Archive of Our Own ^beta

This is my idea of magic, hiding
           what exists in plain sight:

an overbite, a sparkle
           of gray hair at the temples, a sag
at the side of an arm. And still,

            what alarm when I see through
my own illusions, catch a glimpse
           of a woman transported

into a restaurant window who couldn’t,
           will never be me. I never had
a family, no children who would

            allow me to age backwards or see
my own face filtered through
           the lens of love. It’s hard

to adore something you never
           drug into existence yourself,
never saw fit to copy, each version

            brighter than the last, like a string
of knotted scarves you can pull
           forever out of a sleeve.

—Kara van de Graaf, “Abracadabra”

When Sirius woke up, he did so with a gasp. He sat bolt upright, and the man at his bedside jolted. Sirius was disoriented for a minute, then recognized him as Snape, though he looked impossibly old, gray streaking through his hair and a short beard. “Snape?”

“Sirius,” Snape said. He looked intensely relieved. “I’ll get a healer.”

He rose; Sirius watched, bewildered, as he vanished into the hall. What was Snape doing here? Why was Sirius in—presumably—St. Mungo’s, rather than at home? No matter how sick he got, Sirius hadn’t thought they’d just let Snape turn him in. He could understand why Harry wasn’t here, being how he was as wanted as Sirius, but how had Snape stumbled across him? What had happened to Sirius? The last thing he remembered was going to bed after another exhausting and unfruitful day of horcrux hunting.

Snape barged back into the room, followed shortly by a woman in healer’s robes. She came to him and inspected him with her wand, and Sirius glared suspiciously over at Snape, who was watching the proceedings in open approval. “I’d like to keep him for a few more hours just to make sure he’s okay,” the healer said. “But you should be able to take him home soon.”

Snape nodded, like that made any sense at all, and then turned to Sirius. “Do you need anything? Breakfast?”

“I can get someone to bring it to you,” the healer said. “Let me just adust that bed for you—”

Sirius was abruptly leaning against something, and realized he was grateful, suddenly aware of how tired he really was. He watched as the Healer bustled out of the room, turning to Snape, who was sitting at his bedside. “Okay, what the fuck?”

“You took a bad fall during quidditch yesterday,” Snape said worriedly. “At Harry’s. Al hit you with a lucky bludger. You just—you wouldn’t wake up. That was yesterday.”

“Al?”

Snape looked confused. “Yeah, Al.”

“Who’s Al?”

Snape recoiled. “That’s not funny.”

“I don’t know any Al,” Sirius said irritably. “And I don’t know why you would be here at my bloody bedside even if Grimmauld Place did have a quidditch pitch, and if you haven’t forgotten we’re on opposite sides of a bloody war!”

Snape looked stricken. “What year is it?”

“What?”

“What year is it?”

“1997,” Sirius said. Snape recoiled again. “Snape, will you just tell me what the hell is going on? Is this some weird mind game of Voldemort’s?”

“It’s 2015,” Snape said. He buried his face in his hands for a minute, then waved his wand and conjured a mirror in front of Sirius.

Sirius felt his mouth part. He looked, unmistakably, older, and he had a new tattoo on his collarbone of deer tracks, and he had a nose piercing in, and there was gray in his own hair and his beard was gone entirely. He reached up to touch his own face, and saw a glint of gold, blinking at his hand. “I’m married?”

“Yeah,” Snape said. He pulled his face up out of his hands. “I’m gonna go get the healer again.”

This time her examination was a lot more thorough, and she tutted. “We’re going to move him to the second floor,” she said. Snape nodded gravely. “You can come with us. Some nurses will be back for him.”

Sirius stared, still too tired and bewildered to put up a fight, and Snape said, “I’ll see if I can’t scare up today’s newspaper,” leaving the room again.

Eventually, he came back with it, handing it over to Sirius and sitting down again. Sirius read the date: the third of August, 2015. Then he glanced at a headline that meant nothing to him, and said, “Snape, what are you doing here? Is the war over?”

“Yes,” Snape said, his face drawn. “Harry won. He’s completely dead. It’s over.”

“And you slithered your way out of consequences again.”

Snape looked away. “Indeed.”

“I’m—what? Free?”

“Yes,” Snape said. “You’re free. I promise you’re free.”

“Okay,” Sirius said. “Okay. Well, that’s—why are you here? Where’s my wife?”

Snape held up his left hand with a sardonic expression, displaying a gold ring. Sirius blinked, then peered at Snape. “What are you trying to imply, Snivellus?”

Snape flinched. “You don’t call me that anymore.”

“Right. Sure. What, we’re family friends? We married sisters or something?”

“No, you imbecile, we married each other,” Snape hissed. He flinched again at whatever look was on Sirius’s face. “Shit. This isn’t—I need to call Harry. I should get Harry.”

He pulled out a flat slab of metal and tapped at it and held it up to his ear, and Harry’s muted voice emerged from the other end. “Hey. How is he?”

“He thinks it’s 1997,” Snape said, and there was dead silence. “He hates me. You need to get over here. He needs someone he knows he can trust.”

More silence, and then: “Merlin. I’ll be right there.”

“Thanks. Bye.”

“Bye.” And Snape pulled the slab away from his ear and tapped it again and stowed it in his pocket.

“What is that thing?”

“Mobile phone.”

“It’s a muggle telephone?”

“Yeah. You have one too. You can watch films and play chess and music on them now.”

“Merlin.”

Snape shrugged. “Harry will be here soon. I’ll—I—” He buried his face in his hands again. “Don’t make me just leave you here alone at the hospital.”

Sirius stared at his arched back. “I’m not even bent, mate.”

Snape didn’t move. “For Harry’s sake, if not mine. Give me a minute to talk to him. He’d be furious to get here and find you alone.”

“And you care why?”

“Sirius!” came a voice, and they looked up to see an unfamiliar man pushing open the door. “Severus, how is he?”

“Disoriented. He doesn’t feel safe around me, for obvious reasons. I should get going.”

“You’re just going to leave?”

“I might grab some of his things,” Snape said. “It looks like we’re in for a bit of a longer stay. But I think he would appreciate the break.”

The man looked dubious. “Sirius, what do you think?”

Sirius shrugged. “Good riddance.”

The man looked shocked, and Sirius registered his green eyes, his lightning bolt scar, the particular gentleness of his posture. “Harry? You—my God, you’re so old.”

Harry shot a panicked glance over at Snape, who looked away. “It’s—twenty years?”

“Eighteen. The last thing he remembers is hunting horcruxes.”

“Merlin,” Harry said, approaching with his hands held out a little. “Everything’s gonna be okay, Sirius. Everything is fine.”

Sirius lowered his voice. “Why is Snape here?”

“You’re married.”

“To each other? That’s not—I’m straight, Harry. I don’t know who Snape thinks he is, but I don’t—”

“You begin to see the problem,” Snape said. They both looked up at him. “I’ll be back. He might as well have some of his stuff.”

“Okay,” Harry said, and touched Snape’s arm. Snape, to Sirius’s bewilderment, let him, and then headed out the door.

Harry came to sit next to him, and Sirius felt some of the adrenaline he’d woken up with finally leave him, though Harry’s appearance was still beyond startling. “2015?”

“Yeah,” Harry said. “Sorry. This must be really—I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like.”

“I don’t understand what’s happening,” Sirius said, and Harry nodded and patted his arm. “I’m not—”

He started tugging the ring off his finger. Harry yelped and moved to stop him, then pulled back when Sirius recoiled. “Sorry.”

“What the hell was that?”

“Sorry, I just—you’re very serious about—you’d hate it if you did that.”

“I was the one who did it!”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Sirius started working the ring off, calmly this time. “Get rid of it.”

“I’ll—I’ll hang onto it for you.”

Sirius frowned and opened his mouth, then closed it when he saw how devastated Harry looked. Why did he even give a damn? “I’m not staying married to him. I don’t know what kind of love potions he’s been feeding me or curses he’s had me under, but—”

“Merlin!”

“What?”

“Severus wouldn’t do that.”

“Of course he would! He’s evil!”

“He’s not evil.”

“The world’s gone mad,” Sirius moaned. “Have you forgotten that the man is a Death Eater? He murdered Dumbledore!”

Harry tentatively reached out and patted his arm again, and said, “Give me a second. I’m gonna call Ginny.” And he pulled a mobile phone out of his own pocket. “Hey. He’s, er—he’s not doing very well. He doesn’t remember anything about the last eighteen years. Yeah, I know. He doesn’t—we might have to bring him home with us. Severus left to get some of his stuff, or at least that’s what he said. I’m not sure he’s coming back. Yeah, I know. I don’t want to leave him here alone. Could you check in with Ron and Hermione and see if—thanks. I think they want to keep him here for at least another day or two, so—great. Yeah, I’m gonna assume I need to buckle down here for the long haul. Even if Severus does get back, I mean—his last memories are of the war. He doesn’t even remember the man’s trial, much less—yeah. Okay. Yeah. Thanks.” A pause, a deep breath. “Love you too. I’ll let you know if we need you here.”

He hung up, and Sirius peered at him. “What exactly has happened over the past eighteen years?”

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and laughed. “Where do you want me to start?”

Snape did come back, during the birth of Harry’s first child, by which time they had switched rooms; he had a duffel bag with him, and looked very tentative. “Some of his things,” he said gruffly. “Books he likes. Clothes. His sleep mask. That kind of thing.”

“Thanks,” Harry said. “How are Agatha and Delilah? I checked in on them this morning, but—”

“Thanks. They’re fine. Miss their other dad, I think. Agatha always pines for him when they’re apart.”

Harry laughed. “Yeah.” He looked away. “Er—”

“I should come back tomorrow,” Snape said. “Text me if anything happens, will you?”

“Severus—”

“Bye,” Snape said, and hustled out the door again. 

Sirius looked at the duffel bag in open confusion, and started sorting through it when Harry handed it over, not recognizing one of its contents. “This is my stuff?”

Harry nodded and looked down at his mobile phone, tapping away. “I’m going to see about someone getting some lunch for you,” Harry said, and started outside. Sirius found himself alone for the first time since he’d woken up, and grappled for the unfamiliar wand at the nightstand and conjured another mirror. 

His face was alien. It had wrinkles, lines around the mouth and eyes; it was an older face than Sirius had ever seen, unnerving to feel under his fingertips.

There was a tan line under where the ring had been, an indentation of the surrounding skin, and Sirius scrubbed at it, stopping when he saw Harry enter the room again. “Hey. They say it’ll be a few minutes. Then this afternoon they’re going to try some treatments and some tests. Hopefully we can get that memory of yours back in no time.”

“Are we sure I want it back?”

It had been half a joke, but Harry’s face shuttered. “You can’t remember my kids, Sirius.”

“Right. Sorry.”

“It’s been some people’s whole lifetimes since the last thing you remember,” Harry said. “Things are different. I’d think you’d want to remember that.”

“I don’t want to remember fucking Snape,” Sirius said. Harry sighed. “I’m not convinced that could happen voluntarily. You guys missed something.”

“Once you broke up for a year and a half,” Harry said. “It was the most miserable I’ve ever seen you, and I saw you when we all lived at Grimmauld Place during the war. You weren’t under the influence of anything. You love the guy. I’m sorry that’s not what you were expecting, but—”

“I wasn’t expecting to wake up twenty years in the bloody future!”

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Harry rubbed his forehead. “I’m sorry. I, erm—do you want me to keep telling you about what’s happened?”

Sirius looked away. “I think I—I need to take a nap. I don’t—I’m exhausted.” Harry looked down. “Tell me afterwards?”

Harry nodded. “Okay.”

It was disorienting to wake up to a strange man at his bedside, and more disorienting still to remember that this was some bizarre futuristic version of Harry. He was tapping at his mobile phone, but looked up when Sirius cleared his throat. “Hey,” he said. “I’ll go let the healers know you’re ready for your tests. I asked them to let you sleep.”

He vanished, and soon Sirius was being prodded and inspected and having his mind rammed into, and he was exhausted again by the time they finally declared themselves done for the moment, Sirius’s memory none the better.

Not that he wanted that; the thought of remembering anything about being with Snape repulsed him. “How long have we been together?”

“What?”

“Me and Snape.”

“Oh. Fifteen years. You got married ten years ago. Legally two years ago.”

“L-legally?”

“Yeah, it’s legal now.”

“Gay marriage?”

“Yeah.”

“Merlin,” Sirius said. Harry raised an eyebrow. “Never thought I’d see that.”

Harry shrugged. “Anyway, you’ve been together for years. Though the first three were in secret. Hell of a thing, when you think about it.”

“I just—dated a man.”

“Yeah.”

“And married a man.”

“Yeah.”

“And you were fine with it?”

“Everyone’s fine with it,” Harry said. “Everyone who matters, anyway.”

“He was really on our side all along?”

“Oh, yeah.” Harry sounded very sure. “I saw his memories myself. He—and he really loves you, Padfoot. I can’t imagine what I would do if one day Ginny woke up and couldn’t remember the last eighteen years. Especially if we had used to hate each other. You live together. You have a dog and an owl and a joint library. You might consider… I don’t know. Letting him help you get acquainted with the future.”

“I’m not going to do that,” Sirius said flatly. “I’m not going to see him unless I have to.”

Harry looked pained. “That’s your decision to make.”

He stuck around until visiting hours were up, at eight PM, and promised to be by bright and early the next morning. Sirius had expected to be bored, but found himself falling asleep almost the second Harry set foot outside the door.

The next morning when he woke up, Harry and Snape were both in the room, murmuring quietly. Sirius watched them through a sleepy haze, but couldn’t decipher any words; when he started to sit up, Harry came to him. “Sirius. Good morning.”

“I’ll just be going,” Snape said. “Sorry. I just—sorry.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” Harry said. Sirius scowled. “Thanks for coming by.”

“Yeah.”

And Snape left. Sirius watched him go, still feeling fuzzy, and joked, “Merlin, the man is obsessed with me.”

“You’re his husband,” Harry said, and Sirius looked away. “That’s kind of what love is all about.”

“Er, I guess so.” Sirius rubbed the back of his neck. “I still don’t—I don’t understand it. And I don’t want him around.”

“I’ll do what I can to make things easier on you,” Harry said. “But he is going to be around. Al—”

“Albus? Your son?”

Harry nodded. “His full name is Albus Severus. He would be devastated if he had to stop seeing his namesake. And then there’s family dinner on Sundays, which I’m not going to uninvite him from, and—I don’t quite know how to—you two are just around a lot. I would hate to suddenly ostracize him because of what’s happened to you.”

“I don’t trust him!”

“But I do,” Harry said firmly. “You don’t have to try to be his husband, but you do have to at least be civil with him. I’m sorry.”

“Well, maybe the healers will scoop my brain out through my ears before I have to deal with that,” Sirius said bracingly. Harry had a dark look on his face. “Can’t take a joke anymore?”

Harry shook his head. “That one wasn’t funny.”

They didn’t find anything else wrong with him over the next few days, or at least nothing else diagnosable; Harry stuck steadfastly by his bed, and Snape was by a few more times, bringing more of his things from their alleged house and checking in and once bringing by a huge stack of photographs and three photo albums. “In case it helps him remember anything,” Snape said, a little desperately. “Ginny loaned me your wedding album. One is his and mine. And the last is all the kids. And then I took pictures of the house and Agatha and Delilah and the grounds and we had some stuff just lying around recently developed and—”

“Thanks,” Harry interrupted. “This was a really good idea. Thank you.”

Snape slumped. “You’re welcome. How is he?”

Harry turned away from Sirius and started speaking with Snape in lowered tones; the whole thing was infantilizing, but Sirius felt a little like an infant, so totally out of depth in this strange new world. He watched the harsh lines on Harry’s back and Snape’s wrinkled face, wondering what going home would look like. He hadn’t registered or internalized everything Harry had told him about the future, but he remembered that he’d told Sirius they’d burned Grimmauld Place down to the ground. Evidently he had lived in a flat on his own. Maybe he could get back to that?

But when he brought it up after Snape had left, Harry waved a hand. “You’re staying with us, Sirius. Don’t even worry about it. We have a couch.”

“Okay,” Sirius said, though he didn’t relish sleeping on one. But he had a feeling Harry would insist, and maybe it would be good to stay with someone who was at least a little familiar. Maybe their couch was extraordinarily comfortable. Or he could just sleep as Padfoot overnight. Then he could be comfortable anywhere.

He delved into the photographs, starting with Harry and Ginny’s wedding album. Someone had obviously put a lot of effort into putting it together, and the album told the story of the day at hand, and contained some news clippings about the event towards the end. There was a shot of Sirius and Snape shaking hands, which Harry acknowledged with a dismissive shrug.

Then he moved on to the album about the kids, and Harry got a lot more involved in explaining who everyone was and how they were related to Sirius and when and how particular photographs had been taken. Sirius took it all in, though there were a lot of kids, and some of them seemed to already be entirely grown. He’d known Dora was pregnant, but now he was looking at her adult child, and Dora and Remus were both dead.

But he let Harry go through that album with him, then turned in trepidation to the last one. “I don’t have to look at this one, do I?”

“Padfoot.”

Sirius grimaced, and tugged it open. The first photos he was confronted with were himself and Snape, looking younger than they did now but older than Sirius remembered himself being, standing in various poses holding hands. They both had on black robes with white accents, and Snape’s hair looked well-groomed. He was smiling a little, and his eyes were soft as he looked at Sirius instead of the camera.

Sirius flipped onwards. There were photos of Harry, a heavily pregnant Ginny Weasley, kids he recognized as James Sirius and Victoire and Teddy from all the photographs, the Weasley family, several Order members, and then Sirius and Snape again, standing in front of them all saying vows and sliding rings onto each other’s fingers. Then a lot of candid shots of the reception, silly group shots of people making faces, one of Sirius dancing with Teddy, one of Snape dancing with Ginny, and then it shifted: they were on a tropical beach, and all these photos had obviously been taken by them. Shots of Snape feeding Sirius caviar in bed, Sirius running down the beach at night, the two of them kissing, interesting landmarks they’d seen wherever they’d been—

Sirius slammed the book shut and shoved it at Harry, the loose photos falling around him. “You—you can give that back to him.”

“Okay.”

“I married Snape.”

“Yeah, you did.”

“Merlin, that poor man,” Sirius blurted, and Harry beamed at him.

He sifted through the loose photographs, though they didn’t tell him much the wedding album hadn’t made abundantly clear; but there were little things. Sirius had a new motorbike, judging by a loving sequence of photos of Sirius working on and riding it; there were a lot of photos of an owl and a dog, and when Sirius asked Harry revealed that the owl was Agatha and the dog was Delilah. The dog was an adorable little pug, and barked at the photographer in an endless loop.

Their house was large and well-lit, and well-decorated; Snape had apparently documented the whole thing for him, and Sirius felt voyeuristic as he flipped through the master bathroom and kitchen island. “It was nice of him to bring those for you,” Harry chattered obliviously, as Sirius struggled with rising bile. “Anything?”

“No. Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.” Harry patted his hand. “I’m gonna go check in with the healers. They were talking about letting you go home soon.”

“Okay.” Sirius watched as he rose and departed, then started stacking up the photographs, wishing he’d never seen them.

They let him go home with Harry a few hours after that, and Sirius slung the overflowing duffel bag over his shoulder and followed Harry out of the hospital, giving him an uncertain look. “Er, you should—should side-along me, I guess.”

“Right! Sorry.” Harry held out an arm, and they vanished and appeared in Godric’s Hollow. Sirius felt himself relax a little, and Harry guided him into a tall, wide house, calling out, “We’re home!”

“Uncle Sirius!” A blur appeared at the top of the stairs, and bolted down and threw itself into his arms. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I wasn’t trying to unseat you with the bludger! You always tell me to be more aggressive!”

“That sounds like me,” Sirius admitted, tentatively hugging back. “Albus Severus, I presume?”

The blur pulled away to reveal a child of—if Sirius remembered correctly—nine. He looked stricken. “Al, buddy,” Harry said. “Remember what your mum told you?”

“I don’t think I believed it,” Albus Severus—Al—said dully. “You—you don’t know me?”

“I’m sorry,” Sirius said awkwardly. Al started stepping backwards, then running. “Wait, I don’t—”

But the boy was gone. “Sorry,” Harry said. “Lily and James are probably going to want to talk to you, too. Please try to be kind with them.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said. “Sorry.”

Harry sighed. “It’s fine. Let’s go put that on the couch, and I’ll show you around.”

A startlingly old Ginny emerged as they were approaching the couch, looking tired. “Hey,” she said, kissing Harry absently. “Sirius, hey. How you holding up?”

“I’m… certainly confused,” Sirius said. She nodded. “I don’t think—I don’t want to impose for longer than I have to. I can—can find my own flat, or—”

“And then have your memories come back and you’ve set up shop all alone? You’d never forgive us,” Ginny said. “This’ll all be over soon, and we’ll get you home.”

“I’m not going to live with Snape again!” Sirius hissed. Ginny looked startled. “Even if I were a poof, there’s no way I could ever love—it’s just not happening!”

Ginny shot a worried glance at Harry, who looked grave. “Well, you’re not imposing,” Ginny said finally. “Let us look after you until you’re at least feeling a little steadier. We can revisit—that in a little while if you still feel strongly about it.”

“Okay,” Sirius managed. “What—what day is it even?”

“August eighth,” Ginny said. “It’s Saturday. Family dinner tomorrow.”

“Uncle Sirius?”

Sirius looked up to see two more children, one of whom was perhaps half the size of the other. “Hey,” Sirius said. “James and Lily, right?”

“Is it true you can’t remember us?”

“Well—”

Sirius glanced helplessly at Harry, who looked sorrowful. “That doesn’t mean I love you any less,” he decided on, though the truth was that he didn’t love them at all, or at least no more than the vague way he’d adopted since looking at the album and knowing he should. “I’ve just forgotten for a little while.”

“How can you love us if you don’t know who we are?”

“Nothing that could happen to me would ever make me stop loving you,” Ginny said firmly. “Why would that be any less true of your Uncle Sirius?”

“I guess,” James muttered. “What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Fighting in the war.”

“Wow,” James said. “Why aren’t you staying with Uncle Severus?”

“They call him Uncle Severus?”

“Yes,” Harry said fixedly. “They do. He doesn’t remember Uncle Severus, either.”

“I remember him,” Sirius muttered. “I’m just not married to him.”

“They didn’t get along during the war,” Ginny said. James’s eyes were wide. “So he’s going to be staying with us for a little while.”

“You don’t remember us,” Lily said quietly. Sirius avoided her eyes. “You’re sick.”

“Yes, darling, he is,” Ginny broke in. “Come with me, both of you. Let’s give Uncle Sirius a little space.”

Everyone except Harry left, thank Merlin, and Harry showed him to the couch, helped him set down his duffle bag, and then started giving him a muted tour of the house. Sirius followed, wondering if this was the newest space in which he was to be confined, determining that it wouldn’t be. He would get out and experience the world.

But he was still exhausted from being in hospital, and by the end of the tour he found himself yawning. “Mind if I take a nap?”

“Oh, sure. I’ll wake you up for dinner.”

Sirius nodded gratefully, following Harry back to the couch. It was indeed uncomfortable, and after a few minutes he shifted, losing himself to dreams.

The next day, Snape came by the house in the late morning bearing more of Sirius’s stuff. He still didn’t address Sirius directly, but he looked at him, something so painful and earnest in his gaze that Sirius wanted to throw up. 

“He’s settling in okay?” Snape asked Harry. “What else does he need?”

“I’m right here, you know,” Sirius said, and Snape looked at him again. “You don’t have to talk about me like I’m not here.”

“Sorry,” Snape said. “What do you need?”

“Don’t suppose I could have my motorbike?”

Snape nodded rigidly. “I’ll get it for you.”

Sirius opened his mouth, unsure what was going to escape it, and then closed it as Snape swept out of the room. Harry tilted his head at him. “Your motorbike?”

“I love you, Harry, but I’m going to go stir-crazy if I don’t get out on my own soon,” Sirius said. “I can take it out on the open road, clear my head.”

“Okay. Just please be careful.”

“Who, me?”

Harry looked unimpressed. Sirius grinned sunnily. Snape was back within an hour with the motorbike, following Sirius back outside and watching him mount it. “There’s a cloaking function right here!” he yelled over the engine. “And this button makes it fly. But you take it out on the streets a lot too.”

“Thanks,” Sirius said. Snape was standing very close to him, in his personal space, and Sirius had to admit that the look he had going now, well-groomed, bearded, broad-shouldered with age, sporting a wicked battle scar, was definitely working for him. Sirius still thought he was straight, for all that he’d allegedly fallen in love with a man, but, well, Snape’s look was working for him. Sirius wasn’t blind. “How old’s the beard?”

Snape’s mouth twitched. “Three years. We watched all of the original Star Trek together, and you wanted me to pretend to be Evil Spock. The beard stuck, though most people don’t know the story behind it.”

“What, it was some kind of sexy roleplay thing?”

Snape nodded. He didn’t look embarrassed; mostly, he looked far away. “You said you liked the sensation of it against your skin.”

“Well, that doesn’t sound like me,” Sirius said, and Snape’s face fell. Sirius felt a sudden stab of guilt. “Not that anything I’ve done for the past fifteen years sounds much like me.”

“I suppose not.”

Sirius reached up and brushed the beard, and Snape closed his eyes. It wasn’t an unpleasant sensation, and Sirius’s mind was soon drawing up far more obscene applications for the texture, and he drew away. “I—I’d ask you to let me keep checking in,” Snape said hoarsely. “Don’t begrudge it of me. Please.”

“I don’t need you to check in. I’m fine.”

“You’ve lost eighteen years,” Snape said, and Sirius closed his mouth. “And it’s as much for me as it is for you.”

“Why should I care about you?”

Snape looked away. “I guess you don’t have any reason to.”

Sirius looked away too. They were still very close to each other, but now Snape seemed a million miles away. “How about pity?”

“What?”

“Just let me see you out of pity.”

Who are we to each other, that he would be willing to ask that?

“Okay,” Sirius said, and Snape let out a harsh, relieved breath.

They had dinner with everyone that night, though Snape didn’t show; this was a topic of discussion, to Sirius’s distant dread. Everyone at the entire table stared at him when he made a smart remark about how Snape was probably finding a new dark lord to suckle at the tits of, and Sirius excused himself and went outside, sitting on a bench and trying to control his breathing. He felt lost, out of touch, hopelessly behind; it didn’t help when one of the kids came following, sitting down next to him and kicking her heels back into the empty space behind them. “Uncle Sirius?”

“Yes, er… Rose?”

“Is it true you can’t remember us?”

“Yes.”

“And you can’t remember Uncle Severus.”

Sirius opened his mouth, then closed it. “Kind of. I’ve known him since we were eleven. So I do remember some stuff about him. But I don’t remember falling in love with him.”

“That’s sad,” Rose said. “I think Mum would go spare if Dad couldn’t remember her.”

“Ron and Hermione.”

“Yeah.”

“Saw that one coming,” Sirius chortled. “They weren’t subtle.”

“Yeah, they’re gross,” Rose agreed. “I’m glad they’re so happy, though. I think the only people who get about as gross are you and Uncle Severus.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that anymore,” Sirius said. Rose stopped kicking her heels. “Obviously it isn’t—last I knew he was a Death Eater.”

“But you guys are married.”

Sirius shrugged. “If there was ever a good reason for a divorce…”

“But—” Rose looked bewildered. “But he loves you.”

“It takes two, kiddo.”

Rose looked away, and Sirius shrugged. “He’ll be fine.”

“I guess,” Rose said dubiously. “I dunno. I think if I woke up and I had a husband who loved me I would be really happy about it.”

“It’s a little more complicated than that, unfortunately,” Sirius said, as gently as he could. “I don’t feel safe around him.”

She still looked bewildered. “Around Uncle Severus?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s crazy,” Rose said. She sighed and stood. “Come on. I want dessert.”

Sirius followed, and ate dessert in silence, and when they headed home he let the kids rope him into card games, and then an animated film. Ginny and Harry talked in the kitchen throughout the whole of both things, but started gathering up their children when the credits began to scroll down the screen.

They left, and Sirius shifted, settling into the couch and closing his eyes. After a minute, he was awoken by voices again, though he was half-asleep, and didn’t open his eyes. “—seen Severus lately? He looks like a walking corpse.”

“I can’t imagine what I’d do if I were in his shoes.”

“Me neither.” A pause. “You’d fight for me, right? If something like that happened to me?”

“Of course I would.”

“It seems like Severus is just giving up,” Harry said. He sounded worried. “Like he thinks they can never get back what they had.”

“They might not be able to.”

“Don’t say that.”

“You heard him at dinner. He hates the guy. You said he didn’t even know he was bent back then. Or at least he wasn’t out.”

“It really seemed like he didn’t even know.”

“Yeah.” Ginny sighed. “They may not ever have what they had again. Sirius may not be able to look past his own hate.”

“He did it before.”

“It took him five years.”

“Yeah.” Harry sighed. “We should let him sleep.”

“Okay.”

Footsteps, and Sirius fell back asleep. The next morning, Harry had work, and left him at the house with Ginny and the kids; around noon, Snape stopped by. 

“Hey,” Ginny said, and hugged him. Snape hugged back. “Lunch?”

“Sure, thanks.” Snape followed her to the kitchen and sat down at the table with the kids, and Sirius sat down too, trying his best to avoid the man’s eyes. “How are things over here?”

“We missed you at dinner last night,” Ginny said. “Where were you?”

Snape looked startled. “He doesn’t want me there.”

“Everyone else does,” Ginny said. Snape blinked rapidly. “We’re all worried about you.”

“Well, that’s—”

Snape took a bite of his sandwich, presumably so he wouldn’t have to finish his sentence, and Sirius found himself smiling down at his own plate. He helped Ginny clean when they were all done eating, and then followed Snape back into the sitting room. “When did I get the nose ring?” he asked. “And the deer tracks? Presumably those are about your Patronus.”

“Yeah,” Snape said. “You got the deer tracks around our two-year wedding anniversary. Eight years ago. The nose ring was during… 2002, I think? You got your tongue done too, but you had to take it out after it chipped two of your teeth. There’s still a scar.”

“Oh,” Sirius said, attempting in vain to feel his own tongue. “Did you like it?”

“What?”

“The tongue ring.”

A long pause. “Yeah,” Snape said at last. “I liked it. I was sad to see it go.”

Sirius was imagining snogging Snape now, which did absolutely nothing to help with anything; he worried at his robes, and said, “I could—I could come by sometime to meet the pets. If that’s okay.”

“Better than,” Snape said, a hint of awe in his eyes. “They miss you.”

“I’m sure,” Sirius said. He avoided Snape’s gaze. “Tomorrow? You can come pick me up?”

“Right,” Snape said. “Tomorrow.”

Sirius cursed himself for an entire day following this interaction, but Ginny and Harry both seemed to think it was a great idea, and Sirius found himself oddly sure that Snape wouldn’t hurt him. Or at least he was sure that he could defend himself.

So he let Snape side-along him to their house, arriving at a front entryway filled with skylights and flowers. “Delilah! Agatha!” Snape called. “Guess who’s home!”

“Delilah!” Sirius called, feeling ridiculous. “Agatha!”

After a minute, both a beautiful barn owl and a tiny little pug came flying and bounding into the room, and Sirius let the owl land on his shoulder and crouched down to pet the dog. Delilah. And Agatha the owl. He didn’t remember them, but it was obvious they remembered him, and there was something even more heart-wrenching about their responses than the childrens’. They had no way to know why or where or for how long Sirius had gone.

“I’m sorry,” he found himself murmuring. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’ve been gone.”

After a while, Agatha wandered off to wherever she lived, and Sirius picked Delilah up and turned to Snape. “Show me around?”

Snape nodded. He started with a lavish kitchen, then led Sirius around a lab and an office and a playroom and then a living room with a huge telly. “Didn’t know they came that large,” Sirius said, and Snape looked sorrowful. “Anyway, erm, what else?”

He was shown a rather large library and a wine cellar and a spare room, and then, finally, the master bedroom. The bed was so big they could probably both fit in it twice over without touching, and the bathroom had a shower and a huge tub with jacuzzi jets. “Bet we enjoy that,” Sirius said, and Snape nodded stiffly. “Anyway, erm, let me get another look at that spare room.”

Snape led him there, and Sirius flopped down on the bed and moaned. “Merlin, that’s comfortable. Don’t suppose I could just move in here?”

Silence. When Sirius looked up, Snape looked stricken. “What?”

“Of course you can,” Snape said. “This is your home, Sirius. If you want to live here—”

“In the spare room,” Sirius said. “I don’t even—I’ve just been having a time of it over at Harry’s. Seven-year-olds wake you up at five in the morning. They’re always so—so bloody disappointed that I don’t suddenly remember them when I wake up. And their couch is, like—I’ve been sleeping as a dog because—”

Snape’s face grew amused. “You do that,” he said. “When we took a trip to Peru you spent half the nights as Padfoot. Refused to sleep with me as a human on those uncomfortable beds whether or not I begged. The spare room’s yours, Sirius. The whole house is yours if you want it. I—I can find somewhere else to stay. It might take me a day or two, since I’d need to make sure—”

“I’m not going to just kick you out of your home,” Sirius said, appalled. “I’m not some kind of monster.”

“It wouldn’t make you a monster.”

“There’s room enough for both of us,” Sirius said. He wasn’t quite sure what he was doing, exactly, except that the thought of Snape vacating this home he’d presumably lived in for at least ten years incensed him. He wanted the spare room, in an odd, intense, visceral way, even if he did hate Snape, and didn’t want to be near him. But he wanted to be near the animals; they were the first thing after he’d woken up that felt at all familiar.

Delilah scrambled out of his arms and started licking his face. Snape looked hopeful. “We should go get my stuff,” Sirius said, and the man lit up.

Harry and Ginny and all of the kids seemed relieved, though Ginny looked amused, too. The kids helped him pack up his things, and then when they got back to the house Snape started bringing him even more things: a bed for Delilah, a perch for Agatha, his second-favorite blanket, a reading pillow, a whole bookshelf full of his favorite books. Snape looked like he was going to try to go find yet more stuff when Sirius laughed and flopped down on the bed again. “Easy, cowboy. There won’t be space for me to see my own hands at this rate.”

Snape deflated. “Yeah.” He twitched towards Sirius, then away. “Do you—can I do anything else for you?”

“I just want to get settled in.”

“Okay. Right. Okay.” Snape twitched towards him one more time, then vanished.

Sirius stared up at the ceiling, trying to understand whatever insane thought process had led to him lying down in Snape’s guest room. He had his own space here, it was true, but he would have to be on guard, lest Snape…

What? He hadn’t really believed the man bore him ill will since he’d seen the wedding album. All he’d done since Sirius had woken up was look out for him. He wore Snape’s face, but even that was changed. It was hard to think of him as the same man when he so obviously wasn’t.

Sirius picked up one of the books Snape had brought him to keep at the hospital, reading the back of it, frowning to himself. It was odd to think anyone at all might know Sirius better than he knew himself, let alone Snape, of all people.

When his stomach started to rumble, he headed out of his room, following the scents that had made it take interest to begin with. Snape was standing over a pot of curry, bare-footed; something about the contented expression on his face made him want to hurl himself at the man and start licking up his sweat-soaked neck.

Sirius looked away, profoundly disturbed by the impulse, grasping at the straws of his heterosexuality. Was it Snape himself who had convinced Sirius he wasn’t? Had he wanted this one man so badly that he hadn’t been able to maintain the lie anymore?

It isn’t a lie, Sirius thought fiercely, and looked up at Snape, horrified when he found himself still wanting to tear off his robes. It was everyone else’s fault for planting ideas in his head, really. Was it his fault that this old version of Snape was kind of a daddy, all told?

“Thanks,” he said at last, sitting down on a barstool, and Snape nodded, smiling just a little. “Sorry to make you cook extra. I can pay you back.”

The smile vanished. “I don’t want your money,” Snape said stiffly. “I didn’t even—this whole week I’ve been eating leftovers. I’m used to cooking for two.”

“Oh.”

“So you’re doing me a favor, really,” Snape said, turning his back to Sirius. “Not that it isn’t—that you being here isn’t already a favor all on its own.”

Sirius squirmed. “It’s for me.”

“I know. Doesn’t mean I’m not grateful.”

“You’ve got to stop saying things like that,” Sirius moaned, sliding his face to rest upon the cool counter. Snape didn’t say anything. “All things considered, we barely even know each other.”

“We’ve known each other for a really long time, Sirius.”

Sirius sat up. “What was my first word?”

“Kreacher.”

“What’s my favorite color?”

“Yellow.”

“When did I lose my virginity?”

“Fifth year, to Dorcas Meadowes, in the prefect’s bathroom. Lupin let you use it, but only after you begged for a solid week.”

“What did I dream about at Azkaban?”

“Rivers of blood. Over and over, rivers of blood.”

Sirius sat back, defeated. “Well, that’s—”

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. How long until that’s ready?”

“About ten minutes.”

“Do we usually eat in here?”

“Usually we watch telly. We’re—we were halfway through Heroes. We could start it over if you like.”

“Okay,” Sirius said. Snape nodded to himself. “Can I—can I help you somehow?”

“Grab a couple of the shallow bowls. They’re right over there in the cabinet on the left. And you could pour us some wine, there’s a bottle of white in the fridge—yeah, thanks, that’s the one. Glasses in… that cabinet. You can take those out to the living room if you want—”

Sirius dutifully obeyed, and Snape kept directing him, and soon dinner was in front of him and voices were ringing out of the monstrously large television. Sirius petted Delilah when she hopped up on the couch between them, jerking his hand away when Snape started petting her too and their fingers brushed. “Sorry,” Snape said, flushing, and Sirius cursed himself for ever coming anywhere near Snape. “Sorry.”

“Thanks.”

Snape turned away from him, towards the screen, and Sirius tried to ignore the burning feeling in his chest. The man had felt the need to apologize for touching his own husband. Here, in this warm, domestic space, it was impossible to interpret the incident any other way.

God damn it, Sirius thought. He didn’t care how Snape felt about the whole thing, because he didn’t care about Snape. He was just here because his spare room was more comfortable than Harry’s couch. The man was incapable of real feeling anyway.

He concentrated on the show, and on his frankly delicious food, and tried not to think about Snape beside him, glancing over at him occasionally, his gaze hot and heavy and penetrating. At last he met it, and Snape looked away, his face grief-stricken.

Sirius helped him clean up when the show wound down, then stood awkwardly in the kitchen, watching Snape stow the final container of leftover basmati rice. “Er, I’ll just leave you to your night, I guess. Thanks again for letting me stay here.”

“This is your home,” Snape said quietly. “You don’t have to thank me.”

“Well, I—” Sirius looked away. “Have I ever taken the guest room before?”

“Occasionally. When we’ve fought. We moved in here nine years ago.” Snape looked distant. “The wedding was a bit of a whirlwind thing. It was after—ah, hell. You don’t want to know, do you?”

Sirius looked away again. “It was a bit of a whirlwind?”

“We had been apart for a year and a half,” Snape said. “And then I—I came back for you. I couldn’t stand it. You proposed a few months after we got back together, and then we had the wedding about six months after that. We had started looking for houses, but it took us a long time to find something we really loved. And it took some modifications.”

“Like what?”

“The lab was added magically,” Snape said. “To my specifications. We had the master bathroom completely redone. The playroom used to be another spare bedroom, but you had it done up for the kids. And there are little things, of course. We replaced a lot of the appliances in here. The roof needed fixing. We’ve put in a lot of work on the garden out back. And we built the greenhouse together.”

“Show me?”

Snape nodded. “Tomorrow. It’s getting dark.”

“I suppose it is.” Sirius watched as Snape closed the blinds, wanting to bite his muscular, exposed arm, appalled by the impulse. “What do you usually do before bed?”

“We talk. Listen to the radio or podcasts. Read together, or in the same room. Sometimes I work on papers. Or I go back to brewing for a while. You—you spend a lot of time working out in the garden, or on your bike, or writing your memoirs.”

“I’m writing my memoirs?”

“I can scare up what you have so far if you want.”

“That—that would be really helpful. Thank you.”

“Yeah. I’ll go get them for you.”

Snape vanished, then returned after about ten minutes with a thick stack of muggle paper. “You always say your problem is that you have too much to work with,” he said. “I suppose we ought to be grateful now.”

“Yeah.” Sirius accepted the stack, then stood. “I—I think I’m gonna go—”

“Yeah,” Snape said. He followed Sirius to his room, then stopped outside it and sighed. “Goodnight, Sirius. I’m just upstairs if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” Sirius said, obscurely moved. He entered the spare bedroom and sat down with the stack of paper, reading through a list of title ideas, half of which were stricken through. Then he turned the page and started reading.

His memoir, it was clear, was from the old Sirius’s point of view nothing so much as a love story. He read through a technically-competently-written, startlingly funny, altogether quite interesting recollection of his childhood, then faltered when he came across the recounting of his own first meeting with Snape.

The boy was small, unassuming, ugly beyond the universal misfortunes of youth. His robes were shabby and his confidence was nonexistent. If I had known then that the whole of my life would be a process of being propelled towards him, I like to think I might have handled our first meeting with a bit more care. I didn’t know then that the boy in front of me would become a man who would shape my life, or I might have been kind with him.

But I was cruel instead. We were all cruel, then, crushed under the weights of our childhoods and the expectations of the world; the coming war loomed above us, giving us raw, caustic edges. When he was Sorted Slytherin and James and I were Sorted Gryffindor, it began a rivalry for the ages. Severus Snape was a thorn in my side…

He kept reading, dismayed by how the memoir went back to Snape, over and over and over again. It wasn’t obsessive, but it did paint a stark portrait of Sirius as a man who seemed utterly sure that Snape was not just a frequent figure in his life, but someone Sirius was destined for. He read up to the beginning of the second war with Voldemort, coming to yet another scene about Snape: Dumbledore forcing them to shake hands. Then he set the manuscript aside and rubbed his eyes, realizing he was exhausted, settling quickly into a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, Sirius woke up late. He hadn’t been sleeping well at Harry’s, and it was a relief to wake up naturally, to feel the sun peeking in through the heavy curtains. He yawned and stretched and dressed in the clothes Snape had brought down and neatly arranged in the spare room dresser, then padded out to the kitchen, where Snape was sitting reading the newspaper. “Morning.”

Snape jumped up. “Good morning! You must be hungry. I’ll cook.”

“Okay,” Sirius said, sitting down and tugging at the abandoned newspaper. He didn’t recognize most of the names, and after a second he flipped to the horoscopes. “What’s your sign?”

A long pause. “Capricorn.”

Sirius thumbed down to Capricorn. “You will be prosperous in a new venture, if you can keep your tongue,” Sirius announced. “The color blue will be particularly important for you today.”

Snape snorted. “And what does it say for Scorpio?”

Sirius blinked, then turned to it. “‘Nothing can stop today from being the day that it will be, but you can stop yourself from falling victim to craftily-laid traps. Important numbers include 12, 57, and 99.’”

“It’s poppycock, you realize,” Snape said, and Sirius grinned. “Two eggs or three?”

“Two.”

“Okay.” 

Snape cracked them on the side of the pan, then floated the shells over to the trash. Soon there was a plate of eggs and rashers and toast in front of Sirius, and Snape slid in across from him, watching him eat. Sirius squirmed. “Thought I might take my bike out today. Drive around. Explore the area.”

“Good plan. We should get you set up with your mobile first. I’m sure Harry would feel a lot better if he could text you.”

“Text?”

Snape frowned. “Send short notes,” he said. “You like it, trust me.”

“Right,” Sirius said. Snape stood and went to retrieve the mobile, tapping it with his wand and muttering to himself. When he came up across a screen asking for a password, he tried a few different things, then pursed his lips and tapped in more numbers, seeming pleased when the mobile’s screen changed. “What?”

“Code’s 090160,” Snape said. “Lucky guess.”

Sirius frowned, but found himself unsure he wanted to know. “Er, okay. What now?”

Snape walked him through some of the basics, then told Sirius to try texting Harry. He got back a series of happy pictograms, and then a message reading, How’s things at Severus’s?

Peachy, Sirius wrote back, and stowed it in his pocket. “That’s yours,” Snape said. “I’ll show you more stuff you can do on it later.”

“Thanks,” Sirius said. “I—I’m gonna get going, I think.”

“Okay,” Snape said, and followed him to the door. He waved as Sirius departed, and soon he found himself on country roads, glancing around and then hitting the cloak and fly buttons.

It was a lovely view from the air, and he soon spotted a little town, though he didn’t set down, wary of running into people who knew him. He didn’t stop until he hit London, parking his bike on the outskirts of town and then making his way deeper inside. It was an alien relief to be amongst people, amongst strangers, and he stopped at various parks and took in the bustle of human life, missing Moony so acutely it felt like he’d had a heart attack. 

Eventually, he grew bored of sitting around, and realized he didn’t have any money as he was heading into a delicious-smelling chippy. Dejectedly, he returned to his motorbike and then back to Snape’s, where the man was locked in his lab, a little “Busy” sign giving Sirius all the indication he needed that he was unwelcome.

He headed back to his room, and picked up the memoirs again, dreading whatever came next, his desire not to know grating against his absolute need to. He came to scenes he didn’t recognize: Christmas at Grimmauld Place during the last year of the war. A very startling scene where they recovered Gryffindor’s sword from a frozen lake, guided by a Patronus that Sirius recognized as Snape’s. Sirius’s growing suspicion that the man was secretly on their side, never vocalized. And the end of the war: Harry’s death, his resurrection.

And then came the end of the war, and what Sirius of old had dubbed Part III of the narrative. Sirius did drugs; he drank; he partied, embracing his freedom to the fullest. And he kept running into Snape: at functions, at bars, in the street on Diagon Alley, gradually falling into something like friendship. And then, the year after Harry and Ginny married, Snape and Sirius had slept together.

I had always thought I was straight before that, and I didn’t want to give up that identity, Sirius had written. I wrote the whole thing off as a fluke the first ten or so times. Never mind that I couldn’t keep my hands off Severus the second he came into eyeshot—I was straight, for Merlin’s sake! Severus never contradicted me about it. He told me later that he had no hope for anything beyond what was already happening to happen. It was after the tenth time that I began to really question my sexuality. I found myself missing Severus when he wasn’t there, wondering what he was doing, yearning for his touch. He always touched me gently, even at the beginning; he has hands that have done profound harm, and I could always feel the weight of his regret on his fingertips, the desire to be something more than his mistakes.

We had been something like friends going into the whole thing, so it was easy to start talking to him again, though I worried nonstop about breaking his heart. I was so worried about him getting hung up on me that I didn’t notice what was happening with my own feelings. Sex turned to tentative conversation turned to long nights spent at each other’s sides, refusing to let go. 

One conversation that will always stick with me happened maybe five months after we first slept together. We were at Severus’s house, curled up together in front of the fire, and he gave me a hesitant look that had only recently begun to make an appearance. I wasn’t sure whether to be glad he felt safe enough to be vulnerable with me or furious that anything about me made him hesitant, and…

Sirius read on in voyeuristic horror, the lines blurring as his heterosexuality was utterly eviscerated, his humiliations and hesitations laid bare for the world to see. He had been planning to publish this? Sirius came off like an imbecile, a dreamer, a burden, a lovesick fool. It just got worse and worse the longer the book went on. Sirius described his rapidly developing secret relationship with Snape, three years of secret sex and meetups and narrowly avoiding discovery and the strain the whole thing took; and then Harry found them together, and Sirius blew up at him, and Snape fled not just the scene but the country.

The year and a half that followed were the worst of my life, and that’s saying a lot, Sirius wrote. I can’t remember ever being quite that miserable. The absence of Severus was a physical thing, and I felt it acutely.

And then, after a few long, bleak pages, Snape returned.

It was an ordinary morning when the knock at my door came. I expected solicitors, as they were the only people who ever came around, but when I opened the door, there he was. I stood staring at him, and he stared back; then he said, ‘May I come in?’, and I fell all over myself welcoming him inside.

There was such an intense relief at being in his presence at all that I found myself stripped of words, and grateful when he was the first to speak. ‘I stayed in Lebanon, for a while,’ he said, as I worked on tea with trembling fingers. ‘Palestine. Morocco. France. Spain. I met people you couldn’t even imagine. I tried every night to forget you. To forget what I had here.’ He looked away from me. ‘I’m sorry.’

I stumbled. ‘What?’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said again, and I sat down. ‘I know you didn’t miss me, but—’

I laughed. I’ll never forget the look on his face: startled, and stricken, and utterly abashed. ‘Of course I bloody missed you,’ I said. ‘Merlin, I don’t think a minute’s gone by that I haven’t missed you. I’m sorry for what I said. I’m sorry I didn’t use the opportunity we had to take what we had out into the open. That was where it deserved to be.’

‘Oh,’ Severus said, and the kettle started shrieking. I made us both tea, sitting back down across from him, careful not to touch. ‘I shouldn’t have left.’

‘I understand why you did. Are you back in the country for long?’

‘To stay, maybe,’ Severus said. ‘But I’m not sure I want to do it alone.’

I reached out and gripped his hand. ‘Then don’t. Stay here. We’ll tell everyone tomorrow.’ I laughed again. ‘The kids have missed their Uncle Severus.’

Severus’s face softened. ‘I missed them too.’

Sirius wrenched away from the page, realizing he was panting with rage. He wasn’t sure what he felt the most fury about: that this had happened at all, or that he’d been forced to forget. He left the room and barged into Snape’s lab, where the man was sitting in front of an empty cauldron, his head buried in his hands. “You really expect me to believe all that happened?”

Snape looked up. “What?”

“Everything in the memoir. There’s no way anything like that happened. There was no bloody—it paints you as an unspeakable romantic, for one!”

Snape looked away. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have given you that.”

“I had a right to it,” Sirius said. “But some of the stuff in there is—as though I would ever fall into bed with you! You’re repulsive!”

“I never understood it either,” Snape said quietly. “What you saw. Why you came back. You were always too good for me. I don’t know—it’s just that you’re a little mad.”

“I’m perfectly sane!”

Snape raised an eyebrow at him, and Sirius slumped. “Madness,” he said. “That’s your explanation?”

“Is there a better one?”

“Did he know you thought that?”

Snape looked away again. “No.”

Sirius felt his anger vanish, and he leaned against the wall across from Snape, trying to still his beating heart. “You thought your husband was only with you because he was mad?”

Snape shrugged. The anger returned, rather startlingly this time on Snape’s behalf. “He loved you. It’s obvious he loved you.”

“As much as I can be loved, he loved me,” Snape agreed. “I suppose I’ve always believed he could do better, though. Even if he would disagree.”

Something about this struck Sirius as about the bleakest thing he’d ever heard, and he found himself moving closer to Snape, stopping himself from reaching out a hand. “I know myself. From what I’ve read, there were no caveats. He didn’t love you because it was easy or convenient or wise. He loved who you were. It was about you.”

Snape just shook his head. “Why are you here, Sirius?”

Sirius pulled back, stung. “I—I just wanted—”

“It’s implausible,” Snape said. “I grant you that it’s implausible. But it did happen. We—we found each other. And we kept finding each other. It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t anything anyone expected. But we—” He cut off, choked. “We did make each other happy.”

“Okay,” Sirius said. He reached across the lab table and grasped Snape’s shoulder. “Okay. I believe you. I’m sorry.”

Snape stayed very still. “Maybe I should move out,” he said. “I can—”

“Don’t!”

Snape looked at him, desperation clear in his features. “I don’t want to make things harder for you.”

“You’re not, okay? You’re not. You shouldn’t have to leave your own home.”

“Okay,” Snape whispered. There was a creak, and they turned to see Delilah nosing her way in through the door. Sirius went to her and scooped her up and deposited her in Snape’s arms, and Snape held her up to his face, relaxing as she licked his chin. “Good girl. Good girl.”

Something about the scene made Sirius feel so heartrendingly tender he wanted to throw up, and he pulled back. “Let me make you some tea.”

“Okay.”

It took some doing to find everything, but soon he was headed back into Snape’s lab with tea, running a hand down his shoulder again as he handed it over. “Sorry. For barging in here like that. I know this isn’t your fault.”

“Thanks.” Snape took a sip of his tea, then petted Delilah, who looked exceedingly comfortable curled up on his lap. “It’s not your fault either.”

“I know.”

They stayed in silence for a while, Sirius standing close to the work table, dying to find some excuse to touch Snape again. “So we had this big falling-out. You left the country.”

“Yeah.”

“Because I—I freaked out. Whenever Harry found out about us. He was happy for us, but I started insisting that no one could know, that what we were doing was wrong, that I knew I needed to break it off. You left halfway through my rant, and you didn’t come back for a year and a half.”

“Yeah.”

“And then—” Sirius rubbed his forehead. “I just got to the scene where you get back in town. I forgave you like—I wasn’t even mad.”

Snape shrugged. “You said you only remembered you should be mad later. We did have fights about it.” Snape’s mouth twisted. “You were always terrified I would leave when we fought. For years. We started making up right afterwards instead of letting them linger. It was—you had made all sorts of promises to yourself about what you would do if I ever came back. You would be more open, more honest. You wouldn’t waste the life you had on hiding. You would—anyway, it was different after I got back. Things were different.”

“Yeah.” Sirius crossed his arms, clenching his fists to stop from at least reaching out to touch Snape’s shoulder again. “Well, erm, can I help with dinner? I’m getting hungry.”

Snape checked the time, then sighed. “Alright. Come with me.”

They headed to the kitchen together, Sirius taking Snape’s directions as they came, and soon had a very interesting Vietnamese soup, which Sirius devoured with gusto as they watched Episode Two of Heroes. When the show ended, Sirius helped him clean up, and then they both stood in the kitchen, staring at each other. “Well, erm, I should probably get to bed,” Sirius said. “Thanks for dinner.”

“You helped cook it.”

“I guess so.” Sirius winced. “Anyway. See you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Snape said, and raised a hand. Sirius caught a glimpse of him burying his head in his hands as Sirius left, and tried not to dwell on it.

He returned to the memoir when he got back to his room, getting wrapped up in its final chapters; it was easy to imagine the whole thing happening to someone else, and he absorbed the rest of it that way, taking in details about the relationship and the proposal and the marriage with dull, horrified amusement. Sirius could see what his past self had meant about the manuscript needing to be cut down; it had to be at least eight hundred pages, and he resolved to go through it again more carefully next time, to commit to memory what had happened to him over the past eighteen years. He’d been so quick to forget.

He fell into an easy routine with Snape, though Harry came over to check on him a few times; they would eat breakfast and dinner and sometimes lunch together, and then they would go their separate ways. Sirius picked apart the memoir word by word, pairing it with photographs from various albums; on Saturday, he barged into Snape’s lab again, surprised to find him actually working. “Oh. Sorry.”

“I’ll come get you in a few minutes,” Snape said, though it ended up being over half an hour. When Snape emerged into the living room, he looked worried. “What’s going on?”

“What do I do all day?” Sirius asked. Snape blinked. “I know I don’t just sit around the house.”

“No, you don’t.” Snape sat down across from him. “You go out a lot. Spend time with friends and the kids. You bring Harry lunch at work. You usually have people over at least a few days a week. Sometimes the kids spend the night. You—you have a lot of friends. I’m sure they’re all worried about you.”

“Oh,” Sirius said. “Like who?”

“Well, there’s family, obviously,” Snape said. “The Weasleys and the Potters and Andromeda and Ted. And old friends from the Order. And there’s a gay couple we made friends with at a cooking class, Floyd and Shoaib. And…”

He listed off what felt like fifty people, Sirius’s head spinning. He pulled out his mobile and started scrolling through text chains with various people, realizing that some of them were just people checking in. “My God, I have texts from half these people. What—what should I do?”

Snape came to sit next to him, looking down at his mobile. “I can get in touch with some of them for you. Mutual friends. Let them know what’s going on.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

“I’ll let you know who I talk to, and for the rest you can handle it however you’d like. Here, let’s work on it now.” And he pulled out his own mobile and started making calls.

They all went much the same; Snape would say there had been an accident, that Sirius had lost eighteen years of memory, and then he would accept condolences. He would say how much they valued the other’s friendship, and how he hoped to see them soon; then he would hang up and move onto the next. At last, they’d scrolled all the way down Sirius’s texts, and he collapsed back with a sigh.

Sirius laughed. “Thanks for that.”

“Yeah.” Snape looked exhausted. “I’m gonna get back to my potion, if you don’t mind.”

“Right! Of course. Sorry.”

Sirius watched as he went, then started reading through his texts. Most of the ones from Snape were logistical in nature, but Harry sent him all kinds of funny pictures, and he got wrapped up in the philosophical conversations he seemed to have been having with someone named Tabitha. He didn’t recall her name from the list of mutual friends, and found himself pulling up the text function. 

Hey, this is Sirius, he typed slowly. I’ve had an accident, and I don’t remember the last eighteen years. It seems like we were pretty good friends. Do you want to get lunch sometime or something?

He didn’t hear back until just before dinnertime, his hip vibrating. I’m so sorry! Tabitha had written. That’s terrible. I’m so sorry for your loss. I would love to get lunch. How about Monday?

Sounds good, Sirius wrote back. You pick the place.

The next day, they had family dinner. Sirius let Snape side-along him, realizing he’d never been to the Burrow alone, and they stepped inside. Just about everyone seemed relieved to see them together, which made knots bunch up in Sirius’s gut, and they sat down next to each other at the overflowing table, meeting eyes briefly before Sirius’s skittered away.

Everyone was talking to each other, loud voices roaring around the room, and Sirius turned back to Snape, who was of course already watching him. “Hey,” Snape said softly. “You alright?”

“I shouldn’t be here,” Sirius gasped out. Snape reached up and grabbed his face, and Sirius wanted to be disgusted but the contact was so grounding that all he felt was gratitude. “I—I shouldn’t—”

“This is your family,” Snape said firmly. “Every single person at this table loves you. They’ll keep loving you even if you never get your memory back.”

“I don’t know how to love them,” Sirius whispered miserably, turning his face into Snape’s hand. “I don’t know how to love the kids. I don’t know how to love you. I don’t know how to—I want to go home.”

“We can if you want. Everyone would understand.”

Sirius found himself seriously considering it, then steeled himself. “No. No. We’re here. And I made you miss it last week.”

“That’s alright. We can still go.”

“No.” Sirius pulled away, and Snape quickly dropped his hand. “Sorry, I—sorry.”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“If you say so,” Sirius muttered. He turned away from Snape, acutely embarrassed, and towards the person next to him, an aged George Weasley. “So, you’re still running the joke shop? How do you like that?”

Time passed quickly, and the food was good, and the kids only demanded his attention a few times, and he accepted more than one firewhiskey, only realizing how drunk he really was when he turned back to Snape and was seized by an irrepressible urge to touch him somehow.

It was impossible to even think about resisting, and he felt his face pitch forwards as he buried it in Snape’s shoulder. Snape went very still, and then his arm came up to wrap around Sirius’s shoulders. He shivered and let it happen, wondering what would happen if he licked Snape’s neck. The world felt distant and hazy, the warmth of Snape’s body the only real thing, and Snape started stroking his fingers up and down on Sirius’s shoulder, and he knew that the gesture ought to have been familiar, and found himself wanting to cry.

“—better get this one home,” Snape was saying, his voice light. “I think someone had a little too much to drink. Didn’t we, love?”

“Tired,” Sirius grumbled. Snape let out a puff of air. “Don’t make me move.”

“I guess we can stay a little while longer.”

Laughter around the table, and conversation started up again; Sirius hadn’t known he was falling asleep until he found himself being shaken awake. “Snape?”

“Time to go home,” Snape murmured. “Dinner’s over.”

Sirius looked up blearily to see people standing and moving empty platters of food. “Oh.”

He still felt drunk, and swayed on his feet when he stood, clutching Snape’s side. “Oof. Ugh. Gonna—gonna need you to side-along me.”

“Of course.” Snape led him around to say their goodbyes, then led him to the front yard and took his arm. “Almost there.”

They emerged in the front room, where Snape appraised him. “Do you want a sober-up or a hangover potion?”

“Wanna drink more,” Sirius said mulishly. Snape frowned. “Not drunk enough.”

“I think you’ve had more than enough.”

“What are you, my mum?”

“Tell you what. If you can find it, you can have some.”

Sirius grinned and started for the kitchen, Snape following. He turned it upside down, then started for the dining room; he emerged triumphant with a bottle of firewhiskey from an antique liquor cabinet, heading out to the living room, flopping down, and drinking directly out of the bottle.

Snape sat down next to him, scooping up Delilah when she nosed at his legs, and watched him with that intense, sorrowful gaze of his. “I’m going to cut you off when you hit your limit.”

“Fine.” Sirius took another swig, sinking down into the couch and spreading his legs wide enough that his knee brushed Snape’s. “Why do you have to be such a killjoy?”

“Because I care.”

Sirius scowled, and they sat in silence, Sirius’s skin pulsating where they touched. Sirius took another swig, then another; then he sat up, rolled on top of Snape, and kissed him.

Snape kissed back, just for a minute, and then pulled away. “Sirius—”

“Oh, come on,” Sirius whined. “We’re married.”

“What’s my middle name?”

Sirius looked away, and Snape let out a shuddering breath. Delilah barked and shimmied her way out of Snape’s lap. “Even if you weren’t drunk it would be a bad idea,” Snape said. The words were almost gentle. “You don’t even believe you’re not straight.”

“I’m coming around,” Sirius said. “I certainly have eyes.”

“That’s not—” Snape let out a harsh breath. “You—”

“Severus?”

Snape closed his eyes. “Sirius,” he whispered, with a kind of raw and absolute helplessness. “I miss you.”

Abruptly Sirius felt like he had intruded on something intensely personal, and he scrambled off Snape, swaying in front of him, aching to go back and touch. “I—I’m—Merlin, Snape, I’m sorry.”

“You can call me Severus if you want.”

“I know.” Snape opened his eyes, which were heavy with grief. “I—you were right. I’ve had enough. I think—bedtime.”

“I’ll grab you a hangover potion,” Snape said. Sirius watched him leave, then shook himself and headed for the spare bedroom, changing into his nightclothes. Snape was there after a minute, and set the potion down on his bedside. “Here. Let me tuck you in.”

Sirius looked away. “I’m not a child.”

“We all still want the things we wanted as children,” Snape said, and Sirius twisted his hands in the comforter. “It can feel good to be taken care of.”

“Oh, alright,” Sirius muttered. He climbed up on the bed and beneath the covers, and Snape smoothed the blankets out over him, then ran a comforting hand along Sirius’s forehead and through his hair. “Goodnight, Severus.”

“Goodnight,” Snape echoed. He looked far away. “Sweet dreams.”

Sirius was waiting at the café when a woman approached him at his table. “Hey!” she said. “Thanks for the invitation!”

“Tabitha?”

The woman’s face wavered, but she recovered quickly. “Yeah. Hey.”

“Hey.” 

She sat down in the seat Sirius had pulled out for her, laughing a little. “How have you been?”

“Well, I forgot the last eighteen years.”

“Right. Stupid question.” Tabitha grimaced. “How’s Severus holding up?”

Sirius looked away. “Things have been weird. The last I remember of him he was—we were enemies. Now suddenly I’m married to the guy. I didn’t even think I was queer.”

Her eyes were wide. “Enemies?”

“Mortal ones. I’d have killed him given half a chance.”

She looked uncertain. “Is that a joke?”

Thankfully the waiter arrived to take Tabitha’s drink order before Sirius had to answer, and when he left she laughed and rubbed the back of her neck. “Where are you staying?”

“With him.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Your mortal enemy?”

Sirius felt his face burning. “He’s—I guess he’s not so bad,” he muttered. “There were apparently extenuating circumstances around his behavior during the war. Which is apparently over. Apparently I—I built a life with him.” Sirius buried his head in his hands, acutely aware of the fact that Tabitha was a virtual stranger, and then even more aware of the fact that she wasn’t. “I just—I really didn’t even think I was gay.”

“You’re bi,” Tabitha said. Sirius pulled his face out of his hands. “You said it took you four years to own up to it.”

“Yeah.”

“They were years after you lost your memory?”

“Yeah.”

“You don’t have to be comfortable with such a big change right away,” Tabitha said. She looked hesitant. “I—I hope it won’t bother you that I’m a lesbian.”

“No. No. Of course not.”

“Well, I don’t—”

“Of course not,” Sirius said firmly. Tabitha ducked her head. “I don’t care at all. Or, well, I care. But I’m not disturbed or upset.”

“Okay.” A brief silence. “I’m not sure where to start. Do you want to know about yourself?”

“Okay!”

She grinned, and regaled him with stories, and Sirius was feeling loose and relaxed when they wrapped up lunch, insisting he pay with the muggle money Snape had hoisted off on him prior to this. Tabitha gave him a hug, and he headed onto his motorbike and away, unsurprised to find Snape curled up in the living room with a book. “Hey.”

“Hey. How’d it go?”

“Well, I think.” Sirius sat down at the end of the couch and laid a hand on Snape’s bare, outstretched ankle, unsure what he was doing except that he had badly wanted to. Snape glanced at it with lidded eyes and stuck a bookmark into his book and set it down on his lap. “She’s really nice.”

“Yeah.”

“I—I—” Sirius rubbed his forehead. “She told me all these stories about myself. It was like hearing about a complete stranger.”

“Yeah.”

“I don’t want to be fifty-four,” Sirius said. Snape nodded. “I’d barely begun figuring out thirty-seven.”

“I’m sorry you lost so much time.”

“Me too.” Sirius squeezed Snape’s leg. “I don’t—it feels—I don’t want to ruin the relationships I built, you know? But I don’t remember building them. I don’t remember anything about Harry or the kids or you or these dozens of friends I apparently have. Last I remember I was in hiding. Now suddenly—it’s almost too much, you know? Too many good things have happened, and I’m not quite sure how to—to live with that. How to start over. Whether it is starting over. I know I have—have—have you, and I know I have Harry, and the whole family, really, but it’s—I just—”

He pulled away from Snape to bury his head in his hands. There was a long silence, and then Snape’s hand was on his shoulder, rubbing gently. Sirius leaned into the touch, sighing and freeing his face from his hands, avoiding Snape’s gaze. “I’m sorry,” Snape murmured. “I’m sorry. You didn’t deserve this. I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks,” Sirius managed, and then, completely on impulse, threw himself into Snape’s arms. 

The man held on tight, squeezing Sirius, running a hand through his hair, kissing the top of his head, and Sirius laughed, realizing in terror that it was choked with tears. “I want my memory back,” he wailed. Snape hung onto him. “God, Severus, I want my fucking memory back.”

“I know. I know.”

“I lost the kids’ entire lives.”

“I know.”

“I lost fifteen years with you,” Sirius whispered, and Snape went still. “I want them back.”

“You do?”

“Yeah,” Sirius said miserably, and Snape kissed the top of his head again.

He stayed there, ensconced in that warm feeling of absolute safety, for a long time, and then started to pull away. Snape’s hands flew away from him, and Sirius mourned the loss, unable to even begin to fool himself that he wanted anything else. Why was the power of suggestion so all-consuming when it came to Snape? How could he want the man? He hadn’t even thought he could want any man, and yet here he was, all but yearning for his own husband.

Snape let Sirius climb off him, watching him with cautious eyes. “Er,” Sirius said, and then settled in right next to Snape and buried his head in his shoulder. “Let’s watch Heroes.”

Snape’s voice was choked when he spoke. “Okay.”

Sirius traipsed into the kitchen, following his nose. Snape was standing over a fry-up, looking lost in his own little world. “Hey. Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Snape said, his mouth twitching towards a smile. “Breakfast in ten.”

“Brilliant.” Sirius sat down and reached for Snape’s discarded paper, flipping through unfamiliar news items and settling on a human interest story. He looked up when Snape slid a plate in front of him, giving the man a smile, and Snape’s whole face softened. It was somewhat dizzying, and struck Sirius as rather a perfect moment for a kiss; but instead Snape sat down across from him and said, “Plans today?”

Sirius shrugged. “You said I bring Harry lunch at work. Was thinking I might do that. And maybe—maybe we could go out? Would you want to? I’m sorry, that’s silly, I—”

“It’s not silly,” Snape said quietly. “I’d like that a lot.”

Sirius exhaled. “Okay, great. We can—what do we usually do when we go out?”

“Dinner. Plays. Films. Quidditch games. Museums. Concerts and operas and gay bars. There’s a comedy club that you like. Once we did an escape room.”

“An escape room?”

“They lock you in a room and you have to follow the clues to find your way out.” He smiled a little. “We did it with twenty minutes to spare.”

Sirius wanted the memory for himself so badly he bit his tongue, stopping when he tasted blood. “Well, erm, do you want to check and see if any—any plays are showing? I’m not sure about—would people recognize me at the comedy club?”

“Probably.”

Sirius grimaced. “I don’t want to deal with that right now. Dinner and a play? Or a concert or a film or something?”

“I’ll see what I can scare up,” Snape said, and pulled out his mobile. He clicked around for a while as they ate in silence, then said, “The West End is doing The Importance of Being Earnest? We could see that? At seven.”

“Dinner beforehand?”

“Sounds good.” Snape reached out as though to touch him, then pulled away sharply. Sirius felt his heart go out to him, and reached his hand out across the table, palm-up. Snape stared at it for a minute, then slowly laced their fingers together, drawing Sirius’s hand up off the table and to his mouth, kissing the back of his hand. Sirius let it happen, aware suddenly that he was trembling, and Snape whispered, “You don’t have to be so damned kind with me.”

“It’s not for you,” Sirius said. Snape closed his eyes and let their joined hands fall back to the table. “I didn’t know—I couldn’t have ever imagined this. But it—it makes sense, doesn’t it? When you think about it? I’ve always been completely obsessed with you. You’ve always been this—this beautiful, vulnerable thing. If I like men, I guess—maybe I’ve always wanted you.” He laughed, aware it was self-deprecating. “I’m not sure what you see in me, but—”

“You’re lovely,” Snape said. “Talk about beautiful. And about wanting. I noticed how lovely you were the very first time I saw you. It made me so angry growing up.” Sirius laughed. “And then when we were in the Order together, I had all these fantasies. I would stay to talk to you, and everyone would leave for once, and you would invite me to bed. And then when we came together after the war—we had a nice little friendship, but I wanted more than that from you. I began to understand that you weren’t just gorgeous. You were kind, and brave, and terribly funny, and—and so fucking patient with me. With my pain. I fell hard. You didn’t even suspect it until I kissed you one night at your flat. And you were so—you just went with it. You didn’t tell me you were straight until afterwards. You said it could never happen again, and then the next time we saw each other you jumped me the second you laid eyes on me. It was—I won’t pretend you can’t be petty or cruel or vain. But there’s this light of hope that shines through you. This sense of whimsy and wonder. This eagerness to seize life for all it’s worth. It’s impossible not to love you. I don’t know how anyone meets you without falling.”

“Oh,” Sirius said, and wiped his eyes, which had welled just a little. Snape stroked his hand with his thumb, and Sirius gripped it tighter. “Where does Harry like lunch from?”

“I’ll text you a few names.”

“Thanks.”

“Of course.” Snape flexed his hand a little, and Sirius relaxed his death grip. “Here, I’ll do that now.”

He pulled away, and Sirius tried and failed not to feel rejected. He ate his last few bites of breakfast and stood up and took Snape’s empty plate, cleaning them both at the sink, then sitting back down across from Snape, who was openly watching him. “What time does he have lunch?”

“You go anytime from eleven to two.”

“Okay.” A beat. “What time is it now?”

Snape checked his mobile. “Nine-thirty-three.”

“Thanks.” Sirius shook himself. “Should I let him know I’m going to come by? So he doesn’t go out to lunch?”

“It can’t hurt.”

Sirius shot off a quick text, then looked up at Snape. “Do you wanna, er—wanna do something? For a couple hours? We could—could talk, or watch telly, or—sorry, I’m being silly again, I—”

“I would love to,” Snape said, and Sirius bit his lip and stood and held out a hand. 

Snape hesitated, then took it, and they traipsed out to the living room, where Sirius sat down entirely too close to Snape, resting his head on his shoulder. Snape trembled. “Tell me more about us,” Sirius said. “What was our honeymoon like?”

A long pause. “We went to Fiji,” Snape said. “It was—we had a lot of fun. We island-hopped. Ate our weight in seafood. We went sailing. Swimming. Explored the jungle. We—you were exuberantly happy. You told me—you said you had never imagined you would be able to love like that. That—”

He cut off, his voice choked. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I can—”

“It’s alright,” Sirius whispered. “Thanks for trying.”

Snape nodded rigidly. “I—I just—you and I—I don’t—what do you want from me? Because I—I’ll do whatever it takes to give it to you. But I—I’m not sure that I understand what it is you want.”

“I don’t either.”

Snape laughed. The sound was choked too. “I see.”

“I’m sorry.” Sirius turned his head and pressed his face into Snape’s side. “Maybe I—I’m taking advantage of you. Of the fact that you love someone I used to be. I know you don’t—I know I don’t have that shared history with you. I—”

“I love you because you’re you,” Snape said. “I haven’t stopped. Maybe—I think if I had stopped loving you when you lost your memory this whole thing would be a lot easier. You’d be less—less confused. But I just—I don’t think I ever could. No matter what happened to you. You’re—I made a promise. To always stand by you. And I meant it. I’m sorry. But I meant it.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Sirius whispered. “I think being here with you—things have started to make sense again. Or maybe—maybe for the first time. I’m really glad—I wish I knew how to treat your love with the care it deserves. Because you do deserve that. But I’m not—I’m—it’s like you said. I’ve never imagined myself as being capable of the kind of love everyone says I felt for you. I’ve never been able to—to stay like that. And I’m afraid that if I try, I’ll fail.” He let out a shuddering laugh. “Or I’ll succeed. I don’t know which is scarier. But I do know that I—I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Oh,” Snape said. He was very still. Then, haltingly, he wrapped an arm around Sirius. “You don’t have to try. I don’t expect it of you. I sort of thought—I figured you would just stay here until you got on your feet. I didn’t—you don’t have to try to feel something that isn’t there just because—”

“I don’t know how long it’s been there,” Sirius whispered. Snape went still again. “I think—maybe it’s been longer than either of us ever knew. Because this doesn’t feel—at first I was horrified. But there’s something about it that feels—old. Really old. Like maybe I was always heading towards you.”

“Oh.”

“I didn’t even think I was gay a week ago,” Sirius said, and Snape let out a huff of something like laughter. “But I don’t—can I kiss you?”

“Sirius—”

“Please?”

A long silence. Then Snape mumbled, “Alright.”

Sirius pulled back, tilted Snape’s head towards himself, and kissed him. Snape kissed back, and there was something so damned sad in his movements that Sirius wrenched away. “Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.”

“I don’t want to treat you like—”

“I know.”

“It’s just that I—that I want—”

“You want something to make sense,” Snape said quietly. “You think that if you can force yourself to love me, maybe losing your memory won’t be so—so goddamned awful. But it’s still going to be what it is. I’m sorry. It’s—I’ll be here. I’ll always be here. But you deserve to figure out what you want and who you are without the obligation of—of me.” He pulled away, just a little. “I should move out.”

“No!”

Snape stilled. “I want you,” Sirius said. “I don’t—maybe you’re right that I feel like I should love you. And you’re right that I—I don’t. But I know I want you near. Please don’t—”

“Okay.”

Sirius let out a harsh breath, burying himself in Snape’s side again. “Okay. Great. Okay.”

“I’m sorry this is all so hard for you,” Snape whispered. “If I could take your pain, I would.”

“I know.”

“Let’s watch a film,” Snape said, and Sirius blinked into his arm. “I know some you’ll like.”

“Yeah,” Sirius said. “I guess you do.”

He went by Harry’s work with Thai curry around noon, trying not to wince when the man beamed. Several other aurors had greeted Sirius, and he’d waved vaguely, relieved when he finally reached Harry. “Hey.”

“Hey! Thank you!” Harry stood up in his cubicle and hugged him, then accepted the food. “How’s things at home?”

Sirius grimaced. “Weird.”

“Oh.”

“He’s been perfectly lovely,” Sirius said sourly. “But I’m a complete mess.”

“Oh.”

“At least the animals are there,” Sirius said glumly. “They’re the only thing that feels at all familiar.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t remember them,” Sirius said. “But they do feel familiar.” He sighed. “Severus is… I’m not sure how to avoid breaking his heart.”

“It’s a relief to know you care at all,” Harry said, and Sirius sighed again. “I’ll admit I was a little worried for him when you moved in.”

“Yeah.”

“He keeps his heart close to his chest. But he’s got a lot of it.”

“I know.” Sirius clapped Harry on the back. “I’ll let you get back to work. I just wanted to—Severus said sometimes I come by, so I figured I’d—”

“No, yeah. I really appreciate it, Padfoot. Thanks again.”

Sirius left, apparating home, where he found Snape sitting in the living room, staring at nothing. He went to him, after a minute of deliberation lying with his head in his lap, trying not to purr when Snape’s hand started combing through his hair. “It was good to see him.”

“Mm. Yeah.”

“What time is the play again?”

“Seven. And we can get dinner beforehand.”

“Okay.” Sirius nuzzled Snape’s leg. “You’re not working today?”

“Some days inspiration just… doesn’t come.” Snape reached down and stroked his face, then returned to his hair. “True artistry, of course, requires a diligence that’s entirely separate and alien from inspiration. But sometimes the lack of it is a force unto itself.”

“That’s beautiful.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t think it would be hard to love you,” Sirius said, and Snape went still. “I think that’s why I keep wanting to try.”

“Oh,” Snape said again, and resumed his petting. “You really don’t have to.”

“I know.”

“Okay.”

They sat in silence for a while, Snape stroking Sirius’s hair, Sirius not bothering not to melt into him. Finally, Snape let out a shuddering breath, and his hand went still. “I shouldn’t be—I should be trying to help you recover. Not taking advantage of you. I’m letting your confusion and your desperation to escape it turn into some kind of fucked-up—I know the last thing you need right now is to have a husband you don’t know who—”

“But I do know you.”

“You really don’t.”

Sirius sighed and kissed Snape’s leg, and Snape somehow stilled further. “Well, then tell me.”

“What?”

“Tell me about yourself,” Sirius said. “Evidently you are about eighty percent of what I missed. So tell me.”

Snape closed his eyes. “I’m trying to say that you shouldn’t have to—to care about me at all. You should be focusing on yourself.”

“I am. This is who he was.”

“Sirius—”

“Please,” Sirius said. “Please, Severus, please. Maybe it’ll help me remember.”

Snape slumped. “What do you want to know?”

Snape’s middle name was Tobias. His birthday was January ninth. His favorite color was purple so dark it was almost black, and his favorite animal was bats. He liked rainy days and mountains and the snow. He had grown up with a muggle father and a magical mother, and met Lily when they were both nine. He had fallen in love with her at first sight. His parents had yelled a lot, but they’d never hit him. He had lived on an allowance Lucius Malfoy had given him during the first war. He had been rather violently confronted with the consequences of his actions, and defected. He had long, convoluted dreams, which were rarely comprehensible upon waking; those that were staged grand scenes and elaborate narratives. Last night he’d dreamt of Sirius sitting across from him and holding his hand, pointing out constellations in the night sky above.

In between wars, Snape had done little. He’d spent his years teaching and his summers reading and brewing, perfectly solitary except for the grocer’s. He had wanted to track Sirius down and kill him himself when he escaped, but hadn’t known where to start. When the war had started again, it had felt like an inevitability.

Sirius had made him describe his childhood in such detail that they ended up scrambling out the door to make it to the restaurant by the time they reached the beginning of the second war, and Snape was smiling a little as he sat down across from Sirius, watching him peruse the menu. “Hey, Messers Black-Snape,” their waiter said. “The usual?”

Snape glanced at Sirius, then shook his head. “We might mix it up tonight. What do you want to drink, love?”

“Erm—I’ll take an old fashioned. Water back.”

The waiter nodded. “Usual for me,” Snape said. “Thanks, Richie.”

“Always,” Richie said, and headed off. 

Sirius grimaced. “He knows us?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” Snape looked grim. “He’s a good kid. He’s got four sisters, one of whom he supports. And an Irish setter named Bubblegum. He has a master’s degree in Spanish literature. His mum died last year, and he came to work the day after the funeral. You tipped him a hundred pounds. He treated us differently after that.” Snape shrugged. “Usually we split a margherita pizza, and you get the chicken parmesan and I get the shrimp florentine. You like their snapper too. And the fettuccine carbonara. And you like the veal marsala.”

“We can get a pizza,” Sirius said after a minute, and the half-smile returned. “I was actually thinking about getting the lasagna.”

“That’s good too.”

“Okay.”

They sat in silence until Richie came back with their drinks, then ordered dinner; then they sat in silence again, which grew more uncomfortable by the minute. “Sorry,” Snape said, after another minute. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have told you all that stuff. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Snape looked away. “I really think you shouldn’t have to—”

“I spent fifteen years of my life on you,” Sirius said, and Snape bit his lip. “I want to—to understand why. I want—I don’t know what I want. But I’m glad to know a little more about you. I expect you to finish the story tomorrow.”

“Sirius—”

“Was I asking?”

Snape let out a puff of air very like laughter. “No.”

“Well, alright then.” Sirius looked up and at the approaching pizza. “Oh, look at that. Good choice.”

“It was your idea originally, actually.”

“Oh.”

Richie set the pizza down on the table, winked, and departed; the awkwardness of the silence eased as they ate, and Sirius reached out and knocked their shoes together. “What’s the worst thing I ever did to you?”

“The bullying.”

“Oh.” Sirius looked away. “Well, I do remember that.”

“I guess in the context of our relationship it was the way you reacted when Harry found out about us,” Snape said. “It was really brutal.”

“Sorry.”

“Do you know how many times you’ve apologized to me for that? You don’t have to. It’s okay. It was over a decade ago.”

“I guess.” Sirius set down his pizza, abruptly feeling nauseous. “I, erm—I wish I knew how to—I really fucking want my memories back.”

“I know.”

“Like, it’s—at first I didn’t. But now I do. It’s… they were good years, weren’t they? The ones I lost. They were good.”

“The best,” Snape said quietly. “I’m sorry you lost what you lost. I would give it all back to you if I could.” His eyes widened. “We could—my pensieve.”

Sirius felt his mouth fall open. “Merlin, Snape, that’s bloody brilliant! You have one?”

Snape nodded. “We can do that first thing tomorrow.”

Sirius exhaled, laughing a little. “Okay. Great. Okay.” He laughed again as Snape pulled out his mobile. “Is it polite to pull those out during dinner?”

“Sometimes,” Snape said absently. “Let’s make a list of memories to show you. There’s your proposal, and our wedding, and the first time I told you I loved you, and—”

“The fight we had before you left,” Sirius said, and Snape flinched, then nodded. “Erm, getting Delilah.”

“Yeah. And, erm—I can show you some of the honeymoon stuff. And the kids’ births and birthdays and family Christmases, and some of our dates, and Harry and Ginny’s wedding, and Percy and Audrey’s and George and Angelina’s, and that time we were walking in the forest and we came upon a whole herd of thestrals, and our trips to Peru and Palestine and Portugal and—”

Their meals arrived, and Snape cut off and tucked his mobile into his pocket again. He looked like his skin was buzzing a little, and dug into his food with gusto, smiling openly at Sirius. Sirius wanted to lick his teeth, to throw him down on the floor of this restaurant and climb on top of him, to ravish him until he couldn’t even speak. He gulped and turned to his lasagna, shaking himself. Where had these urges come from? It had become utterly undeniable that he was indeed, as Tabitha had put it, bisexual, but how long had he been bisexual? Had this always been a part of him, forever suppressed? Why hadn’t he noticed? How had he not somehow known?

Snape was watching him now, though, thank Merlin, he wasn’t smiling anymore; instead, his mouth was turned down a little at the corners, and Sirius thought glumly that he had destroyed not one but two lives. “I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“For losing my memory. I’m sorry. I—”

“It isn’t your fault.”

“Sure feels like it,” Sirius muttered. Snape’s frown deepened. “Anyway, I just—I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t apologize for that ever again,” Snape said tightly. Sirius looked away. “You’re the victim in this situation. I’m just—”

“You are too,” Sirius said. “I’ve completely ruined your life.”

“You have not,” Snape said sharply. Sirius closed his eyes. “You listen to me, Sirius Black. You haven’t ruined anything, you understand? Things are going to be different now. That’s true. But every single day we wake up is different from the last. Who knows what would have disrupted the status quo if not this? You can’t blame yourself, because I can’t take it. You’re still alive. You’re healthy. You’re of sound mind and body. You—”

“Thought I was mad.”

Snape sighed. “You’re not hearing me. You need to hear me. I’m just grateful it wasn’t worse. I’m grateful to have this nice night out with the man I love. I’m grateful that you care so much. You haven’t ruined anything.”

“I know you’re lying,” Sirius said, and Snape let out a harsh breath. “You had this beautiful, wonderful, perfect life with your husband, and I ruined it.”

“Why not blame Al? He’s the one who hit you with that bludger.”

“He’s nine!”

“But it makes about as much sense as what you’re saying.”

Sirius rolled his eyes, but he felt his mouth twitch. “Okay. Point taken.”

Snape glanced at his mobile. “We should probably start wrapping up if we want to make it to the theater on time. You want to take that to go?”

The next morning, Sirius could barely concentrate on breakfast, and dragged Snape back to his lab the second they’d cleaned up. “Where’s your pensieve?”

“Here.” Snape pulled it out of a cabinet. “What do you want to see first?”

Sirius plunged into the pensieve after Snape pulled out a string of memories as long as Sirius’s arm, blinking at the flat he emerged in. It was cozy and homey, with books and plants and windows everywhere; it took him a second to realize there was anyone even in it, and then his attention snapped to two people: past versions of himself and Snape, sprawled out on the couch, legs touching. “—don’t know why I come near you,” Past Snape was saying. “Really, it’s indicative of how much brain damage I got from that attack. You—”

Past Sirius reached out and stroked his scar, and Past Snape didn’t flinch. “Can’t say I’m sorry, if it’s led you here to me,” he said softly. Past Snape suddenly looked tentative, and a little heartsick. “Severus?”

“I was going to say you can’t hate me for this,” Past Snape said. “But you already hate me.”

“I do not—”

And Past Snape turned his head, and they were kissing. Sirius felt his mouth part as they kissed for what felt like ten minutes, Past Sirius crawling on top of Past Snape, tangling his hands in his hair. At last the memory began to fade into another, and Sirius watched as Past Snape and Past Sirius laid together in bed, probably naked, all their naughty bits concealed by the bed’s comforter as Past Snape rested his head on Past Sirius’s chest. Past Snape looked a little afraid; Past Sirius looked tired, and a bit apprehensive. “Have you been with many men?”

“A few. Maybe twenty.”

“Are you gay?”

“Kind of. I’m bi.”

“Bi?”

“I like men and women.”

“Oh.”

Silence. “I’ve never been with a man before you,” Past Sirius said. “Obviously.”

“Obviously.”

“I slept around a lot before I went to prison,” Past Sirius said. “During the first war. And then again after this last war. There were a few months there where I went home with a different person every night. I just—when I’m alone—anyway, it just made me feel even emptier inside. It wasn’t a good hobby. But this is… it’s different. When I’m with you, I feel—”

Silence. Past Snape nodded. “Me too.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

“Okay.”

Past Sirius sighed. “You were in love with Lily.”

“I—yeah.”

Sirius gaped. Past Sirius said, “Have you ever loved anyone else?”

A long silence. “Yes.”

“Who?”

More silence. Past Sirius laughed. “I’ve never been in love,” he said. “I don’t have any idea what it feels like. Is it a good feeling?”

“The best,” Past Snape whispered. “It’s like—the whole world opens to you. Everything seems brighter. When you’re with them, it’s—anything seems possible. But it’s a painful feeling, too. You’re raw. The ugly core of you is utterly exposed. It can be very difficult to know—how to act. What to say. What to do. You feel like a complete idiot. Like everyone can see your weakness, and they’ll take all the shattered pieces of you and mold them into something unfathomable. But there’s no better feeling. And there’s nothing like it.”

Past Sirius wrapped an arm around Past Snape’s shoulders and squeezed, and Past Snape stroked his waist. “It’s odd. I think people who knew us would assume I was the one who had been in love before.”

“Yeah.”

“Then again,” Past Sirius said. “Maybe not. You’ve got this—this dark passion, brimming beneath the surface. And I’m shallow.”

“You’re not shallow.”

“I know I am. It’s alright.”

“You’re not fucking shallow,” Past Snape snapped. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

“Okay! Sorry.”

“Good,” Past Snape said. He let out a harsh breath. “I just can’t—you’re incredible. You have to know that.”

Past Sirius shrugged. “Are they mutually exclusive?”

“No. But you aren’t shallow.”

“Okay.”

Past Snape kissed Past Sirius’s chest. “You’re incredible,” he said again. “You give me a lot of hope.”

“I do?”

“Yes.”

“Oh.” Past Sirius closed his eyes. “Why don’t we ever go to your place?”

“It’s a hovel,” Past Snape said flatly. “You don’t want to go there, trust me. Your flat is much nicer.”

“I just want to know more about you.”

“There are other ways.”

“Alright.” Past Sirius sighed. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Black.”

“It is not.”

A beat. “Purple,” Past Snape admitted. “Very dark purple.”

“Mine’s yellow. What’s your favorite animal?”

“Bats.”

“Mine is dogs.”

“Of course it is.”

“Favorite food?”

“What is this, an interrogation?”

“Yes.”

Past Snape’s mouth twitched, and the memory swirled and distorted. They were at the Burrow, close together but not holding hands, Past Sirius looking sheepishly at a startled Molly. “I just thought—sorry, I should have written. I just wanted—”

“It’s alright,” Molly said, and reached out and took Past Snape’s hand between both of hers. “Welcome to our home, Severus.”

“Er, thanks,” Past Snape said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’m so sorry for intruding. I just—Sirius insisted, and I’m sure you know he can be—be very, er, persuasive, and I—”

“You aren’t intruding,” Molly said firmly. “You just took me by surprise, that’s all. But I’m glad you’re here. And I’m glad Sirius has made such a good friend.”

“Yeah,” Past Sirius said. “Friends.”

Past Snape turned a little pink, but Molly didn’t seem to notice, or at least she didn’t comment. “Well, come on, then. Dinner’s waiting.”

Behind her back, Past Sirius squeezed Past Snape’s hand.

And then they were in Sirius’s flat again, sitting quietly on the couch. Past Snape was reading a book, curled up in Past Sirius’s lap; Past Sirius was watching telly, his arms wrapped around Past Snape. They looked utterly contented, totally comfortable with each other. 

And then the floo crackled.

Both men jolted, but it was too late; a young Harry was emerging, apologizing as he did so. “Sorry, sorry,” he said. “I know it’s rude to just show up like—Severus?”

“Hey,” Past Snape said weakly. Past Sirius looked like a cornered animal, utterly frozen. Then his face twisted, and he shoved Past Snape off him and stood up. “Sirius?”

“This isn’t what it looks like,” Past Sirius said desperately. Harry snorted. “There’s nothing going on.”

Past Snape’s face shuttered. Harry said, “What, you were platonically cuddling? Give me a break. This explains a lot, actually. I—”

“I know it’s wrong,” Past Sirius said. Past Snape’s eyes grew bitter, and his mouth twisted. Harry’s mouth parted. “I know I need to end it. That men shouldn’t do that with other men. And it’s just sex, really. It’s not—”

“You bring him everywhere you go,” Harry said. “You brought him to my graduation from the auror program. He was there at Teddy’s birthday parties. I almost never see you without him anymore.”

Past Sirius recoiled. “I should never have let it get this bad,” he said. Past Snape closed his eyes. “I just—there’s something wrong. With me. That makes me—makes me want—that makes me want him. But I know it’s sick. It’s twisted. It’s unnatural. And I know I need help. I just—”

“Of course you don’t need help!” Harry looked deeply offended. “Merlin, Severus, you put up with this?”

“Yeah,” Past Snape said. Past Sirius shot him a venomous look. “That’s what you do.”

Harry looked sorrowful. Past Sirius looked enraged. “Don’t you follow that thought to where it ends. I don’t want to hear it.”

“You never do,” Past Snape said grimly, and stood too. “This is what it’s come to? Three years and you still can’t even touch me when other people are around. When the hell are you going to grow up?”

“Three years,” Harry repeated, almost to himself. “Three years?”

“I’m sick,” Past Sirius moaned. “I’ve let this go on for three years. Harry, you have to know how much I knew I needed to end it. How hard I tried. I just—I couldn’t—he was always there, and I couldn’t bear—oh, God, I’m—I’m some kind of fucked-up fucking deviant pervert—”

“Because you’re gay? There’s not actually anything wrong with that, you know that, right?”

“I am not gay!”

“Of course you’re not,” Past Snape said sardonically. Past Sirius flinched. “Well, since you’re not gay and you therefore can’t care for a man, and this past three years has just been a disgusting little waste of your time, I suppose you won’t mind if I take my leave.”

“Good riddance!” Past Sirius shouted. Past Snape slammed the door on his way out of the room.

And then he was on a front stoop, light streaming in from a distant window. Past Snape was there, holding a bouquet of red roses; he held up his hand, then retracted it. This happened about ten times, and then finally Past Snape knocked.

“Hello? I’m not interested in buying—Severus!”

“Hey,” Past Snape said. He held out the flowers. Dumbly, Past Sirius accepted them. The silence began to stretch out, and, with obvious fear, Past Snape asked, “May I come in?”

“Yeah—God, yeah, please come in, Merlin, yeah—”

Past Snape stepped inside. Past Sirius was solicitous, setting him down at the kitchen table and making him tea, reaching out to touch and then jerking his hand away. Then, obviously unable to help himself, he ran the backs of his fingers along Past Snape’s cheek. “You’re real,” he said. “You’re here.”

The words were reverent. Past Snape’s eyes were closed. “Yeah.”

The kettle started shrieking. Past Sirius jolted away. “Sorry—fuck, sorry—”

“You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Oh.” Past Sirius avoided Past Snape’s eyes as he poured the tea. “I just—I know you must be over me by now. You must have met—”

“I’m not,” Past Snape said. “And I didn’t. All I did was wander from place to place, trying to forget you. I went to Paris and Reykjavik and Madrid and Jerusalem, looking for something to stitch up the gaping wound that was my heart.”

Past Sirius sat down across from Past Snape. “And it—it didn’t work?”

“Not even a little.” Past Snape sighed, a little exhaustedly. “I’m sorry for showing up here like this after all this time. I know you don’t want—”

“You have no idea what I want,” Past Sirius said. “It’s—I’m so fucking sorry, Severus. I’m sorry for all those horrible things I said. I’m sorry I treated you like—like a dirty secret. You were the best thing that ever happened to me, and I took your trust and stomped all over it. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” Past Snape said. He looked down. “I did trust you.”

“I know. And I know that your trust isn’t an easy thing to earn, let alone—” Past Sirius cut off and laughed, though there was nothing funny about the sound. “Anyway, if there’s even the slightest chance you’d be willing to take me back—”

“That’s my line,” Past Snape said, and Past Sirius’s mouth parted. “Yes. Is the answer. The answer is yes.”

“Well, thank God for that,” Past Sirius said. He sipped his tea with trembling fingers. “What happens now?”

“Now you tell me what happened to you while I was gone,” Past Snape said, and Past Sirius looked away. “And now I apologize for leaving to begin with. I’m sorry, Sirius. I shouldn’t have left for so long. I just—”

“I understand why you did.”

“I threw away what we had. I—”

“I was the one who did that.”

Past Snape looked away. “Well, I didn’t have to make things worse.”

“I don’t know that—I spent a lot of time thinking. While you were away. Not my strong suit, I know.” Past Sirius laughed a self-deprecating laugh. “I realized and—and decided a lot of things I don’t know that I would have with you here. I promised myself that if you ever came back, I wouldn’t waste it. I came out to everybody as bi. I—”

“You what?”

“It took eight months,” Past Sirius said, a little abashedly. “I didn’t—”

“Sirius, that’s amazing.”

“Oh.”

“How’d they take it?”

“Everyone was really nice,” Past Sirius said, and he sounded intensely embarrassed. “I don’t think even one of them would have cared if I’d brought you around as my boyfriend instead of just my friend. Molly knitted me a scarf with the bisexual flag on it.”

“Wow,” Past Snape said. “That’s just wonderful.”

“Yeah.” Past Sirius suddenly looked very shy. “It’s Saturday, you know. Tomorrow is family dinner. Will you—will you come?”

“Do you think they’ll want me there?”

“I want you there.”

“Okay.”

A brief, tentative silence. “How long are you back in the country?”

“To stay,” Past Snape said, and Past Sirius slumped in relief. “I shouldn’t have ever left. There wasn’t a single thing out there I’d rather see or do or be around than you.”

“Oh,” Past Sirius said, very quietly. “I’m sorry you felt the need to go. But I understand why you did. I—I love you, Severus. I’m sorry I couldn’t admit it before.”

“What?”

“I love you,” Past Sirius said again. “I’m sorry. I know it’s too soon. But I couldn’t bear the thought of you not knowing.”

There was a short moment of silence, and then Sirius and Past Sirius both flinched as Past Snape burst up out of his chair and went to Past Sirius and kissed him. “I love you too,” he panted, when they finally came up for air. “Merlin, Sirius, I love you too.”

And the scene twisted and changed, and they were outside the Burrow. Past Snape and Past Sirius were holding hands, standing outside the doorstep in the snow; Past Snape looked exceptionally nervous. “What if they can’t forgive me for hurting you?” Past Snape asked. “What if they’re mad I missed James’s birth? What if they tell me to leave and never come back?”

“It’ll be fine,” Past Sirius soothed. “They’ll just be glad you’re home. Like I was.”

“If you say so,” Past Snape muttered, and raised a hand to knock at the door. There was a brief pause, and then the door opened, revealing Arthur, whose mouth parted at the sight of Past Snape. “Er, hello, Arthur.”

“Hello,” Arthur said, a little stupidly. “I thought you’d left the country.”

“I’m back.” Past Snape rubbed the back of his neck with his free hand. “Er, I can leave if—”

“No! Come in. Please.” Sirius followed as Arthur stepped aside and the past versions of himself and Snape stepped inside, looking around at the Christmas decorations. “I’m sure everyone will be relieved to know you’re alright.”

“Oh,” Past Snape said. He was blushing a little. The blush only got worse as they entered the kitchen, and dead silence overtook the room; then Ginny shrieked and ran to him and hugged him, and everyone broke out into chatter and thank Merlin you’re alive and congratulating Past Sirius and hugging Past Snape and shaking his hand, and Past Snape looked so bewildered it was a little funny.

When he was finally left to his own devices, Past Sirius took his hand again; then he tugged Past Snape to the end of the table and said, “I have an announcement to make.”

“Go ahead,” Molly said amusedly, and everyone went quiet.

“I love this man,” Past Sirius said, and everyone stared. Then George started laughing, and Past Sirius continued. “Severus, I should never have kept us a secret. I’m sorry I did. And I can’t even begin to express how grateful I am that you came back to me.”

Now Past Snape looked like he needed to sit down. “Well—well, erm—”

“Kiss!” Harry hollered, and Past Snape flailed as Past Sirius wrapped him up in a kiss. 

Past Snape’s eyes were wide when Past Sirius pulled away, and his hand went to his lips. “Oh,” he said at last, lamely, and just about everyone laughed. “Well, erm—food’s getting cold.”

More laughter, and then Sirius found himself abruptly ejected from the pensieve. He just stood there for a minute, dumbfounded; then he went out to the living room, grateful to find Snape sitting there petting Delilah. “Hey.”

“Oh! Hey. What did you—”

Sirius climbed on top of Snape and kissed him, and Snape’s hands came up to tentatively hold his waist. But he kissed back like Sirius was oxygen, like he might vanish at any moment, and Sirius threw himself into it, and they didn’t part until Sirius couldn’t breathe anymore. He pulled away, panting, and Snape said, “Sirius?”

“Merlin, but you’re lovely,” Sirius said, and Snape bit his lip. “Thank you for showing me that. Thank you. I don’t think I could really bring myself to understand how it happened until that. But it was perfectly natural. Totally—it makes sense. It makes so much sense. I don’t know how I didn’t see it before.”

Snape looked away. “Why did you kiss me?”

Sirius laughed. “How the hell else was I supposed to respond to that?”

Snape’s eyes widened a little, and Sirius reached out and tilted his chin up so their eyes met again. “Severus,” Sirius said, unsure what else there was to say. “Severus.”

“The memories engendered a false sense of intimacy,” Snape said, but he sounded desperate. “I was afraid this might happen. You—”

“There’s nothing false about it,” Sirius said, and Snape drew in a breath. “You and me. That’s fucking intimate.”

“Yeah,” Snape muttered. “Well, erm—”

Sirius kissed him again.

Eventually they pulled away from each other again, and Snape started making noise about lunch; Sirius followed him to the kitchen, helping him put together sandwiches, and then dragged him out to the couch again so they could cuddle while they ate. Snape let it happen, then took their plates and came back and stood a ways away, staring at Sirius. “Severus?”

“I don’t know what to do,” Snape said. He sounded lost. “I don’t—it seems wrong to just—just let you—I know you don’t want—”

“Are you going to blame me forever for being disoriented at first?” Sirius asked, and Snape looked at him with wide eyes. “Rose said if she woke up and had a husband who loved her she would be really happy about it. Am I not allowed to be happy about it instead of miserable? Do you want a divorce? Because I don’t. The healers said it was astronomically unlikely that I’ll get my memory back. Are you going to let me rebuild my life or not?”

“I don’t want a divorce,” Snape said, after a very long pause. He didn’t say anything else, and after a minute Sirius patted the cushion beside him, relieved when Snape came to him. “I don’t understand this at all.”

“Me neither.”

“You hate me.”

“I really don’t.”

“How could you possibly let go of it that quickly?” Snape whispered. “It took me years.”

“You’ve been nothing but kind with me,” Sirius said. He wrapped an arm around Snape’s shoulder, and Snape shuddered and buried his face in Sirius’s side. “And everyone kept telling me I loved you. My own friends and my own fucking memoir and—and your memories. It’s hard to hold on to hate when you’re looking at the life we built together. Hard to want to try. You’re a different person than you were twenty years ago. It’s obvious. I’m not sure I ever hated who you are now. I just didn’t know you.”

“Oh.”

“It seems stupid not to at least try,” Sirius said. “Can you live with it if it doesn’t work? If I don’t fall in love with you quite as hopelessly as I did before? I mean, I—that doesn’t seem likely. Frankly. But I—could you live with that?”

“Yeah,” Snape mumbled into his arm. “I can live with it. I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give.”

“Okay,” Sirius said, and squeezed Snape’s shoulder. “Okay.”

He leaned his head so his chin was against Snape’s hair, pressing a kiss into the top of his head. Delilah, from a dog bed in the corner of the room, snuffled and whined. Sirius summoned the thousand remotes that went with the telly and tried in vain to figure out which one even turned it on, and Snape let out a small laugh and took them from him, turning on the weather channel. “Partly cloudy tomorrow,” Snape said thickly. “Might be a nice day to go out on your bike.”

“Yeah.” Sirius pushed Snape’s hair behind his ear. “I’m in this. Okay? I’m not going to run away. I’m not going to have some homophobic freakout. I’m not going to do anything but—but want to get to know you, and spend time with you, and understand why and how I married you.” He sighed. “Maybe I should be freaking out. Maybe I should be terrified. And I—I guess I am pretty scared. But I think it’s more about—I don’t know how to live up to the man he was.”

“You’re still you,” Snape whispered. “That’s what matters.”

Sirius shrugged. “Anyway, I don’t want you to think—I already care. I don’t know that I’m in love with you, but I care a hell of a lot. Maybe that’s silly of me. But I—”

“It isn’t silly.”

“Okay.”

“I’m sorry for—that I’m not—I should never have told you I missed him.”

“You’re allowed to.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry I’m not him.”

“You don’t have to be.”

Sirius sighed, and Snape started to pull away, stilling when Sirius’s arm around him tightened. “Let me be the strong one for a minute.”

Snape collapsed back into him. “Okay.”

Sirius watched more memories the next day, and the next day, and the next; on Sunday, as usual, he started out the day with the pensieve, watching a dinner with friends and a trip to the beach and an argument about nothing and a birthday party for Teddy and George’s wedding. Then he went to Snape.

They had a lot to discuss, suddenly, a week’s worth of secondhand memories rattling around in Sirius’s head, and he made Snape hold him as they talked, feeling himself sigh with pleasure as the man’s hand came to rake through his hair. “Family dinner tonight.”

“Yeah.”

“I just want you to hold me until then.”

Snape’s hand stilled in his hair, then resumed its petting. “That can be arranged.”

They walked into the Burrow holding hands; Harry’s eyebrows rose a little, and there were a few smiles, but other than that no one reacted at all. “Got your memory back?”

“No,” Sirius said. Harry’s mouth twitched. Ginny looked unbearably amused. Sirius and Snape both sat down. “How have you been? How’s work? How are the kids?”

“James is very excited about starting at Hogwarts in a week,” Ginny said. Sirius felt himself grin. “We’re going to get his stuff tomorrow. I don’t suppose you feel like looking after Lily and Albus?”

“I can do that,” Sirius said. Ginny grinned back.

He didn’t get drunk this week, instead listening to the conversations that flowed throughout the room; near the end of the meal, he cleared his throat and held up a hand, and everyone went quiet and looked at him. “I, er—we’ve been going through Severus’s old memories in his pensieve,” he said. “If anyone else has memories they’d be willing to share, I’d be very grateful for the help.”

There was a great commotion at this, and he ended up with a dozen labeled vials of silver memories, which Molly tucked into a box for him. He felt optimistic for the first time in about as long as he could remember, maybe since he’d been living at Moony’s right after the Triwizard Tournament, and he leaned into Snape as they stood and started hugging everyone goodbye.

When they got home, Snape looked pleased. “Alright, well, I hope you have a good—”

Sirius leaned up and kissed him. It was a different kiss from the others they’d shared; slow, closed-mouth, entirely gentle. Snape trembled against him. “Goodnight, Severus.”

Snape closed his eyes, just for a second. “Goodnight, Sirius.”

But when he laid down, Sirius tossed and turned. He couldn’t help imagining Snape beside him, holding him, his skin warm against Sirius’s own; at last he sat up in disgust, scooped up Delilah, and started up the stairs, padding into Snape’s room through the cracked door.

Snape sat up. “Sirius?”

His voice wavered a little, and Sirius wondered if he’d been crying. He went around the bed to the open side, that nearest the bedroom, and released Delilah and watched in the dim light of the moon as she snuffled over to Snape.

“Sirius?”

Sirius sat down, then laid down, pulling the covers over himself and moving a little closer to Snape. “Hey.”

“What are you doing?”

“Don’t overthink it,” Sirius said. Snape let out a heart-wrenching little sob-laugh. “Please. Just let me—”

Snape was still for another moment, then sighed and laid down too, though he made no move to get any closer to Sirius. “I never could deny you anything.”

“Oh?”

“You’re always taking advantage of me,” Snape said, but he sounded like he was smiling. Sirius scooted over until their arms were brushing, and Snape sighed and leaned into him. “Menace.”

“Yes, well.” Sirius felt himself smiling too, into the quiet dark. “You love me anyway.”

“Quite.”

“Get some sleep, okay?”

“Maybe I finally will,” Snape said. Sirius squeezed his wrist. “Goodnight, Sirius.”

“Goodnight, Severus.” 

Sirius kissed Snape’s shoulder, closed his eyes, and realized with something like awe that despite it all, he was looking forward to tomorrow.