Six: A Leap in the Dark
They were under attack. Obviously. He should get a message to Dumbledore. And there were things Snape needed to defend—the Order's records, the Mirror….
These things were important, he knew, but for precious seconds he did not move. He thought of all the things that never would be again: Sirius never again putting on a record, or leaving Grimmauld Place, or smiling the broad smile he'd bravely retained through a decade in Azkaban. His warm presence in the world reduced to a few photographs.
And then there was the thing that never would be at all—the thing that Snape would always, always see in the Mirror of Erised.
Snape's ears rang. The body was so rigid, so indelible, so unreal.
There was a footfall in the hallway, and Snape realized he had not brought his wand. He turned to face the intruder, expecting to die.
But there, at the door, was Sirius. Snape did not know what to think. He saw Sirius stride forward toward his own body, which, as he passed Snape, transformed into the image of Azkaban. "Riddikulus!" Sirius shouted, and the building shifted into a representation of Hogwarts, then vanished.
Snape was an idiot.
Even with this headache—a hangover, he supposed—he should have recognized a boggart. Now, glad of his training in Occlumency, at least he managed to maintain his composure. He did not, as he was afraid he might, rush over to Sirius and embrace him, or break down in uncontrollable, humiliating tears.
"You all right?" Sirius glanced toward Snape with obvious concern, but looked away quickly. "Clever boggart, that, to impersonate me. You must have thought we were under attack," Sirius said, not meeting Snape's eyes. Since his wand was still out, he vanished the broken bottle and repaired the coffee table.
"Most unusual," Snape agreed. He doubted Sirius was really unaware that a boggart had no such flexibility regarding the form it took—that it always appeared directly in the shape of the viewer's worst fear. It was the sort of thing most children would know.
His hands shook as he gathered up the scattered records. "What happened here, exactly?"
"I got a message from Molly Weasley this morning, and she thinks we should have a bit of a gathering this weekend."
"And you were so distraught you decided to trash the place and release a boggart?" Snape was beginning to feel quite giddy.
Sirius laughed. "No, Kreacher's been breaking all the plates, so I got my parents' chest of old china out of the attic. As it turned out, some Cornish pixies had moved in. And a boggart too, apparently."
"Good Lord. Does the whole house look like this? When are they coming?"
"On Saturday—so that gives us two days to clean the place up. Harry, Molly, Arthur, and the kids, Hermione, Lupin, Tonks, Mundungus, and Dumbledore. Fourteen, including us!" Sirius could barely contain his excitement.
"Fourteen?" As much as Snape abhorred the very idea of dinner parties, he was unable to rein in an exuberant smile. "We're not going to have to play charades, are we?"
"Oh, come on. It'll be fun. Besides, aren't you dying to see a face around here that's friendlier than Kreacher's?"
It took the full two days, but they had everything ready in time for Saturday dinner. After the night they'd shared the firewhiskey, Snape had expected Sirius to be angry. Instead, everything was easy between them as they repaired, tidied, dusted, and polished together, all the while trying to evade Kreacher's continual attempts at sabotage.
Each evening they discussed the Mirror, sharing theories and devising possible approaches. Snape was impressed with how much Sirius already knew about Legilimency and related wizardry, and even more so with how quickly he picked up everything Snape told him. And he was grateful that Sirius never pressed him to experiment on the mirror together, even though they both knew it would have made things a great deal simpler.
Sirius had insisted on beginning Snape's education in popular music while they cleaned the place; Snape would never be a fan of The Clash, but he had to admit that Led Zeppelin and the Rolling Stones were interesting. Possibly also David Bowie, who they were listening to on Saturday afternoon, while Sirius did the chopping and Snape did the more delicate work of roasting, sautéing, gravy making, and baking dessert. He loved cooking like this, and it wasn't just the joy of working with the fresh ingredients Molly had sent over.
Beginning precisely at five, the visitors appeared on the doorstep singly and in pairs. Sirius let them in, requested the necessary passwords, and soon everyone was gathered around the dining room table with a butterbeer or a firewhiskey cocktail in their hands. Sirius basked in the presence of so many people, but Snape remained glued to the kitchen until the food was ready. They might be on the same side of a war, but as he listened to the raucous laughter emanating from upstairs Snape felt profoundly aware of the fact that these people were not his friends.
Eventually he could put it off no longer, and Snape carried the main course up. Ron laughed out loud when he saw Snape emerge in an apron, but soon quieted when he saw what Snape was carrying: an enormous, perfect pork roast. Snape summoned all the other dishes upstairs—fluffy mashed potatoes, applesauce, peppercorn gravy, Yorkshire puddings, carrots with coriander, peas with mint, horseradish, mustard—and the guests applauded.
"Did you boys do all this?" Molly asked, amazed.
"Snape did everything," Sirius said, almost proudly. "He wouldn't even let me near the stove."
Ron and Harry eyed Snape disbelievingly. As all other eyes were on Snape, Mundungus took a slice of pork and slipped it into his sleeve.
Snape took his seat at the table, and the ritual of passing dishes began. When everyone had filled their plates, the company urged Dumbledore to give a toast.
Dumbledore stood. "To togetherness and bright occasions, even in the darkest times." He looked at Snape. "I am lucky to know such good and brave witches and wizards as all of you, and wish you all to know that, even as your sacrifices are many and, as yet, unnoticed by the rest of the magical world, you are honoured and loved by the people at this table. To the Order!" he exclaimed, raising his butterbeer, and sat down amid the clinking of glasses.
"Let's eat," said Fred and George simultaneously, and everyone lifted their forks.
"—And there I am, covered in seaweed and pustulent boils," Arthur concluded a rather self-deprecating story, "while James and Sirius waltz out the other side looking fresh as roses, not a scratch on 'em. And of course there's this big crowd of seventh-year girls standing right there—they'd been watching the whole thing. Those two always did have a way with the ladies."
"Of course," Molly reminisced, "your father, Harry, only had eyes for Lily. But Sirius had a new girl every week. Rumour has it that he ran out of girls in his own year and had to start going with the older ones," she teased.
"The younger ones, too," Snape added dryly.
"Actually," Sirius said quietly, then paused, and deliberately set down his glass. "Actually, I think I might have given you all a misleading impression at Hogwarts." He swallowed. "Actually, the only Hogwarts student I ever really kissed was Remus."
Snape dropped his fork.
All the cutlery halted, and the room was silent—except for Dumbledore, who continued slicing up his Yorkshire without the slightest pause. Tonks turned toward Lupin with an intrigued and delighted expression.
Lupin flushed bright red. "I think you'll recall I punched you in the face."
Sirius grinned, a little falsely. "I probably shouldn't have tried it so close to your transformation, should I?" There were a few nervous laughs around the table. "That's not really the point, though. What I'm trying to say—I had a talk with a friend the other night, and I realized it's important to say it—is that I'm gay."
Molly looked flustered. "Sirius, there are children here!"
"That's part of the reason I'm telling you. I wish someone had done something like this when I was their age."
Dumbledore did pause then.
"Well, I think it's very brave of you," said Hermione. "The wizarding world is decades behind the Muggle world in terms of these kinds of basic rights. It's awful! I mean, you don't even have same-sex witch or wizard union, do you?"
"Thanks, mate," said Ron through a forkful of mashed potatoes. "Maybe you've finally got her off the subject of house elves."
"Hermione's absolutely right," said Tonks, and raised her glass in Sirius's direction.
"Suppose so," Lupin muttered, still blushing.
"None of our business, really, is it?" Arthur said with false cheer.
"Right on, Sirius," Fred and George said in unison. "D'you think you could pass us the Yorkshires?"
The conversation drifted back to the food, but Snape barely registered the stream of lavish praise. What Sirius had said—it didn't make any difference, of course. If Sirius liked men, that certainly did not entail any particular feelings about Snape—and even if he did, Snape had always been committed to resisting those impulses. He could only imagine what his father would have said, if he knew Snape was even thinking about it.
Only, nobody at this table seemed particularly upset. Molly and Arthur were somewhat subdued, and Mundungus seemed in fact to have snuck out, but Sirius's revelation had passed without any of the shouting—or violence—Snape would have expected. It seemed that Slytherins and Death Eaters thought quite differently about this sort of thing than the members of the Order.
There was no reason for it, but Snape smiled as he went to take the pies out of the oven.
After dinner, Snape was on his way to Kreacher's attic hideout, trying to formulate loophole-free instructions for the house elf that would result in clean, unbroken dishes, when he heard Sirius's voice coming from the drawing room. He hadn't noticed Sirius going upstairs, and, guiltily, he paused on the landing to eavesdrop.
"So, what I said downstairs—are you okay with it?" Sirius sounded nervous.
"Well, yeah." It was Harry Potter; of course Sirius would want a moment alone with him. Snape felt more strongly than usual the pang of irrational jealousy that the boy always provoked.
"I mean," Potter continued, "it's a bit weird, you know, because I thought you were one thing and now it turns out you're something else? I've seen your bedroom, with the Muggle girls on motorcycles pinned up on the walls."
"I'd have taken those down long ago, except for the permanent attachment charm," Sirius said, and chuckled. "I was a fourteen-year-old git, but I did a bloody good job of that spell."
"I just—I don't mind if you're—if you're gay, but why did you wait so long to tell everybody?"
"It's just not something wizards talk about, Harry. Or at least, it wasn't when I was your age. Is it different now? At Hogwarts, I mean?"
"I don't know, I don't think there are any gay students at school."
"Oh, I'm sure there are. So not any different then."
There was a pause. "Um, so, you and my dad—did you ever—um—"
"God no, he was my best mate!"
Snape relaxed, though he knew it was ridiculous to care.
"Besides, you know he only ever had eyes for your mother. Hey, did I ever tell you about the time we stole a crate of firewhiskey from Slughorn's office and tried to kidnap Lily out of study hall?"
AN: The last chapter of this little story will be coming next week...