A/N: Yeah, so I suck at titles... This is dedicated to Hannah, who said she wanted a story about Sirius, and how Snape feels when he finds out Lily's pregnant. Not entirely sure this is where she wanted it to go but I've tried my best! (There's some R/S in there also, if you squint!)

I feel like I should warn you that everyone is quite a bit out of character and there may be some canon-compliancy issues... basically I just made it up as I went along :']

Anyway, Im going to stop babbling now. Enjoy :D

Disclaimer: Sadly enough, not my boys :(

You need a drink.

Your stomach is churning and, by the time the portkey Lucius gave you drops you in Diagon Alley, your head is spinning, too. You think that a glass of good, well-aged scotch would fix you up nicely, but you can't bring yourself to Apparate the distance from London to Manchester, to the bottle waiting for you at home, so you pull yourself together and try not to stagger too much as you make your way to the Leaky Cauldron. The stuff they serve there may taste like it's been watered down with piss, but at least it's alcohol.

You've been warned against doing things like this – things that you only do after you've been to a meeting – because it could tip outsiders, enemies, off to the fact that you've been up to something. 'Something' like attending a gathering with some of the oldest Wizarding families in Britain to collectively hero-worship the Dark Lord.

You admire him for what he has done and what he promises to do, and you pride yourself on being the first half-blood accepted into his circles – "So full of hatred and rage... You remind me of myself, Severus" – but for some inexplicable reason you always walk away from the meetings with your skin crawling. Tonight is no different.

So even though you could get caught, by the opposition or by someone on your own side – it's the same thing sometimes, you're beginning to notice – you do what you always do.

You're about to round the final corner that will lead you to the main entrance to Diagon Alley and the pub beyond when you walk smack into someone. You have just enough time to note that this someone is wearing a coat that is more patches than original material before you hear the voice.

"Wha' the fuck? Watch where yer goin', ye fuckin'..."

You know who that is, know who it is the second he opens his mouth, know him even with his speech slurred with drink, and you lift your gaze up and to the right to look directly into the cold grey eyes of Sirius Black. It occurs to you somewhere in the back of your mind that you have just vacated the company of some of his cousins. You heard that he got disowned in the summer before your sixth year and you wonder if he knows what he was destined for before he threw it all away. He was a pureblood, the heir to the fucking Black fortune, but now he's no better than the Prewetts or the Weasleys. A blood-traitor. Scum.

Then he recognises you, and there's no more time for speculation.

"Ohhhh!" he croons, pointing unsteadily at you with the arm that isn't draped around the shoulders of the man – Lupin, you realise. Not a man at all, then – you just walked into. "It's Snivellus!" You balk at the name but you don't say anything. You know better than to make a scene – a lesson that the Dark Lord didn't have to teach you.

"Come on, Padfoot." You are startled when Lupin speaks in a voice that is soft and clear, the complete opposite to Black's drunken warble. He has shrugged Black's arm from around his shoulders so that he can loop his own arm through it and try to tug him away. "Leave him alone, all right? Let's go."

"No!" Black protests, pulling his arm out of Lupin's only to lurch ridiculously to one side and almost topple over. He is still using his other hand to point at you. "Don' wanna go nowhere yet. It's Snivellus, Moony! Where's James?" He hesitates, a slightly deranged grin on his face, to look around you, apparently searching for his other friend.

Lupin, you notice, looks as tired as he sounds. "His name is Severus, Sirius, and James went home hours ago with Lily, remember? Which is exactly where you should be going..."

Even as your stomach gives a painful lurch at the mention of Lily's name, Black's face lights up even more.

"Lil-eeee!" he shouts, and Lupin cringes with you at the assault on your ears. "Snivellus used to like our Lils, didn' he, Moony? Used to like her, follow her 'round with stars in 'is eyes, like our James did!" He beams absurdly, and you're tempted to argue that you are nothing like Potter, but then you remember that this isn't school anymore, so you stay silent. "Used to think that Lily liked him," Black sounds thoughtful now, "Used to tell Prongs not to bother with her 'cause she had absolutely bollocks taste in men and then she got with our James and proved that I was... I was..." His eyes take on a glazed look and you think vaguely that it makes him look completely brainless. It suits him. "...Right?" he finishes dazedly.

"Come on, Padfoot," Lupin is insisting again, even as you snort a laugh. Lily choosing Potter had proven Black right – she did have awful taste in men.

The focus returns to Black's eyes with a flash. "You," he snarls nastily. "You haven't got a fuckin' chance now, Snivellus! Your precious Lily is up the duff with our James' kid, and I'm gonna be Godfather! Whaddya think o' that?"

You honestly don't know what you think of that. All you know is the feeling of your heart, which feels suddenly like it's made of lead, dropping rather harshly and taking up residence somewhere in the vicinity of your knees. Black is still hurling abuse at you in the middle of the not-so-deserted-anymore street at two o'clock in the morning, but you don't hear a word he says. Your brain is too preoccupied with scrambling to catch up, to work out what the fuck just happened to your insides and to your outsides and to your entire world. All you manage to do is translate Black's words into their simplest form:

Lily, your Lily, is having James Potter's baby.

You realise dimly that this shouldn't come as such a shock to you. They got married not long after you left school, so logically children had to be on the 'to do' list somewhere, but for some reason that possibility hadn't even occurred to you until now.

Marriage isn't permanent. It can be messy, but it is always possible to break those bonds.

You've always thought that you would have time – time to work your way up in the Dark Lord's ranks, to make something of yourself, to bring Lily round to your way of thinking and win her back, to convince her that Potter and his way of life is not what she wants.

But a baby...

Potter's baby...

You've run out of time.

"...because you're scum, Snivellus – d'you hear me? Are you even fuckin' listening to me? He's not even listenin' to me!"

It is the change in Black's tone from drunken fury to whiny petulance that snaps you back to reality, and you take a step forward. "No, I am not listening to you," you hiss, low and menacing, "because you have absolutely nothing worth hearing to say. But I will tell you this. I am not the one you should be calling 'scum', Black."

"What did you jus' say to me?" Black bellows, and suddenly there is a wand in your face.

You stagger backwards, reaching for your own wand, but then Lupin is shouting, "Sirius, no!" and leaping on Black, wrestling for control of his wand, and then, with a ridiculously loud pop, they're gone.

You have to take several heaving breaths before you become aware of the fact that the few people still on the street at this hour are staring at you, and after that it takes a conscious effort to pull yourself together enough to walk on like nothing has happened.

You don't hesitate when another, much smaller pop sounds behind you; you don't change your pace when hurried footsteps begin to gain on you. You do, however, stop dead and whirl around when a soft, clear voice calls your name.

Lupin collides with you, just as you collided with him earlier, and hurries to step out of your space even as the breath leaves him with a whoosh. You regard him with an arched eyebrow – the one you've been practicing in the mirror; you're getting quite good at it – and wait for him to compose himself.

"Severus, I'm sorry about Sirius," he says eventually. "He was very, very drunk – passed out as soon as I Apparated him home, actually – and I know I shouldn't be making excuses for him, but-"

"Then why are you?" you ask coolly, allowing only a shred of the irritation, the anger you feel to colour your voice.

Lupin blinks at you. "Because that's what I do," he answers, and you know without Legilimency that he's being honest, and that he's as tired of it as he sounds. He sighs, and looks at you as if you're a particularly irksome puzzle that he just cannot work out, no matter how hard he tries. "I'm also sorry that he told you. About Lily. I know how you feel about her and you didn't deserve to find out that way."

This, accompanied by the hand that is suddenly on your arm, is just the push you need for your mask to slip, and slip it does. You step backwards, baring your teeth in a snarl. "Don't you dare touch me," you snap. "I don't need sympathy from a mangy half-breed like you. Go back to your flea-bitten mutt and the dog basket you share, werewolf."

You think you see a flash of hurt in Lupin's eyes, and you feel the burn of satisfaction fill your chest as he reaches for his wand and Disapparates. You take a moment to commit that look on his face to memory before following his example and vanishing from sight – suddenly, home doesn't feel so far away anymore.

In the split second it takes for you to reappear in the middle of your sitting room, the satisfaction dissipates, leaving your chest feeling hollow and void again.

Lily is having Potter's baby...

You shake your head in an attempt to be rid of the thought. With an irritated wave of your wand a fire flares to life in the grate and you sink into the armchair beside it, not even bothering to take off your cloak first. Opposite you, the well-aged scotch you were craving earlier winks at you in the light of the flames, but you don't really feel like it now.

You stare at the logs on the fire, watching them becoming charred and blackened and dead as the flames consume them, and you know instinctively that this is what your heart looked like mere seconds after Black had uttered those godforsaken words.

There is no turning back now, you know.

You have missed your chance, if you even had one in the first place, and now you must simply get on with things.

It's just as well that you didn't have that scotch, you think as you rise from the chair again to ready yourself for bed; you have to be up early in the morning.

You have a meeting with Albus Dumbledore, to discuss your application for the post of Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts.

If you get the job, you decide bitterly, as soon as the Potter brat reaches schooling age you're going to commit yourself to making his or her life a living hell.