Chapter One
That autumn had been unusually warm. By day the sort of bright and yellow sun drawn by children crackled the brown leaves and delayed the death of the violently-pink flowers that had strangely blossomed beneath Sirius’ kitchen window.
Sirius sat looking at the flickering black-white static of his television, nursing the inch and a half of sugary brown liquor still slopping at the bottom of the bottle. His mind buzzed in time with the static, with sickening clarity despite having swallowed almost a bottle of paint stripping elf-made whisky.
When the wards went off it took him an age to answer the door to Severus Snape, his hands frustratingly slow and fumbling against the door handle. Even the obligatory scowl filled out his lips slowly and Snape looked at him with something like disgusted confusion, as though his scowl had somehow made itself into a smile between brain and lips.
Snape was hooded, his pale face grimy with a layer of yellowy-black. He looked as though he hadn’t bathed in days, or slept in even more.
They didn’t even bother with verbal sparring at the door. Sirius’ words felt as sluggish as his hands, and when they reached the living room and Sirius finally spoke it was slurred.
“I know why you’re here,” he said, looking at Snape with eyes that weren’t focussed enough to be accusing.
Snape stood stiffly, reluctant to indulge this casual reception. Sirius knew he was expected to fight. Voldemort himself had failed to court each of the Marauders. The challenge had been laid bare and this time they had not sent a smooth talking Death Eater, but Severus Snape who hated him.
Quite suddenly Snape’s fingers were twisted at his chin. Absurdly Sirius wondered if the hook-nosed Death Eater might kiss him, and laughed out a muffled exhalation. A single practiced hand popped the cork stopper from a vial and brought it into Sirius’ line of sight.
Sirius’ hands were free and twitched by his side, longing to slip into Snape’s cloak and wrap around his filthy throat. But a single thought stilled them, He can’t take the secret, not with his bitter potions, not with his wand or his fists.
Sirius would have opened his mouth, but Snape tore at his jaw anyway with bruising fingers. His hand smelled faintly sulphurous, permeating Sirius’ nose and making him gag when the thin tasteless liquid filled his mouth. The hand clamped over his mouth, tears filled his eyes and his throat worked convulsively to resist swallowing.
Snape thrust his head backwards and Sirius swallowed the potion. The moment it sloshed down his throat Snape’s hand was retracted to be wiped against his cloak, cleaning away Sirius’ spit and the small amount of potion that had spilled from his lips.
“Is your name Sirius Black?”
Sirius was still swallowing, fighting against the unsettled bile that had risen in his throat. He doubled over, a hand finding the arm of his sofa before he vomited a mess of brownish liquid onto the carpet. His stomach heaved and he vomited again, barely aware of Snape’s noises of indignation above him. Though still gurgling, the nausea in his stomach settled and Sirius pressed the back of his hand against his lips, wiping away the sticky trails of spit and whisky.
“Is your name Sirius Black?” Snape asked him again, seeming irritated that Sirius had vomited a good deal of his potion.
“Yes,” Sirius said thickly, “you know it is. Is that your new technique, irritate the fuck out of Black and maybe he’ll come along nicely?”
“What makes you think the Dark Lord needs your services Black? The Order of the Phoenix is failing, soon obeying him will not be a matter of choice,” Snape spat, the hood of his cloak falling back to uncover hair that hung in thin, stringy lumps about his sallow face.
“Fuck you,” Sirius told him, steadying himself on his feet. His muscles felt liquid, unwilling.
“Are you the best friend of James Potter and Godfather to his son, Harry Potter?” Snape asked, unrelenting.
“Yes,” Sirius said, wondering why Snape was bothering with this. They both knew that the Fidelus Charm could not be broken by a truth potion, and he was almost certain that it was a truth potion that now half gurgled in his stomach, the rest sinking into his carpet mixed with whisky.
“You think I’ve come to learn the secret?” Snape said in a low whisper, a hint of amusement playing across his pale lips “Potter is dead. The Dark Lord sent me to discover the depth of your treachery, to learn if indeed you can be of use.”
“THAT’S A LIE!” Sirius roared, angry that Snape would dare to say this. Did they think this would lower his guard, or that he would believe James , Lily and Harry could be dead whilst he lived and held the secret? He staggered forward, a hand raised, but Snape’s wand was ready and pointed determinedly at his chest.
“Do you know the location of James Potter?” Sirius met Snape’s eyes, seeing his own unkempt reflection in the dark of them. He opened his mouth to retort but it moved wordlessly, his voice box suddenly immoveable and emitting nothing. It was then that his mind began to reel, and he saw memories and thoughts fly before him as though on some fever-inspired muggle movie screen.
“Yes, yes!” he was shouting, lifting his hands to his head as Snape pawed through it clumsily. He knew that the Death Eaters could do this, but he had believed it would be silent, his thoughts stolen before he would know it. Snape seemed to be scraping through his mind, tearing through his intimate secrets with a deliberate carelessness.
What did you expect, kindness?
When Snape withdrew his legs gave as though it were the single force keeping him upright. There was a strange noise above him and he realised with a return of the sickness in his stomach that Snape was laughing.
“I’ve seen your twisted mind Black,” he was saying, the gleeful malice plain in his voice. He was bowed forward close to Sirius’ face, the greasy strings of black hair only shivering as he moved.
“The Dark Lord will make a deal, the Dark Lord will please your perverted little mind.” Sirius lifted his head, frowning in confusion. He didn’t understand Snape’s happiness. It was as though the Death Eater had found the key to what he wanted to know and was twisting, slowly fitting and finding the right hole to it into.
“You want Potter to live,” Snape said, peering at him. Sirius was silent, looking at the other man with wary confusion, “the Dark Lord will take the child, only the child. You could have….Potter.”
Snape seemed to fear saying their names in the same way that others feared to say Voldemort. Sirius launched himself upwards, swinging his fist into Snape’s arrogant ugly face. “No!” he said shouted, feeling the soft split of Snape’s lip beneath his knuckles.
“Crucio!” Snape screamed, blood dripping from his chin.
The world became pain, and Sirius cried out. There was no room for thinking or planning, only pain. And Sirius had always known it would have to be borne and ridden, whatever its end. He had invited this, had determined that he would put himself in the path of Voldemort.
His vision went blank.
Lily looked from Sirius to James, doubt in her green eyes. She didn’t like this plan but they had discussed it so many times. They would have to go into hiding, there was no other option. Wherever they were hidden, it seemed inevitable that Voldemort would pursue them to the ends of the earth.
Sirius leaned forward, eyes fixed on James “Come on Prongs. It’s the safest way, Dumbledore-“
“Dumbledore isn’t going to be Secret Keeper, is he?” James said, his eyes harder than Lily’s.
“James,” Sirius and Lily said that the same time. They shared a look and Sirius stood up, looking at his best friend with understanding.
“We have to decide tonight,” he said to both of them “I’ll come back after dinner.”
Sirius turned and headed for the doorway, giving a sigh and pushing his hair back as he walked. It was the only sensible option, why was James resisting it?
“You might die,” a voice said from behind him just as he reached for the door handle, “he’ll know it’s you and he’ll kill you for it.”
Sirius didn’t look over his shoulder, “I know.
Chapter Two
Sirius sat looking at the flickering black-white static of his television, nursing the inch and a half of sugary brown liquor still slopping at the bottom of the bottle. His mind buzzed in time with the static, with sickening clarity despite having swallowed almost a bottle of paint stripping elf-made whisky.
When the wards went off it took him an age to answer the door to Severus Snape, his hands frustratingly slow and fumbling against the door handle. Even the obligatory scowl filled out his lips slowly and Snape looked at him with something like disgusted confusion, as though his scowl had somehow made itself into a smile between brain and lips.
Snape was hooded, his pale face grimy with a layer of yellowy-black. He looked as though he hadn’t bathed in days, or slept in even more.
They didn’t even bother with verbal sparring at the door. Sirius’ words felt as sluggish as his hands, and when they reached the living room and Sirius finally spoke it was slurred.
“I know why you’re here,” he said, looking at Snape with eyes that weren’t focussed enough to be accusing.
Snape stood stiffly, reluctant to indulge this casual reception. Sirius knew he was expected to fight. Voldemort himself had failed to court each of the Marauders. The challenge had been laid bare and this time they had not sent a smooth talking Death Eater, but Severus Snape who hated him.
Quite suddenly Snape’s fingers were twisted at his chin. Absurdly Sirius wondered if the hook-nosed Death Eater might kiss him, and laughed out a muffled exhalation. A single practiced hand popped the cork stopper from a vial and brought it into Sirius’ line of sight.
Sirius’ hands were free and twitched by his side, longing to slip into Snape’s cloak and wrap around his filthy throat. But a single thought stilled them, He can’t take the secret, not with his bitter potions, not with his wand or his fists.
Sirius would have opened his mouth, but Snape tore at his jaw anyway with bruising fingers. His hand smelled faintly sulphurous, permeating Sirius’ nose and making him gag when the thin tasteless liquid filled his mouth. The hand clamped over his mouth, tears filled his eyes and his throat worked convulsively to resist swallowing.
Snape thrust his head backwards and Sirius swallowed the potion. The moment it sloshed down his throat Snape’s hand was retracted to be wiped against his cloak, cleaning away Sirius’ spit and the small amount of potion that had spilled from his lips.
“Is your name Sirius Black?”
Sirius was still swallowing, fighting against the unsettled bile that had risen in his throat. He doubled over, a hand finding the arm of his sofa before he vomited a mess of brownish liquid onto the carpet. His stomach heaved and he vomited again, barely aware of Snape’s noises of indignation above him. Though still gurgling, the nausea in his stomach settled and Sirius pressed the back of his hand against his lips, wiping away the sticky trails of spit and whisky.
“Is your name Sirius Black?” Snape asked him again, seeming irritated that Sirius had vomited a good deal of his potion.
“Yes,” Sirius said thickly, “you know it is. Is that your new technique, irritate the fuck out of Black and maybe he’ll come along nicely?”
“What makes you think the Dark Lord needs your services Black? The Order of the Phoenix is failing, soon obeying him will not be a matter of choice,” Snape spat, the hood of his cloak falling back to uncover hair that hung in thin, stringy lumps about his sallow face.
“Fuck you,” Sirius told him, steadying himself on his feet. His muscles felt liquid, unwilling.
“Are you the best friend of James Potter and Godfather to his son, Harry Potter?” Snape asked, unrelenting.
“Yes,” Sirius said, wondering why Snape was bothering with this. They both knew that the Fidelus Charm could not be broken by a truth potion, and he was almost certain that it was a truth potion that now half gurgled in his stomach, the rest sinking into his carpet mixed with whisky.
“You think I’ve come to learn the secret?” Snape said in a low whisper, a hint of amusement playing across his pale lips “Potter is dead. The Dark Lord sent me to discover the depth of your treachery, to learn if indeed you can be of use.”
“THAT’S A LIE!” Sirius roared, angry that Snape would dare to say this. Did they think this would lower his guard, or that he would believe James , Lily and Harry could be dead whilst he lived and held the secret? He staggered forward, a hand raised, but Snape’s wand was ready and pointed determinedly at his chest.
“Do you know the location of James Potter?” Sirius met Snape’s eyes, seeing his own unkempt reflection in the dark of them. He opened his mouth to retort but it moved wordlessly, his voice box suddenly immoveable and emitting nothing. It was then that his mind began to reel, and he saw memories and thoughts fly before him as though on some fever-inspired muggle movie screen.
“Yes, yes!” he was shouting, lifting his hands to his head as Snape pawed through it clumsily. He knew that the Death Eaters could do this, but he had believed it would be silent, his thoughts stolen before he would know it. Snape seemed to be scraping through his mind, tearing through his intimate secrets with a deliberate carelessness.
What did you expect, kindness?
When Snape withdrew his legs gave as though it were the single force keeping him upright. There was a strange noise above him and he realised with a return of the sickness in his stomach that Snape was laughing.
“I’ve seen your twisted mind Black,” he was saying, the gleeful malice plain in his voice. He was bowed forward close to Sirius’ face, the greasy strings of black hair only shivering as he moved.
“The Dark Lord will make a deal, the Dark Lord will please your perverted little mind.” Sirius lifted his head, frowning in confusion. He didn’t understand Snape’s happiness. It was as though the Death Eater had found the key to what he wanted to know and was twisting, slowly fitting and finding the right hole to it into.
“You want Potter to live,” Snape said, peering at him. Sirius was silent, looking at the other man with wary confusion, “the Dark Lord will take the child, only the child. You could have….Potter.”
Snape seemed to fear saying their names in the same way that others feared to say Voldemort. Sirius launched himself upwards, swinging his fist into Snape’s arrogant ugly face. “No!” he said shouted, feeling the soft split of Snape’s lip beneath his knuckles.
“Crucio!” Snape screamed, blood dripping from his chin.
The world became pain, and Sirius cried out. There was no room for thinking or planning, only pain. And Sirius had always known it would have to be borne and ridden, whatever its end. He had invited this, had determined that he would put himself in the path of Voldemort.
His vision went blank.
Lily looked from Sirius to James, doubt in her green eyes. She didn’t like this plan but they had discussed it so many times. They would have to go into hiding, there was no other option. Wherever they were hidden, it seemed inevitable that Voldemort would pursue them to the ends of the earth.
Sirius leaned forward, eyes fixed on James “Come on Prongs. It’s the safest way, Dumbledore-“
“Dumbledore isn’t going to be Secret Keeper, is he?” James said, his eyes harder than Lily’s.
“James,” Sirius and Lily said that the same time. They shared a look and Sirius stood up, looking at his best friend with understanding.
“We have to decide tonight,” he said to both of them “I’ll come back after dinner.”
Sirius turned and headed for the doorway, giving a sigh and pushing his hair back as he walked. It was the only sensible option, why was James resisting it?
“You might die,” a voice said from behind him just as he reached for the door handle, “he’ll know it’s you and he’ll kill you for it.”
Sirius didn’t look over his shoulder, “I know.
Chapter Two