Chapter Text
It wasn’t the usual dream he was having, didn’t start with the same corridor, the same doors that wouldn’t open for him.
It started with screaming, faint and low at first, a distant sound, then it turned sharp and loud as broken glass. Harry ran before his brain even caught up to what he was hearing, his body pounding down the long endless hallway with torches guttering on the walls, shadows rippling against stone. He had seen this place before, every night, the same dream. He remembers this now though, the same as the Ministry at the hearing, seeing that door at the end of it. His heart was panicking and the screams grew louder with every slap of his feet against the stone.
You know where to go, Harry…
The voice whispered, the cold air swept past him against the cold floor. It curled around his ankles like fog. Harry ran to the door at the end of the hall, the same one he had seen again and again in his dreams, his hand reached for the handle– but it opened on it’s own. Inside he kept running.
Just a little further, Harry…
He didn’t understand what he was seeing, rows upon rows of orbs, like from back in Trealawney’s classroom. Then he saw him, Sirius, bound and chained. On his knees beneath a cold blue spell light. Bleeding. He looked up at him, eyes full of pain and apology.
“Harry—run—just run—don’t let him get—”
The vision shattered and a new voice rose around him, silken and cold and far too familiar.
Come find him, Harry...
Harry jolted awake, heart slamming against his ribs, he didn’t think, before he tore out of bed, body shaking, stomach twisted in knots. He sprinted down the corridors and stairwells, chest burning, Sirius’s pleading face still burned behind his eyes.
Sirius was in danger, why else would he have told him to stay away? He didn’t stop until he reached the dungeons. He didn’t even pause at Severus’s quarters—he pounded his fists against the door, voice cracking.
“Sirius! SIRIUS!! Please—please open the door—”
The quarters stayed dark and silent, Harry hit the door again, harder.
“Snape—Professor—Severus! S-Severus?! Please—SIRIUS—open the door—SIRIUS!”
Ron skidded into the hallway in pajama bottoms and a half-buttoned shirt, hair sticking up in every direction. Hermione was right behind him, wand already lit.
“Harry, what–bloody hell, mate, what’s wro–”
“He’s there, he’s there, they’ve got him—he’s being hurt—I saw it—please help me open the door—PLEASE—”
Harry slammed his shoulder against it uselessly. Hermione grabbed his arm before he could crack bone.
“Harry, slow down—”
“I CAN’T—HE’S DYING—”
He aimed his wand at the lock. “Alohomora!” Nothing, the wards didn’t even ripple.
“Bombarda!” Ron shouted, voice cracking with fear as the blow to wood rattled in their teeth, but the door held.
Hermione swallowed hard. “Harry… he’s not inside. You can’t break through a Professors’ wards. Not even Dumbledore could—”
“He’s gone,” Harry gasped. “He’s gone, he’s gone, they took him—WE HAVE TO GO—”
“Where?” Ron demanded. “Where do we go?!”
Harry looked at them with wild eyes. “The Ministry.”
As they ran, something small came up the corridor floor. Ron, Hermione and Harry turned just as Crookkshanks skittered around the corner, hair puffed up in terror, eyes wide, tail bottle brushed. He hissed at them, but as they kept going the cat ran past, again trying to stop them from leaving. Then Crookshanks sprinted past them, ignoring the trio entirely.
“C-Crookshanks?” Hermione whispered. “Where are you—wait—CROOKSHANKS!”
They were just returning, the moon had sunk low, the stars were glinting, the grass heavy with dew. Padfoot was the first to leave the treeline near the Black Lake, then came Severus holding his leash. Padfoot bounded ahead once, twice, then froze.
Crookshanks exploded from the underbrush like orange lightning and slammed into his legs, meowing and chirping frantically.
Padfoot leaned down as Crookshanks yowled.
Wrong. Danger. Boy-with-glasses. Screaming. Calling. Door. No answer. Left. Friends. Left. Cold-place. Big-place. Glass-place. Danger-danger-danger.
Padfoot shifted mid-stride, and he quickly unleashed the leash as he was visibly panicking.
“What did it say?” Severus demanded, stepping forward sharply.
Sirius swallowed. “He said… Harry’s gone, with Ron and Hermione I reckon… With Friends.”
Severus’ voice lowered. “Gone? Gone where?”
Sirius met his eyes. “The Ministry.” Severus went white. “He thinks I’m there,” Sirius said, throat tight. “He thinks I’ve been taken.”
“No.” Severus' voice cracked. “No, he wouldn’t be that foolish—” Then Severus lunged forward, grabbing Sirius by the arm, gripping hard enough to bruise.
“Sirius—listen to me. This is the Dark Lord using Harry’s mind—it’s a trap—if you go alone—”
“I’m not leaving him to go there alone! He is going because he thinks I am there, Severus!” Sirius said as he shook his head.
“You must not go alo–”
“He is MY Godson!”
“ And YOU’LL DIE!” Severus bellowed, louder than Sirius had ever heard it even back in school.
The echo rang between the trees and Sirius stopped breathing. Severus’s hand tightened on him, desperate now.
“If you walk into that trap–” Severus said, “you will NOT come back. Sirius—please. Please—don’t go.”
Sirius had never heard him plead… or beg. But he only shook his head slowly, apologetic.
“I have to…”
Severus’s face cracked. “Sirius—”
“I have to go...”
For one raw, fragile second, they stood there—Sirius barefoot in the grass, collar cold against his throat, Severus shaking with something that looked like terror dressed as anger. The moment the man's silhouette blurred into fur—
the moment those pale hands met empty air instead of dark hair—
the moment Padfoot bounded forward, full-speed, into the night to get out from the grounds—
Severus knew it was already too late. He closed his eyes. Then he turned, snapped his wand up, and out of it sprung the crow, and he whispered into the sky to it.
“Albus. Remus. Kingsley. All of you—Harry is gone. The children have left the castle for the Ministry, They are walking into a trap.” His voice trembled. “Sirius is running towards his death, alone.”
The lift dropped into the atrium with a jolt. Everything was too quiet. No security. No echoes. No signs of life. Just the low hum of magic beneath marble, the hollow hush of a place that should never be empty. They moved quickly with Harry in front. The others behind, wands gripped tight in pale knuckles, faces drawn with fear.
They reached the door, the black one from his dreams. It opened when he pushed the handle down, no resistance, no lock. Just cold air curling out like breath as they stepped into the dark.
It all went wrong so fast. One second they were shouting for Sirius—searching the rows in the massive room, chasing shadows through isle after isle—
The next, they were surrounded. By black robes and white masks, wands raised as the Death Eaters fell on them like wolves.
Spells cracked against stone. Ron screamed, but they battled. Luna was bleeding. Hermione collapsed to the floor with a groan that made Harry’s throat close.
Harry backed toward the stone platform with the arch that whispered to him, heart pounding, his vision swimming. This was it, he had led them here… he’d killed them.
“POTTER!” a voice snarled, and Lucius Malfoy raised his wand—
And then something black streaked through the shadows. Padfoot. The massive hound tore across the dais like fire, launching at the nearest Death Eater with a furious snarl. There was a scream, a spray of blood, and then—
Sirius. On two legs. His wand already drawn.
And behind him—Kingsley. Tonks. Remus. Albus. The Order flooded in like a tide of flame and thunder.
Spells lit up the air.
And Harry saw Sirius fighting like a man possessed—hexes flying from his wand, teeth bared, countering with every step.
“Stay DOWN!” he bellowed to them, blocking a bolt of red light with a shield charm that cracked like ice when hit.
They obeyed, but Sirius didn’t stop, he fought like he meant it. He fought like he had everything to lose. He fought until a streak of violet light cut across his stomach and side. He screamed, a terrible sound, and dropped to one knee. Blood. So much blood.
“SIRIUS!” Harry screamed.
But Sirius didn’t stop. He turned, gritted his teeth, and cast again—wild, furious, forcing Bellatrix and Dolohov back, giving Remus time to shield Ginny, to drag Hermione out of the crossfire. He was still standing. Still fighting. Until another spell hit.Something hard and fast that knocked him backwards.
He struck the stone floor with a sickening crack and didn’t get back up. Remus’ scream cut through the chaos and Harry pulled away from him and ran.
Everything blurred. Voices, lights, spells. Screaming.
He reached Sirius and saw how the arch started to ripple behind them, Harry skidded to his knees, hands already reaching for him.
“No no no no no—”
Sirius was breathing, he was hurt badly, and bleeding out fast, but he was breathing. His eyes met Harry’s and they softened.
“Idiot pup…” he rasped and then there was only darkness.
-
The first thing he registered was the pain, dull at first, but as he woke, it came back sharply, like someone had buried a shard of glass behind his left eye and kept moving it every time he tried to breathe. He groaned, but even that came out hoarse and cracked. The light overhead was blinding- unforgivable to his eyes. If this was heaven, it had terrible interior design. He blinked, once, twice. The ceiling came into focus slowly, much too white, sterile. The kind of white that stank of antiseptics and healing draughts. And above it, more light. Awful, blooming holy light burning his retinas.
Sirius groaned again, dragged one hand up to his face with a wince. “.... If this is heaven… It’s in very poor taste to let me keep the headache...”
No response, he rolled his head slowly, pain shooting up his side and up his neck, to one side and saw Severus, asleep in a chair, unmoving. Though judging by the tension clinging to his shoulders and the way his arms were folded across his chest like someone had tied them there, he wasn’t much more comfortable either.
Sirius blinked slowly again and groaned out louder this time. “If you’re dead too, I am filling a formal complaint…”
That did it apparently, Severus stirred, his eyes opened slowly, sluggish with exhaustion, but sirius saw the jolt underneath, the split second of life that leapt up behind the usual mask, he saw the breath sucked in and the way his hand gripped the edge of the chair.
“You– You’re a fucking idiot.” Severus said his voice rough.
Sirius gave him a crooked smile, though it hurt. “Tell that to the Death Eaters…”
“I will, if any of them ever crawl out of what Kingsley buried them under.”
Sirius exhaled, and it stuttered, he hadn’t realized how cold he’d been until now. “…Did we lose any of ours?”
“No.”
That single word was delivered firmly and immediately with no hesitation. Sirius let his eyes fall shut again. The headache was still there. So was the soreness in his ribs, and the brutal weight of exhaustion in every bone. But no one had died which means it had been worth it.
“You’ve bled through the sheets now,” Severus said, quieter now. “Twice.”
“I was always the dramatic type…” Sirius murmured.
“You weren’t breathing properly when they brought you in—”
Sirius opened one eye. “Still not… My boyfriend is in the room.”
Severus huffed through his nose. Sirius tilted his head at him, just barely.
“How long?”
“Two days. You’ve been in and out of it, fevered.”
“Did I… say anything good?”
“You called me ‘baby girl’ in front of Poppy.”
Sirius smiled with his whole face.“Fuck, I wish I was around for that…”
Severus didn’t respond to that, but his eyes lingered, on the bruises at Sirius’s temple. The gauze that still shadowed the cut across his stomach, ribs and side.
Severus reached out, almost without realizing it, and pushed back one wild strand of hair from Sirius’s forehead.
“Don’t ever do that again...”
Sirius’s voice was barely audible. “If it’s him or me—”
“I’ll hex you myself this time and I don’t miss…”
Their eyes met and Sirius didn’t argue, he just closed his eyes again.
Sirius stirred again a while later, the room dimmer now. Someone had drawn the curtain across the far window, and the lamp at the bedside flickered with a faint reddish hue.
Severus was still there, still in the chair. Still folded in on himself like he didn’t trust the room not to vanish if he moved.
Sirius exhaled. “…I’m sorry.” The words rasped like ash in his throat.
Severus didn’t react at first. Just shifted slightly, a muscle twitching at his jaw.
“I know I shouldn’t’ve left,” Sirius went on, eyes open now, half-lidded and rimmed red. “You begged. I heard you.”
Still no answer.
Sirius swallowed. “You couldn’t have come… I know that. I know it would’ve exposed everything. And I know how you… protect what’s yours.”
That earned him something, a flicker behind Severus’s eyes, but Sirius didn’t stop.
“…Still. I left. And I’d do it again, for Harry. But I am sorry.” He dragged one hand up to rest against his collarbone, fingers brushing bare skin for the first time in what felt like months. “He’s my pup. I had to go to him…”
A long silence, then a sharp flick to his ear. “You’re a stupid, unthinking imbecile.” Severus finally looked at him properly. Eyes dark, voice low and flat.
Sirius blinked. “I—”
“What name…” Severus cut in, “...is on your collar?”
Sirius stared up at him and slowly a crooked grin twisted across his lips. “…It’s yours.”
Severus’ hand reached up, seemingly to give him another flick, but instead he cupped his cheek.
“Then act like it.”
That shut Sirius up as he leaned his cheek into Severus’s palm. “You gonna kiss me or hex me?”
“I will do both, you reckless, mutt.”
“…Fucking hot.”
Severus just rolled his eyes.
Albus had quietly tucked him into one of the old private quarters on the third floor. A room meant for recovering staff, or… in this case war survivors. Sirius wasn’t sure which he was really… none? He hadn’t left the bed, he wanted to, but moving even a hand too fast made the pain bloom sharp and wet through his abdomen, made the wards flare red and Poppy’s voice echo from the corner scolding him before she even arrived to him
The first time he sat up on his own, he nearly passed out. The second, he made it long enough to reach the edge of the mattress and vomit onto the floor.
Today, he was awake. And reading the fucking paper, or he was trying to, the headline was absurdly large:
“SIRIUS BLACK — HERO OR THREAT?”
ORDER CONFIRMS BLACK FOUGHT ALONGSIDE DUMBLEDORE AT MINISTRY!”
He groaned as he tried to throw it. Failed. The paper fluttered off his bed with a sad whisper and landed on the floor by the bed leg. He’d barely processed the fact that Kingsley had given a statement, or that the Ministry was “re-evaluating” past charges, when the door creaked open.
Harry. Still in his uniform, tie askew, eyes rimmed red behind his glasses. His hand hovered on the doorframe like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed. Sirius opened his mouth then closed it again.
Harry crossed the room in three fast steps and sat down by the bed. “I thought you were—” His voice cracked badly.
Sirius watched him as Harry broke, the boy didn’t wail or cry loudly, but his eyes flooded fast and furious and so quiet, like he was trying not to let Sirius see or hear. Sirius reached out and his fingers found Harry’s wrist.
“I’m here…” he whispered, voice frayed like a threadbare coat. “I’m here, pup.”
Harry nodded. Silent tears spilling down. And Sirius who had walked into battle like he had nothing left to lose, choked on his own breath.
“Hey now—hey,” he murmured, but it was too late, his throat locked and his eyes burned.
And then he was crying too, slow shaking tears. Harry wiped at his face with the heel of his palm. It did nothing. The tears kept slipping out—hot and angry.
“I should have know better..” Harry said hoarsely, Not managing to look at Sirius yet. “I should have sent a patronus message… Made sure beforehand, or just waited... Gone to a teacher.. Anything, but I just– I just ran–”
Sirius didn't let him finish pushing himself down. He moved slowly and clearly hurting, but his hand came up and cupped the back of Harry’s head and tugged him close.
“Don’t.” Sirius rasped, voice still affected by his crying.
“But–”
“Don’t.” Sirius said firmer this time as his other arm wrapped around Harry’s shoulder, dragged him into the mess of sheets, pressing his boy against his side like it would undo all the hurt. Siriu slet out a soft grunt at the movement, pain rippling through him, sharp and cruel until he felt it in his head, but this hurt less than the sight of Harry crying like that.
Harry let himself be pressed in, didn’t argue and didn’t resist, his face half buried in Sirius’ night shirt, his fingers curled against his ribs like he was afraid he’d vanish again.Sirius breathed shallowly. The pain was a dull roar in his stomach, but he didn’t loosen his grip.
“You’re fifteen…” he said quietly into Harry’s hair. “You’re just a kid. You’re allowed to be scared and not think right...”
Harry shook his head against him.
“No,” he whispered. “Not when it means putting my friends in danger… you and the order too..”
Sirius closed his eyes, his throat pulled tight as he swallowed once. Twice.
“You didn’t mean to do any of that…” he said finally, voice fraying at the edges. “You’re not supposed to. That’s my job. And other adults, yeah?”
Harry didn’t respond to it, he just held on tighter, sobbing quietly. Sirius shifted a little, his hand moving to card through Harry’s hair in slow, clumsy strokes because of the pain in his side.
“You’re not losing me okay?” he murmured. “Not for a long while, you just got me back didn’t you?”
-
The Floo flared green as Sirius stumbled out of it like he was drunk—half-collapsing before Severus caught his elbow to hold him back.
“Careful!” Severus snapped, though it wasn’t sharp, more like a frayed wire trying to hold.
Sirius grunted. “Still hate the fucking floo…”
“You can’t apparate, not even side along. Muggle transportation is out of the picture as it takes too long… Next time you can crawl home from Hogwarts with your intestines dragging behind you maybe if the Floo bothers you so. ”
Sirius managed half a grin as Severus guided him through the dim front hall, the lights flickering on as they passed, the house’s magic picking up now that it’s master was back.
“Mmmm– You’re so romantic.” Sirius slurred as he smiled.
“You wouldn’t know romance if it throttled you with your own cock...”
“That’s not off the table.”
“Shut up–”
He did, but only because his body was screaming in pain and not because he didn’t want to harass Severus more. Severus walked slowly for his sake not that his bat would admit to it. But his hand stayed steady under Sirius’s elbow until they reached the bedroom. The bed had been cleared and made. A blanket folded with almost military precision.
Severus eased him down.
Sirius sank into the mattress with a shuddering breath, every inch of him hurt. Still. Even four days after the fight. Even after the potions and the charmwork and the hospital-quiet care from Pomfrey. But nothing, felt like now.
Severus standing over him, sleeves rolled back, his eyes dark and furious really, as his eyes flicked over to the unused fireplace, before slamming the wards into place. No one else would be flooing in that way at least.
Another flick closed the curtains and dimmed the lights to something far more comfortable to Sirius’ eyes.
“So… the reason I had to suddenly leave was because of the Ministry?” Sirius said as he tilted his head back.
“Yes.” Severus said as another flick made the wards fall down on the other fireplaces in the house.
“Albus was buying you time, but they arrived at the school five minutes ago to take you in for… questioning.”
“Hmm.. So I guess you felt that was a little premature seeing as my guts are still not where they are supposed to be?”
Severus turned. Looked at him like he was something idiotic that had grown legs and started talking by itself. Sirius studied him then, his shirt sleeves were damp where they were rolled back—he must have washed his hands after the potions. His hair was pinned back messily. He looked tired. They had left Hogwarts rather quickly…
Sirius let his gaze drop. “Thanks…” he murmured.
Severus arched a brow. “For what? Basic medical care? You nearly died, you reckless fucking bastard.”
“For bringing me here,” Sirius said quietly. “Instead of letting the Ministry take their ‘chat.’”
Severus looked at him for a long time, then sat beside him, close but still so damn careful.
Severus said at last, voice low. “The fallout, Albus can deal with...”
“You’re enjoying this…” Sirius muttered, voice muffled against the pillow.
“Hardly–”
“You are. You get off on bossing me around I know you do.”
“I get off on silence,” Severus replied dryly, uncapping the small jar of salve. “Which you refuse to provide me in most cases.”
The poultice was cold. It always was. Sirius hissed, back arching just slightly as Severus pressed it to the scarred line running down his flank—an angry, puckered thing still seeping magic and pain.
“Fuck,” Sirius hissed.
“Still tender?”
“No, it’s delightful. The best feeling I’ve ever felt. What do you think?”
“I think you should stop wriggling, or I’ll restrain you to the mattress.”
Sirius chuckled under his breath. “....Kinky.”
Severus didn’t rise to it as he kept working, two fingers smearing the salve into the healing wound, careful to avoid the deeper tear where the cutting curse had nearly gutted him. His other hand kept Sirius still with a firm grip at his hip, long fingers splayed, calloused thumb brushing once, against the jut of his bone.
It wasn’t even close to sexual, but Sirius’s breath still caught. He hadn’t been touched properly in days. Not like he wanted, not like he wasn’t breakable or frail.
“You're getting hard…” Severus said calmly.
“Can you blame me?” Sirius groaned. “You’re straddling my thighs and rubbing ointment on my ass.”
“I’m not. I’m on the bed beside you, applying a medical potion to a wound you have on your side…And you’re thirty-six.”
“Yeah, and I nearly died. Let me have a hard-on, you snarky killjoy.”
Severus sighed, the sound long-suffering as he pressed the bandage in place, muttered the sealing charm under his breath, then leaned in to inspect the edge of the gauze, checking the spell’s integrity. His hair slipped over his shoulder, brushing Sirius’s back.
Sirius whined.
“You’re being cruel…”
“I’m not.” Severus murmured. “I’m keeping you alive, you mutt.”
Sirius rolled onto his back slowly, his body aching, but still managing to spread out like a cat in the sun. The towel slipped lower on his hips. He made no effort to fix it.
“I could be dying of blue balls, you know...”
“Unlikely. You’d probably ejaculate in your sleep and stain the sheets.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“You are disgusting, Black.” Severus replied evenly, drying his hands.
He walked over to the bedside table, checked the lined potions—pain, inflammation, nerve calming—and handed one over.
Sirius took it. Drank. Grimaced.
Severus didn’t leave. Just watched until he was done, then sat on the edge of the bed again and dragged a comb from his pocket.
“Oh please—you’re going to brush me now?”
“You’re shedding like an unkempt mutt,” Severus said. “I’m tired of finding hair in the sheets.”
And then—careful, almost detached—he began combing through Sirius’s long, tangled hair, starting from the nape and working slow.
Sirius melted.
“Oh fuck, that’s unfair.”
“Go to sleep.”
“Brush a little slower, and I just might.”
“I’m not here to arouse you...”
“Well, you’re doing a shit job at it, because this is doing both.”
Severus didn’t respond. Just kept brushing. Steady strokes. And when Sirius finally sighed and let himself relax, boneless, pain-dulled down. Severus murmured something under his breath and dimmed the lights.
“Tomorrow…” he said, “I’ll make soup.”
Sirius smiled into the pillow as he mumbled. “I love you too, you strange bastard....”
Sirius had made it down the stairs by himself. He grunted as he slumped into one of the mismatched kitchen chairs, the faded wood groaning under him like it, too, had opinions about recovering war criminals taking up space on it. The smell of broth hung in the air. There were herbs steeping in the pot, a slow simmer behind the protective charm that Severus had muttered into place an hour ago. Something with thyme, garlic, turmeric. Something that would rebuild his magic as much as blood and appetite.
Sirius scratched at his bare stomach, his scars itched. His pride did more. He glared at the teacup already waiting for him.
“You’ve dressed like you’re about to attend a funeral.” he muttered.
Severus, standing across the room with his back to him, didn’t turn.
“I did in a way” he said, voice smooth. “Last night.”
Sirius blinked, still groggy from the healing draught.
“...Was there a meeting?”
There was a long pause before Severus answered.
“The Dark Lord called them. Late. Hours after the children returned. He wanted to know who had failed...”
Sirius felt something coil in his stomach—
“You went.”
“I always go...”
Sirius didn’t like that, actually he hated it. Hated what it meant. That Severus had stood in that room while Sirius was sleeping and unconscious. That he had left this house. That he might’ve been—
“Did anyone say anything?”
Severus turned then. Slowly. His hair tied back. But his eyes were heavy, darker than usual, he hadn’t slept.
“No one saw it.”
Sirius didn’t ask what it was, he touched his throat instead. The collar wasn’t there. Hadn’t been for some days. Not since Pomfrey had cut through the leather, swearing it would get in the way.
“I didn’t know if you’d want it back… But I have had it mended.” Severus added, quieter.
“I do.” Sirius met his gaze. “I want it.”
Severus walked to the cupboard. Drew out a small wooden box from the top shelf and set it down on the table like it was something fragile. Something private.
He opened it, and there it was. Coiled neatly. The leather soft and worn from wear. The brass tag polished, but still slightly dented where it had hit the floor during the fight at the Ministry.
Severus lifted it with precise fingers. Stepped behind him. Sirius tilted his head, the clasp was quiet.
Click.
The weight settled back into place as the piece shrank to fit him.
-
The knock was soft, barely more than a courtesy, really.
“Don’t hex me…” Remus said as he stepped inside, voice quiet.
Severus gave him a flat look. “You should still be at the Ministry.”
“I was.” Remus closed the door behind him. His robes were travel-wrinkled, his scarf still dusted with soot. “I have given my statements, and my memories… Now I’m here.” He dropped the scarf over the chair.
Sirius was asleep on the sofa, blanket over his legs, head tipped to one side in restless sleep. His shirt had ridden up slightly, showing a faint red line across the bandages that wound around his stomach.
Remus’s throat tightened as he crossed the room slowly, he stopped just short of the couch, and just looked.
“I thought he’d—” he started. Swallowed. “They said he was unconscious… That he would be better… But I saw—fuck, I saw his insides, Severus.”
“He was disembowelled, yes.”
“And I had to leave, and give statements… stupid idiotic things to people who still think him a traitor…”
Severus just looked at him. “He’s well stabilized. Salve every twelve hours. Potions are on the tray. He’s stubborn, but compliant when you catch him early.”
Remus’s mouth twitched. “That does sound familiar.”
“He sleeps poorly and he whines.”
“Also very familiar.”
Severus moved past him and stopped beside the couch. He looked down at Sirius, took in the faint lines around his mouth, the clench of pain even in sleep. He reached out and brushed a strand of dark hair back from his face. Remus didn’t comment on it as Severus turned to leave.
“You may need to hold him. At night.”
Remus kept looking at him.
“He doesn’t ask,” Severus added. “But he drifts less when there’s someone close.”
Remus’s expression softened.
“I know that too.”
Severus left without another word.
Sirius stirred sometime after midnight. The room was dim. Quiet. Warmer than it had been. He blinked then winced. And then felt the arm around his middle tighten, just slightly.
“…Rem?”
“Mm.”
Sirius didn’t move. His voice was scratchy, dry.
“You’re in my bed.”
“You’re bleeding on me.”
“Touché.”
Silence again.
“I thought you were dead,” Remus murmured.
“I know.”
“I would’ve killed you if you were...”
Sirius huffed a tired laugh. “You always were the mum-friend.
Sirius shifted slightly, letting his weight press back into Remus’s chest. The familiar warmth. The rhythm of someone breathing behind him. The steady, grounding presence.
“You staying?”
“Yeah.”
“Good...”
They lay like that for a long time. Remus’s fingers brushed lightly over Sirius’s hip, just a tether. Sirius didn’t complain. Because this was Remus. There’d been too many nights like this before—
“Severus’ll be back tomorrow?” Sirius whispered, almost sleep-slurred.
“Yes, Pads.”
“Mmkay.” Sirius mumbled before he fell asleep again.
Severus steps into the front hall, cloak damp from the rain in Hogsmeade, his satchel slung low across his shoulder. He listens. Nothing stirs, which means Sirius is still sleeping, he doesn't expect it to last long. His boots are soundless on the floor as he climbs the stairs, wand sliding from his sleeve to check the wards. Grimmauld is quiet in the way a resting body is—alive, but still.
He pushes the bedroom door open and pauses and takes them in. Sirius is curled on his side, blankets tangled to his hips. One arm slung over the body pressed up behind him, anchoring himself even in unconsciousness. His fingers twitch slightly—he’s dreaming. Remus is tucked behind him, one hand splayed across Sirius’s middle, his face buried in wild dark hair. Sirius breathes deeply and evenly, his mouth is slack. He doesn’t look pained.
Severus watches them for a moment. No tension in his face. Just a slow exhale through his nose before he closes the door without a sound.
Downstairs, the kitchen is cold, he flicks the hearth to life with a quiet spell. Lights the lamp over the counter. Rolls his sleeves. They haven’t eaten. He can see that immediately—nothing disturbed, the mugs still on the rack from the night before. He sets the kettle on. He cooks in silence.
Remus will come down first he guesses. Sirius will follow after, hair a mess, asking if there’s tea.
He cracks the eggs and whisks them. Decides on an omelette with bread. Severus has just set the last plate down when the floorboard creaks on the stairs.
Remus is half-carrying Sirius, not really dramatically—just support that comes from old patterns, well-worn. Sirius’s arm slung lazily over his shoulder, most of his weight on his own two feet but… not all.
“Smells good…” Remus says as they reach the kitchen.
“Should do. I made it,” Severus replies, not turning.
Sirius mutters something that might’ve been a greeting. Or a complaint. Hard to tell. He makes a beeline for the table anyway, easing himself into a chair with a wince and a quiet,
“Fuck, I feel like I am eighty.”
“You look it.” Severus murmurs, sliding tea to him.
Remus huffs a soft laugh and sits across from him. “Don’t listen to him. You’re maybe mid-sixties on a good day.”
“Both of you are some right pricks…” Sirius murmurs as he drinks.
The food is simple fair, bacon crisp, bread toasted golden, omelettes thin and folded with a bit of dry cheese. Sirius looks at it like it might be the most beautiful thing he’s seen all week as he tucks in with groggy enthusiasm.
Remus is slower and takes his time with it, finishes everything on his plate. He stands after, brushing the crumbs from his lap.
“I’ve got to go.” he says, looking at Sirius.
He steps over. Pulls Sirius into another hug. Sirius clings back, doesn’t joke. Doesn’t pretend he doesn’t need it.
“You scared the shit out of me,” Remus murmurs.
“I know,” Sirius says into his shoulder.
“I mean it. Don’t do that again.”
“I’ll try.”
Remus closes the door behind him softly.
And Severus, after a long moment, mutters, “We’re out of food.”
Sirius leans back in his chair, stretches, and grins.
“Good thing you’ve got such a nice arse to shop with, then.”
“Finish your tea.”
-
Sirius had eaten nearly everything. Now he lounged in the chair like a smug, half-mangled cat, bare feet tucked up under the table, the collar visible against his collarbone. He was trying not to look too pleased with himself. Severus was standing at the counter, scrawling a list on parchment with the grim determination of someone who hated domesticity but hated chaos more.
“We’re out of bread, cheese, anything green, and I wouldn’t trust that milk if it was the last liquid in the world…” Severus muttered.
Severus rolled up the list, then turned to grab his coat.
And Sirius, softly:
“Don’t go.”
Severus paused but Sirius didn’t repeat it. A pop sounded from the hallway, followed by the slow, shuffling arrival of a creature who had once cursed his master's name under his breath, but now merely blinked with weary expectation.
“You called, Master Black?”
Sirius winced. He hated that title. But he didn’t correct it.
“Yeah,” he said, holding out the list. “We need groceries.”
Kreacher shuffled forward and took it with a wrinkled, careful hand. His eyes scanned it quickly.
“Master Snape is picky,” Kreacher muttered, but without venom.
“He’s the one keeping me alive,” Sirius replied, tone dry.
Kreacher sniffed. “Then I will be... thorough.”
“You always are.”
Kreacher blinked again—slower this time. Almost… pleased, he then disappeared with a sharp pop.
The silence settled again. Severus glanced at Sirius sidelong.
“You’re manipulating your way out of errands now?”
“I’m being romantic,” Sirius said. “Don’t ruin it.”
Severus stilled as his fingers curled slightly on the edge of the table, but he said nothing. Just picked up the dishes and began to wash them, sleeves rolled to the elbow.
Sirius flirted like it was breathing—constant, shameless, and entirely unaffected by the fact that he looked like he’d been through a woodchipper and then half-arse stitched together by someone drunk on firewhisky. His bandages peeked out from beneath his shirt collar, hair still wild, eyes dark with sleep he hadn’t really caught up on. But he watched Severus like he was starving.
“You know,” Sirius said, voice low and lazy, “you’d make a great housewife.”
Severus didn’t respond and Sirius took that as encouragement.
“Cooking. Cleaning. Excellent scowl. All you need’s a nice apron. Maybe some nice pearls...”
Severus turned his head slightly. One eyebrow lifted, just a little. Dangerous. Sirius however, pressed on.
“Imagine it. Me, stretched out naked on the couch, and you, flitting around the kitchen in a frilly little—”
“You can’t even stand up without groaning,” Severus cut in, voice cool. “What exactly do you plan to do, naked on the couch?”
Sirius smirked. “Lie there. Be inspiring.”
“Your delusions are getting worse.”
“Maybe—maybe I’m just picturing how pretty your arse would look in something lacy.”
Severus didn’t answer, but his hand faltered just slightly in the rinse basin, just for a quiet beat. Long fingers curling around the edge of the pot. Then he resumed. Calm and aloof again But the tips of his ears were pink and Sirius grinned.
“You’re blushing.”
“I am not.”
“You are. Severus Snape, caught blushing at the thought of me pinning you to the counter—”
“You are seconds from reopening your sutures.”
“It would be worth it...”
Severus set the pot down with a quiet clang. Turned. Dried his hands slowly.
Then walked over and stopped in front of Sirius, leaned in slightly, and brushed a knuckle down the side of his face—almost fond.
“I’m going to sedate you…” he said calmly.
Sirius grinned wider. “So long as you’re the one tucking me in I don’t much care...Make it interesting—full strip search, maybe some of those preparation spells you’re so good at… I’ve been a very good boy.”
Severus’s eyes narrowed, but his hand still came up, knuckles brushing down the side of Sirius’s face before he snatched it back like the touch pissed him off. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah, and you fucking love it.” Sirius caught his wrist fast, dragged it closer and bit down lightly on the inside, just enough to sting. “Collar and all, baby. Come on—tell me how much you missed bossing me around...”
Kreacher popped into the hall with the groceries, grumbling loud enough for both of them to hear him but they paid the old house elf no mind. The old house creaked around them like it was rolling its eyes. Severus helped him up the stairs without another word. Sirius leaned heavier than he wanted to admit, pain spiking hot and wet every time his foot hit the next step. By the time they reached the bedroom his breathing had gone ragged again. He dropped onto the mattress with a grunt. Severus leaned over him, checking the bandages with fingers that were careful, but still somehow accusatory.
“Idiotic Mutt…” Severus muttered.
“I know.” Sirius cracked one eye open, grin crooked and sharp. “But I’m your idiot. Comes with exclusive rights to the collar, the attitude, and the occasional dramatic near-death experience. You gonna punish me for it later?”
Severus ignored him and dimmed the lights with a flick of his hand and slid in beside him, careful not to jostle the worst of the wounds. Sirius shifted closer at once, throwing an arm heavy over Severus’s waist like he was staking a claim.
The rain started tapping against the windows, steady and irritating.Neither of them spoke for a long beat.Then Sirius muttered, voice thick and sleepy, “I…. won’t go running off to die again.”
Severus’s arm tightened around him, almost bruising. “If you do, I’ll hex you unconscious and chain you to this bed myself.”
Sirius huffed a weak laugh that pulled sharp at the stitches in his side. “Fuck… promise? Because that sounds like a Thursday night special. Bring the lube—”
“Shut up and sleep, mutt.”
Sirius smiled against his shoulder, tired and still a little feral. The collar sat warm against his skin even as his side still burned like hell. Tomorrow the Ministry would keep sniffing, the Dark Mark would probably burn and flare, and Harry’s guilty eyes would still be waiting every time he closed his own.
But tonight the house stayed quiet, as he let his eyes drift shut, breathing in the sharp scent of potions and the man who’d begged him not to go.
-