Day Three
The night had lasted for a week, and Snape's breakfast took at least another day or two. Sirius paced back and forth in the kitchen, waiting for the order to clear the table; his signal that Snape was leaving at last and that his plan might commence.
Finally the call sounded from the dining room, and after being told off for breaking yet another plate and spilling coffee on the tablecloth, Sirius was left alone with a pile of dirty dishes and without the slightest intention of washing them up. Not knowing how long Snape would stay away, he wasted no time with such trivialities and hurried straight to the library.
The quills, ink and paper were right where he had left them the night before, and hastily Sirius scribbled a short note.
"Snape has brought me back from the dead and is holding me prisoner in his house. Sounds mad, I know, but that's Snape for you. Please hurry, I'm afraid for my life. Or rather, my death. Not to mention my bottom. Just hurry.
- Sirius Black"
"Severus is out, I take it," said a voice behind Sirius' back, startling him and making him curse as a large ink stain appeared right next to his signature. "It must be hard for him to have such an important role in the Order."
"Bugger off, Gengulphus," Sirius hissed without turning his head to the portrait.
But he should have already known better than to encourage the battiest of the Snapes.
"What need would a giant elf have for a quill?" Gengulphus asked, and Sirius could only admire him for his eyesight. "They teach you to read and write nowadays, do they? Such liberal rubbish, if you ask me..."
"Tell me, Gengulphus," Sirius said, finally turning around and smiling forcibly at the portrait. "Has anybody ever asked your opinion on anything? You see, I doubt anybody could possibly give a toss about anything you have to say."
For a second Gengulphus seemed dumbstruck, but it did not take him to long to collect himself.
"You insolent twit!" he growled, his whole face turning a deep shade of red. "Once Severus returns I will make certain he is informed of your behaviour! And I can assure you he will not look too kindly upon his house-elf writing letters!"
"Well, I don't look kindly upon his disturbing my death," Sirius spat, feeling the anger build up inside him. "It was going perfectly well, I was just beginning to adjust to the thought of staying in that state for quite some time, and then he had to come and mess it all up!" He was walking towards the picture as he spoke, still clenching the quill in his hand. "I'm sick and tired of this, of him, and of you! I won't dust and I won't cook and I won't do anything in this house ever again! By tomorrow, I'm out of here, and there's not a damn thing you or your precious grandson can do about it!"
"Great-grandson," Gengulphus was quick to correct, but not quick enough to flee before Sirius jabbed the quill into the canvas - right between the old man's legs. Gengulphus let out an outraged scream, and hurling a few select curses at Sirius, he disappeared from the portrait.
Smiling to himself, Sirius returned to the desk and to his letter. He folded the paper carefully and, taking another quill and dipping it into ink, he addressed it to Albus Dumbledore. Then, with the letter in his hand, he ran through the house to the back door and flung it open.
For a while, Sirius just stared at the yard. The sun had begun to climb in the sky and it was turning into a beautiful late summer day. There, right by the only tree in the yard, stood the small shack that he had seen through the bathroom window the night before. Shaking his head, Sirius thought what an idiot he had been, not realising what had been missing from the house the whole time. Where there were wizards, there were owls, and yet there was not so much as a feather, let alone a birdcage, inside the house.
The distance to the shack was not much in yards, but to Sirius it meant at least half a dozen slow and painful deaths by suffocation. Still he knew he would have to do it, for there was no other choice. He would have to crawl as much as he possibly could between the deaths and hope that both he and the day would last long enough.
Taking one last deep breath, Sirius charged through the door and down the steps. Even before he landed on the ground, he felt the collar tightening around his neck and right on the tail of it came the panic. No matter how many times he had pictured it in his cellar, the sensation was just as terrifying as before, and Sirius could not prevent his hands from grabbing the collar and his legs from kicking the dirt around him as he died slowly yet inevitably.
When he woke up again, the sun was already high up and the air was burning hot. Sirius reached to wipe the sweat off his forehead, but strangely enough, found it quite dry. With effort he got back up on his feet. He knew the first move away from the house would bring the pain back, and there was a part of him that was quite willing to call it a day and return to the house without further ado. Nevertheless, with the letter clenched tightly in his fist, Sirius exerted himself and managed to take two whole steps before collapsing to the ground again.
The sun was nowhere to be seen, and yet the air was even hotter than before. Sirius had already lost count of how many times he had died that day, but now there would only be need for one more and then he would have reached the shack. He knew at least one owl was there, as he had seen it through the tiny window, sitting half-asleep on its perch. Again Sirius' hand reached for his forehead, and this time the skin was definitely moist. Surprised, he stared at his hand, his tired mind working far over its capacity. It was only when the raindrops started to pour down harder that Sirius realised what was happening.
He pushed himself up and bent his head backwards, letting the rain wash away the dirt from his face. The day had turned out more tiring than he had anticipated, but he knew he would have to continue. He had no sense of time, and now that the clouds had covered the sun, he had no way of knowing how long he still had before Snape returned. The shack was only a few feet away from him, but the further he had advanced, the shorter the distance between his deaths had become.
Sirius concentrated, took a deep breath and jumped forward. Clutching at the collar with both hands, he fell straight through the door, and amidst the droppings and the feathers on the floor of the shack, he suffocated to death.
The first things he noticed when he came back to his senses were the howling wind and the rain, drumming against the roof of the shack. There were two owls sitting on their perches, both clearly nervous on account of the weather. Muttering something calming, Sirius reached for the nearest owl and handed it the letter.
"Now, I know I'm not your owner, but this is very important. It's for Dumbledore and no one else, understand?"
The dark brown bird made no attempt to answer, and for a while Sirius feared that it would not take orders from anybody but Snape. But then, rather reluctantly, the owl took the letter in its beak, spread its wings and disappeared through the window into the stormy sky.
Sirius made for the door, hopeful that the return journey would go rather less painfully. Just as he was about to step out, there was a loud crack, coming from somewhere quite near the shack, and then a scratching sound right above his head. For a split second he thought it was Snape, Apparating right there on the roof of the shack, which made no bloody sense at all and which was proved wrong with just one look up.
"Fuck me."
There was a large branch sticking through the roof, telling him that what he had heard could only have been lightning striking the tree right next to the shack. And judging by the curious creaking sounds, the roof would not be able to hold the weight of the branch for much longer.
"Out! Get out of here!" he screamed, motioning wildly at the grey owl still glued to its perch. "Fly away, you stupid bloody bird, before this whole thing falls apart!"
The owl let out an angry screech and zoomed past Sirius and out of the door. But the moment the bird disappeared, another crack sounded over the thunder and before Sirius even realised what was happening, the whole roof caved in, burying him underneath it.
"Black!"
The rain was pouring down so hard that Sirius had to turn his head to one side before opening his eyes. The whole house was lit up, candles flickering in every window, but the shout had not come from there. It was difficult to see anything through the rain, but at last Sirius caught a hint of light quite far from the house, moving further still.
He opened his mouth to shout at Snape, but after gaining only a mouthful of water, he closed it again. Seriously, what was the point? He might just as well stay right where he was instead of spending the rest of his life, or rather the rest of Snape's life, in servitude. The more he thought about it, the more appealing the prospect of lying trapped under a collapsed garden shack, soaking wet and covered in owl droppings, began to look. There was, of course, the question of becoming 'damned', as Snape had threatened, but what was one more haunted shack among the many others?
Although, surely the man could not help but notice the poor state of his owlery, and sooner rather than later he was bound to find Sirius. Then, the word 'damned' would not even begin to describe the horrors he would be put through.
"Oh, for fuck's sake..." he muttered, and trying to beat the still raging thunder, he called out, "Here! I'm over here, you bloody bastard!"
The light halted in the distance, and Sirius repeated his cry for help. Then, bouncing unevenly through the pitch-black night, the light moved closer, until Sirius could see the man holding the wand, running towards him over the muddy ground.
"I'm under here!" Sirius shouted, waving his free hand in the air. "I can't move!"
Without so much as a word to Sirius, Snape turned off the light at the tip of his wand, pointed it at the shack and shouted, "Wingardium leviosa!"
Sirius felt the weight being lifted off him and watched the shack hover above him for an instant before the wind got hold of it and whisked it out of his sight. His first thought was to stand up, but that soon proved a bit too ambitious. His right shoulder hurt like hell and he found himself unable to move his right leg, in addition to which mere breathing was agony.
"I don't think I can walk!" Sirius yelled as Snape kneeled down next to him.
But either his voice was lost in the thunder or the man was simply not listening. Snape's hands ran quickly down his body, stopping first at his shoulder, then going over his aching side and finally poking painfully at his leg. Sirius was surprised he could see anything from the rain and the mud, but evidently Snape had the rare gift of finding a person's sore spots.
"I can't get up!" Sirius repeated. "You'll have to conjure a stretcher!"
Again there was no answer. Instead, Snape grabbed a hold of his still working arm and started to pull him up with force. It took a good while to get him up on his feet, or rather foot, as he could not even place the other one on the ground, let alone put any weight on it. Leaning heavily on Snape, he was able to hop on one leg, and partly hopping, partly dragged, he made his way through the storm and back to the house.
As soon as they were inside, Snape slammed the door shut and Sirius against the wall. Only now was he able to take a good look at the man and in the light of the kitchen, Snape looked positively dreadful. He was soaking wet and the mud on his cloak was evidence enough that Sirius had not been the only one to roll around in the dirt that day. The black, dripping wet hair covered most of his face, except for the two fiery eyes that appeared to be burning in spite of all the water around them.
"You damn fool!" Snape yelled, taking Sirius' face in his hand and squeezing it so hard Sirius thought his jaw would crumble to bits. "What the devil were you thinking? Have you any grasp of what you did? You stupid bloody fool! You're by far the biggest twit I have ever..."
"Oi!" Sirius interrupted, turning to the offence. "I could say the same about you, although that's not the four-letter-word I'd use! Why the fuck couldn't you at least conjure a stretcher for me?"
Sirius' head banged against the wall hard enough to make him see tiny stars all around him.
"Have you some urgent business on the moors?" Snape asked, his eyes burning more furious than ever. "Since that's where you would've ended up the minute that wind had got hold of the stretcher! That is almost as idiotic an idea as going out there in the first place!"
Snape's hold on his face only tightened, making it increasingly difficult for him to speak.
"I only did what every prisoner's supposed to do!"
"Yet you are not every prisoner!" Snape was panting, his hand starting to shake from the strain but still not letting go of Sirius' face. "You could have disfigured yourself beyond the help of magic!"
"Oh, sorry, I didn't know slaves needed to be easy on the eye as well. But of course you wouldn't want your every need to be satisfied by a one-legged hunchback, would you now?"
And then it happened. He had no time to react as Snape pressed his mouth on his, sucking his lips almost violently. All Sirius could take in was Snape's skin, cold and damp against his, and the smell of his hair, which resembled quite uncannily that of a wet dog. Instinctively he clenched his teeth together, but there was no tongue trying to enter his mouth. Snape's lips stayed on his, while his hands moved to Sirius' hair, pulling and tearing at it as if desperate to touch every inch of it and to pull him even closer to his lips.
In the next instant the mouth was gone, and Sirius was left wondering what, if anything, had happened.
"What were you doing out there?" Snape asked, out of breath.
"Just taking a nice little stroll around the grounds," Sirius muttered, rubbing his lips, which were still burning from the imaginary kiss.
"Where is the letter?"
"What letter?"
"I strongly suggest that you do not toy with me, Black," Snape said, his voice dropping to a whisper and his hold on Sirius' face tightening again. "Did you send out one of my owls?"
Sirius weighed his options for a split second, only to find that he had none.
"Tried to," he said, pretending annoyance, which was not all that difficult at that moment. "Your bloody owl refused to take it and then the lightning struck and they both flew away and I got buried under a very shoddily built shack."
"And where is it, then?"
"I suspect the shack's right where you levitated it," Sirius said, grinning. However, after seeing the look on Snape's face, he continued, "The wind took the letter. It's probably the wonder of some rabbit burrow by now."
Snape's eyes seemed to be piercing right through him, but Sirius stared back at him without blinking, and as Snape turned his eyes away, he knew he had won.
"You are spreading mud all over the floor," Snape spat and without waiting for Sirius to move on his own, he seized him by the arm and pulled him to his side. "Follow me."
With one leg completely useless and the other only barely moving, Sirius had no choice but to hang on to Snape as he swept through the house. When they reached the hall, Sirius made to turn to the door leading down to the cellar, but Snape tore him past it and up the stairs. Swallowing his moans of pain, Sirius staggered with him to the second floor and into the bathroom.
"Get in the tub," Snape said shortly and opened the cold-water tab.
"It's freezing!"
"You want those cuts to heal or you want to be drained dry of blood?"
Sirius was tempted to ask what the latter scenario would mean exactly, but thought it best to leave it to another time. Grudgingly he got into the tub and nearly screamed from the cold, but managed to hold it back, determined not to show any sign of weakness in front of Snape.
As the water washed away the mud, he could see how much damage the shack had caused. His chest was covered in small cuts and bruises, but his biggest worry were the ones on his shoulder and on his leg, both of which were still bleeding and aching like hell. Cautiously he tried to move them and quite soon discovered that one was dislocated and the other broken.
"You might feel slight discomfort," said Snape, who had stepped behind him and was now taking a firm hold of his right arm.
One sharp pull, one surprised scream, and the shoulder was back in place.
"You bastard!" Sirius shouted, tearing his arm away from him. "There are other ways of doing that, you know!"
"I'm well aware of that," Snape said with a wry smile, "but I rather prefer this."
After the cold bath, Sirius towelled himself dry, heaving a sigh as he watched the towel turn an even darker shade of grey than the previous one, and this time with a touch of blood, which he would never be able to get out. He sat still on the edge of the tub, while Snape dressed the biggest wounds and splintered his leg. Then he was forced to hop on one leg again, down the corridor and into a room that he quickly recognised as the one in which he had woken up only two days before. Snape pushed him quite harshly down on the bed, and without a word, he was gone.
Sirius lay on his back, looking up at the shabby and raggedy canopy above him. In spite of all the pain and stress, he could not help but feel rather cheerful. After all, the most important thing was that his letter was well on its way to Dumbledore, and with any luck, his imprisonment would not last for much longer. Naturally the storm would hinder the message to some degree, but he was certain it would be in Dumbledore's hands no later than the next day, and then he would be free to carry on with his death.
The price had been high, though; his day had proved even more agonising than he had known to expect, involving slightly more pain and panic, what with the whole bloody shack collapsing on top of him. That had been a bit of a shock, to say the least, and yet it had been nothing compared to the one Snape had given him against the kitchen wall. In fact, the only thing worrying him at the moment was the kiss. Snape was already pretty pissed off by his little outing, and Sirius was convinced that the time when he would act on his impulses was drawing near. That kiss had been certain proof that Snape wanted more services from him than mere cooking and cleaning, and Sirius would be utterly defenceless against him.
One night, that was all, and then Dumbledore would come to his rescue and it would all be over. But spending the night in Snape's bed was certainly not the best way to guard one's sorry arse.
With effort, Sirius pushed himself up, and propping himself against the bedpost, he tried to stand. If he could only drag himself downstairs and into the cellar; Snape was hardly likely to follow him there for a shag, no matter how deranged he was.
Snape slammed the door shut behind him and scared Sirius half to death.
"One would think that even an imbecile such as yourself would have sense enough not to move a broken leg."
He strode to the bed in his black bathrobe, the mud washed away but his hair still dripping wet.
"I've just grown quite attached to my cellar," Sirius said quickly. "No need for me to rob you of your bed."
"Sit."
There was a nasty burning sensation in Sirius' throat.
"Really, I'll be fine in the cellar, more comfortable for you that way, don't you think?"
"Sit!"
Swallowing hard to make the burning go away, Sirius slumped on the edge of the bed.
"Drink this," Snape said, offering him a smoking goblet.
"What is it?"
"Must we go through this again? Just drink it."
Warily Sirius took the goblet and sniffed at the contents.
"Aww, it's even more disgusting than the Good Morning Potion!"
Nevertheless, he emptied the goblet and handed it back to Snape.
"So, what was it?" he asked, falling on his back.
"Restitutor Potion, to mend broken bones," Snape replied, checking that the goblet was indeed empty before placing it on the bedside table. "Much more efficient than any silly incantations."
Snape leant over Sirius, with a small jar in his hand.
"Phoenix Tear Ointment for the cuts," he said. "Before you ask."
Carefully Snape went through every cut and bruise on Sirius' chest, arms, and legs. The salve felt nice and cool, and Sirius actually found himself relaxing in his care.
"Now, to whom did you send that owl?" Snape asked quite casually as he applied the ointment on Sirius' scratched elbow.
"Dumbledore," Sirius answered without hesitation. "Bloody hell!"
The sense of relaxation was suddenly gone, and instead, he was boiling with anger.
"You bastard! That was Veritaserum, wasn't it?"
"Only a few drops to add some flavour," Snape said with a wry smile. "So, you did send an owl, what a surprise. Incidentally, which owl did you use?"
"The dark one," Sirius said before he could stop himself.
"Black?"
"More like dark brown, I think. And what does it matter anyway?"
"Oh, I'm merely being curious," Snape said lightly, but there was an odd sort of grin dancing on his lips.
"The other one got away, as well, before the roof came down. Just in case you're interested."
"Did he now? How nice." There was not a trace of concern in Snape's voice. "I believe I'm done with this side." The wand appeared in his hand from the pocket of his bathrobe. "Vertus!"
Before Sirius realised what was happening, he was flung up in the air, twirled quickly around and then dropped face down on the bed.
"Fucking hell, Snape!" he growled, the pain throbbing in his leg. "Didn't you just say I'm not supposed to move!"
"Yes, I did, didn't I?" Snape said, the evil grin audible in his voice.
His hands moved down Sirius' back, applying the ointment here and there, and finally stopping right on the rim of the tea towel.
"Um, I don't think there are any bruises down there," Sirius hurried to say. "Except the one that stings on my left buttock when I sit... Oh, bollocks!"
Cursing the dim-witted bastard who had thought a potion that forced people to tell the truth might be rather a clever idea, Sirius lay still as the tea towel, his only shield and protection, was pulled aside and Snape ran his fingers over his arse.
"Yes, you are quite right," he muttered to himself. "There is a nasty cut there, right across the left cheek."
Sirius waited for the coolness of the ointment, but still, it stayed away. Instead, he could feel Snape's hand brushing over his buttocks for the second and the third time, evidently in no hurry to leave.
"Um, I don't think there's more than that one," Sirius said warily.
At last, the Phoenix Tear Ointment hit his skin with a splash, and Snape rubbed it into the wound without any of the gentleness he had shown with the other ones. When he was done, he simply stood up and walked around the bed.
"You couldn't flip me again, could you?" Sirius asked, after trying to push himself up and finding it impossible. "My broken ribs aren't exactly thrilled by this position."
As Snape did not answer, Sirius turned his head towards the sound of the footsteps and gasped.
There was Snape, standing by the rotten chair and taking off his bathrobe, underneath which there was nothing. The paleness of his skin made him look almost ghost-like in the candlelight.
"What the fuck are you doing!" Sirius exclaimed, staring at his naked behind.
Snape gave him a curious look over his shoulder, and then sighed.
"The world is so much more challenging for the intellectually deprived, isn't it? Even the simplest of things, such as getting ready to go to bed, presents a mystery beyond comprehension."
"If you're even thinking of sleeping in this bed, then I'm out of here!"
Again Sirius made to get up, but the pain took his breath away and he was left lying right where he had started from, blinking away the tears.
"You will do nothing of the kind," Snape said shortly. "I need to monitor your condition over the night, and if you think I'm going to sleep on the floor of that cellar, you are sadly mistaken."
With horror, Sirius watched the pale body slip under the covers next to him.
How characteristic it was of Snape to wait until he was at his most vulnerable, covered in bandages and barely able to move, before the bastard took advantage of him. Judging by the rather draughty feeling, Sirius figured that the tea towel was still rolled up around his waist and his arse fully exposed. Quickly he reached to pull it down, but found not much comfort in the thin linen. It was only a matter of time before Snape forced himself on him and in him.
"So, this is it then?" he asked, swallowing hard.
"This is what?"
"Oh, you know perfectly well."
"Yes, a great many things, but unfortunately not this particular one."
"This is when it happens, right?"
"What happens?" The tone of Snape's voice was getting tenser. "This is when we sleep. Yet another difficult term, is it, Black?"
A deep sigh of relief was all that came out of Sirius' mouth.
"You sound disappointed." The bed rocked as Snape moved closer, his hand moving down Sirius' bare back. "Tell me, what was it that you were expecting to happen?"
Trying very hard to concentrate on a few simple words, such as 'nothing' and 'forget it', Sirius opened his mouth and instantly wished he had not.
"I expected you to rape me." Sirius pressed his face against the pillow and screamed in frustration. "That bloody serum!"
When he finally lifted his face from the pillow to breathe, he did not dare to turn towards Snape again. His hand, which had been resting on Sirius' lower back, had moved away in an instant, and now Sirius heard him reach for something on the bedside table.
"Vertus!"
With a thump, Sirius landed on his back, yet again moaning in pain. He found Snape sitting up next to him, tapping his lips with the tip of his wand.
"And what might make you think that?" Snape asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Nothing, nothing, nothing... How hard could it be to form just that one word?
"I've seen the way you look at me," Sirius blurted out. "And now, if you'll excuse me, there's going to be some blood, as I'm about to bite off my tongue. Of course, I'm just saying that because I'm much too big a coward to actually do it... That bloody buggery serum!"
"Perhaps you have mistaken my contempt for lust," Snape suggested. "I always knew you had no eye for subtlety."
Sirius knew he should just leave it at that and continue no further.
"You were hardly subtle yesterday, when you very bloody nearly shoved your cock in my mouth!"
Snape let out a little laugh, which scared Sirius even more than the wand in his hand.
"Now, you cannot honestly believe that I would ever allow your filthy mouth to touch even the sole of my shoe?"
"Didn't seem to think it was so filthy when you snogged me downstairs!"
"I did no such thing!"
"Oh, that's just a load of bollocks and you know it! I'm under the Verita-bloody-serum, for fuck's sake! You know I can't lie!"
"You were most likely simply hallucinating, which was hardly unexpected after the dying spree..."
"You snogged me!" Sirius was practically roaring by now. "And this might come as a shock to you, but where I come from, that usually means that you fancy somebody!"
"I can assure you that I find nothing even remotely attractive in you."
"Why did you snog me then?"
"For the last time, I did not... do that!" Snape snapped. "I have no interest in you whatsoever."
"Well, likewise." Again Sirius tried to push himself up, but evidently the Restitutor Potion was rather slow to take effect. "I'm not gay, but even if I were, you would be the last person I'd shag. So, if you consider satisfying your perverted desires to be the job of the house-elf, then you're bloody well going to have to shag a corpse, because I intend to fight you to the last."
"Strictly speaking, aren't you a corpse no matter what?"
"Oh, piss off, Snape," Sirius snarled. "You know what I mean."
"But evidently you do not," Snape said slowly and leant over him. "I wouldn't have your arse even if you offered it to me simply because I find you utterly repulsive. Here, allow me to demonstrate."
For the second time that day, Sirius was struck speechless, as Snape pressed his lips hard on his, sucking them briefly and then backing away, as if to get merely the first taste before returning for the actual kiss. Entirely stunned, Sirius lifted his hand to push the man off of him, but his weak attempt seemed to have no impact on Snape. Instead, he buried his fingers in Sirius' wet hair and forced his head back until it was impossible for Sirius to keep his lips together, allowing Snape to devour his mouth with even more force.
The kiss lasted only for a few seconds, but when Sirius felt Snape pull away, the numbness of his lips convinced him that hours must have passed. For a while, all he could do was try to get his breath back and stare at Snape in disbelief, trying to anticipate his next move and failing.
"I do believe that settles it," Snape said as he lifted his blanket and glanced underneath it. "That had absolutely no effect on me whatsoever. So you may sleep in peace, for I seem to lack the weapon with which to ravish you."
With that, he lay down and turned his back to Sirius, and in a matter of minutes, the sound of his steady breathing took over the room.
Although knowing full well he could not sleep, Sirius closed his eyes and began to wait for the potion to do its thing, determined to limp downstairs and to the safety of his cellar as soon as his leg was strong enough to carry his weight. And while he waited, he found himself tracing his lips slowly with the tip of his finger.
To be continued...