20/20: Black's Worst Memory
"So," said Snape, gripping Harry's arm so tightly Harry's hand was starting to feel numb. "So…been enjoying yourself, Potter?"
"N-no," said Harry, trying to free his arm.
It was scary: Snape's lips were shaking, his face was white, his teeth were bared.
"Amusing man, your father, wasn't he?" said Snape, shaking Harry so hard his glasses slipped down his nose.
"I – didn't –"Snape threw Harry from him with all his might. Harry fell hard on to the dungeon floor.
"You will not repeat what you saw to anybody!" Snape bellowed.
"No," said Harry, getting to his feet as far from Snape as he could. "No, of course I w –"
"Get out, get out, I don't want to see you in this office ever again!"
(The Order of the Phoenix, p572, British hardback edition)
He stood in the shadows and watched the house. The evening dragged by, but time eventually slowed the furious thudding of his heart, subdued the rage that had left him breathless and barely in control of himself.
Now it was simply nausea, a tightness in his throat. Perhaps also an icy sense of purpose.
Periodically he stared up past the house roofs to the gallery of stars, almost obliterated by the sickly yellow glare of street lamps and gaudy festive flashing lights decorating the Muggle dwellings. But his eyes were keen, and he picked out each constellation in turn, wondering what it was that the Centaurs saw in them that a man could not.
Did they see this, he thought: they had surely foretold the tale of Harry Potter, but had they also revealed the secrets of the other players?
For example, the chapter where fifteen-year-old Severus Snape was raped in the Owlery by Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew.
His lips parted and he sucked the cold air through his teeth, making them ache a little. Pettigrew was currently protected by the Dark Lord, but he was certain he'd get an opportunity to settle that score. His guts tightened at the thought of the mean, watery eyes sliding over him at their latest meeting: thinking of that night, were you, Rat?
The trouble was, he couldn't remember it. There were only two people alive who could: Pettigrew and Black, thanks to his Obliviation by Pettigrew. And since the Rat was out-of-bounds, for the time being, that left the Mutt.
As if there had not been enough to hate Black for, now there was this: despite himself, he smirked. But it was a cold feeling, and it slid from his face. He knew, in a very calm, rational way, that he was not going to enjoy this either. It was going to be a hard, long night, with hard, long sleepless nights to follow.
Never let it be said that Severus Snape shied from the truth when it mattered. And this mattered. Just as one did not turn away because of fear, one did not turn away because of reality.
I am not a victim.
The Pensieve had become an uncomfortable weight against his ribs, as he stood against the house wall of number 8. The bland, domestic noises coming from that house were becoming less frequent, softer, as the evening grew to night, and the heavens arced above him.
12 Grimmauld Place looked deserted. Nobody in or out for hours. Severus knew that the only danger to this plan was that Lupin was inside – the other Order members had their jobs and their homes, but the Werewolf was the most frequent and long-staying visitor here. All dogs together.
Severus felt the air cold on his teeth, and realised he was smiling again. Or snarling. The distant chime of church bells hailed the time as midnight. He stepped from the shadows and walked purposefully up to the shabby front door, and tapped it three times with his wand. The door opened, and he entered the house of Black.
The hallway was as black as pitch when the front door closed quietly behind him, but for a narrow glimmer of light coming under the kitchen door. He trod carefully towards it and had raised his hand to push it open when it swung inwards.
"G'd evening, Snape. Why don't you come in, and take a seat."
Black was seated at the kitchen table, a half-empty bottle and a full glass before him, his gloomy expression lit by three candles flickering from a tarnished candelabra. He redirected his wand and summoned a second glass, then laid his weapon in front of him on the table and poured a second glass. "Ogden's. Takes the chill off. Well, works on most people, anyway. If they're warm-blooded to start with."
So, he was expected. A low fire in the grate revealed no other persons present, so Snape relaxed his grip on his wand, and slid it into a pocket. "Cheap jibes. Though it's what I've come to expect."
"Waiting so long was quite unnecessary," Black continued, almost conversationally. "I've been alone here since five. We could have been done long ago."
Severus caught an image of Black sitting alone in this kitchen night after night, waiting for this moment. How ironic it had come because of his godson's behaviour. He pushed the door closed behind him and said, smoothly, "Presumptuous of you. I myself have no idea how long this will take."
Black grinned, his eyes glittering in the candlelight, raising his glass and swallowing. "And when we are done, then we're even."
Severus carefully lifted the Pensieve from inside his clothing and placed it on the table between them. "Whatever do you mean, Black?"
Black licked his bottom lip. "I mean, no more threatening Harry."
Severus removed his travelling cloak and laid it over the back of a chair, then sat down, laying his own wand on the table, within easy reach. "Fascinating."
"What is?"
"That you believe, after all these years, that I am capable of such petty revenge."
Black looked genuinely taken aback, then laughed. "You're Severus Snape." He spat the name as if it was filth on his tongue. "You once said you could have killed me, at the Shrieking Shack."
"You tried to kill me."
"You handed me over to the Dementors." Black smiled. "It must have been a terrible disappointment, that I lived."
"On the contrary," Severus replied, smirking, "I wouldn't have missed this for the world."
Their eyes blazed at each other over the flames. Then Black dropped his gaze. Severus pushed the candelabra out of the way, and moved the Pensieve closer to Black, who eyed it with the expression of a man who was doomed. His hand scratched for his wand, and found it, then was still again.
Severus liked the other man's reluctance. "You do know how to use one of these," he said.
"Of course I do!" But still Black hesitated.
Severus said, silkily, "You owe me."
Black raised his eyes to meet his gaze, this time unflinchingly. "Yes," he muttered. "Can't have that, can I?" And he pointed his wand to his brow, and drew a silver thread down into the bowl. Again and again, until the bowl swirled with memories, he did this, then laid his wand down again. The two men observed it in silence.
Severus found that the fear and trepidation he had fought all day to control was welling inside him, and felt almost paralysed by it. He leaned forward and stared into the beautiful light of Black's memories that held their grim past and an uncertain future. Then, without warning, he snatched his arm across to grip Black's wrist, and plunged them both into the Pensieve.
"You bastard!" he heard Black gasp as they fell.
And suddenly, landed, on carpet. Snape looked around himself in wonder, allowing Black to pull away: so, this was the Gryffindor dormitory. He thrust his head through velvet curtains and found himself looking down at a fifteen year old Lupin, pale and troubled in sleep.
"Oh, Merlin," he heard Black breathe, and he turned. Black was standing beside another bed. Over his shoulder Severus saw the familiar untidy black hair of James Potter framed against the white cotton of a pillow.
"We're not here to sight-see, Black," he muttered, but noted the grief and shock etched on Black's face, and surprised himself by not going further. He felt slightly annoyed: Gryffindor's wore their hearts on their sleeves, they were so easy to read, but why should that affect him now?
A small noise, a flip-flip, caught his attention from one of the other beds.
Young Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew sat cross-legged on the bed, playing cards in silence. The game was fast and was not one Severus was familiar with.
"Snap!"
Pettigrew gave a small groan, whilst Sirius scooped up the pile and shuffled them into line in his palm, grinning. "Not quick enough, Wormtail," he said.
"I'm never quick enough," the Rat-Boy sighed, melodramatically.
"That's why you're shit at Quidditch." He playfully slapped the smaller boy's head with his handful of cards. "We can't all be James, Peter. We just have to be content to bask in his shadow."
"You don't bask," Pettigrew said, a little sullenly, but Severus saw a glimmer of pleasure in his eyes.
"It's going to be hard on him, with his detentions and no practice for the next month," Sirius said, scowling. "I can't believe Evans snitched."
"Snitched," Pettigrew giggled.
But Sirius didn't think it was funny. "After he called her a Mudblood and everything! What's the matter with the girl?"
"Prongs needs to teach her a lesson," Pettigrew said, authoritatively.
"We need to teach Snivellus a lesson," Sirius said, more thoughtfully.
"Well," Severus said, "you certainly tried." He felt silly: of course they couldn't hear him.
Black said, close behind him, "Bloody hell."
Severus smoothly put more distance between them, trying to appear as if he was not doing. I am not scared of him. Not that Black would have noticed anyway: he was completely absorbed by his younger self.
"Yes," Severus sneered, softly, "you do look somewhat different."
Black's gaze shifted to Pettigrew, and his awed expression altered quite subtly. In that handful of time, only a few beats of his heart, Severus suddenly glimpsed an understanding of what it was to be Sirius Black then and now: handsome, clever, idolised …. decimated, betrayed, abandoned.
Appalled by his sympathetic insight, he drew on his memories: there were certainly enough of them to chill his insides until they felt like they were on fire with the need to hurt, to exact a precise and complete revenge.
"Do you think there's -? No, no!" Sirius shook his head.
"What?"
"That there's something between Snape and Evans."
Pettigrew gave a shrill laugh. "I heard he – well, beats for the other side."
"He – oh. Really?"
Pettigrew's eyes glittered. "Oh, yes." He leaned towards his friend. "Got caught sucking Lucius Malfoy's 'thing' in the first year. Up in the Owlery."
"Liar," Severus murmured.
"No-one goes to the Owlery for that – maybe the Astronomy Tower," Sirius said, suddenly thoughtful. "Who told you that?"
"I – oh, can't rememb –"
"Is it a lie?" asked Black.
Severus gave Black a withering glare.
"Maybe he does beat for the other side, then. But why is Evans so bloody protective of him?"
"I know Snivellus hangs around the Owlery," Pettigrew said, helpfully.
"Sending owls, perhaps," Severus muttered.
"This is fucking weird," Black said.
"It's not going to get any better," Severus replied, sharply.
"Maybe there's an opportunity there," Sirius mused. "Get him on his own. Without Evans sticking her beak in."
"Why did Lily stick up for you so much?" the Black beside him asked.
"Only the once," he said. "For what it was worth."
Black gave an unexpected lop-sided grin. "Well, it wound James up. I'd say she scored a direct hit."
"So glad I could be of service."
"Another game, Sirius?" Pettigrew asked, even as Sirius yawned.
"Nah, bedtime, mate."
"We could nip up to the Owlery -?"
"Not even the sight of Filch buggering Snivellus could tempt me up there at this hour," Sirius said, yawning again.
"Okay," said Pettigrew, looking crestfallen.
"I don't remember any of this," Black said, quietly.
"It was obviously of little importance to you at the time," Severus said, dryly.
As Pettigrew slipped from Sirius' bed and scuttled to his own, there was a shift, a change, and suddenly ….
They were in the Owlery.
All three of them; two of them twice.
Severus felt Black beside him as they stood in the dark recesses of the Owlery. Before them, beside an arch that concealed them from their prey, were young Sirius and Pettigrew, watching. In the moonlit open space beyond, fastening a scroll to the leg of a tawny owl, was his fifteen-year old self.
Severus gaped. It was so strange to see oneself as others saw you: scrawny, slightly hunched, beaky nose clear against the evening light that shafted through the window.
"I don't want to see –" Black began, and swore as Severus grasped his arm to prevent him from leaving.
"You think I do?" he hissed.
"Well, yes, now you –"
"Shut up!"Young Sirius and Pettigrew stepped inside the room, wands raised, and the thin boy turned, startled, practically throwing the owl from him. It swooped through the open window, and was gone.
"Letter to your boyfriend?" Sirius asked.
"Original," the younger Snape snarled. The moonlight glanced off his eyes as they moved between the faces and wands of his adversaries. "You two obviously want the privacy, so I'll leave you in peace."
He only took one step before he was felled by a jelly legs hex.
Beside him, Black gave a small moan, as Severus thought he could practically feel his palms sliding over fresh owl droppings as his younger self scrabbled for purchase on the floor.
"Whoops," Sirius said, sarcastically.
Pettigrew sniggered.
Young Severus was on his feet again, unstable, patting his pocket for his wand.
"I don't think so," Sirius said, and got him with a tripping hex. Severus sprawled in the shit again. Severus could smell it, acrid and sharp. "Changed your pants yet?"
"Strip him and see," Pettigrew said, greedily.
"You seem rather too interested in my pants," young Severus breathed.
Sirius said, sharply, "And what's that meant to mean?"
"Well, you know, there are rumours about the four of you." Young Severus stood, slowly, unfolding his thin limbs until he stood straight, defiant. "So, what, you're here because Potter's turned to the other side, Lupin's too dangerous, and this pathetic little shit doesn't turn you on?"
Pettigrew swore, indignantly. Sirius gaped.
Young Severus tugged his robes straight. "Sorry, to disappoint you, Black, but I'm no arse bandit." His wand appeared in his hand, but Sirius flicked his and yelled, "Expelliarmus!"
"Why couldn't you have just shut the fuck up," Black moaned, softly, beside him.
"Oh, yes," Severus snarled into his face, making Black flinch. "My fault, is it?"
He watched as he was felled by another curse from Pettigrew, who was literally dancing around with agitation and excitement. " – show the greasy git!" he whined.
"You couldn't show me if someone gave you directions!"
"Impedimentia!"
"Like them incapacitated, do you, Pettigrew?"
"Actually," Pettigrew said, his eyes alight and quite terrifying, "yes."
Black's breath caught in his throat.
"Don't be disgusting, Peter," Sirius said, absently, as they moved to stand over him. "What shall we do with him?"
Black hung back, turning his head away, and Severus dragged him forward again, and closer: it was easier in a memory, sliding across the shit-caked slabs as if they were coated in ice.
"If you touch me, I'll kill you," Young Severus spat. He looked furious, and anxious, now. Sweat shone on his brow.
"I don't think you're in a position to threaten me," said Sirius, unconcerned, dispatching a stinging hex to a vulnerable spot.
Young Severus howled with pain. "I know things," he panted. "Regalus has told me things – I think you'd rather weren't known to your Gryffindor friends."
"My stupid brother knows nothing." But Sirius' expression had sharpened again, and Pettigrew has stilled, waiting. Beside Severus, Black muttered something under his breath.
"Let me go," young Severus whispered.
Young Sirius hesitated.
Pettigrew's wand arced towards his friend and there was a small pop, and a shudder in the air.
"What the ….?" Black muttered. "What just happened?"
And, suddenly, young Severus was stripped naked, his clothing dragged off by invisible hands and discarded.
Black was dragging back again. Impatiently, Severus yanked hard on his arm, they struggled, and Severus forced him down and lay across him, not looking at him, looking past him, into the past. He took Black's head in his hands and turned him to the scene, made him watch.
A painfully thin Severus, skin silver in the moonlight, pushed to his knees in the shit on the floor.
Beneath him, Black stifled a sob.
Severus watched the act that Pettigrew made him perform with sick fascination. He retched. Black dodged, but nothing came up: they were in a memory with no substance. But he had felt it, the abomination of Pettigrew in his mouth, the humiliation, the fear.
But he was a fighter. He stole Pettigrew's wand. Sirius yelled 'Expelliarmus' and it was flicked to the other side of the Owlery, Pettigrew scuttling after it, and he struggling up, aiming at Sirius with a balled fist and taking a wand-slash to the face and a punch to the ribs. Young Severus still did not give up. He and Sirius rolled across the floor, and he bit and clawed and fought for Sirius' wand. Sirius looked surprised and angry.
Then Pettigrew Stunned him, completing the flourish with a little, subtle movement that Severus was certain was a charm of some kind, aimed at Young Sirius.
Sirius heaved his prone body over a crate, face-first, tearing at the front of his own robes.
Pettigrew laughed, laughed. Beneath him, Black trembled uncontrollably, his breath sharp and quick. Between layers of cloth, Severus could feel each of his ribs against his own. He watched the past, as Sirius unleashed what he appeared to consider his ultimate strength from his robes, and pressed himself against his young self, against, against, inside, inside.
Pain exploded in that place, pain from the past brought to the future. Did I weep? he had asked Black. He did not. His face was stark with horror and hurt and fury, nothing more or less.
A spark of pride softened the agony.
He looked down at Black. The Dog-man had closed his eyes. His ethereal lashes were jewelled with insubstantial tears. He wondered if, in the present, these tears were real. At least one of them had shed.
In the past, only a few feet away, Pettigrew ejaculated over his bent head.
Severus loosened his hold on Black and sat up. Black rolled onto his side, head bowed against the scene.
The Gryffindor boys quickly tidied themselves up and young Severus slid from the crate onto the floor, knees up, arms wrapped around himself, face buried.
Pettigrew kicked at him, but Sirius pulled him away. Pettigrew pointed his wand instead, and said, clearly, "Obliviate!"
Young Severus swayed, then slumped.
The Owlery was suddenly still and quiet, apart from the tap and flutter of the birds.
"Fuck, Peter," Sirius said, and his tone was horrified.
"We can't have him remembering, can we?" Pettigrew said, breathlessly, pocketing his wand.
"I'm not talking about that!" Sirius said, desperately.
"Do you want me to Obliviate you too? Wasn't that fun?" Pettigrew demanded, his voice high.
Young Sirius stared at his friend as if he had never seen him before.
"It was …. I didn't …. mean …"
Pettigrew looked annoyed. "I thought you wanted that all along," he said, sulkily. "Teach him a lesson. Buggering's a good lesson. Believe me."
"Peter, we've really got to talk –"
But Pettigrew turned and scuttled from his friend, veering off into the shadows, banging the door behind him.
Sirius turned and stared at the unconscious boy. Severus moved sideways so he could see his expression. It was …. stricken.
Black stood beside him. He gripped his arm, and they began to rise from the memory. Below them, young Sirius Black pointed his wand and said, in a cracked voice, "Enervate!" then ran from the room.
The edge of the table dug into Severus' ribs. Severus released his hold and Black fell back onto his chair. They briefly met each others gaze, and glanced away. Severus looked down into the Pensieve. The memory was still there, swirling gently, incongruously.
Severus understood Time: as a healer; as a constraint; that it sometimes needed a stitch; sometimes it was wasted; it should not be squandered; it told.
Time will tell.
And, sometimes, it was stolen.
To be continued
Thanks to Thirteen Ravens and ReflectioninFire for beta-ing.
Please review! This is obviously an angsty story with a delicate subject, so feedback would be really appreciated.