The Sin in Your Grin (and the Shape of Your Mouth)

by xylodemon

Summary:

The Order needed Sirius, but he doubted they'd mourn him very long when he finally disappeared.

Notes:

Written for dysfuncentine 2012.

The stairs creaked in complaint under Sirius' feet, the same way they had the night he ran away to live with James. He avoided touching the dusty, splintered bannister, ignored the tapestries whispering as they stretched toward the floor. Grimmauld Place had changed while Sirius was in Azkaban, was now so cold and dank and dirty he almost didn't recognise it, but the windows still strangled the sunlight and the air still itched with malice and dark magic. His mother screamed until she was hoarse, and the house-elf heads watched him blindly from the walls.

Sirius pushed through the heavy kitchen door, hoped Molly wasn't making an early start on dinner.

"Black."

It had been months since Sirius had heard that voice, but it still managed to put his teeth on edge. "Snape."

The house rattled and sighed with the wind. Snape lurked near the kitchen table, a square of parchment in his hand and a book hidden under his arm. Shadows played over his sallow face as Sirius closed the door, and for a strange moment he was fifteen again -- his shoulders awkward and hunched, his hair a lank, greasy curtain, his hooked nose sharply intruding on the rest of his ugly features.

Snape's lip curled, his head tilting slightly, and the spell broke as quickly as it had been cast.

 

It was unseasonably warm for September; the sun cut a slow, lazy arc across the nearly blue sky, hanging listlessly over the lake, and the air seemed to twist and shimmer with heat. Sirius rolled his sleeves to his elbows, let his robe drop into a messy pool at his feet. The fat curve of Ravenclaw Tower cast a fairly cool patch of shade, but James was hogging most of it, his eyes closed and his head leaned back against the bricks. His glasses had slipped down to the end of his nose; the fag they were meant to be sharing drooped from the corner of his mouth.

"Budge up, will you?" Sirius grumbled, elbowing James in the side as he loosened his tie. "I'm roasting alive."

James opened one eye, smoke curling around his face. "You're a girl's blouse, is what you are."

Sirius reached for the cigarette, but James dodged him neatly, laughing through another cloud of smoke as Sirius cursed and cuffed his shoulder. He took two more quick puffs, then offered it to Sirius by sticking the butt in Sirius' mouth; Sirius managed one good drag before James pulled it away.

"Tosser."

"Cocksucker."

"I'll remember that," Sirius murmured, smiling a little, "the next time you're hoping to get your knob wet."

James shrugged easily, nudged his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. "The next time we've had that much to drink, you won't remember anything I've said."

A sluggish hint of breeze pushed through the courtyard; it didn't make things any cooler, only agitated the thick, heavy air. Sirius crowded closer to James, until he was mostly out of the sun, and he stole what was left of the fag from James' hand. It was nearly dead and crawling with ash, and Sirius hissed as it burned the inside of his finger.

"Are you going to Divs?" James asked, tugging irritably at the collar of his shirt.

"I haven't decided yet."

"Well, let me know when you do, all right? I'd rather not -- oh, fuck it all." James glanced furtively over Sirius' shoulder, then slumped back against the wall. "Balls."

Sirius took a short, final drag of the cigarette and flicked it onto the walk. "Now what?"

"Velma Puckle," James said, nudging himself between Sirius and the wall. "She's just over there."

"Where?"

"By the fountain. You bloody well can't miss her."

Sirius eventually spotted her across the courtyard, shading her eyes against the sun as she peered hopefully in their direction. "And?" She was fairly fit, if a bit short and perhaps blonder than Sirius liked. "You took her out the other night, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"You told me you didn't shag her."

"I didn't shag her. I just, you know." James smirked, making a gesture that was terribly crude, even for him. "I guess no one has ever rang her bells before. She won't leave me alone now. Follows me all over the bloody castle."

"One of these days, Evans is going to find out about all these other birds."

"Evans can't complain about anything I do, not when she won't give me a date," James muttered, rumpling his hair. "I'm not just going to sit on my hands until she comes to her senses."

Sirius huffed out a short laugh. "It's your hands what got you into this mess. She's coming this way, you know."

"Evans?"

"Puckle."

"Shit." James slid out from behind Sirius, pausing long enough to dig the Map from Sirius' rear pocket. "I'll just be going, then."

"Oi, I need that," Sirius said, snatching at James' wrist, "if you want me to get MacDonald's knickers for that thing we're doing tonight."

"I'll give it to you later."

"When?"

"Divs."

Sighing, Sirius picked up his rucksack and robe. "I still haven't decided if I'm going."

"If you want it back, you'll go," James called over his shoulder. "I'm not sitting through that rubbish alone."

"I'd kill you, Potter," Sirius shouted after him, "but when you didn't show up for Quidditch practise, people would start asking questions."

Sirius rounded the Tower and crashed right into Snape.

"I'd kill you too, you filthy fuck," Sirius snarled, as Snape glared at him, his hair shrouding his face in heavy, greasy clumps, "but then I'd have to do something with your body, and I don't know any decent Gardening Charms."

 

"Something stinks of bird droppings," Snape said slowly, his eyes narrowed on Sirius. "I just now noticed it, so I suppose it's you."

Sirius leaned back against the door, folded his arms across his chest. "It might be me, at that. I'm bunking with a Hippogriff."

"Ah." Snape's mouth twisted a bit more. "And the Firewhisky?"

"I had half a bottle of Ogden's Old for lunch, if that's what you're asking," Sirius snapped, louder than was probably wise. He didn't bother keeping secrets from Harry, but Molly was only willing to overlook so much, and she constantly complained to Arthur and Remus about the bad example he set for the children. "Now it's my turn for a question, Snape -- what the bloody fuck are you doing in my kitchen?"

"I need to speak with Potter."

"Harry is busy at the moment."

A muscle twitched in Snape's jaw. "I assure you, Black, this will not take long. I have no desire to spend any more time with Potter than is absolutely necessary."

"Perhaps Harry doesn't want to speak with you."

Snape sighed under his breath, slid his hand over the back of the chair waiting at his hip. "Do you remember the last war, Black?"

"Vividly."

"Then you should also remember that fighting a war and winning it have very little to do with what one wants."

 

"Wanker."

"Embarrassment."

A suit of armour creaked, and a sharp, speculative murmur whipped through the quickly swelling crowd.

"Lickspittle."

"Blood traitor."

Sirius slammed his fist into Regulus' smirking, pureblood mouth.

Regulus reeled back against the wall, clipping his shoulder on a portrait frame as his wand clattered to the floor. The crowd buzzed with excitement, louder than before; it was larger now, spanning the width of the corridor, comprised mostly of Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs drifting toward third-year Potions. Regulus cocked his head, favoured Sirius with a dark, appraising look. His lip was split, and he washed away the blood with the tip of his tongue.

"Toadying bastard," Sirius snarled.

Sirius was taller than Regulus and broader across the shoulders, and four years of swinging a Beater's bat had made him a good bit stronger, but Regulus was quick and clever, and Regulus was completely fucking ruthless. He flew at Sirius, barely stumbling as his robe swirled around his legs, had his hands in Sirius' hair and his knee in Sirius' bollocks before Sirius found the chance to dart back or slide away. The pain was sudden and crushing; Sirius' legs shook and his stomach twisted with nausea. Staggering, Sirius cursed and swung his elbow into Regulus' gut.

"You're a disgrace," Regulus gasped, sucking in short, ragged breaths between his gritted teeth. "Duelling like a Muggle."

"So are you, you worthless, Slytherin shit."

Regulus wiped his mottled mouth with the back of his hand, spat blood onto the flagstones, right next to Sirius' feet. "You started this."

"And, what? You plan to finish it -- just like a Muggle," Sirius demanded loudly, "even though it's so far beneath you?"

"Everything you do is beneath me."

The crowd was huge now, milling and pressing closer to the fight in a tight circle, and it erupted with a bright shower and cheers and taunts as Sirius launched himself at Regulus. Regulus swung for Sirius' face, but Sirius was ready for it this time; he caught Regulus' wrist, twisted Regulus' arm as he kicked at Regulus' feet.

Regulus crumpled to the floor, his knees bending under his body at sharp and painful angles, and Sirius pulled his wand -- he could do this like a proper pureblood prig, if that was what Regulus really wanted -- but a hand suddenly snagged in his sleeve, fingers bruising into Sirius' skin as Sirius was roughly hauled around.

"That's enough, Black." Snape's voice was too calm and quiet for the narrow hatred in his eyes.

Sirius wrenched his arm from Snape's grasp, shoved Snape away by the shoulder. "Mind your own business, Snivellus."

"Leave him alone."

"This is a family matter," Sirius said snidely, barking out a short, mirthless laugh. "Apparently, my brother thinks I'm shaming all my noble and most ancient ancestors."

The crowd was thinning this close to the start of class, a frenzied exodus that swept Regulus up in its tide. Sirius didn't watch him go, didn't bother trying to follow; he was probably heading for the dungeons to have his broken lip healed by the likes of Avery and Rosier. A group of Hufflepuff girls pushed past Sirius, giggling as they separated him from Snape like a wall. Sirius blotted the blood on his chin with his sleeve, turned to go as Snape sighed under his breath.

"You are."

Sirius spat out a Trip Jinx, badly aimed but enough to send Snape twitching back toward the wall. "Sorry. I didn't catch that."

"Levic--"

"Expelliarmus!"

Snape swung at Sirius before his wand hit the floor, arching away from the statue at his shoulder to throw his fist into Sirius' side. Sirius punched Snape in the jaw and chest, then in the gut, smiling as Snape hissed and doubled over with a harsh grunt. Kicking Snape's wand down the corridor, he caught Snape around the throat and bore him back against the wall, his fingers digging bruises into the sallow skin under Snape's chin.

"Regulus is a stupid, useless little fuck, but he's my brother," Sirius growled, low and thick and right in Snape's ear. "You stay out of my business, and you stay out of his."

Footsteps sounded at the end of the corridor, and Snape jerked his head around, tried to slither away from Sirius and the wall. His hair was softer than it looked, slipping away as Sirius tried to knot it in his hand; he pressed closer to Snape, his fingers hooked in Snape's collar, and pinned Snape to the wall with his hip.

Snape's prick was hard, pushed against Sirius' thigh. Through a sharp wave of revulsion, Sirius realised he was halfway there himself.

"Black."

Snape's mouth curled into a strange line, softer than his usual sneer. He shifted a little closer to Sirius, fisting his hand in the front of Sirius' shirt, and Sirius choked out something wordless and throaty and startled.

His hand was still on Snape's neck, his thumb brushing the twitch of Snape's pulse, and Snape's mouth opened a little, a hint of teeth and a slick flash of tongue.

"Do it, Black," Snape said quietly. He sneaked his fingers under Sirius' shirt, touched skin through a gap between the buttons. "I won't tell anyone."

"Sirius."

Remus' hand slid over Sirius' shoulder, pausing warm and familiar at the back of Sirius' neck. Snape narrowed his eyes, twisted away from Sirius and the wall.

"Moony, I was--"

"Not fighting in the middle of a bloody corridor when you're meant to be in class, I'm sure," Remus said brightly, "or I'd have to take points, and you know how much I love doing that." He frowned suddenly. "You've broken your nose again, haven't you?"

"I think so, yeah."

"Episkey!"

"Thanks. Look, it wasn't--"

"Never mind that just now," Remus said, tugging on Sirius' sleeve. "Let's go. McGonagall will go spare if you miss Transfiguration again."

"What about Snivellus?"

Snape hadn't quite left; he was lurking at the mouth of the corridor, watching Remus and Sirius intently. His robe was ripped at the collar and the point of his chin was purpling with a bruise.

"What about him?" Remus asked, his prefect's badge glinting weakly in the poor light. "It's a shame he fell down that staircase, innit?"

 

"Just tell me why you're here," Sirius said, taking a seat across from Snape. "He's my godson. I have the right to ask."

Snape pushed the square of parchment at Sirius, bracing the table with the heel of his hand when it listed sharply to one side. Sirius recognised the handwriting straight off, as precise and eccentric as Dumbledore himself; he stopped reading after important and necessity and everyone's cooperation.

"Potter has already been sent for," Snape said, far too lightly. "It was never my intention to ask your permission. For all her faults, I find Molly Weasley far more agreeable."

"Damn it, Snape. If you--"

The door interrupted Sirius with a harsh groan. Harry paused in the doorway, his hand waiting nervously on the lintel; he darted a quick glance at Sirius, frowned uncertainly at Snape.

It was strange to see that expression on Harry's familiar face -- James had never been uncertain about anything. Except Evans.

"Sit down, Potter."

Sirius cleared his throat loudly, leaning his chair back until it tilted up on its rear legs. "You know, I think I prefer it if you didn't give orders here, Snape. It's my house, you see."

Harry perched on the chair next to Sirius; Snape sneered at them both.

"I was supposed to see you alone, Potter, but Black--"

"I'm his godfather," Sirius snapped.

Snape's sneer twisted, sharpened around the edges. "I am here on Dumbledore's orders, but by all means stay, Black. I know you like to feel... involved."

 

James found him on the creaky iron balcony off the choir room, shivering under a grotty scrap of blanket and blowing thin trails of smoke into the frigid air.

"Wotcher, Prongs," Sirius said quietly.

"How long have you been out here?"

"I don't know. Since you lot went down for supper, I guess."

A sudden gust of wind shot around them; the tails of James' scarf danced for a moment and his fringe swept over his glasses.

"Budge up, then, before I freeze to death," James said, his teeth chattering loudly. He squeezed onto the cramped bench as Sirius shifted over and offered him one end of the blanket. "You can't keep on like this forever, you know, sleeping in the common room and begging food from the house-elves."

Sirius shrugged, flicked his spent fag over the rusted railing. "The house-elves aren't fussed."

"Wanker."

"Fuck off, James," Sirius said, his breath taking shape in front of his face. "Did you come out here just to take the piss?"

"Of course not. It's too cold for that shit."

An owl hooted softly, somewhere above Sirius' head. James huffed and burrowed under the blanket, snagging his fingers in Sirius' sleeve and digging his knee into Sirius' thigh.

"Go bother Evans, will you?"

"I can't."

"Shame, that. She starts taking funny turns if your tongue isn't in her mouth every ten minutes."

"I'd rather be snogging her, if you must know, but she's busy just now," James said, knocking his shoulder against Sirius'. "She's doing her -- oh, wossname. Careers Assessment. You know, with McGonagall."

The wind blew past them again, icy and quick; the ironwork rattled and the loose edge of the blanket flapped around their feet. James dug his cigarettes from his pocket, the bench creaking in protest as he moved, and lit one with a bright spark from his wand. He smoked in silence, frowning sharply and shooting sidelong glances at Sirius, until Sirius finally sighed and pinched James' leg.

"What the fuck do you want, Prongs?"

"I want to know if you're done being an arsehole."

"I'm never done being an arsehole," Sirius said, staring down at the blanket, at the hard outline of his hands underneath. "That's just the way I am."

"Now who's taking the piss?" James snapped, smoke curling from the corner of his mouth. "Leave it out."

The moon was waxing gibbous and nearly yellow, large as it loomed over the Forbidden Forest. Sirius hated it.

"Is Moony still sore?"

"A little, yeah. Mostly he's naffed off because you're avoiding him." James paused for a moment, brushed ash from the sudden, round point his knee made in the blanket. "He's in love with you, you know."

"Shut it," Sirius snapped, fumbling around for his own fags. The box was crushed and empty; he shook the last one loose and lit it with a vicious Incendio. "Don't say that kind of shit."

"It's true."

Sirius blew smoke up at the night sky, watched it fade into the stars. "You're out of your tree."

"I'm not -- oh, fuck you, Sirius." The bench shrieked as James turned to face him, as James jabbed his knuckles into Sirius' side. "You know I'm right. You just don't want to hear it."

"No, I don't," Sirius said honestly.

James narrowed his eyes, poked Sirius' side again. "You've been shagging him for three years. What the hell did you expect?"

"It hasn't been that long. Two and a half, maybe, and he's been on and off with Octavia Whimple for most of it."

"More off than on, and he still thinks you don't know."

"What, about Whimple?" Sirius asked incredulously. "Not bloody likely. That bird couldn't keep a secret if you hexed her with laryngitis."

"Padfoot."

"Look. Moony is... we're just, you know." Sirius sighed and twitched the blanket over his feet. "It isn't... I'm not bent."

James snorted quietly. "You've sucked more cocks than I have."

"You've sucked plenty."

"Just yours."

"And Moony's."

James scratched the side of his neck, looking up at the stars. "Moony doesn't remember it. That means it didn't happen."

"That just means you give lousy head, Potter."

"Tosser," James said, killing the end of his fag on the rail. He leaned closer to Sirius, and his head nearly eclipsed the moon. "Why did you do it? Snape, I mean."

Sirius closed his eyes. He could still feel Snape's hand inside his shirt, Snape's fingers on his skin, Snape's prick hard against his. If Remus hadn't come along when he did, Sirius might've kissed Snape, might've touched Snape, might've grabbed Snape by the hips and rubbed his prick against Snape's thigh.

"I don't know, really," Sirius muttered, looking down at the cigarette burning to ash between his fingers. "He was there, and Moony was there, and I... it didn't seem like such a crap idea at the time."

"You're lucky I was there," James said loftily, flashing one of the arrogant smiles he usually saved for Evans, "otherwise, Moony'd be expelled and you'd be in Azkaban."

"Yeah, okay, you're a right little hero." Sirius nudged James' foot with his toe. "You still give lousy head."

James laughed at the moon. "Come back upstairs, Black, before I bloody well kill you."

 

Sirius leaned across the table; the legs of his chair levelled with a loud thump. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Merely that I'm sure you must feel," Snape paused, seemed to choose his next word carefully, "frustrated that you can do nothing useful for the Order."

Heat crept over Sirius' skin, furious and bright as it burned on his cheeks, at the back of his neck. Snape's mouth curved with something close to a smile -- sharp, darkly satisfied -- and Sirius looked away, traced a gouge in the table top with the tip of his finger.

Snape very deliberately turned his attention back to Harry. "The headmaster has sent me to tell you, Potter, that it is his wish for you to study Occlumency this term."

"Study what?" Harry asked slowly.

"Occulmency, Potter. The magical defence of the mind against external penetration. An obscure branch of magic, but a highly useful one."

Harry's eyes widened in a way that made him look very much like James. "Why do I have to study Occlu -- thing?"

"Because the headmaster thinks it is a good idea," Snape said, his voice dangerously smooth. "You will receive private lessons once a week, but you will not tell anybody what you are doing, least of all Dolores Umbridge. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Harry shifted in his seat; the table wobbled as his elbow banged into it. "Who is going to be teaching me?"

Snape's mouth hardened, sharpened. "I am."

 

"Bloody fucking broom cupboards," Sirius grumbled, jerking his foot away from a pail of manky rags. "Bloody fucking James Potter."

Chuckling quietly, Remus hunched closer to the Map. He had it pinned to the door with the palm of his hand. "This isn't James' fault. Not really."

"Of course this is James' fault. This was James' brilliant fucking idea."

"You agreed it was a brilliant fucking idea," Remus said, peering at something near the bottom of the Map, "until the Tracking Charm went to shit and we had to hide from Filch's cat."

"In a broom cupboard," Sirius stressed.

Broom cupboards had never been Sirius' favourite -- too dark, too close, too often crawling with dust and spiders -- but this one was probably the worst Sirius had ever been in. It was so small they'd barely been able to shut the door behind them, so crammed with rubbish that they didn't have room to sit down. A mop handle was digging into Sirius' side and his elbow kept jabbing something wet and everything smelled like cleaning solvents and forgotten bed linens.

Remus chuckled again, leaning back against Sirius a little, and Sirius steadied him by the hips.

"It could be worse, I suppose," Sirius said, to the back of Remus' neck, the slow curve of Remus' shoulder. "I could be stuck in here with Peter."

"Why, because Peter won't let you grope under his shirt?" Remus asked, twisting a little as Sirius' thumb slid over his rib. "You can stop that, by the way. Your hands are freezing."

"Moony."

"Peter sings to himself, sometimes. Is that why? Or because he smacks his lips when he eats crisps?"

Sirius pulled Remus closer, hid a soft kiss in Remus' hair. "Because he rabbits on about Martin Miggs the Mad Muggle like anyone cares, and he bloody well had a second helping of beans at supper."

Remus laughed, low and throaty and warm, and Sirius pulled him closer. Sirius' prick was hard, had been since Remus first shoved him into this ruddy broom cupboard, and he slowly -- very slowly -- rubbed it against Remus' arse.

"I wonder how James is making out with the Bubotuber pus," Remus said, tracking a movement on the Map with the lighted tip of his wand.

"I don't much care, really."

"I still say we should've stashed those sneezeworts in the Owlery," Remus continued, pushing his arse back against Sirius' prick in a lazy, off-hand sort of way. "It's less stairs than the Astronomy Tower, and closer to the target."

Sirius mouthed at the skin behind Remus' ear. "Fascinating."

"Are you even listening?"

"Of course I am. James Potter is a prat with Bubotuber pus for brains." Sirius snapped his hips into Remus, smiling at the filthy noise Remus nearly made, and slid his hands around to Remus' belt. "The sneezeworts should be in the Owlery, and you should take your trousers off."

"Wanker."

"Berk."

"Balls," Remus hissed, twitching a fold on the Map that sketched out one of the upper floors. "Oh, fuck me."

Sirius smiled. "We don't have enough room in here, I don't think, but I'm keen to try if you are."

"No, no -- I mean, I would be, but." Remus twisted around a little and shook the Map in Sirius' face. "It's Peter. He's going to walk right into Filch if he keeps on the way he's going."

"Oh, that's okay. He can just go rat and run right between Filch's dirty feet."

Remus batted Sirius' hands away from his flies. "Yes, and he can Transfigure a statue into a titchy sled and drag those boxes of Stinkpellets down to the Great Hall."

"Oh. Right."

"I'll be back, once I get Peter sorted," Remus said, pressing a warm, wet kiss to Sirius' jaw. He quirked an eyebrow, brushed his knuckles over the hard line of Sirius' prick. "Save that for me."

Remus stepped out into the hallway, the door creaking as it fell shut behind him.

"He gets me all worked up, and then he leaves me," Sirius complained, to the dust creeping inside his nose, to a faded tapestry rolled into the far corner, "and then he tells me to save it for him, the git. Not bloody likely."

The door creaked again, just as Sirius slipped his hand in his trousers, and Sirius smiled.

"Moony."

"Black."

"Snape," Sirius snarled, his breath catching in his throat. "What the fuck are you doing in here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Snape said quietly, pausing at Sirius' open trousers, at the way Sirius was still kind of fucking into his hand, "but I think the answer is fairly obvious."

"Get out of here," Sirius snapped. He was so close -- too close -- could feel it building in his bollocks, in the low of his gut, even at the backs of his knees. "Get out of here, or I'll hex you into next week."

Snape almost smiled. "Expelliarmus!"

Sirius' wand spun out of his pocket in a slow, graceful arc, and Sirius stared in horror as it clattered at Snape's feet, as Snape hid the handle under the toe of his boot.

"Sorry. I didn't catch that."

Sirius leaned back against the crooked, three-legged desk behind him, steadied it with his hands when it tipped him toward the floor. "What do you want, Snape?"

"I want to know why you tried to kill me."

The accusation waited there, trapped between the shadows and dust, and Sirius curled in on himself a little, felt the weight of Remus' lost secret heavy on his shoulders. In the poor light, Snape's sallow face was nearly grey, and his sneer was sinister, edged like a knife.

"I didn't try to kill you," Sirius said finally.

"You nearly fed me to a werewolf."

"No," Sirius hissed, stepping closer to Snape. He couldn't reach his wand, but he could still smash Snape's teeth in. "It wouldn't have... I don't give a shit about you, but I wouldn't have done that to Remus."

Snape tilted his head, his greasy hair curtaining his face. "I almost believe that."

"You should believe it, Snivellus. I wouldn't have risked that much, not for you. If Remus had actually hurt you, the Ministry would've had him fucking exterminated, or whatever the bloody Werewolf Registry is calling it these days."

"He's a dark creature," Snape said simply.

Sirius punched him squarely in the jaw. "You're a dark creature."

Snape was silent for a few moments, his eyes narrow and sullen as he rubbed at the red mark Sirius' fist had left behind. It would bruise darkly by tomorrow evening, purple and yellow and blue.

"You wanted to scare me." Snape pushed away from the door, locking it with a spell Sirius didn't recognise, and moved in close, too close. Sirius could hear him breathing. "Why?"

"You've been following us around for months," Sirius said sharply, hedging back a little, "always bothering Evans, or watching Remus." His arse bumped the wobbly desk, and Snape's hand slid up his chest. "I figured it was time you buggered off. I wanted you to leave us alone."

Snape twisted his hand in Sirius' tie and pulled, dragging Sirius closer. He kissed Sirius hard and fast and rough, his hip pinning Sirius to the desk and his hand sneaking down to curve over Sirius' prick.

"I want you to finish what you started in that hallway, Black."

He kissed Sirius again, his teeth flashing at Sirius' lip; he pushed his tongue into Sirius' mouth, and all Sirius could taste was his own blood.

"Get away from me, Snivellus."

"Close your eyes. Pretend I'm Lupin, if that will make it easier," Snape said, his mouth wet as he reached for Sirius' open flies. "All dark creatures look the same with the lights off."

 

"Why can't Dumbledore teach Harry?" Sirius demanded, his hand gripping the back of Harry's chair. "Why you?"

"I suppose it is the Headmaster's privilege to delegate less enjoyable tasks," Snape said easily, his voice like a snake twisting through soft grass. "I assure you I did not beg for the job." He stood slowly, favouring Harry with a hard, disapproving frown. "I will expect you at six o'clock on Monday evening. If anybody asks, you are taking Remedial Potions. Nobody who has seen you in my class could deny you need them."

Harry nodded, his face paling slightly. He seemed small next to the grotesquely ornate kitchen chair, looked nervous and defeated and very, very tired.

"Wait a moment," Sirius called, as Snape reached the door.

"I'm rather in a hurry, Black... unlike you, I do not have unlimited leisure time."

"I'll get to the point then," Sirius growled, rising to his feet. Snape was shorter than him, always had been, but it didn't carry the same comfort it had back in school, back when Snape was a hunched, awkward thing that barely spoke and rarely looked people in the eye. "If I hear you're using these Occlumency lessons to give Harry a hard time, you'll have me to answer to."

"How touching," Snape said, a sneer crawling over his words, "but surely you have noticed that Potter is very like his father."

Sirius' chest ached around the hollow James had left behind. "Yes, I have."

"Well, then, you'll know he's so arrogant that criticism simply bounces off him."

 

Gideon leaned back in his chair, restlessly drumming his fingers on his knee. His frown was thoughtful and sharp, his mouth creased with a scar cut into his lower lip by a curse, and his reddish hair flickered copper and gold in the glow from the hurricane lamp on the table. He looked tired, worn thin, as frayed around the edges as Sirius felt; the skin under his eyes was the colour of an old bruise.

The Order had kept a dingy, rented loft in Diagon Alley, down one of the dark and narrow passages with tuffets growing between the wet cobblestones, but Bonfire Night had brought a Death Eater raid that wounded three members and nearly destroyed their intelligence network. It met in random places now, presently the remarkably tiny London flat Lily wouldn't let James smoke in, and it communicated through coded owls and covert hand signals and a variety of other schemes that Sirius found tedious and confusing and faintly ridiculous.

He'd never expected to fight a war after leaving school, rather wasn't prepared for it. None of them were. Aside from Dumbledore and Moody and a small handful of rebel Aurors, the Order was just a bunch of kids, scarcely of legal age and freshly off Hogwarts' leading strings.

"All right, all right," Gideon said finally, his voice low and hoarse, "let's try it again, shall we?" He sighed and rubbed his face. "Maybe we'll think of something we missed on the last go."

"I rather doubt it," Peter complained, one of Lily's cranberry scones paused halfway to his mouth. "I mean, Islington could've been an accident. Faulty structuring, the Muggle papers said."

"The Muggle papers print all sorts of rubbish, I've noticed," James countered, from the niche that made up the tiny flat's even tinier kitchen. He had his arm around Lily's waist; a brown bottle of Muggle beer waited for him on the sideboard. "The Telegraph thought all those fires in Covent Gardens were caused by a gas leak."

Benjy snorted loudly. "Of course they did. The blokes from Muggle-Worthy Excuse are pretty handy with a Memory Charm. A man wouldn't know his own mother after twenty minutes in a room with them."

"Frank, what's the Ministry word on Islington?" Gideon asked. "Have you heard anything through channels?"

"Not a dickey-bird," Frank admitted, shaking his head. He shifted on the ugly, sagging settee, laid his hand on Alice's knee. "The MLE would insist there was no magical involvement."

"Balls," Sirius grumbled.

"I still say Islington was Dolohov," Alice added, lacing her fingers with Frank's. She had a soft smile and a round, friendly face, but Sirius had seen her kill a Death Eater nearly three times her size with a casual flick of her wrist. "Those Muggles were hospitalised with unspecified internal injuries, same as that family in Hackney, and we know that was Dolohov."

Benjy narrowed his eyes, made a quiet, thoughtful noise. "Could be Dolohov, at that. That purple curse of his is nasty business. Fires were set at both places, too."

"Might be Nott, with the fires," Lily ventured, twisting her long hair into a hasty, crooked bun. "You know he's not happy unless something is burning."

Gideon grunted. "Neither is Bellatrix. Any of the bloody Lestranges, really."

"I just don't see a connection," Peter argued quietly, frowning and fiddling with the last bits of his scone. "I mean, those Muggles in Hackney, they had a son at Hogwarts, and--"

"A daughter, I think," James said, taking a long swig of his beer.

Peter huffed irritably, pushed his plate away with a harsh scrape. "All right, James, all right. A daughter at Hogwarts, then, and we know You-Know-Who doesn't hold with that sort of thing. The Muggles in Islington were just... Muggles."

"He might've decided to stop splitting hairs," Frank said slowly. "The Death Eaters have gained a lot of ground in the last few months. A lot of followers. If they want to kill Muggles for no reason, they're strong enough to do it now."

A faint pop sounded from the fire escape, then Fabian poked his head in the kitchen window, his cheeks flushed pink and his mitten-covered hands curled around the sill. His hair was normally brighter than Gideon's, but the dusky, late evening shadows dyed it the colour of good wine. Sirius wondered when he'd last been home; he was wearing the same wrinkled, hex-scorched shirt Sirius had seen him in three days ago.

"Someone left Lupin out here with the pot plants." Fabian smiled and jerked his thumb over his shoulder, didn't quite look at Sirius. "Shall I leave him out here, then, or is he meant to feed the Prophet owl in the morning?"

"I only just arrived. I was on my way in," Remus said, laughing as he elbowed past Fabian to climb through the window, "when some giant, clumsy Quidditch hooligan Apparated on my foot."

"Oh, is that what that was? I thought I splinched my toes."

Benjy quietly vacated the chair next to Sirius, perching instead on the arm of Frank and Alice's settee, and Sirius pretended not to notice. Everyone knew Remus lived with Sirius in Alphard's ancient Bethnal Green flat, one bedroom with a single bed and a lumpy couch that didn't fold out, but no one ever mentioned it, and Sirius preferred it that way.

"Well, kids," Fabian said, humming happily as Lily passed him a steaming cup of tea, "what did I miss?"

"Alice thinks Dolohov did for those Muggles in Islington," Gideon said.

Fabian nodded slowly, turning a hat-rack into a dark blue pouffe with a lazy gesture and a sigh. "Of course she does. She's the only one here with any sense at all." He sat, sipped his tea. "Well, her and Evans."

"Watch yourself, Prewett. She's a Potter now," James said proudly.

"So she is, so she is." Fabian gave James an appraising look, then winked at Lily over his teacup. "I still can't believe you married this git."

Lily's mouth curved with an arch smile. "Most days, neither can I."

"Budge up, you two," Remus muttered, squeezing past James and Lily with a damp scarf in his hands and a bottle of beer floating at his elbow. He slid into the empty seat next to Sirius, smelled like rain and cold wind and two or three nights spent sleeping under hedges. Sirius hadn't seen him in close to a week. "What about you, Fabian? I thought you were up visiting Dorcas."

"I just came from Dorcas' place, actually," Fabian explained, "and there's some interesting news out that way." His jaw tightened slightly. "Every Apothecary in Manchester's Wizarding district was raided last night."

"That is interesting," Frank said, shifting as Alice curled closer, tucking her feet under her arse and resting her head on Frank's shoulder. "What did they take?"

Fabian paused long enough to sip his tea. "Knotgrass, fluxweed, boomslang skin, lacewing flies."

"Oh, fuck me," Benjy grumbled. "Polyjuice Potion."

"Ten points to Ravenclaw," Fabian said brightly, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. "They could make gallons of the stuff, with the amounts they took."

"It'll be a month before they can do anything with it," Lily said, her hand knotted in James' sleeve.

Gideon grunted, tapping his fingers on the table; the hurricane lamp sputtered and spit. "That's all we need, Death Eaters with gallons of Polyjuice Potion."

"It doesn't have to be Death Eaters," Peter said quietly, a frown pulling at the corners of his mouth. "Anyone could want Polyjuice Potion."

"Leave it out, Peter. It was definitely Death Eaters." Fabian narrowed his eyes at Sirius. "Black, when was the last time you spoke with your brother?"

Sirius sighed under his breath, took a long swig from Remus' beer.

"From what Dorcas could tell me, the MLE found a broken wand inside one of the shops," Fabian continued, waving his empty teacup into the kitchen. It landed on the sideboard with a delicate clink. "Ollivander identified it as--"

"Right. It's my brother's." Sirius sighed again, washed away the hot, twisting knot in his throat with another mouthful of Remus' beer. His skin felt tight, and heat was crawling over his cheeks, along the line of his jaw. "We haven't... it's been years. I was still in school."

"They'll have us looking for him by tomorrow morning," Alice said, her voice soft and careful, "if they don't have us doing it tonight."

Sirius shook his head, barked out a cold, harsh laugh. "You'll never find him, if he's gone home to our mother. I mean, the house is heavily protected, and that, but... Regulus is all the old bitch has left. If he's really in the soup, she won't take any chances. She'll get a Secret Keeper, if that's what it takes, or she'll stash him with Aunt Lucretia."

"Sirius," Frank said, clearing his throat lightly, "if he doesn't go home, where... who was he friends with, at school?"

"Avery and Rosier," Sirius replied, shrugging. "Wilkes, maybe. One of the Lestrange bastards."

"Snape, I think," Peter offered slowly, his head tilted and his round eyes wide. "Wasn't he friends with Snape?"

Sirius thought of Snape's dark eyes narrowing in the shadows of a dusty broom cupboard, of Snape's tongue in his mouth and Snape's hand on his prick and Snape's fingers digging bruises into his hip. A few weeks later, Snape had caught Sirius alone on a late night fly, had sucked him off right on the Quidditch pitch, the grass itchy and wet under Sirius' body and the House banners fluttering quietly in the wind. Sirius had come as the stars watched and the waxing moon hid behind a cloud, his knuckles in his mouth and his own blood salty and sharp on his tongue.

All dark creatures look the same with the lights off.

"I guess, yeah," Sirius muttered, his hand finding Remus' knee under the table, "he might've been friends with Snape."

 

Sirius shoved his chair aside, letting it topple sideways into the wall, rounded the table with Harry pulling at his sleeve. He stared down at Snape -- at his dark eyes and his sallow skin and the hard line of his mouth -- and Sirius' skin flushed hot, felt crawling and alive. Snape's eyes narrowed, his wand waiting under Sirius' chin; Sirius hid a Levicorpus on the tip of his tongue.

The table creaked, slanted into Sirius' hip as Harry clamoured past the overturned chair. "Sirius!"

"I warned you, Snivellus," Sirius growled, low and harsh and as close to Snape's ear as he could manage, "I don't care if Dumbledore thinks you've reformed, I know better--"

Snape's mouth curved with something smug, almost satisfied. "Oh, but why don't you tell him so? Or are you afraid he might not take the advice of a man who has been hiding in his mother's house for six months?"

The house sighed into a gust of wind, and a curious rattle sounded from Kreacher's nest under the water tank.

"Tell me, how is Lucius Malfoy these days?" Sirius demanded, smiling coldly as what little colour Snape had began draining out of his face. "I expect he is delighted his lapdog's working at Hogwarts, isn't he?"

"Speaking of dogs," Snape said, his lips thinned and his voice suddenly soft, "did you know Luicus Malfoy recognised you last time you risked a little jaunt outside?" His wand twitched closer to Sirius' throat. "Clever idea, Black, getting yourself seen on a safe station platform... gave you a cast-iron excuse not to leave your hidey-hole in the future, didn't it?"

Sirius levelled his wand at Snape's ugly, sneering face.

The table wobbled and shrieked as Harry scrambled over it; he caught Sirius' arm with both hands. "NO!"

 

"If we're going to do this, I wish we'd bloody well do it," Emmeline complained, most of her face hidden in shadows. "Moody's Patronus got me out of the bath."

Sirius dropped the end of his fag on the walk, ground it out with the heel of his boot. "You know how it is. Hurry up and wait." He sighed, pushing a handful of damp hair out of his eyes. The Order was spread up and down the street, loitering in doorways and by dustbins in twos and threes, but Diagon Alley's usual bustle had thinned sharply since the war put its teeth in everyone's necks, and Sirius felt obvious, open and exposed. "Constant Vigilance, and all that shit."

"Oh, sod that." She slumped back against the wall, tugging the scarf around her neck. Her wand made an awkward bulge in the pocket of her cloak. "I'm catching my death out here."

"If Elphias would shut it," Sirius said, his coat flapping with a soggy gust of wind, "we might get this sorted before we all drown."

It was raining again, the kind of thick, endless drizzle that was discourteous to Shield Charms, coming down at an odd angle, seeping in at the corners. Sirius' feet were soaked inside his boots, and his jeans were wet halfway to his knees.

"Where's Lupin, then?" Emmeline asked, her blonde fringe curled limply on her forehead.

"I haven't the foggiest," Sirius replied sharply. Remus had disappeared from Sirius' flat two nights ago; Sirius hadn't heard from him since.

"Oh. I just figured you -- well, never mind, then. Here he comes now."

Remus slouched past the Leaky Cauldron's weathered back door just as Sirius lit another cigarette, his head down and his elbows poking through the worn patches on his second-best winter coat. His face seemed very pale, looked ashen and grey in the pallid light spilling out from the apothecary across the alley; he had dirt on his hands, under his fingernails, and his hair was riotous, wild.

"Wotcher, Padfoot," he said, his voice both careful and quiet.

"Moony." Smoke wreathed Sirius' face, drifted up to fade into the heavy, blotchy sky. "Where've you been?"

"Out."

"Out?"

"I... Dumbledore. You know I can't talk about it."

"Right."

Remus tilted his head and tucked his hand in Sirius' sleeve, every line of his body an apology, and Sirius looked away.

The first night Remus was gone, Sirius had brought a bird back to his flat, had shagged her on the spindly, late Victorian couch in the front room because his unmade bed would've smelled too much like guilt. The second night, Sirius had sat on the fire escape until dawn, shivering and smoking and nursing a nearly full bottle of Ogden's Old, and it had occurred to him, as the sun slowly scaled the horizon and the last dregs of the Firewhisky burned on his tongue, that he'd been fucking Remus for close to six years, that they'd never really discussed it, that Remus probably deserved much better, that Sirius kept the hook in Remus' mouth because he was running out of people who cared about him.

"Padfoot."

Emmeline had wandered further up the alley; she was standing outside the cauldron shop with Sturgis, near where Elphias was still banging on to Moody about something Sirius couldn't hear, probably wouldn't care about, and Sirius pulled Remus a little closer, brushed a quick kiss over Remus' temple. The shadows weren't really deep enough to hide it, but Sirius wasn't sure he cared any more. Remus said "I love you" fifty times a day, in glances and gestures, in the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when Sirius called him Moony; Sirius never said it at all, would likely be dead inside six months anyway.

The Order had dwindled in the last few weeks, withering like an old, gnarled tree choked by ivy and knotgrass. Marlene was missing. Dorcas and Edgar were dead. What they'd found of Benjy could've been buried in a biscuit tin.

Sirius had shagged Marlene once while they'd still been at school, might've done it again if there had ever been time, if the war hadn't threaded itself into every part of their lives. She'd had bright eyes and a wide smile and long, chestnut hair that had winked and flashed in the sun, but she'd dated Sturgis for a bit, and Remus had lived in Sirius' flat, and then Marlene's sister had died, and Remus had had two rough transformations in a row, and then Dumbledore had sent Sirius to Scotland for two weeks, and then Marlene had gone to Bermondsey to visit her mother and had never come back.

"There you are, Lupin," Fabian said, covering the distance from Quality Quidditch in long, confident strides. "We were worried you wouldn't make it."

"I almost didn't," Remus said, smiling and brushing the dirt and leaves from the front of his coat. "How's your sister doing? She owled us a card at Christmas, but we haven't seen her in months."

"Pregnant again, if you can believe it."

"I wouldn't believe it, if she wasn't married to a Weasley," Sirius said, shaking his head. "That makes what, now... four, or five?"

Fabian snorted loudly. "Six. I told Arthur if he gets one more, he can have his own Quidditch team. Molly hexed my hair blue for saying it, but it was worth the look on Arthur's face." He threw his arm around Sirius' shoulder, his voice dragging into a low whisper. "Speaking of sprogs, Pettigrew tells me you're to be a godfather in a few months. Is that why Potter isn't here?"

"You know, it isn't nice to talk about a bloke where he can hear you doing it," James grumbled, hunching toward them with pink cheeks and a naff knit cap pulled down around his ears. "I'd've been here sooner, but your brother's Patronus mumbles like a drunken pixy," he sighed, wiping raindrops from his glasses, "and it took me a bit to suss out the meeting place. What the bloody hell are we doing, anyway?"

"A fellow answering Karkaroff's description walked into Gringotts about twenty minutes ago," Fabian explained, scratching his chin. His hand was missing the last two fingers, a gift from a Death Eater skilled with Sectumsempra; Sirius felt sick every time Fabian used the other three fingers to wave or point or pull someone's sleeve. "Moody's got some Aurors outside, waiting to grab him if he walks back out."

"What about us, then?" James asked. His glasses were fogged again; he ducked his head to peer at Fabian over the rims. "Reserve guard?"

Fabian nodded. "Exactly. If things go pear-shaped at Gringotts, and Karkaroff manages to give them the slip, he'll have us to help clean up the mess. There's an Anti-Disapparation Jinx up, and that'll put the bastard in a panic. He might try to blast into one of the shops with an unregistered Floo."

"Are Frank and Alice down there?" Sirius asked. "At Gringotts?"

"Frank is, yeah," Fabian replied, smiling a little, "but Alice is sitting this one out. Apparently, she's got the same problem Molly and Lily have."

James coughed. "Oh, fuck me. Alice, too?"

"I bet you were right proud of yourself," Fabian said, laughing and nudging James in the side, "and here it was just something in the water."

"Prat."

Remus cleared his throat, slid his hand up Sirius' arm. "I think it's time. Moody's headed this way."

"Fucking finally," Sirius muttered, flicking his fag into a murky puddle spreading in front of the apothecary's doorway.

"Potter," Moody barked, gesturing at James with a knobbly hand, "find out where Pettigrew sneaked off to, and set up outside Gambol and Japes. Fabian, I want you and your brother at Flourish and Blotts."

"What about us?" Sirius asked as the others headed away.

Moody considered them for a moment, his face a ghoulish mask of scars under the clouded, waning moon. "You two have got Knockturn Alley. Podmore and Doge will be at the top of the passage. I want one of you at Borgin and Burkes, and the other down the dead end."

"Right," Remus said quietly, slipping his wand from his sleeve. "Knockturn Alley."

"Black." Moody caught Sirius' arm, shouldered past Remus to crowd Sirius into the wall. "You're to behave yourself, understand?"

"Okay."

Moody frowned, his mouth twisting into a thin, gruesome line. "You've done a lot for the Order. More than most. You're a solid fellow when you want to be, but you forget your head too easily. Every time you Avada your way through a pack of Death Eaters, we lose intelligence, and I have to answer a bunch of nosy questions downstairs." He thumped Sirius squarely on the chest. "I'm about out of favours with the Wizengamot, Black. You keep that in mind, the next time you bring a building down on everyone's head, or slice a Death Eater in half because he cursed your boyfriend."

"All right, all right." Sirius shrugged, frowned at nothing over Moody's shoulder. "I got it."

Moody stumped away without another word; Sirius didn't watch him go.

"What was that all about?" Remus asked as they passed Fortescue's, his cheeks flushed and his fringe clinging to his forehead in wet, stringy clumps. "Moody, I mean. He rather had his knickers in a twist."

"Moody always has his knickers in a twist," Sirius muttered, herding Remus around a dustbin the wind has tossed onto the walk. The cobblestones were dark, slick with rain, and Sirius nearly lost his balance as they approached the mouth of Knockturn Alley. "He said I should try not to kill anyone tonight."

"Oh. I'm--"

Sirius waved him off roughly; he wasn't sorry about Hutchinson, wouldn't bother pretending. Hutchinson had had his wand in Remus' gut when Sirius laid him open across the ribs, and the strength of Hutchinson's Cruciatus Curse had left Remus shaking and clawing at his skin for hours.

Knockturn Alley was shadowed and cold, all narrow passages and crooked, derelict buildings bent so close at the upper storeys that the sky was barely a sliver. Sturgis smoked his pipe against a crumbling storefront with boards over the windows; Elphias trimmed his fingernails with his wand in front of a squat, dingy-looking junk shop. The traffic was a bit thicker here, pushing restlessly toward the hidden recesses past Borgin and Burkes and all the things people weren't yet willing to give up for the war -- brothels, illicit potions dealers, pubs that sold Class A Non-Tradables, beds that could be let by the hour.

"I'll take the dead end, if you'd rather not," Remus said in front of Borgin and Burkes, his thumb sliding over Sirius' wrist, "I don't mind."

Sirius nudged him into a dark, drooping doorway, kissed him until they were both half-hard and breathless, until Remus made a noise against Sirius' mouth and knotted his fingers in Sirius' hair. "I'll take the dead end."

"I really don't mind."

"I'll be better off down there. I can't cause any trouble hanging around a bunch of drunks stumbling back to their dosses."

Sirius crouched in front of a splintered door with no name or number, his wand out and his arms folded on his knees. His fingers went numb, and the eave sagging over his head dripped water under his collar; he smoked five cigarettes, had three shots of Firewhisky from the flask in his pocket, tried to think of a way to end things with Remus without destroying every other friendship he had.

Lightning flashed behind the clouds, white and blinding as the sky rended under the weight of a thunderclap. Rain began pouring down in sheets, and something bright and sickly yellow screamed past Sirius' ear.

Sirius sprawled out of the doorway, his elbow splashing into a puddle, and aimed his wand at a suspicious shadow slouching away from a streetlamp. "Impedimenta!"

"Confringo!"

The wall behind Sirius exploded loudly; Sirius dodged a shower of sparks and stone and glass with a hasty Shield Charm, breaking into a run as a hooded man moved up the alley. He crashed into a drunken hag weaving away from one of the dirty, nameless pubs, and wasted a Full Body-Bind on a tarpaulin-covered handcart yawing against the wind. The man froze for a moment, his wand out, his head turning quickly as he glanced up and down the alley, then ducked into one of the smaller side passages cutting behind a charity shop.

It didn't lead anywhere, was just a blind rookery created by five buildings showing their backs to each other at strange angles. Sirius smiled. "Levicorpus!"

"Sectumsempra!"

The raid in Stepney had been short and brutal; Sirius had been the first one through the door, and he nearly hadn't come out because he'd thrown a Blasting Curse at Evan Rosier that had erupted the house's entire front wall. Everything had flashed red and blue. Flames had licked at the hedges flanking the garden, the roof caving in just as Caradoc smashed open a window, and they'd needed to carry Fabian out on their backs. His face had been white and cold, and his bloody hand had left mottled red stains on the sleeves of Remus' shirt.

"Snape!" Sirius barked, levelling his wand at something slumped against the last building, a darker stretch in the shadows. "I know it's you, Snape. Locomotor Mortis!"

Snape collapsed onto the wet pavement with a grunt, his legs stiff and awkward while his arms sprawled, his wand skittering just out of his reach. His hand waited next to Sirius' boot, his palm turned up and his fingers open, and his face was expressionless, blank. Sirius stared at him for a moment, watched his greasy hair fan and curl into the puddle near his head.

"If you mean to kill me, Black," Snape said, his voice so dry and brittle it cracked over Sirius' skin, "do it quickly."

Sirius almost considered it; dead bodies cropped up in Knockturn Alley all the time. The war had made people suspicious, ruthless, had them drinking too much and sleeping too little, and most things cost nearly three times what they had last year. If he emptied Snape's pockets and bloodied Snape's nose, then dumped him behind one of the filthier doss houses, the MLE would barely blink before adding him to the list of nightly blags.

"You're in luck, Snivellus," he said instead, because he'd need to snap his wand and buy a new one, and Ollivander's questions got nosier with every visit, "I promised Moody I wouldn't kill anybody tonight."

Snape shifted slightly, his soaked hair drenching his collar as he strained up on his elbows. "I don't believe you."

"I don't much care what you believe, you murdering bastard."

"You've no room to call anybody a murderer," Snape said, his mouth twisting with a sneer. "You killed a man two days ago."

"Who?"

"Marvan Wilkes."

"No, Snape." Sirius bent down, nudged Snape's jaw with his wand. "The Aurors killed Wilkes."

"The Aurors finished Wilkes after they found him already bleeding to death," Snape said, a flash of lightning washing his face white. "You nearly took his head off."

Sirius lit a cigarette, blew a thick cloud of smoke in Snape's face as thunder rolled over the rooftops. The rain was easier here, in the lee of the crooked building behind them. It looked like an old herbology shop; Tentacula vines ventured out the broken windows.

"Wilkes was my friend," Snape said quietly.

"Wilkes was a fucking Death Eater," Sirius snapped, jabbing Snape's ribs with the toe of his boot, "and he might've lived longer, if he hadn't been throwing curses at a pregnant woman where I could see it."

"Pregnant?" Snape asked, his voice hoarse, his shaking hands splashing in the shallow puddle under his arse. "Lily Potter is pregnant?"

"She just found out about it." Sirius could still hear Lily's sharp, startled breath, feel her fingers knotting in his sleeve as Wilkes reared up from behind a streetlamp, as a shock of green light narrowly missed her ear. "I was taking her to lunch after her visit with the healer when Wilkes showed up and stuck his wand in her face."

"Mudblood."

Sirius kicked Snape again, dug his wand under Snape's chin as Snape choked and gasped and tried to roll away. "Watch your fucking mouth, Snivellus. I never promised Moody I wouldn't beat the shit out of anybody."

Snape arched up suddenly, grunting, straining against his frozen legs, then slammed his elbow into Sirius' shins, and Sirius reeled, his boots scraping wetly over the dirty, littered pavement. He crashed down next to Snape, pain flaring brightly in his shoulder and hip, his knee in a puddle and his feet tangled in Snape's robe, and Snape growled, tight-lipped and furious, grabbed a handful of Sirius' hair and aimed a quick, awkward punch at Sirius' side. Cursing, Sirius crawled over him; he sat on Snape's hips and pinned his arm against Snape's throat, his wand hand flat on the ground, next to Snape's ear.

"I thought about it, you know," Sirius muttered, as Snape swallowed thickly, tilted his head against the pressure on his throat. "Killing you." Snape's eyes widened, and his hand twisted in the front of Sirius' shirt. "Seemed like a lot of trouble, for a worthless shit like you. Remus hates it when I come home bloody, and Moody can be awfully hard to get along with when things don't go his way."

Snape hooked his fingers in Sirius' collar, his knuckles bumping Sirius' neck. "What do you want?"

"I want to know what happened to my brother."

Lightning ripped across the sky, searing and sharp; Snape's pallid face flickered in and out of darkness, and his mouth curved, taking a strange line as thunder rattled through the alley. Catching Sirius' wrist, he shoved Sirius' arm away from his throat, pushed it slowly down his body, until Sirius' hand was resting on his prick.

"Nothing is free, Black."

"I'll give you to the Ministry."

"You'll give me to the Ministry, anyway."

Sirius fumbled Snape's robe out of the way, tugged on the button of Snape's trousers. His own prick was hard, rubbing uncomfortably against his flies, and he sat back a little, hoped Snape couldn't feel it. Everything was wet -- Sirius' hair, Sirius' hand, Snape's clothes, Snape's prick -- and Snape hissed when Sirius' fingers curled around him, when Sirius started to stroke, steady and slow, his lips parted and his eyes almost closed.

Lightning screamed between the rooftops; Snape's prick was flushed and ugly in the sudden flash of light.

"My brother," Sirius growled, twisting his wrist, brushing his thumb over the head. "What happened to him?"

Snape bit his lip, swallowed a low moan. "Regulus disappeared. I-I haven't seen him. No one h-has."

"When?"

"Six m-months ago. Seven, maybe."

Sirius' hips twitched slightly, his prick aching, desperate for something, anything; he hunched into Snape, their mouths nearly close enough to kiss, stroked Snape harder, faster. "Why?"

"I don't know." The Leg-Locker was starting to wear off; Snape was leaning into Sirius' hand a little, arching up in short, restless jerks. "He was acting strangely, a few -- ah, ah -- few weeks before. Asking -- oh, fuck -- asking questions. I think he w-wanted out."

"Dead," Sirius gasped, his hand sliding up Snape's prick, his own prick rubbing against Snape's thigh. "Is he dead?"

"Probably."

"Stupid fuck."

Snape came with a hoarse, choked groan, his hands in Sirius' hair and his tongue in Sirius' mouth. He shoved Sirius back as Sirius started to pull away, still gasping, his legs still clumsy and stiff, brushed his hand over the bulge in Sirius' jeans.

"How many people have you killed, Black?"

"It doesn't matter."

Snape flipped the button of Sirius' jeans. "Tell me."

"Not enough," Sirius said, flattening his hand over Snape's, trying to get more friction. "We're losing the war, so. Not nearly enough."

Sirius felt a sharp tug over his skin, heard a sound like a stretched piece of Spellotape snapping, realised a second too late that the Anti-Disapparation Jinx had lifted. Snape dove for his wand, rolling on the pavement, left Sirius hard and aching and laughing at the rain.

 

"Are you calling me a coward?" Sirius shouted, pushing Harry away.

Snape almost smiled. "Why yes, I suppose I am."

"Harry -- get -- out -- of -- it!"

The kitchen door banged open hard enough to rattle the walls. Arthur paused in the doorway, a battered macintosh covering his hospital pyjamas, Hermione at his elbow and the rest of the Weasleys queueing behind him. He looked a little rough around the edges, had deep hollows under his eyes.

"Cured," Arthur announced brightly, a smile creasing his tired, pale face. "Completely cured."

Sirius swallowed the Langlock waiting on the tip of his tongue, quickly tucked his wand up his sleeve. He badly needed a drink.

"Merlin's beard," Arthur said, his eyes growing wide. Molly glared murderously at Sirius over Arthur's shoulder. "What's going on here?"

Snape spared Arthur half a glance, then turned toward the door. "Six o'clock Sunday evening, Potter."

The windows shook with a sharp gust of wind. Arthur cleared his throat, patting Molly's hand as it caught in his sleeve. "But what's been going on?"

"Nothing, Arthur." Sirius wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulder, sighing when Harry hugged him, curled into him. "Just a friendly chat between two old school friends."

 

The owl arrived in the middle of breakfast, while Sirius was hunched at the sideboard, ignoring his black pudding for a cup of coffee so scorchingly hot he couldn't drink it as fast as he wanted, his hair in his face and his eyes slitted against the sunlight smashing through the window. He had a deep, sullen headache at the base of his skull, throbbing across his temples, and exhaustion itched and pulled at the skin between his shoulder blades, crawled up the back of his neck in waves.

Last night had brought a vicious Death Eater raid in Lambeth -- more Muggles, it was always fucking Muggles, these days -- then a quick trip to the derelict London Docks, Sirius slouched against the dark, crumbling retaining wall, cars trundling down The Highway as Sirius had waited for Dumbledore's contact; the Thames had reflected the full, yellowish moon like a mirror, and Sirius had remembered Remus, had Apparated halfway across the country and back checking the hideouts Remus used now that the Shrieking Shack was watched, now that Hogsmeade was no longer safe, even in daylight.

Sirius hadn't received post in longer than he could remember; his flat bordered a Muggle neighbourhood, and the Order had learned over the last two years that a Patronus was quicker, less likely to get intercepted. The bird was an eagle owl with orange eyes and dark, mottled feathers, and Sirius barely acknowledged it, shoving a stale box of owl treats toward its perch on the breadbox as he leaned closer to his coffee. It flapped its wings, pecking a few treats from the box through a rend in the lid, then dropped a folded square of parchment in the black pudding, arcing out the window as quietly as it came.

"Bloody owls," Sirius grumbled, tossing a feather into the bin. His coffee was still too hot, made the skin above his lip break out into a sweat. "Fucking nuisances."

The note was heavily coded, written in a small, cramped hand that only sharpened the pain behind Sirius' eyes. It took him nearly three hours to sort it out, shifting the code into what proved to be Latin, then working the Latin into English with the help of a book; he picked at it in short, irritated handfuls, when he wasn't worried about Remus, who was sprawled uncomfortably on the couch, his face mostly hidden and his arm dragging toward the floor.

"I tried to put you in the bed," Sirius complained, once, as he brushed his fingers over Remus' fevered forehead, traced a cushion crease on Remus' cheek that felt like an accusation. "You told me to go to hell, and then you collapsed on the fucking floor."

The wolf had been ferocious last night, seething in its anger, the way it had been before Peter, Sirius, and James became Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs, and again the first few months after Sirius had spilled its secrets. Remus mumbled into his sleeve, opened one eye long enough to show Sirius it was bleary and red. He had bruises on his face and shoulders, and the bandage on his arm was spotted with blood.

Sirius scrawled 'all right' on the bottom of the note, returned it with the balding, elderly owl he shared with Remus. He started a new pot of coffee and pulled another blanket over Remus' legs, then Charmed a beige tea towel into a shocking, billous green, knotting it around the rail of his fire escape like something out of the Muggle spy novels Lily was mad for.

The neighbour's Crup barked. Sirius poured the coffee down the drain, traded it for a long shot of Firewhisky taken right out of the bottle.

Snape Apparated into the toilet just as Sirius lit his fifth cigarette, smoke clouding the kitchen like a fog and spent ends bent into the ashtray at his wrist. He looked thinner than Sirius remembered, had a tight line in his jaw and hollows under his eyes the colour of ash; he frowned uncertainly in the doorway, growled and fumbled for his wand when Sirius hustled him into the bedroom.

"You shouldn't be here," Sirius hissed, swinging the door closed with his foot.

"You shouldn't have agreed to it," Snape replied, his wand waiting at his side. He glanced cautiously around the room, following a faint crack in the ceiling, the easy slant of the ancient, sagging bedstead. "You don't have a Fidelius," he observed quietly, his tone bordering on incredulous. "This building isn't even Unplottable."

Sirius shrugged, flicked ash out the open window. Caradoc had been the best of them; Sirius had stopped having expectations the night he'd Apparated Caradoc's body out of Muggle Kensington. He fought for James and Harry, and for Lily, and for his better memories of Remus, but Remus had grown into a stranger in the last few weeks, away on Order business more often than not, touching Sirius with cold, shaking hands on the rare occasions when they slept in the bed together, and Sirius knew too many secrets, had committed too many wrongs to further Dumbledore's rights. The Order needed him, but he doubted they'd mourn him very long when he finally disappeared.

"Why are you here, Snape? What the fuck do you want?"

Snape's mouth worked silently, his wand twitching at his thigh, and Sirius slid his own out of his pocket, held it behind his back with his wrist resting on his hip. The neighbour's Crup barked again, and a lorry darted past the corner of the window, rattling down the wide street that marked the start of the Muggle district.

"The Dark Lord," Snape said finally, haltingly, his eyes growing wide, "he wants to kill the Potters."

"He wants to kill everybody," Sirius snapped, smoke trailing from his mouth.

"No. Listen to me, Black. He is going to kill them." Snape sighed, rubbing his face. "There are... he's been making plans. Gathering information. They are not safe."

"Why are you telling me this? Why do you even care?"

"Black."

Sirius tossed the end of his cigarette through the window with a snarl. "You've always hated James. Since we were fucking children. I'm surprised you haven't offered to do the nasty business yourself."

"I'm not--"

"Is it Harry, then? Is that what's stopping you?" Sirius asked darkly, crowding Snape back against the wall. "A good Death Eater wouldn't be put off by murdering a child, Snivellus. That family in Lambeth had four children, and one of them younger than Harry."

"Damn it, Black--"

"He looks just like James, you know. He's got Lily's eyes," Sirius said, digging his fingers into Snape's arm, "but the rest of him is James all over. His chin, his hair... everything but his nose, but I think that's because James broke his in fourth year--"

"Shut it."

"He took a Bludger to the face, against Hufflepuff, I think. Stupid git wouldn't let Pomfrey fix it for him. He said I should have to look at it every day, since I wasn't watching where I was swinging my bloody bat. I said he'd never get a date with Evans, having a conk that crooked, but--"

"Shut your fucking mouth, Black," Snape spat, his eyes narrow and furious. He jerked his hand from Sirius' grasp, tried to get his wand under Sirius' chin. "I don't care about James Potter."

"I know you -- oh, fuck me." Sirius nearly choked; the realisation hit him like a slap to the face. "It's... it's Lily. You're worried about Lily."

Snape sneered at something over Sirius' shoulder, a muscle twitching in his jaw.

"Fucking Lily," Sirius said, laughing coldly. He suddenly remembered how close they'd been their first couple years of school. "You're in love with her, aren't you?"

"Black."

"What the fuck do you want me to do?"

"I want you to protect her!" Snape shouted, jabbing his wand into Sirius' chest.

Sirius slammed Snape into the wall, pushed his hand over Snape's mouth; he caught Snape's wrist as Snape tried to twist away, wrenching until Snape's wand clattered to the floor.

"If you wake Remus, I will put you through this fucking window," Sirius warned, low and harsh and right in Snape's ear, "and your Dark Lord can come down here and wash what's left of you off the pavement."

"He will kill her," Snape whispered, his eyes sliding closed, his lips almost brushing Sirius' fingers as they moved. "Please, Black."

Sirius swallowed thickly, forced down the hard, hot knot burning in his throat. "You should talk to Dumbledore."

"I have."

"What do you want from me, then? What can I do that Dumbledore can't?"

"Lily... Potter is your best friend, and you," Snape paused, seemed unwilling to continue, then sighed and said, "you are... I've heard you--"

"What, Snape? What have you heard?" Sirius demanded, prodding his knuckles under Snape's ribs, hard enough to make Snape gasp and cough. "That I'm mad? Unhinged?" Sirius knew what the Order said behind his back, heard the way their laughter hollowed when he walked into the room; their eyes narrowed whenever Moody complained about lost intelligence, whenever a raid ended with a body count instead of prisoners. "That I'm fucking dangerous? Destructive?"

Snape leaned closer to Sirius, his hand skimming over Sirius' hip. He curled his fingers in Sirius' hair, slid his wet, open mouth over Sirius' jaw.

"Don't," Sirius grunted, tilting his head away.

"What does it matter?" Snape asked, his tongue warm against Sirius' skin. "I doubt we'll see each other again. We'll both likely be dead before the year is out."

They fucked on the floor, in the bright patch of sunlight pushing through the window, Sirius' jeans shoved down to his knees and Snape's hands scrabbling over the rug, his fingers clutching, white-knuckled as they knotted in the fringe. Sirius ran his hand up Snape's thigh, skin pale and sweat-slick, pressed his fingers into Snape's hips, dragging Snape's arse up and back. The air was heavy and thick, the forgotten Cooling Charm dwindling as the sun peaked above the flat, and Snape growled under him, his hips twisting, his back arching in a long, tight line at the slow press of Sirius' prick, at Sirius' mouth panting open against his neck.

Sirius thrust into him hard, his breath catching, a low moan stuttering in his throat, loud in the humid stillness of the room. The bed was at Sirius' shoulder, the linens spilling onto the floor, pooling near Snape's knee; they smelled like guilt, like Remus, like hollow laughter and secret missions for the Order, and Sirius couldn't breathe, couldn't close his eyes. Snape's prick was shoving into his hand, sticky and wanting, and his Dark Mark was a hint of colour kissing the edge of his wrenched sleeve.

"Please, Black," Snape hissed, his head bent, his body shuddering into orgasm, a harsh wave that made Sirius' toes curl. "Protect her."

Sirius pulled out roughly, coming in sharp, restless bursts all over Snape's hips and thighs and arse.

"Black."

Sirius threw back his head and laughed, brittle and cold. "Protect her. I don't even think I can protect myself." His hands were shaking, his skin crackling with something livid and raw; he sparked his cigarette with his wand resting two inches shy of his fingers. "You probably know about Dumbledore's little army."

"Yes, I've heard of it," Snape said, standing and straightening his robe.

"Well, it's fucking falling apart," Sirius muttered, leaning back against the bedpost, his legs sprawled and his jeans still open. "There's a spy. We've hidden James and Lily twice, and both times Death Eaters have raided them within weeks."

Snape considered this for a moment, his eyes narrow and thoughtful. "If I find out who it is, you can--"

"I bloody well know who it is," Sirius snapped, smoke and bile curling thickly on his tongue. "He's sleeping on my fucking couch."

"You think it's Lupin?" Snape asked quietly, glancing at the bedroom door. "Are you mad?"

"Probably."

Snape shook his head, his mouth twisting sharply. "Lupin loves you."

"I know." Sirius sighed, batting his hair out of his eyes. "I've rather been a bastard to him."

"He doesn't have it in him."

"What, to be a coward?"

"To betray you."

"You're a fucking Death Eater, Snape," Sirius said sharply, flicking ash onto the floor. "What would you know about betrayal?"

Snape snarled, Apparated away with a crack like thunder.

 

Remus found him in the sitting room after supper; he was curled up as a dog in front of the hearth, his head on his paws and his nose buried in a faded Axminster that smelled strongly of dust and Doxycide. The fire crackled brightly behind him, snapping and popping as it chased the shadows toward the door. Remus had two steaming cups of tea floating at his elbow and a bottle of Ogden's Old tucked under his arm, and Padfoot whuffed softly, thumped his tail on the carpet.

"You know," Remus said lightly, after Padfoot jumped on the couch, barking as he nosed at Remus' shoulder and licked Remus' face, "while you were in Azkaban, I got used to not having dog hair on all my clothes."

"Git." Sirius didn't fit on the couch the same way Padfoot had; he shifted until his head was in Remus' lap and his feet were propped on the arm. "Is that bottle for me?"

Remus quirked an eyebrow. "It might be. Depends on why Molly's fussed."

"I wouldn't know," Sirius muttered.

"Of course not."

The door was ajar; Sirius could hear Mundungus in the kitchen, trying to wheedle leftovers from Molly, and the ceiling creaked and sighed over his head, protesting under the Weasley twins' feet. He sat up, pressing a quick kiss to Remus' jaw as he reached for the bottle. The Firewhisky burned going down, flashing against his tongue, chasing the shadows away better than the fire. He didn't mind the house so much when he was Padfoot, minded it even less when he was drunk.

"Ron tells me you had a go at Snape earlier," Remus said, his teacup paused halfway to his mouth. "What happened?"

"It was... it wasn't anything." Sirius took another drink, sighing as Remus pulled the bottle away from him. "He was just, you know. Being--"

"An ugly, sneering, bloody-minded bastard?"

"Yes, exactly." Sirius curled closer to Remus, rested his head on Remus' shoulder. "I don't much care what he says to me any more, but he shouldn't... he can fuck right off if he thinks he can give Harry a hard time."

Remus fiddled with his tea, measuring out more sugar and milk. "Harry is rather... I sometimes feel like I'm looking at James."

The fire hissed quietly, burning low and painting the Axminster in long, twisted shadows.

"I love you," Sirius said, the words heavy and awkward, likely twenty years too late, his mouth not quite willing to curve around them.

"Oh, Sirius." Remus smiled sadly and brushed his thumb over the well of Sirius' lip. "Don't start lying to me now."

 

"The Prewetts are dead," Sirius said quietly, nudging his plate aside. Lily was a wonder in the kitchen, and her pork chops had always been Sirius' favourite, but he had little appetite these days. He was rattled, exhausted, hadn't seen Remus in close to three weeks. "Both of them."

James shifted in his chair, his fingers twitching like he wanted a fag. "Well, fuck. I should've known something was wrong, when Fabian stopped showing up here every day to chat up Lily."

"James," Lily said sharply, standing at the sink, Harry balanced on her hip as she directed a Dishwashing Charm with her wand.

Harry laughed into Lily's shoulder, bubbly and bright, pulled a tiny handful of her hair into his mouth; an ancient cast-iron skillet hopped out of the sink, dancing on the sideboard as Lily's wand swished too far to one side.

"Lily, let me finish those," Sirius offered, pushing his chair back. "You cooked."

"You've barely touched yours." Lily frowned and tugged her hair away from Harry's mouth. "Honestly, Sirius. I know you live on cigarettes and take-away when Remus is travelling, but you look like you haven't eaten in a week."

James snorted. "There's Firewhisky in his flat. And coffee, I think."

"Your mother is a horrid, nagging shrew," Sirius told Harry sweetly, tapping the end of Harry's nose, "and your father is an absolute--"

"Sirius."

"Prat. I was going to say prat."

Smiling widely, Harry reached for Sirius over Lily's shoulder, patting Sirius' chin. "Sur sur sur sur."

"Close enough, kid," Sirius said, laughing and ruffling Harry's hair. Lily's mouth twitched, and Sirius pulled her into a hug. "It's getting late. You want me to put him down?"

"No, I'll do it," she said, passing Harry to Sirius long enough to wipe her wet hands on a tea towel, "and don't you touch those dishes, either." She suddenly looked tired, worn thin, her eyes dull and listless. "James isn't fit to live with if he doesn't see you every other day, and you haven't stopped by in over a week."

He'd spent two days in Battersea, trailing Goyle and Rosier through a Wizarding district so quaint it could've been painted on a postcard, then two nights watching the Lupins' old farm, half-hoping he'd find Remus and half-hoping he wouldn't, then another night in the south of Cornwall, sheltered in the lee of the Lizard Lighthouse, the wind salty and sharp as a hunched hag handed him scrolls so old the runes inside made his skin crawl, and then the Prewetts had died, and he'd spent another night helping Frank and Moody clean up the mess, and then he'd looked for Snape for two days, because Snape could maybe confirm his suspicions about Remus, might be convinced to do it for Lily, and then he'd wasted two more nights at a Muggle pub in Whitechapel, stinking drunk, his head resting on the bar when he hadn't been looking for a fight.

"It's hard for her, being trapped in the house like this, nothing to do but worry about Harry," James said, after she left the room. He leaned back in his chair, Summoned two beers from the kitchen with a lazy wave. "What happened, then, with the Prewetts?"

"The same shit that always happens," Sirius said, opening his beer. "They were raided. Tuesday, a little after midnight."

"Brand new flat, wasn't it?"

"Yeah. They'd only been in it a month."

James sipped his beer, his shoulders slumped and his elbow on the table. Lily's voice drifted out of the nursery; she was singing to Harry, something soft and slow, nearly wordless, and it made Sirius' chest ache.

"They took out six Death Eaters before they died," Sirius continued quietly, "but there were another five or six waiting."

"Anyone we know?" James asked.

"Well, nobody saw anything, of course. Nobody fucking sees anything, any more," Sirius grumbled, setting his beer down sharply, "but from the injuries, and that, Moody thinks Dolohov was in on it. Dolohov, Travers, and maybe Nott."

"Bastards. How's Molly holding up?"

"I haven't seen her yet, but I ran into Arthur yesterday, and he said she's doing all right, considering. Better than he would've expected." Sirius rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand, tried to ease the dull throb spreading behind his eyes. "She's pregnant again, did you know? Due any day now. The healers think it's a girl."

"A girl?" Lily asked, walking back into the room. Her feet were bare, her toenails painted light pink, and she had a yellow baby blanket pulled around her shoulders. "That'll be nice for her, after all those boys."

"Fabian bought some land after he asked Dorcas to marry him, down in Ottery St Catchpole. Started building a house on it, and everything," Sirius said, taking a long swallow of beer. "I guess Molly's parents are giving it to Arthur. They're going to get the house finished, and Arthur is thinking about a Secret Keeper."

"Well, he should be," Lily said, kissing the top of James' head before heading back into the kitchen. "He needs one, with all those children."

"We need one, too." James nudged Sirius' foot under the table. "It'll be you, of course."

Sirius looked away. "No."

"Don't take the piss, Sirius," James said roughly, sitting up straight. "This isn't fucking funny. We're--"

"I know it isn't funny, and I'm not--"

James slammed his hand on the table. "Damn it, Sirius, you're my best mate. You're the only person I'd trust with something like this."

"Prongs."

"Fuck you."

Sirius reached across the table, catching James' hand, and he brushed his thumb over the inside of James' wrist, slowly, carefully, the way he had back at school, whenever James had been scared or furious or stupidly drunk, whenever Sirius had needed him to pay attention, to shut up and listen. James curled in on himself a little, his eyes wide, the anger leaving him in a sudden, heavy rush, and Sirius pressed his thumb to the soft stutter of James' pulse.

"I would do anything for you," Sirius said quietly.

The colour drained from James' face, his eyes growing red, not quite wet, and Sirius remembered their very first night at Hogwarts, and the crisp Saturday morning James took that Bludger to the nose, and the day Harry was born, his arm around Lily's tired shoulders as he traced the curves of Harry's tiny, pink face -- the only times Sirius had ever seen James cry. "I know, Sirius. I know."

"Everyone knows it," Sirius muttered, chewing his lip. The tiny cottage was strangely warm, suffocating in spite of the summer breeze pushing through the window. "The way the Order is leaking information, You-Know-Who probably knows it, too. If you go into hiding, I'm the first person the fucking Death Eaters will look for."

James sighed under his breath, rubbed his hand over his face. "You still think there's a spy?"

"I know there's a spy." Sirius' mouth was dry, and his tongue felt clumsy, thick, soured with beer. "Only five people knew about the Prewetts' new flat. We've had to move the Longbottoms three times since Neville was born. Caradoc hadn't told anybody he was going to Kensington that night -- no one outside the Order even knows about his Squib sister."

"There must be a pattern to it," James said slowly, tapping his fingers on the table. "If we can just--"

"It's Remus."

Glass shattered in the kitchen, startling and bright; Lily was slumped against the sideboard, her shoulders shaking and her hands over her face.

"Damn it, Sirius, you can't -- oh, fuck me." James completely stopped, his hands frozen on the table, his mouth open and his glasses falling down his nose. "You mean it, don't you?"

Sirius nodded, took a deep, painful breath through the knot in his chest. "He helped the Prewetts when they moved house, and he helped Moody pick the last two places we stashed Frank and Alice. He's been to every place you've lived, except this one. He let a room from Caradoc's sister for three weeks after we left school, before he realised he'd never keep a job."

"No, that's not -- that's not good enough," Lily whispered, white-lipped and pale, her fingers curled into her sleeves and a pile of broken dishes at her feet. "That doesn't mean anything."

"Dedalus and Elphias nearly copped it last night," Sirius continued hoarsely, his skin itchy and raw. He wanted a cigarette, needed another drink. "They were at that local in Poplar, where the Order took Remus for his birthday." It would've been their anniversary, if Sirius had bothered with those kinds of things; he'd first kissed Remus the night Remus turned fourteen. "Last year, when Frank had to leave early because of a raid, and Peter had so much to drink he fell asleep in the fucking bog."

"All right, all right," James said, waving Sirius off. "I see what you're saying, I just -- he doesn't have a reason."

"He has plenty of reasons." Sirius looked down at his hands, unsteady on the table, at the Sectumsempra line crossing the inside of his elbow, at the knotted scar on the back of his wrist from when Snape had exploded the Knockturn Alley building behind him. "Seven years' worth."

"Damn it, Sirius," James snapped, frowning, pulling irritably at his fringe, "you haven't... I thought... only you could fuck a bloke for seven years and still not give a shit about him."

"Prongs."

"Found out about Marlene, did he? About those Muggle girls you pull when he's out of town?" James asked, his voice deadly calm. He was angry again; Sirius could see it in the cut of his eyes, the hard line of his mouth. "About Dorcas?"

"I never shagged Dorcas."

"Only because Fabian never left you alone with her," James shouted, the lights flickering as he slapped his hand on the table. "He fucking knew better. So did Sturgis -- he barely slept that whole week you and Emmeline were up in Glasglow, he was so nervous. You know," he paused, snorting out a horrible, rotten laugh, "Remus thought you were shagging Snape when we were at school. I told him that was fucking ridiculous, but I'm not so sure, now."

Heat crept up Sirius' jaw, over his cheeks. "Shut it."

"You're a fucking slag, Black."

"I always have been," Sirius said, leaning back in his chair. "It never used to bother you."

"Sirius! Shut your fucking--"

"James," Lily hissed, quiet and sharp. She must've stepped in the glass; her foot bled sluggishly onto the peeling lino. "You two -- it doesn't matter. Nothing matters, except Harry. If Sirius can't take the Fidelius, and Remus is... Remus is the traitor, then we need to think of something else."

"You've cut yourself," James said, standing and moving toward her. She waved him off, grabbing her wand from the sideboard, and James turned back to Sirius with a sigh. "I can't -- there isn't anyone else to ask."

"Peter," Sirius said, digging a cigarette from his pocket. He didn't light it, just wanted something to do with his hands. "Ask Peter."

"Peter? I don't know," James said slowly. He stood at Sirius' shoulder, his hand warm and sweaty on the back of Sirius' neck. "Peter's been a good friend, but he's just... he's not you, Sirius. He isn't--"

"He isn't what? A slag? Completely fucking insane?"

"Strong," James finished simply. He tugged a lock of hair behind Sirius' ear, like they were fourteen again, like he wanted Sirius to forgive him, didn't have the words to apologise. "He isn't as strong as you. If he wakes up one morning to fucking Bellatrix leaning over his bed, he won't hold out long."

"He won't need to," Sirius said, the unlit cigarette twitching between his fingers. "They'll never suspect."

"Peter?" Lily murmured.

"I figure I should go into hiding, too." His flat was empty and cold without Remus, smelled like dust and ash and betrayal. "If I disappear, it'll just convince everyone that I'm in on it. They'll never think of Peter at all."

James tugged his hair again, harder. "You really think this will work?"

Harry stirred in the nursery, making unhappy, restless sounds that echoed through the tiny kitchen.

"It'll work like a charm," Sirius said, pushing out of his chair. Lily was tired, and her foot was still bleeding; he could check on the baby. "I promise."

 

The sky over London was murky and dark, nearly starless, and it seemed to press close to the house, bending low, sagging until it touched the roof. Sirius sat on the front steps, his back to the door and his feet skirting the edge of the Fidelius, and pulled a fag from the crumpled box in his pocket. They weren't the brand he liked, but he was probably lucky Mundungus had remembered to buy them at all. He lit it with the Muggle matches he'd borrowed from the twins just as Snape Apparated into his shoulder with a sound like a rock shattering a window.

"Snivellus."

Snape barely startled, his eyes narrowing just slightly. "Black."

"Fancy another go, do you?"

"Hardly."

"Good," Sirius said, laughing roughly. "I'm a bit drunk, and I've left my wand somewhere." He frowned up at Snape, flicking ash on the steps. "What the fuck do you want, then?"

"I had a book with me when I arrived," Snape replied quietly. "In my haste, I evidently left it inside."

"By all means, help yourself." Sirius took a long drag from his cigarette, blew the smoke in Snape's face as he jerked his head toward the door. "I can't stop you, since Dumbledore gave you the address."

"Filthy habit."

"Blame James."

"I could blame James Potter for a good many things," Snape said crisply, his mouth twitching into a hard line. "I doubt your ridiculous Muggle vices would even make the list."

Snape reached for the door, dropping his hand as the house creaked and upraised voices rattled around the entryway. Sirius caught Molly's sharp, irritated burr, Arthur's careful and soothing reply, the measured rise and fall of Remus' rumbling tenor. He sighed quietly, dug another cigarette from his pocket and lit it with the spent end of the first.

"Don't mind that," Sirius muttered, smoke clouding around his face. "Molly's looking for me, is all."

Snape divided a tight frown between Sirius and the door. "Should you be out here?"

"The Muggles can't see me, if that's what you mean." Sirius tilted his head against the rail, propped his arms on his knees. "I'm not too worried. Remus will put her off."

"I wonder," Snape said slowly, his lip curling, "how long it took you to coax him back into your bed."

Sirius squinted at the streetlamp near the end of the block, watched a Muggle walk his dog past Number Eleven. Remus had nearly been a stranger when Sirius came back from Azkaban, someone Sirius almost hadn't known any more; falling back into their old patterns had been harder than Sirius had expected, easier than he had hoped.

"No, it would not have taken very long at all," Snape murmured, more to himself than to Sirius. "He's been in love with you for most of his life."

"What the fuck do you care?"

"It was merely an observation, Black. I could not care less."

"Go inside and get your fucking book, all right?" Sirius snapped, pointing sharply at the door. "I meant what I said earlier. If I hear you're giving Harry a hard time, I'll hex you until you can't walk straight, and to hell with what Dumbledore wants."

Snape sighed under his breath. "That is the trouble with you. You allow your arrogance and conceit to blind you against reality."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means exactly what I told you earlier, that winning a war has very little to do with what one wants. Dumbledore will do as he sees fit, and when all is said and done, we will all fall in line and play our parts because Dumbledore sees fit."

"I don't believe that," Sirius said, stubbing his cigarette out on the steps.

"Of course you don't. You always did prefer a pleasant lie to an ugly truth."

Snape reached for the door again, which moved him closer to Sirius, his shadow hiding Sirius' feet and his wrist an inch from Sirius' face, and Sirius suddenly realised, as Snape's robe brushed his shoulder and the moonlight tarnished Snape's hair a deep Ravenclaw blue, that this was the first time he'd been alone with Snape since Snape Apparated out of his flat nearly sixteen years ago.

Sirius looked up at the heavy, listless sky. "You're an ugly truth, Snape."

"The ugliest you've ever faced, I'm sure," Snape said softly, his hand paused on the door knob. "Had you believed me when I told you Lupin was not the spy, Lily might still be alive."