Chapter Text
Severus glanced up, warily. In each window of the dreary facade a fragment of life unfolded before his eyes, revealing characters of such ordinary nature that it seemed like they were laughing at his uneasiness. Left building, second row, third window, a mother was apparently giving a passionate sermon to a two year old girl who seemed aloof. Right building, first row, third window, an old man was watering pots of plants on the windowsill while humming alongside the radio. Grimmauld, hidden between decaying units of middle class muggles residents, was to be the only remaining material echo of what once was a wealthy and sacred place.
A thin mist impregnated the air, the hem of his black trousers was damp from him accidentally stepping in a puddle on his way there. The air was humid, the weight of the unseen settling heavily upon his shoulders. Was she watching him? Severus couldn’t stop himself from wondering, his stony face and composed stance acting as a mask for his indisposition. Someone more observant would have guessed his turmoil by his carelessness in not drying his shoes and trousers with a simple spell. But, was she watching him?
A gust of air, a deformation in ordinary space, a weighted body where once was none. Severus felt Moody’s presence by his left, the faint sound of a prosthetic leg more identifiable than any scar in his perpetually paranoid face. The short built wizard still clutched tightly the worn out blue sock held between his chubby fingers, one of the many portkeys Dumbledore had distributed previously between the order.
“You are early, boy.” No greetings, no chit-chat. They weren’t friends, they weren’t even colleagues, just two individuals who were forced to interact for the sake of practicality.
Alastor Moody didn’t trust anyone, and he especially did not trust Severus.
“I came earlier, to survey the area.” Severus replied, dry. All his demeanor was avoidant, apathetic, a reflection of his years working as a spy. He had spent years tuning his reactions to perfection, years making sure that no one could read his thoughts unless he offered that possibility to them.They were alike in this specific area, him and Moody. Both threaded carefully in the face of any unknown situation.
“Anything to take note of?” Moody let his frenetic prosthetic eye wander at every crease on the street.
“No.” Severus eyed the little girl, the one who was getting scolded by her mother, with a dash of envy. “It’s utterly ordinary.”
“Let us wait for the others, then.”
When Dumbledore pitched Grimmauld Place as the secret quarters for the Order of the Phoenix, Severus promptly scoffed. There was a lot of unvoiced meaning in such a choice, and he was certain that the veiled wariness in the director's eyes when he approached him wasn't just a fumble of his imagination. The old man knew what Grimmauld would mean to Severus, or, to be more exact, what entering it would entail for the potion master. He would be forced to face her. More than once. Severus would be obliged to walk the same halls, to breathe the same air, as the bane of his existence, the one person who could still elicit from him a trace of his decrepit humanity.
Severus laughed then, heartily. He laughed till his lungs felt too tight and the despair was evident in every gust of air that he inhaled in. The headmaster's office walls seemed to move, enclosing his beating heart and rushed thoughts, making him feel like a helpless child under the unpardonable gaze of the headmaster all over again. Severus felt like he was fifteen, standing side by side with a girl who rejoiced at every sign of weakness he let out, a girl who knew exactly how to bend fate in her elegant fingers and who could crush him under her craft-made shoes like he was nothing but a bothersome insect. And now, he was presented with the knowledge that he would have to see her again.
“I see.” Severus said, with finality. The weight of those cristalyne blue eyes were familiar and all too easy to read. Dumbledore was only informing the potion master of something he had already decided, like many times before that. There wasn’t any chance of bending the man’s convictions to acquiesce to Severus’ tastes. It was all done.
“I do not wish to trouble you, Severus.” The old man dared to add, his sweet demeanor mirroring those of a worried grandpa. The raven haired man could feel the bile rising in his throat, the loathing for this extract of faux kindness he was obliged to accept mounting up, boiling his blood, making his ears ring. “I know you are not on good terms with mlle Black, but there are things that we must ignore to achieve our goals.”
“She tried to kill me.” He said, weakly, like an echo of what his fifteen year old self had said once in that very same chamber.
“We are in the middle of a war.” The old man replied, in the same soft cadence that Severus’ saw him using many times before with whimpering home-sick first year students. “Everything becomes insignificant in such times. When peace welcomes us again, we might give it a thought.”
The potion’s professor left without a word, the only sign of his chagrin being the tenseness on his shoulders and the soft tremble of his fingers. He was nothing but a plaything being passed around between the confident hands of two men who couldn’t restrain from carelessly throwing him anywhere they saw fit. Severus was resigned to his fate. Everything that was thrown at him by now was received as a penance, a way to repay his debts with the ghost of whom he naively hurted before. Even so, the idea of cohabiting with Sirius Black for any space of time made him shudder.
Severus always avoided revisiting his past, but now, with Black, he would be perpetually standing face to face with it.
He had a taste of it the year before with Lupin as a defense professor. The feelings the wolf incited in him were of a much different sort than those he knew Black would bring with her. With Lupin Severus only felt disdain, an emotion suitable enough given the pathetic nature of the werewolf. Lupin enraged him for his cowardice, but that was something he could easily ignore. He spent the whole year dutifully treating the wolf as an inconvenient ghost and soon enough Lupin got the memo: the defense professor stopped altogether his flimsy attempts at engaging with him.
Black was different, though. There was no way to simply ignore her. First because she wouldn’t let you, and secondly because it was impossible to do so. Every room she entered, since their earlier days in school, was immediately bewitched by her. Black was effortlessly charming, a girl who had ingrained deep in her soul all the ways she could make people voluntarily bend to her will. She had a playful aura, one that masked perfectly well the instinct of a predator. That was what Severus hated most in her since the very beginning, the way that people willingly sought her bite just because of how enchanting she was. No, he couldn’t ignore her, for what prey would ignore their predator knowing that they were only one step from jumping them? His eyes would have to be set on hers every moment they were sharing the same space, and he would have to predict her movements as much as he did back in school.
Back then he learned to be very cautious about Black. He would always make sure to have her directly in his field of vision anytime she approached. Severus was always watching her. Like a madman even, perpetually paranoid about the risk of presenting his back to her. Therefore, there wasn’t a time yet when Sirius Black, bold and tenacious Sirius Black, would enter the same room as him and he wouldn’t be deeply aware of her presence. Back then it had become second nature for him: Severus learned how Sirius took her steps, light and confident, and he ingrained the scent of her perfume deeply inside his brain. He could almost dare to say, after all his careful evaluation, that now he could feel the pulse of her magic before she even entered the room.
All that paranoia was a result of years of endless conflict with the marauders, years of learning exactly how to avoid them and, when unable to avoid, how to meet their ambush with equal fervor. If Severus closed his eyes he could see her all over again, as fresh as she was in her youth: Grey eyes, always playful. She always seemed absorbed in a very amusing joke, lips stretched in a perpetual state of mockery. He could feel his heart racing just from remembering the soft tilt of her head, the gentle arch of her eyebrows, the unsettling lightness of her movements. Graceful all over, but dangerous too. She was like a hunting dog, careful just before the fatal bite, but, after, restless. It was like she was always holding back an impulse of energy, something that she was nurturing just to attack him with when the perfect time presented itself. It was unnerving back then, and Severus suspected it would be even worse now.
He wasn’t entirely uncovered, though. Severus was well aware that he wasn’t fifteen anymore, and it was unlikely that Black, who was weakened by years in prison and probably didn’t wield a wand in an equal amount of time, would be able to easily disarm him as she so currently did before. That wasn’t the problem, at all. Severus was taller, stronger, and much more gifted in dueling than her. The problem was that Black only needed a couple of words and all his carefully constructed demeanor could crumble in a space of seconds. She was one of those select numbers of people who knew him, who were once direct spectators of all the humiliation he endured during his youth. Lupin knew as well, but he was polite enough not to mention it. Black would. She would gladly remind him every single time how pathetic he once was.
Severus sighed, a light frown adorning his face. Moody was restless beside him, checking his pocket watch every two minutes. The potion master wouldn’t admit it, but he was glad for the extended wait. He concentrated in calming his breath, eyes inanely passing through the windows of the two buildings on the other side of the street. Was she watching him?
A gentle breeze on his left, an imperceptible twirl of robes. He watched with disinterest the rest of the Order slowly materializing around him. Tonks appeared with a too big smile beside a ruddy Lupin, her arm loosely intertwined with his. Severus promptly ignored their greetings, too occupied watching an uneven crack in one of the building's facade. Soon enough he was accosted with a shade of red that revived in him a fondness that he didn’t exactly deserve. He did respond to Molly and Arthur's greetings then, with a low and cold good morning of his own. Kingsley was a polite and reserved man, he simply acknowledged Severus' presence with a meaningful glance before devoting all his attention to the others.
“How fortunate.” Dumbledore appeared in his navy blue wizard robes, his wrinkled hands intertwined behind his back. He had a pleased smile and a delighted glint in his light blue eyes. Severus had to hold himself back from scoffing. “I see that everyone is here. How are the children Molly?” The old man kindly inquired each one of them about their well-being, exchanging pleasantries as if they were in a reunion of old friends. Dumbledore wasn’t naive enough to extend the same treatment to Severus though, and he wisely stuck to acknowledging him with a warm nod. “Very well, then. Grimmauld place is located in 23 Claremont square.”
Like a fog being slowly lifted, Severus watched the manor reveal itself with a gracefulness only seen in ancient magic. The heavily adorned Black Manor stood glumly between the two buildings inhabited by unaware muggles, the imposing facade drawing a long shadow that enveloped each one of them in a dreary hug. He loathed the sight at first glance, his eyes scanning every window as if some entity was breathing down his neck, only waiting for him to flinch to finally bite down and take away a piece of flesh. Was she watching him?
“Well, folks, let us enter.” Moody said with an impatience that was born out of practicality. Soon enough the little group crossed the street in long strides, chattering lightly like the event they were facing was nothing but a small change in routine.
He followed, resigned. He was very composed, but deep down he could feel a tugging at his heart, a heaviness in each step he took. Severus felt like he was walking straight into a trap.
…
They trespassed the heavy oak door slowly, the hinges screeching ominously, each one sporting the same suspicious face, hands quietly tightening around wands as a way of finding some solace around the stiff and suffocating air. At first, it was all silent. Severus observed from the rearguard, taking in the old fashioned Victorian peeled wallpapers and the long corridor adorned with rusty and decadent candelabra. The manor was a ghost in itself, a forgotten place that did not welcome life back easily. Their steps upon the mahogany flooring emitted a muffled sound of protest, as if Grimmauld was dreading their arrival. It felt like they were desecrating a sacred place.
Severus frowned, observing keenly the extension of the dark main corridor. The house seemed hollow, devoid of any warmth. It would be impossible to guess that there was a living soul transiting somewhere in those chambers, walking around on the moth-eaten carpets and breathing out the stagnated air. Was Black really there? He couldn’t tell. He remembered how loud she used to be in her youth, always filling with life and movement any place she walked in. He couldn’t help but think the manor was unfit for one like her. It was unnatural to put Sirius Black in a place like that, just as abnormal as caging a singing bird in their prime years. But if she endured Azkaban for twelve, maybe all that rot wasn’t something yet to kill her.
She would suffer though, and that made Severus suddenly feel a lightness spreading in his chest, a twisted sense of satisfaction penetrating every cell of his too thin body. She deserved worse, but that would have to do for now.
A clack of metal took him out of his musings, and the guilty look of Nimphadora was all telling. The metamorphmagus quickly collected the lighter she let slip from her fingers, Lupin pathetically coddling her all the way for her mishap. Ridiculous, both of them. Severus was in the way of letting out a well deserved barb when the shriek of a madwoman suddenly echoed at every corner of the place. Everyone turned sharply, frightened faces and tense shoulders, to watch the brushstrokes of a middle aged posh woman with striking grey eyes moving in a frenetic blend of colors and values. Sirius? Severus thought, automatically. But as fast as he thought so he dismissed his own conclusion. There were echoes of Sirius Black in that high cheeked, self absorbed and arrogant face, but some things were missing out entirely. Severus couldn’t see the myriad of moles on her neck, or the playful tilt of her lips. No, not her.
“How dare you enter The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black with your tarnished blood and dirty soiled shoes?! Leave!! Children of degradation!! You shall rot for all eternity in the deepest circle of hell!! Filthy scum , leave!!” The woman shrieked like a wounded beast, her high pitched screams making the eardrums of everyone ring. Severus was baffled to notice that the costly clad woman had the same talent as Black for expletives. Yes, they were related for sure, with how eloquent they both could so effortlessly be. “Leave, you will bring ruin for the sacred legacy of House Black just from the tainted breath you all dare to take inside these walls!! Leave!! ”
“Make it stop!” Nimphadora pleaded, hands pressed tightly against her ears.
“I am trying!” Lupin pathetically assured her, hands uselessly conjuring a multitude of spells.
Suddenly a presence loomed across the hall, an irate figure quickly taking form as it furiously approached them. Severus thought firstly that it was a ghost entrapped within the manor, the white cotton nightgown making her as haunting as Catherine Earnshaw was to Heathcliff. She looked like a rendition of Gérôme’s “Truth coming out of her well to shame mankind”, her deep black hair contrasting strickenly with the paleness of her skin, her troubled face an echo of the rage ingrained deep inside her soul.
“You crazy bitch, shut up!!” Sirius Black shouted, her voice intermingling with the old woman depicted in the portrait. They had the same sweet and imposing cadence, the same vibrant presence and renaissance looking face. Sirius was breathtaking, every inch of her skin inviting you in, promising paradise where only hell existed. Severus was used to her by now, and he knew like no one else that every line in Sirius's face was made exactly to incite awe and want. She used to flaunt her charms widely in her youth, only to crush every single one of her admirers later on. Severus could see in the faint wrinkles of her ascendant that the old woman would have been capable of doing the very same back in her days.
“YOU! Ungrateful child! Mingling with those dirty bastards, having liaisons with people that are less than the dirt in our shoes! You are a disgrace for us, an embarrassment for me and your father!” They were face to face now, the resemblance between them so unnerving that Severus almost felt like Sirius was talking to an older version of herself. But the old woman didn’t have the moles on her neck and arms, the rune tattoos criss crossing across her body, or the soft dimples in her cheeks. “You should have died in his place! It should have been you! My precious son gone, the desecrated harlot standing in what should have been his place!”
Black angrily pushed the velvety curtains that adorned the portrait closed, her face contorted in a grimace. Despite the rage and ragged breath her whole body seemed as weak as a drifting sailboat, the fingers reddish, the long hair unruly and unkempt, bluish veins visible along her feet. It was a ghost of her old self, a thin, pathetic version of someone who once was life in itself. She looked like a sick romantic heroine, a Marguerite Gautier of English parentage, perishing slowly in the most graceful way possible. Severus wished she wasn’t such a stereotype of noble frivolity, he wished she looked unsightly for once, vulnerable in the most ugly way that there is. Although, by the dark circles below her light grey eyes, he gathered that her decay was only around the corner.
“Sirius?” Lupin called, weak. Always so weak… like he opted to remain as hidden as possible, giving his interlocutor the chance to simply take his frail voice as a gust of wind to be ignored if they wished to do so. It was disgusting. “Sirius, you-”
“Moony.” Black said his name like she was letting out a sigh of relief, her body turning to him like he was the sun itself, her light grey eyes frantically mapping out every crease in his scared face. “Moony!” She all but jumped in his arms, hanging around his shoulders like he was a lifeline, a buoy reached moments before drowning. Severus almost scoffed at the sight of Tonks' hair roots turning green when Lupin returned the embrace and held Black a couple inches above the floor. “Why didn’t you come sooner? I have waited for you for weeks! I thought you had forgotten me.”
“I couldn’t come, I am sure Dumbledore told you that I was busy setting out some papers within the Ministry.” He released her back on the ground, for Tonks utter relief. Severus restrained from rolling his eyes at the Greek tragedy the three of them were unknowingly performing. Sirius wasn’t one to restrain herself, though. She only had eyes for the werewolf, her hands gripping his arms and drawing him near. She was like one of those sirens so talked about in the muggles tales, eagerly reaching out to pull you under an eternity of dark blue. Severus could see that Lupin was trying to maintain a sensible distance between them, though. “You know Tonks, of course.”
“Long time no see, cousin.” Tonks cheerfully greeted her, but Severus could see her troubled stance. She was probably fearing that Black would take the idiotic werewolf away from her. And to think that someone would bother enough to fight for Lupin of all people… they were living in decaying times indeed.
“You are so grown.” Sirius whispered, looking at Tonks with delighted awe. She seemed pleased, euphoric even. Severus gathered that not seeing anyone for weeks had a severe impact on her good humor. “And Kingsley, you!” She laughed, a delicious and rich sound. “I remember you, from before. You are taller, and a lot more handsome.”
“Oh, stop.” Kingsley replied, not even trying to hide how pleased he was with her compliments. “It’s good seeing you.”
“Yes. I am very pleased.” Sirius playfully extended her hand to him, rejoicing when he promptly took her hand in his, giving the back of it a brief kiss. She responded to him with a flirty wink, her manners so enticing that there wasn’t an eye who would dare to stray from her figure. She turned to Alastor, boldly fixing an inexistent crease in his cape. “That glass eye is new, monsieur Moody.” Sirius said monsieur in a perfect french accent, the dimples in her cheeks getting deeper, a trace of a gum appearing in her smile. “I want to know all your new stories.”
“It will take time, child.” He replied, playful, his big hands covering hers against his chest. “But I will be glad to tell you every single one of them.”
“Good.” She concluded, locking eyes with Molly and Arthur this time. Severus had to restrain himself from crawling away to the shadowed corner near the door. He could feel his heart beating faster, the sweat gathering at the nape of his neck. The only way to maintain his carefully composed posture was to repeat time and time again that he wasn’t a frail teenager anymore. She couldn’t hurt him. “Molly, Arthur, it’s been so long. Dumbledore told me that one of your sons is Harry’s best friend, I was so very happy to hear it. I can’t wait to meet him! I mean, meet him properly this time.”
“Oh, we were happy too. Your godson is a wonderful boy, Sirius.” Arthur replied, and Sirius couldn’t sport a bigger smile upon hearing the word godson . She had a beautiful smile. The real one, at least, that made her whole face softer and flushed. Not the one she reserved for Severus, full of mockery and contempt.
“Yes, we are excited for you to meet Ron as well.” Molly added, warmly.
“Oh, absolutely. Dumbledore you are-” Sirius paused, the words suddenly getting stuck in her throat. It was interesting how her demeanor could change so easily in just a space of seconds. Her fluid movements, light stance and easy smiles… all gone. Black’s face contorted in a grimace, her eyebrows pinching and her lips tightening. Her breath was erratic, shoulders suddenly tense, pupils dilated.
She was possessed .
Sirius was looking straight at him, piercing his soul with eyes embedded in pure fury. Severus had to gather all his forces not to flinch, to not turn around and bolt like a frightened doe before a panther. Black looked like a greek heroine in the verge of seeking vengeance from the tragedy some fucked up guy had cast upon her. It all happened very quickly, she gracefully took Lupin’s wand from his back pocket like she was entitled to do so. The woman marched so confidently ahead that no one dared to move, the scene only gaining contours when she already had Lupin’s wand pressed roughly against Severus' neck. The potion master grunted, his reflexes acting quickly: he pressed his own wand to the soft flesh of her ribcage.
“You!” She spit the word like it was a curse, the wand making an indentation on the sallow flesh of Severus’ neck from how hard she was pressing it. “You ugly fucker, I should kill you on the spot!”
“Sirius!” Lupin tried to intervene, but it was as weak as his pretensions of interfering in his youth.
“I wouldn’t do that, Black.” Severus replied, his tone raspy at the edges. He pushed his wand deeper against her skin, making his point known without a word. If she insisted on cursing him in any way he wouldn’t hold back from doing the same. The potioneer swallowed, trying to contain his reactions, trying to maintain some vestige of dignity. It was hell though, he could feel Sirius’ breath against his skin, the closeness between them making him shiver.
Severus felt like he was eleven all over again, when she was still taller than him and loved to mock him about it. Now Sirius barely hit his shoulders, but he felt small all the same. She had a gift for looking down on people, certainly a legacy passed down by her ancestors if the old woman in the portrait was to be taken as an example. Severus felt ashamed, his Occlumency skills failing him when he needed them most. Tobias Snape would laugh to death if he knew that his prissy little son was that terrified of a girl who was half his weight.
“Sirius.” Dumbledore reprimanded in that soft and condescendent voice of his, his hand lightly resting on Black’s shoulder. “As I told you before, Severus is a member of the Order and he must be treated as such. I know it’s natural to resort to old dynamics, but things are different now.”
Black seemed to ignore the old man, her mind probably concocting all the ways she could curse Severus before actually getting rid of him for good. The potions’ master stared her straight in the eyes, forcing the instinct to avert his gaze to remain dormant inside his chest. He couldn’t show her any weakness. Black was like a restless hound, if you dared to hesitate at any point you were bound to be crushed merciless between her teeth. So Severus endured it, he calmly contemplated the feeling of the wand against his carotid vein, looking at Sirius for clues of what she would do next. The memory of his school days washed him over like a raging storm: There it was, the same grey eyes, the same contempt written all over her lovely face. The Bible was really into something when it said that the devil was inherently beautiful.
“Sirius, I insist that you let him be.” Dumbledore tried again, his voice much more steady than the first time. There was an uncontestable edge to it, like the headmaster was giving her a warning. “Severus is on our side, I know you might be suspicious of his alliances, but I must assure you that I trust him with my life. He is a loyal member of the Order.” Sirius' shoulders relaxed slightest, and that was ensuring enough for Dumbledore to proceed. “Lower your wands, let’s not repeat school grudges anymore. We are here for a much higher cause.”
Severus didn’t lower his wand, not until Black reluctantly took hers out of his neck and retreated a couple of steps away. When she did, Severus naively kept his armed arm down, thinking that Black wouldn’t be so low as to attack him after such an expressive command from the headmaster. She seemed resigned enough, her breath slowly getting back to a normal rhythm, her armed hand lowered dormant at her side. But he should have known, with all the times he had been a direct victim of her rage, that Black’s anger didn’t dissipate unless she physically did something about it. So he wasn’t entirely surprised when, all of sudden, she turned sharply and raised the stolen wand again in his direction, motion so fluid that he couldn’t do anything but widen his eyes.
A gust of blue light shooted out of her wand and hitted him straight to the chest, the force of the spell squeezing his lungs and making him gasp loudly. His back hit the entrance door with a thundering sound, his head flying back and absorbing most of the impact. His legs were unable to properly function anymore, muscles sluggish and useless. The last thing Severus saw before he collapsed like a ragdoll on the wooden floor was a pleased smile adorning that pretty face of hers, satisfaction shining shamelessly in her eyes.
He should have known by now that one did not simply underestimate Sirius Black.
…
Severus woke up to the sight of a very concerned red-head prancing around like he had just returned from the dead. He remained lying down, his synapses not cooperating yet with his movements. He evaluated the room, ignoring Molly’s worried questions and trembling figure, trying to situate himself in time and space. If the dirty and ripped wallpapers were any sign, he still was inside Grimmauld Place, the old fashioned and hard blue couch making his back protest instantly. And to think that people spent so much money on that kind of preposterous junk back in the day.
“Oh, Severus, try not to move much! You might have a concussion, dear. Here, I made some tea for you.” The woman passed him the warm teacup with trembling fingers, sitting warily in the couch opposite of the one he was in. But she couldn’t remain still, and soon enough she was pacing around the room, bustling, every once in a while stealing glances at him. “I don’t understand why she would do that. Oh, it must be that awful place, it certainly messes with your health to be there for so long!”
The potion master slowly got a hold of his own body, getting into a sitting position despite all the protests emitted by the ginger. She was acting like a mother hen. Severus was a fucking death eater and spy and she was treating him like he was one of her inane red headed urchins. It was unnerving to be once again subjected to the whims of a stubborn ginger, but he let her coddle him, and that was a testament of how messed up his head should have become after Black’s attack.
“I am fine.” He said, devoid of any warmth. Molly was sweet, but he was slowly getting tired of her bombarding questions and endless babble. She seemed unable to conclude the obvious truth: that Black wasn’t sick at all, she was simply a frivolous bitch who liked too much to inflict pain on others.
“Oh, how could you be fine?! You practically flew against that heavy door!” She dismissed him entirely, talking aloud just for the sake of it. Molly was one to make her own conclusions, there was nothing he could do about it. “I will talk to her, of course. How immature! But to live all those years locked away, without a warm meal to cope on with those horrid things! She must be confused, frightened… Poor thing.”
Severus scoffed. Poor thing. As if there was anything that could be pitied about Black. She was a preposterous, arrogant and uncouth piece of shit, always getting away from punishment just because her face and manners were too enchanting to associate with all the bad she was capable of doing. Molly was doing the same thing Dumbledore did once before, frantically reaching for any aspect that could absolve Black from her own doing. The worst of it all was that Sirius didn’t even need to work for it, people were always too eager to play her advocate.
“The others?” Severus asked, sipping the chamomile tea that was slowly getting colder in between his hands.
“In the kitchen, they are settling the schedule for the meetings.” She replied, dismissively. “But do not fret, it’s best if you remain here, to recover. Well, It’s settled. I will have a very serious conversation with her! Violence is never the answer.”
“Don’t bother.” Severus said, getting up in a frill of robes. His balance wasn’t the best yet, but he trusted his legs enough not to betray him on the way to the kitchen. Molly promptly opened her mouth to protest, but Severus sharply interrupted her tirade. “I am well. And you don’t need to intervene for me, I am no child. The tea was acceptable, thank you.”
He turned sharply, not giving her the time to protest his resolve. The room he just left appeared to be a drawing room, the oak door leading him back to the main corridor. He could see the atrium from there, totally unmarred despite the little commotion from earlier, the portrait of the old woman carefully concealed behind heavy velvety curtains.
Severus heard a shy murmur coming from the opposite side of the entrance door, the muffled voices hidden behind a more stern designed door. He walked confidently in that direction, trying to not hesitate this time in useless nostalgia. The potion master wasn’t a defenseless teenager anymore, he couldn’t let the ghosts of his past dictate his behavior in front of Black. If he did, nothing good would come of it. He would only end relapsing enough to let her humiliate him all over again, and that would not do. He wouldn’t let her.
Severus turned the doorknob with confidence, actively avoiding the thought that all the current members present in the house had seen a much weaker girl easily get the upper hand upon him. He didn’t think about the way he probably had looked stupid collapsing like a naive maiden on the floor, how he must have looked pathetic fainting at Black’s feet. No, he didn’t think about anything. He just entered the room, chin high, shoulders straight, and quietly surveyed the scene behind the door with a composure that didn’t let out any trace of disruption.
Until she ruined everything with the soft cadence of her voice, of course.
“Here you are. I told all of you that his bony little arse would be alright again in no time.” Sirius was carelessly sprawled on the sofa near the fireplace, in the opposite extreme of the room. The others were gathered around a large table, a stack of papers being passed around between them. Severus could feel the vein in his forehead twitching, his jaw tightening slightly. “Aren’t you well, love? You were always so very prone to dramatics, but they unfortunately don’t know that.”
“Stop it, Sirius. This is not the time.” Lupin said, a disturbed frown adorning his scarred face. He must have been shaken by the sample of Black’s true nature earlier.
He ignored her, taking a seat at the table. Severus chose a chair that was far enough from Black, but still located in a good place to have her in his field of vision. Dumbledore sympathetically stared at him behind his half-moon shaped glasses, and Lupin seemed constipated by guilt. The potion master ignored it, taking some stray papers in his hands to see exactly what they were fretting about. Fucking spineless werewolf with his ragged cardigans and carelessly shaved face, if Severus as much as acknowledged him would be only to curse his useless body to moon and back.
“Molly?” Arthur asked, curious.
“In the drawing room, but she should be back soon.” Severus replied, hollow, his eyes absently scanning the yellowed papers with rushed notes all over it. Dumbledore’s elegant calligraphy reported every single event that Voldemort enacted until the present point, a lot of precious information being purposely omitted by the headmaster. The old man distributed intel as he saw fit, in the most convenient way to the greater cause. Severus could see plainly that those papers weren’t novelty for him, he knew all that and more. And, of course, there would always be things that Dumbledore concealed from him too, so very cunning he was.
“Oh, I see.” Arthur sighed. “ She always gets a little skittish at any turmoil.”
Severus nodded, noncommittal. Now he could see that the actions of Black didn’t go without any consequence. An invisible wall had lifted across the room, separating Sirius’ anguish from the rest of the Order. If they were actively isolating her or if it was something she opted for herself, he didn’t know. But he could feel the tension in the atmosphere, the uneasiness carved in every face. They certainly didn’t blame her, but they were ashamed enough to not let the ruse pass unacknowledged when Severus was daring enough to reappear unscathed.
“Severus, we have settled the meetings for every Friday evening.” Dumbledore said. “Does it suit you?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” The old man nodded, pointing out a particular important passage in his notes for Kingsley to read. “As you all know, Minerva is a member of the Order as well. She can’t make it to our meetings, though, as she is responsible for the school when I am not present. But I will pass her all the information, and she will join us should the need arise.” Everyone nodded. Except Black, she seemed spaced out in her little corner, her eyes averted to the ceiling. “I am afraid I cannot involve my good friend Poppy in our organization, for she is facing deep trouble at this very moment. I could not impose another problem on her. At least, not until it’s extremely necessary.”
“I agree.” Kingsley heartily acquiesced, his eyebrows raising in sympathy. Severus had to contain himself from rolling his eyes. The only problem Poppy was facing was a severe case of unrequited love, and that Severus was sure couldn’t hurt as much as being crucioed on a daily basis. That he was enduring often enough. “She told me of her misfortunes. I hope she will get better soon.”
“Yes. But until then, we have Severus.” Dumbledore said casually, like he wasn’t just presenting Severus with that very vital information. They hadn’t talked about that. “He is versed in the healing aspect of magic, and can provide us with almost any healing potion that we might eventually need.”
That fucking old rag. Severus could feel a headache mounting up in his head, the insolence of the headmaster making him clench his jaw in outrage. He couldn’t deny his request in public, at least not as fervently as he could have been able to do in private. The grateful glances casted his way were the cherry on top, preventing him from lashing out against the headmaster’s tactics on the spot. Severus knew that he was acting like a child, but deep down he felt betrayed. He wouldn’t deny Dumbledore’s request if he had been asked beforehand. Severus would probably postpone it till he couldn’t avoid it anymore, but in the end he would agree as he always did.
“And we will need it.” There it was, clear as day, his original intent. Dumbledore stared him straight in the eyes, meeting head on Severus' veiled rage with his undisturbed calm. “Remus is in dire need of the wolfsbane potion.” The wolf was ashamed enough to avert his eyes down, but he didn’t deny Dumbledore’s request in his favor. “And Sirius might need some healing potions to recover from the penances imposed by Azkaban. You are a talented and committed wizard, Severus, I am sure you will not fail us.”
What a master of his craft. Severus didn’t know why he even bothered to expect otherwise from him at this point. It didn't matter how much Dumbledore treated him kindly on a daily basis, at the end of the day Severus was still the same man who had pleaded for his help and had sold his soul and destiny to the headmaster’s wrinkled hands. He was a piece of chess on a chessboard, maybe not as disposable as the pawn, but disposable all the same. And to think the potionner once confided in him how much trouble that little group of inconsequent gryffindors had brought upon him, just to be now forced to serve them without a chance of protest. He felt sick.
“Now, we probably should revise those notes. I will give you a brief resume of the subject they talk about. But you all will be free to analyse it on your own later.” The old man continued like nothing was wrong, his sweet demeanor making everyone feel included. Sometimes Severus thought that Dumbledore was worse than Black, worse than… Well, that was only an absurd conjecture, of course.
“I am already familiar with these papers, headmaster. I have other matters to tend to, if you excuse me.” Severus nodded, polite, got up and turned sharply in the direction of the exit. He wanted to breathe fresh air, to be as far as he could from that dreary and cursed place.
He looked at Black once more before leaving, just to make sure that she wasn’t planning to attack him all over again. It was out of self-preservation only, and not because he wished he could retaliate what she did to him earlier. Severus was restraining himself from even thinking about taking physical revenge, because he knew well how Sirius’ train of thought worked. She would be entirely too pleased if he dared to fight back, for that would mean that he was affected in the first place.
Black was so alike the eager famished dogs back in Cokeworth that Severus almost laughed at her previsibility. Those mutts would be pestering you until you conceded, until you finally granted them with something to appease their starving vermin infested bellies. And if you did kneel down to their demands, well, you were lost from there on. They wouldn’t stop following you until you ceased their hunger all over again. Black was the same. If you offered her a reaction, if you let her see beyond your carefully composed indifference, and, God forbid, if she found any weakness reflected in your eyes, then you were damned. She would come back, over and over again, looking for the same treat. She wouldn’t stop until she was properly fed again.
That was what happened in his youth, when he was naive and couldn’t exactly figure out her yet. Back then he fought back, he let her see his anguish and bask in his misery. He couldn’t hide it well, it hurted too much. Potter was always a passionate perpetrator of his humiliation, but he did it out of duty, as a way of reminding Severus that he was unworthy of walking the halls beside that incandescent copper haired archetype of perfection. James did it solely to maintain him away from Lily. But Black, well, she loved every single second of it. She was the one who prolonged their sessions, the one who actively sought him out even after he and Lily were estranged forever. It was like she had a score system going on in her head: if Severus got angry, it was good, but if he cried, oh, that was infinitely better.
Sirius was sick from the very moment she was born. A disease that only flared up when he was in the enclosure, when he dared to share space with her. She wasn’t like that with everyone, no. Black could be sweet, and caring. He had seen her often enough getting protective of the werewolf, exchanging meaningful words with Potter, peppering up Pettigrew with kisses that were too warmhearted even though she disguised it as a way of riling him up, staring affectionately at her brother when she deemed him distracted enough not to notice. Severus suspected there was something twisted in him, something truly disgusting who made her especially target him time and time again. She did get in fights with other Slytherin’s, death eater wannabes as she so currently called them. Sirius did break Mulciber’s nose in fifth year, and she caused a serious case of stomachache on Avery too. But that was only out of retaliation. Severus was the only one who was presented with her anger even though he often didn’t do anything to upset her. He probably was her natural prey, or something twisted like that.
What he gathered now, being infinitely wiser and much more experienced with twisted, psychopathic people, was that the best way to respond to her was to maintain an unfazed and disinterested stance. He would have to master his indifference, and the emotional escapes he sometimes let out accidentally emerge would have to be cut out for good. There was nothing which troubled Sirius more than being ignored, he knew that. She probably thought herself as a deity, and how could one surpass such a sacred being without kneeling at her feet to adore her? It would be absurd to not do so, unnatural even. Well, Severus wouldn’t. He would stare at Black the very same way he looked at dogs barking, birds flying and spiders weaving their intricate webs. Like she was ordinary. Like she was nothing.
Easy to say, not as easy to do.
Severus watched her. First the pliable arch of her feet, the delicate pattern of her bluish veins, an ankle getting slowly covered by refined cotton fabric. The light nightgown hugged her body closely by how she was laid, the contours of her silhouette as mouth watering as those of one of the three graces, the curve of her breasts dismissing any sense of propriety. Intricate white on white embroidery on the cuffs, her fingers resting on the gentle rise of her belly. High-quality lace on the collar, just before the soft flesh of her neck emerged, covered in rough tattoos that didn’t exactly fit with the delicacy of her skin but made her unique and enticing all the same. The constellation of moles on her neck made one think that they probably continued down her back, arms, thighs. The nightgown left it hidden though, so one would have to wonder, filling the blank spaces. Severus didn't dare, he averted his eyes up, focusing on her feverish, thin, face.
What he saw in her eyes made his heart erratic. She smirked at him, like she was sure that he would eventually look. Like she knew exactly what he was doing, even though his glance couldn't have lasted more than a couple seconds. Was she watching him? Yes. She would always be, and she knew Severus would always concede and steal a glance at her as well. He looked out of self-preservation; Black did because she was probably planning the best way to ambush him later. Different sides of the same coin, a bond born in nature. What hound dog would her Patronus be? Severus always had wondered which breed best fitted her: a Beagle? Laughable. Maybe a Coonhound, or a Great Dane. He was sure it was a dog though, it suited her too well.
Severus hesitated on the threshold, looking directly at her grey eyes. He was an expert in reading Sirius expressions by now: she pouted when she wanted to make him feel like a idiotic little thing, the wrinkle between her eyebrows insinuating that she pitied him for being, oh, so very dumb; stared at him with a serious and unfazed face when she wanted him to feel like he wasn't but dirt in her too expensive shoes; smirked when she wanted him to know that she was aware of his trembling fingers and tense shoulders. And Sirius laughed, a rich, delicious, and endearing laugh, when she could smell the fear on him.
Now, she was smiling. A satisfied, content smile. Sirius was mocking him. Severus could read in her face that she figured it all already. He liked to flaunt around that he knew her very well, but sometimes he naively forgot that the same could be said of her about him. They spent years circling around each other, mutually evaluating every single aspect of one another's behavior, and, although both were different now, their marrow remained the same. Sirius knew that he was troubled, there was something in her that could always tell when a silent storm was building up in his inner self. Now she seemed to be deeply aware that he was upset with the headmaster for asking him about tending to the healing potions and Lupin’s werewolf constitution. It was unsettling, uncanny even. Years of carefully constructing a stern facade only for her to read him like she was in front of bold letters and neon light signs.
Severus averted his eyes from her pleased smile and left. He felt like he could faint at any minute.