Apology

The story 'Apology' is named such for two reasons. It is, apart from Sirius' apology to Severus (and the other way around), my apology to you people.

A/N: I promised I would write a sequel to Up After Hours and here it is. I was actually a bit afraid of people really going to kill me *coughcoughmegouchgouch* for what my hands wrote for the third chapter of the story mentioned above. (I still have no idea as to how did that happen) and I hope you will forgive me for my reckless hands.

Ps. I'm still so very, really, truly, extremely paranoid and I'm sure my little sister's Christmas ornaments are planning my murder. Hey, I'm serious! The light-bulb-angel-thingy (You know, those lit-up plastic things you put on your window glass) detaches from the window whenever I step into the room and then there is the Santa ornament I made in a ornament class two years or so ago. I'm sure the friendly smile I painted on him is a vicious grimace nowadays. I have locked it in the highest shelve of my closet, but it keeps telling me that sooner or later, I'm going to need something from my closet. I suppose I can't be going around in the same clothes third week in a row. If I don't seem to be updating anything in a week, you can suspect they finally got me.

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Dumbledore watched, with a trace of apprehension on his face, as Snape swept wordlessly after Sirius. (I copied it down from the book, duh!)

Snape's face, however, wore no fear, as he had learnt to wipe his heart and mind clear from every emotion that had the ability to hurt him. All this due to a regrettable incident that… No, he could not think about it.

Keeping on walking. Concentrating on the beating of my heart, keeping my mind calm and my actions completely under control. Concentrating on the beating of my heart – And just why does the accursed thing seem to think it's a drum? He realized his thoughts were trailing off, and as he couldn't get a hold of his actions anymore, he was waiting for a chill to go up his spine, a little something he had managed not to experience in quite some years. Not after – no, no, NO! he couldn't let himself think about it again. He had come dangerously near to it in the shrieking shag about a year ago, but he had managed to stay calm, to concentrate on his heart's beating. The chill never came. Instead, he felt how his hands started to tremble. His normally so long, fast steps had been reduced to unsure and short moves of his feet. Yet he was not afraid of continuing spying on Voldemort. It was something else. He had not as near as hit Sirius for sixteen years (A/N: My personal idea of how long it's been since their seventh year), let alone shook hands with the man, let alone hugged him or –

No! he thought, as the panic struck him and he shook his head, violently, Don't think about it! Think about something else! How about…Voldemort. Yeah, that's it. Think about how to explain your absence tonight. Anything but the touch of his soft lips against my own... By the time he realized what he had been thinking, it was already too late. His eyes had become moist and he found it hard to see where he was going. He proceeded to wipe his eyes, and almost tripped over a large black dog.

"You're still here?" he asked. The dog gave him an unreadable look, dug his teeth into Severus' robes, and started dragging him to a shadowy corner. Once there, Severus opened the wall with a simple wave of his wand and they stepped inside. Sirius changed back to a man. He looked around the dusty room, which was no more than a mere hole in the wall.

"When was the last time this place was cleaned?" he inquired as he swept his index finger on the floor and got an impressive layer of dust on it.

"Six – sixteen years ago." Severus answered. His speech wasn't of the cool, steady and distant kind he had developed during those past years, nor was it the tender, calculating voice he had recognized as his own before he'd started keeping his distance like the Slytherin he was. It was the voice of a broken man, trembling, dying in powerless whispers or occasionally trailing off to nothingness. It was the agonised voice of newfound tenderness from deep within; Something he'd never expected to hear in his own words again. Something he had been holding back for so long it had eventually stopped struggling and he'd suspected it to be long since dead. There was an awkward silence between the two after these words.

"I'm sorry I judged you back then, Severus", Sirius suddenly said, "After being a friend with a werewolf for six and a half years I should have known better. I don't know what got into me." Severus looked up to see Sirius staring at his feet. "And – thank you." he added. Hesitantly.

"For what?"

"For – for helping me. I really acted like a jerk. You'd just saved me from being turned into a werewolf and this is how I thanked you", his voice was now the same as Severus', "This is how I thanked you for the trust you gave me. For the trust I would never have deserved. I would have been better off as a werewolf."

"At least you didn't turn me in", Severus said quietly and lowered his gaze, "We – we really should get going. You know how urgent our errands are." Severus looked up and what he saw was enough to make his heart jump. Sirius was holding up a very small time-turner, tied on a leather lace around Sirius' neck.

"You wouldn't –" Severus started, but as he saw the smile playing on Sirius' lips – as he saw Sirius' lips – his eyes catching a glimpse of amusement in the animagi's eyes, "...Or would you?" He then asked, allowing a small smile for himself, as well. He knew everything was lost now, there was no reason to hold back his feelings anymore. Sirius merely nodded. He let the time-turner fall out of his hands and his smile widened. Severus, on the other hand, smiled in a rather mysterious manner and pushed Sirius against the far back wall, except for that Sirius wasn't pushed against the wall, but much more like through it. He soon found himself in a rather cozy-looking bedchamber.

"Yours?" he asked, although he already knew what the answer would be.

"Mine", Severus agreed.

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Me: There you go. I was going to put some more stuff in, but the action and the conversation will be in the next chapter, as I was eager to put this up before certain things could happen. *glaring at her hands*

Left hand: Yeah, right. Look at who's talking. Like WE had brains to change her writing.

Right hand: She just can't handle any responsibility. I say we go to strike.

Me: You can't do that to me!

Left: Talking to her hands. She's a nutcase.

Right: You're telling me. Back when she wrote on paper with pen and drew a lot (which she still does too much, anyway), she got me a carpal tunnel syndrome! I had to wear casts for three firiggin' weeks!

Left: But during that time she used me instead of you. The teachers in her school could have given her permission to do her homework on computer and print it on separate paper, but noooo, she just had to write and even DRAW with me!

Me:Enough!

Right: Have you noticed how she seems completely off her rocker this time around?

Left: As stated above, she's a nutcase.