Part Two: An Inconvenient Affair

[siriusblk_mod]

Title: An Inconvenient Affair
Author: carolinelamb
Pairing(s)/character(s): Sirius Black/Severus Snape, Highlight to read*Hermione/Pansy,*
Rating: NC-17
Prompt #: 14 (by sookie_marsters)
Word count: ~14.170
Summary: After a chance meeting at a muggle bar the two rivals manage to get drunk and fall into bed together. They agree on a "just sex" relationship but what happens when the walls start falling down and Sirius and Severus start actually liking each other?
Warnings: Highlight to read*Rimming, oral, Bottom!Snape, Bottom!Sirius, descriptions of alcohol intake and the resulting loss of inhibitions,*
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and their characters belong to JKR and her affiliates. I, the author, make no profit.

A/N: Thank you, dear Beta for your help! All remaining mistakes are mine! Thank you, dear Mods for hosting this fest and bring back Sirius Black to life (and love ;)!



02.

They spend entire days together. Not because they're interested in a relationship-they're not-but because it's more practical.

In the beginning Sirius returns home in the afternoon, but more often than not, they'll bump into each other in the wine bar later in the evening and then they end up in Sirius' or Snape's place anyway. It's only logical to have a tooth brush at Snape's place. And it's also a moot point to complain about Snape leaving his robe on Sirius' arm chair when he'll be back the same evening.

Besides, Sirius likes the smell of Snape's robes. Although Snape denies it in the beginning, he does use cologne-very expensive, custom-tailored cologne, made for him in a small perfume shop in Bruege, and Sirius loves the scent of Snape and that cologne clinging to the robes. When Snape can't make it, Sirius sometimes takes the robe with him to bed or turns into Padfoot and curls himself on top of it to sleep.

Sirius would of course never ever admit to anyone that whenever he sees a man approach Snape in the wine bar, he sends a silent, unobtrusive hex their way, usually some small curse that makes the genitals itch. It's not that Sirius is jealous-he's not. It's only that should Snape pick someone else up, he'd take him upstairs. They would have sex in his bed, and Black doesn't like the smell of others in their … in Snape's bed. Padfoot's nose is very, very sensitive, and the smell of strangers in Snape's apartment, especially in their bed room would drive him crazy.

Another part of their agreement is that they don't contact each other. Admittedly they both break the rule after one week, but only because … it's an idiotic rule.

Around the end of June Snape went to the bar on Friday night, as usual, but Sirius received a Floo call from Harry who invited him to his birthday party. Ironically he also warned him about Snape.

"It's kind of an unlikely coincidence but Severus Snape has moved close your place, so you might run into him," Harry said. "Just to let you know. Anyway I also invited him to the party. You can practice being civil towards him."

Oh, we have enough practice, methinks.

"That's all right," Sirius replied, very casually, "We're both older and more mature and won't hex each other on sight. You do remember how I apologised to him in St. Mungo's right?"

Harry, pushing up a finger up his nose where his glasses used to be, nodded approvingly. There was still this slight accusing look in his eyes, and Sirius trying to ignore it, asked: “So, what are you up to these days?”

Harry answered politely but Sirius could feel the distance between them. Suddenly for a short moment he itched with the desire to tell him that he and Snape were friends now just to make Harry look at him differently.

Hastily Sirius shut the Floo connection and stared blankly at the wall.

By the time he finally made it to the wine bar Snape was gone, and Sirius nearly Apparated directly into Snape's apartment before he remembered their casual agreement, hurried home and owled Snape. Snape, almost as if he had waited, owled back instantly, and only then did Sirius Apparate from his home into Snape's living room-where he was lying on the couch, wearing nothing but a smirk.

From then on they abandoned the whole rule about not contacting each other.

After week two Sirius buys them two identical mobile phones. If they're living in muggle London, these devices are infinitely more practical, and Snape, pragmatic as he is, agrees.

Also, texting is fun.

"I want to suck your sock!" is Sirius' first infantile and enthusiastic message.

“Please go to your settings and disable autocorrect,” Snape instructs him promptly.

“Damn autocorrect!” Sirius types, furiously blushing. “I meant cock. C O C K … okay?”

A few days later again, Sirius is out and about, buying birthday presents for Harry, and because he's bored, he calls Snape, just to leave him a message. He never expects him to pick up the phone either, but to Sirius' great surprise Snape does, and they talk, almost like friends, and it turns out that Snape happpens to be just around the corner, and then they meet in a cafe to have lunch together.

It also turns out that Snape doesn't have anything to do for the rest of the day, since he does all his brewing in the mornings, and it would be idiotic not to take advantage of that, and they spend the day together. And the night. And since Sirius has nothing important to do, and brewing potions on his own is not incredibly entertaining, Sirius accompanies Snape home, even helps him with a few of the easier potions.

The early summer days pass like this-they never quite plan to meet and never explicitly make agreements yet they end up going to the wine bar, where Inga smirks knowingly at them, share a bottle of wine and then go home together … every evening.

They may not start out as friends, but bit by bit, day by day, and night by night, another piece of their past crumbles away, another grudge is buried and another nightmare evaporates.

Then the day of Harry's birthday party approaches.

Of course Snape has balked until the last moment to go, but Sirius has wheedled and blackmailed and bribed him into going. Somehow the idea of spending an entire evening at Harry's new place with people he doesn't really know, isn't very enticing. It doesn't have anything to do with Sirius spending the first evening without Snape.

Snape and Sirius spend the morning in bed together-reading and playing chess and watching a film. Weekends are muggle days, according to Sirius. They discuss even muggle politics, although it's less discussing then agreeing with each other.

At some point Sirius turns into Padfoot, and nuzzles Snape with his cold wet nose. The chess board falls off the bed, and Snape, obviously far more ticklish than he lets on, opens his mouth wide and guffaws.

It's that exact moment where Sirius feels an odd sting in his chest. Turning back into his human form, he watches Snape, who still grinning, gathers the chess pieces from the floor.

Who knew that Snape can be just a … normal guy?

Later, they help each other to get dressed.

"You know I have this pain in my knee when I do this movement," Sirius complains, and twists his knee a little outwards.

"In your age you should avoid all unnatural movements," Snape simply replies, tapping, then rubbing the offending knee. "Just don't twist it like this, and you should be fine."

"Hmpf." Sirius straightens Snape' robes with his wand. "Can't you make a potion for that?"

"I'm a potion master not a wonder healer," Snape says.

They both Apparate to the street where Harry and Ginny's new house is, a few metres further away.

"Go first," Snape tells him.

"We can arrive at the same time," Sirius says. "We could have met in the street."

Snape only rolls his eyes.

"All right, all right …" Sirius strides to the entrance door and knocks.

Ginny opens the door. "Sirius!" she flings her arms around him. "I'm so glad you could make it!"

They chat in the hallway and a few minutes later Snape arrives and they begin immediately to ignore each other. It is a little awkward though because none of them can look the other in the eye.

Sirius can't hear what Snape says to Harry, but the low, pleasant hum of his voice caresses his spine, and he edges a bit closer. Ah, they talk about potions! How original!

"Sirius? Are you all right?" Ginny peers curiously at him. Damn. He wasn't really listening to her, and has no idea what she is talking about.

"I'm a little thirsty," he says. "Let me get myself a glass of water. Would you like something too?"

She smiles, none the wiser, god bless her unassuming soul. "I'm all right-I'll be in the living room-the kitchen is down the hallway, and the last door to the left!"

When he passes Harry and Snape, he debates with himself if he should just slink past to the kitchen or stop. Wouldn't it look strange if he wouldn't greet Harry? Or would it look odd if he stops to chat with Harry and Snape? Which behaviour would be more suspicious?

Thankfully the decision is taken out of his hands, as Harry spots him and gives him a nervous, little wave. He immediately walks over to Harry and shakes his hand vigorously, then to show that he is really here because of Harry, pulls him into an embrace. He looks at Snape over Harry's shoulder, and can't help but wink at him. Snape stares back at him, incredulous.

"Er … wow, Sirius!" Harry says, only a little uncomfortable, "it's really nice to see you too! And I see you're really happy to see me!"

Don't behave odd, a voice in Sirius' mind shrills.

Aware of the many glances thrown his way, he stands back. He is sure that Arthur Weasley and Kingsley, both, are surreptitiously aiming their wands at Sirius and Snape.

"How are you doing … Sev-Snape?" he asks, ignoring Harry's frown and narrowed eyes.

Snape's lips thin and two hectic red blotches appear on his cheeks. God, he looks kind of adorable now, like an embarrassed black rain cloud, hovering in the hallway, all puffed up in black robes.

Sirius chuckles, then stops himself.

"I'm … fine," Snape says barely civilly and in his ice queen demeanour.

For a very long awkward moment they stand and stare, and everyone close to them is staring too. Then Sirius turns on his heels and marches into the living room.

"What the hell was that?" he hears somebody mutter.

Luna chats him up, smiling up at him with big dreamy eyes, then Seamus, then even some of the Slytherins come to talk to him. Most of them are really nice, young kids in their sneakers and hoodies. Apparently one of the big topics is Azkaban-everyone has plans for it seems, another one is the new change of law about the use of Veritaserum in trials and interrogations and another group discusses the statute of secrecy.

It's strange how he has no idea what's going on in the Wizarding World anymore. It's as if the kids have taken everything into their hands and are doing what they're doing best: shatter old rules, implement new ideas. Maybe this is why Snape is doing his potion business and writing from his apartment in London. He too feels out of place in this new, shiny post-war world.

When he slyly turns around, he sees that Snape is about to leave, that cowardly traitor. Before he can follow him, Hermione and Ron are stopping him.

"Sirius! We didn't have a chance to talk to you at all this evening!" Hermione says warmly.

"Well, you're busy being crowded by fans!" Sirius grumbles. He doesn't dare to turn around again, to see if Snape is still here. He wishes he still were.

“Where are you going? You just arrived!” Sirius suppresses the impulse to hex Ron.

When he hears the entry door close, his heart sinks a little.

"There are some very bright kids here tonight … Harry's foundation is doing good work," Ron says.

"I'm sure," Sirius is embarrassed that he has actually no clue about Harry's foundation. Harry did tell him about it, but while they were talking, he had been thinking about Snape and his talented cock and had only nodded along Harry's words.

"Didn't Harry tell you?" Hermione is scandalised, and when Harry walks past she snatches him at his sleeve. "You didn't tell Sirius about your foundation?"

"What? I did!"

"Right!" Sirius mumbles, downing his second drink. To hide his embarrassment he manages to escape to the kitchen where someone-a former Ravenclaw, a bit older than Harry-pushes a rainbow coloured drink into his hand. Only after he has emptied the entire glass he realises that this drink is stronger than ten Long Island Ice teas. Damn.

And Snape really has left.

He'll make him pay for that. Abandoning him with all these smart, well-educated kids … that's low even for Snape.

"Snape was here?" a female voice behind him asks.

"Fuck off, he wasn't!"

"I saw him! He was lurking about in the hallway, sucking up to Harry!"

"Jim!"

"Aw, come on, it's true! He's trying to get close to Potter, especially after he's not working at Hogwarts any longer. The ministry won't have him either. No one wants to have anything to do with that creepy turncoat!"

Something in Sirius snaps.

"Severus Snape doesn't need Hogwarts or the ministry," Sirius says angrily, and he is for a moment annoyed by the fact, that his voice sounds so much older, "If you'd know what you're talking about, you'd know that both Hogwarts and the ministry of Magic offered him permanent positions which Snape refused."

Irritated he takes another sip from his drink, and decides to shut up. Instead he hears his own voice loud and clearly saying, "Snape is a hero, who was severely injured, and has nearly bled to death, trying to protect Harry Potter, after he had risked his life for almost twenty years, all in order to ensure that Harry Potter could succeed defeating Voldemort."

He steps closer to the young man who had spoken. "Tell me-what exactly was your contribution?"

Everyone is silent. Earnest young faces look at him. He hears someone whispering. "That's Sirius Black!"

He shakes his head. What is he even doing here? He turns around to leave the room, and bumps into the trio-all of them; Ron and Hermione who look at him as if he has grown a second head. Harry though regards him with a warm smile, as if he's pleasantly surprised.

This time he doesn't bother texting Snape. He just Apparates directly into his hallway.

Snape is still up. His cloak and the woollen robe is lying on an arm chair and he is sitting in his white cotton tunic on his couch in front of the Floo, rather primly.

"You coward!" Sirius says, "of course you left me alone!"

"Of course," says Snape, with his curled upper lip, "what else did you expect?"

"Too bad. I was looking forward to a round of fucking in Harry and Ginny's walking wardrobe," Sirius replies dryly.

Snape thins his lips in a way that Sirius used to interpret as anger and fury. Now he knows that he really is suppressing a grin.

"Or sucking your cock in their toilet," Sirius continues while he is undressing himself. When he is naked he begins pushing up Snape's tunic who smirks and sits back and spreads his legs.

Sirius slowly kneels between Snape's legs and caresses the thin, wiry calves, slides his palms over the knobbly knees, and up over the warm thighs, kneading them. He pushes the soft cotton of the tunic up and it bunches in Snape's crotch. He can see the flushed tip of Snape's cock, straining upwards against its own weight.

Feeling giddy for no reason he nuzzles his face against Snape's crotch, mouths the cock through the fabric, then pulls the fabric over the head and begins lapping at the hot shaft. White, soft cotton settles around him.

Snape's cock is dark, an angry purple, and very veiny. The round, spongy glans flares out a little bit, and is sticky with pre-come. Severus' balls are large and heavy-and very sensitive, as Sirius has learned in the very first days. He smells good. Perhaps not in the common sense-Snape doesn't smell of peaches and roses. There's that sharp smell of piss at the tip, a darker, heavier smell around the foreskin, the faint traces of the olive soap he uses clinging to the pubic hair-all together it's just so Severus and he likes it.

When he has teased the man enough Sirius moves quickly and swallows the entire length, really pushes it so far deep inside his mouth, he chokes around it, and he can press his nose into Snape's pubic hair.

Snape never lasts a minute.

*****

Before the end of the war, Severus has never allowed himself to live. Since the day Lily had died and he had agreed to work as a double agent he had been biding time, waiting for the next briefing, the next mission.

At times he had imagined Dumbledore caring for him, like a friend might care for another, like a father for his son, but in the end this kind illusion had been shattered like all others. And yet-despite the hopelessness of the times, he had held out this stubborn hope that finally after this war there might be a life for him too.

Two years before the Battle of Hogwarts took place, when Dumbledore had called him to his office and explained his plan to him, given him the task to kill him, his suspicion had turned into a chilling conviction: he would not survive the war.

In that moment he had known that Dumbledore had never meant for him to live. The only thing that had mattered had been to keep Harry Potter alive as long as possible. Nothing else had mattered to Dumbledore.

Bleeding out on the grimy floor of the Shrieking Shack he had laughed at himself for his foolish hopes (and cried, because underneath them all and despite the bleakness of his existence he had wanted to live, had so longed for something else than the inevitable).

He remembers the exchange with Harry only dimly. Potter loves to re-tell that scene-it obviously left a great impression on him, but in all honesty, Severus doesn't remember much after being struck by the snake. Despite the extensive measures taken, antidotes, protection charms and such, the venom had spread, chilled his body and paralysed it. He had felt the coldness creeping up through his body, like Socrates, had experienced the absolute reality of dying.

After Potter had left, he had slowly moved away from his body, much like the tide pulled from a shore. His mind had drifted between odd, dis-jointed images; his own likeness as a young boy of eleven or twelve had materialised before him, sitting in the corner with his knees pulled up, looking curiously at his dying body.

He saw his fifteen year old self, scrambling away from the Werewolf. Unable to move, the venom reaching his torso, where it would soon grasp the heart and still its beating, he watched the memory, so clear and crisp as if he were immersed in a pensieve. James Potter pulled him away, and he took care of looking closely at Potter's face, his expression, the fear in his eyes, the panic.

He had never doubted James Potter's true motives. He had, in his heart always known that Potter's reason for risking his own life for him hadn't been Lily, or the fear of being expelled, or to lose Lupin. It had been because he couldn't bear to be responsible for the taking of another life-but Severus had been just like him. He too, could have never endured to be responsible for someone else's death, yet no one had lauded him for that. Potter had been treated like a hero, when he had only done what he, Severus, would have done too.

Just before the door of the shack closed, James Potter saw him. Their eyes locked. He was too weak to say what he wanted to tell him, that in death nothing mattered anymore, but then who would know better than Potter himself. Potter seemed to understand. He closed the door.

The Werewolf stood in front of him, and Severus, who could not close his eyes, saw the beast’s mindless, empty gaze. Somewhere in there was Remus Lupin, sleeping and unaware. The Wolf did nothing for a while, simply gazed, then strode away and lay down in a dusty corner of the shack.

Lily sat in front of him, young, still twenty-years old, the way he remembered her. He would have liked to open his mouth and ask her if he could be with her, when this was over.

She shook her head as if she had heard his thoughts.

Goodbye, he heard her voice in his mind and then she was gone again.

And suddenly Sirius Black appeared, standing in the middle of the Shrieking Shack.

He just stood there, gazing at him with an unreadable expression and Severus by that time completely paralysed, could not move his head away, could not move a muscle. He was aware that it was his own mind conjuring up the image of Sirius Black of all people-in the very last moments of his life.

Black approached, then sank to his knees and reached out to touch his cheek, as if he were blind. On Severus ice-cold skin the fingers felt hot. He touched the forehead, the temple and cheekbones in a caressing manner, fingers sliding down, finally stroking his lips. In a last surge of what he thought was panic and a notion of hilarity he thought, "It means I am telling myself that I desired him. Can I please die now?"

Black hadn't said anything, but he had smiled as if he had heard Severus' thoughts, and as expected Severus had felt darkness closing in on him.

*****

The next time he had opened his eyes again, Sirius Black had been the first thing he had remembered.

Black, he had thought.

Only then the world slowly had lost its grey, grainy fuzziness and revealed the ceiling of St. Mungo's.

He had never told anyone of what he had seen before his death but had assumed that Sirius' Black's return from The Veil must have had something to do with it. It certainly had moved him to listen to the man and consider his apology.

"A penny for your thought," Black waves a fork laden with creamy pasta before his eyes.

Severus only raises his eye brow. "It's too hot to have any thoughts," he replies, "I was wishing for anything else than your feeble Cooling charms. Where is Harry Potter when you need him?"

Black tsks. "You're being ungrateful! Feeble, indeed," but he still murmurs a Cooling Charm.

Severus notices how Black eats the most disgusting food with the happiness of a child. He loves baked beans, fries and spaghetti bolognese. He gobbles down waffles, scones and chocolate eclairs. He adores chocolate yoghurt into which he dunks whole pieces of chocolate, something that upsets Severus' stomach by only looking at it. (It's not unusual that Severus knows Black's eating habits that well. Severus merely happens to be a good observer.)

"Potter's Cooling Charm would freeze the entire city! Yours hardly reaches the bread basket," he comments, just to tease Black a little. He likes his Padfoot a bit exasperated sometimes.

His Padfoot? Why on earth is he just thinking that?

Black huffs, casts another, slightly stronger Cooling charm. At least his knee feels a bit cooler now.

"I'm doing my best but anything stronger would look strange in a muggle cafe. You know what the ministry thinks about doing magic in a muggle environment, Sev."

The moment he finishes his sentence, his cheeks flush red.

Severus blinks. "Just for the record, Siri," he says slowly, "the next time you call me that I am going to cut off your tongue."

Black throws him an angry glance.

After a while he mumbles, "Just being careful."

"One might think you care, Siri."

It's actually fun to tease Black, who turns redder and redder.

The initial plan for the day was to have breakfast with Black, return to his apartment, brew until two or three o'clock in the afternoon, then work on some papers. After dinner he would go down to the wine bar to pull someone for the night, but usually Black would be there anyway.

He never told Black and doesn't intend to tell him, but even on nights when Black isn't there, he doesn't really make an effort to pull someone. He certainly makes sure to let Black believe he has other sex partners as well lest the man becomes uncomfortable (or too comfortable … but the truth is that Severus is lazy.

Yes, Severus mulls. Lazy. Not getting attached to Black, or developing an affection.

Every new partner is stressful. New position, new smells, new cock, … Severus likes Black's cock. And his arse. Both are nice. The trouble is that he is a bit of a size queen too, and Black is well endowed. It would bore him to death to take someone else into his bed only to discover that the man has an average, or worse, smaller dick! What a waste of time would that be?

Black smells a bit dusty, sweaty of that horrible shower gel he buys in 2litre containers and of that cheap cologne. He smells nice. He smells of warmth.

He also doesn't tell Black that he takes care that no one else approaches him. He knows some subtle hexes to keep these horny guys away. Black is despite being ravaged by prison and death, a beautiful man and something of a gay man's dream. Large grey eyes, high chiselled cheekbones, yet masculine jaw, a straight, patrician nose. A rare and fascinating mixture of fragile beauty and almost stereotypical rugged handsomeness.

If it were not for Severus' subtle, little hexes Black would get laid every night.

Before Severus can leave at one o'clock, Black casually mentions that he'd like to go to an exhibition of a photographer-Dennis Creevey-who is making a name for himself in the Muggle world as a fashion photographer.

"You could use some exposure to art, dungeon bat!" Black says, and nudges him.

Come to think of it-the potions can actually wait. He has to finish the order by Friday and today is Wednesday-plenty of time.

"You do remember Creevey, right?" Black asks, "Colin Creevey was in the same house, a muggle born … I remember-Harry was distraught over his death."

"So many died. Why that Creevey boy?" Severus wanted to know. "I don't recall them being particularly close."

"Hard to say … I only remember ten percent of this conversation."

"The typical outcome of a conversation between two Gryffindors, naturally." Severus rolls his eyes.

"Yes, yes, of course," Black dismisses the insult. "I think Harry feels guilty because he always used to regard Creevey as a nuisance. And then he died. Something like this."

"I see."

"Anyway, Dennis took after his brother and got obsessed with photography and I heard his techniques are really impressive."

Finally they end up in a gallery in central London. Severus can't remember the last time he's been to an exhibition. During the last twenty years it seemed such a frivolous thing to do. Things like strolling through crowded shopping streets or going to wine bars or attending exhibitions … would have been ludicrous.

Funny how Black seems to have no problem with adjusting his life-and this man doesn't even have a job. For a moment he envies Black. He's probably well practised in the art of procrastinating.

"The Muggles don't see the movements of course, but he's been lauded for his intense style," Black clutches a brochure, then squints at it, holds it at first close, than far away from him.

"You need glasses," Severus realises.

"What? No!" For a moment Black is really shocked. He stares wide-eyed at Severus, and before he can think, he has planted a kiss onto Black's lips.

What the bloody hell did I just do? In front of people, nonetheless!

Severus' mind is reeling, and to cover his embarrassment he just looks at the photographs.

When he looks back at Black, he sees the man staring at him and his mouth.

"You kissed me," Black says.

"Apologies," Severus says stiffly. "I did not mean anything by it." If a hole were to open magically in the gallery he would gladly run and jump into it. Unfortunately the gallery floor remains intact.

"Apology accepted!" Black flings his wiry arms around Severus, and pulls him closer, then plants two noisy kisses onto the tip of his nose and his lips. "There!"

God, Black can be such an idiot sometimes … but somehow it doesn't feel bad. It doesn't feel bad at all to have Black looking at him like this-as if he can't get enough of Severus, as if he really likes him. His eyes are beautiful, that stormy grey with the pretty lashes.

They finish the exhibition, discussing the works, which are in fact impressive, then decide to have a bite at a cafe close to Severus' place. Severus pretends not to notice that after that moment in the gallery Black grabs his arm and touches him all the time. It doesn't mean anything, and it doesn't have to. Black's mood which was already cheerful to begin with, is peaking obviously. Like a ten year old on a sugar rush he is talking and talking, and smiling and nodding to whatever inane remarks Snape throws in, hanging on his lips, saying similarly inane things like, "I never thought of that!" or "I never realised that! Now you say it, it seems logical!"

He shouldn't feel flattered and he sure shouldn't preen but he can't help but smile a little.

"You know," he says to Black, as they're walking through the sunny, hot streets, "we could also just buy some nice food at the supermarket and prepare them at your place. It's much cheaper."

Black nods immediately, before he has even finished speaking. "Great idea. Actually I wanted to suggest that, too … we're spending too much at these fancy cafes, and I know an excellent bakery where we can buy some fresh baguettes and cheese. It's good to be more economical."

Severus nods. It would be more practical for the sex as well and if anything Severus is a practical man.

Encouraged by Black's wide grin he takes his hand and squeezes, then kisses it. A bit of affection doesn't mean a marriage proposal.

Just in the moment where Black raises his hand to push a lock of hair behind his ear, Severus bumps into someone.

"I'm sorry … Professor!" he hears a familiar voice.

Ronald Weasley of all people is standing in front of him, and his usually pale face is flushed red … and why is Pansy Parkinson standing beside him, both of them looking horribly guilty?

"Sirius!" Ron exclaims, looking from Severus to Black with an utterly bewildered expression in his face,

He can't even really hear what's being said, because the blood in his ears makes a godawful noise.

"I didn't know you two were-?" Parkinson hesitantly begins but Severus cuts her off. "I just bumped into Black a minute ago," he says curtly, "Now, if you excuse me. I have work to do."

Severus has no idea why he does what he does next. He just gives Black who looks at him strangely, a short nod. "Feel free to continue loitering." Then he walks off, leaving the speechless Weasley and Parkinson behind.

Technically … it's not cowardice. It's a bit impulsive but then what could he say to Ron about why he is strolling around with Black? All right, maybe he should have thought his reaction a bit through, but he really couldn't be prepared to bump into Ron Weasley and Pansy Parkinson!

What are the chances? (Well, if he thinks of it, the chances are actually not so low, since Grimmauld Place and Diagon Alley are quite close.)

And also, it's not possible to know what Black would want. Surely he would not like to be caught holding hands like a teenager with slimy Slytherin,former Death Eater Snape?

He turns around the corner and Apparates into his own flat.

At home he tries to brew, to write, to read but everything goes wrong. He ruins an entire batch of vervaine, nearly sets his work table on fire, manages to not write even one sentence in the course of an hour and as he gives that up, fails to comprehend a single word of the Potion paper one of his former students sent him.

A tiny part of his mind hopes that Black arrives a few minutes later and collapse with laughter about that incident. As the minutes stretch to hours, Severus realises how unlikely that is to happen.

But I didn't do anything wrong.

Finally the evening arrives and Severus looks around him with a sudden start. He has been sitting in the dark flat for hours.

Waiting. Where the hell is Black?

Which is ridiculous. Their relationship isn't like this. It's a convenient agreement. If anything, Black would be relieved that he acted so quickly. At least he should be. He should be grateful.

Or maybe not.

After half an hour he Apparates down onto the street and walks to the wine bar.

Black isn't there.

Disappointment and a sort of nervous anticipation fill Severus' mind, and his stomach is fluttering. Why isn't Black here yet?

He leans at the counter, sipping at a glass of red wine, trying to look nonchalant.

Inga, the waitress is here, laughing and joking with customers. Severus scans the place for Black.

No, I'm not really looking for him. It's good to be here on my own again.

"Hello," a middle-aged man with friendly brown eyes approaches him. "Are you waiting for someone?"

"Sod off," Severus grumbles, and the man just raises his eye brows, murmurs something about "rude patrons" and vanishes again.

An hour goes by, and no trace of Black.

He checks his phone every minute. No text either. Should he send him a text, that he's here? Maybe Black decided to have a drink with Weasley, after bumping into him.

Another thirty minutes pass, and after Severus has emptied his third glass of Rioja he finally decides to send a text.

"I am sorry about toda-"

No, it's better not to admit anything. Why create a problem when perhaps there is none to begin with? There is still the chance that Black might not have been affected by his action anyway and then this message would just sound stupid and overly worried.

"Where are you?"

And that sounds outright desperate. He deletes the words and starts again.

"I'm at the usual place."

Idiotic. He never writes that.

"Are you coming out tonight?"

There. That's harmless enough. He pushes the send button, waits for the blue bar to reach its end. Message sent. He leans back and waits.

Black usually texts back immediately, but not today. Five minutes pass, then ten. He orders another glass, putting the phone into his pocket and takes it out again after the new glass arrives, hopeful, but the screen remains empty.

"I haven't seen you alone here for a long time," Inga says, "where is Sirius?"

Severus shrugs. "I am sure I have no idea."

Surprised Inga looks at him. "Really? I thought you two were …"

"It's a casual agreement," Severus says and ignores the twinge in his chest. "Nothing serious."

He sneers but it feels odd and Inga doesn't reply, just stares at him, then turns away, when another customer is calling her.

Around eleven, when it's absolutely safe to assume that Black won't come, Severus leaves. He's drunk too much, and his head feels heavy. His heart feels heavy too.

The few times when Black couldn't make it to the bar, Severus has always texted him, and Black has always invited him to his place and vice versa. Should he write another text?

No. That would be … ridiculous. And needy. Or it would appear as if he's feeling guilty.

He Apparates into his flat, then lets himself fall into bed, toes off his boots, but otherwise remains clothed.

*****

"Huh?" Ron just says. The black haired woman beside him is the youngest Parkinson, Sirius realises. The last time he's seen her she was a fetus inside her mother’s womb. Odd to see these two together. But then he's the last one who could take issues with a Gryffindor consorting with a Slytherin.

"What a coincidence, huh?" Sirius says lamely. Suddenly he finds it hard to speak. Something seems to constrict his breathing. From the corner of his eye, he can see a tiny black fleck of Severus before he's turned around the corner.

"You really just … bumped into Snape? What a coincidence is that?"

Sirius wipes his face with his hands. The sun, so friendly and warm just a few minutes before, seems merciless and blindingly white all of a sudden. He feels slightly nauseous.

"Are you all right?"

He makes a reassuring gesture with his hand. "Yes, yes, just the heat. I'm on my way home."

"Shall we … I walk you home?"

At that Sirius' looks up sharply, and studies Ron's face, the flushed cheeks, the combed back hair, his guilty expression. The Parkinson girl seems to hide behind Ron. Interesting. He files their expressions away. (Ron and Pansy Parkinson! Who would have thought?)

"No, thank you … if you’ll excuse me," he says too, and belatedly notices how he sounds just like Snape.

He pushes past the two and walks off, changing abruptly his direction as he realises that's where Snape went. Apparating to Grimmauld Place he nearly splinches himself, god knows why.

What just happened? One minute ago they were making plans for the afternoon. They were kissing … like lovers!

Sirius remembers how he caught Snape looking at him, at breakfast, and he had looked like … like he was in love. Snape's features, usually so guarded, so blank and cold, had looked relaxed and affectionate.

And why not, he had thought. Why not be in love? They're more compatible than they had thought they would be. Life hasn't been kind to them, to neither of them, and taken away so much from them. Before Voldemort's death they didn't even have anything what could be called life.

He doesn't remember much of his two years behind The Veil. The most intense memory is suddenly standing beside Remus and James and Lily and speaking to Harry. The next memory is already him waking up in the Department of Mysteries, not capable of forming coherent thoughts or speaking for at several weeks.

Slowly the memories returned: The war … Azkaban … Grimmauld Place … and although he had acted cheerful and overjoyed, he had sometimes asked himself why he had bothered to return from death. The answer of the ministry-conducted investigation was that it had something to do with Bellatrix death, and true enough the time of her death and his re-appearance coincided.

He has never told anyone that the other clear memory he possesses is that of Snape.

It's not that time when they first met, nor is the incident in the Shack and it's not the afternoon Harry told him about, where he and James used Leviocorpus against Snape.

It's the last day in Hogwarts, the night of the Leaving fest. James, Remus and Peter were in the Great Hall, and he just stepped out to get some fresh air, smoke a cigarette. He was just digging in his pockets for his pack of cigs when he heard a noise. He poked his head around the corner, and there stood Snape, leaning against the wall. Weak light poured out of the coloured windows and Sirius could make out his sharp profile and his prominent adam's apple swallowing. His face seemed stark white like milk. He could not see from the distance if Snape was crying or smiling or both, but he was very still, staring up at the sky, as if he could see something up there that he, Sirius couldn't. After watching him for a while he heard a noise from the entrance and he quickly pulled his head back and walked inside.

In St. Mungo's when he tried to piece his past back together, this memory remained one of the strongest, although at that time, a mere days after his return he didn't remember Snape's name, only the image of the young boy looking up at the stars.

Harry talked a lot about Snape. There were accusations and Sirius was defensive first, but when the room went silent in the evenings and he was alone in his bed, staring at the ceiling, he started thinking what a conceited, hateful prejudiced asshole he had been. If he was back from the dead anyway why not try being someone else?

Sirius had never known motherly affection, the emotional safety of a family. From early on, his parents had disliked him and treated him with cold politeness. He had not really known his brother. He had not known how to treat others simply because at his home no one had ever bothered to treat him friendly.

(James, Remus and Peter didn't relly count: they had made it easy to like them. They had just liked him first.)

Snape though, had never learned how to be agreeable as well. An encounter between him and Snape had been a disaster to happen and it had happened.

Of course, one can't just go around and blame the parents. They'd been responsible for a lot of things, but he had had friends who had taught him courage, friendship, respect, generosity.

Listening to Harry, to hear Snape's entire life story was harrowing and painful. All the time he hadn't known, had just made his own assumptions. He had never known about Lily for example. He had never known about Snape's father. He had assumed-as many had, that the mother had been widowed, or whatever fancy term they had used and spent her life visiting rich relatives.

The way Snape had accepted the apology had been encouraging. Of course at that time Snape had been paralysed and only blinked as a way of answering but still.

That night when they met again in the wine bar, Sirius was nearly thankful for Franco trying to con Snape. He had no doubt that Snape could very well defend himself, but it would give him an opportunity to interact with him, and Snape might not just try to hex him, when he could introduce himself as a some sort of saviour.

And since that night everything has fallen beautifully into place.

Everything works out wonderfully in bed between them. And they even had nights without sex … just reading in bed, holding each other.

There had been room for hope. It hadn't been foolish to hope.

It had been.

It had been idiotic to hope.

Severus had not even looked back as he had sauntered away, as if Sirius didn't even exist.

"I just bumped into Black a minute ago," he had said, so very casually, so coldly.

Sirius just stood stock still, feeling numb.

The truth is, Severus Snape doesn't give a shit about him. He's embarrassed to be even seen with him. What the hell had he been thinking, believing Severus could be in love with him. How ridiculous. (Had he really thought that? In a corner of his mind he had.)

And why does it hurt so much?

Sirius wills the pain away. He should take an example from Snape, shouldn't let the loss of a fuck-buddy affect him.

Loss?

Why does it feel so impossible to continue seeing him after this? Why has everything changed today? They do have a casual agreement after all and Severus' action today should not be such a big issue.

They could just carry on.

Sirius knows it's not a good idea but he rummages around in the cabinet for a bottle of whiskey-maybe today is a good day for the 40-year old Islay Single Malt Bowmore? Distilled the same year he and Severus were born. He had bought it a few weeks ago, looking forward to break it open with Severus.

Snape.

He won't waste his good stuff on Snape. Ten year old Highland Park should suffice.

Snape is a vodka type, because he likes the clean, cold taste of the drink and deems it "more pure". Of course Snape would like vodka more-as cold and sterile as he is, as pure and bland.

Sirius prefers whiskey because it seems more organic to him. Even the Highland Park which he doesn't find that remarkable has this slight smoky feel on his tongue, that velvety finish.

Sirius takes a swig, breathes in the familiar cedar aroma. The taste reminds him of Severus. That woody scent-very Severus, then he snorts. With the whiskey warming his veins, he feels this confusing onslaught of emotions: self-pity, and longing and then washing over all that, hot, hot anger.

Who the hell does he think he is?

At some point his mobile phone goes off and he forgets to be ashamed about how he scrambles for it. Snape's text is disappointing, almost dismissive, as if he couldn't be bothered.

He knows his Severus. That incident today together with Sirius' earlier affectionate behaviour probably shocked him, and now he wants to desperately create a distance, take the relationship to the level it was before, casual and convenient.

There is no relationship! Stop using that word!

The question is … should he let him? He thinks about texting Snape back, invite him over, the way he always does. Then again, the pain and nausea from before return again.

That realisation merits another drink, and he takes another swig, feeling the velvet again, like Severus' cock.

Stop it already!

It's really very simple, and suddenly Sirius laughs.

I'm in love.

Unfortunately it doesn't burn anymore after the third swig. It's just that liquid warmth, yellowish honey-like warmth filling his senses. It's like that feeling when Severus and him have been fuckingfor hours … too exhausted after the first, intense round but too horny to stop alltogether.

Fuck.

The fact is that from today on Sirius can't go back to how things were. He doesn't need an absolutely monogamous relationship with roses and poetry but … definitely someone who doesn't run like a rabbit when confronted with the mere possibility of having to acknowledge him or admit to spending time with him.

Sirius thoughts get stuck on the phrase 'monogamous relationship'. Playing with the bottle in his hands he mulls over this idea. Not that he ever told Snape, but he never had the desire to sleep with anyone else since he has taken it up with him. Actually there hasn't even been a real opportunity; most nights he had spent with Snape anyway. And when he tried to chat up some blokes they had inched away from him even when he was only greeting them, as if he had the plague. Young gays nowadays are so much pickier than in the seventies. Obviously he is still a former convict to many. Whatever. It hadn't concerned him in the slightest. So what if nobody was interested in him. At the end of the evening he could rely on Snape's … attention.

It would have been do-able. He is not a jealous man. He could have turned a blind eye if Snape had other lovers beside him. Besides, he is better with his wand than Snape thinks he is. His genital itch spell is absolutely perfect and wordless, and has so far succeeded every time! Snape has never ever once wondered why random men who were walking towards him, suddenly turned and fled to the bath room. Sirius has also perfected his mien of innocence and Snape has never suspected him.

Sirius slams his fist down at the table, unsettling parchments, glasses and his mobile phone.

"It could have worked," he whispers.

In the past weeks they were practically living together. They had spent every night together. How is that not a relationship? Isn't that what couples do? Fall asleep together, wake up together?

Severus knows his weak knee and has given him a potion for it, and his knee feels much better. And Sirius soon knew of Snape's lower back problems and chose positions in which his back wouldn't suffer the strain, without letting Snape know-because most of all Sirius learned of Snape's childish pride. He likes to think that in the months he has spent at Snape's side he knows this man better than he knows himself sometimes.

And he knows that if Snape's pride won't allow something it would be to acknowledge that Sirius Black has wormed his way into his bed chamber, his flat, his heart.

He has somehow known all along, and acted accordingly-used stealth to get where he wanted to and maybe tricked Severus a little bit, emphasised the whole 'casual' thing and maybe tricked himself a bit as well along the way in thinking Severus would get so used to him that at some point he wouldn't want to be without him anymore.

Another swig.

He has deceived himself. It's easier to face the truth when drunk.

Aaaand ... another swig.

With a bitter laugh Sirius remembers how he congratulated himself after the first night with Severus. The idea he'd fall in love with Severus had been ludicrous. He'd be safe from heart ache, and the sex was fantastic. He'd also be mostly safe from being left-Severus isn't the most attractive man there is. Nor is he the most promiscuous man. He seemed to be happy to have a convenient sex partner and didn't really go out of his way to procure other men. If anything, he had thought at that time, he'd have the upper hand in this arrangement as the undoubtedly better looking, more handsome one.

Sirius doesn't know what exactly has happened, but one day followed the other, every night the trust seemed to grow between them-without diminishing the passion-every day, every night … things got better and easier between them. (Big issues like the Shrieking Shack incident had only required an apology and had been out of the way while seemingly little things like where to put the bread knife after washing it had resulted in hour long discussions.)

Snape loves to talk. If something surprised Sirius it was that Snape wasn't taciturn at all.

He loves audience, loves to think out loud, and he welcomed Sirius' ideas and suggestions. And Sirius in turn grew impressed with Snape's intellect and education. Snape's mind is fascinating, incredibly fast and rather original and fearless. It sometimes worried Sirius that Snape might become bored with him; after all Sirius is smart but he never has been remarkable. He knows his limits.

Well, at least he no longer needs to worry about that.

A glance at the clock tells him it's almost midnight. Sirius won't text back. If Sirius texts him back Snape will come by-of course. Then Sirius will never know how much he really means to him, where he's really standing. If Snape will turn up at Grimmauld Place without Sirius explicitly inviting him, it'll make a whole lot of difference. It'll mean Snape cares enough about him to show up. Right?

Then, midnight comes and goes and when the clock strikes half past twelve, Sirius knows Snape won't come. He won't ever show up without personal invitation.

He feels something odd on his cheeks.

For christ's sake, are you crying like a fourteen year old girl? Amazing how his Inner Voice sounds just like Severus there.

"Shut up," he whispers, furiously wiping his face. "You have no idea. No fucking idea."

*****

The days go by so slowly.

Severus keeps himself busy with brewing and meeting people. As long as he is in company he cannot get maudlin so he surrounds himself with people. He even contacts Lucius! Only a few weeks ago Black had collapsed with laughter when Severus admitted that jabbing one's eye with a quill is more pleasant than having to endure a conversation with Lucius.

And, oh god, Black's impersonation of Lucius is so, so perfect!

He can't bear to think about Black. Every time a thought about him crosses his mind, he feels that emptiness in his heart, and it nearly kills him. No, better not to think about him.

The nights are the worst. Before he had started sleeping with Black, he had liked to read in bed. Now he can't concentrate on a single line, and instead he just lies there, staring at the ceiling.

He had also liked to wank before falling asleep but now every time he takes his prick in hand he thinks of Black again. Of how the man smells, and sounds, and the filthy things he whispered, his arse, his cock, of what he did, what he could do.

He finds some photographs of himself and Black and can't bear to throw them away. They're mostly harmless; Sirius charmed a camera to record longer moving pictures. In one picture Severus tries to stay still but Black tickles him. In another one, Black shows off how flexible he is, in trying to get his leg behind his back, then falls off the bed.

Once Black follows him with the camera through the flat, and Severus angrily bats at the camera, until Black flings his arms around him and snogs him. His heart breaks when he looks at this picture.

This is more than sex, isn't it?

The way Black's eyes twinkle and the way he laughs and smiles … this must be something else.

How did he not see that before? How could he have been so blind?

He can't bear to look at them either so he puts them into the drawer of his night stand.

That night he dreams Sirius comes back to him. In the morning he wakes up, clutching the pillow.

When Lucius owls him a dinner invitation, he accepts immediately. He'll do everything at that point to not spend an evening alone with himself.

*****

Severus concentrates on eating his food as quietly as possible while trying to tune out the conversation. Harry Potter, Weasley and Granger are here, Draco of course and Parkinson, her mother Marie-Rose Parkinson, Leona Greengrass (who he last met at Lucius' and Narcissa's wedding). Severus remembers though that she too is a half blood, the reason why she was invited he suspects. He is a little disappointed that Black isn't here. Of course Narcissa wouldn't have invited him-it's strange how he hopes to encounter him.

Leona is sitting close to Narcissa and Mrs. Parkinson. Although they're very good in entertaining the others with bon mots, they often talk in low voices with each other. The Golden Trio looks uncomfortable and so does Parkinson.

When Severus meets her eyes, he can't resist and sardonically raises his eye brow. Parkinson blushes and looks away.

At least he's not the only one socialising with Gryffindors.

The entire dinner is stilted and Severus empties one glass after the other, despite the warning glances he receives from Lucius and Narcissa, and the startled, somewhat anxious looks from Weasley and Parkinson.

Why Narcissa has invited Marie-Rose Parkinson is beyond Severus' understanding. She's always been a cow and she's not even a close friend of the Malfoys. Her late husband, Aquila has been a good friend of the Greengrasses, though.

"It's not that we are against mixed relationships," Mrs. Parkinson complains loudly, taking a sip of her wine glass. "You just have to admit, that the marriages just never work out. No one is saying that half-bloods or Muggle-borns are worse than Purebloods. I am very, very good friends with Frances Smythe, and you all know she is a Muggle born. The problem is incompatibility."

The trio is stiff with disapproval. While Potter and Weasley look incensed, Granger is unusually subdued and stares unhappily into her wine glass. Leona glances at Marie-Rose with a look of sheer disbelief.

"I think young people should make friends with everyone, have an open mind … but settle down and marry and have children? You need someone who shares your upbringing and your beliefs. There is no way around it."

Leona Greengrass and Narcissa are staring ahead with frozen smiles.

Pansy Parkinson is looking at her plate.

Severus has never partaken in such idiotic debates. Until after the war only a few had known that Severus himself is a halfblood.-Lucius and Narcissa had known, of course, but alone the fact that he had always been invited to their social affairs had led many to believe he was a Pureblood as well; one of those impoverished, proud Wizarding families from the North.

Since the story of the "Halfblood Prince" has been published everywhere in every paper, his origin is no longer a secret.

"Excellent, Marie-Rose," he says, deliberately putting his elbow on the table, and gripping his wine glass like a working class man. "Tell me, your husband-wasn't he one of Ellen Crabbe's sons?"

Marie-Rose only thins her lips.

"Your mother is a daughter of Phileas Crabbe, Ellen's Crabbe's brother, if I am not mistaken … which makes you cousins. First degree."

Granger leans forward, looking interested. Pansy Parkinson is looking at Severus with strangely burning eyes.

"The Crabbe family has married their children for generations, which has led to such bright descendants as Vincent Crabbe-a boy whose intellect was below average at best. We all know what became of him."

"Severus," Narcissa chides him gently.

"Or your late sister Bellatrix Lestrange and her husband Rodolphus-perfect examples of Purebloods, created by centuries of interbreeding and incest and …"

"Mixed marriages, Snape, is what leads to ugly, deformed, worthless offspring," Marie-Rose says sharply, "Just look at yourself!"

"Enough!" Narcissa has risen. "I demand that none of my guests should be insulted by another." She is visibly shaken. Lucius pours her a glass of wine.

"What about your parents, Mr. Weasley?" Marie-Rose is obviously unstoppable. "They might be blood tra-muggle-friendly, but do they really want you to marry a muggle-born?" She sneers unkindly at the Granger girl. Pansy Parkinson narrows her eyes.

"Marie-Rose, please!" Narcissa pleads, at the end of her nerves. Lucius melancholically strokes his hair and inspects his nails.

Severus empties his glass, then re-fills it. After a moment he empties it again. One can't be sober in the company of idiots.

Sirius would not tolerate this bull-shit even for a minute. The man might not be the most eloquent man ever but he would have not let Parkinson get away with this. He might have his faults but, by god, did he have courage. Everyone here could do with a dose of healthy courage.

"You fucking hypocrite," he says softly. "Children died in this war. The children of your sister and brother are lying in their graves and you have the nerve to sit here and sprout your mad Pureblood ideology? How dare you?"

Everyone has fallen silent. Marie-Rose is in fact the only survivor of her family. Her parents died before the war, her siblings and their children died in the war. Nasty rumours say that the brother has been mistakenly killed by Death Eaters.

God, he is drunk. He should just go home.

"You should fight," Severus finds himself telling Pansy, whose eyes are large and glittering.

"What-what is the meaning of this?" Marie-Rose is scandalised.

"Fight, girl," Severus growls, ignoring her, "don't let your mother dictate who you can see and who you can't see. Don't let the sacrifices of the war be for nothing!"

Pansy casts nervous glances towards the trio but her eyes are filled with tears.

He looks at Ron Weasley.

"People should … they should not hide away who they are in love with," he says. "They should not have to lie about such things."

Ron looks back at him, unexpectedly not dark red but pale. Gryffindors … still afraid of him, all of them. Except for one perhaps.

"You are such a romantic," says Lucius, toasting him.

Severus empties his glass again. He definitely had too many. The world around him goes a bit blurry but that's exactly what he needs now. He doesn't want to see. All he wants now is to go home again and crawl into bed, and not think or dream of Sirius Black.

Fucking Sirius Black.

"What about him?" Potter's voice is really loud in his ears.

Did he say that out loud?

"I really didn't want to offend anyone, but I was just trying to point out that mixed marriages are a lot more difficult than Pureblood marriages. It's a piece of advice, nothing more!" Marie-Rose can't let it go. "Look at Pansy and Draco! They have been together for years! Their relationship has remained intact, no matter what happened!"

Oh no!

"Mother," Pansy's voice is shaky. "Let's go home, please."

"What?"

Now Narcissa and Leona, too, decidedly look uncomfortable while Draco is smirking openly.

"Draco and I aren't seeing each other anymore."

Lovely. A family drama. Might be worth staying for. Lucius too observes the ongoing enfolding drama with amusement.

"You meet with Draco twice a week!" Marie-Rose calls out, and Severus can't help but throw a brief glance at Ronald Weasley.

And although he really, really shouldn't say anything he hears his own voice drone, "Well, Mr. Weasley … time for you to confess as well!"

Someone-Draco?-laughs.

"No, Mrs. Parkinson," Granger says. "She's not seeing Draco. She's seeing me."

*****

Lucius and Draco help him home after that dinner and put him to bed.

Marie-Rose Parkinson left the Manor, looking ten years older than when she arrived. Granger and Parkinson, flanked by Potter, Weasley and Draco stayed back, and Leona Greengrass and Narcissa Malfoy came to an agreement regarding Draco it seemed.

"What did you want to say about Black tonight?" Draco is nosy as ever, but this time he can't fault him. He slipped.

"None of your business." How much did he drink? At least a bottle but that was to be expected.

"I never saw him that drunk," Lucius muses, who must be standing on his right hand side. Severus keeps his eyes closed. He knows how the man looks like, so there is no need to look at him.

"The Sobering potion is in the lab I take it?"

"No, he keeps his potions in his night stand drawer."

For some reason Severus thinks that drawer shouldn't be opened, but he can't remember why.

He listens to Draco opening the drawer, wishing the room would stop spinning. Wishing he could crawl into Black's arms.

After an eternity he hears murmuring, then either Draco or Lucius is holding the cool rim of a glass vial against his lips, and with every sip his head becomes clearer.

Lucius concerned face comes into focus, his silvery hair a halo.

"I take it, you want a Sleeping Draught, too," he says.

"I'm fine," Severus tries to say. "I am fine," but Lucius only frowns. Severus takes the bottle with the Sleeping Draught as well and drinks it.

He hears them murmuring again, Draco hissing: "Put that back!"

The Draught pulls him into sleep but even while falling he thinks of Black's smile.

Sirius, he thinks, Sirius, Sirius, Sirius, and every time he thinks his name that little shard lodged deeply in his heart twists and he feels he is bleeding inside.

Part Three