Epistula Ultimaby Fabula Rasa

Chapter One

Dumbledore knocked on the weathered door of the little seaside cottage and waited for a response while inspecting the bedraggled front garden. Had he been here on any other errand, he would have smiled at the vegetal chaos that greeted the casual caller. Vines threatened to overtake the path, and thorny creepers had clamped their suckers to the doorframe in an effort to pry it apart. The cottage looked like it wanted not to be noticed. Dumbledore could hear the distant sound of wave on shingle and wondered if the house's occupants were at the shore. It was a balmy summer day, after all. He had just started around back when he heard the door scrape open.

"Albus?" Remus Lupin greeted the Headmaster, the pleasure and surprise on his face erased by wariness when he saw the old wizard's expression. "Come in, come in. We're just having tea. Is everything all right?"

"No, my boy, I'm afraid everything is very far from all right. But I will have some of that tea, if you don't mind."

Remus led the way to the back of the cottage, gingerly stepping over top of the debris of bachelorhood that littered the tiny house. Yesterday's tea things were still scattered in the parlor beside piles of newspapers, books, and slippers. Today's tea had been moved to the kitchen, where Sirius Black and Harry Potter hastily rose to their feet, chairs scraping, when Remus entered with the headmaster.

"Albus! To what do we owe the pleasure!" Sirius exclaimed as he poured another cup of tea.

"Thank you, Sirius. No pleasure today, I fear." He took a sip of his tea, foregoing his customary sugar, but did not sit. He looked every inch of his one hundred thirty years today. Sirius did not press but waited for Albus to resume speaking.

"And how are you, Harry? Has the summer agreed with you?"

"Yes, wonderfully, Headmaster, thank you. I love it here."

Albus nodded, peering out the window. "Yes, it is quite lovely. Your garden could use some work, Sirius. You ought to be able to cultivate some Rugosas, at least. With Remus visiting you should have plenty of hands on deck for a gardening project."

"Albus." Sirius interrupted. "Who died?"

Dumbledore replaced his teacup on the chipped saucer but did not raise his eyes. "Severus."

Harry gasped and looked at Sirius and Remus, who dropped in the nearest chair and gripped the table, shaking his head in disbelief. Harry swallowed and made an indistinct noise.

"H-How?"

Dumbledore regarded him gravely.

"I mean- it was Voldemort, right? He found out he was spying and- and Avada Kedavra'd him. What I mean is, how do you know?"

Dumbledore extracted a small round object from inside his robes and placed it on the kitchen table. It looked something like a remembrall, except it was black and still.

"What is that?"

"It's a vivisphere, Harry," Remus explained in a hoarse voice. "It can be keyed to only one person. The combination of colour swirls tells mood and state of being, if you know how to read it. They're fascinating, really- very powerful magic, and very rare. Not many wizards can control them. They only look like that when the person they're keyed to is dead." Remus looked at Dumbledore. "How many days?"

"Two. I wanted to be sure." He looked at Sirius, who had not moved. "Sirius. There is something else." He pulled an envelope from his robes and laid it on the table carefully. Sirius Black, the slanted spidery writing on the outside of the envelope read. Harry had seen that handwriting on his Potions papers enough to know it was Snape's. No one said anything for a moment. Dumbledore arranged his robes and nodded to Remus.

"I'll show myself out, Remus. Owl me if you need anything." Sirius's voice stopped him at the door to the parlor.

"Albus."

"Yes, my boy?"

"Have you read that letter?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, I have." He offered no apology, and Sirius didn't look as though he needed one. "I have called a meeting of the Order for tomorrow night. Take every precaution until then. We have no idea how serious this security breach is, or how many of our agents are in jeopardy." With a swirl of his crimson robes, he was gone.

No one moved in the kitchen until Remus cleared his throat. "Aren't you going to open it, Sirius?"

Sirius appeared not to have heard him, but moved to the sink and began washing the breakfast things. "Hand me those plates, will you?" he murmured. Harry glanced at Remus, who shook his head and began helping Sirius to clear up. An hour later the cottage was fearsomely neat, as Sirius moved from room to room tidying and cleaning in between preparing dinner. Nothing more was said about the letter lying coiled like a snake on the table. By common consent no one touched it or offered to move it. Dinner was a quiet affair in the dining room, which they had not used once this summer. But the kitchen table was occupied by the letter.

Remus and Harry made half-hearted attempts at conversation, even discussing the possibility of getting some gardening done. Harry resolutely talked about his upcoming classes, with gentle conversational nudges from Remus. Sirius was oblivious.

"How's the stew?" was the only thing he said at dinner.

"It's good- really excellent," Harry said enthusiastically.

"First-rate, Sirius," seconded Remus. Sirius rolled his eyes and said nothing.

Harry cornered Remus in the kitchen after dinner. "What's the matter with Sirius?" he whispered. "Is he feeling guilty about hating Snape or something? He looks awful. And don't give me some line like 'adults are really complicated' or some shit like that. I'm not twelve."

Remus sighed. "I don't know, Harry. The truth is, since Azkaban, sometimes there's no telling how he's going to take things. He's not always- predictable."

Harry nodded. "Yeah, I know. I mean, obviously I didn't know him before, but still- I know he's not quite like other people sometimes. But I don't have too high an opinion of normalcy anyway."

Remus cocked an eye at him and smiled. "I forget you're a man, sometimes, Harry."

"Do you now." The younger man crossed his arms and met his professor's eyes.

Lupin gave him a cuff on the side of the head. "Stop your shameless flirting. Honestly, you're as bad as James sometimes."

By common consent both Remus and Harry turned in early, as much to relieve themselves of Sirius's company as to give him time alone with the letter. Harry flipped through Quidditch magazines for a while before dozing off around midnight. Remus did not sleep, curled in the armchair in the corner of his room in a puddle of lamplight, waiting and listening. Sirius would know he was here, but could ignore him if he chose.

When he was finally alone (despite the irritating light from under Remus's door that meant he was There For Him), Sirius sat at the kitchen table and stared at the letter. He ran a finger over his name and considered. It would be nice, but a cheat, to pour himself a big tumbler of whiskey before opening the thing. No, whatever it was Snape had wanted to say to him deserved to be endured without benefit of anesthetic. His death had doubtless been, as well.

With slow fingers he opened the envelope and flattened the carefully folded letter on the table. Just one closely written page. His eyes scanned it and saw the signature at the bottom, bold and formal. Shit. Shit. Shit. He closed his eyes and put his head in his hands for a minute. Seeing that signature made him seem very dead, somehow. I can't do this, he thought. I'll just ask Albus what it said. I'll throw it in the fireplace and never look at it again.

No.

He smoothed the letter again and began.

The date in the corner was just three months ago. Snape must have known things were likely to go wrong shortly. What had Dumbledore known? Had there been a letter for him, too?

Congratulations, Black. I honestly did not think you would have the courage to open this letter, so if you have got this far, you have already exceeded my expectations.

Arrogant fucker.

I am assuming that I am well and truly dead, if you are reading this, my epistula ultima et prima. My last and first letter, to you at any rate.

Yes, I can read Latin, you twit.

With any luck Voldemort has killed me, and I have not suffered the indignity of being run over by a lorry or some such thing. But there is no telling. It would be nice if my death, unlike my life, could have served some purpose. I have a great deal riding on my death, you see. I am counting on it to atone for many things. So my death is not unwelcome, and I would have no one think I was sorry to meet it.

But in order to make a good job of my atonement, I must go to it with a clean breast. Forgive me if I stray into the maudlin here. Contemplating one's own death brings out the worst in one's prose style, I have discovered.

Where are you as you read this, I wonder? Not hiding out in some cave, gnawing on rat carcasses, I hope. I hope you are safe, and even happy. I truly wish you only the best. Does that surprise you? It shouldn't, for the purpose of this letter is to tell you that I have always loved you. Incredible, isn't it? Quite laughable, really, and I'm sure you're having a good one at my expense now, wherever you are.

I can remember the first moment I saw you, and I have no doubt your face will be the last I see as I die. Your face as I knew it when we were seventeen, laughing, beautiful, like a pagan god. I was not the only one who admired you, I know, nor do I deceive myself that I was the only one who enjoyed your favours. But the rest of your paramours, male and female, you took pleasure in flaunting in front of the rest of the school. I was the only one you came to in secret, in the dark, when we were safe. When no one would discover the two bitter rivals rutting wildly behind drawn bed curtains.

On rare occasions, I allow myself to savour those images. I will pour them out like a fine cognac on certain lonely nights in my dungeon and roll them around my mind. Only very rarely, mind you. I am a disciplined man.

Make no mistake, Black. I hate you almost as much as I love you. I hate you for what you did to me, for your betrayal and for your pettiness. I suppose there was a part of me that knew, all during that year, that it was doomed, that I did not deserve such happiness. When Pettigrew came to me and told me (with what relish, you can imagine) that I was the object of your common room jokes, part of me was unsurprised. You had been laughing at me all the time, naturally. Severus Snape begging for it. Pettigrew did a most convincing impersonation of my pre-orgasmic mutterings, by the way. The boy had a rare gift. You three Gryffindor gods chose an admirable court jester.

It has been a great mystery in my life that my hatred for you has not managed to kill my love. How could that be? My question is ingenuous. I have had other lovers, though doubtless I cannot rival your tally. Why should it be that all other faces are but a distortion of yours? If you have any thoughts on the matter, send them along. After all, it is possible we may meet again. Until then, rest assured that I remain

Yours sincerely,

in every possible way,

Severus Snape

Remus heard a small cry like a wounded animal from the kitchen and rushed in to find Sirius huddled, head bowed on arms, against the table.

"Sirius?" he said softly.

"FUCK!!" With one smooth motion Sirius hurled the porcelain fruit bowl across the room to shatter on the opposite wall. "GOD FUCKING DAMN IT!!" The dinner plates were next, then the tea cups. "JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!!"

Remus was afraid to move. He wasn't sure Sirius had registered his presence and didn't feel like catching a plate on the side of his head. He sensed Harry in the doorway behind him and motioned him back with his hand. Sirius's eyes were wild. There was none of the Sirius he had known in them. They were the eyes of a man crazed by twelve years of Azkaban. Remus flinched when those eyes rounded on him.

"I'm going to kill him, Remus," he said in a quiet voice.

"S-Snape?" he asked, puzzled.

"PETER FUCKING PETTIGREW!!!!" He grabbed the chair and smashed it against the edge of the table. Splinters of wood went flying, and Remus shielded his eyes. "HE DESTROYED MY LIFE, AND I'M GOING TO DESTROY HIM! I'M GOING TO STUFF HIS BALLS DOWN HIS THROAT AND EAT HIS HEART ON A PLATE!" The chair was kindling now. Sirius paused to clutch the table and breathe. When he looked up his eyes were calm again, but somehow more frightening.

"Believe me when I tell you, Remus, that I just ceased to care about anything in my life other than finding and torturing that slime-sucking bastard. He killed my best friend, he stole twelve years of my life, and he - he-" He buried his face in his hands.

"What about Harry?" asked Remus softly.

"You can look after Harry better than I can. You're what he needs anyway, not some psychotic wreck like me. Take care of him for me. Just try to wait till he's eighteen, okay? I've got enough ghosts to deal with, I don't need James after me as well."

"May I read the letter, Sirius?"

Sirius nodded. "Sure, Remus. Why the hell not? Harry too, I don't care. Make copies for McGonagall if you want. Make it assigned reading for your students. Wait, I've got it. Make them figure out the joke. What can be better than finding out the love of your life loves you back? Naturally, finding it out two days after his death. It's too fucking good." He pushed his hair out of his face. "I just need one favour. Don't owl Dumbledore until tomorrow. I need twenty-four hours head start."

"Sirius, you can't be. . .You're talking about going to your death."

"Of course I am. Haven't you been listening? There's nothing I care about but killing him. Right now that's the only plan I can come up with, so I'm going with it." He stalked out the door, brushing past Harry as though he wasn't there.

Remus sat down and quickly scanned the letter. "Oh my God," he said when he had finished. "Oh, Sirius."

Chapter Two

In a dark alley between two deserted buildings, a large black dog lay curled in the shadows. He was a large dog, but he knew how to travel unseen, how to hide in the ellipses of the human gaze. He had been waiting in this alley all day, but he would wait all night if he had to. He was a patient dog.

Suddenly the dog's ears swiveled. He could hear the steps a block and a half away, and he slunk further into the shadows behind the rubbish cans. In another minute the short figure of a man came around the corner and, with a quick look around, darted into a darkened entryway opposite the dog's alley. The man fumbled with keys for a long time. At last he slipped inside, with a last wary glance at the street behind him. The dog watched, and waited.

After about fifteen mintes the dog ambled across the street to the deserted lot beside the building the man had entered. He trotted to the industrial metal rubbish container up against the side of the building and gingerly picked up a broken piece of wood in his mouth. It was crusted with rusted nails. He dragged the piece of wood along the side of the bin so that the nail made an eerie, screeching sound. Then he began to bang rhythmically against the bin, alternating this with more of the screeching. In a few minutes he heard the sound he wanted: the heavy front door was scraping slowly open. In a flash the dog ran around the back of the building and emerged on the other side while the man was still hesitating in the doorway. The dog froze; waiting, hoping.

At last the man performed the longed-for action. He pulled the broken piece of brick lying beside the stoop into the crack of the door to prop it open and made his way carefully to the other side of the building to inspect the deserted lot. Quicker than thought the large lean dog was inside the building and trotting up the stairwell, letting his nose guide him. Up three flights and at the end of the hall. Sad, strident voices floating up from the floors above and below. Crying children, angry women. The dog could hear them all, but blocked them out.

The door was slightly ajar. The man must have been very afraid, or very foolish. He nosed his way inside, more carefully now. Bare and bleak, lit only by a single swinging light bulb on a chain. But the smells- the dog dropped to his haunches, momentarily overcome. The odours were confusing, and told him things he did not want to know and many things he did not understand. Only a few seconds to decipher them now. He could hear the man puffing and swearing on the stairs. The little bathroom opened directly into this room. The dog ducked behind its open door and waited. He heard the thud of the building's front door and the careful click of its many locks. He listened for the footsteps and counted. One, two, three, four, five. Now.

In a graceful arc the dog leaped at the man, pinning him against the wall with his powerful forearms, which had become the strong wiry arms of Sirius Black. With a wrench the wand was out of Pettigrew's hand and aimed at his own throat.

"Good evening, Peter. And how have you been keeping?"

"S-S-Sirius. Wh-What are you doing? Please, please don't hurt me. Don't hurt me, I beg you. Oh Sirius, Sirius," the man collapsed into broken sobbing.

Sirius jabbed the wand viciously into his throat. "Shut up, you miserable excuse for breath. Here's the way this is going to happen. I'm going to ask you some questions, and if you please me, your death will be painless. If you displease me, I will stop asking questions and start torturing you. It would be a simple matter to set a silencing charm on this room, Peter. No one need be disturbed by your screams. We could take all night. Believe me, I have the time. Why, Peter," he sneered, glancing downward, "didn't your mother teach you to use the toilet? I do believe you've pissed yourself, you pathetic coward."

Pettigrew's only answer was more sobbing. Sirius grabbed him by the nape of the neck and pushed him into a chair in the center of the room, never removing the wand from his neck. "Sit."

"Oh please, Sirius, you don't understand-"

"That's why we're going to have this little time together, Peter. So that we can come to an understanding, you and I. Now, let's begin. Tell me exactly what you had to do with the death of Severus Snape."

"S-Snape?"

"Don't stall for time, or I'll get bored. No, wait, I know what we can do. Quietus," he said in a louder voice. "Now we can really get to business. Crucio."

Pettigrew's body arched off the chair and would have thrashed on to the floor had not Sirius held it firmly in place. After ten seconds had elapsed, Sirius pulled the wand away. Pettigrew collapsed backward, heaving and whimpering.

"How was that, Peter? I have a confession to make. I've never actually done that to anyone before, so I don't know how it's supposed to go, really. But I have to tell you, it felt pretty damned good." He tapped the wand on his chin, considering. "Shall we try it again? I might be able to do better. I'm a quick study, I promise."

"No! Oh God, please, please. . ."

"Stop your blubbering. Now tell me if you had anything to do with Snape's death."

"No, I swear to you, Sirius, I would never, never- I promise-" He broke off, sweating, as the wand jabbed him in the chin again. "That is- unless- you were happy to find out-"

"Shut up, worm. Crucio." He released the Cruciatus after only five seconds this time, but evidently he was getting better at it. Pettigrew was reduced to quivering jelly.

"All right, let's try a different tack. I'm going to ask you a series of questions, and you are going to make an attempt to give me honest answers, no matter how displeased you think I might be. Only complete honesty, no matter how difficult the question. That's going to be your only chance here. Do you understand me? Nod yes or no."

Pettigrew managed a nod.

"Right then. Let's begin. We're going to take a little trip back in time, Peter. All the way back to when we were in school together. The beginning of seventh year. Are you with me so far? Good. Now answer this question for me: how did you find out I was sleeping with Severus Snape?"

Pettigrew was no longer capable of registering surprise. He licked his lips, never taking his eyes off Sirius. "After the first Gryffindor-Slytherin match of the year," he whispered. "I was coming to the Quidditch shed to tell you James was treating the whole team to butterbeers at the Three Broomsticks. I looked for you but couldn't find you. When I went to the shed, I saw- I saw-"

"Don't be shy, Peter. Tell me what you saw."

"You- you and him- still in your Quidditch robes. He- you were kissing him, like he was a girl. I- I was disgusted, how could you. . .rub up against him like that, like some kind of pervert?" His eyes flicked nervously away, as though he were afraid he might have gone too far, but Sirius betrayed no emotion.

"That's very good, Peter. You did very well, really you did. But you didn't run away, did you? James said you never showed up that afternoon either. Tell me, Peter. Did you stay to watch? You did, didn't you?"

"Y-yes," Pettigrew croaked. "I couldn't look away, it was awful. I saw everything, the way you touched him, the way you let him take off your robes. . .and then you. . .you. . ."

"What? What did I do?"

"You put your mouth on- on his privates," he said in a rushed whisper. "You sucked on him and made him- made him have an orgasm right- right in your mouth. It took so much longer than I thought it would. And then you- you-" Words seemed to fail him.

"Go on Peter. I'm very pleased with you. What then?"

The encouragement seemed to be all that he needed. "You pulled off the rest of his clothes and turned him around and- and you had sex with him like he was a girl. You put your- yourself up his bum and had an orgasm, I saw your face, I know you did. And he- he did too, another one, I could see that one- I could see it, and you touched him, I saw that too-" he broke off, panting for breath.

"Did you like that, Peter? Did you come watching us?"

He closed his eyes and nodded, tears leaking out of his scarlet face.

"I'll bet you hated yourself for that, didn't you? Hated it and loved it. I'll bet you thought about it when you touched yourself." Pettigrew whimpered. "Tell me the truth, Peter. Those things you saw me do with Snape. Did you want me to do them with you? To you?"

Another barely perceptible nod.

"Yes, I'll bet you did. And I'll bet you thought you might have a chance of it if Snape were out of the way, didn't you? Or was it not even that, Peter? Did you just destroy it because you could, because it was just one more thing you didn't have, a continual reminder that I didn't want you and never would?"

The tears were streaming freely from Pettigrew's rheumy eyes now, and his lips were working.

"So you went to him and filled him with the cruelest lies you could think of, things you knew would make him hate me, things you knew would cause him to push me away and hurt me as bad as he had been hurt. And the night he sent me away with my heart ripped to shreds, you were there waiting, weren't you, with a plan to get back at him. Oh, you were such a friend. You never asked me why I was suddenly so eager to get Snape. You knew he would probably be killed or worse. And would have been if James hadn't stepped in."

Sirius paused, idly twiddling the wand between his fingers. "So let's see, where does this leave us? You destroyed the only real love I have ever known, you betrayed my best friend to a gruesome death, and you sent me away for twelve years to the worst hell hole on earth. Well, the botched job of that last wasn't your fault, really- you would have made it the rest of my life if you could have."

Pettigrew had recovered himself a little during Sirius's speech and appeared to be doing some quick thinking. "Sirius, please- I've answered all your questions. Please, listen to me now. I've been a fool, I know that. But I have something to tell you. . ."

"Shut up. We're not done. What about Severus's life, hm? Your little stunt drove him straight into the arms of Lucius Malfoy and the Death Eaters. You made him easy prey for them. You would have destroyed his life, too, if he hadn't been too clever in the end to fall for the same cant that you did. You're weak, Peter, and he never was. You're a weak, pathetic worm of a man, and I'm looking forward to cruciating you to death. Now let's go back to my first question. What did you have to do with his death?"

"Nothing, I swear it!"

"Did you see it happen?"

"No, but-"

"Why not? Does Voldemort not trust you any more? Is that why you're holed up in this tenement, hiding with all the other rats?"

Pettigrew looked uncomfortable. "You don't know what he did to me, Sirius. Please let me tell you. Please listen to me."

"No! There'll be no more listening to you, Wormtail, unless it's to hear your screams. I'm really going to enjoy those. I bet you'll even beg for mercy, won't you? Not like him. I'll bet he never did. You're going to die now." He rammed the wand under his chin hard enough to leave a bruise and hissed in his ear. "Why are you looking like that, Peter? Do you really not believe I'll do it?"

"They'll put you back in Azkaban," he whispered.

"Oh no, I don't think so. You attacked me. Everyone knows about you now. No one will believe it was anything but self-defence. Besides," he laughed bitterly, "do you think I care about Azkaban any more?"

"You won't do it."

"Really. And why is that?"

Pettigrew's eyes went yellow with cunning. "Because you want to see Severus Snape alive again, and I'm the only one who can help you."

Sirius froze. "That's not going to work, Peter. No lie, no matter how much I want to believe it, is going to help you here. I should come clean with you. Make a clean breast of it, as someone I know said recently. I was always going to kill you, Wormtail. And it was always going to be as painful as I could manage." He aimed the wand directly at the other man's groin. "Now, what should we start with?"

"Wait! Wait! I tell you, he's alive! I have him!" Pettigrew's words spilled out in a frantic rush. "I found out he was a double agent for Dumbledore, but I didn't go to my master, oh no I didn't, I don't share the secrets I learn, I keep them for later, I do. And this one was the best ever. I took him at the last Death Eater meeting- he would never suspect poor little Peter to be capable of it, would he? And I put a concealment charm on him, the strongest ever, I've been practising them you know, so that I'm the best at them. I know that hiding is the best, always the best, never fighting and war. So I hid him, and I'm going to Dumbledore with my prize, and he's going to take me in and protect me, he's a man of his word, he won't let the Dark Lord have me any more, and I'll be safe, safe forever."

His speech had drained the last from him, and he was now sobbing and hiccoughing freely, like a little child. There was no more artifice or cunning in his fat tear-streaked face. Sirius watched him in silence. Could a concealment charm, even a strong one, have deceived a vivisphere? He honestly had no idea. But it was plain that whatever Peter was spouting, he at least believed it to be the truth. Padfoot inside him began nosing at the room's smells again, trying to puzzle out what they meant. He had thought Pettigrew had brought Snape here to torture and kill him. Could it be- He allowed himself a quick glance around the bare room. No one was living here. This was a safe house. How could he not have seen it before?

"Where is he, then? Speak up, Wormtail. I'm waiting, and my patience is wearing thin."

But Pettigrew had sensed his advantage, and would not yield it. He shook his head. "No. This charm is special. Only I can undo the spell, even if you could find him before he starved to death. I'm the only one who knows how. It's a very good spell." He looked proud of himself, like a schoolboy who knows his final project is a success.

"All right," Sirius began slowly. "You want to go to Dumbledore, then to Dumbledore we shall go. Get up, let's go."

Pettigrew hesitated, and started to stand. "A-All right, Sirius. But first please, let me go to the toilet. I'll go with you wherever you want, I promise."

Sirius nodded. "Make it quick. Though how your bladder has anything left in it, I don't know."

Pettigrew shuffled off to the bathroom, the wand following his back. Sirius could see him through the open door fumbling at his trousers. He edged closer to keep Wormtail from getting any ideas. Peter was still fiddling with himself as he came back out of the bathroom, and Sirius allowed himself a small smile of amusement at the memory. Peter always took such care arranging his three-inch penis. In the next instant the smile was gone as a blade sliced across his forearm with vicious strength. He was ready for the next one and turned so it caught his shoulder, protecting his abdomen. He reached a hand up to catch Pettigrew's wrist but found the blade had dipped down to slice his thigh open.

The fucker's maiming me. Slicing, not stabbing. Damn it. There's too much blood. He slammed his body against Pettigrew's, trying to use his greater weight and strength to throw his opponent off balance. For a moment it seemed to work, but then the blade caught him in the upper chest like fire. His fingers were getting slippery with his own blood, and too late he heard the wand clatter to the floor. Like a flash Pettigrew was on it, triumph on his sallow face. Sirius slumped to the floor, clutching his wounds, trying to hold his hand over the arterial nick in his thigh, trying to calculate how much time he had.

Pettigrew was shaking his head. "You should know better than to come afer me, Sirius," he crowed. "This is twice now you've botched it. Now I get to be the golden boy, for once. I get to take my prize to Dumbledore, after I've wiped his memory clean, of course, and tell the tale of my daring rescue of his beleaguered agent. Too bad I couldn't save you too, Sirius, but I'm only one man after all. And I'll still be a hero, like I always should have been."

He turned to the bathroom and pointed his wand at the bathtub, muttering a long stream of incantations at it. Slowly, a figure began to take shape in the bathtub. Through the growing haze of his eyes, Sirius recognised Severus Snape lying chained to the tub, his robes a tattered and grimy mess. He appeared otherwise unharmed, though, and he yanked on his chain furiously, his eyes fixed on Sirius.

My God, thought Sirius, it really was true. It's good to see you again, Severus, really it is. You're looking well. Sorry I couldn't have done a better job of this. He tried to say something but found he couldn't. The room had started to blur at the edges. Apparently bleeding out did not take long at all.

"Imperio," Pettigrew commanded as he released Snape's chains from the wall with a wave of his wand. Snape rose with hatred in his eyes and stepped forward, chest heaving. "Come with me now. No, don't look at him. We don't have any more time for him. Come on, quickly now." He jabbed the larger man in the back sharply, and that momentary jolt in the stream of the spell was all that Snape required. Like lightning he lifted his still chained hands and wrapped the chain around Pettigrew's neck, tightening and twisting until the shorter man began to kick convulsively with his feet. Watch out, Sirius tried to call. He's about to-

And then Pettigrew was gone, and there was only a lame rat scurrying for the hole in the baseboard. Snape tried to fling himself on him but missed. No, no, it will never work. You need- With his last strength Padfoot hurled himself across the room and landed on the rat. He took him in his mouth and broke his back with a sickening crack, shaking him wildly, then ripped off the creature's head. He was about to start ripping the rodent open when the blackness took him, and he knew no more.

Chapter Three

Remus Lupin sat on the seaside bluff watching Harry and Hermione cavort below. He squinted, trying to concentrate on his book. Juvenile hilarity carried across the water, and he raised his head to watch them. His mouth narrowed. God damn it. He sighed and tried to return to his book. No use. He tossed it aside and strode down the hill to where Harry and Hermione were standing knee-deep in the shallow water, splashing and laughing. Harry turned his head at Remus's approach, allowing Hermione to catch him with a faceful of salt water. Hermione squealed and started to run, Harry chasing after. He tackled her. She squirmed loose.

"Come back here, Granger! You'll pay for that, you will!"

"Excuse me." Remus's tone made them stop and look up. They were flushed and dripping and guilty looking. "I have some unexpected news for both of you."

They both sat up straighter. Ever since Sirius's departure a fortnight ago, Harry had been desperate for news and on edge night and day. It had been Remus's suggestion to invite Hermione last week. Ron was spending the summer in Romania with Charlie, and was an irregular correspondent at best. Hermione's presence had done a splendid job of cheering Harry and enlivening the little cottage. They looked prepared to hear the worst now, and Remus thought he was really being rather cruel, but his irritation overrode other considerations.

"You may not know this, but the Home Office does not actually require all male subjects to submit their testicles for castration on the occasion of their thirty-fifth birthday. Do you know what this means?"

They shook their heads.

"This means that those who have passed that august and venerable age are not, in fact, eunuchs. Do you know what that means?"

They glanced at each other but made no response. "It means, put some bloody clothes on!" he yelled, and stalked off in the direction of the cottage. Honestly, he thought. The first few times it had happened he had been willing to look the other way (or try to), but for the last three days neither of them had worn a stitch of clothing outside of the house and it was beginning to wear thin. It didn't help that both Harry and Hermione had become lean, sinuous, and utterly gorgeous over the past year. Help me, Sirius, he thought. I'm being held captive on Nymphet Island and they're killing me. It was a good thing the cove where the cottage stood was otherwise uninhabited or the neighbours would doubtless have filed a report with the constable's office.

He set the kettle on in the kitchen and leafed absently through the Daily Prophet. In a few minutes he heard quiet footsteps behind him and turned to see Hermione, dried and clothed, standing in the doorway.

"I'm sorry, Remus, really I am. It was most inconsiderate of us, I know. It won't happen again."

He waved his hand sheepishly. "No, no, Hermione, I'm sorry for snapping at you both that way. I shouldn't have. I'm just a little out of sorts, as you can imagine."

She nodded. "I know. We're all worried about him." She poured the water from the whistling teapot. "Harry said Sirius got some sort of letter that set him off. That he was raving about Pettigrew and throwing things the last night he was here. Had he found out something new about him?"

"Yes. Well. Somewhat. I think it was just the final straw for Sirius. It's not like it was the worst of Peter's crimes, but it may have been the meanest. And it had- consequences that reached far beyond the action itself."

Hermione seemed undisturbed by his lack of specifics. "Who was the letter from?"

Remus looked up in surprise. "Harry didn't tell you?" She shook her head.

"It was from Snape. To be opened in the event of his death."

"Oh." She swirled the tea in her cup as though investigating the leaves in Trelawney's class. "Well, that's not so very surprising."

"It isn't?"

"Of course not. They always struck me as two people with a great deal left to say to each other." She took a meditative sip. "There are only a couple of reasons why you would hate someone as much as they hated each other."

Remus gave a short laugh. "You're a wise little witch."

"And you're a patronising old werewolf." He launched a lemon wedge at her which was caught in mid-air by a large brown owl swooping in through the open window. The owl had a parchment tied to his leg, which he offered to Remus while working the lemon wedge in his great hooked beak. The colour drained from Remus's face as he read.

"Get Harry," he said in a tight voice.

Sirius had the most delicious floating sensation. His limbs felt as though they might simply detach from his body and float upwards, carrying the rest of his body with them. There was a puddle of warmth in the center of his belly that oozed and spread to his toes and fingertips. There was something he ought to be doing, or worrying about, but he couldn't remember what it was. He was awash in pleasure. Something was pulling at him slightly, trying to stop him from floating up, but he felt he could shrug it off. The tug became stronger, then sharper and painful. He fought against it and tried to concentrate on the floating, which somehow felt golden. Could something feel like a colour? He wasn't sure. Maybe that was one of the things he was supposed to remember. The painful tugging had become a weight sitting on him, and he struggled to push it off. The gold was slipping away from him, caressing him with sad fingers. Please wait, he tried to cry out. I can make it, just wait for me.

Oh no you don't, the tugging weight said. Oh no you don't. How could it be speaking to him? He wanted to weep. The weight was his enemy, and all joy and happiness and pleasure was fleeing from it. He opened his mouth to cry out but air rushed in and filled him, and he was choking on the air that was cold and black and hard and heavy. It pulled him down and down.

No change? No, there's no change yet. I'll send for you. He should sleep for a while now.

The black air had become a dark ocean of viscous liquid. It was hard to swim in it, and there was no light. There was something he ought to be looking for, but how could he find it if there was no light? Here, have a light. James leaned in and lit his cigarette. So, I made up my mind to ask her out for next weekend. What do you think? I'll say this, you've got nadgers. Will you look after the baby while we're gone? Sure, James, only I can't see. Don't let him sink to the bottom. He can't swim. Lily would be very upset. Oh God, where was the baby? The water was getting thicker and darker, and his limbs had no more strength. He gave up and let himself sink to the bottom. James, James, I'm sorry.

He woke with a start to blinding whiteness which became Madam Pomfrey's wimple as she bent over him to adjust his blanket. He worked his throat. His swallow sounded so loud his head throbbed.

"Ah, look who's awake," came the cheerful voice that sounded like a shriek. "Do you know where you are, love?"

He tried to nod and gave up. "Hogwarts," he croaked.

"That's right, dear. I've just been fixing you up good as new. You lost a great deal of blood. I've never had to regenerate quite that much before. It was some very quick thinking that even got you that far, I'd say."

He tried to work out what she was talking about. Something about how he had got here. How had he got here? What had happened? He couldn't quite remember. He'd get the notes from Remus after class.

"Think I'll sleep now," he muttered, and was gone. When he woke again his head was clearer. Here was Remus to bring him the notes. No. Where had that come from? But that was Remus, and James beside him. No. That was wrong too. It was Harry. Harry was holding his hand and grinning at him. Had he said something funny? It seemed rude not to smile, so he made an attempt but ended up coughing instead. Madam Pomfrey was at his side in an instant, holding a sliver basin underneath his chin. The dry retching felt like it was pulling him apart. How could something so simple hurt so much? Well, I'm awake now, he thought.

"Is he dead?"

Remus nodded grimly. "Oh yes, my friend, he's dead. You did a fair imitation of what you promised you would."

Memory came back not in a trickle but a flood. He closed his eyes against it and waited for the tide to settle. His eyes flew open.

"Everyone else is all right?"

"Everyone else is fine, Sirius. You're the one we've been worried about. You gave us all a fair scare, my friend."

He raised himself carefully up on the bed. "How long have I been here?"

"Three days."

"Three days! Good God. No wonder I'm so hungry. What do you have here?"

Harry grinned even wider and pulled out a basketful of chocolate frogs. "Would I come unprepared? And Hermione baked you a chocolate cake, which Remus had to smuggle in under his robes, so the icing got a little smushed around." He reached over to the lining of Remus's robe and caught a dollop of chocolate icing on his fingertip. "Want some?" Sirius laughed, which hurt as much as the retching, but felt infinitely better.

It was another two days before Madam Pomfrey was sufficiently satisfied with his progress to release him into Remus's care. During that time Harry and Remus hardly left his side. Dumbledore came and heard the story of Pettigrew's death from first to last, asking questions at the right parts and avoiding them at the others. McGonagall came, bringing him something she claimed was a homebaked Scottish delicacy but felt suspiciously like a brick wrapped in gold paper. Sirius did not want for company or opportunities to tell his story, but still his eyes strayed to the door for the visitor who did not come.

"Come."

Sirius pushed open the heavy oaken door to Snape's office. The Potions master was seated at his table amid an array of glass jars of all shapes and sizes. There was a pile of labels to his left and a quill in his hand, which paused on its way to a jar when he saw Sirius.

"Black. Finally out of bed, I see."

"Yes." He waited for an invitation to sit down, and lowered himself to a chair by the table when none came. "Have you recovered all right?"

"Oh yes, I did not find it neccessary to lie in bed for days on end, at the disposal of my adoring throng."

"Yes, they're lined up around the corridor, aren't they?"

Snape shot him a withering glare and resumed his work. After a minute it was evident Sirius was not going to make any more conversational gambits.

"Is there a reason you decided to disturb me tonight, Black?"

"No. I'm going home tomorrow morning and was just looking for some company. May I help with that?"

Snape looked as though someone had offered to help him wash his lingerie, but after a moment's hesitation he pushed a pile of labels towards Sirius and handed him a quill. "Make new labels for these. Try to transcend your usual scrawl." Sirius nodded. He worked in silence for a few more minutes, carefully imitating Snape's copperplate hand.

"Mind if I ask what happened to these labels?"

Snape sighed impatiently. "If you must know, they were water damaged after an explosion in the potions classroom this spring and I never replaced them. I am trying to put them in order before classes start next month."

"Neville Longbottom?"

"The very same."

"How did an explosion get them wet?"

"It wasn't the explosion itself. It was the rain shower that Miss Granger summoned to put out the fire that drenched my classroom and everything in it."

Sirius laughed at the image. "I'll bet you busted Gryffindor back to negative points for that one."

Snape made no comment but arched an eyebrow. He worked methodically, his quill scratching unhurriedly over the thick parchment labels. It occurred to Sirius that it was unusual, knowing Snape's fanaticism about the order of his stores, that this particular task should have been put off so long. It wasn't like Snape to leave poorly labelled jars lying around. The explosion would have happened about three months ago, about the same time he had sat down to write that letter. About the time things might have been getting more dangerous in his double life. Lots of things might have been let slide. He set his quill down.

"Snape, we really need to talk."

Snape did not look up from his task. "Must you?"

"Yes, we must. I read your letter."

"Yes, I know. I wonder, what is the etiquette? Now that everyone has read my death letters, must I write new ones? Or, in the event of my actual death, may I leave a note that says 'refer to above'? It is difficult to know what to do."

"Well, consider yourself quits with me."

"I do."

Sirius decided to try again. "There are some things I need to tell you, Severus."

Snape shot him a look at the use of his given name but let it pass. "There's nothing you need to tell me."

"Yes, there really is."

"No. There really isn't. I heard and witnessed your entire exchange with Pettigrew quite clearly. A concealment charm conceals the person but does not impede his vision or hearing of events around him, as you ought to know. By the way, that's quite a Cruciatus you cast. I was suitably impressed, particularly if, as you claimed, it was your first time."

"I won't be put off, Severus. You're going to let me say this and you're going to listen to it. If not because you want to, then out of gratitude for rescuing you."

"For what?" Snape's voice rose to a dangerous pitch. "For rescuing me? You arrogant, presumptuous. . . You did no such thing. I was the one who rescued you. I would have managed to escape very handily whether you had shown up or not. It takes a stronger will than Peter Pettigrew's to place me under an effective imperius curse. All you did was bleed all over the place and give me the bother of hauling your unconscious body back here."

"All right, all right. You made your point. But I did kill Pettigrew, and if he had escaped he would have betrayed you to Voldemort. At best your spying career would be over, and at worst you'd be a target for every Death Eater north of Bristol."

"No doubt. But you had your own reasons for wanting to kill Pettigrew. I must confess I envy you the final kill. What did it feel like, I wonder, to snap him in two like that? Of course, you've had plenty of experience with rats, haven't you?"

"Baiting me is not going to work, Severus. Please. Let me talk."

Snape set his quill down and folded his hands. "Very well. Make it quick."

"All right." A look at Snape's closed, stony face told Sirius this would have to be good. He would only get one shot. "The real reason I am here is to answer your question."

A quirked eyebrow was his only answer.

"You asked me, in your letter, a question. How could it be, you asked, that your hatred of me has not managed to kill your love? You also asked why it was that all other faces should be but a distortion of mine. I have taken your questions, both of them, very seriously. I've had some opportunity for reflection over the last few days, and I think I've come up with some answers that may satisfy you."

"Black-"

"Please don't interrupt. Surely you know this isn't the easiest thing I've ever done."

"I'm sure of that, but I think you will thank me for stopping you. It's plain enough you are working up to some sort of declaration, at the end of which you imagine we will fall into each other's arms like the overly hormonal, lovesick teenagers we once were. All will be forgiven and forgotten, and the last twenty years will be as though they never were.

"Let me forestall this touching scene by telling you that while I do not deny anything I wrote in that letter, it was intended to be read only after my death. It was in no way intended to be an invitation to pursue a romantic liaison in life. Yes, I have long been persuaded of your indifference, even of your hatred. That the event has proved me wrong does not mean that the only obstacle to the bliss and glory you clearly envison has been removed. There are many reasons why you and I must let our feelings lie. The pleasure of acknowledgment and mutual recognition may be ours, but, I think, no more."

Sirius regarded him, chin on hand. "Well, that's very. . . Edwardian of you." He rose and shrugged on his cardigan. "I respect your wishes, naturally. I would ask that you do me the courtesy, however, of reading this. At your leisure, of course." He tossed a folded square of parchment on the table and turned to go. He paused, his hand on the door. "And thank you for saving my life."

Snape sat motionless for a long time after his departure, staring at the letter. He resumed writing his labels. After about half an hour he carefully replaced his quill in the bottle and reached for the letter. He turned it over in his hands several times, examining it like a rare artifact. He considered his name scribbled on the outside in a bold slash. Severus Snape. Then he rose to set the letter on a shelf, propped on a jar of powdered griffin teeth so its address was concealed, and went back to his work. He got up several more times to look at it, but did not touch it again.

In fact, it was almost one week later before he touched the letter again, although he looked at it every time he entered the room. It was the following Sunday before he allowed himself to pull it down from the shelf. That should be quite enough time to be safe, he thought. He poured himself a small glass of sherry and sat at his table, the letter before him. After considering a moment, he rose and moved into the potions classroom with the letter, and seated himself at his great high desk. Yes, much better. He unfolded it and pressed it flat on the desk, weighting it with small polished stones at the corners as he did his students' papers when he graded them. He crossed his arms and began.

Dear Severus,

How long did it take you to open this? Just about a week, I would imagine. That would have been what the Severus I knew twenty years ago would have done. You were the only person I ever knew who plunged right ahead into the most difficult and unpleasant tasks in life and procrastinated when it came to anything you might enjoy. But maybe I presume about the category this letter will fall into.

You asked me two questions in your letter. Why should you love me after hating me so well all these years? And why do other lovers reflect the one face you don't want to see? I paraphrase that last. I lack your elegance of expression, and I don't have your letter by me to refer to. I'm lucky Poppy allowed me a parchment and quill. I thought for a minute there she was going to make me write on toilet paper with my own blood for ink. A good thing, since I don't think I have much of that left to spare. No, that was not a plea for sympathy. You solicited my thoughts on the matter, so here they are.

First, I think both emotions you have felt for me, or I for you, are genuine. You really do hate me, and, if it makes you feel better, I really hate you too, you supercilious git. If we're going to let ourselves really hate, why can't we really love too? The older I get (or the more time in Azkaban you spend, I hear you say), the more comfortable I get with paradox. With the unlikely, even the irreconcilable, existing side by side. After all, we have good reason to hate. We have behaved to each other in a bloodcurdling manner. I tried to kill you. You tried to kill me. Potato, potahto. Sorry. These are some wicked drugs Poppy is spooning me, but I bet you know that since I bet you brewed them, didn't you?

I think implied in your questions is another one. Why should it be that what one does, or feels, when one is so heartbreakingly young, should mark so strongly the rest of one's life? When we were eighteen and fucking behind the Quidditch pitch, did we think we were steering the course our hearts would follow for the next twenty years? I, for one, never thought of it. Sometimes I think our hearts are like gaming chips we throw on the table our first five minutes in the door and spend the rest of our lives trying to win back. But you've probably never been to a casino, have you?

We are sad and stunted men, Snape. For both of us, life ended long before it should have. You had your youth and innocence ripped away by the Death Eaters, and I rotted in Azkaban for most of my adult life. Who knows what we might have become had these things not happened? We might have enjoyed normal lives and honest, healthy loves. It is no testament to our emotional maturity that we never got beyond what we did when we were teenagers, as I'm sure you know.

I don't have the answers you're looking for, Severus. What we did to each other, with each other, and for each other left its mark, and the only consolation I can offer is, it did the same to me. If that is consolation. Maybe it was actually love and not just hormones rushing in our ears. Maybe. For I do love you too, even more than I hate you. It will be interesting to see, won't it, which end the scale finally tips in our lives, at the end of them, I mean? Wouldn't it be something if we didn't have to wait that long to find out? Wouldn't it just.

Poppy is starting to send worried looks my way, so I'd better end this. She thinks I'm writing a list of things for Remus to bring from home. She is no doubt forming interesting opinions about the interior of my closet. Well. That joke's too good to better. I lack your touch with the endings, so in conclusion I will just remain

Cordially yours,

Sirius Black

Snape read it again, then a third time. He returned to the penultimate paragraph, studying it. He refolded the letter exactly as it had been and replaced it in its envelope. He closed his eyes and sat unmoving for a long time.

Chapter Four

"Happy Birthday, Mione!" Harry shrieked from behind an exploding fireball of a cake. He had been at work on the birthday cake with Sirius and Remus all afternoon, and the piece de resistance had been the seventeeen sparklers stuck on top. It looked like a giant chocolate bomb. Hermione clutched her sides laughing.

"Finite Incantatem," she managed to get out. "Finite Incantatem! Harry, what's happening?" The three men were now convulsing with laughter at the sight of Hermione trying to magic out the sparklers. She reached for her wand, but Harry lunged for it.

"Stop her, for the love of God! Not the rain shower again!" This sent Sirius and Remus off into fresh gales of laughter, and the cake was well and truly incinerated by the time the sparklers sputtered out. Nobody seemed to mind the taste of charred chocolate, however, when it was washed down with tankards of Rosmerta's best butterbeer, imported especially for the occasion.

"And now, Hermione," Sirius said when they were finishing up the last crumbs, "Remus and I have prepared a special entertainment for you. You might have heard some things about a group of four handsome young Brits who, in decades gone by, took the world by storm with their musical genius. Women worshiped them, men envied them, dogs and children adored them. No, not those four gits. I'm talking about the Musical Marauders and their Magical Mystery Band, of course. Tonight you are privileged to witness the reunion of the two most illustrious and talented members of that group, here in honor of your natal day festivities. Ahem." With that he struck a dramatic pose, which Remus beside him imitated, and the two of them burst into song.

"You are the woman that I've always dreamed of

I knew it from the start

I saw your face and that's the last I've seen of my heart."

Sirius leaned forward to clasp her hands in his best silent film star fashion.

"It's not so much the things you say to me

It's not the things you do

It's how I feel each time you're close to me

That keeps me close to you, woh-oh-oh"

Harry was helpless with laughter, and Hermione's eyes streamed with tears. Now Remus was shoving Sirius over to kneel at her other side, hand over heart.

"It's not so much your pretty face I see

It's not the clothes you wear

It's more that special way you look at me

That always keeps me there, woh-oh-woh"

They launched into the chorus together, Remus's tenor overlaying Sirius's richer bass in a fair approximation of harmony.

"You are the woman that I've always dreamed of

I knew it from the start

I saw your face and that's the last I've seen of my heart."

They rollicked their way through a few more verses, finishing up to wild applause and many calls of "Encore! Encore!"

"We don't know any more," Remus confessed. "Usually that was all it took to get the girl to go out with Sirius or James."

"Pathetic! Are you telling me you used that to pick up women? I feel so used."

Harry attacked her with a pillow, but she escaped into the kitchen. The state of housekeeping in the cottage had taken a definite turn for the better since Hermione had come to stay. She decided to get a head start on rinsing the plates.

"Don't do that," Remus said behind her. "It's your birthday. Dishes can wait till morning."

"Hm, not these. What did you use to make the chocolate? It's like some sort of roofing tar."

"I'm offended. Are you implying we don't know anything about cooking?"

"No, I'm saying you don't know anything about cleaning."

"Insolent girl." He started to light a cigarette off the stove. "Do you mind?"

"No, go right ahead. Remus, do you mind if I ask you a personal question?"

"Of course not."

"In the other room you said something about getting the girl to go out with Sirius or James. You've made remarks like that before. Did you never ask any girls out when you were in school?"

Remus smoked for a minute in silence. "No, I never did."

"This is where I should quit, isn't it? I mean, would it be really intrusive to ask why that is?"

"Mildly. Are you asking if I'm gay?"

She frowned slightly. "Only tangentially. I mean, I gather the four of you played for both teams when the occasion suited."

"I didn't play for anybody's team. And don't even ask why, because you already know the answer to that. I've seen you do this in class, you know- affect ignorance because you want to see where you can lead the conversation. The problem with you is, you're about three times as clever as anyone else in the room and you figured that out a couple of years ago."

"And the problem with you is, you deflect a conversation so it centers on anyone other than you. You're very good at disappearing when you want to." She began filling the sink with warm soapy water. "My real question is, did you avoid dates because of being a werewolf or because of preferring men, or was it a combination?"

"I don't have a sexual preference, Hermione."

"Is that because you don't have a preference, or you don't have sex?"

"I think this conversation is over now." He went out the back door, allowing the screen door to slam behind him.

"What's up with Moony?" Sirius came in to refill his butterbeer, then thought better of it and opened the whiskey bottle in the cupboard.

"Probably just wants to finish his cigarette in peace."

"Hm. Well, it's only a couple of days to the full- he's always touchy right before. Go sweet talk him, will you? Harry wants us to teach him how to count cards that have an anti-cheating spell on them."

She rolled her eyes and went out the back door. Remus was sitting on the back stoop watching the distant play of moonlight on water. He ignored her when she sat beside him.

"I apologise," she said softly. "I shouldn't have asked you such personal questions. It's just-" She sighed. "You give this carefully cultivated impression of being open and inviting, but the truth is, you don't let anyone near you. I guess part of me wants to know why that is."

She didn't think he was going to answer her. When he finally spoke his voice was soft. "Because getting near me gets you killed." He stubbed his cigarette out on the stone. "I have killed before, you know, and I will probably do it again. You can take every precaution, but still, accidents will happen."

She nodded. "I understand."

He looked up over the water at the waxing orb hanging in the sky. "God, but I hate the moon."

"I understand that too. You know, a part of me wonders, if maybe you don't let anyone get near you because you don't want to see the look on their faces when they find out what you are."

He looked at her. "You have a devastating conversational style, you know that?"

"So I've been told."

He laughed grimly. "Of course there's that too. That's why I have a firm rule: no sex with people whose last names I know or am likely to find out. For my protection as much as theirs. Does that answer all your questions?"

"Actually. . ."

"You have got to learn how to lie, Hermione. This is a skill that will stand you in good stead in life. Say 'Yes, Remus' now like a good girl and let's go in." He grabbed her wrist and hauled her up. His grab was a little too forceful for her slight frame and it pulled her up flush against him. Neither of them moved a muscle.

"Yes, Remus," she said softly.

She heard the hitch in his breath. "Are you flirting with me, Hermione?"

"No, Remus."

He looked at her waist and put his hands on it. She rocked forward slightly and their hips just met. She felt him twitch against her and saw the muscle spasm in his jaw.

"We will not do this. Do you understand me, we will not."

"All right."

His grip on her waist tightened. He pulled her closer so their groins connected. They were both loking downwards at their joined bodies rather than at each other. He exhaled in a breathy gasp.

"I am going in the house now."

"All right."

They stayed perfectly still. Only their breathing accelerated.

"Moony!" Sirius's whiskey-loud voice could be heard calling from the kitchen. Remus moved her swiftly aside and walked back in the house, leaving her to follow, shaking. "Hey, what do you say we give it another go, Ringo? Harry wants to join in, and I think we should graciously allow him to take over for James. What do you say to a spot of Van Morrison?"

"Sure, Sirius. Just give me a shot of that whiskey, will you, and I'm your man." He knocked it back as Sirius began humming a pitch.

"What on earth are you doing that for? You're never on key as it is."

"No, but Harry might be. C'mon, Harry, let's see what you're made of." Sirius put his arms around Harry and Remus, and they were off into a loopy version of "Brown-Eyed Girl," aimed once again at Hermione, who stood awkwardly trying not to look at Remus. What they lacked in pitch they made up for in volume, which explained how all four of them failed to hear the knock at the front door until Severus Snape was standing in the kitchen doorway, a parcel tucked under his arm and an incredulous expression on his face.

"Severus!" Remus cried, and the three singers spluttered out into laughter like guilty schoolboys.

"Words fail me. How you can think that subjecting anyone to such a revolting display is an appropriate way of offering birthday felicitations is beyond me. Many happy returns of the day, Miss Granger." He laid the brown parcel on the table.

"Oh- that's-" She was at a momentary loss for words. Snape had just spoken cordially to her and offered her a present. The night's wonders looked not to cease. "Thank you."

"Here Snape, have a whiskey. Or butterbeer, if you prefer." Sirius scooted a chair around and pulled a glass from the shelf, wiping it on his shirttail.

"Whiskey is fine, thank you. Sit down, Mr. Potter, you look as though I am going to give you a detention. Which I might, if you don't stop gawping at me." He took a sip of the whiskey, making a face. "I see your taste in liquor has not improved, Black. It certainly encourages one to get right to business. Albus has asked me to confer with you and Lupin before the next meeting of the Order."

"Oh?" Remus pulled his chair closer. "This is about Pettigrew?"

"Precisely. While he has been most satisfactorily disposed of, there remains the issue of how he came to know of my double dealing. I am unwilling to contemplate the possibility that there might be a problem withing the Order itself, but it does have to be faced. If I could be exposed, then so could the two of you."

Hermione flicked her eyes at Harry. This was the first concrete reference they had heard to Sirius's and Remus's under the table activities. Sirius shook his head.

"I wish I had some idea, but I don't. Damn it! I should have asked him when I had him at wandpoint and he was spilling his guts on the floor."

"Yes, well, you were occupied with more important matters, like your petty personal vengeance. We certainly can't be expecting you to think beyond the moment."

Sirius's eyes flashed murder. "I didn't see you doing much better there, Dick Tracy."

"What did you call me?"

Remus held up his hand. "This is going to take some thinking about. Is there any way we can talk about this in the morning? It's getting late and I know we're all tired. I'm sure we'll all have clearer heads in the morning. That way we can figure out just how much we want to say to the Order tomorrow night and what we want to leave out. There's no reason you can't stay, is there, Severus?"

Snape looked around him with distaste. "Other than fear for my health, no. As long as Black stays in his kennel, I suppose I can manage." He reached for the whiskey bottle, but Sirius snatched it away with a glare.

"May I open my package, Professor?"                                

"Of course. That is the custom, isn't it?"

"I don't know, Snape. They might well have changed the way things are done since the last time you were invited to a party. Oh wait, you weren't invited, were you?"

"I'll just go then."

Remus laid a hand on his arm. "Please don't go. Hermione, open your present."

The three men watched her unwrap the parcel in silence. From a nest of paper she pulled a small cauldron of hammered silver, with its own folding ivory stand. The delicate curve of its sides gave back the kitchen light with a warm glow. It was clearly old, and valuable.

"Oh. Oh, Professor, I don't know what to say. It's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. It's- I just don't know what to say. Thank you." She looked at him with shining eyes.

"Inside the caudron you will find a note to be delivered to Smoag's in Hogsmeade. It contains my authorisation to sell you any ingredients you require. I am tired of finding my stores depleted when you find you have need of restricted substances for your- projects. You are advanced enough to start keeping your own stores now, and as Head Girl you will have ample room in your quarters for them. Just see that you set some very strong wards," he said with a glance at Harry.

"Thank you, Professor." She rose, clutching her prize. "This means a great deal to me." On impulse, she leaned down and wrapped her arms around the stunned Potions master, kissing him on his cheek. "I just have one question. Why does it say "ASS" on the bottom?"

Sirius choked and sprayed his whiskey over the table. Snape's glare was venomous.

"Those are my initials. Alexander Severus Snape. It was my first cauldron."

"Oh. Of course."

"If you like you may have your own engraved on it as well. HAG."

Harry and Remus erupted in laughter at Hermione's discomfiture. It was the bane of her existence that her middle name was Alice. Remus got up and slapped Harry on the back.

"Come on, Harry, let's get some rest." They followed Hermione upstairs and left Sirius to rinse the glasses. He shook out one of Remus's cigarettes and lit it.

"So, what do you really think?"

Snape sighed. "I think Pettigrew knew for some time and sat on the information until he saw what he wanted it to buy him. Until he wanted out bad enough."

"Well, he got his wish."

"Yes, he did."

Sirius leaned against the kitchen sink. "Take my room for the night. Don't worry, the linens are clean. I don't even remember the last time I turned down the covers."

"That's hardly comforting. Will there be fleas on the coverlid?"

Sirius closed his eyes. "Can we do this in the morning, please? It's been a long day." He rubbed at his shoulder.

"Is it giving you trouble? The wound, I mean."

"No. No, it's fine."

"Let me see."

Sirius reluctanty unbuttoned his shirt enough to allow Snape a glimpse at the shiny skin of the newly formed scar. It was round and large as a Galleon. Snape ran an investigative finger across the surface.

"Hm. Yes, that was the deepest one. By far the trickiest to seal."

"You sealed it?"

"Of course I did. Who else? You didn't honestly think you made it all the way back to Hogwarts with unsealed arterial stab wounds, did you?"

"It's very fine work."

"Of course it is. No trouble with the pain, you say?"

"None."

"But you are not sleeping."

"Oh. That has nothing to do with the stabbing. That's just- I go through bouts of it, sometimes. Since- well, it's off and on."

Snape nodded. "I see. Why don't you use a Dreamless Sleep potion?"

"I can't. They're- it's too much like-" Sirius realised he was clutching himself and dropped his arms. "I don't care for the heavy sleep they induce."

"Yes. Well, it might interest you to know I have been experimenting with a Dreamless Sleep potion that induces only very light sleep. It would have only limited uses, of course, since most people who use Dreamless Sleep want to sleep as soundly as possible. But I think it could have beneficial medicinal uses, for patients in need of rest when a deep sleep is counterindicated. Anyway, I have been working on it some time and have several prototypes available. I will give you some at Hogwarts tomorrow."

"Thank you."

"Let me know if it works, and I'll brew some more. I'm still working on how to preserve it, so I haven't very much on hand. The damned thing keeps breaking down."

"All right."

"You're not going to bed tonight, are you, Black?"

"No. I don't dare."

"I see." Snape paused, considering. "I am not unfamiliar with your problem."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I am no stranger to nightmares. When I was young, after my brother died, I was plagued with them. My mother used to stay with me all night long. She would stay awake, just sitting beside my bed. It was an extraordinary comfort, to wake and see her sitting there. Like being guarded."

Sirius smashed his cigarette against the side of the sink. "How touching."

"When was the last time you slept, Black?"

"Don't know. Two, three days ago."

"Which means four. You're going to undo all of Poppy's and my hard work if you don't get some rest. Come on, we're going to try something. Come with me."

Snape's tone did not brook refusal, and in his exhausted and whiskey-fuzzed state Sirius couldn't work one up. He stumbled after Snape, who turned down the covers on his bed and helped him in, pulling off his shoes and socks.

"Now. You're going to get some sleep."

"I can't." Sirius mumbled. "They'll come."

"No, they won't. They can't come, if I am guarding you. You see? If there's any trouble, I'll wake you at once."

Sirius mumbled something that might have been a protest.

"Black. You must trust me. Do you?"

"Yes."

"All right then. Light on or off?"

"On, please."

"I'll leave this candle burning. Now then, sleep."

"No, no, I can't. Lily asked me to watch the baby. Have to stay awake."

Snape swallowed. "The baby is safe. He's fine. I'll watch him."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

He watched him sleep for the better part of an hour before stirring. He thought about going to get the Daily Prophet he had seen lying on the parlour sofa, but didn't want Black to wake and find him gone. He reached for one of the books stacked on the bedside table and leafed idly through it. Some sort of Muggle detective novel. Ye gods.

He was on page 103 when Black began to twitch. He watched him carefully, hesitant to wake him. It might be an innocuous dream. The twitching subsided. Snape went back to his book, making a mental note to ask someone what the FBI was. It was hard to tell, in the Muggle world, what was authentic and what was made up. It all seemed so fantastic.

A low moan came from Black's throat. He tossed the book aside and laid a hand on his shoulder. Black's arm shot out as if to ward something off.

"Black." He shook him gently. "Black."

Sirius's eyes flew open. They were wild. He struck out again with his arm and Snape caught his hand.

"Hush now. Go back to sleep. You're fine." He tried to remember what his mother had said. "I'm here."

Sirius's eyes drifted shut. He did not relinquish his hold on Snape's hand, however. Snape shifted a little on the hard chair. Black's grip tightened. He cradled the hand in his for a moment, looking at it. He ran a thumb across its weathered back. Stroking seemed to make it relax its death grip. Hesitantly he brought the hand to his face and held it there.

"Is he all right?"

Lupin's voice at the door made him drop the hand like it was on fire.

"Yes, I think so."

Lupin went away and reappeared with a pillow and a blanket. "Here. You'll kill yourself, sitting in that chair all night. At least you can stretch out a bit." He tossed the pillow and blanket on the other side of the bed and shuffled off to the parlor. "Call me if you need anything."

Snape gently propped himself against the headboard and pulled the blanket around his legs. It felt good to get some blood flowing in them again. Blood. He closed his eyes and tried not to see the blood. There had been so much of it, pulsing hideously with each beat of Black's slowing heart, puddling beneath him, spreading slickness on the floor, coating his frantic fingers.

Black's hand struck out again and he caught it. Another moan, louder this time, then another. He thrashed against the bedlinens.

"Black. Wake up. You're safe. I'm here."

Sirius clutched at him and only stilled when Snape began to stroke his head. He wrapped both arms around Snape's waist and held as though his life depended on it. In his dream, Snape mused, it probably does. He continued his stroking of the touseled mane in his lap, separating the silver strands mixed in with the black. He remembered his mother murmuring things to him, snatches of poetry and song that had eased his passage back into sleep.

"Your well-beloved's hair has threads of grey,

And little shadows come about his eyes

When he smiles,"

he murmured, leaning close to Black's ear. It seemed to be doing the trick. His breathing was evening out now. Snape watched the rise and fall of his chest for a minute.

"Time can but make it easier to be wise

Though now it seem impossible,

And so, all that you need is patience."

Sirius's breathing slowed and his head became heavier in Snape's lap. He continued stroking and lowered his voice to a whisper.

"Heart cries, No.

I have not a shred of comfort, not a grain.

Because of that great nobleness of his,

The fire that stirs about him, when he stirs,

Burns but more clearly.

Oh, he had not these ways

When all the wild summer was in his gaze."

"You're changing it."

"And you're supposed to be asleep."

Sirius lifted his head and gave a sleepy smile before burrowing his head in Snape's lap again. "Finish it."

Snape gave a wry smile and resumed his stroking. "Oh heart! Oh heart!" His baritone thrummed above Sirius's ear. "If she'd but turn her head, you'd know the folly of being comforted."

"He."

"Hm?"

"You said 'he' when you thought I was asleep."

"Did I? I don't remember."

"You're such an old liar, Severus." He pulled himself up so they were nose to nose. "Do you know what I want to do right now?"

"I couldn't say." He hadn't meant for his voice to go so husky.

"Then let me show you." Slowly, Sirius lowered his lips to Snape's. The kiss was slow and good. Snape felt his hips arch up in spite of himself. The blood left the rest of his body to pool below when Sirius's hand brushed his cock.

"God, Severus. Do you know how much I want you?"

"I have some idea."

Sirius began unbuttoning Snape's waistcoat and shirt, uncovering his chest. He latched on to a nipple and swirled his tongue around it. Snape cried out and bucked against his mouth.

"Yes, I forgot how much you liked that. What else have I forgotten, I wonder? Too much. Too goddamned much." He pushed off the shirt and began unfastening the placket of Snape's trousers. "Like how much your clothes turn me on. The way these trousers follow the line of your ankle, these buttons. . ." He pulled them off and regarded Snape's body. "And I've forgotten how goddamned good you look out of them. Out of everything." He ran his hands over Snape's naked form, carefully avoiding the swollen cock that twitched at the approach of his hands.

"Sirius. I am hardly seventeen anymore."

"No. You're about a hundred times sexier now, aren't you?" He regarded the long, muscled body beneath him with its light dusting of dark hair, resting his eyes on the dark patch of hair and the purple cock. "Beautiful." He lowered his mouth to the cock.

"Oh God. Oh. God. Sirius, we can't do this. I can't do this. Lupin- the children- oh, God." He tipped his head back and gave himself over to the sensation of Sirius Black's tongue dancing on the head of his cock. And his fingers- they were brushing his balls, drifting lower, pressing gently against his entrance, oh God oh God. He fought down the orgasm that threatened to engulf him.

"Tell me what you want, Severus."

"You. Your mouth. Oh God."

Sirius swallowed his cock again, and he could not suppress the cry that escaped him. Black's fingers were bolder now, questing. And then he reversed his fingers and his mouth, moving his tongue down the cleft of Snape's body while fisting his cock with a languid hand. His tongue pushed at his entrance, licking and circling. Snape bit his lip until he tasted blood to silence his cries.

"Don't do that. Let me hear you moan. Let me hear what I'm doing to you."

Snape groaned at the sex-husked sound of Black's voice. The delicious mouth resumed its circling action, then pushed inside. Snape clutched the blankets and gasped. Black's tongue was fucking him now, slow and good. Oh God. The mouth was back on his cock now, and fingers had slid inside him. He was so close.

"Sirius. It's been- too long. I can't- Sweet Merlin, I can't stop- oh, ugghhh-" The fingers pushed against his prostate, and his back arched up off the bed as he came, shooting into Black's mouth, spasming around those probing fingers. Coloured stars swam in front of his eyes as he collapsed backward, heaving. He cracked his eyes to see Black watching him, licking his lips with that irritating Cheshire cat grin.

"My God. I think that's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."

"Come here." Snape pulled him up for a long kiss, tasting the salty musk of himself on the other man's tongue. He let his hands go for the first time and twined them in Black's hair. Slowly they relearned each other's mouths. Snape felt himself drifting in the wash of his orgasm, but Sirius was taut as a bowstring against him. He flipped Sirius over so he straddled him, then sat back on his haunches, trailing his hands down his still-clothed chest. Sirius pushed upwards into his hips, but Snape pulled away.

"Ah ah. Patience, Black."

"Says the man who's already come."

Snape chuckled and began undoing buttons without haste. He stopped when he had Sirius's body stretched beneath him. Five years after Azkaban and still too thin. He shifted his weight off him, fearing to crush the slighter man. He pulled Black to him and rested skin to skin for a moment. He felt Black begin to move against him, thrusting his hardened cock against Snape's thigh with a small moan. With some surprise, Snape noted his own cock twitching in response. Well, it might just be possible.

"Severus."

"Tell me."

Sirius pulled Snape's legs up and brushed a finger against his loosened entrance. A muttered spell, and Snape felt warm oil dripping down his cleft. A finger entered him again.

"Don't need that. Just you."

"Are you sure?"

In answer Snape lifted his hips, and Black entered him in one smooth stroke that whited out his vision for a few seconds. Black stayed motionless, digging his fingers into Snape's shoulders. His breath came hard.

"Severus."

Snape swallowed and dared to meet his eyes. There was too much in them, and they penetrated him as completely the cock in him. He shut his eyes against it.

"Goddamn it, look at me. Don't you dare look away."

Dark eyes locked on dark. Sirius leaned down, inches from Snape's mouth, and withdrew partway, thrusting in again. They cried out together at it, shuddering at the sensation.

"Severus. I can't- be gentle."

"Then don't be."

Sirius pulled out and thrust in again, sheathing himself completely. He repeated the action several times, until his back was sheened with sweat. His rhythm was fast and jerky and would have hurt if it didn't feel so damn good.

"Sirius- yes love-"

His thrusts were wild now and beyond his control. He slammed into Snape with abandon, relishing the slapping noise of his balls and the fierce pleasure-mad grimace of Snape's face beneath him. He closed a hand around Snape's cock and pulled once, twice, and Snape was gone, his second orgasm coming harder and sharper than the first, his ring of muscle contracting around Sirius's cock.

Sirius threw his head back and lost his last shred of control, feeling nothing but the pulse of his cock spilling itself inside Snape's body. He collapsed heaving on top of Snape and knew nothing more.

When he woke, he was curled under the covers with Snape pressed against his back. There was an arm thrown across him, pulling him close. He looked at the large long-fingered hand resting by his abdomen. Springy black hairs stood out against the remarkably pale skin. He placed his hand on top of Snape's.

"Awake, are we?"

"Mm. How long have I been out?"

"Some time, actually. Your first decent sleep all night."

He gave a short laugh. "Longer than that." He shifted so he could see Snape. "Did you mean what you said?"

Snape lifted an eyebrow. "There is much I have said in the last twenty years I might wish to. . .modify."

Sirius laughed again. "No, I meant earlier. What you called me."

"Ah. I have a dim recollection." Snape gave a languid stretch. "I thought we had already covered all that. Honestly, if you are not going to pay attention to my letters, I will simply stop writing them."

Sirius propped himself on his arm. "So. If this is the non-addictive Dreamless Sleep potion you were talking about, it's an utter failure."

"Oh? Well, I was thinking of something a little more conventional, actually. You find my methods of sleep inducement wanting?"

"I find them. . . ." He trailed a finger down Snape's chest. "Highly effective. But addictive in the extreme."

"Addictive?" Snape's eyes darkened. "That would be most unwise."

"Yes, it would." He lowered his head to rest it on Snape's chest. "It would indeed." He drifted back asleep within seconds, burrowed into the other man's warmth. Only when he was certain Sirius was fully asleep did Snape begin his gentle stroking of his back, frowning slightly at the hard bump of vertebrae beneath his hand, the prominence of rib and bone. He did not sleep that night, but he did not feel its lack. He had promised to stand watch.

Endnotes and attributions: The song Sirius and Remus sing is Firefall's 1977 hit "You Are the Woman." And the poem Snape recites to Sirius is, of course, W.B. Yeats' "The Folly of Being Comforted."