It took several weeks to determine that no one was quite able to determine what was wrong with Sirius. He was released from St. Mungo's with the general recommendation of taking it easy, drinking plenty of liquids and giving it time. To Harry's chagrin, his Godfather took the advice to heart and it was getting progressively less likely to find him sober or dressed in anything else but slacks and a threadbare dressing gown. Although cleared of all charges by an executive order from Shacklebolt, he refused to leave Grimmauld Place, showed no interest in the reconstruction of Hogwarts and scared Andromeda and little Teddy with monologues about death and decomposition so they soon stopped visiting.
In a way, Harry understood. He, too, had lost a lot in his short life, but at least he still had his essence – the one thing that made him special, that gave his life meaning: magic. As the healers had explained, life and death magic, accidental resurrection included, were strictly transactional – nothing could ever come without a price. And so while the Veil exchanged Sirius for one of the deathly Hallows, his transference from this state of limbo to the world of living came at a high cost: Death had kept his magical power. He was for all intents and purposes alive, walking and breathing and all that, but he was no longer a wizard. Whether that made him a Muggle, a Squib or just a wizard temporarily disconnected from magic, was unclear. Whether this state was reversible and under what conditions, no one knew.
"So, you have tried the Squib Solution, the Estimation Charm, even the Reichenberg Test?" Shacklebolt counted on his fingers. Harry had called for an Order meeting just to see if he was able to brainstorm anyone else for any and all suggestions. Although each busy with their own post-war endeavors, nine of the members showed up, even the Minister himself. "I could try and obtain the Sorcellerie scales from the French Ministry, but I think there is a waiting period -"
"The healers said that was pointless since they could not detect anything to weigh to begin with," said Harry. "I feel like we have tried everything, but there is bound to be something we haven't thought of."
"Well," said Professor McGonagall. "As we all know, if all else fails, there is always Bertie's Handshake."
Bertie's? Harry thought. Like the sweets?
"Bertie's?" Ron asked. "Like the sweets?"
McGonagall gave him a strict look. "No, Mr. Weasley, not quite. Only the fact that you are still yet to complete your seventh year at Hogwarts excuses your ignorance. Bertie's Handshake, also called Touch of the Void-"
"-is a method of determining whether a person's magical core is only empty or it does not exist at all," Hermione recited. "During the handshake, which is successful only if done of free will, a wizard joins hands with another person and allows said person access to his own magic. If the person is a Squib or a Muggle, nothing happens. If it is another wizard, whose magical core is merely too weak or needs replenishing, a number of things can happen: they can perform magic using the other's power; they can drain the other's magical power completely, making them void in turn; or they can both be drained of all magic and even die if their magical cores are too incompatible."
"Twenty points to Gryffindor," said Sirius and refilled his glass. Then he leant back on his chair, lifting an arm as if to protect himself. "Well don't you all be rushing to shake my hand now, please, I'm being crowded! I promise not to suck out all your power, please!"
"Wait..." said Mrs. Figg. "Wait!"
They all turned to her. Harry congratulated himself on remembering to invite her. As a Squib herself, she was certain to have something to say on the subject. Good thinking, Harry.
"Well, nothing," said Mrs. Figg, adjusting her head scarf. "I just thought – no, that was not that. Sorry."
"Are you sure, Mrs. Figg? Anything goes, any suggestion at all," Harry nodded at her encouragingly.
"Well, I-" Mrs. Figg looked flustered, glancing from one wizard to another. "I'm not sure, but …"
"Yes? Go on, please."
"Don't worry, we won't laugh if it's something stupid," said Sirius, laughing at the murderous look Harry shot him.
"I, well, I," Mrs. Figg sighed and frowned in concentration. "I'm just not sure if I'm remembering it right because I was very little, but I think – I think my father once gave me the Touch of the Void."
Oh, that was it? Harry thought, disappointed. Big deal, a wizard desperate to know whether his daughter was truly magicless risked giving her this Bertie's flavored handshake? That was all that they could come up with, the famed and victorious Order of the Phoenix? A memory of an old Squib holding hands with her father?
"No, you don't understand," said Mrs. Figg. "He gave it to me. At least I hope that's what it was called but I'm almost certain. He gave it to me to drink. As in, as in the form of -"
"Wait! As in the form of a potion?" Harry asked.
"Yes."
"But that would be excellent!" Hermione's voice was full of excitement. "Then no one would be at risk of dying or losing their magic if there's a way to just drink the diagnostic spell! Thanks so much, Mrs. Figg."
"Great work, Mrs. Figg," Sirius winked at her, toasting her with Firewhiskey. Mrs. Figg blushed, burrowing deeper into her head scarf. "I wonder who could help us with a potion, what do you think, Harry, my Godson?"
Ever since watching Sirius puke his guts out right after falling out of the Veil, Snape wanted nothing to do with him. He ignored all three of Harry's letters and deflected his questions whenever they ran into each other at Hogwarts which was being rebuilt under Snape and McGonagall's leadership. Snape even seemed to tacitly accept that the third Hallow would stay in Harry's possession, invisible as it was, which Harry suspected was just so he could keep out of Harry's orbit – an arrangement that clearly suited him best.
Harry sent his Patronus to Snape right then and there, while most of the Order were still gathered in the Grimmauld Place kitchen, sipping their respective drinks and munching on pastry. He knew Snape to be honorable enough not to ignore a direct message from an Order member. And he now also knew Snape to be private enough (and still reeling from the shock of Harry having exposed most of his secrets) not to be too keen to send back a sad silver doe with an excuse, especially when Harry took care to mention they were all eagerly awaiting his response.
A few of Mrs. Weasley's strawberry scones later (and three more refilled glasses on Sirius's part), Snape flooed in and billowed into the kitchen.
"You asked for me, Potter?"
"Yeah, thanks for coming on such a short notice."
"I dropped everything and came running, of course."
Professor McGonagall took it upon herself to explain the issue to Snape, who frowned and nodded and then frowned and nodded again. Sirius looked anywhere but at Snape but deigned to remain blissfully silent, for which Harry was grateful. After McGonagall finished, Snape turned to Mrs. Figg, who grew even more flustered and adjusted her head scarf even more frequently as Snape asked her some additional questions.
Snape reached for a strawberry scone and pondered it for a long time. "Alright, I understand," he said finally.
"Great! So, er, can you make the potion?" Harry asked. "I mean, does it exist?"
"Yes, Potter, I suppose it must exist. According to what Arabella told me, it is very likely that it exists, at least in theory, and has been made by someone somewhere at least once."
Harry's heart sank. "Ah, so it exists, but you don't have the instructions for it? Well, do you know where we could look for them? Sir?"
"As you would know, Potter, mainly from stealing my old textbooks, I'm not so rubbish at Potions. Even if I don't have the instructions or the ingredients, I can try and re-invent the Potion by studying the specifics of the Touch of the Void and comparing it with similar magical acts which have already been recreated as potions. I will also review Arabella's memory of drinking it. If she can recall the taste and color in more detail, that would be of significant help."
"That's great!" said Harry. "Wow, thank you so much!"
"Don't mention it," said Snape, standing up and brushing the scone crumbs from his hands. "The cost is three hundred thousand Galleons."
Sirius guffawed, spitting Firewhiskey all over Mrs. Weasley's lion-themed doily. "But whatever would you do with all that money, Snivellus? You never had more than three Galleons in your grubby hands at the same time, let alone a thousand! A now you have the gall to ask for three hundred thousand - do you have an inkling just how much -" he paused, measuring Snape from head to foot with a look of superiority that made Harry squirm in embarrassment. "Oh, don't tell me ... Finally ran through everything in your mother's closet and need new clothes?"
"It's five hundred thousand now," said Snape quietly.
"Thanks for your offer, but we are not interested. Run along now, little spy," Sirius waved Snape away.
"Wait," Harry quickly got up too. "Sorry," he said to Snape. "We are interested. Please sit down."
"No-oooh … we are no-o-o-t," sing-songed Sirius.
"Five hundred thousand seems like a fair investment into Hogwarts reconstruction," Shacklebolt offered calmly. "Especially now with the tricky situation with the Board and all the Pureblood families counting their losses."
"Three hundred thousand Galleons is the amount of the debt incurred by the previous Headmaster," said Snape, who remained standing. "Five hundred thousand just about repays it to Gringotts with all the interest covered."
"What?!" shouted McGonagall.
"What?!" shouted Arthur and Molly Weasley.
"What?!" shouted Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
"Indeed," said Snape. "Dumbledore had many qualities but frugality or any sort of budgeting, really, was not one of them."
"Good thing you murdered the old queen, then!" laughed Sirius. No one paid him attention.
"Of course, I knew there were … gaps in the fiscal management," McGonagall looked more hurt and confused than when Harry first told her about Snape's true allegiance. "Inconsistencies, even. But I never – never suspected … so much money! He would not show me any of the worksheets. He always said we had bigger things to worry about than numbers."
"To be fair, the empty treasury was one of the smaller problems he left me with last year," shrugged Snape. "And he never expected me to carry on as a Headmaster in a time of peace. But it was bound to catch up with someone – well, most likely you, Minerva - eventually. The Dark Lord actually provided funding for the whole school year while he was in power or this would have had to be addressed sooner."
"Oh no, Harry, you killed the only economically minded Wizard in history!" said Sirius in mock tragedy. "And you tell me not drown my sorrows." He drank heavily from his glass, sloshing the doily with Firewhiskey as he put it down.
"Anyway," said Snape. "As I have more important issues to deal with than a drunk has-been and no agreement has been reached here, I must take my leave."
"Don't let the door hit you on the way out!"
Just as well, Harry thought, intending to follow Snape out and discuss the offer with him in private. He wasn't sure how much money he personally had to his name (there were more important things than numbers), but he supposed even Sirius could be reasoned with if Snape was not present. But Snape only made a few steps and then stopped and slowly turned back. His thin harsh face wore an expression of disdain Harry was quite familiar with.
"I would be careful in how I speak to a wizard to whom I owe a life debt, Black. Especially if it's a … real wizard," he added. "Never forget it was I who had the idea to return the Resurrection Stone to the Veil. You owe your life to me."
Harry expected Sirius to protest, but what he did not expect was for Sirius to explode in fury. His Godfather jumped up from his chair, knocking it over and slammed the glass down on the table where it shattered. He pointed his bloodied finger at Snape: "Life?" He laughed maniacally. "This is no bloody life, Snivellus!"
"Sirius," said Arthur.
"This is a fucking purgatory, Snape, so excuse me for not kissing your ugly feet for it!"
"Sirius," said Harry.
"I have no magic, no future, not even any past, because all of you bastards betrayed me even before I had any chance to prove anything. All my friends are dead and there's nothing for me here, nothing!"
"Goodbye, Black," said Snape and turned to leave again. "I don't have time to wallow-"
Sirius ran across the room around the rest of the stunned Order members and grabbed Snape by the front of his robes. Snape did not struggle against him, only stared up into Sirius's face.
"You know what the only thing keeping me alive now is, Snivellus?" Sirius snarled. "It's the thought that someone has to remind you that no matter how high you climb, no matter how many Orders of bloody Merlin you hang on your neck, hell, they can even make you the fucking Minister for Magic, for all I care, you will always be just a Dark fucking rat who sent Voldemort to kill your friend. Yeah," Sirius spat. "Harry told me everything. I hope you think about that as you die, you fucking cunt."
It was at that point that Sirius finally relented to Harry and Ron's arms pulling him off Snape and let go of him.
"Deal is off," whispered Snape, left the room and Apparated away.
"Well, it could have gone worse," said Hermione later that day. At Harry and Ron's looks of incredulity, she added: "At least we know the potion can be made. I mean, Snape is smart, but he is not the only smart wizard in the world. I'm sure there are other people we can ask for help. Let's maybe not have Sirius present when we do that."
As it turned out, there were are other capable Potioneers willing to try and transform Bertie's Handshake, also known as the Touch of the Void, into a potion.
Eliza the Toad, the Donegal Breweress and Grandmistress of Elixirs Most Magicked Limited, did not even ask for a monetary compensation. Instead, she demanded Harry get her: "the eye of a Basilisk, the hand of a mermaid and the penis of a giant" as reimbursement. "My team and I are on the brink of developing a concoction of awesome power and these rare ingredients could just be the missing link between success and failure. It would be best if you could supply these in bulk, of course, for testing."
"It's a brilliant idea, my boy!" ejaculated Slughorn. "We could get a patent and sell it under our own brand. The Potters are already an established name in the brewing business … of course we would both be credited as inventors. Slug-Pot? PotSlug? Well plenty of time to deal with that later. I should be the one in charge of marketing, given my contacts .. I'm certain you, with your mother's talent will be instrumental in the development. In fact, I might just take the role of a senior advisor!" Slughorn could not resist rubbing his hands above his big round belly.
Harry went back to Snape.
"Five hundred thousand!"
"No."
"Six hundred thousand!"
"No."
"Seven hundred thousand!"
"No."
"One million Galleons and the Invisibility Cloak!"
"I don't care about your stupid cloak, Potter!"
"One million Galleons and that is the final offer."
"You don't even have that much money, you silly boy, there's only so much you can make by making Potions … even your grandfather knew that."
"Please!"
"No."
Severus Snape hated owing people something, yet it seemed this was to be the common theme throughout his life. He had owed the Dark Lord for elevating him above his status of a poor Half-Blood, allowing him access to the secrets of the darkest of magic. He had owed Dumbledore for his protection and for helping Severus atone for his past wrongs. He of course still owed the memory of Lily for betraying her and for failing to save her. He even still owed James Potter for saving Severus's life from Lupin, as convenient as that had been for Potter and his little group of sycophants at that time all those years ago. And now, thanks to the careless, wasteful old man Dumbledore had become, Severus also owed an astronomical amount to the Gringotts on behalf of the School, the only home he ever had, the only home he ever cared for. Well, at least there was an exact number to this debt.
And then, just to make the tally of dues complete, there were things Severus would never forgive himself for, even though others might. So perhaps there was a certain cruel justice in helping Black just so he could remind Severus of what a waste traitorous space he was now and then.
"Alright, then," he told the elated Potter, "I will help. I will even help you more than you think. I will diagnose Black and if it turns out he had been simply separated from his magic by the Veil, as we all suspect, I might even have some ideas how to transfer it back to him."
Potter's green eyes flashed with joy and he reached for Severus – Severus drew back instinctively as if attacked, but Potter managed to grab his hand and shake it.
"Great! It's a deal. Er, what was the final number again?"
"Just have Black repay the Hogwarts' debt in full. Also, I will take his library. That is – the books it contains. If it turns out his magic had been held back in exchange for his life, I will need it anyway to research the ways of its possible restoration."
"OK!" Potter's smile could not be wider. He really was hopeless at moderating his emotions. "So, do you have any timeframe when the Potion could be finished?"
"It's finished already," Snape said. Potter's eyes widened comically and his mouth dropped slightly open. No pretense at all. "Go consult the arrangement with Black and call for me once – or if ever – he is ready."
Sirius Black had once been the idol of all the teenage girls at Hogwarts. Well, Severus amended, most of the girls and some of the boys at Hogwarts. It had been hard not to notice young Black's attractiveness: the well-cut jaw and cheekbones, the stunning grey eyes, the tall and athletic physique, the dark hair casually falling into his eyes ... He wore a permanent look of effortless haughtiness. Or haughty effortlessness? No matter what it had been, from the first moment he had met him, Severus had seen through Black's mask for what he truly was: a spoiled, cruel boy who preferred to surround himself with fans rather than friends which would later prove to be his downfall.
Not that Severus knew all that at the start, of course, but he was not surprised when he could finally put the pieces of the puzzle together in retrospect. He no longer loathed Black and the ground he walked on, of course, he now only vaguely, almost indifferently, despised him. The true flame of loathing he had been nursing for Black had been extinguished by Dumbledore's explanation that it had been Wormtail, not Black, who had betrayed the Potters to the Dark Lord. What remained was just a regular old grudge against an old school enemy. Sometimes it burned brighter, sure, but there was no longer that fiery, all-consuming passion in it. As long as Black stayed out of his way, Severus did not care whether he lived or died. He therefore did not particularly object to helping him, as long as he, too, benefitted.
Although the contemporary Black looked about a decade older than his actual age, his face gaunt and lined and his hair now matted and streaked with grey, he still retained the general outline of his former good looks. While Snape had to make a conscious, learned effort to appear dark and intimidating, rather than just ugly, weird and awkward, Black somehow managed to look haughty even unwashed and unshaved. He sat sprawled in an armchair dressed in the familiar threadbare dressing gown, the everpresent glass of Firewhiskey clutched in his hand. Severus noticed the faint scar on Black's finger from when he had cut it on the shattered glass during their previous meeting.
"Well?" said Black instead of a greeting.
Severus reached into his robes and pulled out a small vial.
"Here," he offered it to Black who put put the now empty glass down on the worn carpet, took the vial, uncorked it and drank the contents in one gulp.
"So?" Harry glanced back at Snape once Sirius had drunk the potion. "What happens now?"
"Now we proceed to the next step," said Snape.
"Sirius," Harry said, scanning his Godfather for any signs of change, "do you feel anything?"
"No," Sirius said. "I don't."
"Er, so how is this supposed to work exactly?" Harry turned back to Snape who had been watching Sirius impassively.
Snape stepped closer to Sirius: "Look at me," he ordered him and examined his face with narrowed eyes. "It works just fine."
As was often the case during his interactions with Snape, Harry was confused: "So does he still have access to his magic or not?"
"Hard to say, Potter," said Snape. "This was just a Sobering solution. I don't like dealing with drunk people."
"Oh," said Harry. "So can you give him the- the Touch of the Void now? Please?"
"Of course. I keep my word," said Snape and extended his hand toward Sirius. Harry stared at it. There was nothing in the long thin fingers. Just an empty hand.
"Wait!" Harry said. "Wait! You don't mean to do it as a handshake, do you? I mean, isn't that, like, really dangerous? Couldn't you both die?"
"As touching as it is, Potter, that you would think I dedicated days to preparing the potion even before you formally asked me for it, before we even finalized its price, I must inform you, that I do, in fact, have other, more important matters on my plate. Now, Black, take my hand and let's get it over with. I don't have any more time to waste on you."
Before Harry could argue any longer, Sirius grabbed Snape's thin hand in his own in a firm, crushing grip. His lips parted in a cruel smile, but he did not say anything. (Harry had pleaded with him to limit the things he said to a minimum- just this one, time, Sirius, please.)
Snape did not flinch or react in any way, merely lifted his other hand and hovered it above the empty glass on the floor between them. He frowned in concentration – the glass slowly rose, hovering about two feet above the floor. He flicked his fingers and the glass gently floated back down.
"Your turn," said Snape to Sirius.
Sirius mimicked his motions, placing his own free hand above the glass. He looked to his and Snape's joined hands and then back to the glass.
For a very long, very suspenseful moment nothing happened.
Then, ever so slowly, the glass rose up above the old carpet, just an inch at first and then higher and higher and quicker and quicker-
"Wingardium Leviosa!" laughed Sirius and the glass soared above their heads up and up toward the ceiling - Snape tore his hand from Sirius's grip, as quick as a snake.
The glass fell dully to the floor.