Chapter Text
→where shall we put the theory of reading→there never was
metaphor→action unfolded in no temporality→anticipation floods us but we
never were able—not for one instant—to inhabit time→listen→the last step is this
feeling you have here→just as long as we keep doing this→I write you read→a
with-time-ness→an unexpected nobility→above and below flow by, cold as they
are→the universals keep→solar ghosts flare→turn to cash→on this small fire the
earth keep reading→I say to myself keep on→it will not be the end→not yet→
—Jorie Graham, “We”
EXCLUSIVE TELL-ALL: THE TRIAL OF SEVERUS SNAPE!
r. skeeter
Death Eater and former Headmaster of Hogwarts Severus Snape’s war crimes trial took place today, and returned a shocking verdict of not guilty. This reporter sat in on the trial, and is here to give you exclusive details of just what went down in those hallowed halls!
Snape, who was being held in special custody at St Mungo’s after an alleged attack by You-Know-Who’s pet snake Nagini, appeared wretched on the stand; his hair was greasy, his hands were shaking, and his scar dominated his face, which was all but dead to the world. When asked how he pleaded to seven counts of grievous war crimes, he answered, ‘Guilty.’
Well, this reporter figured that was the end of that. But sure as sure can be, intervention came on Snape’s behalf from the unlikeliest of sources: a recently exonerated (and recent addition to the Wizengamot)—one Sirius Black!
‘I would like to argue that Mr Snape is not in his right mind,’ Black said, and a titter began amongst the Wizengamot. He called to the stand a St Mungo’s Healer, who testified that Snape had tried to commit suicide not once, not twice, but three times while in medical custody.
The titter increased to a roar. ‘Furthermore,’ Black said, ‘Harry Potter would like to present memories on his behalf.’
The room fell dead silent as a display pensieve was unearthed. Snape seemed to gain a second wind, and screamed, ‘No! You idiots, what are you doing? I deserve this! I’m guilty! I’m guilty!’
‘Severus,’ said Minister Shacklebolt, in a gentle, chiding tone. Reader, the shock on the Wizengamot’s faces cannot be overstated!
Snape continued to scream and wail. ‘Kiss me! Kill me! Just let me die!’
He grew so loud that a silencer was cast; he continued to shout silently as the proceedings continued. The pensieve revealed a shocking, scandalous truth. Snape’s own memories showed that Snape betrayed his childhood love, Lily Evans Potter, by becoming a Death Eater and calling her a m*dblood, then changed his tune when she was targeted for death by You-Know-Who. He was indentured after the war to the service of Albus Dumbledore, and did his bidding—even when asked to murder him! Murder he did, but cold-blooded it was not; indeed, he worked with the man’s portrait to get Harry Potter the Sword of Gryffindor.
Reader, every face in the Wizengamot was pale by the time those memories ended. Most notable of all was that Dumbledore himself knew all along the sacrifice Harry Potter would have to make when he allowed You-Know-Who to kill him in the forest as the final battle raged. Dumbledore informed Snape of this inevitability, to which Snape responded, ‘You’ve raised him like a lamb for slaughter, you monster!’
It became clear from the Wizengamot’s frenzied discussion that they agreed with this ultimate assessment; when Black stood again, the whole chamber fell silent. ‘I move not only to pardon Snape for his crimes while working to assist the Order of the Phoenix and Harry Potter, but to award him the Order of Merlin for services rendered to the good of all wizardkind!’
This motion was met with unanimous approval. ‘Hear, hear!’ came a cry, and Snape himself began to weep. For joy or for shame it is unclear, but weep he did, from the second of his pardon until the mediwitches and wizards finally toted him away.
Dear Severus,
How’s life? Holding up alright? Hogwarts is okay. We’re all in one big inter-house eighth year dorm, allegedly to promote cooperation; it feels more like a punishment, a lot of the time, though I know intellectually that’s ridiculous. Poor Malfoy seems to be bearing the brunt of it—everyone suspects he tortured or even murdered a lot of people during the war, so they’re making a point of not leaving him alone around their pets. He never struck me as the type to cold-bloodedly slaughter someone’s cat, though I suppose he did raise hell to get poor Buckbeak executed. At least it didn’t work. The rest of your Slytherins seem to be alright, though people are still giving them a wide berth. Frankly, I think a public apology is in order, but I’m not holding my breath.
I can feel the loss of Dumbledore like a wound, though it seems odd that it should still be this raw so long after he died. But it feels fresh and new again, being here without him after a year away. How did you stand it, holding down the fort all alone? At least Headmistress McGonagall let me visit his portrait when term started.
Please at least respond with confirmation that you’re alive, and if you can manage to, try to take care of yourself. Thanks.
Best,
Harry
“Hello, Severus,” Healer Baldwin said. “Let’s have a look at that brain, shall we?”
She was still demanding she see him biweekly, for whatever godawful reason; when he asked, she said, “If this is literally the only socialization you get, then I want it to happen twice a week. Sue me.”
“But that I could,” Snape said. “You know it’s this or Azkaban.”
“No, it isn’t. You’re being paranoid.”
Snape held up his hand, pointing to a nasty scar he’d gotten courtesy of his mail. His own fault for not checking for spells, and a mistake that wouldn’t be repeated. “And when they really are out to get you?”
“One incident is not proof of some conspiracy. I won’t pretend you’re universally beloved, but my only goal is to help you. Now.” She turned from her brain scans and gestured for him to lay out on the couch. “Anything to report? Or are we sulking in silence for an hour again?”
Snape sat, crossed his arms over his chest, and stared up at the ceiling. Baldwin sighed very deeply. “I suspected as much. Do you want to hear about my week?”
“Not particularly.”
“Well, most of it’s confidential anyway.” She laughed a gentle, conspiratorial laugh. “How have you been feeling?”
“I feel nothing.”
Baldwin sighed. “What did you do this week?”
“Nothing.”
“I think you’re lying,” Baldwin said. “Did you eat? Sleep? Work on Potions?”
“There’s more to me than Potions.”
“Like what?”
Snape fell silent; Baldwin sighed again. “At some point you’re going to have to start talking to me.”
“Why?”
“I guess you don’t,” Baldwin conceded, and Snape hid a smirk. “But I hope someday you’ll find you want to. My wife and I went for several long walks this week, and saw our daughter on Saturday for lunch. Isn’t that nice?”
“I don’t give a damn about your family.”
“Well, most of my patients don’t,” Baldwin said agreeably. “I notice you’re not homophobic.”
“What, you were testing me?”
“I was curious.”
A long silence. “I’m bisexual anyway,” Snape mumbled, and Baldwin beamed. “Stop trying to connect with me.”
“That’s just a real connection, Severus. We have to stick together in this world.”
“We do not.”
“Maybe not. But it makes life a little more bearable. I run a group for gay and lesbian witches and wizards that meets on Thursday nights called Queer Witches and Wizards Support Group, or QW.” She floated a flier over to him. “I’d really appreciate it if you’d think about coming.”
“I’m not gay or a lesbian.”
“Gay can be an umbrella term. So is queer.”
“I’m not coming to your stupid meeting,” he snarled, even as he folded the flier up and carefully tucked it into his robes, trying not to notice the way Baldwin noticed, or the way she beamed.
He went to Lily’s grave about five nights a week these days, though usually he didn’t show up wasted; unfortunately, this was day six of the cycle, and Drunk Snape had decided to apparate over, a bottle of firewhiskey in hand. He set down a visitation stone, though they always got tidied away, then sat down atop the joint grave, taking a long swig. “What did I do to deserve this, huh? What did I do wrong to end up here?”
Snape found himself shedding a tear, then two, then three; the mistiness became torrential, as it had since he’d been pardoned. He took another swig of firewhiskey, moaned, and laid down atop the grave, curled into a tight ball. “Why? Why?”
It began to rain; the teardrops mingled with raindrops as thunder shrieked in the distance. “Why? Oh, God, why?”
“Severus?”
Snape sat bolt upright. Or he tried to, anyway; when he moved, his stomach roiled, and he grappled at the muddy grave-ground in an attempt to sit.
“Merlin, Severus, we’ve gotta get you inside, let me—”
“No,” Snape tried to moan, but before he could protest there were warm arms around him, and a sharp crack, and they were gone.
The first thing he registered was the scent of wet dog; the second was that he was going to throw up. He tried to conjure a bowl, but succeeded only in also throwing up on his wand; the figure sighed and cast scourgify, and abruptly the mud and filth and rain were gone. A warming charm, and he looked up, mouth parting when he locked eyes with none other than Sirius Black.
“You!”
“Severus—”
“You did this to me!” Snape snarled, and staggered to his feet. “You wouldn’t just let me go to Azkaban and get Kissed or go mad like the rest of them! You told the whole bloody world about my attempts! You made it so I have to do therapy twice a week like a fucking incontinent toddler! You ruined what could have been a perfectly good end to my miserable wretched life! Are you sorry?”
“No,” Black said, and Snape deflated, all at once, the tears rearing their ugly head once again. “Merlin, you poor thing, let me make you some tea—”
Snape sat, bewildered; Black puttered around the kitchen he’d apparated them into, petting a magnificent brown owl and murmuring, “Who’s a good Curley? Who’s a good Curley?”
Of course he named his owl after a stooge, Snape thought, and Black handed him a cup of tea. He drank, hot humiliation flashing when he realized he was still weeping, and didn’t thank Black; the man sat down across from him, sighing and sipping from his own mug. “Are you okay?”
“Of course I’m okay.”
“You’re crying.”
“I just have—mud. In my eyes.”
“Right.” They sat in silence while Snape tried to get the blasted tears under control, to no avail. “Do you want a calming draught? Or a sober-up? Or both?”
“Okay.”
“Okay. Great. Okay.” Black stood. “Be right back.”
He returned within minutes bearing a piece of candy and a phial. “The candy’s something we’ve been selling at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes,” he said. “Calming Caramels. Guaranteed to stop a panic attack in its tracks.” He shrugged. “Ginny gets a lot of them.”
“I’m not having a panic attack.”
“Then it’ll be even more effective.”
Snape shrugged, unwrapped it, and downed it, blinking away the last of his tears as the draught took effect. Then, reluctantly, he uncorked the sober-up and drank.
He felt better at once, but worse, too; he picked up his tea with hands that ought to be trembling, and said—to his distant dread—“Do you have any more of those caramels, or do I have to go to the shop in person?”
“You can mail-order them. But I’ll give you a few to take home.” He returned with three after a minute, which Snape tucked into his robes next to the stupid QW flier, which had unfortunately been protected by waterproofing charms. Snape didn’t thank him, but he did double-check that the room was clean; then he collapsed back into his seat and looked away. “Are you feeling any better?”
“I was fine until you came along.”
Black barked out a startled laugh. “You were weeping and thrashing in the bloody mud!”
“Just like I wanted to be.”
Another laugh. “Uh-huh. I’m glad the caramel worked for you.”
“Who says?”
“You asked for some to take home.”
“Whatever.” Snape sighed. Black laughed again. “I’m not going to thank you for dashing to my aid.”
“I think you just did.”
Snape scowled; Black laughed yet again. “You’re welcome, Severus. Did something happen?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“I’m not allowed to care?”
“Why on Earth would you?”
“You put your life on the line for us,” Black said, and Snape blinked and looked away. Why had he even been staring into Black’s eyes to begin with? “You helped Harry when no one else would. You got us the sword when we needed it. You carried the burden of Harry’s death until you couldn’t carry it anymore. You matter.”
Snape thanked Merlin for the calming draught, considered, and unpeeled another. The vague edge of relief bled into something distant and psychedelic; Black raised both eyebrows. “Those things are very potent, you know.”
“Hm?”
Black sighed. “Well, I can make up the couch for you if you want.”
“You don’t have a floo?”
“It just makes my skin crawl to think of leaving you all alone after that.”
“That happens to me, like, once a week.”
“What, with the mud and the screaming?”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
“Maybe not the mud,” Snape allowed, and Black’s eyes crinkled. “But the weeping has been happening constantly ever since the war ended. I wish I knew why.”
It had been a mistake to take two calming draughts; the blasted things had destroyed the barrier between his mouth and his brain. “I don’t want to sleep here. I want to sleep in my own bed.”
“Okay. Can I call on you tomorrow?”
Snape eyed Curley. “You can write to me.”
“Okay.” Black ran a hand back through his hair. “Can I do anything else for you before you go?”
“Never tell anyone about this.”
Black’s face became tinged with warm amusement. “Okay.”
Dear Severus,
How are you today? Holding up alright? I’m sorry yesterday went so badly for you, and I hope you have a better day today. Let me know if you need anything or if I can help you in any way. You matter to me.
Sincerely,
Sirius
Black,
I’m fine. Just like I was yesterday.
Snape
P. S. Does Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes have an owl for the mail-ordering? I don’t actually have my own. And I think I’d rather die than set foot in there.
Dear Severus,
I ordered you three bags. You’re welcome. Let me know if you ever want to get lunch or something.
Sincerely,
Sirius
P. S. Call me Sirius, dammit.
Dear Sirius,
Fine. Thanks.
Sincerely,
Severus
P. S. It’s a resounding no to lunch. Nice try.
“How have the past few days been for you, Severus?”
He was off his tits on Calming Caramels, as he had been since he’d discovered the damned things; Healer Baldwin looked a little concerned as he laid down on the couch instead of sitting on it, and blew a raspberry. “I discovered calming draughts.”
“Oh?”
“Ask me anything. My brain-to-mouth filter is gone.”
“Will you tell me about Lily?”
Snape sat bolt upright and snarled. “Not that.”
Baldwin held up both her hands. “Okay! I’m sorry. You said anything.”
“So I did.” Snape sighed. “I ran into Sirius Black.”
“Oh?”
“He’s the one who gave me the calming draughts.”
“Why did you need one?”
It was, unfortunately, an astute question; Snape scowled as she raised an eyebrow. Then he sighed. “I suppose it’s your job to help with stuff like this. But you absolutely can’t tell anyone.”
“Severus, it’s illegal for me to do that. Unless you’re thinking of hurting yourself or others, everything in here is private until and unless you say otherwise.”
“Oh.” Snape rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve been having crying spells.”
“Crying spells?”
“I just start weeping, and can’t stop.” She wrote something down on her parchment, and he began to regret opening up. “Never mind.”
Baldwin looked up, met his eyes, and incinerated the parchment. Snape blinked, then blinked again as she leaned forwards. “Crying spells?”
“Yeah, erm,” Snape said. “Anyway, I was weeping into my tea. He sort of—we had a run-in, and I was weeping into my tea, and he gave me a Calming Caramel.”
“Why were you weeping in front of Sirius Black?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Okay. Can you think of other instances that have predicated these crying spells? Are they random, or have you noticed a pattern?”
“They seem random,” Snape admitted. “I’m cooking or reading or watching telly, and then suddenly I’m weeping.”
“No pattern of unpleasant thoughts?”
“All my thoughts are unpleasant,” Snape said distantly, regretting the calming caramels once again.
Never again before therapy, he thought, and Baldwin said, “Literally all of them? You never have thoughts that are neutral?”
“They’re my thoughts, so they’re unpleasant,” Snape said. “I don’t want to think. I just want to sleep.”
“How much do you sleep?”
“Fourteen hours. And then sometimes I take a nap.”
Baldwin tutted. “Let’s work on that.”
“Why? It’s the only thing I enjoy.”
She looked like she wanted her parchment back. “It isn’t healthy. If we’re going to get you out of this maze of unpleasant thoughts, we’re going to have to start with trying for healthier patterns of behavior. Can we scale it back to twelve hours? Ten? Will you set an alarm?”
“I’ll think about it,” Snape mumbled. “You think sleeping less will help with the crying spells?”
“It’s worth a shot. Will you pay attention to what specifically you’re thinking about when they come on?”
“I won’t tell you,” Snape said. “I regret even telling you this much. It’s the fucking calming draught. It’s made a fool of me.”
“I don’t think you’re foolish. I think it’s very brave of you to come here at all.”
“I don’t have a choice.”
“I’m not holding you at wandpoint, Severus. You keep coming to these appointments.”
“You keep making them!”
“You could cancel. You don’t.”
“Fucking Potter—”
“He begged you. That isn’t the same as forcing you.”
Snape looked away. “How long are they going to go on?”
“As long as you want.”
“I don’t want to be here.”
“Then why are you?”
Silence, and Baldwin sighed. “I want you to try natural treatments for your crying spells instead of all those chemicals,” she said. “First line of defense is regulating your breathing. Practice it with me, please. First, we breathe in…”
The next time he went to Lily’s grave, Sirius was there; he gave Snape a startled look as he approached and set down a visitation stone. “Severus?”
“Sirius. What are you doing here?”
Sirius shivered, then opened and closed his mouth. “Well, I was going to visit a few days ago, but—”
“Oh.”
“But it started raining,” Sirius continued valiantly, and Snape felt his mouth part. “I just—I hadn’t been. Things were so hectic with all the war crimes trials that I—but I figured now that things are calming down a little, I could come and pay my respects, you know?” He tilted his head. “What are you doing here?”
“I come here all the time.”
“Yeah,” Sirius said. “Well, look, do you want to get dinner? My treat.”
“I don’t like crowds.”
“Let’s order takeaway back at mine, then. Come on, I’m craving Italian.” And he held out a hand, looking so delighted when Snape took it that he almost resented the three Calming Caramels that had brought him to this state of utter zen.
When they arrived, they were in the living room he’d passed through on his way to the floo; a couch and an armchair were angled towards a television and a fireplace, surrounded by inlaid bookshelves with cabinets on the bottom. “Make yourself at home,” Sirius said, and Snape flopped down in the armchair. “What do you want from this Italian place?”
“Got a menu?”
Sirius brought it; Snape tried not to care as their fingers brushed, just infinitesimally. “Thanks.”
“Yeah.” Sirius gave him a peculiar look. “How many caramels are you on?”
“Three.”
Sirius tutted. “The recommended dose is one.”
“The recommended dose of you shutting up—”
Sirius laughed; Snape tried and failed not to stare at his neck. “Look over that menu. I’m gonna go feed my owl.”
Snape obeyed; Sirius came back and took his order, then sat down on the couch, one leg extended, one dangling down over the side. “How often do you go to their grave?”
“Five, six times a week.”
Sirius’s face was grim. “That’s what I thought.”
They sat in silence for a while, thick and awkward, and then Sirius said, “I don’t know what I’m doing. Being free. It feels like a dream. Suddenly I have all these obligations and responsibilities and—I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“I know what I’m doing,” Snape said. “But mostly it involves being pathetic.” He stared up at the ceiling, then closed his eyes. “I didn’t think I’d live through the war. Didn’t want to. Now I’m left over. Detritus. A waste of space.”
“Don’t say that.”
“It’s true. I don’t even have a job.”
“Want one of mine?”
“I’d rather die than work at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.”
“And the Wizengamot?”
“Everyone there hates me.”
“Believe me, there’s no way they hate you as much as they hate me.” Sirius grinned a rather devastating grin. “Every time I open my mouth someone looks on the verge of threatening to kill me. I think they’d be relieved if I appointed you to handle my seats.”
“Seats, plural?”
“Technically the Black seat represents fourteen votes. And Harry’s appointed me as his proxy, so that’s another five.”
“You would trust me to vote in your stead?”
“Why not? We barely vote on anything that matters anyway. Ever since the war crimes trials ended, it’s all just ‘what color should we recolor the seats to’ and—well, that’s not entirely fair. We’re ‘reconceptualizing’”—this said with derisive air quotes—“a lot of the laws that got us into this mess. I’ve been doing my best to argue for outright repealment, but half the time my comments get stricken from the record because I didn’t raise my hand properly or something. It’s fucking exhausting.”
“Sounds like a waking nightmare.”
“But it is technically a job.”
“I don’t want your job, Black.”
“Sirius.”
“I don’t want your job, Sirius. I just want to never have to think ever again.”
“Hence the Calming Caramels. Your plan is to spend the rest of your life drugged?”
“Why not?”
Sirius pursed his lips. “I wouldn’t have got you three bags if I’d thought—”
“Why do you care so much? Aren’t I more pleasant to be around?”
“You’re like a zombie. It’s a little disturbing.”
“Why do you care?”
The food arrived; Sirius distributed it appropriately, then sat down and began to eat. “I don’t know why I care. I think maybe seeing you in that graveyard made me feel responsible for you.”
“Well, you’re not.” Snape began to regret his own inability to get worked up as he contemplated this. “That’s repugnant. Repulsive. Never imply that again.”
Sirius let out a long, deep sigh. “We’re all of us responsible for one another. Just because you’ve chosen to abdicate your responsibility doesn’t make it untrue.”
Oh, Snape thought, and stared at Sirius with what he suspected were abnormally wide eyes. “Well, that’s—”
He took a bite of eggplant parmesan so he wouldn’t have to think about it again; Sirius frowned. “You should stick to one if you’re going to be doped up on those things.”
“I’ll think about it.”
Sirius broke out into a wide grin. “Okay.” He took a bite of his lasagna and shook his head a few times. “I can’t believe that worked.”
“I suppose you’ve been honing your rhetorical skills in the Wizengamot.” Sirius beamed. “And I am high.”
Sirius laughed. “Yeah. Do you want to watch a film?”
“Sure,” Snape said. “Why not.”
They watched Monty Python and the Holy Grail in relative silence, excepting Sirius’s laughter; Snape found himself dismayed at his own inability to react, and wondered why he even cared. Why should it matter that the plight of Sir Galahad only struck him as funny in a distant, uncanny way?
“Should’ve known even this couldn’t get you to laugh,” Sirius said, and Snape grimaced. “You alright?”
“Fine. Fine.”
“Alright.”
When the film ended, they both stood; Sirius made an aborted gesture towards him, in what Snape suspected in dread might have been the beginnings of a hug. “Can I call on you?”
“You have Curley.”
Sirius lit up. “You remembered his name.”
“Hard to forget.” Snape scowled. “Write to me, if you absolutely have to. I don’t think we should be friends, but I can’t stop you.”
Dear Severus,
How are you doing? Holding up alright? I’m doing fine. No Wizengamot today, so I think I’m going to go by WWW and help George out with sales or inventory or whatever he needs help with. Do you have plans? Do you want to get dinner or something? Let me know!
Your friend,
Sirius
Sirius—
My plans for today are to take a nap, watch telly, and go by the graveyard. I feel as though I ought to brew, but I haven’t been in my lab since the war ended, and I can’t bring myself to open the door and start. I know it’s silly, but it feels exhausting to contemplate. I wish I knew why.
No, I don’t want to get dinner. I hate crowds. Just like I hate you.
Have fun at the joke shop, and have a good day—
Severus
Healer Baldwin always cast a brain-scanning charm on him before their sessions, though she never told him what she was looking for; this time, she sighed, and sat him down on the couch, looking a little relieved when he didn’t lie down. “No calming draught?”
“It made me open up. I didn’t like it.”
“Well, I’m glad to have a bit of information about you,” she said. “But I’m also glad you’re not drugging yourself to get through the day. Any more crying spells?”
Snape nodded. Baldwin didn’t react. “Did the breathing help?”
Snape nodded again. “Well, that’s good,” she said, and Snape looked at the floor. “Did you pay attention to what thoughts preceded these crying spells? How many did you have?”
“Four.”
“What were you thinking about?”
He had paid attention, though he had no intention of telling her so; twice he had been thinking about Lily, once about what the Carrows had done to the children, and once about his trial. “Nothing.”
Baldwin tutted. “Well, we can still deploy some tactics to fight those when they come on. Do you let yourself cry, or do you beat yourself up about it?”
Snape looked away. “I thought so,” Baldwin said. “I’ll give you some more tactics to try to stop crying, but I also want you to try, next time, simply letting yourself be upset. Make yourself a cup of tea, lie down in bed with a blanket, and have a good cry.”
“I’ve been crying too much.”
“Letting ourselves feel things is the first step to getting over those feelings.”
Snape blinked, looked up, and scowled. “What if they’re bad feelings?”
“Especially when they’re bad feelings. If you suppress them, how will you ever learn what you’re up against?”
Snape kept scowling. Baldwin gave him an aggravating little half-smile. “Okay, well, first on the list after breathing is to try smiling. I know it sounds hokey, but…”
Snape set foot in the banal community center room with a certain amount of dread, but nobody spared him a second glance. He was exactly on time, so there were only about five seats left in the giant circle; a number of people were visibly queer, but others could have easily passed for straight. It took, Snape knew, a certain amount of bravery to come out to a group this size, also gay or not, and he tipped an imaginary hat in his mind with aplomb.
He locked eyes with Healer Baldwin as he scanned the crowd; she started, then grinned a face-splitting grin at him, giving him two thumbs up and mouthing, Hi! Hello! Hi! Thank you for coming!
Snape scowled back, and she laughed and sat down at a vacant seat, becoming the head of the circle as everyone quieted. “Hello, everyone,” she said, only the silence serving to amplify her voice. “My name is Jackie, and I run this group. What we always do to start is go around the circle and say our names and how our weeks were. I’ll start. I’m Jackie, and my week was good. My wife and I went to a play last weekend, which was a lot of fun.”
“What play?” someone yelled, and Snape looked up at none other than Sirius Black.
Oh, Snape thought, hot humiliation warring with an extraordinarily startling, extraordinarily intense relief. Him.
“The Tempest,” Baldwin said, and several people oohed. “My daughter has really been enjoying her apprenticeship, too. It was a good week.”
A beat, and then the person next to her said, “Hi, I’m Onir. My week was great, actually. At work…”
Snape went before Sirius did; when the circle reached him, he said only, “I’m Severus. My week was fine.”
A long pause, and then the person next to him said, “Erm, I’m Jessica. My week was really hard. My father’s still being a right cunt about my coming out, so there was a lot of tension around…”
When the circle reached Sirius, he locked eyes with Snape and smiled an extraordinarily gentle smile. Then he looked away. “Hello, everyone. My name is Sirius. My week was okay. I’ve been dealing with some depression, but I’ve also been getting out and spending time with family and friends. It’s still hard with Harry being back in school, but my aunt has been letting me babysit for my nephew, so that’s been a lot of fun.”
The person next to him patted him on the arm. “I’m Safiya. My week was alright. I’m still coming to terms with this whole bipolar thing, so I…”
When it reached Baldwin again, she clapped once and smiled. “Alright. Great to hear from you, everyone. What we’re going to talk about now is what queer community means to us. What do you think when you hear the word community? How has it helped you or let you down? How can we better build a community that benefits all its members? What does your ideal queer community look like?”
Afterwards, everyone went outside to figure out if their usual hangout spot was willing to accommodate the usual group of queers while various people bummed fags off one another; he approached Sirius as he lit up, trying not to notice the way his face echoed his actions. “Severus,” he breathed. “Hey. I didn’t know you were—hey.”
“Hey.” He nodded at the young person who had bummed Sirius the fag, one he vaguely remembered from his Potions classes, who appraised him in blessed disinterest. “I’m bi. Jackie asked me to come to this.”
“Why did you?”
Snape shrugged. “It’s not like I had anything better to do with my Thursday night.”
“Well, hey. Do you want to come with everybody to the Pie Tin? It’s always a lot of fun.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Then we should go back to mine and watch a film,” Sirius said. “Come on, let’s pick something out together at Blockbuster. There’s one five minutes from my flat. Just let me finish this and we’ll—”
“Okay.” He watched as Sirius said his goodbyes to half the crowd, shrinking into himself as he returned and held out his arm. “Are you sure you don’t want to go to dinner? I can just go back to my house. You don’t have to—”
“Positive. Come on.” He looked pleased when Snape took his arm, guiding him to the Blockbuster on foot; Snape started and dropped it when a random stranger yelled a slur at them. “You don’t have to—”
“I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“Feels nice. To be touched. You don’t have to stop just because some bigot—”
“I don’t want to lead you on anyway,” Snape said, pretending not to notice as Sirius’s face fell.
Blockbuster wasn’t busy, thank Merlin; Sirius didn’t complain as Snape gravitated towards the art house cinema, though he did good-naturedly try to steer him towards the less depressing of these choices. They ended up compromising on My Own Private Idaho, which Snape had a sinking feeling would end up backfiring on him; Sirius, though, didn’t seem so gleeful as to be disturbing. Rather, he seemed subtly pleased, and held out his arm again when they reached the street, only deflating a little when Snape shook his head.
Sirius got the VHS rewound as they settled into the living room, Snape taking the couch as Sirius curled up on the armchair. “Ready?”
“Roll ‘em.”
He was weeping by the end of the film, much to his horror; he’d thought the caramels would be enough to prevent any strong feeling, but they had partly worn off, and partly warped it; instead he merely felt resigned in addition to the horror, unable to summon the depths of humiliation he knew he needed to feel. They were there, but muted, impossible to fully access as a more surface-level embarrassment shone through. “Oh, Merlin,” he moaned. “Oh, fuck.”
“It was quite sad,” Sirius agreed, sounding a hint amused as he crept over to the couch and sat down hesitantly. “You didn’t strike me as the type to cry about films.”
“I’m not,” Snape moaned, and Sirius raised an eyebrow. “I’m not! Ever since the war’s end—”
“Crying spells. Right. You told me about that. They started after the war?”
Snape nodded and wiped at his still-streaming face with his kerchief. Sirius moved a careful hand over to cover his own. “After my—my—in the hospital, when I realized it hadn’t worked, I started weeping. Haven’t stopped weeping since.” He made a noise of disgust. “I took so many Calming Caramels today.”
“I’d offer you another, but I’m not sure drug abuse is the answer here. Do you want a hug?”
Snape nodded, then shook his head, then shook it more vigorously. “No. No.”
“Okay.” His face grew impish. “What about a kiss?”
Snape scowled and gave him the V; Sirius broke into peals of laughter, squeezing his hand from where he still held it. “I’m gonna make us some tea. Okay?”
“Okay.” He watched as Sirius stood, then unwrapped another caramel and downed it while he was out of eyeshot. What was it, this feeling that consumed his insides even through the haze of drugs? Certainly he had a healthy appreciation for beauty; that had been impossible not to notice from about a week after he figured out he liked boys. Was it better to feel it so he could get it over with, or would it run rampant if he gave it the slightest inch?
Sirius came back bearing tea; Snape accepted it with a murmured thanks, wondering if it was socially acceptable to flee before it was done and then wondering why he cared. “Felt good,” he said, and Sirius raised an eyebrow. “Being around that many other queer people.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s why I spend so much time partying at gay bars.”
Snape rolled his eyes. “I don’t think it’s the same thing.”
“No. No, it isn’t.” Sirius abruptly looked very drawn. Snape gulped down half his tea. “I love QW. I’m really glad you came.”
“Me too, I think,” Snape said. “Don’t tell Jackie.”
Sirius broke out into peals of laughter. “Will do! Any particular reason?”
“She’ll be insufferably smug about it.”
Sirius shook his head. “Who are you, Severus?”
Snape stood; he’d drained the other half of his tea during the question. “A man who’s leaving. Thanks for—thanks.”
“Yeah.” Sirius looked like he desperately wanted to hug him again, and appeased himself by squeezing Snape’s hand, wincing when he drew in a harsh breath, not letting go even despite it. “Thank you for humoring me, Severus.”
“Yeah.” Snape sighed, squeezed back, and pulled away. “Well, erm, bye.”
“Bye,” Sirius breathed, and watched him the whole time he flooed home.
The next day, Healer Baldwin seemed so pleased that Snape’s eyes skittered away the second they met hers. “Thank you for coming to the support group,” she said, and Snape scowled and shrugged and looked away and wished he’d taken a calming draught after all. “You went home with Sirius Black? Or did you go out?”
“What do you care? Why did you even notice?”
“I care about you, Severus,” Baldwin said. “And I noticed because it’s my job to notice things.”
“Your job ends at the hour mark.”
“My job never ends,” Baldwin said. She sounded drawn. “Those calming draughts really helped you open up.”
“That’s why I didn’t take one.”
“And I’m glad you didn’t. Have you been continuing to abuse them outside of this?”
Snape looked away, which was, he knew, answer enough. “Let’s work on that,” she said, and sighed. “Sirius Black. This is the second time you’ve socialized with him.”
“The third.”
“What?”
“This was the third time. I ran into him again before last session. And he wrote to me.”
“Oh? Do you want to tell me about it?”
“No,” Snape said. Then: “We’ve been watching films.”
“That sounds like fun.”
“We watched My Own Private Idaho.”
Baldwin grinned. “Do you want any more queer film recommendations?”
The next time he went to Lily’s grave, Sirius was there. “Severus! Hey! Do you want to go get dinner with me?”
“This is contrived,” Snape accused. “You came here hoping to run into me.”
Sirius shrugged one perfect shoulder. “So?”
Snape didn’t have an answer; Sirius was beaming at him so brightly it was a little inappropriate for a graveyard. “Come on, come eat with me.”
He started when Snape shrank into himself. “What?”
“Can we just get takeaway at yours?”
“Oh. Yeah, sure.” Sirius reached out and touched his arm, looking relieved when Snape didn’t flinch. “Want to watch a film again?”
Snape nodded. “Jackie gave me a list of recommendations,” he said, and Sirius blinked. “Of queer movies. At therapy.”
“That’s where you know her from?”
He reached out when Snape shrank into himself again. “Sorry, shite, sorry, I didn’t mean—I’m sorry. I found out about the group from one of my old fuckbuddies.” He laughed. “When there’s one gay bar near Diagon Alley, you do tend to meet wizards as well as muggles. Diego, his name was. He—anyway. We still run into each other there. I’m really glad Jackie managed to get a read off you and invite you.”
“Managed to?”
“I never could tell about your sexuality. I wondered for years.”
Snape hid a smile. “I came out to her after she told me about her wife. Are we going to Blockbuster or not?”
The Birdcage managed to penetrate the haze of the calming draughts enough that Snape was at least wide awake by the end of it; when Sirius suggested they follow it up with Bound, though, he squirmed. “I think it’s time for me to head home.”
“Will you stay for a nightcap?”
“Oh, alright.”
He stayed still as Sirius poured them both firewhiskeys from a bottle that had been hidden inside an ornamental globe; Sirius came to him, handed it over, and said, “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” Sirius’s delight filled the room as they clinked glasses. “Why do you care so much if I stay, anyway?”
“I dunno.”
“Insightful.”
“Oh, bugger off.” Sirius grinned. “I just like you. I sort of always have.”
“You hated me. With a passion.”
“Exactly. I felt passionately about you. There was always something… I dunno. Sparks, there. And now that I have you here with me, I don’t want to let you go. Is that terrible?”
“It’s a little frightening.”
“Why?”
“We’ve already established that I don’t want to lead you on.” Sirius’s face fell so much that Snape grimaced. “There’s nothing inside me, Sirius. I’m a black hole in the shape of a man. I don’t have a heart or a soul or anything but darkness and misery. I can’t feel. You don’t want to get hung up on someone who can never feel it back. Don’t care about me. You’ll destroy your own heart.”
Sirius had gone pale by the end of this speech, but he shook his head and wagged a finger at Snape when he recovered himself. “Bollocks.”
“Excuse me?”
“You couldn’t even make it through My Own Private Idaho without weeping,” Sirius said, and Snape cursed internally. “Whatever self-image problems led you to believe that you had to give me that horrible speech, they don’t reflect reality. You’re a romantic. I can smell it.” He shifted, came to Snape, and sniffed his leg pointedly. Then he went human again. “A hopeless romantic. It’s written all over you.”
Snape stood, panicked. He ignored the firewhiskey as it sloshed onto the couch. “I have to go.”
“Severus, wait, I’m sorry—”
“Bye,” Snape said, and apparated away.
“Sirius Black is stalking me,” Snape announced, flopping down on the couch and staring up at the popcorn ceiling. Healer Baldwin made an indescribable noise. “Yes, I’m on the caramels again.”
A sigh. “At least you can admit it, I suppose. Sirius is stalking you?”
“He showed up at Lily’s grave to see me,” Snape said. “Third time I’ve run into him there.”
“And how often do you go to Lily’s grave?”
“Five, six times a week,” Snape said, aware he was making a monumental mistake but unable to make himself care. How many caramels had he taken today? Five?
“That’s a lot,” Baldwin said noncommittally. Snape shrugged. “Why do you go so much?” Another shrug. “Did you go that often before the war ended?”
“Sometimes, during the summers. But not really.”
“Why do you think you are now?”
“I miss her,” Snape blurted, then cursed himself. He grabbed the nearest throw pillow and shoved it over his head, groaning and hitting it once. “Stop asking me questions.”
“That’s my job. How does it make you feel to go to her grave?”
“Bad. Everything makes me feel bad.”
“Everything?”
“Yes.”
“How about this,” Baldwin said. “Why don’t we make a list? Five things you have to be grateful for.”
“I’m not grateful for anything.”
“I have my health. I’m grateful for that. What about you?”
“I wish I were fucking dead.” He discarded the pillow, sitting up and facing her. “I’m not going to do anything about it, but that doesn’t make it not true. There is no bright side of my life. There’s just endless, ceaseless misery. I’m not fucking grateful for my health, Jackie.”
“Okay,” she said evenly. “What about sunny days?”
He didn’t see Sirius again until the support group that Thursday, in part because he avoided Lily’s grave; when he arrived in the room, a number of men surrounded Sirius, vying for his attention. He ignored them all to stand and meet Snape’s eyes, flourishing a hand at the empty seat next to him.
Snape, despite himself, went to him; Sirius’s face lit up in a grin as he patted his arm and said, “How’s your week been going? Haven’t seen you at the graveyard.”
“Have you taken up residence?”
“Thereabouts,” Sirius said agreeably. Snape groaned. “Busy week?”
Snape scowled. “All I do is sleep. I was just hoping to avoid you.”
Sirius’s face fell. Snape took his hand and squeezed it once. So much delight came rushing in that he looked away, crossed his arms over his chest, and muttered, “Bah, humbug.”
Sirius burst out laughing, until he was wheezing and gasping and doubled over in his chair; several men watched Snape in open envy. Mine, he thought, and bared his teeth, then realized what he was doing and recoiled in horror.
He isn’t yours. Not even close. You stop that.
But the urge to touch Sirius became overpowering again; helpless, he tucked their arms together, pretending not to notice as Sirius sat bolt upright and gave him an awed look. “Too many Calming Caramels,” Snape said truthfully, and Sirius’s face twisted in concern. “I’ve taken, like, eight today.”
“Destroyed your impulse control?”
Snape squeezed the inside of Sirius’s forearm in answer; the man gave him an unbearably affectionate look, and Snape glanced away.
“Welcome everyone, welcome welcome,” came Healer Baldwin’s voice. “We’ll be starting in about two minutes, if you could all take your seats. Great to see you.”
“Listen,” Sirius said in an undertone. “I’m sorry about the other day. It was out of line. I shouldn’t have overwhelmed you after you’d just given me a speech about having intimacy issues.”
“Thanks,” Snape managed, and Sirius nodded once. “That’s—thanks.”
“But I’m not giving up on you,” Sirius said. “Not ever. Deal?”
“Why would I be okay with that?”
“Every week we start this group the same way,” Baldwin said, and they both fell silent.
QW passed quickly, as it had the week before; they apparated to Sirius’s flat without a word after Sirius said all his goodbyes. Sirius’s eyes scrunched up in obvious joy, and he said, “Bound?”
“My God, you still have it?”
Sirius shrugged. “Well, I was hoping…”
He trailed off, and abruptly Snape felt bad for avoiding the graveyard. Insofar as he could feel anything; the four Calming Caramels it had taken to make himself attend the support group gave the whole night a distant, hazy quality, as though he were trapped in a perpetual dream.
I’m lucky I haven’t splinched myself, Snape realized, and Sirius said, “Sorry. I shouldn’t have disrupted your time at the graveyard.” He laughed. “I can’t believe you came back to QW. At least you’re letting me be around you now.”
“Why do you care so much?”
“You compel me.”
It was painfully earnest, almost raw; Snape looked away as Sirius laughed again, then up as he rubbed the back of his neck. “Anyway, erm, sorry for following you around. It won’t happen again.”
“It’s okay.”
“It is?”
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
Sirius was gazing into his eyes now; Snape gazed back for a long moment, then heaved a sigh. “Bound?”
He was half-asleep by the end of the film, even despite how exciting it was; he tried to protest when Sirius broke out pillows and blankets, but it was so half-hearted that Sirius just smoothed his hand over his forehead and kissed it. “Stay here.”
“Okay.”
“Good.” Sirius tucked him in very gently, kissed his forehead again, and left the room.
“It was good to see you at QW again,” Healer Baldwin said. Snape scowled, then sighed and shrank into himself. “I’m very glad and grateful that you came back. How’s Sirius doing?”
“Who says I know?”
Baldwin just raised an eyebrow. Snape’s scowl deepened. “We watched Bound. I fell asleep there.”
“Oh?”
“Nothing happened. I just slept on his couch.”
“I’m really happy to know you’re socializing,” she said. “And I know Sirius is a very good person.”
“Too good a person,” Snape said, and Baldwin made an interested noise. “He shouldn’t be friends with someone as—as wretched as me.”
“You aren’t wretched, Severus. You’re a hero.”
“I’m wretched!” Snape burst out. “I’m a fucking monster!”
He’d only taken one Calming Caramel before he came; evidently all it had accomplished was getting him to open up just enough to be horrifying.
“You aren’t a monster either,” Baldwin said calmly. “You’re a man. You went through a lot of very awful things, which—”
“I did awful things! I stood by and watched as—as—you can never understand.”
“Maybe not,” she agreed. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t offer you tactics to deal with what you’re going through.”
Snape took a deep breath, then another. “Tactics?”
Dear Severus,
Do you want to get dinner? Or come to my place and watch a film and order takeaway? Or go to a gay bar? Or do anything at all that involves breathing the same air? Let me know.
Sincerely,
Sirius
P. S. I hope you’re having an okay day today. I worry about you.
Sirius,
Fine. Let’s order Italian and watch something off Jackie’s list. I’ll attach a copy. You be responsible for obtaining it.
Severus
P. S. You shouldn’t worry. All I do is sleep and visit Lily’s grave. I don’t even brew anymore. I don’t think I could come to harm if I tried.
Severus,
Wonderful! I’m attaching a menu; let me know what you want from the Italian place and I’ll be responsible for that too. See you around seven?
XOXO,
Sirius
P. S. You understand how unbelievably worrisome the phrase ‘I don’t even brew anymore’ is, right?
Snape flooed over to Sirius’s flat that evening at seven o’clock sharp, unsure whether to be relieved or horrified when he realized Sirius was sitting on the couch, blatantly waiting for him to arrive. He settled, to his dread, on an aching tenderness, one so fierce and wild it penetrated even the haze of the calming potions; Sirius jolted up and reached for him, retracting his hand, then extending it again and taking Snape’s between his own. “Hey.”
“Hey.” Snape yawned; Sirius smiled a horrid tender smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. “What are we watching?”
“Desert Hearts,” Sirius said. “I’m going to go ahead and buy what I can off the list, but luckily the video store had a few things Jackie recommends.” He laughed. “I really do love that woman.”
“I suppose she’s tolerable.”
“She any good as a therapist?”
“That’s none of your business.” He wanted the words to be sharp, but they came out lazy, almost sarcastic; after a moment, he found himself elaborating. “She taught me a breathing exercise. And she wants me to only sleep twelve hours a day.”
“Merlin, how much do you sleep now?”
“Fourteen, fifteen hours. Sometimes more if I nap.”
“Well,” Sirius said. “I’m honored that you’re spending your few waking hours with me.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
Sirius grinned; Snape resisted the urge to grin back. “C’mon, food’s in the kitchen. I think they sent garlic bread with your spaghetti.”
When Sirius sat down on the armchair, Snape had to resist the urge to invite him to the couch; there was a moment where he wanted to touch him so badly he had to bite his tongue, though it soon passed, replaced instead by a dull, throbbing heartache. “What’s the film about?”
“I dunno. It’s on the list.” Snape shook his head; Sirius laughed. “Presumably the desert is involved somehow. And lesbianism.”
“Brilliant.”
The film went by quickly, and ended with Snape yawning so many times that Sirius started laughing. “Fifteen hours a day, huh?”
“I wish I knew why,” Snape mumbled. “I know intellectually it isn’t healthy, but I just—I don’t want to be awake, and suicide feels—exhausting. As exhausting as living. What if there’s a hell? I’ll end up there. I don’t want—yes. Fifteen hours a day.”
“I’m very glad you aren’t dead,” Sirius said carefully. “Very, very glad. Will you promise me you won’t try it again? For my sake?”
“Absolutely not.”
Sirius sagged. “Yeah. Well, thanks for coming over.”
It was obviously a dismissal; Snape stood, feeling his hands twitch towards Sirius as he stood too. “Well, erm, bye.”
“Bye,” Sirius said. Then: “Fuck it.” And his arms were full of the man.
Snape hung on for dear life as Sirius held him, moving a hand up to cup Snape’s neck and pressing the sides of their faces together, just slightly. He kissed Snape’s cheek as he pulled away, blushing a little; Snape scowled back, then realized he was holding the man’s hand.
He dropped it, letting out a long, deep sigh. “Goodbye, Sirius.”
“Bye. Don’t kill yourself.”
“Okay,” Snape blurted, and cursed himself the whole time he turned away and apparated home.