Chapter Three

Chapter Three

Snape closed his eyes for a moment longer than a blink, as he saw Black walk towards where Crouch and Dumbledore had bent over a parchment. Black took a quill from Crouch and signed his name at the bottom of the document, presumably some sort of transfer of ownership form; as though he were a dangerous licensed piece of livestock, like a dragon or a hippogriff, he thought sourly to himself. Of all of the options for the incarceration he hadn't much cared about, this one hadn't even occurred to him as a possibility.

When Dumbledore had told him he had prepared the way for as fair a hearing as he could hope for, he had assumed he would be placed in Hogwarts under the benignly annoying gaze of the Headmaster, to waste his life away in whatever useless way Dumbledore saw fit, either that or a relatively quick year or two in Azkaban; neither choice was more appealing than the other. The short truth of it was that Severus Snape didn't care anymore.

For eight years he had endured the contempt and even the hatred of the people he had worked to protect; he hadn't even been able to tell the man he loved just what his true role in life was. It was too dangerous; one whiff of what he was up to would have brought the whole lot tumbling about his ears, and the Dark Lord's retribution along with it. And it hadn't mattered anyway; none of it had. He had failed; in the only true meaning of the word he had failed, in that he had not succeeded in keeping alive the one person he cared about.

And now Black had stepped into his life, such as it was, uninvited, just when he knew his defences were at their lowest; just when he thought he could finally let the shield fall from his hand because it didn't matter any longer, he would have to raise it again. He kept trying to remind himself that he had finished with James anyway, that there had been nothing left between them but bitterness and accusation, and a lost love and a cold space where his heart had once lived. He wondered how it had all gone so wrong.

Severus watched Black turn and nod to Kingsley Shacklebolt, and felt the release of the tension of the chains that bound him to the black Auror; he hadn't even noticed Sirius releasing his own, presumably when he'd moved towards Crouch. He wondered what this was about, what sort of torment he had in mind for him. Sirius Black's prisoner, just when he thought he'd reached the bottom floor of hell, some ungracious bastard opened a trap door.

*****

Even before he'd caught the black eyes in the courtroom after he'd taken the Unbreakable Wizengamot Order, Sirius had known this was going to be difficult; he was only glad Regulus was still missing, he didn't need the extra complication. Difficult or not, he found it hard to stifle the little knot of excitement as he opened the door of number twelve, Grimmauld Place and Snape followed him into the hallway. For the time being at least, Severus Snape was his; he wondered if he would have him here for long enough to carry out the mad plan that had begun to form in his head.

He nodded Snape into the kitchen, carefully resisting the temptation to look at the scorched flagstone that marked the spot where Peter Pettigrew had burned.

'We can do this two ways,' he said. 'I suggest you sit down and we'll discuss them.'

The dark eyes gave nothing away as Snape sat opposite him. He looked across at the blackened flagstone that Sirius had avoided, with what looked like mild curiosity, before looking back at Black. 'Am I permitted to speak?' he asked, breaking his silence for the first time as he raised his eyebrow in that insufferably superior way he had. Damn Slytherins, they all did that.

'You can do anything you want,' Sirius flared. 'Except leave here, until Dumbledore says otherwise.'

'I see,' Snape replied. 'Just what were you going to tell me?'

Sirius had a feeling he was laughing at him, but he swallowed his temper. 'As I said, we can do this two ways. We can either be civilised, and ignore the fact that you're not here of your own free will, or you can be difficult and the time here is going to drag out like a prison term.'

'It is a prison term. I shall be difficult, but thank you for the choice,' Snape replied and stood up. 'I take it that option does not involve conversation?'

'Have it your own way,' Sirius snapped, and dragged Kreacher from under the sink. 'Go and make a guest bedroom half-decent, if you know what that means,' he snarled at the elf and then gave Snape a hard look. 'Unless you'd prefer me to call it a cell?'

'Don't be petty, Black,' Snape replied. 'It's very childish.'

*****

'How's it going?' Lupin smiled his self-effacing smile across the kitchen table a week later.

Sirius gritted his teeth. 'My mother, may Merlin finally convince her to lie down now that she's dead, is still going berserk about half-blood infestation; Kreacher has continued to weep such a flood of tears in sympathy with her that I've now given him a bucket to catch them in, and well...' He trailed off and sighed for dramatic effect he knew would be lost on Lupin. 'I'm not sure that Snape prefers Grimmauld Place to Azkaban. He's certainly made it clear the food couldn't be any worse. Apart from that, it's going fine.'

Lupin looked around the kitchen with its peeling paint where the plaster was splitting, and its flagstone floor, still complete with the scorch mark, and the table which hadn't been scrubbed for a month too long. He wondered why Sirius put up with the mess, and if he should tell him that the place was so untidy and grubby that there was a good chance he was still inhaling bits of Peter Pettigrew every time he breathed in.

'You can see his point, Paddy. It's not exactly homely,' he said mildly.

'Don't you start.' Sirius pointed an accusing finger at the werewolf. 'I've had just about enough of him complaining. It's not as though he's a paying customer.'

'He's a prisoner, Sirius. What did you expect? Gratitude?'

'I could have let them bang him up in Azkaban for the rest of his natural,' Sirius snapped. 'They would have, if we hadn't turned our tongues black lying for him.'

'I don't know why you brought him here anyway,' Lupin went on in his placid way, as though he really didn't know why Sirius had brought Snape there. 'Dumbledore would have taken him to Hogwarts; that was his original plan. He was quite put out with you for volunteering. I bet Lucius isn't too pleased either,' he said meaningfully.

'Yeah, well,' Sirius grunted, trying to change Lupin's line of fire. 'It wasn't really fair, was it? I mean, he did it for James, and James was my mate.'

Lupin nodded and Sirius had a suspicion he was trying to keep a straight face with some difficulty. 'Oh well, if that's the song you want to sing,' the werewolf said and smiled knowingly.

'What's that supposed to mean?'

'Oh, nothing. I was really asking if you'd thawed him out at all?'

'No,' Sirius snapped. 'Are you happy now; or was there anything else you wanted to know?'

Lupin shrugged as he stood up. 'Not really,' he said. 'We've got a meeting here tomorrow afternoon, remember. Try and tidy up a bit. It's embarrassing calling you a friend when you live in this tip.'

'But not too embarrassing to kip here when you've been turfed out of your lodgings for not paying your rent?' Sirius said, letting his customary grin slip onto his face.

'A man's got to prioritise,' Lupin replied, as he pocketed Sirius's cigarettes by mistake, and both men pretended they hadn't noticed.

*****

Severus waited until he heard the door close on the werewolf before standing from the bed. He'd wanted to go downstairs for a while now, but he was finding it difficult to gauge Black or his motives. He had considered just asking him if he had taken him in out of some kind of spite for having dared to have an affair with James, or even retribution upon him for existing.

He tried not to think of James, of what they had shared: the young love, the bitter recriminations as Severus was passed over for Lily, the torrid encounters after the two had married, the frequent break ups and fights until Severus had called a halt to what he was doing to himself, just before the birth of James's son. He hadn't cared to slip any further down the pecking order, or that was how he had justified it to himself. He'd had no future with James; he'd been clinging onto nothing, and he had no future without him, and now he'd spent the last week avoiding Black and steeping himself in a nauseating mixture of self-doubts, self-recrimination and self-pity.

As he slid bit by wretched bit into despondency it seemed to him that everything he had ever done had been laced with bitterness; his whole life had been tainted in some way, as though some grand scheme were afoot, twisting everything in his path. Everything about him was second, from the second-hand clothes he'd worn as a boy to the second-hand love he'd found slipping away from him, as James put his own family first. It was too late to change now; he was what he was, a lonely resentful man, angry and disillusioned, the result of his own folly, labelled in his own mind as a failure before he was thirty. Perhaps he should just have succumbed to the constant pressure from Lucius, he thought sourly; at least he could have suffered in some degree of comfort.

He looked around the horrible bedroom properly for the first time since he'd arrived last week. Here and there the gold leaf, which someone had painted on in what they had mistaken for sophistication, was peeling off the ugly baroque cornicing, baring cherubs' bottoms and angels' breasts alike; the blood-red curtains looked as though the only thing that stopped them collapsing to the floor in a heap of moth-eaten dust were the very moths themselves, at least he hoped that was the source of the occasional twitch they made of their own accord. The bed, with its sagging mattress and doubtful pillows, had given him the backache it promised the first night he slept on it, and he had forsaken it for the floor, only replacing the bedclothes through the day so he didn't trip over them. He kept reminding himself it was better than Azkaban; at least he had the privacy of his own bathroom. Sometimes the water even managed to gurgle that far up the ancient plumbing system.

He crossed the room, giving one last disgusted look around, wondering why wizards seemed to consider dust, cobwebs and bad taste were the first necessities of interior decorating, and opened the door, without realising he was answering a knock.

'Are you coming downstairs for something to eat? Because I'm not bringing it upstairs for you,' Black said. 'Or maybe you thought you'd just have another slice of self-pity pie? You seem to enjoy it.'

Severus wondered if there were something deliberately challenging about the way the damned Gryffindor stood propped against the door frame. 'What have you made?' he asked, ignoring the well-earned jibe, but making some belated attempt at social interaction.

'Nothing yet,' Black replied and gave him his cheap grin. 'What do you fancy?'

'Nothing. I'm not hungry. I'll just stick to the pie, thank you.' He began to close the door and found it sticking on Black's foot, noticing that for some reason it was bare. That left him with two choices; he could have broken his foot, but he took the more unacceptable option and opened it again. 'What do you want from me, Black?'

'Try a bit harder, Severus,' Sirius replied. 'I live here too. Let's just make the best of it. It shouldn't be for too much longer now.'

For a man in the heart of his own territory Severus thought that Black suddenly looked ridiculously vulnerable. He felt himself nod and hoped Sirius wouldn't mistake it for contrition. 'I know, I'm sorry,' he lied. 'I'm just finding things a bit difficult just now.' He stifled the flutter in the pit of his stomach as he let himself hold the confusion in the pale blue eyes. 'What do you want from me, Black?' he repeated, unsurprised that his voice was barely a whisper.

'I suppose a fuck's out of the question?'

*****

Sirius hadn't a clue how it had happened. One moment he was in the middle of another uncomfortable standoff, and although he didn't admit it himself, being made to feel inadequate and unwanted, and the next he found himself slammed against the wall and forced to his knees.

'Is this what you're angling for, you cheap tart?' Snape snarled at him, and grabbed his shoulder in a vice-like grip, dragging him upright again before thrusting him onto the bed. 'I'll make you wish you'd flaunted yourself at someone else, you whore.'

'Think you're man enough?' Sirius barked a harsh laugh from where his head had landed on the pillow and his hair fanned out on the faded old cream linen. 'Fuck,' he gasped as Snape slapped him cleanly across the face, leaving a stinging echo where his hand had landed.

'Speak when you're spoken to,' Snape growled above him, forcing his legs wide with his knee.

Sirius gasped again as Severus pulled his trousers open, sending the buttons flying to land forgotten on the floor. Snape ripped Sirius's shirt apart next, lifting him bodily from the bed and tugging it free to toss it over his shoulder. He hoisted Sirius's arse up and pulled the trousers off along with his pants, flinging them across the room, shoving the pillow his head was on below the small of his back instead.

Sirius stifled a groan. He felt vulnerable, exposed, and more alive than he'd felt for a long, long time. He watched as Snape took off his own black shirt, seemingly content now to take his time; his quarry wasn't going anywhere. He stood up, kicking off his shoes and removing his black socks, and slowly unbuttoned his own trousers, letting them fall to ground, before hooking his thumbs into his underpants and pulling them down, stepping out of both garments like a cat.

For some reason Sirius had expected him to be thin, perhaps white and slackly-muscled, not the toned body that loomed over him, the taut marble-white skin covered from head to foot in a mat of silky black hair. There was something fittingly animal about him; no wonder James had kept him under wraps. He stifled his gasp this time as Snape knocked his hand away from where he had begun to give his cock the urgent attention it demanded.

'I shall let you know if you can play with yourself, you shameless slut,' he said in a low menacing voice.

Sirius found Snape had knelt between his knees, shoving them apart as though his rite of passage was not used to being denied. He felt the long-fingered, white hand drift across his chest and arched his back to prolong the silky touch, the teasing way in which Severus let his fingertips drift over his nipples, as Sirius felt his breath begin to rasp and his sweat begin to run. Still the black eyes told him nothing, impenetrable pits that faded to just a glitter as Snape darkened the room. Sirius sensed him throw back his head and knew he'd stifled his own gasp as he felt the fingers begin to explore his body, leaving his skin tingling in their wake as every muscle in his body longed for release.

At last he felt Snape drop his head to him and find his mouth, and Sirius lashed his tongue between his teeth in response. He wasn't sure when Snape lost control, or if he ever did, as he felt his own urgency mount until he begged him with every fibre of his being except the voice he had been forbidden to use, to take him and use him as he saw fit. He only knew the endgame was coming when he felt Snape slip a couple of slim fingers inside him, stretching him, making ready for the invader he longed to welcome. He knew he had slicked some kind of gel into him as he felt himself tighten then relax to take him. He clenched again, hearing Severus gasp as he did so, and then surrendered himself so completely that he was barely conscious of who he was, only what he was.

Severus took him to a place he'd never been, a place of white-hot pain so intermingled with desire and the need to please him that he never wanted to leave, as his flying endorphins led the way to the outer edge of his fantasies. He knew he was tearing him apart and could think of nothing but wanting more until at last he felt Severus change to a pace even more urgent. Sirius's only regret was that this might end, until he could regret no more as he sensed the hot flood inside him as his own vision starred and he almost blacked out, spilling his seed over his flashing fist.

*****

Snape woke with a start, for a moment unsure of where he was; he had almost thought he was lying with James and they had overslept until his life slipped into perspective again. The only relief in where he found himself was that the bed was empty of anyone else; Black had left. He wondered what time it was as he lit the room. Quite late, he suspected; he had slept deeply. He almost laughed as he realised he was hungry. For the first time since James had died he was ravenously hungry; he wasn't quite sure what he wanted to do about that though.

Severus hauled himself out of the bed, manfully ignoring the twinge in his back, and stifled the smirk he felt try to lift the corner of his thin mouth as he thought about Black. He was surprised that he couldn't find it within himself to regret what had happened. He had needed it, as though it were a physical purging of his emotions; Black obviously had too. They were over the age of consent, and after all a fuck was only a fuck, he told himself.

He made his way into the bathroom. It had been tastelessly tiled in dark green and he had a suspicion that the decision had been made on the colour with the sole purpose of hiding the grime. He turned the tap and got his second pleasant surprise; the water was hot enough to have a long shower, and he let the warm spray wash away a bit more of the tension along with the combination of his own and the other man's sweat.

Snape dried himself quickly on the threadbare towel, roughly rubbed his long dark hair into a submission of damp already-tangled ropes, and dressed in his customary fashion of faded black. He was going to have to move out of the room eventually, he reasoned to himself; he might as well do it now. He was halfway down the stairs when he heard voices issuing from the kitchen along with the smell of something unpalatable being burnt; at least it wasn't Peter Pettigrew this time.

He frowned as he recognised the second voice; he wondered what had brought Lucius here and how he had found the house. Severus knew it was unplottable; that meant Black must have invited him. It began to confirm a suspicion that had nagged at him on and off for a long time, centering around Black and Lucius, but he couldn't make anything from the few fragments of conversation that drifted from the almost closed door, except that something seemed to be wrong.

*****