Author's Note: The uncensored version of chapter four of this story is available out of general circulation, in that other section of the library. Be sure to bring a note from your professor.

Stone Walls do not a Prison make,

Nor Iron bars a Cage ;

Mindes innocent and quiet take

That for an Hermitage ;

If I have freedome in my Love,

And in my soule am free ;

Angels alone that sore above,

Injoy such Liberty.

------Richard Lovelace, ca. 1649

On the evening of the third day after Snape's release, Sirius laid the wide shallow silver bowl on the table. He set it next to the thin soup that was all Snape had proven able to tolerate; that and toast was all he had kept down in three days. Tea would do, as long as it was cold. He had managed to stay awake for a only a few hours; the rest of the time he had spent sleeping, and most of that he had spent curled in the corner. Once, when he could tell Snape was deep enough under he wouldn't wake him, he had picked him up and moved him back to the bed. Half an hour later, he had found him back in the corner. After that he had given up.

Snape had shown some initiative in bathing himself and putting on clean clothes, but other than that he moved in a relative stupor. He spoke if spoken to. He was unfailingly polite, but uninterested in anything Sirius had to say, especially if it concerned him and his former life. Dumbledore had hoped the memories would begin to surface, but they were beginning to acknowledge that might not happen of its own accord. So he had asked Sirius to try the more direct approach that they had hoped to avoid.

"How is the soup?"

"Very good. Thank you."

"There's more tea if you want."

"All right."

He watched him eat in silence for a few minutes, wondering if he saw the bowl and was determined not to ask.

"Do you know what that is?"

"What?"

"The bowl to your left."

"Yes, I do in fact."

"When you're done eating, I think we ought to give it a try."

Snape set his spoon down and carefully wiped his mouth. "I am assuming it contains my memories."

"It does. Before placing the spell, Dumbledore made sure your memories were preserved in a Pensieve, in case you had difficulty in recovering them afterward."

"Am I?"

"Are you what?"

"Having difficulties?"

"Well. . .are you remembering things?"

"No."

"Wouldn't you like to?"

"No."

He had seen that one coming, even though he had not voiced it to Dumbledore. "If you can remember things before Azkaban, those memories might become less vivid. I would think you would want that."

"Not particularly."

He knew the truth was that Snape did not particularly want anything. In the first weeks after his own escape, he had cared for nothing and no one but wreaking his vengeance on Pettigrew. Without the anchor of that purpose, he knew he would have drifted on a sea of apathy, the same that threatened to engulf Snape.

"I understand that. But I need you to try."

"If you insist."

"I do. Do you want to prepare it yourself?"

"No. You may."

With a swirl of his wand over the bowl, Sirius set in it front of Snape, who regarded it like a bowl of fermented broccoli stew. "Whenever you're ready."

"May I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"Do you think that looking at my memories will make me remember them?"

"I don't know. It's possible."

Snape reached to pull the bowl closer, and stopped, his hand on the rim. "I am assuming much of what I am about to see will be no more pleasant than what I already remember."

Sirius shifted. "I couldn't say. Some of it, undoubtedly. But at least- at least the pain will be yours, and not someone else's."

"Does that make a difference?"

He sighed. "Maybe. Just please, give it a try."

"If you wish it so much."

He leaned his head over the bowl and Sirius watched the bowl swirl up to meet him. When he was sure Snape was pulled all the way under, he rose, turned off the lights and went to lie down. If successful, this could take hours. If not. . .well, if not, they could think of something else in the morning.

*************************

He knew nothing until daylight the next morning. The silence in the flat unnerved him more than anything; he had half expected to be awakened by a screaming, ranting Snape, hurling dishware against the wall. He stuck his head in Snape's room on his way down the hall, but there was no sign anybody had slept there. He found Snape in the living room, standing at the window much as he had every morning, watching the sun rise over the buildings. The Pensieve was back on the sideboard.

"I made some tea. You looked like you needed your rest." Snape didn't turn around.

"All right. Thanks." He waited, but Snape volunteered nothing else. "How did it go last night?"

"You mean, do I remember anything?"

"Yes, that's what I mean. Do you remember anything?"

"Of course."

"What do you remember?"

"Everything." Snape twitched the curtain aside to get a better view of something on the street. "Tell me, Black, why do you keep a flat here instead of Diagon Alley?"

"Well, my mother was Muggle-born, and I am just as comfortable in both worlds. Also, the wizarding world can be a bit. . .claustrophobic. It's nice to be able to retreat from it occasionally."

"And since you left Azkaban, they still look at you askance, even though your name was cleared."

"And that as well."

Snape went back to his examination of the street below. There was something terribly unsettling about his calm.

"Don't you want to ask me anything, Snape?"

"Yes, in fact. How do you operate that contraption over there?"

"Oh. That's a CD player. It plays music. Let me show you." He demonstrated the system's function to him with a Brahms concerto. Snape pushed the eject button several times, fascinated, trailing his finger over the blinking readout. "You're welcome to use it whenever you like."

"Thank you."

"I need to go to the store in a bit. It's just around the corner. Would you like to go out?"

"No, thank you."

"All right then. I'll be back as soon as I can. Is there anything you want?"

"Not particularly."

Sirius gathered up his jacket and paused at the door. Snape was back at the CD player, picking through CDs. "Snape."

"Yes."

"I- nothing. Never mind. I'll be back in a minute."

He was gone almost an hour, as it turned out. The store around the corner was out of the kind of tea he was accustomed to, and he had to go on another five blocks to find a store that had Lapsang Souchong. He took his time on the walk back, relishing the movement and noise of the city after the suffocating quiet of the flat. It wasn't true that he cut himself off from the wizarding world when he was here. Three blocks west of his flat was a small pub, one quarter the size of the Leaky Cauldron and equally hidden from the casual gaze. Here he was wont to stop in occasionally, though it was not a friendly place, and he was never greeted by name. One of its many advantages, from Sirius's point of view.

He took a small room in back and threw a handful of powder in the dingy fireplace, muttering a spell. Within seconds, Albus Dumbledore's face appeared in the flames.

"Well? How did it go last night?"

"All right, I suppose. I left him with the Pensieve and went to bed. When I woke up this morning he claimed to remember everything."

"Do you think he is not telling you the truth?"

"I- no, that's not it. That wouldn't worry me so much. What worries me is that he is telling the truth."

"Ah. You expected him to be himself again, once his memories returned."

"Not exactly. But I did expect something- some emotion. Anger, especially." He sighed. "Albus, I think it would be best if I brought him back to Hogwarts now. If he's in his own environment, he stands a better chance of recovering."

"I disagree," said Dumbledore gravely. "I know this task is not to your taste, Sirius. But I need you to do this."

Sirius thought a moment. "You don't expect him to recover, do you?"

Dumbledore's disembodied head examined him for a moment before answering. "I don't know, really. I think in large measure that will be up to Severus."

He leaned his hands on the mantel. "I need some of his things. His books, maybe, and whatever you think he would want. Can you do that?"

"Of course, my boy. I will send them on at once. I know just the thing."

"I'll owl you later, then. Send me a Hogwarts owl- I haven't one here."

"Keep me posted. And Sirius-"

"Yes?"

"Thank you."

He doused the flames with the pewter beaker on the mantel and watched the acrid smoke curl up the chimney. He fought down the suspicion that Albus was keeping Snape here because he didn't want to see him.

He heard the music before he unlocked the door- heard it on the stairs two floors below, in fact. When he opened the door he saw Snape sitting on the floor with his back against the sofa, barefoot, as before, head tilted back, eyes closed, a cigarette nestled on the ashtray beside him. The music was deafening.

"And they were singin'

Bye bye Miss American Pie

Drove my Chevy to the levee

But the levee was dry.

And the good old boys drinkin' whisky and rye,

Singin' this'll be the day that I die,

This'll be the day that I die."

Snape fingered the remote control and turned the music down slightly. "Need help?"

"No, thanks, I've got it. Turn that thing down. Mrs. Gromet's likely to call the police."

He obeyed, taking a deep drag off his cigarette.

"I see you've found my stash. I don't think I've ever seen you smoke before, Snape. Then again, the sight of you in jeans and T shirt is shocking enough."

Snape stubbed out the cigarette and followed him into the kitchen, watching him put away the groceries. "What did Albus say?"

"When?"

"Honestly, Black, I've suffered trauma, not brain damage. What did Albus say when you contacted him?"

Sirius hid a smile as he bent to put away the crackers. That was sounding a bit more like Snape. "He asked if you remembered things yet, and I told him the Pensive was a success. He was pleased, but wants you to stay here a bit more."

"I see."

"You must be eager to get back home."

Snape gave him an odd look. "I suppose."

"I picked up some cold duck for luncheon today- the market was having a special on. Don't think I want to speculate why. Sound all right?"

"Yes, that's fine. I think I'll lie down for a bit first, if you don't mind." He shuffled off down the hallway and closed his bedroom door. Sirius swore and tossed the duck back in the refrigerator.

******************

The arrival of Dumbledore's package two days later exceeded all expectations. He had expected an owl- or several owls- to arrive laden with brown paper packages. He had even left the windows open all afternoon; Hogwarts owls were often unaccustomed to Muggle dwellings and had a tendency to crash into plate glass windows and slither to the ground stunned or worse. So he was startled when the knock on the door came, and positively dumbfounded when he opened it to see Harry standing grinning under a mountain of packages.

"Hullo, Sirius! Dumbledore said you needed some stuff, and I've been dying to see you, so here I am- er, we are." He stood aside to reveal Hermione buried under a particularly cumbersome parcel. "Can we come in?"

"Oh, good God. Yes, I suppose you'd better. Here, let me take that. Sorry, I don't mean to appear ungracious, it's just I'm not sure this was the best idea. Did he tell you anything about-"

"Good day, Mr. Potter. Miss Granger." Snape padded in to the living room and dropped to his customary place in front of the sofa. He flicked on the system's remote control and settled in, lighting a cigarette. Harry and Hermione stood as though struck by lightning.

"Um. Good day, sir," Harry managed.

"Hello, Professor. How are you feeling?" Hermione chimed in with a bright chipperness.

"Officious as ever, I see. I am as you find me. I'm sure you can find something to do that doesn't include bothering me."

Sirius rolled his eyes. "Yes, the personality recovery program proceeds apace. We're up to three insults a day now. It'll be nice to have you here to share the wealth." He led them into the kitchen and poured some tea. The kitchen was crowded, but it was free of the brooding, uncomfortable presence of Snape.

"Has he been like this since you got him out of Azkaban?" Harry asked in an undertone.

"Oh, he's much better now. The first few days- well, you wouldn't have wanted to be here. He seems almost normal now, in comparison."

"But," Hermione worried her bottom lip. "He's wearing blue jeans."

Sirius laughed. "He doesn't have much of a choice. That's really all I keep here."

She smiled. "He ought to be thrilled with some of what we brought, then. The headmaster sent his robes and his own clothes, and books and cauldrons and potions ingredients- he's asked Professor Snape to get started replenishing some of the Hogwarts stores. He should have plenty to keep him busy."

Sirius frowned slightly. "Well, I'm sure Albus knows what he's doing. What about the three of us going out tonight?"

Harry looked at Hermione. "Won't Professor Snape find it a bit odd if we just leave him here?"

"Trust me, no. He'd much rather stay. Even under the best of circumstances I wouldn't inflict him on unsuspecting Muggles. I know a great little Indian place a few blocks from here I've been wanting to try. In the mood for curry? My treat."

Hermione grinned and nudged Harry. "I told you this was a good idea."

********************

Having Harry and Hermione around turned out to be a good thing for everyone. Snape was at least forced to exchange the occasional remark, however chilly, and Sirius had the rare pleasure of his godson's company away from Hogwarts. He enjoyed showing Harry and Hermione around his little corner of London, and they were appreciative of his cooking, something he liked to think he was rather good at. Heating up Snape's gruel had not proved to be much of a challenge.

Snape had shown no interest whatsoever in the packages from Hogwarts. They sat in the corner of his bedroom where they had been deposited three days before. He continued to spend his days on the floor of the living room listening, apparently with no preference, to classical music, jazz, or Muggle rock at obnoxiously high volume. Occasionally he stretched out in the chair by the window and watched the street below, his long legs propped on the windowsill, his absent gaze fixed on some point in space, chain-smoking endlessly.

On the afternoon of the fourth day, Hermione reached a decision. She emerged from Snape's bedroom with the cauldron and an armful of bottles, and began setting up on the kitchen counter. Snape paid her no attention, but Sirius eyed her over his newspaper with something like alarm.

"Hermione. What are you doing?"

"I thought I might see if Professor Snape would like to get started on those potions. I figured, as long as he's got someone here to help. . ." she shrugged and glanced at the figure draped on the floor.

"Oh, for heaven's sake." Snape glowered at her. "As though Albus couldn't get one of about a dozen other people to make those potions for him. It is nothing but a pathetically transparent attempt to give me a Purpose In Life. What is it he wants me to brew? Foot fungus powder?"

"Well, I thought we might start with something simple like Skele-Gro," she chirped.

"Miss Granger, it is true I have not been your teacher for three years, but I doubt even Black's incompetence can have rendered you incapable of brewing such a simple potion on your own."

"Why, thank you, Snape. Three years had almost made me forget what a joy you are to have around."

"Please, Professor?" Hermione gave him her best and most docile look. "I know I could do it myself, but I would need the book, and we don't have it here. Would you do me the honour?"

"Oh, for the love of Merlin," He sneered, but unstretched his legs and stalked to the counter, where he regarded her carefully laid provisions with distaste. "I see you've become no more methodical about your preparations. I ought to deduct points for that clumsily shredded monkshood."

"I did that monkshood, Snape."

"Why am I not surprised. Hand me that wand." With a few flicks, he had the fire going and a gill of liquid bubbling in the bottom of the cauldron. He fell with ease into his customary concentration in front of a cauldron, his quick graceful hands chopping and stirring and sifting like he had stepped away from the table only yesterday. Hermione handed him the ingredients like a well-trained surgical nurse, watching him in silence, masking her small pleased smile.

"Lemongrass." He stretched out his hand.

"Griffin claw." She placed it in his hand, perfectly ground.

He paused, his wand uplifted to stir. He set the wand down, a furrow creasing his brow. "Hand me that- no." He stared into the cauldron's reeking depths. "The…" His frown deepened. He clutched the countertop as though suddenly dizzy.

"I can't remember," he whispered.

"The spider silk," she supplied softly.

"Yes, of course. Spider silk. The necessary component for the. . . to supply the. . ." He stared into space.

"To bind the molecules of the growing bone."

With a sweep of his arm he flung the bubbling cauldron and its contents off the counter. It crashed against the wall, spattering boiling liquid six feet. Hermione shrieked and covered her face. Harry and Sirius leaped to their feet at the same time.

"Goddamn it!" He grabbed up the monkshood and hurled it after the cauldron. "Fucking hell!" He picked up the bottle of strained salamanders and smashed it against the wall. Purple fluid streaked the wall and dripped onto the floor. "Bloody fucking hell! Why can't I- fucking- remember!"

Sirius approached him slowly, hands upraised in what he hoped was a calming gesture. "Snape. Take it easy. It will come."

Snape rounded on him with ferocity. "You," he gritted through clenched teeth, trembling. "You fucking bastard." He pushed him backward hard, and Sirius was reminded Snape had several inches on him and had lost none of his strength despite his malnourishment. The wiry arms pinned him against the wall. "You left me there to rot, you halfblooded cur, you mangy son of a mudblood bitch. Six months, goddamn it! It was supposed to be six months at the outside, not three bloody years. What the hell happened? Did you all just decide it would be easier to forget about the greasy git? Did you?" Snape's voice was a howl, a feral roar, teeth bared in his face. "Did Albus forget? Did he? Tell me the fucking truth!"

"Nobody forgot," he whispered.

"Liar!" Snape was shaking with rage now, and he lifted Sirius by his collar and pounded him against the wall. Harry advanced behind him, but Sirius quickly waved him away. He saw Harry and Hermione edge back into the hallway, out of range.

"You've done nothing but lie to me my whole life, you vicious little shit. You've been trying to kill me since I was fifteen, and probably before. You saw your chance and took it. You poisoned Albus against me- you took him from me too, damn you! And now you have my goddamn job as well, you motherfucking piss-sucking bastard. Everything I ever had in my life you have managed to take from me. Everything! Everything!"

Snape's face was purple, his eyes wild. A remote part of Sirius's brain that wasn't occupied in figuring out how to keep Snape from killing him was impressed at Snape's command of profanity. Who would have thought he had it in him? He grabbed on to Snape's arm.

"Snape. Listen to me. Nobody forgot you. Albus devoted his life to getting you out. Once he realized what a mistake he had made- it wasn't his fault, Snape. It was mine. The hearing that was supposed to free you after you infiltrated the Dementors-I was the one that fucked it up, Snape, I-"

"Shut up!" He pounded him again. "Shut up shut up shut up! I don't want to hear a word out of your fucking mouth! You don't know- you don't know. . ." Snape's breath came in great shudders, and his arms on Sirius's shoulders shook. "I- I- . . ." He dropped his arms and clutched at his hair. He backed away, fighting for breath.

"They took- everything. I don't- They took everything- oh God, oh God-" With no warning he collapsed to the floor at Sirius's feet, shaking uncontrollably. He lifted his head and gulped air as his first sob wracked him.

"Oh, Severus." Sirius dropped beside him and gathered the rangy man in his arms. "Oh, Severus."

Snape's sobs tore his throat, and he clawed into Sirius's body as though he were drowning. "Sirius. Help me. Help me."

"I am. Oh God, I am. I don't know what to do. I'm here, Severus. I'm here."

He held him while the sobs ripped through him like convulsions. They went on forever, until he doubted Snape had any more strength in him. He began to stroke the silky head that lay cradled in his lap, willing the breathing to quieten. At last Snape lay limp and unresisting, his fingers still gripping Sirius's shirt. He continued his stroking. The light from the window went from gold to grey, and the room darkened around them. After a while he thought Snape must have fallen asleep. He peered down to see the great dark eyes staring off in the distance.

"I don't know who I am any more, Sirius," he whispered hoarsely.

"I know."

"Everything I was- they erased it all. I can't- I can't seem to find it any more."

"I know." They sat in silence for a while more.

"You know. . ." Snape began softly. "You were in there for twelve years and came out whole. I was there for less than a quarter that time, and it destroyed me. I hate myself for that most of all, I think."

Sirius weighed his reply before he spoke. "When I went to Azkaban," he said slowly, "I knew with everything in me, with every fiber of my being, that I was an innocent man. I had my innocence as an anchor, and my hope of vengeance. You had none of that. You went believing in your guilt. The Dementors ripped you open and fed like sharks in a lagoon. You had no armour against them, nothing to hold on to. You're not weak, Severus. No one else could have done what you did."

"I don't know what to do now."

"I know that too." He shifted. "I think Harry and Hermione have locked themselves in the bathroom. Should we tell them to come out?"

"Perhaps. How long do you think they will stay in there if we don't say anything?"

"Till morning, at least."

"Well, give it a while, then. It's little enough time we have to ourselves with the children in the house."

He laughed, and felt Snape's answering chuckle against his thigh. The laughter eased the tight bands around his chest, so he tried it some more. He closed his eyes and rested his hand on the dark head. His last thought was to be sure not to fall asleep like this.

Harry and Hermione, as it turned out, were more intrepid than either man had given them credit for. After a fretful few hours spent pacing and whispering in the bathroom, ears to the keyhole, they had creeped out, wondering what scene of bloodshed would greet them. They had stared in astonishment at the sight of the two wizards slumped against the wall, twined together. Hermione, with Harry's help, had quietly cleaned the mess on the floor. She had gently draped them with a quilt, while Harry scribbled a note on the kitchen table before they left.

"That was the strangest thing I have ever witnessed," Harry had muttered as they went down the stairs.

"I know. Let's obliviate each other."

"Not to worry. I'm sure Snape will do it for us the minute he's back at school."

"Not fast enough," she said.