Chapter Text
The kitchen door opened and the entire Weasley family, plus Hermione, came inside, all looking very happy, with Mr. Weasley walking proudly in their midst dressed in a pair of striped pajamas covered by a mackintosh.
“Cured!” he announced brightly to the kitchen at large. “Completely cured!”
He and all the other Weasleys froze on the threshold, gazing at the scene in front of them, which was also suspended in mid-action, both Sirius and Snape looking toward the door with their wands pointing into each other’s faces and Harry immobile between them, a hand stretched out to each of them, trying to force them apart.
“Merlin’s beard,” said Mr. Weasley, the smile sliding off his face, “What’s going on here?”
Sirius pointed viciously at Snape, hollering, “This murdering bully thinks I’m going to let my only godson spend untold hours alone with him!”
“Murdering bully?” Snape squawked before Sirius was even halfway through his complaint. “You tried to kill me!”
“I did not!” Sirius rounded on the shorter man, shouting down into Snape’s face. “I told you to come just before dawn. YOU went to the shack at moonrise. YOU ignored me. YOU put your own life at risk.”
Sirius was growling with his teeth bared and nearly frothing at the mouth, but Harry doubted that was why Snape suddenly went statue still.
“No,” he said plainly, eyes searching Sirius’ face, fist white knuckled around his wand, “You didn’t.”
“Of course, I did!”
Sparks shot into the floor from Sirius’ wand. Tree roots slithered up and around Snape’s ankles, but the former death eater gave no indication that he had noticed. He was still blatantly trying to read Sirius’ face.
“Why!” Sirius flung his hand and his wand over his head, then whipped them out wide. “Why would I tell you, tell anyone, to come to the shack when Moony was at his worst? When he was confused, and frightened, and hungry, and in pain?” Sirius fisted his hands, wand and all, in his snarled hair. “Are you insane!”
“Sirius?” Remus had arrived behind the Weasleys. He looked as faint as he sounded. Sirius met his gaze with wide, startled eyes. Remus took a step into the kitchen. “Are you– Are you saying…”
Sirius went slack and just stared at him. It seemed that neither of them knew what Sirius was trying to say. At least, not with words. Sirius nodded and some of the lines that had been on Remus’ face as long as Harry had known him seemed to disappear.
“Look at me,” Snape said with quiet control. His expression was calculating, but not as cold as usual; he seemed almost curious. “Let me see what you remember.”
“Wouldn’t a pensive be better?” Remus and Sirius asked at the same time, but in very different tones.
“No.” Snape pocketed his wand. He lifted his hand towards Sirius’ face, but stayed well away from touching. “If you work with me, I’ll be able to hear your thoughts.”
Sirius stared at Snape, the idea of having the other man in his mind clearly repulsive, but the promise of being cleared of at least one crime just as strong a lure.
“Will you be able to tell if…” Remus trailed off.
Snape shook his head and lowered his hand. “It’s obvious when a memory has been deliberately altered, but it’s natural for them to change with time. I can tell you how degraded the memory is, but not what is missing or changed.”
“Do it.” Sirius was as determined as Harry had ever seen him.
Snape’s eyebrows shot towards his hairline. “I could prove you a liar?”
“I’m not lying.” Sirius held up his hand. “I know this. The Dementors couldn’t take it from me.”
Snape took a leveling breath and clasped the offered hand solidly. “Look me in the eyes and find the beginning of the memory.”
They went silent and still. After nearly a minute, Harry turned to Remus and the Weasley’s feeling strangely helpless. Mr. Weasley took off his raincoat and hung it on a chair. He placed a bracing hand on Remus’ shoulder. Remus, trembling from head to toe, was not soothed. He was transfixed on the tableau of Sirius and Snape staring grimly into each other’s eyes next to their interlaced hands. Mr. Weasley focused on the strange display of magic as well, and after a few more seconds, Harry’s attention, too, was drawn back to them.
It felt like days passed in strained silence in the kitchen of Number 12 before Sirius sank into a chair. He was suddenly ashy and shaking.
Snape studied Sirius the same way he might observe a Mandrake with purple feathers. He said, “Now, we could use a pensive.”
“Sirius?” Remus choked out.
Sirius shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice suspiciously hoarse. “I– I…”
If Harry hadn’t known better, he would have thought a Dementor had snuck into the house.
“Severus?” Mr. Weasley had wrapped his arms around Remus’ waist, holding the devastated man on his feet.
“He tried to say it,” Snape admitted absently, untwirling the roots from his ankles with a wave of his hands. “Hmm…” He turned and dropped into a crouch. Courteously, Snape rapped on the door concealing the boiler.
Kreacher opened the door so thunderously Harry would not have been surprised if lighting jumped out of the hinges and struck Snape dead. “What is home wrecker wanting?”
Snape gave no indication that he heard the insult or smelled the foul stench of Kreacher’s den; he spoke very politely to the house-elf. “Regulus told me that his father had a pensive. Is it still here?”
“Kreacher is not telling spying spies where master’s treasures is.”
Snape continued as though he had not once again been disrespected. “Please, retrieve it and set it on the kitchen table.”
“Kreacher is not taking orders from you.” He seemed to have run out of insults he deemed appropriate for Snape.
Snape tilted his head. “Last time we spoke you called me a leaping leper.”
Kreacher blinked, grinned alarmingly, then disappeared with a crack.
Snape stood and turned back to the room.
“What?”
Harry followed his gaze to Sirius and Remus, who despite their slowly lessening tremors both wore identical manic smiles. “Home wrecker?” they said as one.
Snape rolled his eyes and ignored them, looking comically put upon. He seemed to have developed an actual personality in the last ten minutes.
Kreacher returned with another crack, startling everyone. He set the dirty stone bowl of the pensive down on the table with mocking delicacy. Then he darted snitch-quick back into the boiler room. He slammed the door so hard something inside fell over, bouncing tinnily and eliciting a bout of elfish swearing from Kreacher.
On another day, Harry might have taken the time to laugh. As it was, he followed Snape with his eyes as the potions master collected a bowl of soapy water and set to scrubbing out the pensive by hand.
“I’ll do it, Professor,” Harry offered, stunned by the words that had just slipped out of his mouth.
Snape gave Harry a deadpan look but allowed him to take the rag. Harry made short work of the grime; Aunt Petunia was very particular about how Harry cleaned her antique, chartreuse Dutch oven, but not about what she cooked in it.
When Harry looked up, Snape already had his wand to his temple. Rinsing and drying quickly, Harry returned the pensive to the table just in time for Snape to float a rather thick strand of memory into it. Without hesitation, Snape touched the surface of the pensive and was instantly petrified. Remus lunged for the memory, but Sirius reached out for Harry’s hand. As much as Harry wanted to see what was going on, he allowed himself to be reeled in. Sirius hid his face against Harry’s stomach and once again the room dissolved into a silence so oppressive no one moved.
Several minutes later, Snape popped up, did a quick once-over of the faces in the room, and pointed at Bill. Looking uncertain, the curse breaker stepped forward and followed Snape into the memory. Several minutes after that, Bill returned and beckoned for the twins. The pensive was within Harry’s reach and he could not take it anymore; he grabbed his way into the memory.