not the Three Broomsticks. And let me guess -- you"ll be holding the king."

"What Albus doesn"t know won't hurt him."

"You unutterable idiot, do you--"

"Shut up and listen. Having a moving target is just another security measure that will make it harder for anyone to follow the portkey."

"And supposing you are within Hogwarts at the time?"

"Well. That shouldn't be a problem. I have -- compensated for the apparation shields at Hogwarts."

Snape rolled his eyes. "It will be a miracle if I don't end up splinched, or wedged inside a staircase."

"Trust me, will you."

For answer, Snape curled deeper into the blanket. Sirius recognised the invitation and drew his arms tighter around the other man.

"you're not ever coming back, are you." It was not a question.

"You don't understand."

"Yes I do. And I hate Albus for doing this to you."

"It isn't his fault. it's no one"s fault."

Silence stretched.

"Black."

"Hm."

"Tell me what Azkaban was like."

"Why do you want to know?"

"I want to know what I missed."

Sirius considered. He closed his eyes and recited from memory. ""I could not speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither living nor dead, and I knew nothing, looking into the heart of light, the silence.""

Snape was still for a long time.

"it's--" Sirius began.

"I know what it is." He began to absently stroke Sirius's hair.

"In Azkaban. . . how to put it. In there, I wasn't always capable of what you might call rational thought, in words, that is. Many times - most times - my thought would come in images, sort of strung together. I could only think in symbols, you see, because the things themselves were gone. Anyone seeing those images or hearing my thoughts would have thought I was clean mad, and at times I thought I was. But a few months ago, when I read that poem for the first time, it was as though. . . I could understand the way it worked, because I had thought like that. Sometimes I still do. It made me feel less mad, somehow, to know that somewhere out there someone else had a mind that thought like that as well. In a way it made more sense to me than any of the other, more rational things I've read."

" "These fragments I have shored against my ruins," " Snape murmured.

"Yes, that's it exactly." He pushed himself up. "It will be dawn soon. You need to go."

"I'm not allergic to sunlight, you know. Just sensitive."

"You need to be at your most alert, and you know it. Now get gone." Sirius sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, looking anywhere but at Snape as he listened to him arrange his clothes and pull on his cloak.

He turned around when he heard the window slide open. Snape was standing beside it, watching him. Sirius caught sight of the knight resting on the table. He picked it up and tossed it at Snape, who caught it with one hand.

"Just in case. Get out of here, now."

Without a word, Snape slipped out the window. Sirius watched him go, then lay back on the thin, foul-smelling pillow. God damn it, he thought. God damn it. Oed" und leer das fucking meer.

² In talking of Azkaban, Sirius recites a line from the opening section of T. S. Eliot"s The Waste Land, which (if you hadn't figured it out by now) figures largely in this piece. Snape replies with a quotation from the end of that poem. The German line that Sirius thinks of above is Eliot"s appropriation of Wagner"s Tristan und Isolde. In act 3 of that opera, Tristan lies dying. He is waiting for Isolde to come to him from Cornwall, but a shepherd, appointed to watch for her sail, can only report, "Oed" und leer das meer. Waste and empty is the sea."

Death by Water

"Harry, Hermione, look at this!"

Ron landed on the bench beside Harry, tossing the paper down on the table. Harry reached for the paper, but Hermione snatched it up first. The bold black headlines of the Wednesday morning Daily Prophet were half the size of the paper itself.

""Brave Aurors Deal Mortal Blow to Dastardly Death Eaters,"" Hermione read aloud, chewing on her porridge. "Honestly, who writes this stuff?" She rolled her eyes and continued. ""Magical Law Enforcement has achieved its first significant victory over You-Know-who's forces. Acting on an anonymous tip, Aurors descended on a small Muggle fishing village outside Lynn Tuesday night. Were it not for the courageous and selfless actions of the Aurors, many innocent lives, both wizard and Muggle, would have been lost last night. According to this reporter"s sources, the Death Eaters were attempting to "make an example" of a Muggle community, and had selected the little village of Grosbeak Green as a suitable target. Apprised of the raid, a team of forty six Aurors ambushed You-Know-who's masked forces and succeeded in driving them off before any alarm was raised by non-magic individuals. Most encouraging of all, several of the Death Eaters themselves were captured, including one who was described as being high up in the counsels of the Dark Lord."" She sighed and tossed the paper aside. "What an embarrassment. Tell me this. If wizards are so wonderfully advanced, how come they think this is reporting? Honestly, some days I'd give anything for a Times." She attacked her porridge with vigour.

Ron threw up his hands. "Trust you, Hermione, to be worried about the style of writing. Who cares? The point is, Fred and George were there! They owled me all about it this morning -- said it was bloody fantastic! "Course, they"re sore about not actually getting to fight anyone, but look! Look!" He grabbed the paper and pointed to the picture at the bottom of the page. Triumphant Aurors stood stiffly for the camera, and in the background Fred and George Weasley were grinning and striking manly poses. They were so far in the distance that their heads looked like tiny orange balls dancing at the top of the picture, but still, there they were, unmistakably Weasleys.

"Mum says she"s going to have it framed," Ron said around a mouthful of toast, which he plucked off Harry's plate.

Harry paid him no mind. He was watching the note being passed along the head table to Dumbledore, who read it with a frown. The headmaster rose immediately and gestured to McGonagall, Sirius, and Remus to follow him. "What"s that about, I wonder?" he muttered to himself.

The Minister of Magic himself was waiting in Dumbledore"s office when the headmaster arrived.

"Cornelius. You make very free with my office," Dumbledore said with a frown.

"I'm sorry, Albus, but I couldn't wait. Minerva, how are you this morning. I have some news. Some very. . . very distressing news. I have learned --"

"You remember Professor Lupin, of course. And Sirius Black."

"Ah. Y-yes. Of course. Anyway, as I was saying, Albus. You might have read in the papers that we had the good fortune last night to capture some of You-Know-who's henchmen--"

"You mean Voldemort."

Fudge winced. "Yes, yes. The point is, I thought you would appreciate my coming to you with this first. Especially since you contributed to-- were a significant help to--- last night"s triumph."

"The information I passed to you was the reason for "last night"s triumph," as you call it."

"Yes. And it is very much appreciated. You see, when we all stand together like this, there is no limit to the great things we can accomplish."

"You mean," said Dumbledore severely, "when we at Hogwarts stay out of the way of your MLE."

"Well, I wouldn't. . ."

"Tell me, Fudge," Black cut in, plopping himself gracefully in a wing chair. "With the sky as dark as it was last night, how did the Aurors ever manage to locate their arses?"

Fudge"s jowly face went pink with fury. "Dumbledore, are you going to permit this-- this--"

"Settle down, Sirius. Cornelius, tell us what you have to say."

He turned from Black with a harrumph. "We captured Severus Snape."

The room was very still. McGonagall"s eyes shot to Dumbledore, but no one else moved a muscle.

"Oh?" said the headmaster.

"Oh, indeed, Albus. I thought you would appreciate the courtesy of being the first to know. If courtesy is still appreciated around here," he said with a glance at Black, who smirked and tossed a biscuit in his mouth.

"Very kind of you, Cornelius," Dumbledore in a tone that meant it was anything but. "However, before you trumpet your victory to the skies, there is something you should know. Severus Snape has been working for me. He is the source of that information I gave you last week. He has been working undercover for some time now, at great personal risk to himself. If anyone has a right to triumph for the lives that were saved last night, it is he, and no one else."

Cornelius Fudge sat down heavily. He sighed and twisted his hat in his hands. "You know, Albus," he began. "I know what you think of me. All of you."

Remus quelled Sirius, who looked like he might be about to make sure of that, with a Look. Minerva simply pressed her lips more tightly together.

"I didn't want this war. I didn't want to believe it might be forced upon us again, that we might have it all to do over again. But because I am a reluctant warrior," he said with a sharp look at Black, "does not mean I am a stupid one. I had wondered before now if maybe Snape was working for you all along. If that information came from him, no one could be happier about it than I. And I'm sure you"ll be willing to vouch for him up hill and down dale. The word of Albus Dumbledore-- well, I don't need to tell you what that means. More than the word of Cornelius Fudge, probably, these days." He examined his hat. "But there"s another problem."

He looked straight at Dumbledore, his watery blue eyes suddenly sharp. "Did you know he was a vampire, Albus? Did you know that when you let him teach these children? When you let him into the walls -- the sacred walls -- of this castle?" He rose and tossed his hat aside, pacing nervously. "I've looked the other way for a hell of a lot of things, Albus. Even--" he made a vague gesture in the direction of Lupin, who narrowed his eyes. "Even when you insisted on hiring the werewolf back. Or letting Hagrid stay here. Or--" another look at Black, "even him. But this, Albus? A vampire? Tell me-- for the sake of all that's holy-- tell me you didn't know this."

Dumbledore did not drop his gaze. "I knew, Cornelius," he said softly. "I knew from the time he was eleven years old. And not once has he posed the slightest danger to any one of these students, or to his colleagues. Not once," he repeated, his voice rising. "Severus Snape has proven himself, again and again, to be trustworthy. For years he has taken a potion that renders him less harmful to others. A potion, I might add, that he has devoted his life to creating and perfecting. A potion that will make the same sort of life possible to others of his kind. If you have come here to tell me, Cornelius, that you have just thrown Severus Snape into Azkaban because of what he is, then may God help you, because you are surely going to need it when I tear that prison apart stone by stone to get him." The old wizard"s voice filled the room, and Fudge took an involuntary step backward.

"Albus. Please. . . calm down. aren't you at all curious how we know? Do you want to know. . . Good God, man, do you want to know why he was captured? He was in the middle of. . . he was feeding on one of his fellow Death Eaters, for God"s sake. The poor man was dead by the time we got there -- there was little we could do, but you should have seen. . . It wasn't the first time he had fed that night, let's put it that way. There were bodies. . . Albus, it makes me sick to think on it."

The room was very quiet. Sirius watched the carpet and did not raise his eyes, though he felt the weight of Remus's gaze. Minerva cleared her throat.

"Minister Fudge. I'm sure we all share your shock and horror. But you must admit, in Seerus's case, perhaps there are. . . allowances that could be made. There are extenuating circumstances. . ."

"No. No. I"ll let you have your werewolves, your murderers, and your giants. Fill that forest with every Dark creature you can think of, but not this. Not a vampire. that's where I draw the line. There"s only one thing the law says to do with a vampire, and that's what I intend to see done. The sooner he"s put down the safer we can all sleep at night."

Sirius controlled his breathing carefully, and counted his blinks.

"Cornelius." Dumbledore"s voice was very soft.

"What is it?"

"You hand Severus Snape over to me, or the Daily Prophet is going to have an interesting article to print. One filled with long, accurate quotes from the headmaster of Hogwarts. A journalistic first, for them."

Fudge"s rosy face went suddenly pale around the edges. "Albus. You wouldn't do that. You gave your word. . ."

"I"ll eat my word and many things a good deal less appetizing before I"ll let you harm a hair on Severus Snape's head. Why don't you go ahead and try me."

Fudge went red again, then pale, and pinkish once more. He twisted his hat into a roll, and his jaw muscles twitched madly. Dumbledore"s gaze never wavered.

"All right, Albus," he said at last. "You win. But not without conditions."

"Such as?"

"Precautions. You know what I mean."

Dumbledore nodded, slowly. "Bring him to me at once. Now get out of my office, and do not presume to come here again without an invitation."

"You knew, didn't you."

Remus glanced up from the sofa to where Sirius stood over him. He tented his journal article on his chest. "I knew," he said softly.

"When?"

"I could smell him the first time I met him."

"The first time. . . Jesus, Moony." He sat down in the overstuffed chair opposite and propped his feet on the coffee table, ignoring Remus's frown. "Since we were eleven you've known?"

"Yes. I gather you learned rather more recently. In Malfoy"s dungeon?"

He nodded. "Malfoy thought it would be amusing to make him kill me."

"He would have died first."

"Yes. You knew that too?"

"Of course." He picked up his journal article and resumed reading. "Hand me my specs, will you?"

"Old man." He tossed them over. A silence that was not exactly companionable stretched between them.

"Sirius."

"What."

"How much vampire lore do you know?"

He snorted. "Tons. None of it accurate, apparently."

"Do you know what kills them?"

"A stake through the heart?"

"That would kill anybody, genius."

A flicker of a smile from Sirius. Twelve year old Remus wrung his heart sometimes. "So would getting run over by a lorry, " he said. "What"s your point?"

"One bite from a werewolf is instantaneously fatal to a vampire. Even the saliva is toxic."

Sirius felt his blood turn to ice water in his veins. "Oh, fucking hell." He buried his face in his hands.

"Sirius. You know not to get too. . . close, right?"

"Stop. Just-- stop." He got up and ran his hands through his hair. "Why did you never tell me?"

Remus glanced up once, then buried himself in his article. "It never seemed important."

The Aurors flanking Snape never moved more than three feet away, even in Dumbledore"s office. Faculty meetings at seven-thirty on Monday morning were notoriously sparsely attended, but today"s was a full house. Everyone was silent when Snape was escorted in, looking like he had swallowed a ramrod. He never lifted his eyes.

"You understand, Dumbledore," Fudge was saying, "this is just a release into your custody. He is still legally under the ward of the MLE. Certain precautions have to be abided by."

Dumbledore"s eyes were flinty. "I have already agreed to your conditions, Cornelius. Now if you don't mind, I have a faculty meeting to conduct. And some actual attendees."

"we'll be out of your way in a minute, Albus. Here is the. . . equipment." He dropped something heavy on the desk with a clank. "And the other things we talked about-- you"ll remember them?"

"Yes, yes."

"Very well then." He gave a curt nod to the Aurors and followed them out. "On your head be it," he muttered as he went.

Nobody spoke even when the door clicked shut. At last Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Welcome home, Severus," he said.

Snape did not respond. His eyes flicked to the desk. "let's get this over with, shall we?"

"I would prefer to wait till after breakfast, if you don't mind," Dumbledore answered with a grim look. "I fear for my digestion."

"I've already eaten," Snape said mildly. Sirius hid a smile. "And I believe in getting unpleasant business over with first. I am familiar with the equipment, of course. I assume it is spelled against my touch, however?"

Dumbledore nodded, watching him closely. "And mine, as well. Minister Fudge does not seem to trust me very far. I can't think why."

"Then I shall require some assistance." He looked around, hesitantly. Minerva dropped her eyes. Sybil Trelawney stifled a sob in her hanky, and Vector gave her a contemptuous look. Remus's frown deepened. Sirius looked around at their faces. Horror. Sympathy. Oh fuck, thought Sirius. Anything but that.

"Come on, Snape, turn around." He stepped forward and picked up the obscene thing from Dumbledore"s desk. "I for one have no scruples about fitting a muzzle on you -- about thirty five years too late, I'd say. Pity it doesn"t come equipped with a gag. Reckon we can upgrade?" He carefully fitted the leather straps over the back of Snape's head and made sure the thin steel bars were firmly in place over the lower half of his face. "There, that ought to do it." He started to buckle the thing.

"No, it's too loose, it will--" Instinctively Snape reached a hand up to steady it and got a nasty shock to his hand. Flitwick jumped and clutched his chest. Sirius re-adjusted and tightened it, working quickly.

"You know, Snape, Muggles use things like this, too. My Muggle aunt Bridget had a dog she couldn't keep in her garden for anything. She finally had an electrical wire buried all round the place, and poor Puffy wore an