Chapter Text
Grimmauld Place was as dreary as ever when Severus apparated at the front door with a near-silent crack. Breathing heavily, he stood there a few minutes, trying to summon strength for the incoming Order meeting.
He would have chosen to sleep in a ditch instead if it was up to him. Well, his lips upturned in a bitter expression at the following thought, it wasn't like he was able to sleep these days, of course.
This was exactly what he didn't need: Dumbledore calling for a meeting just after his other Master had just let him go. His life was just so fucked up.
Not seeing how he could delay the inevitable anymore, he pushed the heavy door silently, entering the house like a liquid shadow.
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They had been at it for fucking hours now, the discussion was going round in circles and Severus was slowly but surely losing his mind. What a bunch of stringless puppets. To top it all, his stomach had been killing him for some time now, and the pain was slowly reaching unbearable level – which was a worry since his pain-resistance was quite high. What was going on?
Tuning out the nonsense Lupin was sprouting about his new werewolfs little friends – Severus was all for the monsters staying together of course, he just wished he didn't have to listen to the corresponding inane reports – he tried to think hard about anything he could have eaten or drank lately that could be responsible for his current ailment. The list was shockingly short.
Lupin's stupid words suddenly evaporated from his consciousness and he stood up abruptly at the unwelcome realization, ignoring the sharp pain he induced doing so.
"Fuck! "
For a little while, he was too focused on his inner thoughts to pay attention to the others. Strangely, it was Molly's voice that reached his ear first:
"What's wrong Severus? Is that werewolf Guidian not to be trusted then, do you know something?"
What was the woman rambling about now?
Suddenly aware that his little realization had apparently interrupted Lupin's furry monsters' tale, Severus felt himself blushing furiously at once.
The mutt bark of a laugh didn't do anything good for his complexion. He knew how unpleasant he looked, and he knew about the brick-red patches that turned his already ugly face into something even uglier, thank you very much. He didn't need Sirius fucking Black to humiliate him further for it, like a sharp dagger in his chest, a time-travelling dagger. He loathed the fact that he shared his current feeling with his fifteen years old self. Only fucking Black could do it – and to some lesser extent Lupin – and it wasn't a power Severus welcomed.
They were all looking at him expectantly now. Swallowing his worry and humiliation, he smoothly smirked, answering in his softest, coldest voice:
"I fear Lupin's report lulled me to sleep, nothing to worry about of course. Do sit down Black, your pet werewolf doesn't seem to be done with the clumsy retelling of his even clumsier attempt to make friend with his furry family. Sad, isn't it?"
Predictable as always, Black began spitting at once, foaming at the mouth:
"You shut your mouth you dirty death eater scum!"
"Sirius!"
The cacophony that followed gave Severus time to sit down and attempt to resume his thinking. Why did he have to drink that wine? He shouldn't have touched the glass when it was coming from that filthy rat!
He carefully unfolded the scene in his mind, trying to find a confirmation that the rat was the source of his current predicament.
He started from when he had been on his knees, in front of the Dark Lord, still moaning after a harsh punishment for his meagre report of the day; then his Master had called the others in, as if torture was just another daily chores these days. It was then, during the exchange of pleasantries between comrades that Pettigrew had been distributing the wine, the most pathetic waiter Severus has ever seen in his life. He was talking with Rodolphus, trying to assess as subtly as possible what the brute knew about his horrible wife whereabouts, when the filthy little man had reached them. Severus had taken a glass, toasted Rodolphus and lightly soaked his lips in it, careful not to consume anything that could alter his judgement during these deadly reunions.
And now, nearly three hours later, his stomach was rebelling furiously against something… Couldn't be a coincidence could it?
The scrap of chairs on wooden flooring took him away from his thoughts again. Apparently Lupin had succeeded in concluding his most boring report to date. Small mercies and all that.
While everyone was emptying the room slowly, exchanging pleasantries with the others, Severus stood up carefully and immediately sat up again. He really didn't feel well now. Fuck.
His stomach was killing him, he felt dizzy and unsettled, his hearing and vision were now distorted and he was sure that he would crash on the floor should he attempt to get up again.
Trying not to panic, Severus stayed on his chair, summoning all his remaining skills to try not to be noticed by the others. He shouldn't have bothered anyway since nobody seemed to pay any attention to him. Of course. They wouldn't want to dirty themselves with the likes of him, right. He always felt like a misplaced cockroach among the Order. At least with his other "friends" he didn't feel the need to suffer from any comparaison. The pain flared again and Severus had to close his eyes to focus on not making any sound.
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When he came back to his senses, Severus was taken aback by the heavy silence surrounding him. A quick look to the hideous clock on the opposite wall confirmed to him that it was now the middle of the night. He was sprawled on the dirty floor and had apparently vomited all over himself. A quick spell got rid of the horrible mess but the acidic smell was still floating in the stale air of the room. He felt like crap, even on his own overindulgent scale.
His head felt like it had split in two, his stomach was dancing painfully around nothing, he was sweating profusely and shaking, still a little dizzy from the whole ordeal. Great.
Definitely poison then. What kind was now irrelevant since he was apparently saved from a worse fate by the little quantity he had ingested and his expelling of his stomach content. Severus knew enough about the Art of Poisoning to know that if he was still alive despite the quick and intense effects of whatever he drank, he wasn't going to succumb to it now. Not that it was that good of a realization of course. It seemed he was fated to always endured the pains without being given the relief that should come with it in the end. Be it poison or fucking Dumbledore, they all wanted him to suffer longer instead of going for the alternative, to just stop it all; the ultimate ending of pains. It has always felt simultaneously like immediate relief coupled with cowardice. Bittersweet; an acquired taste.
Feeling like indeed death would be a way better alternative right now, Severus slowly stood up, groaning and wincing as his useless body protested the movement. As silently as he could, he went to the depressing kitchen, leaning heavily on the walls on his way. A good metaphor for his useless life: alone and in pain, but trying anyway.
It was there, in the dark kitchen of Grimmauld Place, a chipped mug of Earl Grey in his trembling hands, that he heard movements above him for the first time since he woke drenched in his own stomach content.
He tensed at once, adrenaline muting the pain a little, trying to assess the situation. What a good pet-spy he was, going like clockwork, all instincts and restlessness. Dumbledore could think he had trained him well all he wanted, the truth was that the Headmaster was just another steamroller in a long list. Severus had been squashed by life itself over and over from the beginning; he wondered now what the first mold had looked like?
The distant sound of a curse took him away from his introspection.
Black. It was just fucking Black of course.
Severus snorted, the bitterness on his face accentuating his ugliness.
Taking refuge in his usual pettiness, Severus smirked unpleasantly at the realization that the great Sirius Black was suffering from the same unforgiving insomnia as himself. It made sense of course.
Taking comfort in Black's suffering, he carelessly put his mug on the table – unwashed – before dragging himself to the front door to try to apparate back to Hogwarts.
He had a lot of things he needed to do before resuming his teaching the next day after all. His suffering but a footnote in the grand scheme of things; as it always have been.