Repechage

by Fabula Rasa

Note: The title is a fencing term, and refers to the kind of tournament in which a player, after being eliminated in an early round, can continue to play through the bottom of the roster and end up with a chance to compete in the final round.

***

Prologue

"You're joking."

"Indeed I am not."

"You bloody well are." Sirius took another swig of his beer and narrowed his eyes at Remus. "You're out of your fucking mind if you think I'm going to do that."

Lupin just smiled and tipped his chair back. "All right then. Pay up."

"Come on, Moony, you know I haven't got a Knut."

"Which is why I agreed to let you dare for it when I dealt this hand," Remus grinned. "Don't give me that `come on, Moony' shit. You know the rules. No money - winner's dare. You shouldn't have played if you knew you were penniless."

"I'm always penniless," Sirius growled. "And I always manage to thrash your sorry arse."

"Not tonight." Remus's grin deepened, and he swigged his beer. "Come on, quit stalling."

Sirius groaned and put his head in his hands. "Winner's dare. What a stupid rule. Who the hell thought of that one?"

"Jamie, that's who, and you know it."

"Great. Far be it from me to speak ill of the dead." He lifted his head and sighed. "Come on, Remus. Think of something else. I'll do anything. I'll drop my trousers to McGonagall. I'll wear all my clothes backwards for a week. Anything, please, just not this."

Lupin tilted his head and squinted as though considering. "No," he said at last. "I think I'm happy with this one."

Sirius scowled at him. "You hateful bastard. You've been planning this for some time, haven't you?"

"Who, me? Would I do that to you, Sirius? Would I do that to my best friend of thirty years, who painted my balls blue while I slept and told me I had the rare and dreaded testicle rot? Who leviosa'd my entire bed - with me in it, starkers I might add - right out the window and into the Hufflepuff common room in the middle of the night? I ask you. Would I do that to you?"

Sirius shook his head. "All these years. All these years it has escaped me what an unutterable, conniving, malicious, fucking little bastard you are."

Remus took another swig. "Trying to get on my good side won't get you out of this."

Sirius pushed back his chair and ran a hand through his hair. "And just how will you know if I've actually done it?"

Remus suppressed another grin. "Oh, I think I'll be able to tell right enough. If the howls of outrage echoing off the castle walls don't give it away, I expect I'll know when Madam Pomfrey summons me to the infirmary. Do you have any marks or distinguishing features that I should know about for the purpose of identifying your body?" He riffled the cards and began shuffling.

"Oh, very funny. That's bloody hilarious. Think I'm scared, do you? So that's it. You don't think I'm man enough. All right. All right then. I am man enough for this, and I'll prove it." He threw his arms wide. "I admit it - I lost fair and square, and I'll take the winner's dare like the man I am." He shrugged on his cloak and stood for a moment, contemplating the middle distance. He took a deep breath. "I. . . I will kiss Severus Snape."

Remus lifted his bottle to him. "With your sword or on it, mate. Go with God."

"Shield. It's with your shield or on it, you ignoramus. How am I supposed to return on my sword?"

Remus shrugged. "Guess that's for Snape to figure out. Impalement is probably his specialty."

Sirius nodded grimly, squared his shoulders, and slammed the door behind him. Remus chuckled long and low to himself as he began re-shuffling the cards.

"Come in."

Sirius pushed the door of Snape's office open slowly. No execution chamber could have looked more bleak to him. Briefly he ran through the alternatives in his head. Lying was looking pretty good right about now, but Remus would spot it a mile away. Snape was entirely capable of casting a life-threatening curse at him, or at the very least, of blasting him across the room. He fingered his wand under his cloak. Best to be prepared.

"Black." Snape said it like he had a foul taste in his mouth. He looked up from the cauldron he was standing over and wiped his stirring rod. "What on earth are you doing here, and at this hour? We don't start working on the Wolfsbane until tomorrow might. I thought you might have the consideration to spare me the affliction of your presence until the last possible moment."

Sirius edged inside the door and shut it quietly. "The Wolfsbane. Right. I had almost forgot."

Snape arched his eyebrow. "How unsurprising. You know, Black, this potion is going to require all of your limited concentration to brew. The headmaster has given me to understand you are determined to learn how to do this. I have reservations, of course, about whether someone of your mediocre competency ought even to attempt such a difficult and volatile potion, but I have been in this, as in all other instances, overruled." He wiped his hands and tossed the cloth on the counter. He lowered the fire on the cauldron and studied Black with a scowl. "Well? Was there something you wanted?'

"Um. Right. Well, I suppose I ought to get a head start on those ingredients. Perhaps before we start I should. . . I should familiarise myself more with what we will actually be doing. It's going to take the full twenty-seven days between now and the next moon to brew it, I understand. I'd better. . . well, perhaps I'd better take a look at that book again. You know, just to make sure I've got a handle on things."

Snape was looking at him oddly. "Black. Are you feeling all right?"

"Oh, shut up," he sighed. "Where's that book?"

"It's right here. And you'll keep a civil tongue in your head while you're in this office, mangy cur. I was just preparing the base for the potion, so we can start right in tomorrow night." Snape frowned as he watched the other man study the open page, squinting at it. Sirius looked up from his reading in surprise.

"Frangipore leaves?" he asked.

"Yes," acknowledged Snape. "It is surprising, isn't it? Naturally you would not expect to find them in a potion intended for consumption rather than topical application. But look here - the formic acid that is added on the twelfth day partially neutralises the poisonous quality of the frangipore. It's fascinating, really," he said, abstractedly, brushing a finger lovingly down the page. "The kind of interplay, I mean, that one finds in a potion of this complexity. It has a certain sinister beauty about it, all these poisons coming together to make something that gives life and health."

Sirius darted a look of some astonishment at him. For a minute there Snape had sounded as though he had actually forgotten to whom he was speaking. He cleared his throat.

"Snape."

Snape straightened and scowled again as though he did not appreciate being jarred out of his reverie. "What is it?"

"I didn't actually come here to talk about the Wolfsbane."

"Oh?"

"No. I came here. . . I came to. . . oh, hell. This really isn't going very well at all, is it."

"Black? What on earth are you on about?"

"I. . ." He met Snape's eyes and stilled his breathing. Be quick, be daring, be gone. "The truth is, I came to do this."

He closed the distance between them with a half step and brushed his mouth against Snape's in an unmistakable kiss. Snape reared back in astonishment and stared at him, wild-eyed. So far, so good, Sirius thought. You've fulfilled the letter of the law. Now get out of here before his brain kicks back in gear and he remembers where he put his wand.

But Snape showed no sign of moving, or even breathing. Their eyes blinked at each other. For what reason he never knew, Sirius leaned in again, and pressed his mouth once more against those full lips, nudging at them. He felt Snape hesitate, felt the shiver run through him. And then Snape was moving his lips, dear God he was opening them. Sirius shot his tongue inside, and he could not restrain a groan at the warm roughness of Snape's tongue against his. Sweet Christ, but it felt good. He pulled Snape against him and deepened the kiss, exploring that delicious mouth. So good. He could feel his own breathing accelerate, and could feel the quickening rise and fall of Snape's chest against his. Snape's chest. Oh God, what was wrong with him that this was getting him hard as a rock? He needed to get closer, and he needed it now. He brought his hands up to Snape's neck, cradling his head as he opened him wider, tasting that - what was it? Something spicy and distinctive, something sharp and rich and very Snapely and unbearably arousing, please God let him keep doing this, he thought as he twined their tongues together, pushing their hips closer, and he heard his own moan as their cocks brushed, so good so good so good-

Snape was shoving him roughly away, the back of his hand at his mouth, staring at the floor, panting. "I - excuse me," he said, stiffly. He strode quickly across the room to the basin and bent over it. With a wrenching groan, he heaved the entire contents of his stomach into it. When he had nothing left to heave, he continued shaking and retching, bringing up only bile, but still the retching did not end. It was horrible to hear.

Sirius watched, quite still. After a bit he went out the side door to the potions storeroom and returned with a damp cloth and a glass of water. He set them down beside the basin.

"Snape," he said quietly. "Here, let me-" He reached for his face with the cloth. Snape knocked away his hand.

"Get out of here, Black," he said hoarsely, not raising his head. "Get out."

"You'll need to drink some of this. You have to have something to throw up or you'll tear your stomach apart. Drink it down." He handed him the glass. Snape knocked it to the floor. It shattered, and water splashed Sirius's shoes.

"I said, get out," he said weakly. Another fit of retching seized him, and he bent double over the sink, clutching its sides. His back shook with the force of it, and his hands were trembling violently. "Damn it to hell," he gasped between hacks.

Sirius just watched. When at last it was over, Snape slumped against the sink, head bowed. Gently Sirius lifted his head and wiped his face, brushing the sweat-damp locks of hair out of his eyes. He fetched another glass and filled it with fresh water. Snape seemed to have no more resistance left in him. He accepted the water and drank it down, though his fingers still shook too much for him to hold it. Sirius dragged a chair closer and guided him to it. Snape made no objection.

They stayed that way quietly for a few minutes. Snape's breathing slowed and evened. Sirius stood leaning against the counter, thinking. After several minutes Snape rose and made his way across the room, back to the cauldron. He re-ignited the fire and picked his stirring rod back up.

"Go on, Black, get out of here," he said faintly. "You've had enough amusement for one night, I expect. You'll have quite the tale to tell. Now go on and get the hell out of here."

Still Sirius said nothing. He set the glass down and watched Snape for another minute. Then he silently glided out of the room, closing the door firmly but quietly behind him.

"Ah. Hail the conquering hero!" Remus called as the door blew open. "So. Did you actually do it?"

Sirius collapsed in the chair, still wrapped in his cloak. "Yeah. I did it. Now deal the fucking cards."

Remus studied his friend's unreadable face. "Sirius. Everything all right?"

"Sure. Absolutely. Everything's bloody fantastic. Now give me the goddamn cards."

"All right," he said slowly.

They played in silence, and Sirius took the hand easily. Their conversation for the rest of the night was sporadic, and general in nature. There was no more talk that night of winner's dare, no matter who lost or how many times, and Sirius's eyes were far away.

Day Three

"So you can see," Snape was saying, bending over the cauldron, sniffing its greenish depths, "how the slightest variation in timing here would have disastrous results. Inevitably, one becomes immersed in other things, so it might be a good idea, when you are brewing this on your own, to spell a clock to remind you of when the next ingredient is to be added."

Sirius wrinkled his nose. "Good God. Is it going to smell that awful when it's finished?"

"Yes, I'm afraid so. Generally, about the thirteenth day I place a filter over top of the cauldron. This allows it to simmer, but cuts down on some of the more noxious fumes. Day fifteen is the most difficult in terms of the smell, and on that day you will want to make sure you do not spend too much time near the cauldron. The fumes can cause temporary unconsciousness at that point, if inhaled too deeply. Open a window, if you can, and if you can screen your window to prevent the entry of particulates."

Sirius scribbled notes as Snape began scooping some of the potion on a ladle, letting it drip back into the cauldron, watching it carefully. "What you are looking for here, Black, is just the right consistency. Not too thick, not too thin. A bit like half-formed custard."

Sirius gave a little smile at the thought of Snape making custard. He flicked his eyes to Snape, who was absorbed in the cauldron, then down again to the beetle legs he was to dice. In the three days since they had begun this project, Snape had not once, by word or manner, referred to what had passed between them three nights ago. He had confined himself to comments on the potion, and so far had not been actively rude. Almost as though rudeness were an intimacy he would not allow himself.

Sirius diced for a bit in silence. He picked up a pile of the legs and carefully deposited it on the tiny brass scale. He bent and squinted at it, tapping the weight.

"Here." Snape reached over top of him and adjusted the weight. "It has a bit of a trick to it."

"Oh. Thanks."

"It occurs to me, Black," Snape said with a hint of amusement, "that you might be well served by a pair of spectacles."

"Glasses?" Sirius straightened. "Perish the thought. I intend to cling to my faded youth until the bitter end."

Snape gave a faint snort but did not otherwise respond. Sirius frowned. All this careful courtesy on Snape's part, this refusal to take a whack at a perfectly good set-up, was disturbing. It was beginning to wear on him, too.

"You know, Snape," he said cautiously. "I think perhaps you ought to see Madam Pomfrey. If you're not feeling any better than you were the other night, that is."

Snape halted in his chopping, but only momentarily. "I appreciate your concern, Black," he said frostily. "But I am quite fine. A lingering touch of the `flu, I think. Now, if you have those legs prepared, we ought to grind them a bit. Reducing them to powder makes the subsequent - "

"Bullshit."

Snape froze. "I beg your pardon?"

"I said, bullshit," Sirius repeated softly. "You're talking to someone who spent twelve years in Azkaban, remember? I know a reaction to trauma when I see one."

Snape paled and narrowed his eyes to slits. "Get out of my office, Black."

"Oh, come on, Snape, don't-"

"Get out!" he roared. His breath was coming rapidly, his fists clenching and unclenching. "Get out of my office, you ill-mannered, you un-in- get out!"

Sirius picked up his cloak without another word and shut the office door behind him. He leaned against the wall for a minute as he thought. Bloody hell. That had been one of his more spectacular bungles. He wrapped his cloak tightly about him and headed down the passage for the side entrance that led across the grounds to Hogsmeade. A pint of butterbeer, or something stronger, was just what he needed.

He managed to find a quiet corner at the Three Broomsticks in a darkened part of the room. There were enough patrons tonight to ensure that he could lurk in solitude, nursing his drink and thinking. He lit a cigarette and propped his feet on the opposite chair, letting his hair fall a bit in his face. He took a long drag and practised a smoke ring. Too hard with a cigarette. Where on earth was his pipe these days, he wondered. That gave just the sort of sinuous smoke necessary for really optimal smoke rings.

He let his mind worry the question of Snape for a minute. Really, what the hell did he care? He re-played the scene of three nights ago in his head. He had successfully kissed Snape. A respectable peck on the lips that certainly fit the parameters of the winner's dare. Why then. . . what had made him try for more? Sirius was comfortable with a degree of self-scrutiny most people shied away from, and all too aware of his darker impulses. But this one he could not place. Maybe he had wanted to see if Snape would really let him do it. Maybe he had wanted that little victory, to see Severus Snape wanting it. From him. But it was Snape's eyes he could not get out of his head. Those startled, pitch-black holes, looking at him as if he. . . as if. . . I don't know what, Sirius thought ruefully. Maybe I kissed him again to find out.

And the kiss itself. . . no question about it, it had been good. Quite good, really. A few more minutes of it, in fact, and he would have been sweeping that counter clean and pushing Snape up against it. And Snape. . . Snape had reciprocated. He remembered the way Snape's tongue had swept against his, how Snape had responded to every nuance of movement, how he too had been panting and breathless, fingers trembling against Sirius's back. And then. . . excuse me, he had said. As though he were stepping out for a bit of air, and not racing across the room to hurl his intestines into a basin.

Sirius ran a hand through his hair. Fuck it. What did it matter. It wasn't important. So kissing made Snape throw up. Well, that seemed cosmically appropriate, somehow. The thought of kissing Snape made a lot of people want to throw up. But not you, the irritating voice inside him said. You want him to do it again. Sirius took a long drag. So what if I do? he thought. So what if I do. He smashed his cigarette against his shoe and tossed it on the floor. He stood up and made for the little stairway in the back, heading up to his room. He didn't bother to undress, but laid himself down as he was, wrapped in his cloak, staring at the ceiling.

Twenty-four days to the full, he thought. Twenty-four days.

Day Five

"One of the temptations can be, once the base is prepared and things are going well, to prepare the ingredients well beforehand and thus save oneself some time. However, even an ingredient as seemingly involatile as the beetle legs you were working on the other night can, if stored too close to sunlight, begin to desiccate, throwing off the careful weight measurements. So I would recommend preparing ingredients no more than a day ahead of time." Snape was rolling a large chopping knife across some leaves as he spoke.

Sirius finished writing and looked up. "You know, Snape," he said. "You're actually not a bad teacher. If you taught your students like this instead of terrorising the piss out of them, they might actually learn something."

"Sod off, Black," he muttered, sweeping the leaves to one side and shaking out a fresh bundle.

Sirius set his notes aside and came over to observe. "No, I mean it," he said quietly, watching the even roll of the knife. "I've learned more in the last few days with you than I think Guffries taught me in seven years."

"Guffries was an idiot."

"I think he might have actually hated you worse than he hated me." Sirius chuckled softly. "I think he sat up of nights tearing his hair out that a Slytherin was top of the Potions class. Say what you like about the man, he could hate Slytherin with the best of them."

Snape snorted. "Yes, I'm sure seven years of his vindictive torture of me is nothing but a heartwarming reminiscence to you, Black."

Sirius's smile faded. "No, actually. Guffries was a bastard." He crossed his arms and frowned. "And I hated the way he treated you."

A slight hitch in the knife's movement that might have been imaginary. "He was no worse than you."

"Bullshit. You gave as good as you got. The shit we gave each other, that was between equals. The shit he gave you was just sadism."

"Hmph." Snape swept all the leaves together and pulled the large stone mortar over to him. "You speak of sadism like it's a bad thing."

Sirius watched him pound the first handful of leaves, powdering them. "Do you want me to do that?"

Snape shrugged and handed him the pestle, watching him closely. "Have a care with some of the juicier leaves - you don't want to catch that in the eye."

"Relax, Snape. I'm not a total incompetent." Snape cocked an eyebrow at that, but said nothing. For long minutes there was only the grind of stone on stone. "Snape," Sirius said after a while.

"Hm."

He kept his voice very quiet. "Is there any chance in hell of that ever happening again?" He was careful not to stop the motion of the pestle or look up. The pause stretched to a silence, and still he kept on pounding and grinding, and kept on not looking up. Wait for it, he thought. Just wait for it.

"I can't think why you would want a repeat of your little joke, Black." Snape's tone was cold and distant, but Sirius heard the catch behind it. Heard it and kept on with his task.

"It wasn't a joke."

"You're lying."

Sirius let the pestle clatter at that. He stood for a moment, thinking. "Shall I tell you the truth, Snape? Really?"

Snape's eyes were hooded pits. "I doubt you are capable of honesty, Black."

"Not capable of honesty. That's a good one coming from you, that really is."

"Ah yes, here it comes. The requisite Death Eater insult. What conversation would be complete without it? The perfect complement to your elegant banquet of insults, the piquant sauce on your roast pheasant of vituperative self-righteousness."

"The-" An odd look came over Sirius's face. "Did you say-" He collapsed against the counter, wheezing with laughter. "The what of my. . . what?" He doubled over, howling.

Snape scowled. "The point is-"

"Right, right, just give me a minute. All right then." Sirius straightened and looked at Snape, then burst out again, spluttering. "Sorry, sorry," he gasped. "Won't happen again. Carry on, carry on. Roast pheasant. I'm listening. No, not yet," he said, and turned around to clutch the counter for round three, giving in to full-throated guffaws now, wiping his eyes.

"Attempting to have a conversation with you is hopeless, Black." Snape gathered himself stiffly and marched out of the room, through the door that led to his quarters.

"Oh, come on, Snape, it was funny," Sirius called, still grinning. "Snape? Come on, Snape."

He sighed and picked up his cloak from the chair. "Fine, fine," he called, loud enough to be heard through the door. "I'll just go have myself a nice slice of vituperative self-righteousness. With a piquant sauce, too. Should that be a truffle sauce, do you think, or-oh, never mind." He shook his head and went out the other door, still chuckling softly to himself all the way down the corridor.

Day Six

"Right, so I'm looking back over my notes, and I've got it down here that the hippogriff urine is to be added just before the manticore extract, but a couple of pages later it looks like they are added simultaneously, and-"

"Oh, of all the incompetent errors to make. I should have thought even you, Black, would be capable of paying enough attention to know-" He dropped his knife with a clatter as a little arc of blood spattered the cutting board.

"Fuck," Black muttered, springing to his feet. Snape was fumbling for a cloth. Sirius grabbed it and Snape's hand in one swift motion. He wrapped the cloth tightly around his hand and reached for the pitcher of water.

"Come on, let's get this rinsed off."

Snape attempted to jerk his hand back. "Yes, I know what to do, Black, now just leave me-"

"Alone, yeah, I get it. So you can clean your wound with one hand. Now shut up and hold that over here."

The blood was rapidly soaking the cloth. Sirius pulled it quickly away and doused the hand with water to flush it of contaminants. The slice was deep and clean across the hand. He pressed the cloth back and held Snape's hand above his shoulder.

"Right, the thing to do is get this sealed as soon as possible. You're bleeding rather heavily, which isn't a wonder considering you tried to take off your hand. You may have nicked an artery there, I'd say from the spray pattern. Hold still now. "

"Pomfrey-"

"Just shut up a minute. Pomfrey's four floors away and I'm right here. And this happens to be something I can do. Hold still, I said." Sirius tightened his grip on Snape's hand and extracted his wand. Snape tried to jerk away, but his hand was held in an iron grip. "So help me, Snape, if you don't hold still-"

He quickly peeled away the cloth and laid the hand on top of it. The blood was gushing from underneath the thumb in dark bubbles. The cut went up in a deep arc across the middle of the hand, and Sirius could tell at a glance it had grazed the bone as well as sliced a tendon. "Hold still, goddamnit!"

He trained his wand on the wound. He let his eyes half-close as he concentrated, murmuring the words softly to himself. He drew in breath and exhaled slowly, feeling the power pulse through the tip of his wand as it sealed sinew and flesh. It took all his concentration. When the hand was clean and whole he looked up. Snape's eyes were wide on him.

"Good as new," he said with a little smile, and turned to wash his hands of the blood at the sink. He wet a fresh cloth and wiped Snape's hand. Snape was frowning at him. "Oh, don't look at me that way, Snape. There are one or two things I'm good at, you know."

"I did not know you had had any mediwizard training," Snape said quietly, watching Black clean his hand.

Sirius's smile became grim. "Yeah. Well, it wasn't what you would call conventional training." He ripped a piece of cloth and gently bound the hand, wrapping the bandage around it. "The skin is healed, but it's new, so you'll want not to strain it, if you can. Best to keep it covered for about twenty-four hours. It should be fine after that."

Snape nodded, examining the skilful makeshift binding. "Black. Did you learn to do this in Azkaban?"

Sirius hesitated. "I did. The mediwizard who worked in the infirmary there needed an assistant. I was sane, and had a fairly good behavioural record. He taught me things, and I helped out occasionally.

Snape flexed his hand. "That was quite good," he said wonderingly, looking at his hand. "A good behavioural record, you said. How peculiar. I wouldn't have thought they would ever let you out of your cell. Of course," he mused, "from a warden's point of view, I suppose a prisoner's crime must matter less than his present behaviour. And naturally everyone in Azkaban would have been considered a violent offender to start with, so-"

"Shut up, Snape."

Snape looked up, startled. An unaccustomed look came over his face. He rose and returned to the cauldron. "Now, the question of the hippogriff urine and manticore extract." He leafed through his notes. "Some confusion is perhaps understandable, given that various sources disagree here. But I have found that these two substances work best if added almost simultaneously. I say almost, because you will want to begin with the extract, just a few drops of it, stirring as you go. Only then should you start adding the hippogriff urine, a little at a time, and alternating it with the manticore extract. Do you follow?"

"I think I can keep up, yes."

Snape flicked his eyes to him and looked as if he were about to say something else, but he dropped his eyes again. "Very well. Why don't you take over the chopping then, while I look over some papers."

"Sure." Sirius picked up the knife and started in on the shrivelfigs.

Day Eight

"Everything all right?"

Snape glanced up from his desk, squinting over top of a mountain of parchment. He rubbed his forehead. "What?"

Sirius dropped his cloak on the chair and looked about him. The cauldron was on simmer, and no ingredients were scattered about, ready to be diced, sliced, pounded, or skinned. Except for Snape's desk, the office was in the greatest state of order he had yet seen.

"Nothing much to do tonight, I take it? With the Wolfsbane, that is?"

"Oh. No, nothing is required for a bit but simmering. It goes in bursts like that." Snape sighed and tossed another parchment on the stack to his left. Sirius stretched out in the chair beside the desk and plucked an essay off the top.

"'The Uses and Properties of the Emendragorum Elixir, by Fiona Coddleston-Fettway,'" he read. He grimaced. "How many of these have you got?"

"Too many. Now leave me in peace so I can get some work done."

"Why don't you let me help? I may not be a Potions master, but I think I know enough to wade through - what are these, third year essays? And I can recognise a fair butchery of the English language when I see it. Come on, hand me a quill," he insisted.

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Oh, come on. I can be just as nasty as you, I'll wager. The little darlings will never even know the difference. And I'm just aching to have a crack at Miss Coddleston-Fettway here." He gave Snape his most dashing grin, which was wasted because Snape did not look up.

"No," he said, continuing to scrawl in the margins of the essay he was grading.

Sirius sighed. "All right, have it your way. Shall I entertain you then?"

"Black. Which part of `leave me in peace' was unintelligible to you?"

He considered. "The last bit."

Snape did look up at that. "What?"

"I said, the last bit. Peace. You want me to leave you in peace, but the trouble is, you don't look like you've got any lying around here. And I don't really think that my departure is going to help there."

Snape rubbed his forehead again. "Black. The one muscle in my head that was not throbbing before you walked in here has just begun to spasm. I shall never get anything done if you persist in bothering me." He scowled and narrowed his eyes at Sirius. "Go away."

Sirius ignored him and continued to scroll though Miss Coddleston-Fettway's essay. Snape shook his head and went back to his work. Sirius set the essay back on the stack and picked up another one, studying it intently. Snape glanced at him as he worked, but did not disturb the silence. He was through the Hufflepuffs when Sirius spoke.

"You know, Snape, I don't actually think you are a bad teacher."

Snape's gaze could have curdled Flobberworms. "I knew there was a reason I got out of bed this morning. Somehow, your approval makes it all worthwhile."

"Oh, sod off. These essays aren't bad, is all I'm saying. Certainly better than anything we - well, our year with the exception of you - could have produced at that age."

"Hmph."

"I'll just take that as Snapish for `thank you for the compliment.'" He shuffled through a few more essays, then got up and went to the bookshelf. Snape's eyes followed him as he selected a book and resettled himself in the chair by the desk. Snape opened his mouth to say something, then shut it again. Sirius propped his feet up and began to read. After a few more nervous glances, Snape ignored him and continued plowing through the avalanche of parchment in front of him. The silence that stretched was not uncomfortable, if not exactly companionable. When he was halfway through the Gryffindors, Snape looked up.

"If you are actually interested in early medieval re-interpretations of classical potions, Black, I have a much more readable volume on the subject over there."

"Oh?" Sirius ran a hand across his eyes. "Much as it pains me, you may be right, Snape. Perhaps glasses are not so out of the question as they once were. Would this other volume have larger print, by any chance?"

Snape pushed back his chair with a disdainful smile. "As it happens, yes. And it's a lighter book, too, so you needn't strain your weakened muscles trying to hold it up. It's just over here," he said, running his finger along the spines. "Now, where did I see it? I had it just the other night."

Sirius peered over his shoulder. "How you find anything in this jumble amazes me." He slipped his book back onto the shelf beside Snape's hand, its finger tapping the shelf impatiently. He did not even stop to think, but covered Snape's hand with his.

For a moment neither of them moved. Deliberately Sirius let his thumb stroke the back of Snape's hand. Snape had gone very still, and Sirius had a shot of fear that Snape would wrench his hand away and run for the basin again. The world had gone motionless, it seemed, but for Sirius's slowly stroking thumb.

He lifted the hand and turned it over, examining the freshly healed skin. He ran his thumb across the palm, and Snape flinched but did not withdraw his hand. Sirius turned and met his eyes.

"Is this all right?" he asked quietly, loosely cradling Snape's hand in both his. Snape's eyes were a hooded darkness. He saw him wet his lips before he answered.

"Yes."

"Good."

"Black." He saw Snape swallow. "Black, why are you doing this?"

Sirius studied Snape's hand in his. Broad, with calloused pads on the first and third fingers. Warm. He turned it and examined the palm again. "I gave you a new lifeline," he murmured.

"I beg your pardon?"

"This line here - your lifeline. You probably didn't take Palmistry in school, did you? That's a pity - it was the best place after Divination for catching up on much-needed sleep. And the part of the class that wasn't asleep - well, I can tell you it wasn't Professor Carpalia's hands we were looking at. Anyway," he frowned. "I - I think I'm straying off-topic here."

"Black, are you completely and totally insane?"

Sirius dropped his hand. "That's the question, isn't it," he replied softly. He studied the floor. "That's the question. Except you've got it backwards, I think. It ought to be: are you completely and totally sane? We both know that your question - well, it's, it's rhetorical." He paused. "Mine - mine really isn't, is it. And we - you and I, that is, not Remus or Harry or even Albus - we, I was saying. . ." He pressed his fingers to his temple as though he felt sudden pain. "We both know the answer to it," he said hoarsely.

There was no sound but their breathing as Sirius watched the floor and Snape watched Sirius. Long minutes of nothing stretched. When Snape did finally speak, the sound was startling to both of them.

"No one will ever know."

Sirius's eyes sought Snape's. "What do you mean?"

"I mean both things you think I mean. I mean that no one else will ever be able to detect it, Black. No one can see it. You've covered well. No one will know. And I mean that no one will know because I will never say anything."

Sirius dropped his eyes in shame.

"For the record, Black. . ." Snape squinted at something far away. "Let me say that if I thought your occasional difficulties posed any danger to those around you, I would never have agreed to brew a dangerous and volatile potion with you. And also. . ." He sighed. "Though I'm sure I will regret saying this, complete and total sanity is. . . highly overrated."

The corner of his lip quirked, and met Sirius's slow smile. "But you still didn't answer my question, Black."

"No, I slipped right out of that one, didn't I? I was wondering if you'd notice."

"I did."

Sirius's smile faded. "Right. Why am I doing this. I suppose the answer is. . . because the most amazing kiss of my adult life was given to me by Severus Snape, and I'd like to know what the hell that means."

Snape frowned, reflecting. "I think it means, Black, that most of your adult life has been spent in prison."

Sirius laughed out loud, leaning against the bookshelf. He let the laughter well up inside him, puddling warm in his belly. He looked up in surprise to hear the rich, low tones of Snape's chuckle, which somehow struck him as even funnier. He clutched himself and laughed some more, letting it wash over him, and slid to the floor, his back against the bookcase. Snape settled his long limbs beside him.

"You know what we ought to do, Snape? We ought to get drunk together. I have this sudden suspicion that would be. . . an incredibly hilarious event. To think, all these years, I never knew you had a sense of humour."

"It's hidden right behind my spontaneity and bonhomie."

"Was it because it was me?" Sirius asked suddenly, forgetting that Snape might not be following the veer conversations sometimes took in his head. Apparently he was, though, for he was shaking his head.

"No," Snape said. "It wasn't because it was you."

"I know. Just checking. What I'd really like to do right now, Snape, is to figure out an exceptionally smooth way to touch you, but none are leaping to mind. Can you think of any?"

Snape studied their hands side by side on the floor. "What you did earlier. . ." he said, hesitantly. "That was. . . not so bad."

Sirius nodded gravely. He picked up Snape's hand and held it in his. "All right then." He brushed his thumb across the hand, as he had before. "So far, so good." He lifted the hand to his mouth and grazed his lips across it. "How's that?"

"That's. . . fine as well."

"Snape. May I. . . may I kiss you? Just a little," he said quickly. "It doesn't have to be like before, if you don't want."

Snape gave a half-nod. "Yes, that would be. . . I think that would be all right."

Sirius leaned in and let his lips brush against Snape's jaw. The end of the day stubble scratched his lower lip. He let himself have one kiss, then two. He stopped and pulled back when the warm rasp of Snape's skin, the pulse beneath his neck, the sweet-sour taste of sweat and herbs threatened to pull him in. He was unsettled by the sudden jolt to his groin, and the sudden need to crawl on top of Snape and fuck him on the stone flags until neither of them could breathe. Slowly, slowly, he thought. He pulled back and smiled.

"All right?"

"Yes." Snape's voice was tight, and he wished he knew enough to know if it was arousal or fear.

"Snape. If you want, I can go now. Or I can stay, and nothing else has to happen. I don't. . . there's no goal in mind here, if that's what you're worried about."

"Isn't there?"

Sirius opened his mouth to reply but Snape cut him off. "The things you want, Black, I am not going to be able to give you."

He opened his mouth again and stopped. The things he wanted. What were those again? He gave a bitter laugh. "The things I want, Snape, no one can give me. I want the last fifteen years never to have happened. I want my life erased. I want it to be May the fourth, 1975, and I want to be fifteen years old again, and I want the weather to be glorious, and I want. . . oh Jesus, how I want." He shut his eyes and let his head fall against the bookcase. "The things I want, Snape. . . I want to stop you after the Quidditch match and say `that was some bloody amazing flying, Snape,' and I want to tell Guffries where to get off, and I want Peter never, never, to have walked into that pub and talked to Rosier, and I want to have said yes when James and Lily asked me to baby-sit that night, oh fucking God I want to have said yes to that more than I want anything in this world, I want the three of them all to be alive together and me to be the one that's dead. So no, Snape, I would have to agree that the things I want you will not be able to give me."

"Well," Snape said after a bit. "As long as that's clear then." He stood and offered his hand to Sirius. "That's killing my back. Come on, get up off that floor. I don't know why we're sitting there anyway." He hauled Sirius to his feet and began making his way back to his desk. He landed heavily in his desk chair and sighed. "Is it possible this stack of essays has grown?"

Sirius stood by the door. "I'll leave you to it, then, Snape. Though my offer still stands to grab a quill and have at it."

"No, no, you go on. I might just save myself the trouble and fail everybody."

"Tomorrow night, then?"

Snape looked up. "You know, Black, for the next few days there isn't much to do with the Wolfsbane other than to let it simmer. As I said, these things go in bursts. It really isn't necessary that you come each evening."

"I understand that. Do you want me to stay away, then?"

Snape glanced up from his essay. "What? No, that isn't what I meant at all. I merely said. . ." He took a breath. "Tomorrow night would be fine."

"tomorrow night, then."

"good night, black."

"good night, snape."

Day Nine

This time when he pushed back the door, Snape was at a cauldron. Not the one where the Wolfsbane sat quietly roiling, but a smaller one on the opposite counter. He did not look up as Sirius hung his cloak on the peg, but continued to chew his lip and frown at the gelatinous sludge gurgling in the cauldron beneath him. Sirius peered over his shoulder.

"Hard day at the office?"

"You've no idea. You'll want to step out of the way, I'm about to incinerate this cauldron. I am perfecting a curse for just such a situation as this, in which potion, cauldron, and wizard go up together in a fiery cloud of smoke and thunder. I am considering calling it the Longbottom hex."

Sirius smiled and slipped his arms about Snape's waist. He felt Snape stiffen and freeze. "I'm sorry. Is this not all right?"

"Ah. . . no, that's fine. I just. . . wasn't expecting it."

"All right." Casually Sirius let his arms fall. "Perhaps I should ask before I do something, then."

"I. . . no, I didn't. . . that is. . ." Snape ran a hand over his face. "Blast. Please. . . put your arms as they were."

"Happy to oblige." Sirius let his arms rest gently about Snape's waist and deflected the conversation. "So. What exactly is it that has you so bollocksed up?"

Snape paused. "You know, there's no possible way I can concentrate with you. . . doing that."

"Sorry." Sirius dropped his arms again.

"No, no. This particular project is hardly deserving of further concentration anyway." He killed the fire and tossed a cloth over the cauldron's top. "Short of a proper burial, that's the best I can do. Now. Your hands, I believe, were here." Snape turned around and replaced Sirius's hands. They were face to face now.

"Indeed they were. But perhaps they might like to roam a little." Sirius let his hands run up Snape's back. "You know," he mused, "short of actually growing an exoskeleton, I don't see that you could possibly be wearing any more clothes. Which, I imagine, is rather the point."

He contemplated Snape's eyes. "Might I do that thing again. . ." he began.

"Yes," murmured Snape. Sirius bent his head and brushed his lips along Snape's jaw as he had before. He let himself stray a little closer to the mouth. Not enough to make Snape nervous, but enough that if he wanted to. . . Snape turned his head and took Sirius's mouth in his. Sirius went absolutely still and let him take the lead, opening to the gentle, hesitant explorations of Snape's tongue. Christ, but he was hard as a rock. He kept his hands loosely at Snape's waist, resisting the urge to dig his fingers in and crush their hips together, to give his cock the friction it was beginning to ache for. Just breathe, he reminded himself.

Snape broke off and held him at arm's length. He watched Snape's face carefully. Controlled and impassive, as before. Which meant, he was learning, terrified. Terrified of what? Not the touching. He hadn't been afraid or panicked when he had been touched, not really. But when things got going - of course, Sirius thought. It isn't my arousal that terrifies him. It's his own.

"Severus, look at me."

Snape's eyes had gone dodgy, and he wondered if he was shying at the name. He waited until the eyes were full on him, only darting away for a few seconds here and there. "Snape. Listen to me. There's nothing wrong in wanting this. In wanting me. Please give me your hand. I want to show you something." He took Snape's hand and placed it over the swelling mound of his erection, letting him feel the stiffness beneath. He resisted the temptation to cup his hand there and grind into it. God, this would be the death of him.

"Do you feel my wanting you, Severus? Do you feel what you do to me?"

Snape tore away and stood several paces from him, breathing hard. "No," he said, his teeth clenched. "I didn't do that. That isn't-it isn't my fault. Don't try to blame it on me."

Sirius blinked. What the hell had happened? "Blame-blame you?" he said. "I. . ." He shut his eyes when he saw his blunder. Black, you idiot. "No, of course I didn't mean that. I feel what I feel because of me, because I'm the one wanting you. And that's a good thing. I love that I want you, Snape. Do you understand that? I absolutely love it."

Snape nodded. "Yes, yes, of course," he said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be so foolish. I should. . . I have the rest of those essays to mark. I really ought to get back to them."

"All right." Sirius kept his voice even. He grabbed Snape's hand as he brushed past. "May I come back, then?"

Snape looked at their hands. "Yes," he said simply.

"Good night, then."

"Good night."

Day Thirteen

The next few evenings followed much the same pattern. Sirius would arrive, they would chat for a bit, they would touch, they would kiss, Sirius would let him take the lead, and inevitably Snape would reach the point at which he pushed him away. The minute his arousal threatened to overtake him, probably, Sirius thought, reflecting on it.

He stared at the peeling paint on the ceiling of his little room above the pub, meditating on the mystery of Snape. He ignored the larger mystery of why exactly getting Snape to touch him, and want to touch him, was becoming the ruling passion of his life. Every night Snape had broken it off just as things were starting to move along, and just as his own frustrated arousal was springing to life. This evening had been no different. I'm getting bloody tired of wanking, Sirius thought with a sigh.

The first night or so the long walk back to Hogsmeade in the damp had cured him of his erection. But no more. All Snape had to do was breathe in his general direction now, and his cock throbbed. And he was barely able to get back to his room here before freeing himself and stroking his cock to desperate release, lost in thoughts of Snape's lips and hands and tongue, the smell of his neck, the feel of the slight stubble on his jaw. And all he had to do was imagine Snape in orgasm, his head thrown back, his throat groaning for release, and he would come in a white flood over his hand, panting and shaking.

It's like being bloody sixteen again, he thought ruefully. He contemplated the humour of traveling back in time to tell his sixteen year old self that all these years later he would be lying on his bed, coming in his hand to thoughts of fucking Snape. Then again, he thought, I might not have had such a hard time believing it. The time after that Quidditch match in sixth year, when they had come out of the locker rooms at the same time. Slamming Snape against the wall. You lay a fucking hand on me again, I'll kill you, Gryff. Watching Snape in History of Magic, when everyone else was asleep. Wondering how he maintained that quiet concentration all the time. A frisson of wondering what it must feel like to be the object of that concentration. Seeing Lucius nudge him, and the faint quick look of distaste on Snape's face, and the queer satisfaction that gave him, to know Malfoy was probably wanting something he couldn't have. No, it might not have surprised him all that much.

An idea came to him, and he sat up. It might work. If Snape balked each time at the touching, perhaps it was time to stop the touching. Perhaps he ought to try a different approach altogether. He frowned, testing his idea from several angles. It just might work, at that.

Day Fourteen

"As you recall from last night, Black, the filter serves to contain the more noxious fumes. I would advise not removing the filter during the fourteenth day, if possible. The antimony extract can be prepared separately, and then added on the fifteenth day. You'll want a smaller cauldron for that, of course, but a much higher temperature fire. The process is not unlike preparing-"

"Custard?"

Snape narrowed his eyes. "I was going to say, preparing the separate elements of the Quadryllium potion. But custard will do as well."

Sirius smiled and jotted in his notebook. "I'll bet you make a mean custard, Snape."

"Oh, shut up. Here, skin these."

"God, I hate shrivelfigs. You know, I had no idea what a pain in the arse this potion is to make. Unless you happen to be an independently wealthy werewolf with a genius for potions, you really are out of luck, aren't you. Is there no way this stuff can be bottled?"

"Not and retain its effectiveness, no. You are right about the essential uselessness of the potion. It is much the same with any of the higher order potions that treat complex medical or magical conditions. They are all resistant to storage. The expense of the ingredients is one thing, but when added to the expense of preparation by a competent brewer, the cost places these potions well beyond the reach of those most in need of them." Snape was frowning as he made some notes. "It is a question that has interested me for some time, actually. You're skinning those too close."

Sirius sighed and started on the next bundle. "Is that what you were working on the other night?"

"Hm?"

"Over there. The brown sludge. It was a kind of preservative you were working on, wasn't it?"

Snape looked up in surprise. "Yes, actually. Though I can't say that it's going all that well. The idea should be simple enough. Enough of these potions share a base that coming up with a baseline preservative should not present that much of a challenge, and yet, almost a year after I started work, I am no further along." He tossed down his quill in frustration and rubbed his neck.

Sirius hesitated, then gave in. "May I?"

Snape shrugged. "Be my guest."

Sirius let his fingers settle along the stiff line of Snape's shoulders, running his thumbs up the back of his neck. The muscles felt like rock. "Tell you what, Snape. Let's leave things here for a bit and get you sitting down. I can work on your neck much better that way. Come on."

He led the way not to the chair by the desk but through the archway into the little sitting room. He sat himself on the antique sofa - long, stiff, and narrow, not unlike its owner, he thought with a smile. He patted the seat beside him. "Come on, Snape. Get comfortable and let me really get to work on that neck." Snape was standing in the doorway regarding him skeptically. "Black. Is this an utterly transparent attempt to remove to my private quarters?"

"What, you mean you weren't convinced by my suavity?" He saw the wariness in Snape's eyes. "Snape. Come on. I think you know by now I'm not going to do anything you don't want me to. Sometimes a neck massage is just a neck massage, you know."

"Said the swordsman to Anne Boleyn," Snape muttered.

"Sit your bony arse down."

Snape complied, still looking suspicious.

"Severus. I promise this is not a come-on, but if you don't remove at least a couple of layers of your exoskeleton, I'll never be able to reach your muscles."

"Oh, very well." Snape unbuttoned his waistcoat and tossed it on the chair opposite. He loosened the collar of his shirt and unbuttoned his cuffs. He turned his back to Sirius. "Are you satisfied?"

Sirius bit back his retort to that and started in on the shoulder muscles. How the man functioned like this he had no idea, but he must be in considerable pain. He slowed and deepened his massage, easing the muscles below the shoulders and up the spine. Snape let his head fall slightly forward.

"You know," Snape said into his chest. "The Boleyns are distant collateral relations of mine."

"Really."

"Really. Well, of my stepfather. I doubt there was a venerable family, Muggle or wizard, he didn't claim some descent from. There was some speculation, you know, that Anne herself may have been a witch. It cropped up in that family every few generations or so. She had no training, of course, so she can't have been much of a witch. But one of her great-uncles attended Hogwarts. Slytherin, naturally."

"Fascinating." Sirius stored away the reference to the stepfather he knew nothing about. "Was he pureblood then?"

"Anne's great-uncle?"

"No, your stepfather."

The muscles stiffened again. "Yes," came the curt reply. Sirius let it drop.

"Any more famous queens in your line I should know about?"

"Garden variety aristocrats, as far as I know. Which isn't to say they weren't the former as well."

Sirius smiled and started on the neck. Snape was leaning into him now. "Is this helping?"

"Mm. Yes. You're quite good."

"I know. Let your head drop now." He pushed his thumbs along the ridge of muscle beside the spinal column and wrenched a groan of pleasure from Snape that shot straight to his groin. Snape was continuing to make small noises that were unbearably arousing. He shifted a little to accommodate his swelling cock.

"So. Let's see. The only famous relation I can think of is Art O'Leary."

"Really." Snape sounded interested.

"On my mother's side, of course. She used to tell me these wonderful bedtime stories, all about the kings of Tara and Queen Maeve and Cuchulainn. I was enthralled. Anyway, she was an O'Leary, as she would be happy to remind anyone within earshot. Arthur was her great-great-great uncle or something like that."

"'Romantic Ireland's dead and gone, it's with O'Leary in the grave,'" Snape murmured. Sirius stopped.

"How do you-"

"You think I only read Potions textbooks?"

Sirius smiled. "No, I don't suppose you do."

Snape pulled away and stretched, rolling his head around. "My God. That's amazing. The improvement really is remarkable."

"You're welcome." Sirius leaned back into the sofa and watched him. Just watched. What would he do?

Snape turned and edged closer. He leaned hesitantly forward and brushed his lips against Sirius's. As before, Sirius closed his eyes and let Snape take the lead, never pushing. When Snape stopped, he opened his eyes and found Snape's eyes on him, questioning.

"Snape. There's something I would like to do." He saw the flash of fear that Snape quickly extinguished. "It's nothing that involves touching, or anything like that, I promise."

"Black. I would not have you think-" He paused. "I like the touching."

"I know that. I like it too. But I think you'll like this as well. Are you comfortable?"

"Yes, quite."

"Good. I'm actually a little warm. Do you mind if I take my shirt off?"

He saw Snape's irises darken slightly. "Not at all."

He unbuttoned his shirt and lifted it over his head. He felt Snape's eyes on him as he tossed his shirt aside. He leaned back against the sofa cushions. Snape's eyes trailed down his chest, with its light smattering of dark hair, to his abdomen and, for a fraction of a second, lower. Sirius made no effort to conceal his erection, which was outlined against his trousers.

"Snape."

Snape's eyes jerked to his face. "If you want me to put my shirt back on, I will."

Snape shook his head.

"Do you mind if I do this?" He reached a hand down and rubbed it across the aching mound of his trousers.

Snape shook his head.

"May I unbutton my trousers?"

After the barest pause, Snape nodded. Sirius kept his eyes fastened on Snape's as he unbuttoned his trouser placket. The dark head of his erection was plainly visible through his underwear, and he saw Snape trying not to look.

"You can look, you know. I want you to."

Snape let his eyes wander down to his crotch. Sirius freed his cock and balls and lay back, feeling the weight of Snape's gaze. He could see the rise and fall of Snape's chest quicken.

"You have no idea what touching you does to me," he began in a hoarse voice. "If I brush against you, I'm hard as nails. And when we kiss. . . I go back to my room every night and touch myself, just thinking about you and what you do to me, what I'd like to do to you, what I'd like you to do to me."

He moved a slow hand up and down his shaft, just lazily. "It feels so good to touch myself like this, Severus. Does it feel good for you, too, when you do it? Please tell me."

Snape wet his lips and swallowed. "I try not to."

Sirius's hand faltered. "You try. . . not to?"

A flush spread on Snape's cheekbones. "But of late. . . I have. . . I have indulged."

"I see. You're thinking about the things we could do to each other, too. Would you like to watch what you do to me, Snape?"

Snape nodded. His breath was coming fast now. Sirius watched the movement of that chest as he stroked himself. "Mm. . . yes," he hissed, picking up speed. He let his head fall back against the cushions, and caught the clenching of Snape's hand.

"Here's something I've been thinking about a lot," Sirius resumed. His voice was a bit more choked now. "I've been thinking about how much I want to see what you look like when you come."

Snape's startled eyes shot to Sirius's face, but he said nothing.

"And I've been thinking. . .nnnh. . . I've been thinking about wrapping my mouth around you, and what you might taste like. What your voice would sound like when you come. And I've been thinking," he panted. "I've been thinking about touching you, about kissing not just your gorgeous mouth but every part of you, all up and down, your nipples - God, I bet they're sensitive, I bet I could make you come just from licking them. And your balls - God, I would lick them until you were moaning for more, and only then would I finally take you in my mouth, every inch of you even if it choked me, just to hear you. . . to hear you. . ."

Speech was becoming more difficult as he became lost in his fantasy, his hand moving faster, his eyes glazing. Snape was openly panting now, and when he tore open his trouser placket with one hand and freed his own erection Sirius felt the surge of his orgasm threatening him. Jesus no please wait, he thought, and he clamped down on it, never losing eye contact with Snape, who was stroking himself like mad in time to Sirius's hand.

"Oh fuck yes, you are so gorgeous," was spilling from his mouth. "Come with me, let me see you come. Do you feel my tongue on you, do you feel me touching you, can you feel my cock. . . oh God yes yes. . ." Snape's hand moved like lightning, his mouth was open and panting as he watched Sirius's hand fly up and down his shaft. Sirius reached a hand to cradle and squeeze his balls, and the sight brought a moan from Snape. Oh fuck, he's going to come, thought Sirius.

"Yes," he groaned. "Show me what you like, Severus, show me what you do to make yourself feel good, I want to see how you touch yourself. . . oh God oh God oh God," he panted, and the first wave of his orgasm tore through him, come spilling out his pulsing cock and over his hand. He heard a cry from Snape, and managed to focus his eyes long enough to see Snape biting his lip, his eyes wild and lost, shuddering hunched over his hand as his come spattered his trousers. The sight wrenched another wave of orgasm from Sirius, and he gave in to the delicious throb and pulse, watching the pleasure rip through Snape, watching the way he chewed his lip and gasped and bent almost double as it seized him.

When there was nothing but their slowing pants for air in the room, Sirius grabbed up his shirt and wiped himself with it. He looked over to where Snape sat on the opposite end of the sofa, spent and flushed and dazed, and his chest tightened at the beauty of it. He crawled over and gently wiped what he could of Snape's trousers with the mangled shirt, tucking him back in and buttoning him up as best he could. Only then did he look up.

"Please let me kiss you," he said hoarsely, and Snape's arms came around him firm and strong, pulling him in for a lazy, slow, sated kiss. Some new and strange emotion battered at Sirius's chest and shook him. He rested his forehead against Snape's and let himself be held there, trembling.

"All right?" Snape's baritone was a rumble in his ear.

"Yeah. Just. . . give me a minute. Besides, I'm supposed to be asking you that question."

Snape pulled back so their eyes were level. He ran a hand through the tangle of Sirius's hair. "I'm fine," he said softly. "Better than fine. That was. . . I've never done anything like that before."

"Neither have I, to tell the truth."

"Yes, but I mean. . . that sort of thing. . . with another person."

Comprehension dawned. "You mean you've never come with another person."

"Not. . . not really, I suppose."

Sirius wondered at the equivocation but did not remark on it. "Well. Just so you know. That was. . . intense, as these things go."

"Was it?"

"It was."

Snape was pulling him back down, and he let himself be settled on the rumpled linen of Snape's chest. Snape's long arms wrapped around his bare torso. Their first embrace of this sort. He felt them settling into it, the careful negotiation of limbs and angles. He breathed out and shivered.

"Cold?" No, I'm fine, he was about to say, but then Snape's arms wrapped even tighter and he nodded.

"Yeah," he whispered. "Yeah." He let his eyes drift shut and wondered how long Snape would let him stay like this, how long he could sustain or would allow the contact. Better send that shirt to the Hogwarts laundry, he mused. Wouldn't do to have Rosmerta's suspicious eyes washing it out. What with a castle full of frantically hormonal teenagers, the Hogwarts house elves probably had entire vats full of come-stained laundry to wash every week, anyway. One more wouldn't make a difference.

Day Fifteen

"Anyway, so Sirius says to the younger one, my mate and I live just around the corner here, so why don't you come back to our place for a bit?" Remus took another swallow of butterbeer and grinned. "And of course, I'm kicking him under the table, Sirius are you mad what are you doing, I'm trying to say, and he gives me this look, this quintessentially Sirius look of `what on earth's the matter with you, can't you just be cool here,' and he pays the barkeep and out the door we go with these two gorgeous women, I mean absolutely gorgeous - help me out here, Sirius, I'm not embellishing, am I, I mean they were unbelievable, there's no way they should even have been talking to us, really -"

"They were gorgeous," Sirius agreed. "And they weren't talking to us, they were talking to me. You were the Sensitive Friend."

"Does this story have a point?" Snape intervened.

"In fact, yes. So Sirius is chatting away as we're walking down the street with these women, and I'm thinking where the hell is he going? But of course I've learned by now to keep my mouth shut. And so all at once Sirius pipes up and says `well, here we are, home sweet home,' and I look up and we're at this unbelievably tony building, right across from the park, and he's inviting them to come up for a nightcap."

"Now in my defence I should say-"

"Who's telling this story? So I'm rolling my eyes, wondering what the hell is going on, and Sirius is acting like he hasn't a care in the world, involved in this rather intense intellectual conversation in the lift with - with the blonde one, I think-"

"Oh yes, quite the intellectual she was-"

"And we arrive at the top floor, and Sirius says half a mo, I'll just go unlock the door then, and he's off to the end of the hall, and I see him pull out his wand-"

"Maybe we could hurry over this part a little, Remus. . ."

"And he alohamora's the frigging door open, just like that. So I'm thinking, great, breaking and entering, that's it for us then, and I'm sure I must have been sweating like mad, but Sirius just grins like this is the most natural thing in the world, he's leading us in and switching on lights - and oh, you should have seen the faces of these women, this flat is gorgeous, it's floor to ceiling modern art and these sort of architectural looking chairs, and there's Sirius, as cool as you please, fixing everybody drinks, for Christ's sake-"

"Now, Remus, you make it sound worse than-"

"Oh, no one could do that. So just as I'm starting to think, all right, relax, maybe Sirius does know what he's doing here, and I'm starting to relax a little, too, this woman bursts out of one of the bedrooms."

"Now, not just any woman. . ."

"Oh, God, no. She's about sixty, and she's got some sort of bathrobe on, and her hair's in curlers-"

"And she had this, this stuff on her face -"

"God, I'd forgot that. And everyone just freezes, you know - the girls with their drinks, and me, and Sirius standing there with the pitcher of martinis, and no one knows what the hell to say, and then this virago starts shrieking in this, this voice. . ."

"A voice that could have shattered glass," Sirius said with a grin.

"And did. And she says, `What the hell do you think you're doing?' And I look at him, and I can see Sirius is trying to come up with something really smooth, some sort of explanation, but I can see it's no good, we're all going to be spending the night in gaol, right? And then she shrieks, `You tell me you're going out for a drink, and you come back five hours later reeking of liquor, and you bring your cheap women back here to our house? You filthy swine, you dirty animal!'" Remus broke out laughing. "So Sirius..." The laughter threatened to overtake him. "So Sirius sets down the pitcher, and he says, `I never meant any harm to you, love! There's never been anyone but you!'" He threw his head back and laughed. "And then-then she starts fumbling around for her glasses, the poor blind old bat, and I'm hustling these girls out of there as fast as we can go, and poor Sirius. . ." He gave in to his laugh, shaking his head.

Sirius chuckled and took another swig of butterbeer. "Oh, that's - that's just a great story, Remus, thanks for helping me to re-live that," he said through gritted teeth. "I'll go get us all some more butterbeers - unless you want something stronger?"

"That depends. Will there be any more fascinating stories?" Snape asked with a baleful glare at Sirius.

"Sure, Sirius, why not get us three whiskeys. My treat."

"Sure, Moony. If you're feeling generous." Sirius slipped out from their corner table and headed to the counter where Rosmerta was engrossed in chatting up a group of middle aged wizards on holiday. The Three Broomsticks was crowded tonight; the first real cold was setting in, and curled up by the warm hearth of the pub was where most of Hogsmeade wanted to be.

"Three whiskeys, Ros," Sirius called over the din at the counter, glancing back at the table. Snape was giving Remus an odd look as he was saying something.

"Sure thing, love. Coming right up. D'you think it'll snow?"

"Hm?" He was watching Remus lean forward, gesturing with his hands about something.

"I said, d'you think we'll have snow tonight?"

"Oh, no, I don't think so, Ros. Too dry out there yet. I can always feel snow coming."

"Here are your whiskeys, love. Oh no, wait. That's just two. Now where did I put that other glass?" She looked around in confusion. "Roderick! Did you drink that whiskey I put right here?"

Snape was pushing back his chair and gathering his cloak hurriedly. Sirius strained to see around a particularly enormous wizard - potentially a distant relation of Hagrid's - who had chosen that exact moment to get up and was blocking his view of their table. He frowned and caught sight of Remus, who was calling something after Snape.

"All right," Rosmerta was saying. "I finally got it straight now, love, there's- hang on, where are you off to now?"

Sirius pushed his way quickly back through the maze of little tables overflowing with customers. "Remus, where'd Snape go?"

"I've no idea. We were chatting, and then he took a notion and ran off. Did you bring our whiskeys?"

"Remus! What the hell did you say?"

Lupin put his beer down and looked intently at Sirius. "I didn't say anything, Sirius. I was making conversation. I said I was glad he could join us tonight, and how much I appreciated his taking the time to show you how to brew the Wolfsbane."

Sirius frowned. "That's it?"

"That's it. He said something about your having a better head for potions than he had thought, and I said I was surprised he had let you survive long enough to become his apprentice, or something like that, and he-"

"Wait a minute. What?"

"You know, about the dare. The dare that night? I told him I had wondered if you were going to come back in one piece or not from your winner's dare, and I think I even invited him to come join us the next time we play, and he just got this really strange look on his face and marched straight out. There's no predicting him, Sirius, you should know better than to try and get cozy with Snape."

"You. . . oh, fuck. Oh, Jesus fuck. Remus, you fucking bastard." Sirius raced out the door, not bothering to pick up his cloak. Fuck fuck fuck. Which way had he gone? He stopped and looked up and down the darkened street. No sign of Snape. All right, one way or another he had to have been heading back to Hogwarts.

Ignoring the thudding in his chest, the tight fist clenching in his stomach, he raced up the path. Snape couldn't have got that far ahead, not unless he went the other way round, but why would he do that, on a bitter night like this?

"Snape!" he called. "Snape!" His voice sounded quite loud in the still dark. His breath was fogging in billows. He jogged ahead, until he came out on the clearing that meant he was on the Hogwarts grounds. "Snape!" he called, yelling at the top of his lungs. He stopped, his hands on his knees, struggling for breath. It was obvious Snape had not come this way. He must already be back in the dungeons. Somehow Sirius had thought, if he could catch him out here, if he could just explain, it would be all right.

"Sirius? What the hell is the matter?" Remus was just behind him, trotting out into the clearing now. "What's going on? Are you all right?"

Sirius ran his hands through his hair and clutched it. He sat on the ground and bowed his head.

"Sirius?"

"Tell me you didn't know," Sirius said softly, not looking up. "Tell me you didn't know what you were doing."

Remus sat down beside him. "I didn't then," he said quietly. "But I think I'm getting the picture now." He sighed. "Sirius, I'm sorry, I-"

"Shut up!" Sirius roared, leaping to his feet. "I don't want to-I don't want to hear it right now! I know-" He coughed. The air was wet and cold. A flake of snow settled on his shoulder. "I know you didn't-it's not your fault, I know that. It's my - It's my own fucking fault, all right, my own, not anyone else's. I'm the one that just-" He crouched to the ground and cradled his head in his hands.

"FUCK!" he shouted, letting the sound reverberate off the overhanging firs. He leaped up and began whacking at branches indiscriminately. "How could I have been so fucking stupid, Remus? How? And it's all blown to hell now, every bit of it. He is never, never, never, going to trust me again, not if I slit my bloody wrists in front of him he wouldn't believe me that I went into his office that night wanting one thing and came out wanting another. He will never, ever believe that, do you hear me? Never! And the last two weeks won't matter to him, last night won't matter, not the least little bit, he's going to cut me off like I never was, like I never existed, and oh God, Remus, I don't think-" He clutched at his chest as though in physical pain. "I don't think I can take that, I really don't think I can, how can I have been so FUCKING STUPID as to fall in love with Snape, how could I have DONE that, Remus? HOW?!"

The snow had begun to drift down in earnest now, and the tips of the fir branches caught and held the white. Sirius took a final whack at a branch and sent a smattering of wet onto his shoes. He collapsed back on the ground.

"Doesn't matter," he said at last. "It really doesn't matter, I suppose. I mean, I was bound to fuck it up at some point, right? It was really. . ." He ran a hand over his face. "It was really just a matter of time."

Remus watched him, the snow beginning to settle on his friend's hair in large, wet flakes. "Come on inside, Sirius," he said after a while. "You haven't even got a cloak. Come on in and let's talk."

"No," Sirius said, leaning back to look up at the swirling snow. "I think. . . I think I'll just stay out here for a while. I'll be in in a bit, Remus." He stretched his legs out. "I did the dare," he said. "I did it. I just should have. . . I should have stopped there, I guess. I don't know what made me. . ." He put his hand over his eyes. "Doesn't matter."

Remus hesitated. "It's awfully cold, Sirius."

"I'll be fine."

He stood over his friend. "All right then." He looked at the top turret of the castle, the first fine dusting just beginning to settle. "I'm really sorry, Sirius." He said, not expecting or getting an answer. He trudged off across the grounds, his back hunched against the cold.

Sirius watched him go. He waited until his friend's form was a distant speck in the now-swirling white before he transformed. Padfoot got up and trotted over to the ridge of high ground underneath the largest fir tree. He surveyed the sweep of lawn below. It was a habit of Azkaban he had not been able yet to break, this tendency to retreat into Padfoot. Not that it made anything better, not actually. Just more at a distance.

He could see the lights winking from the windows of the castle, and knew that Snape would be awake in his dungeon, too. What would he be doing? Would he stay up all night marking essays, or working on his preservative potion? Or would he lie in his bed and stare at the ceiling? He settled his muzzle onto the ground and inhaled the sharp smell of wet earth. Perhaps, he mused, human emotions were at a remove from Padfoot's world because the physical world was so very much sharper.

He pondered going and pounding on Snape's door, but he knew it would be futile. He knew that a part of Snape had not trusted him, had never trusted him, and would believe. . . well, the truth. That he had just kissed him as part of a cheap dare. That it was all just for a laugh, a lark. What could he even say? Nothing that Snape would hear.

He resettled himself and watched the snow accumulate. Padfoot's ears could hear the slightly wet sound the snow made when it hit the earth. He shook himself and licked a paw absently. The snow tasted clean, like leaves. He froze at the sound of the footfall twenty paces behind him. The man believed he was being quiet.

"Lupin is right. It's too cold out here, even for you."

Snape settled himself gingerly on the damp ground, his cloak tight about him. Padfoot held himself very still, his brown eyes wide on the man beside him. Hesitantly Snape lifted a hand and placed it on his back.

"Soft," he murmured. He let his hand burrow into the thick pelt. "How odd. I've never actually - touched an Animagus before." The dog blinked at him. "It must feel wonderful, to be able to do that." He was brushing flakes off the fur, stroking the lush warmth of Padfoot.

The dog leaned over and rested his head in the man's lap. Snape cocked an eyebrow. "Oh, now you're just taking advantage of my good nature."

With a liquid, rippling motion the dog became a man, his head still resting in Snape's lap. "Is it working?"

"Extraordinary," he said softly. "And no, it isn't, not by half."

Sirius sat up. "So," he began. "You've been out here some time, I take it?"

"Yes. Well, Padfoot and I seem to share a fondness for the same spot in which to meditate. I ducked behind those branches when you came crashing through here like a freight train. I thought you were going to take a whack at me just now, when you were pitching your little tantrum."

Sirius chuckled. "Just to complete my catastrophe of an evening."

They sat in silence for a bit, watching the snow. "Severus," he began.

"You don't need to explain."

"But you need to know that I-"

"I already do."

Sirius nodded. "May I ask you a question, Severus?"

"I suppose."

"If you hadn't been out here - if you hadn't heard what I said to Remus - would you have listened to anything that I said to you? Would you have believed me?"

Snape thought. "I don't know," he said. "I wish I could say yes. Probably not. But I don't know."

Sirius gave a bitter laugh. "It occurs to me that the margin of error in life is very thin indeed."

"Perhaps," Snape conceded. "But I think. . . it would not have been any easier for me, you know, and I like to think I might have. . . well, I don't know." He stood and offered his hand to Sirius. "I'm freezing to death. Let's go in."

"Right behind you." With the same graceful gesture, man blended into dog, and Padfoot trotted behind Snape.

Snape rolled his eyes. "Just the heartwarming tale," he murmured, "of a man and his dog."

Sirius gagged and recoiled when Snape pushed back the office door. "Holy shit," he choked, "you weren't kidding about the fumes. I see now why you agreed to join us at the pub."

"Yes," Snape agreed dolefully. "Day fifteen. It's not so bad in the back, though, with the doors closed."

"Christ. Does Remus have any idea what you go through, getting this shit ready each month?"

Snape gave a snort at that and shook off his cloak. The flakes dusted the flagstones. "I doubt he has ever given it a moment's thought. You see now why I was not averse to teaching someone else to brew this."

"And here I thought it was just an excuse to be around me."

"You have penetrated my clever plan. Where on earth is your cloak?"

"Oh. I left it at the pub."

"On a night like this? That was most unwise."

"Thanks, Mum. I'll wear my rubbers next time, too, I promise. What?" Snape was giving him an odd look.

"Nothing. Just thinking. The fumes are still detectable in the sitting room, since there's only the curtain there, but if you go on through to the bedroom you can shut the door. Also, I left a fire going in there. You can go curl up on the rug in front of it, if you like. Only don't shed."

"Mm, a shedding joke. How original. The bedroom, eh? More of your clever plan?"

"You're too quick for me to get around you. Go on, I've just got to finish making these notes."

"How you can stand to inhale in here is beyond me." He shivered and pushed back the curtain to the sitting room. "Hey, Snape," he called.

"Mm."

"You never had that whiskey. Shall we have some now?"

"Well, generous as your offer of my liquor is, I don't think so, no. I do have to teach in the morning."

"Yes, we'd hate you to be off your game for that. Who knows, you might turn really unpleasant if you're hung over. On a Snape scale, unpleasant would mean what, do you think? Summary execution of irritants?"

There was no response from the office. He pushed back the bedroom door and looked around. Exactly what he would have thought it. Small and sparely furnished, but comfortable. An iron bedstead was pushed against one wall, its coverlid impeccably neat. A frayed quilt was draped over the foot of the bed. One leather armchair, a bit battered, sat in front of the fireplace. The room's one unusual feature were the bookcases. They were floor to ceiling on all sides, obscuring every wall with contents that threatened to spill onto the floor. There were books crammed in every available space, giant calfskin folio volumes to tiny octavos. He scanned the titles. History, poetry. . .were these Muggle books? No potions texts in sight. He glanced at the smaller volumes on the little table by the chair. Several of them had titles in languages he did not recognise. Near the bottom was a slender, frayed book. Yeats, the spine said. He smiled.

"Find anything you like?"

"Yes, actually." He turned to see Snape in the doorway. "Did you finish up?"

"Yes." Snape stood motionless.

"Snape. Is this the first time. . . I'm assuming you are unaccustomed to entertaining in here?"

"Naturally." He gestured at the armchair. "Would you care to sit down?"

Sirius shook his head. "Look, Snape, I don't have to stay around tonight. Having me in here obviously makes you nervous, and that's the last thing I want. I'll come back tomorrow night." Snape caught his hand as he brushed past him.

"Don't go."

Sirius looked at their joined hands. "I just don't want to fuck up," he said softly.

"You won't."

Snape's head bent to his and Sirius opened to the kiss. He dug his fingers into Snape's back and broke off, gasping.

"What's the matter?'

"Nothing - I just - getting hold of myself, that's all."

"Ah." Snape regarded him. "If there were something that I wanted, would you do it?'

"Yes," Sirius replied, his voice hoarse at the thought. "Anything."

Snape unbuttoned and removed his waistcoat and loosened his shirt, as he had last night. He looked at Sirius. "Take off your shirt." His voice was low and quiet in the little room, and Sirius's cock thrummed at it. He complied quickly, feeling Snape's gaze on him. He met his eyes.

"Do you want me naked, Severus?"

Snape nodded mutely. Methodically he removed his trousers, his boots, his socks, his underwear, draping everything over the back of the armchair. The fire felt warm on his skin. He turned around and said nothing for a minute, just letting Snape look at him. His cock hardened further under Snape's hungry gaze.

"Where do you want me?"

Snape's eyes flicked to the bed. He stretched himself full length on it, pulling pillows around to his satisfaction, making himself comfortable.

"Do you want me to touch myself?"

Again, Snape nodded. Never taking his eyes off Snape, Sirius let his hand begin to slowly move down, cupping his balls, lazily brushing his cock. He saw a muscle in the side of Snape's face twitch.

"Would you like to come sit on the bed with me?"

Snape hesitated, but he edged to the bed and sat on it. His eyes were riveted to Sirius's swelling cock, and the first droplets of precome that were beading on the slit. Sirius swirled the moisture around a bit, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment at the sweetness of the sensation. He heard Snape's sharp intake of breath.

"Would you like me to tell you what I've been thinking about?"

Snape nodded. Sirius could see how rapidly he was breathing, and wondered if that glorious thick cock he had glimpsed last night was hard yet. The thought made his own cock ache, and he began to stroke himself, slowly and evenly.

"I've been thinking about what it would feel like to have you fucking me."

Snape's lips parted a little, and he blinked.

"I've been thinking," he panted, beginning to move a little faster now, "of what it would feel like to have that beautiful cock of yours up inside me, fucking me - of how full I would feel with you rammed up inside me, of what you might look like bent over top of me, pounding me, the feel of your arse in my hands -oh, fuck." Sirius arched his head back as the pleasure began to build, faster than he had thought it would. His hand was moving rapidly now, and Snape's breathing was as loud as his.

"Snape. . . Severus, please. . . let me see you, I want to see you touch yourself."

Rapidly Snape opened his trouser placket and freed himself, his eyes not leaving Sirius's hand. His cock was stiff and dripping with moisture, and Sirius groaned at the sight of it.

"Sweet God," he moaned, "I want to taste you, I want to feel you come down my throat. Touch yourself and think about coming down my throat."

An unintelligible noise came from Snape at that, and his hand began to move on his shaft.

"That's it," whispered Sirius. "Think about my mouth on you, sucking you. Think about fucking my mouth. Think about screaming when you come, about shooting your come so far down my throat. . . nnh. . ." His hand was moving like lightning now, in tandem with Snape's motion.

"Severus-please let me do that to you now. Do you want that?"

For answer, Snape let himself fall back on the bed. Sirius scrambled over top of him and swallowed him before he could even move.

"Aaah," came the cry from Snape's throat. His back arched up off the bed, and his fists twisted the blanket. Is that good, Severus? he wanted to say. Tell me how it feels. But his mouth was too full of Snape's substantial cock, and he wasn't about to lift it off to talk. Not when it was so full of the incredible taste, the fragrant musk, the silken texture of Snape. He relaxed his throat and took him as far back as he was able. Little noises were coming from Snape's throat as he thrust up into Sirius's mouth that might have been whimpers. Sirius worked his hands underneath and cradled Snape's arse as he thrust upwards, squeezing gently.

His own cock was crying out for touch, but he ignored it. The sight and sound of Snape was likely to bring him off without a hand on him, anyway. Snape was lost to the sensation of it now, his eyes closed, his mouth wide, his breathing a moan on each exhale. He was practically ripping the sheets off the bed with his fists. Sirius bobbed his head up and down more rapidly now, increasing the strength of his sucking. He let one hand stray up to the heavy ball sac and fingered them lightly, tumbling them a little, squeezing.

"Si-Sir- move your- move, I can't-can't stop-"

Sirius redoubled his efforts. Snape gave a great strangled cry and pumped his hips up as fast as he could. The sharp bitter flood of seed filled Sirius's mouth, and he drank as fast as he could, sucking and licking as Snape gushed in his mouth. Slowly he began easing him down, through the aftershocks that wrung little cries from him.

When the last twitch had passed, and Snape was lying limp and still, he gently kissed his cock and tucked him back into his trousers, re-arranging him as best he could. He rested his head on Snape's still-heaving abdomen, listening to the slowing sound of his breathing. Snape's hand came to rest on his head.

They stayed like that for long minutes. Sirius fought the painful throb of his groin, willing it away, wanting to let Snape drift. He considered whether he ought to slide off and go to the bathroom and take care of his problem there. Probably he wouldn't even make it across the room. Suddenly he was being pulled up and over onto his back, cradled in Snape's arms.

"You need to come," Snape was whispering in his ear. "May I touch you?"

"God, yes," he groaned, and Snape's hand closed on his shaft. "No - no, don't I'm so close-"

"Shh," Snape was saying, moving his hand faster, and Sirius gave in to the warmth of Snape's hand and the delicious friction, and it was Snape bringing him off, Snape's hand pumping him, Snape's fingers tightening on his shoulder as he stiffened.

"Severus!" he sobbed, and spilled his release in a rush over Snape's hand, arching into Snape's embrace. There were lips at his ears, his neck, kissing him as he spiraled down, quaking with the force of his orgasm.

He found Snape's eyes on him, and they watched each other steadily. "Is this all right?" he found voice to ask. Snape's hand reached over and brushed a stray sweaty lock of hair off his face.

"Yes. This is all right," he said, his voice tight.

Day Eighteen

"Now, this is where it really gets interesting."

"Promise?" Sirius sighed as he scribbled notes. "I mean, no offence, but at some point this has got to get more interesting than dicing beetle legs."

Snape quirked a brow at him. "Through the first seventeen days, I'll grant you that the Wolfsbane, while requiring attentiveness in preparation, is not beyond the capacity of a second-year Potions student - or even you, Black."

"Why, thank you."

"But on the eighteenth day, the magic involved becomes more complex than the simple addition of ingredients. Hand me that book there. No, no, that one. Open it to page seventy-four and you will see some of the incantations that are used in the latter stages of Wolfsbane."

Sirius flipped through the book, frowning. "This is some fairly dark stuff," he murmured.

"Moderately. You want dark, try some of those books over there." He nodded at the opposite bookshelf, with the locking glass front doors.

Sirius flipped around some more, thinking. "So Remus is glad to be back at Hogwarts."

"Mm."

"Do you know he spent last year tending bar in Liverpool?"

"Fascinating."

"You know," Sirius mused, "he wasn't going to come back, not when Albus first made the offer. He said he didn't want to create discord among the faculty, or between the faculty and the Board of Governors."

Snape offered no comment.

"But Albus gave him to understand that all opposition on the Board - the older, pureblooded families, naturally - had been dealt with, and that re-hiring Remus Lupin was the Board's unanimous recommendation."

"Hand me that rod, will you."

Sirius reached behind him. "That was you, wasn't it? You're the only faculty member those people would have been likely to listen to. You're the one that brought Remus back, aren't you?"

Snape sighed. "Are you quite finished? We do have actual work to do, you know."

"Why'd you do it?"

Snape made an irritated gesture. "Why did I do what?"

"You know perfectly well. Why did you make it possible for Remus to come back, when you did everything in your power to get rid of him year before last?"

Snape scowled. "Because if I didn't," he sighed, "the headmaster made it perfectly plain that I would be appointed the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Sirius raised his eyebrows in surprise. "And this would be a bad thing?'

"For heaven's sake. I can't imagine anything worse. You don't honestly think I want that job? I'd sooner chew off a limb. Dark Arts, indeed. They ought to call it Lambs to the Slaughter," he sneered. "It's no use teaching students to defend against something they haven't actually learned to practise. But we at Hogwarts stopped teaching them how to do that almost a hundred years ago. And I think we have seen the results of that policy." He tossed his rod into the sink with a clatter, and massaged his temple.

"Headache again?"

"It's fine."

"Yes, I can see that. Here, turn around and let me see what I can do." He reached for Snape's shoulders. Snape knocked his arm away.

"Severus," he said quietly. "What's going on?"

"Nothing. Nothing. I think - perhaps you had better go."

"That's what you said last night."

Snape made no reply, but began cleaning up around the cauldron.

"Severus. What did I do?"

Snape looked up at that. "Nothing. Nothing at all." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Look, Black, this is probably not such a good idea."

Sirius felt the muscle in his jaw begin to spasm and pushed down the surge of anger. Anger would not help here. He studied the counter. "Please define `this,'" he said in a tight voice.

"I mean the. . . the things that we have done." Snape reached for his temple again.

"The headaches are worse, aren't they?"

Snape sighed. He cradled his head in his hands. "I am trying, Black," he said in a muffled voice.

"I know." He lifted his arms, hesitantly. "Snape. Would it be all right if I just. . . nothing else has to happen. Just. . ." He carefully put his arms around Snape, and shifted closer. He felt the body inside the black robes stiffen, and felt Snape force himself to relax. They eased into an embrace - edged into it, Sirius thought. He weighed his words.

"Severus. We don't have to do everything at once, you know. If this is all we can do for now, then this is what we do. I don't need to have everything all at once. The other night. . . that was amazing. And if it doesn't happen again for a long time, I can live with that."

He felt Snape relax infinitesimally. "Why?" Snape murmured.

"Why what?"

"Why can you live with that? Don't you want. . . I simply don't understand."

Don't I want? Sirius thought. I want to rip those goddamn robes off you and fuck you until neither of us can move, that's what I want. He sighed. "I don't know," he answered honestly. "I'm rather making this up as I go along. But I do know that I'd rather do this with you than a hell of a lot more with someone else, if that's an answer."

Snape was silent for a minute, and Sirius felt him relax into the embrace a fraction more. "What I'm wondering is. . ." Snape's voice was barely above a whisper, his breath warming Sirius's ear. "What I'm wondering is, for how long. I will probably never be able. . ." He stopped.

"I know."

Snape moved his head in a puzzling way, and with a hitch in his breath Sirius realised Snape was burrowing into his shoulder. He tightened his arms around him.

"I don't know what the hell you're doing here with me." Snape's voice was muffled in his shoulder.

"Well," Sirius said softly. "Frankly, I've no idea what the hell either of us are doing."

He felt Snape chuckle at that. Neither of them made a move to disentangle.

"My head is killing me," Snape said at last. "I've got to take some more potion and lie down."

"Sure," Sirius said, releasing him. "Tomorrow night, then."

"Good night, Black."

"Good night, Snape."

Day Nineteen

Sirius flipped over and glanced at the little clock on the mantel. Still forty-five minutes before Snape would be expecting him. Might as well close his eyes again and try to get some more rest. He sighed and resettled himself. What was it that Rosmerta used to wash the sheets? It reminded him of visits to his grandmother's house, of her clean, faint scent of lemon verbena.

Fuck. He kicked the sheets back. Trying to get any more rest was probably futile. Not having slept last night was going to catch up with him soon, though. He'd be dozing over the cauldron tonight, and from what he had learned of the Wolfsbane so far, it was not a good idea to fall asleep with your face in it. He swung his legs over and grabbed his trousers just as Rosmerta's knock sounded at the door.

"Just a minute, Ros," he called, pulling them on. "Right, come on in. Just set the tea on the table, will you." He stumbled to the washstand and poured some water on his head, letting the cool flood jar him into alertness. He wrapped the towel in a turban on his head and turned around to see Snape standing in the middle of the room, looking at him as though he had hatched naked from a mermaid shell. He snatched the towel off his head.

"Snape," he said, for lack of anything better. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, yes, everything's fine," he said, looking around. "This is rather small."

"It's fine for what I need. What are you doing here, Snape?"

Snape sat hesitantly in one of the chairs by the window, as though he were afraid it might break. He drummed his fingers on his knee. He appeared to be looking everywhere but at his host. Sirius considered putting a shirt on, but rejected it. Snape could deal with it. He sat in the other chair, draping his towel over the back.

"So," he began. "What have I done to deserve this?"

Snape reached into his robe and pulled out a flask, followed by two shot glasses. He set them on the table with a thunk. "Have a drink with me, Black."

"All right." He watched as Snape poured them each a glass of whiskey, then downed his in one gulp. Sirius raised his eyebrows. "Before you start trying to drink me under the table, Snape, you should know that I'm Irish."

"I already do. And I think an Italian can take you any day."

"Well, now you've done it. Line `em up, Snape."

They knocked back the next few glasses in silence. After the third glass, Sirius looked up. "So. Any particular reason we're doing this?"

"You had said something earlier about wanting to drink with me."

"Right. Well, generally when people drink together, they tell amusing stories. You know - mirth, camaraderie, that sort of thing."

"I see."

"Not that the grim silence isn't fun too."

Snape set his glass down and re-filled it. "I was nine."

Sirius blinked and let the pieces click into place. "Your stepfather."

"Yes." Glass number four followed the others. "I have tried, you know."

"Tried. . . sex, you mean."

"Yes." Snape spread his hands and studied them as though they were strange to him. "I am not the innocent you suppose, you know. That sort of contact is only difficult for me when. . . well, it is sometimes possible."

Sirius tipped his chair back and reflected. He wondered if he knew more about Snape's reactions to sex than Snape did himself. "You mean, it's only difficult for you when you are aroused as well." He stood up and drew the curtain back a little, peering down on the street below. Snow was still piled in drifts along the cobbled street. He kept his voice calm and even. "How old were you when he finally let you alone? Your stepfather, I mean?"

For a minute he did not think Snape would answer. "Thirteen."

Thirteen. By that time he had been at Hogwarts two years. He would have been home in the summers, though, and the holidays. Thirteen. "Why did he stop?" he asked.

He heard the sound of Snape re-filling the glasses. That would make five, and still Snape's voice was as steady as his hands. "He stopped because I killed him." He paused, probably to wait for a reaction, but Sirius just nodded. "I had a younger brother, you see. His own son. I had thought that would stop him. Apparently, it didn't."

"So you killed him."

"Yes." He twisted the glass so it caught the light. "When I was ten, I told my mother what had been happening. That he would come to me at nights. I don't think I even knew the words, but the idea would have been clear enough. She told me. . . she told me we were fortunate to be under the protection of a wizard as powerful as Sebastian Snape, and that I must not. . . disappoint him."

Sirius let his breath out in a rush. "Holy fuck," he said.

"More or less. She was never what you would call fond of me to begin with. But I had thought, with Aurelius, that things would be different. When I realised she knew about that, too. . . I knew he was never going to stop, that no one would ever make him stop."

"And so you stopped him."

"Yes."

Sirius closed his eyes and thought. From nine to thirteen. Close to five years. Had it been every night, or had he never known when the bedroom door would creak? Had he been too terrified to fight, the first few times? Had he lain there in the dark, afterward, thinking surely someone would come to help him? There would have been blood, and the boy would have been ashamed. What had Sebastian Snape threatened him with if he told? He felt a surge of bile in his stomach, and fought the nausea. He wished he could go to the washstand and retch as Snape had done.

He opened his eyes. "Did you never tell anyone, other than your mother?"

Snape gave the barest smile. "What would have been the purpose in that?"

"Albus. . . he might have done something, I don't know. . ."

"Yes, I'm sure had I had the advantage of your superior reasoning, I would have been able to find a way out other than murder," he said sharply.

"No, that isn't what I meant," Sirius amended hastily. "Of course you didn't-"

"You think I didn't want to stop him? That I wanted him to do those things to me, that I didn't tell because I liked it, that I wanted -"

"No!" Sirius shouted. "Jesus Christ, Severus, of course I don't think that! Who the hell would think that? You were a nine year old boy, for fuck's sake! You didn't do anything wrong!"

Snape sank his head in his hands. The long fingers were trembling. "No, no," he said, quieter now. "I know I did not handle it well. I ought to have - I ought to have done something, at least before he got to Aurelius, before it was too late. It was my - it was my fault."

Sirius felt the rage boil over a second too late. He picked up his glass and hurled it into the empty grate in the fireplace, smashing it. Shards of glass spun out onto the hearth, but Snape did not flinch or even appear to hear. He gripped Snape's shoulder.

"You listen to me," he said through gritted teeth. "You listen now. It was not your fucking fault! It was not. Your. Fucking. Fault." He dug his fingers into Snape's shoulder and shook him, dropping to his knees. "None of it was ever your fault, and sex - sex is not like anything that that motherfucker ever did to you." More pieces clicked into place. "Everything he ever told you was a lie. It was never your fault, and you weren't the one making him do those things to you. Severus. Do you understand me? Do you believe me?" He knew his voice had a desperate edge to it, and he knew he was shaking Snape too hard.

Snape nodded, his head still bowed. "You see now," he said softly. "You see now that I am too. . . damaged for this to continue."

Sirius released his grip and sat back in astonishment. "No. No. You're not damaged. He was the one that was damaged, Snape, not you." He stood and began to pace the little room. He had thought that this was progress, Snape telling him this, but here it was just another way to shut him down, to push him away. He shook his head to clear it, and sat on the edge of the bed, watching Snape, who was downing his sixth shot of whiskey.

All right, he thought, all right. I'm not going to win any battles fighting them on that bastard's turf. Let's make this about now, about what we do. He took a deep breath.

"Severus. When I touch you, does it make you feel the way he did when he touched you?"

Snape looked up at that. "Of course not."

So far, so good. "Did it make you feel good? When my mouth was on you the other night, did it make you feel good?"

Snape's eyes sought the floor. "Yes, of course," he said in a still voice.

"All right. But maybe you don't know what that felt like to me."

Snape frowned and glanced up. "It can't have been. . . pleasant."

Sirius almost laughed aloud. "Can't have been pleasant? My God, is that what you. . . sweet Christ." He swallowed. "Severus, having you come in my mouth was probably the single most erotic experience of my life, and I've been lying in this bed every night since then thinking about it, and about the way you sounded, the way you looked, good God, seeing you come, feeling it in my mouth. . ."

He felt his cock begin to swell at the thought of it, and seized by inspiration, he leaped up and grabbed Snape's hand, placing it over his crotch. "Feel what thinking about that does to me, Snape," he murmured. "You tasted so good, it was all I could do not to come the minute my lips touched you. I would give anything, anything, to do that again. I would drop to my knees in the Great Hall and let you fuck my mouth, if it meant I got to taste you again. I want to feel your hands in my hair, I want to hear you moan as I lick you, I want to make you come so hard you black out. There is nothing, nothing, I wouldn't do for you, or to you, or with you, if it brought you one moment's pleasure. Do you hear me? Nothing."

He paused for breath. Snape's hand was cupping him, and he shuddered when Snape ran a careful thumb over the outline of his erection. "God, you could make me come just from that," he whispered hoarsely.

Snape's hand caressed him more firmly. "You make a persuasive argument, Black," he said wryly.

"Yes. Well," he said, his witty retort lost as Snape began to massage him more deeply, rubbing his length deliberately. Sirius grabbed his wrist. "Oh. . . God, you need to stop now."

Snape stood, his hand still on Sirius's groin. "Did you mean that?" he asked, his eyes dark. "About whatever I wanted?"

"Yes." Fuck, he thought, as Snape's hand did not stop. I'm going to come in my trousers. But then Snape was unbuckling his trousers for him, pushing them down off his hips. Snape is undressing me, he thought, Snape wants me naked. And now Snape was fumbling at his own trousers, he was pulling his own cock out. Sirius groaned at the sight and fought the urge to rip the layers of clothes off Snape's body. He would have to be patient.

Snape pulled him close and rocked their hips together. He saw Snape's eyes widen as their cocks rubbed, and heard his gasp.

"It can be good that way," he murmured in Snape's ear. "Try it." He reached around and cupped Snape's arse - oh, beautiful beautiful - and pulled him closer still, grinding them together. Snape gave a little cry.

"See?" he whispered. "See how good it feels?" He pulled them a few steps backwards, until he could feel the bed against his legs. "I want you on top of me. Do you want that?'

Snape made a muffled sound that might have been a yes. Sirius fell back and pulled Snape over top of him, still pushing their cocks together. He felt Snape's hips catch and hold a rhythm, and he groaned again - too loud, he thought, I don't even know if that door is locked, but fuck, I don't care. He brought his arms around Snape's back, tight. Snape's cock was hard against his, and he gasped when Snape's balls brushed his own. Snape's breath was hot in his ear now, and he was moving faster, faster. Was this the way he breathed when he was in his own bed, touching himself, making himself come? He groaned again at the thought and pushed up into the hot friction of Snape's cock.

"Fuck yes," he breathed. "Please fuck me."

Snape's hips moved faster, and their grinding became more desperate.

"Tell me," Sirius moaned. "Tell me if you're going to come."

"Yes," whimpered Snape, and he felt Snape's fingers digging into his shoulders now, tightening on him, his pelvis pounding into him. "Oh. . . oh. . . oh. . ."

"Fuck!" shrieked Sirius, and he was coming, pulsing into the hardness that rocked into him. His belly flooded with warm wet, and Snape was collapsing on him, shaking, crying out as their cocks jerked and sputtered together.

After a few dizzy minutes, he felt Snape shifting off of him. "No, no." he murmured. "Stay."

"I'm crushing you."

"You wish."

Snape chuckled, and re-settled on him. "There is another consideration," he said softly.

"Mm." Sirius tightened his hold on him.

"In another few seconds we're going to be glued together."

"Oh. Right." Sirius stretched for the nightstand. "Where the hell's my wand. Oh, damn it all." His fingers found his trousers on the floor, and he hoisted them up and over. "Here, lift up."

Snape cocked an eyebrow. "Your clothes are taking rather a beating."

"Who cares. I'll steal some of Remus's before I go." He rolled Snape over to his side and arranged the blanket over them. "You may be fully clothed, but I'm freezing to death."

"When you go. And that would be when, exactly?" Snape's voice sounded odd.

Sirius sighed. "When Albus decides he needs me, I suppose. At least I'm not on the run anymore."

"Yes, I suppose. You know Black," he said abruptly. "I really did believe you were guilty."

"You and the rest of the world. The `Free Sirius Black' movement never really got off the ground, so I forgive you for not joining up."

"Aren't you ever angry?" Snape wondered. "That everyone believed what they did, and now treat you as though it never happened. Doesn't it infuriate you, or do you spend so much of your energy regretting you're alive that you haven't any to spare for anger?"

Sirius propped himself on his elbow. "I thought you were the one we were examining here."

"Of course we are. You, naturally, are perfectly normal."

"Naturally. Do we need to get back to the dungeons?"

"Hm? Oh. No, there wasn't much to do tonight. I added the salamander eyes before I left, and made the necessary additions to your notes. I hope you don't mind."

Sirius smiled at the thought of Snape's careful script sandwiched in among his scrawl. "No, that's fine." He stretched. "Can you stay then?" he asked, keeping his voice even.

"Stay?"

"You know, the night. Save yourself the walk back. It's bitter out there."

Snape hesitated. "No, I have an early morning class. But I. . . I needn't go back right away." He pulled the blanket more firmly around them both.

"All right," Sirius yawned. "I'll just get Ros to bring us up some tea, then."

"Hmph. It has always been your goal to destroy me, hasn't it?"

"Since I was eleven." He burrowed into the pillow. How is it I'm always the one freezing my arse off, and he never loses a stitch of clothing? Sirius wondered. "How is it you manage to do that?" he mused aloud.

"Do what?"

"Give me a mind-blowing orgasm without loosening your cravat." Another yawn overtook him, and his eyes drifted shut.

"Go to sleep." Snape reached a hesitant hand and lifted a hank of hair out of his face.

"Mm. Not sleepy."

"So I see. Sleep now. I'll stay a bit."

Sirius muttered something unintelligible. Sleep was a warm river that threatened to pull him under. He gave up and surrendered to the current. He dozed, drifting in and out for a bit. He wondered if he was imagining the hand on his hair, twining it, smoothing it. When next he opened his eyes, he was alone in the bed, and the early morning light was greying the window panes. There was a black silk cravat coiled on the pillow beside him. He grinned and crumpled it in his hand before slipping back into sleep.

Day Twenty

"Sirius! Where are you off to?"

Sirius slowed his step for Remus. "Some things I need to get from Smoag's in Hogsmeade - ingredients and things. Want to come along?"

"Sure. Just a minute - let me grab my heavier cloak from my office. What an awful winter this is turning out be, eh? That snow doesn't look like it's ever going to melt."

"Oh, quit your moaning. At least you've got the benefit of regular heat. I can't say Rosmerta's overly generous with the firewood."

"Well, I shouldn't think that would be a problem for you these days." Remus ducked his head in his office and emerged with his cloak and muffler. "At least she keeps the pub warm. Why don't we stop off for a pint while we're down there?"

"Sure, Moony." Sirius said nothing more as they headed out the doors and down the path to Hogsmeade. He waited until they were at the first bend in the path before he stopped and turned.

"You want to tell me what the hell that remark meant?"

"Just that I don't get the impression you're spending your nights in your room, is all."

Sirius narrowed his eyes at his friend. "Explain to me just exactly how where I spend my nights is any of your business."

Remus sighed. "It isn't. I know that, and I'm not trying to pry."

"Yes you are."

"Well, yes I am, then. Listen, Sirius, I'm just worried about you, is all."

He arched a skeptical brow. "Worried about me?"

"You're the one who said the other night that it was a pretty fucking stupid thing to do, getting involved with Snape."

"No," Sirius reflected. "That isn't precisely what I said."

"Yeah," Remus said. "I know. But you were upset, and I'm hoping you were overstating the case a little. Anyway, my point is, Sirius, you've been. . . well, you've not been out of Azkaban that long, and you just stopped being on the run a few months ago, and I. . . I'm not sure you're thinking very clearly about some things."

"I see," he said quietly.

"No, you don't, so don't get that tone. All I'm trying to say is, there are plenty of people who care about you and want to help you, plenty of people who would like to be your friend-"

"Yes, it's amazing what it will do for your social life, no longer being a convicted serial killer."

"Sirius. You can't blame people-"

"Who the hell says I can't?" He felt his anger rising and struggled to control it. "I'm sorry, Remus. I'm sorry that I can't get beyond it all as effortlessly as you seem to think I ought. I realise what a disappointment that must be to you. I lost twelve years of my life to Azkaban, and another two to hiding and sucking on rats. I can't pretend that it never happened, and I'm sickened by the people who expect me to forget it ever happened, just so no one feels uncomfortable. It happened, Remus, and nothing will ever change that, or change me back into who and what I was. And at least -" he paused and lowered his voice. "At least there is some comfort in being around someone who doesn't expect anything of me, and who doesn't. . . who isn't always hoping the old Sirius Black will turn up." He smiled bitterly. "Snape always did hate me. It's a low threshold of expectation."

"Sirius. That's a hell of a reason to let him fuck you."

He balled his fists in his cloak. "You don't know what you're talking about, Remus."

"I think that I do. Sirius, listen to me. Snape is a lonely, bitter, unhappy man, and he's not the sort of person you need to be around right now. Whatever it is you need, I can tell you he'll never be able to give it to you. He-"

"I need to be fucking you, is that it? Is that the answer to all my problems?"

Remus blanched. "That isn't what I-"

"Bullshit. Just spare me your complete and utter bullshit, for once. In case you hadn't noticed, I happen to be a lonely, bitter, unhappy man. And being around Snape suits me just fine, so fuck off, all right?"

Remus studied the snow at their feet. "Sure, Sirius. Whatever."

They walked the rest of they way to Hogsmeade in silence, and parted at Smoag's.

Day Twenty-One

"The crucial thing for the next few days," Snape was saying, "is to make sure the heat is kept at a constant level. Even a magical fire can begin to wane if not tended every few hours. And the heat level must be greater at this stage than before, or the components will begin to break down, and become volatile. A safety shield is a good idea at this point - a simple shielding charm should do the trick. Try adjusting the flame."

Sirius flicked his wand at the base of the cauldron, and red-orange flame curled up around its bottom. Snape shook his head. "Too much. Lower it now." Another flick of the wand, and the flames subsided to a steady glow.

"That will do," Snape said as Sirius scribbled in his notes. "Now start another cauldron, using some of that Emendragorum over there as a base. You'll want to liquefy the wings as much as possible before adding them."

Sirius uncorked the Emendragorum and sniffed it. "The fruits of Miss Coddleston-Fettway's labour?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Hardly. I wouldn't inflict her work on anyone, even Lupin." He strolled to the other side of the office where yet another cauldron simmered over its own fire. This cauldron was smaller than the other two, and silver. Blue-green bubbles drifted up to its surface from time to time, with barely audible pops. Sirius glanced over.

"Is that the same stuff you've been working on?"

"Yes. I began to wonder if the problem was not so much the potion, as the cauldron. It can happen sometimes, that a sensitive potion is adversely affected by the metal of the cauldron. It is rare, of course, but it can happen." He leaned down and ladled some of the liquid out, holding it up to the light, squinting at it.

"That's a lovely little cauldron. Is it sterling?"

"Yes," Snape replied absently. "It was a gift."

"Would it be rude to ask from whom?"

"Yes, but I shouldn't think that would stop you. It was given to me by my godfather, many years ago."

"Oh." He turned to the Emendragorum and the flutterwings. That was clearly all Snape was going to say on the subject. He wondered if this godfather had been in a position to know Sebastian Snape. "Were you close?"

"Yes." Snape's clipped tones admitted no further inquiry.

"So. Actual work tonight, then?"

"I'm afraid so. There isn't much even you can do to destroy the Wolfsbane at this point, Black, so I think I will leave you to it, if you don't mind. I may be close to actually achieving something with this preservative potion, and I don't want to leave it. If I can just-"

A shower of bluish-green sparks erupted from the silver cauldron with a hissing noise, and the liquid bubbled over, pouring out onto the counter. Snape recoiled and tossed his stirring rod in the sink in disgust. "Damn it to hell," he muttered.

Sirius smiled. "I think it would be a salutary experience for your students, seeing their Potions master in such a state."

"Just what the nitwits need," growled Snape, tipping the rest of the failed potion down the drain. "More incentive to idiocy. Damn it all."

"Oh, don't take it so hard. Even you're entitled to one or two failures. Come give me a hand over here."

Snape perched on the stool beside him, scowling. "It isn't one or two failures," he grumbled. "It is a consistent pattern. I've been working on this potion for the better part of a year, off and on, and still it manages to elude me. How could something so apparently simple be so much trouble? I don't understand it," he said, running a hand through his hair. "I have been over and