CHAPTER 27
I'D LIKE THAT
Sirius slept through most of the day, the night, late into the following morning, moving to his own bed at some point along the way. "I'll wake you if anything happens," had promised Remus, who, of course, had returned and stayed at Sirius' place the entire time.
It was almost noon when Sirius woke up for good, and when he did, he was feeling more normal. Or, in any case, not as deranged as the other day.
He sent Remus home. Not because he wasn't grateful for the company — he was. Once more he was, and it felt good. But Rem appeared rather unwell; the full moon was approaching, and he needed his bit of rest.
Rem promised he would visit on Monday, and Sirius thanked him for everything. Truly, Rem had saved everything and everyone from disaster. Sirius thanked him, with all his heart. He would have hugged Rem, but he suspected the outburst of affection would call into question the stability of his emotions.
He wasn't unstable, not entirely.
Some good hours later, Sirius found himself in his kitchen, not really knowing what he was doing there. He sat down at the table, with a glass of Firewhisky and his wand resting before him.
Remus had charmed the wand to alert if the Life Bulb monitoring Snape showed any degradation. "Light and sound signal; strident enough to wake the dead. You can't miss it," Remus had assured, twice.
Sirius had glanced at the wand a million times since then, had gone upstairs to check for himself another twenty times. Or was it thirty? He couldn't be sure. He was acting neurotic, he was aware of that. It didn't mean he could help it.
Snape, for his part, much less neurotic than Sirius by nature, had spent the entire time sleeping. Though the truth was, it wasn't Snape's credit for acting composed. He was out cold, and that was that.
It was only once that Snape had woken up, initially alarmed, then disoriented, then — making sense of Sirius leaning over him, squeezing his shoulder lightly — vaguely embarrassed. Sirius had pretended to notice none of that and had told him to go back to sleep. Snape was passed out a moment later.
And that was all, and now Sirius was sitting in his kitchen that looked as always, as if nothing had ever happened. Remus had cleaned up thoroughly.
The floor was clean, the sink was white, all bloody cloths charmed out of sight. Even the blankets had been summoned back to their corresponding beds.
Rem truly had taken care of everything.
Even the potions he had fed Sirius had been not magical but miraculous, because Sirius, no longer under Yarrow, was now feeling as though he'd been run over by a truck and not a train. And, finally admitting how unkind the past days had been, he reckoned that was quite an achievement.
After a few good hours spent sitting at his kitchen table, occasionally glancing from the sink to the spot by the wall, where Snape and he had spent the other night, Sirius was feeling even more… normal. At any rate, less disjointed from the world around him.
The glass of Firewhisky still rested untouched before him, as did his wand, and outside the night had fallen.
Sirius, with a newly found ranchos aversion towards the darkness on the other side of the kitchen window, charmed his late mother's ugly floral curtains back in place.
There was noise upstairs, a soft trotting, and Sirius ditched the impulse to rush to the upper floor. Instead, he bowed his head to catch a glimpse of the top of the staircase, where, some seconds later, Snape made an appearance and proceeded to shambling down the wooden steps, rather clumsily and decidedly unsteady.
Sirius let him be.
He didn't know what to do with him, now that Snape was neither in peril nor drowsily asleep.
Any offer of help would be more insulting to his ego than actually benefiting anything else, Sirius knew. He hadn't needed a full night of near-death experiences to learn that. That was Snape — had always been.
Unsure what else to do, Sirius went to the kitchen counter, cast a discreet heating charm around the room and another one to bring the kettle to boil and made tea. What was it that Molly always found to busy herself around the kitchen?
He had a hunch that if Snape was fit enough to get out of bed and walk down the stairs, he was also fit enough to not take kindly to being showered with fuss and concern — unlike Sirius, who had trained to proficiency in all of that.
Letting Snape find his way around the place seemed as good a plan as any.
Eventually, Snape did find his way to the kitchen.
"You're up early," Sirius greeted, taking him in.
That was a sight: Snape with an expression vaguely puzzled, standing in the doorway — no robes, no jacket, only in his trousers and his shirt, which was neither tucked in nor buttoned all the way up. He looked a bit lost and so much younger.
"Hey," Sirius said quietly. "Come in, sit down."
Snape glanced at him cautiously, then around the room: window—clock—calendar on the wall.
"I didn't get to rip out that last day," Sirius said with a tentative smile. "It's the seventeenth, actually."
For a moment, Snape considered the fact, thoughtfully, and eventually sketched a nod.
"You know what?" Sirius said. "Let's take that out."
He leaned over the counter to reach the calendar, ripped out the page of that terrible day, with malicious satisfaction, crumpled it to a ball and sent it flying in the dust bin, all under Snape's quizzical observation.
"There." Sirius smiled. "It's a new day."
Snape, standing quiet in the doorway, had nothing to say to that. If anything, he still seemed vaguely disoriented, like he was sobering up after a long night of — Right. He was sobering up after a long night of.
"How are you?" Sirius asked.
Another nod. "I'm good."
"Come in," Sirius repeated, and Snape glanced up at him, for a while unguarded. He looked as though — Sirius smiled at that — he looked like he needed a hug.
"I made tea," Sirius said.
They shared some time in silence while Snape regarded the mugs on the counter. He took a long moment, a really long moment, contemplating the two cups as they steamed lazily, side by side, their ceramic almost glimmering in the soft light shining from the ceiling lamp.
"Sounds lovely," Snape said. He frowned barely, and his expression was once more a bit cooler and collected. "I was on my way out, actually."
"You were what?"
Snape, not finding the need to respond anything to that, went to take his travelling cloak from the hanger.
"You know where my jacket is?" Snape asked, returning to stand in the doorway, cloak in hand. "And my robes?"
"I'm not sure. I'll find them later."
Another nod in response, and Snape's voice sounded more present than before.
"I don't know how you pulled that off, Black," he said, "high on Yarrow… and anyhow otherwise magically inept. But — seeing as I'm not dead, I presume you have credit for it. However unlikely that may seem. I believe it's appropriate that you have my gratitude. So — thank you."
"Where are you going? Wait — how will you get there?"
"I… I'll borrow the Portkey from the Weasleys; then I'll walk for a bit. I could rather use the walk — to clear my head."
Sirius believed him; he sure looked like his head was a mess.
"Don't be ridiculous, Snape. I'll open a window if you need the fresh air. There's no hurry, you know?"
Snape frowned slightly but didn't say anything.
"Listen," Sirius said, "if you do some stupid stuff and injure yourself—"
"By taking a walk?" Snape asked. "I'm fine. The healing work was… spectacular," he admitted reluctantly. "Believe me, I'd have no compunction about dozing off in your guest room for another five days if I needed that — if only to irritate you."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?"
"Why miss the opportunity?"
Sirius smiled.
"Then do it. Five more days, just to grind my nerves." His smile faded a moment later. "Look, it's barely a day since you — Just take your time."
"I'm fine now."
"You need to redefine your parameters for fine , Snape. You look like hell."
Snape, appearing unimpressed, tugged at his scarf and cloak, trying to pull the one out of the other, and something in Sirius' chest clenched uneasily.
He had this sudden impulse that he did not want Snape to leave. Not because of politeness or concern or whatever else. He simply did not want him to leave. And that was that. And it made no sense.
"Stay," Sirius surprised himself saying, "a while longer."
Snape blinked up — just as surprised, if not more so.
"A couple of days," Sirius said, "until you're well at least — Don't give me that bravado bunk of yours, I care nothing for it."
"That's touching. Still, I'm well enough now."
"Right."
Rem deserved a medal for taking so many I'm fines and never flipping. To Sirius' defence, unlike Snape, he had never been picked up from death's doorstep. He couldn't be as obnoxious as Snape; he was a little less so.
Sirius sighed.
"Stay for the food then?" He flashed a stiff grin, gesturing to the leftover plates on the kitchen counter.
"Your hospitality is astounding, Black. Nonetheless, some people have responsibilities, you know, other than finishing up leftovers."
"It's Friday evening, Snape — you don't have responsibilities."
"True that."
"Then stay."
For a lengthened second, Snape said nothing. His expression was measured and his gaze — shockingly intense. It made Sirius think that, maybe, just maybe, Snape, too, did not want to leave. Not just yet. Or maybe he wanted to murder him. Sirius had never quite figured him out.
"If my presence bothers you, do say so; politeness never stopped you before," Sirius said. "I don't mind the comfort of my room, and you can have the kitchen for yourself if you like. Would you want that?"
That unsettling glint in Snape's eyes did not abide, and slowly, Sirius was beginning to incline towards the murdering intent.
"You're not bothering me," Snape said quietly and stepped inside the kitchen. "Or perhaps, I've gotten too used to it by now."
He let his cloak rest on the back of a chair, pulled out another one, moving stiffly, and sat down at the table.
"I'd offer you Firewhisky, but I doubt that's suitable for" — Sirius surveyed him briefly — "everything."
"Probably not."
"Tea then?"
Snape gave a small nod.
Grabbing one of the mugs from the counter, Sirius took a seat close to Snape.
"Here," he murmured, sliding the warm tea mug across the table corner to Snape.
Snape took it with another slight nod and a steady hand, and Sirius found himself smiling a bit. It felt good to see that — the steadiness.
It really did.
Figuring he had no reasons to avoid alcohol, Sirius picked up his glass of Firewhisky, and they both sat at the table in silence, Sirius tilting his glass slowly back and forth, watching the amber liquid undulate lazily, and Snape gazing into his tea mug with its blurry trail of steam.
"Are you hungry?" Sirius asked.
Snape considered that for a while. "No."
"Do you need anything?
Another quiet "no."
"How are classes going?"
"Pardon?"
"Classes, you know… school. You're still teaching, aren't you?"
"I am. It's just — small talk isn't our thing, Black."
"No, I suppose it isn't," he conceded, appraising the Firewhisky rocking torpidly as he tilted his glass back and forth.
He glanced up.
"How are you feeling? Really?" It was a simple question, which to Sirius felt as if he was pleading for no more I'm fines . "Really?"
Snape set the cup untouched on the table, and met his eyes.
"All right, I suppose," he said in a voice that felt sincere. "A bit lightheaded."
"Good. That's good. Not the lightheadedness, I mean, but — you know."
"I know."
They returned to silence once more and to measuring the contents of their glasses, and Sirius couldn't decide whether the quietude that stretched between them felt awkward or, in a way of its own, companionable.
He peeked up from his glass to find Snape glimpsing out of the window. The winter night was dark, and the wind was battering against the glass as if trying to force its way inside.
Sirius shuddered.
It felt unsettling, after all that had happened the other night, to think that all would return to how it was before — Sirius sitting here, and Snape walking alone in this war where no side was truly his.
Suddenly annoyed with all that spread on the other side of the glass, Sirius stood up and pulled the curtains closed. He grabbed a plate from the counter by the window to mask his gesture in inconspicuousness and returned to his chair, plate in hand and a strained grin on his face.
"Shortbread?" he asked.
"No."
"You don't like shortbread?"
"No."
"Here," Sirius said, taking his sweater from the chair's backrest and holding it out to Snape. "It's a bit chilly."
Snape accepted the sweater with a silent thanks and pulled it over his head and put it on rather absently. He didn't even bother rolling up the sleeves.
If Snape had been looking offbeat in his informal attire, he appeared even more misplaced in Sirius' baggy sweater that was, quite obviously, a size too large for him. With Snape being rather slighter in every way, Sirius' sweater fitted him just — off.
Snape didn't seem to mind.
He was surveying the room as though trying to recollect all that had happened there, his focus turning a couple of times to the spot by the wall, where they had both sat for long hours the other night.
"How did—?" Snape asked at one point.
"Revival potion. Remus brought one."
Snape took a moment to process that.
"Lupin, I remember him…"
By the looks of it, the fragments of the other night had still not all fallen into their right place and Snape was trying to piece them together.
A trace of a frown traversed his face, gaze shifting in unease, vaguely embarrassed. And Sirius couldn't fathom what he'd found to feel embarrassed for.
It was Sirius who had acted beside himself the other night — it must have shown at some point that he was rather shaken. He half expected Snape to remember and diss him for it, though, surprisingly, Sirius didn't feel in the slightest ashamed by any of that.
Maybe it no longer mattered who did what, who held his head up higher. It wasn't a stand-off anymore. It no longer felt like one.
Snape, for his part, seemed uninterested in dissing Sirius or bringing up anything that had happened.
"Quite a night," was all Snape said, and Sirius could only agree with the verdict.
They spent some more time in silence, both sitting quietly at the table, Sirius with his untouched glass of Firewhisky and Snape with his tea and too-large sweater, looking a bit chilly. At some point, Snape's attention returned to that place by the wall, and a thin line creased his brow as though he'd just remembered something.
He glanced up at Sirius briefly, guardedly.
"How are you?"
Surprised by the question, Sirius needed a moment, and somehow, by the end of that moment, he still had no proper answer.
"I'm good. I'm great," he said, for the first time sincere. "I'm really great."
Snape arched his eyebrows at that, eyeing Sirius' Firewhisky glass.
"And what is it, Black, that you are feeling so great about?"
"That's a good question. I'm not sure… I guess — No, it's not the alcohol, Snape. I've had enough of everything to feel drunk without drinking."
Snape's banter ebbed out.
"I suppose you have."
"It's just," Sirius said. "I guess — I'm just glad it's over. And I'm glad you're here. I really am."
"It's better than the alternative, I suppose." Snape gave their surroundings a once over, amending, "in some ways at least."
"I never thanked you," Sirius blurted out. "And I never will."
Snape seemed unperturbed by the sudden confession.
"You must think I'm the last kind of human for not doing so, conceited and arrogant and selfish and — and you're right to think so; I'm not trying to convince you otherwise. But when you think of me that way, and when you go back to hating me with all you have for it, I want you to know — to understand. I'm not conceited. I keep thinking about what you did and how you must have been insane to do so. And I would have never, never, never agreed to you doing what you did. Never. I don't agree now. And I never will. Never. You never should have done that. And that is why I'm not thanking you."
Snape, having heard him out as if his string of thoughts was as self-evident as the weather outside, answered, still unperturbed, not a trace of doubt in his voice.
"I know."
Sirius nodded, not really knowing what to make of that.
There was so much about Snape that didn't make sense. Then again, so much that did, in a way of its own.
"Lupin's been practising healing magic?" Snape asked.
"He knows some." Sirius shrugged. "Always had a bit of an inclination towards it."
Snape nodded, thoughtful. "It's hardly 'a bit' what he did. I didn't imagine he'd —"
"Oh, that. No. He didn't — he did only a bit. It's the potions that worked wonders."
"Potions?"
"Mm-hmm," Sirius nodded, trying to act smug.
"What were they?"
"There was some impressive stuff, I'm telling you."
"Well…?"
Snape folded his arms over his chest, shoulders tensing a bit as if there was a cool draught in the room.
He didn't seem to mind that, though.
He was regarding Sirius with an expression of genuine curiosity, which for some reason, made Sirius feel a little sprightly.
"Are you going to tell me?"
"Yeah."
Leaning forward and propping his elbows on the table, Sirius gave a slight smile.
"It was — let me think," he said. "So, the revival potion was brewed with Nashornel root and Mibiari. And there was a regenerative elixir from Phoenix dust — I think sourced in the Peruvian Andes."
"Impossible."
"Then maybe it was the Flamethrosh coming from the Andes — Oh, come on, don't give me that look! — They're both birds, both catching fire, and I never cared anything for potions or magical creatures. Have some leniency."
Sirius laughed and saw Snape almost sketch back a smile of amusement.
"Anyway, so that must have been the Flamethrosh ash for the Draught of Heartbeat…" Sirius amended, surprised to be recalling anything at all from what Rem had told him.
Meanwhile, Snape was watching him attentively, waiting for him to continue. If his eyes weren't shining hazily tired, Sirius thought, he would have looked not much different from a kid waiting to unwrap a new toy.
"Yes, I think that was the Flamethrosh," Sirius said. "And there was also Tears of the Tara — if I remember correctly, potentiated by some tonic I've never heard of before. And the Phoenix dust must have been for… I can't remember. I couldn't say I've been paying attention, to be honest."
Snape nodded slowly. It would seem it wasn't for nothing that Remus had been so impressed with the medicine.
"Mibiari for the revival potion, that's—" Snape said after a while. "It's too unstable to be bottled…"
Sirius took a moment, trying to recall Remus' many, many, endless explanations that morning.
"Maybe it was crystallized?"
"Crystallized Mibiari?" Snape checked.
Sirius nodded tentatively.
"It would need—"
"Ah, yes, there was Ibis feather too! Rem mentioned the Ibis."
"Found in the Andes… that adds up," Snape mumbled rather to himself. He blinked up. And peered at Sirius, mistrustful. "And you would know the crystallised form needs Ibis feather?"
"I figured—" Snape's scepticism suddenly made sense. Sirius sat straighter with a smug smile. "Am I impressing you?"
"Are you trying to impress me?"
"I don't know…" Sirius laughed. "I might; I mightn't. Do you care?"
Snape looked rather amused, and Sirius let go of his feigned smugness.
"Rem's passionate about medicinal stuff," he explained, "talks about it rather often. It must have rubbed off on me. And I catch on quickly. I'm not stupid, you know."
Snape tilted his head slightly.
"Well…" He gave Sirius a once over and would have impressed as condescending if he weren't sporting Sirius' oversized sweater and an almost-smile that was rather tired all the while. "I wouldn't go as far as… acknowledging that."
Sirius laughed at that. "I'd blame it on the medicine if you were."
"It's a good enough excuse."
"Well…?" Sirius invited.
Snape shook his head.
"Half-a-compliment with a good excuse, and you won't even give me that."
"You are aware, Black: the compliment you're begging for is that you aren't stupid?"
"I know my limits with you. What can I say?"
Snape lifted his shoulder in a half shrug.
"Wait a moment," said Snape. "How did Lupin have such potions?"
"From Patrolcho. Dumbledore arranged for them to meet for the Wolfsbane and then—"
"Lupin met Patrolcho?"
"Mm-hmm." Sirius shrugged.
"In person…?"
"I guess — how else?"
"And spoke to him?"
Sirius chuckled. "I don't think they could have gotten by without speaking."
"Did Lupin —?" Snape said with a frown. "Lupin attended the symposium."
Sirius hesitated, though only briefly. "No, I don't think so," he answered. "I think the committee rejected his application. They didn't like his credentials or some bureaucratic nonsense."
Snape leaned back in his chair, looking mildly pleased, and Sirius found he felt sort of good about it.
Well, some things never changed, did they?
"Speaking of Patrolcho," Sirius said. "I restacked the potions kit. If you need anything, suit yourself. We even have Pink Blood."
Snape blinked with a start.
There was the strangest flicker on his face, eyes shifting in worry, as though he'd been caught off guard, doing something shameful, and he was searching for his way out, quite nervously. A moment later, though, his expression had settled to inscrutable dispassion, and when he spoke, his voice was a note colder than before. And decidedly more cutting.
"I don't need Pink Blood, Black. I can handle my own…" Snape searched for the right word, and Sirius wondered what it would be — demons, hallucinations, hollows of your own torture that follow you into awakening? "...displeasing thoughts."
Ah, trust Snape to find the matching understatements.
"Though I must admit, Black, I'm quite impressed you could get Pink Blood. Your source of sound waking hours after Azkaban, I assume?"
Sirius chuckled grimly. "I wish."
"I see. You got it for me, then." There was enough contempt in Snape's tone to turn the statement into an insult. "You impress me. You have medicine and tea — and shortbread. Where's your apron?"
"By the stove." Sirius grinned unamused. "Borrowed it from Molly."
"By all means, do wear it. It must suit you better than the wand."
"Is that so?"
"It must be. With how much time you spend sitting home."
Sirius shook his head to throw off the absurdity of that last jab.
Whatever it was about Pink Blood, Sirius reasoned, in offering it, he had trodden too close to an open wound. And Snape, like any man with an ego as big as a house and as sturdy as an eggshell, was doing all in his power to push Sirius back to a safe distance, quite successfully.
"I see you even got your curtains back on — on my account, I assume. That's most thoughtful, Black. Surely, in your exhausted state of mind, you must have gotten all sorts of wrong ideas."
"Mm-hmm…"
The blatant obviousness of Snape's sudden offensive was perplexing, to say the least. To give him the benefit of the doubt at least, his head was probably still too much of a mess for subtle tactics.
"Yes," Sirius concluded, "I got the curtains back on, the hideous floral ones — just to irritate you."
Reasoning that the quickest way out of this sudden awkwardness was to take the bull by its horns, Sirius pulled up his courage to do what he had never found the guts to do with Snape before — take back his words.
"I shouldn't have assumed that —" Sirius tried. "It's not my business to — Look, I didn't mean to — I…"
Snape watched him stutter for words, expression never changing, not a flinch, not a frown, and Sirius' stuttering turned to dumb silence.
For all of Snape's intimidating demeanour, speaking to him had never left Sirius feeling quite this stupid. Taking the bull by the horns wouldn't do it.
Snape wasn't a bull. He was some sort of untamed animal, one of not very large proportions. Don't move, and it will walk away; rush towards it, and it will bite before fleeing. How do you get it to come to you? Sirius had already tried offering food.
"Sure don't want shortbread?"
Snape glared at him, emotionless and unamused.
Apparently, he wasn't feeding on shortbread.
Sirius sighed, admitting defeat.
"It was stupid of me. I'm just glad it's all over and you're here now. That's all there is to it."
"I'm flattered," Snape said flatly. "Though I can't fathom why you would be glad about my presence. I see the floors are already moped up."
"Ah, don't underestimate yourself. The chimney got lined from that fire burning all night, there's a heap of blankets waiting to be cleaned, and I think you might have broken a glass at some point. I count on you to chip in with the housework."
"You're a charming host, my compliments."
"Runs in the family."
"She would be proud of you."
Snape cast a meaningful glare to the hallway, where the atrocious painting of Sirius' late mother hung, irremovable.
"Would she not?" Sirius said with a bitter grin.
It was awkward.
Snape was pulling up his defences, and Sirius was finding himself playing along. They were marking the safe distance between them and wrapping it up politely — whatever questionable understanding of politeness they both had.
Sirius didn't know what to make of it. All he knew was that, somehow, it stung. A little.
"You're not serious about this," Sirius said. "Honestly?"
Snape frowned, and there was a trace of a sneer on his face, making him appear profoundly unhappy. His gaze darted uncomfortably from the table to his cloak on the chair to the door leading out of the kitchen, and Sirius found himself suddenly edgy.
"Don't be ridiculous, Snape — stop eyeing your cloak. I saw you the other night. You didn't flinch in the face of death — stood dauntless to the end. Surely, I can't make you that nervous."
Snape sat unmoving and for the moment almost discomfited. He recovered eventually, his expression evening out.
He was no longer sneering or frowning. If anything, he seemed to have found reason in Sirius' words. At least in part.
"That would," Snape said quietly, "seem disproportionate, wouldn't it?"
"I guess it would."
Sirius picked up his glass of Firewhisky, poring over the amber liquid that rocked sluggishly inside as he tipped the glass — back and forth, back and forth — time and time again.
"With all the Order meetings we have behind us, you and I," Sirius said, "you'd think, by now, we'd have grown too bored between us to still unnerve one another in such a way, wouldn't you?"
For a long moment, Snape observed him silently, and at some point, he even gave the impression he would have said something, but then he returned to measuring his cup of tea, still resting on the table, still untouched, no longer steaming though.
"Though, come to think of it," Sirius said, fixing his glass, "it's hardly me who's wracking your nerves in these meetings. It's Moody, isn't it? You don't really like Moody?"
He already expected to be ignored again when Snape finally answered.
"I don't. He's — We had a rough start."
"Yeah, I can tell," Sirius chuckled, albeit a little sadly. "Though I don't think he would — I mean the other night when—"
"No, I don't think that either. He's a jerk, but he doesn't fit the profile of a traitor."
"No… he doesn't."
"If it's someone, then probably — it doesn't matter."
Right. Shacklebolt, last one to join, shady background. Or Fletcher.
Wonderfully played, Dumbledore, stack the inner circle with people we know nothing about, while sending your man camping beyond enemy lines. Brilliant, brilliant tactic.
"Dumbledore won't do anything about it?" Sirius asked tentatively.
Snape took a moment to choose his answer, slight frown in place, expression level. Eventually, he settled for the safe distance.
"What's the matter, Black? Are you getting cold feet?"
"Hardly," Sirius muttered unamused. "My feet are nice and warm in my own house."
Not even that got him a reaction from Snape.
"You tried bringing it up with Dumbledore?"
Snape didn't answer.
Sirius sighed, feeling like he was running his head against a wall talking to Snape.
It was strange. It was slowly returning to how it was before, and Sirius was wondering privately when the fuck had he come to expect otherwise?
He hadn't been aware that he had.
He resigned himself to the listless swivel of whiskey in his glass, slowly back and slowly forth.
"What is it that you deceived death now?" Sirius found himself asking. "Two times in three days? You've got quite a record going for you."
Looking up from his tea mug with a cautious expression, Snape answered nothing to that.
"It was three times, wasn't it?"
Another silence, another pause to weigh words and calculate distances.
"You could say I'm quite good at deceiving."
"You bloody are."
And they were both back to the comfort of their untouched drinks.
Soon enough, they would each slip back into their separate offbeat normalities, meet again at Order gatherings, probably, like nothing more than acquaintances. Not that they had ever been anything more than that.
Had they?
Reckoning it was his best shot at gathering the courage to do anything about it, Sirius inclined his glass one more time back and one more time forth — careful on the forth, not tilting too boldly, to not spill the liquid out — then he downed his Firewhisky in three large gulps.
Snape arched his eyebrows at that.
"Am I making you that nervous?"
"Try not to look so pleased."
"If my presence bothers you, Black, do say so." There was an unkind mock in Snape's tone as he repeated Sirius' earlier words. "Politeness never stopped you before."
"It's all games again, isn't it?" Sirius asked, feeling the alcohol working its way up to his head but not his courage.
"Was there ever anything more to it?"
You nearly laid down your life for me. What do you think?
"No, you're right," Snape smirked in cold humour. "There was more to it: there were the blunt insults and the endless rants."
"And the boasting." Sirius chuckled grimly, reckoning it wasn't him who should have done the drinking. "But that's not what I meant, and you know that."
"You're finally admitting to the boasting, then?"
Sirius shook his head, silently accepting that his question would remain unanswered.
"I couldn't," he said. "I would never take that away from you."
"I don't believe it's called 'boasting' when it's backed by one's actual capabilities."
Sirius smirked unhappily. "Self-assured as always…"
"Would you picture me any other way?"
"Not really. You'd be dull as night without that."
"Ah, and we'd have too much in common then."
Sirius examined the empty glass in his hand.
"Right."
It was maddening — being so close to Snape and seeing the wall between them, all defences in place, the insurmountable distance, after all that had just happened.
How could he mind losing something he never had?
"What will you do from here on?" Sirius asked.
Snape's answer didn't surprise him, not really. It still made Sirius shudder.
"The same as before," Snape said in a perfectly even voice.
But then he frowned, barely perceptibly, a thin line creasing his brow.
"Did you expect me to cower out?"
"No."
But I wish you would.
Not feeling like drinking or like anything else really, Sirius poured himself another glass.
"That's a bloody thin line you're walking in this war, Snape."
"You think?"
Sirius chuckled, the cynicism a bit too much for his current liking.
"Quite. Bloody and thin."
He stared into the lazy amber twirl of the whiskey as he tilted his glass, slowly, slowly, back and forth… back and forth… back…
and forth...
"Granted, Snape, coming to know better" — Sirius glanced up from his glass — "no one but you would dare walk that line" — and saw Snape flinch at his words.
For a second, Snape looked dumbstruck.
And Sirius let him be. He returned to studying his whiskey with its haphazard swivel.
They fell silent again, and Sirius knew that the alcohol and the courage had worked their way up as high into his head as they ever would.
It didn't feel high enough at all.
"It has its perks, you know," Snape said. "Gives me enough to grind your nerves at Order meetings."
"I'll grant you that." Sirius smiled bitterly. "A bit pricey, if you ask me."
He was met with an appraising glare from Snape.
"If seeing you intimidated came cheap, Black, it would hardly feel rewarding, would it?"
"Intimidated…? Me?"
Not bothering to answer, Snape inclined his head to confirm that yes… intimidated, him.
"What the hell, Snape?" Sirius set his glass down on the table, taking a moment to make sure he hadn't misunderstood. "No, that's—" He sighed. "What gave me away? Spit it out."
Snape smiled at that, a bit unkind, a bit amiable, too.
"You aren't going to tell me, are you?" Sirius surmised. "Again."
"No."
Whatever Snape had going for him, Sirius thought, he would never figure him out.
"You were bluffing?"
Snape answered nothing to that.
"You bluff well," Sirius admitted. "That much is for sure."
"It is for sure. If it weren't, I'd be dead more times over than I can count."
Sirius nodded, staring into his glass, and felt his chest clench. This was it. He'd never bulk up more courage than now.
He intercepted Snape's gaze, and held it. It was strikingly unsettling, a tumult of things unspoken.
"Drop by sometime," Sirius blurted out.
Snape watched him guardedly.
"I know what you think," Sirius said, feeling his courage sap and drain under the table, "and it isn't like that. Save for the Order meetings, there isn't a soul in sight here most of the time. It's just me — not even Rem."
"So you are feeling bored?"
Sirius chuckled half-heartedly. He touched the glass of Firewhisky to his lips but didn't take a sip. He set it back down.
"No, Snape, I'm not bored. I'd just like to see you again."
Fuck.
Sirius covered his face with a hand and could only laugh at the awkwardness of that.
"That came out wrong." He chuckled.
He lowered his hand and peeked up to find Snape, tea mug in hand, watching him with a flat expression.
"I almost asked you on a date, didn't I?"
Snape nearly choked on his tea. "You came close to it," he mumbled. "Hope I'm not breaking your heart."
"I could've even gotten away with it, too, you know? Blaming it on the whiskey." Sirius shrugged. "But you — you would have had no excuse if you'd have said yes."
Snape sized him up, amusement barely contained.
"It's good I caught myself just in time."
Sirius laughed at that. "Fool's luck."
That did cause Snape to smile, just a bit.
"I'm — You know what I meant to say," Sirius tried explaining. "It would be good to have you around. I don't even know how to say it properly — trust me, I'm no better than you at this."
"Really?" Snape tilted his head incredulously. "You?"
"I don't know why you'd be surprised."
Snape, looking a bit sceptical, a bit amused, and rather weary all the while, was regarding Sirius as if his words weren't making much sense. Sirius could only laugh at his puzzlement.
"You must have gotten the wrong idea about me," Sirius said. "Because you know me from high school, probably."
That didn't seem to bring any insight to Snape, so Sirius went on, speaking lightly, still smiling at the earlier awkwardness of their exchange.
"I've spent my years after school fighting a war and almost every day since in Azkaban. You'd be hard put to find anyone less trained than me in — all this." He waved his hand in a best attempt to indicate whatever was going on between them. "Or in asking for dates," Sirius concluded with a chuckle.
Snape nodded, only slightly.
He was no longer smiling, and his amusement had blurred out. Sirius' words seemed to have wiped that away.
It took Sirius vaguely aback. It wasn't what he had aimed for.
"I didn't," Sirius said, "I didn't mean for that to sound — pitiable, or…"
"I know. And it didn't."
They fell silent for a while, and Sirius didn't know what to make of it.
"You know," he tried to work their way out with a sheepish grin. "That might have been the closest I came to asking for a date in fifteen years."
Snape looked as though he couldn't figure out what to reply. He did, eventually.
"And I should feel flattered?"
"I don't know. Do you?"
"Don't give yourself that much credit, Black."
"Not your type?"
"Hardly."
"Will you, then?" Sirius asked. "Come by sometime? No dating, I promise." He smiled. "Just — come by, whenever."
For a moment, Snape considered the proposal, and to Sirius' surprise, the moment was unexpectedly short.
"I'd like that."
"Really?"
Snape nodded, a little.
"Knowing you, Black, you'll make me regret this."
Sirius found himself smiling at that. He leaned back in his chair, feeling — he didn't know what he was feeling at all.
But whatever it was, in a way, it felt just right.
It didn't even bother him that Snape was observing him attentively as though trying to sort out a puzzle. They were both sorting out puzzles, one way or another.
"You promised me a duel, Black. If I remember well."
"I have."
"When?"
"You're eager," said Sirius.
Snape's eyes fixed on Sirius with shocking intensity. He was eager.
"Soon enough," Sirius answered.
Both sorting out puzzles… that much was for sure.
Snape set his mug back down on the table, and when he spoke again, his voice held an undercurrent of sorrow, a quiet note of it that Sirius had nearly missed.
"You haven't had your wand for twelve years, have you?"
Sirius answered with a small shake of the head.
For another while, Snape regarded him without speaking, looking a bit chilly, immersed in his thoughts, and in Sirius, and in the silence between them.
"You have been training?" he asked. "To make up for it."
"Like crazy," said Sirius. "You've no idea!"
"And it's going well?"
"I guess."
"Found anyone to spar with," Snape asked, a tad uncertain, "who can hold their ground?"
The question took Sirius by surprise, and he couldn't answer it frankly. Snape didn't press on that; if anything, he seemed to understand.
"Well?" Snape said.
"Are you offering—?"
"I'm not offering anything, Black. I'm stalling, sparring with people who barely parry three hits in a row before they land on the floor and call it a day."
"You're self-assured."
"I'm not," Snape said. "I'm just — not bad with a wand… and neither are you."
"Is that an invitation?"
"Take it as you like," he answered quietly.
Sirius thought about it, not really about Snape's words, but everything else too.
No matter how much thought he gave to it, he found he still couldn't fathom how Snape, tucked in his misfitting sweater, looking hazily tired and a bit cold, could fix him with that piercing gaze that gave Sirius the chills and made him feel suddenly reckless and eager and — Sirius grinned.
"I'll take that with a yes."
Snape gave a small nod, and he smiled, just a little.
It was strange, and in any case unexpected, everything that had happened — the other night, and just now. To think of where they had been for years, and where they were today.
Sirius leaned over the table, peeking inside Snape's mug that was now empty. He got up and shoved his Firewhisky aside on the kitchen counter, refilled Snape's cup with tea and took his own cup, too, casting a silent warming charm along the way, before returning to his seat close to Snape.
Sirius set the warm mugs on the table between them.
"You'd like some more tea?" he asked, a little uncertain. "Or better call it a night? You still look like you could do with a nap, you know."
Snape considered that for a while. He glanced at the clock, then at the window with its ugly floral curtains, the kitchen door and the staircase leading up.
In the end, he let all that be and turned to Sirius and their cups on the table — reheated tea, likely a bit bitter, and a bit warming all the while.
"I think I'd stay here for another while."
"Yeah, me too." Sirius smiled.
The night was late and the room enfolded in companionable silence, no small-talk, no nonsense. Sirius liked that.
"It's good to have you here," Sirius said, and Snape nodded to that.
"It is," he answered.
It really was.
~~~
The end.