"I'll get to the point, then," said Sirius, standing up. He was rather taller than Snape who, Harry noticed, balled his fist in the pocket of his cloak over what Harry was sure was the handle of his wand. "If I hear you're using these Occlumency lessons to give Harry a hard time, you'll have me to answer to." (JK Rowling, Order of the Phoenix, p459, British edition.)
He had decided to arrive unannounced. That way, he could avoid whom he wished to avoid, see whom he intended to see, and leave again with the minimum of fuss.
At least, that was the plan. And if that did not work, then it would simply be a pleasure to annoy everyone quite unexpectedly in the process.
And, if not everyone, perhaps just certain people.
Or person.
Severus Snape shrugged his robes a little, and stepped up the weed-fringed path of 12 Grimmauld Place. As he stepped up to the door, wand raised, it creaked open to reveal the malevolent features of Black's' house elf.
The expression on its face was as if it had been hoping to see someone else.
Severus swept past him into the gloomy hall. "I wish to see the boy, Potter, immediately."
"He asks for the filthy half-blood runt," the house elf murmured, closing the door. "He can looks for it himself, he can."
Severus stared. Kreacher stared back, unblinking, his watery eyes calculating and fanatical. Severus carefully raised one eyebrow, just a fraction. The house elf backed off and slipped through a slightly open door, and closed it.
Severus stood still and listened to the house. He could hear children upstairs, laughing. More distantly, the voice of Molly Weasley berating someone. His eyes fell upon the kitchen door. He walked quietly to it and pushed it open.
Black was standing at the kitchen table, his back to the door, preparing vegetables. He was speaking softly to himself, in a tone so low that Severus could not hear distinct words. He cut the potatoes, Severus noticed, with an attitude of inattentive abandon. He watched and waited for the inevitable flesh cut; but it did not come. Black laid down the knife and moved sideways to the sink, where he began to wash a bouquet of asparagus.
Severus smiled slightly, his brow arching in response, as he wondered who Black was cooking asparagus for, if the dolt even realised the implications of the vegetable. He studied the man's figure, noting the jut of his collar bone and his shoulder blade through the worn cloth of his shirt, the hard nub of his wrist bone, the muscle waste visible on his forearm and hinted at beneath the hanging folds of his trouser legs: a shadow of his former self.
He had been handsome, before Azkaban. What must it be like, Severus mused, to have had that adulation, to have had one's pick of playmates and lovers, only to become this slightly unwholesome example of manhood.
A memory of this man from another age momentarily super-imposed itself in front of Severus' eyes, and the potency of it almost made him gasp: but the image, the emotion, was just a snatch, one he had forgotten, or did not remember ever having … he frowned, tugging it gently back into the light, where he could examine it again, but it had disintegrated.
Suspicion uncurled in his mind and he scowled at Black. What had triggered that … unusual train of thought? With care, his hand moved to curl around his wand and he withdrew it, pointed it at Black, and said:
"And the asparagus is for …?"
Black whirled around, dropping the vegetables. His eyes flickered from Severus' face to his wand.
Severus smiled, thinly. "Perhaps you are thinking of feeding some of the aphrodisiac to that house elf of yours? He's certainly in need of some tender loving care, by the look of him."
Black regained his balance. "Don't lecture me on my treatment of others," he said, nastily.
"Get it over with. Behead him. It's what he wants and he's less of a liability."
"That's your choice of solution?" Black smirked, very slightly. "Typical."
Severus smiled, flashing his teeth, his wand still and ready.
Black stared along its length back to his face. "It comes to this," he said, grimly. "A curse to an unarmed man in his own kitchen?"
"Since when were you one to beg for mercy?" Severus hissed, stepping closer.
Black spread his hands and shrugged, nonchalant. "Since when were you one to give it," he said. "Come on, take me, Snivellus."
Severus studied him, quite calmly. "As much as the thought tempts me," he said, "I will get my time, but it is not now." Considering Black tamed, he tucked his wand away with a casual air.
Black smiled, revealing a shadow of his former self. "Never one for the subtleties of the double entendre."
"On the contrary," he began, in low hiss, but the memory from earlier flitted through his mind again, and he faltered.
"Lost for words? Surely not."
Unnerved, which of course was the last thing he would ever display in front of Black, he reached inside his robes and pulled out the letter. "I would rather have words with Potter," he said, smirking slightly to cover his unease.
"What about?" Black was suddenly serious.
"In private."
"He'll tell me anyway."
Severus raised a brow. "Nevertheless."
"Look, you smug, annoying –"
"Yes, yes," Severus said, in a bored tone, wafting away his insults with the letter, "greasy, slimy –"
"- I was going to say treacherous," Black growled, sullenly.
"Congratulations: a multi-syllabic insult."
"Well, you know, life's too short to waste it thinking up insults!"
"Apparently so, for some."
"You don't get it, do you?" Black asked. He was flushed. His fingers were curled tight into his palms. "Normally, I just -"
"Hex first, insult later?" He smiled, thinly.
They stared at each other. Severus felt his heart pounding with excitement. Black looked just as aroused, more so: he noted the effort in the way he forced his fists to relax.
"That's Dumbledore's writing."
"I want to speak to Potter."
"What about?"
"That is between him and I, and Dumbledore."
Black moved fast. They struggled, toppled, and collapsed to the hard floor in a tangle of limbs and robes. Black was on top of him. He smelled quite strongly of fire whisky and day-old sweat. Severus held the letter at arm's length, bringing his knee up between Black's legs. Black 'Umphed' and twisted away, towards the letter, over-reaching himself and falling on him with his full weight.
The memory that had teased only a little, hooked a finger in his consciousness as he glared up into Black's eyes ….
…. fury, pain, humiliation ….
…. Black looked murderously satisfied to be crushing the breath out of his prey, but then his expression altered as he realised that something had happened in Severus' head. He looked …. shocked, anxious … secretive.
He struggled to get up, but Severus grasped a handful of hair and held him fast. "What?" he hissed through his teeth.
"I don't know what you mean."
"I think you do."
The memory faded in and out …. Protests, hexes, physically struggling against the strength of another boy ….
Severus released him and Black rolled off, sitting back on his haunches. Severus sat up, still gripping the letter. He stared hard at the other man, but Black's expression was closed.
Something once happened, Severus thought: and I cannot remember it.
That was a terrible feeling. He had twenty-twenty recall. Always.
But Black was not about to enlighten him. Very well.
He offered the letter. Black snatched it and stood up, ripping it open. He got slowly to his feet, straightening and smoothing his robes, patting his wand, flicking his hair back from his face.
"Great," Black muttered, under his breath.
"That would depend upon your perspective."
"What is this shit?" Black waved the parchment.
"Occlumency is certainly not shit!" he hissed through his teeth. "Some of us used the last decade to hone skills other than making friends with fleas and licking their own balls? Why, now I think about it, I'm surprised you ever wanted to leave Azka – "
"Oh, fuck off, Snape!" Black looked really mad, his eyes blazing. He tossed the open letter onto the table. "Why does Harry have to learn this? What will it achieve?"
"Let's just say," Severus murmured, smoothly, "we will be discussing external penetration."
Black stared at him, looking shocked and very serious indeed.
"And how to avoid it, of course."
"You what?"
"During private lessons, no less." Deliberately, he turned his back on the other man, stretching his arm as if he was going to pull out a chair at the table. "Not a job I would have wished on my worst enemy, obviously, but I'm sure I'll rise to the occasion."
Black struck: he was upon him before Severus heard him move; quick, like a gun hound on its prey, knocking him flat on his stomach on the table, a strong hand on the back of his neck forcing his cheek against the warm wood; the other hand twisting his wand arm up behind his back; his crotch pressed against Severus' buttocks through cloth, feet nudging his own apart, holding him in place, open, vulnerable.
Severus closed his eyes and welcomed the memory inside. It was in the soft pant and solid pressure of the dog-man; in the silence of the stone room; in the pounding of his own heart.
- smell – owl shit – cold air on my back - my arse – a hand – grasping – hands everywhere – flesh – taste of blood -
Pressure across his back. Hot breath on his ear. "You'd rather we did it this way, Snivellus?"
"I believe we've been here before," he tried to purr, but his cheek was too hard against the wood. His arm hurt.
Pause. "You remember."
He shifted a little to relieve the pain, and half expected to feel Sirius hard against him, but felt only a flaccid bundle in response. "Why, I expected a more outstanding response," he breathed, sarcastically, still hazarding guesses.
"On the contrary," Black snarled, "this is the most fun I've had in twelve years. Not counting licking my balls."
"Naturally. Did you Obliviate me, or was that someone else?"
Pause again. "That was Peter. Obviously. Another fucked-up curse." Black suddenly released him and stepped back. When Severus pushed himself up from the table and turned, he was standing at the sink again, staring out of the grimy window into the dismal street.
Severus straightened his hair and his robes. He patted his wand, and pulled up a chair, finding his legs suddenly too shaky. Besides, he was probably safer, with his arse on a chair.
Questions clamoured for attention on his lips, but he pressed them back, reading all the answers he could ever want on Black's somber profile. Strangely, he felt quite numb to what he had discovered, as if it had happened to another boy, one he did not much like, one he did not know. A small voice whispered, It's you, Severus, they raped you, those brave boys.
And, like cowards, stole the memory. Severus raked his eyes across every inch of Black, seeking the Gryffindor, and failing. And Black knew it, felt it. Severus wondered if he remembered it as he had remembered Lily and James' deaths: often, and with regret; one of them, at least, should have got some mileage out of it.
"Did I fight well?" He had not meant to ask the question, but did not regret it.
Black turned his head slightly and eyed him. The late sunlight trickled sickly yellow through the glass and lit his face, glinting faintly off his eyes. He nodded, sharply, once.
"Did you hurt me?"
Black's nostrils flared and his jaw set.
Severus drummed his finger tips softly on the table, his mind gathering speed, his heart thump-thumping quite alarmingly. He swallowed, hard. "Did I weep," he demanded quietly, his voice tight.
Black stared at him for a moment longer, looking slightly bewildered, then turned his face away to the window again. "Of course you fucking didn't," he said, thickly.
He let loose a long, deep, slow breath, and folded his hands on his lap. "Interesting."
"Not really." Black plunged his hands into the sink and began washing them. "I can't say that it was something I've looked back upon and thought, hey, that was interesting, I should …." Silence dragged across the words he left unsaid.
"Such Slytherin qualities," Severus mused.
"No, I was just a bastard, not a Slytherin," he bit back.
And he did not say sorry, Severus noted, with cool satisfaction.
"So," he said, attentively, "where were we? Ah, yes: Harry." He smirked.
Black turned. His hands dripped water onto the stone floor. "And why would you suddenly use his first name?" he growled, quietly.
Severus sprang to his feet, pointing his wand at an astonished Black, and he said, "Legilimens!"
Black fell back against the kitchen worktop. Severus snatched images across the connection. Black groaned and slumped to the floor. Severus endured what he could of Azkaban and, more strangely, of being a dog, and withdrew. He sat down again, replacing his wand and folding his hands calmly on his lap, fighting to control his racing heart.
Black struggled to his feet, looking shocked. He just stared back.
"If you'd have studied Occlumency, you would have been able to avoid that," Severus said.
At that moment, the kitchen door burst open, and Molly Weasley struggled in under the weight of a laundry basket. She stopped at the sight of him, her eyes flickering to their host and back again. She set the basket on the edge of the table. "Prof – Severus," she said, with an effort at warmth in her tone.
"Molly. I assume Potter is here. I have a message for him from Dumbledore."
"He's upstairs," she replied. "I'll get him for you, shall I?" There was a crease in the quick look she cast Black before she turned back out of the room.
"Legilimency," Black said, breathlessly. "Rape of the mind."
Severus did not respond. He let the theory take shape in Black's head.
"Look, Snape, I'm –" Black broke off, taking a deep breath, "I'm ashamed of what we did."
Severus surveyed him through narrowed eyes. "How noble."
"I just want you to know that."
"Why?"
Black was silent. He absently wiped the palms of his hands on his trousers.
"Perhaps I will call round, one night, with Dumbledore's Pensieve. Because, unfortunately, as I can't quite remember what you did, and as Legilimency is not always the most precise art, you may, out of the goodness of your repentant heart, like to give me the opportunity to properly examine the event."
Black looked sickened. He sank into a chair at the table and stared at the open letter. Snape clamped his jaw tight against the near-hysterical insults that threatened to pour from his lips. He could feel the numbness melting. The desire for revenge would soon flare. From experience, he knew he would likely only benefit from it if he encouraged it to smoulder, slowly, over time.
He had to get this over and done with, before he cracked. But who could have resisted another twist of the knife?
"We were about Harry's age, weren't we?" he asked, casually.
"I will kill you," Black said, quite simply, with the venom of a Slytherin, "if Voldemort doesn't get you first."
"Yes," Severus said, soothingly, "if your limp reaction to my prone body is anything to go by, another forceful buggering would be out of the question."
The door swung open and footsteps shuffled. "Er," Potter said, articulately.
Severus turned to the boy framed in the doorway. "Sit down, Potter," he said.
The End