“The house is hard cold. Winter walks up and down the town swinging his censer, but no smoke or sweetness comes from it, only the sour, metallic frankness of salt and snow.”

– Winter Hours, Mary Oliver

The word of magic

For thousands of years the wizarding folk have lived in harmony with the non-magical peoples of the land. Through the transactional nature of their relationship, many advancements were made possible in order to improve the quality of life of all in every corner of the continent and beyond.

Fires now run unextinguished throughout the entire winter, human waste is disposed of in space, clothes and beddings and shoes can be cleaned in a matter of seconds and even people can fly!

Yet witches and wizards remain secluded, much of their world still unknown to those without the gift. Their knowledge guarded and protected, the magic passed down through blood—taught by real masters of the craft, drawn in ancient runes.

Salt and Snow

For Severus Snape, the Hogsmeade Yuletide Fair was where he learned how to dream.

He is all but six years old when his mother takes him there for the first time. 

She wakes him up with a whisper before dawn.

Not even the thick layer of snow outside could buffer the stale air that tasted like ashtrays and alcohol sweat through old skin. Tobias is passed out drunk on the couch, a line of drool sliding down his mouth like the snail trails on the cobblestones in their back garden.

It was with a feeling of inadequacy that Severus woke up most days. But it all changed on that day.

He can taste his heartbeat, violent against his chest, as his mother flies them from Cragcroft to Hogsmeade. It’s his first time on a broom, ever. 

He’s a quiet child, but mothers know their sons and Eileen takes a detour to watch the Graphorns play by the beach. They spot Diricawls popping in and out of vision and a flock of Jobberknolls fly past them.

His mother is passionate about her knowledge, so she explains about the magical beasts and their habitats and behaviors as they make their way to the fair.

But it’s when he sees the Castle of Hogwarts in the distance that he can’t help himself but verbally express his excitement. 

Many years before Severus was born, just after graduating from her apprenticeship with Master Slughorn, Eileen Prince was a part of the Runic Research, at the Castle of Hogwarts, led by none other than the infamous head of the Black family, Arcturus Black III. 

Stories from these times were hard to come by, but they were his favorites. 

In most households, a person of magical blood is considered a blessing. Names like Black, Malfoy, Lestrange and Rosier are known and respected from north to south, east and west. 

It’s thanks to witches and wizards that people can go from Poidsear to the Hogsfield in a matter of minutes, that water wells are kept clean year round and the crops are protected from pests and the weather. 

Most people respect and admire witches and wizards. But not Tobias Snape. No. Tobias hates witches and wizards. 

Tobias hates Eileen and Severus. 

And Severus hates that he doesn’t understand why.

*

It’s with the sharp winds of winter that Severus watches, wide-eyed, as Master Thomas Riddle presents a chair, legs carved like goat’s legs, to a young boy who’s lost both of his legs, and he sees the elation break through the boy’s face when he’s able to walk again.

The boy’s parents start to cry and a thunderous applause breaks through the crowd. All the hairs on his arms go haywire.

That afternoon Severus begs, implores in a way he’s never been vocal before, for his mother to teach him the way.

It’s past midnight when Eileen comes into his room with a small pot of ink. She prickles his finger and he watches, anticipating, as his blood falls in a pool of darkness. 

It glows.

Eileen smiles.

And Severus loves, loves what he is. 

*

“Si—ri—us!” His best friend’s voice moans in what can only be interpreted as boredom suffering.

“Ja—mes!” He answers back, charging up the moan.

The challenge is set: who can be the most obnoxious. James’ head pops from the mezzanine, a wolfish smile on his handsome face. 

“Si—ri—us!” There’s an extra high-pitched whine now. Sirius can work with that.

“Ja—mes!” 

“Si—ri—”

“SHUT UP BOTH OF YOU!” Yells Remus from across the room. Peter, obviously, snickers behind his book. 

“Don’t you guys have work to do?” Asks Frank, who’s revising Arthur’s runes over at his workstation. Weasley’s created a small device that ‘memorizes’ someone’s voice and replays the message until a new one is recorded.

Sirius thinks he just wants to exchange voice messages with Molly. What Arthur sees in her, Sirius will never understand. That witch is bonkers. 

He likes her, he just would never date her.

“Work? Sirius and James?” It’s Marlene who interjects before they can say anything. “After last year’s abysmal presentation I’m surprised they’re even showing their faces again this year.”

“You’re so funny, McKinnon.” James says nasally, it only earns him an eye roll.

“Seriously though, guys, Master Dumbledore said he’d be back in a couple of hours to evaluate our projects… ” Peter tries to placate. 

“I’m all set and done, McKinnon—if you have enough time to crap all over my conduct, how about you show what you’ve got hidden in the super secret door underneath the stairs?” He taunts.

Sirius would never say this out loud, but he really thinks Master Dumbledore gives Marlene way too much leeway just because she’s the only girl in a household full of boys. None of them can do anything without the others knowing about it.

Everyone except Marlene.

And Sirius and James have been dying of curiosity trying to get the bloody door under the stairs open, to no avail. Master Dumbledore’s locking runes are impossible to break.

“Dream on, Black, you’re seeing it with everyone else when I successfully score another deal after an incredible debut last year.” Marlene brags. “To think even the heir of ‘The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black’ would write me a letter congratulating me about it.” 

Sirius groans out loud, making everyone laugh.

Yes, Marlene received a stunningly written congratulatory letter from Bellatrix while Sirius received a personal visit from his older cousin, ear pulling, pinches and vicious scolding included. 

So what if instead of pulverizing bad soil his barrel had started spinning and spitting diseased dirt like crazy. It was absolutely intentional. James had almost fainted with how much he laughed. Even Master Dumbledore had to hide his amusement behind his fan—but those crinkly eyes never fooled him.

Bellatrix just had no sense of humor. 

Ok, that was maybe a lie. 

She just didn’t have his superior sense of humor.

Not that he blamed her. Sirius was thankful every day of his life that he wasn’t the eldest Black in the younger generation. Being the head of their family was a nightmare and a responsibility he did not want. At all.

“Make fun of us all you want, McKinnon, you know what they say, the smartest ones laugh last.” That’s not—

But it’s Frank who corrects him.

“Jamesy, my friend, it’s ‘he who laughs last, laughs best’” 

“Same thing, Longbottom, same thing.”

“Those are literally two distinct claims, Potter.”

“Who invited this girl here?”

“I literally lived here before you arrived, you prat!”

“Does anyone hear anything? I swear there’s an annoying mosquito buzzing around. Anyone hear that? Super high-pitched, ugh I swear I told Master Dumbledore we had a mosquito infestation and you know how they are, you leave a little water out and suddenly—”

“Shut up, James.” The boys say in unison, well, except Sirius.

*

The itch starts at the back of his knees and makes its way to his arms and soon it’s all over. 

Master Dumbledore is thorough in his evaluation and when he looks over his half-moon spectacles, it's with a knowing glance that says ‘Young Sirius, no spontaneous rune altercations even though they’re hilarious and provide extreme levels of entertainment to all.’

Well, his eyes didn’t say exactly that, but something close.

But they’re now all squeezed in Master Dumbledore’s colorful vardo and flying over Feldcroft and he can see the red pointy towers of their workshop getting smaller and smaller and his right leg’s starting to twitch.

His father’s miniature ink-pen feels heavy on his inner pocket, heating up his chest like a hot stone, singing to him like a hungry siren.

“Sirius,” Remus’ voice cuts through his thoughts, his friend’s eyes nearly closed in slits of suspicion. Bollocks. “No.” He says, like he can read Sirius' mind.

Sirius, yes. He thinks. But doesn’t say anything. Only gives his friend what is known to be his charming smile. The one that’s gotten him out of trouble more times than he can count.

Remus rolls his eyes.

*

“Sev, are you ready yet?” Reggie’s voice calls from the doorway.

“One moment.”

“Sure—but just so you know Bella just asked about you and you’re the last one here… and you know how she gets.” Severus looks up from his work and sure enough finds the workshop empty. When did Barty and Evan leave?

He sighs and looks forlorn at his incomplete notes. Best finish once they’re back than deal with an impatient Bellatrix.

“Did you hear Master Grindelwald is joining the fair this year?” Yes, Severus had already heard about it from Lucius, who corresponded occasionally with the Lestrange brothers and Theo Nott. He says as much to Regulus.

“Yeah, I think Lucy’s probably mentioned to me before, but I’ve been so consumed with my project it didn’t register… I wonder if Master Riddle is bothered by it.” The younger boy whispers the last part thoughtfully as they make their way past the foyer and through the enormously hand-carved doors of their master’s workshop.

Master Riddle is an extremely private man, not a lot is known about him by the general public, not even by witches and wizards. But Severus knows he’s closest to the Black family—with him being Bellatrix’s godfather and all. 

Curiosity is a valued trait, as their Master often points out, but the way you acquire information is even more valuable. So, instead of asking directly, Severus remains silent but gives his friend a small glance and their eyes meet.

Regulus is quiet, but if you hold the space for him, he actually likes to talk. The younger boy bites his lip in a nervous habit, and after what seems like an eternity and a second, he stops.

At a distance, they watch as Bellatrix points her fingers viciously at Barty whose boots are completely covered in mud. Both boys wince.

“You know how Master Riddle apprenticed under Master Dumbledore before him, my parents and my uncles went off to finish their studies under Master Slughorn, right?” Severus nods, everyone knows that. “Well, it seems the animosity began back then… I don’t know much of the details, but Dumbledore’s old workshop used to be in Godric’s Hollow—” where Master Grindelwald is based. “And they used to teach some lessons together, until they didn’t—and then Dumbledore disappeared.”

“Until he opened his new workshop in Feldcroft ten years ago.” Finishes Severus. Regulus nods.

“The only time I’ve ever witnessed Master Riddle inebriated was a few years ago when he joined us for Beltane at our grandfather’s.” If Severus weren’t this close to Regulus, it would be impossible to hear his words. “My brother had been trying to spike Master Riddle’s drinks for years—and he finally managed.” 

Severus rolled his eyes. 

Typical Sirius Black, miscreant. 

Absolutely no respect for anyone whatsoever.

“Lilian!” Bellatrix’s shrill voice cuts through the wind, rushing Reggie in his speech.

“Anyway—” Regulus looks around as if waiting to find their master (or worse, Bellatrix) standing right next to them, “the MacNairs were celebrating with us that year, and with Walden apprenticing under Grindelwald, his name was bound to make its way through the conversation—” his friend continues, “I’d never heard so many negative adjectives directed to a single person before.”

Severus is about to open his mouth when Bellatrix does, in fact, spawn in front of them.

Regulus blanches, he notes. At least Severus is better at keeping a straight face.

“You’re late.” She says, her gaze assessing them from head to toe, eyes lingering suspiciously on her cousin. Almost as if she can smell his disrespect, sharing personal details about their master.

She can’t, Severus knows that. But Regulus doesn’t. Whatever worked, or didn’t work, on her sisters and Regulus’ brother, Bellatrix made sure to take note and applied it tenfold to Reggie. Sometimes the boy really believes his eldest cousin is able to read his mind.

“Apologies, Bellatrix.” The least he can do is take her attention away from his friend before he starts visibly sweating. “Regulus was kind enough to come pick me up as I lost track of time with my annotations.” 

He stares at her down his nose, unblinking. 

For someone so short, Bellatrix Black certainly doesn’t hold herself as such. He can respect that. 

She ‘hmms’ in response.

“Gentlemen, Bellatrix.” Lucius greets.

Three sets of heads turn around to the slyest of them all. The small hint of color dusting the older girl’s cheeks is enough evidence for Severus to conclude that the Malfoy heir managed to escape even her watchful eyes. 

“Is Master Riddle meeting us there?” He asks, nonplussed.

“Yes, and I’m in charge of making sure none of you embarrass our master, though at least I know I can count on you being presentable, dear Lucius.” Bellatrix smiles in that way of hers that’s half friendly, half something else.

“Ah yes, I noticed Barty seemed to be giving you some grief.” Severus cracks his neck in reaction to the prickle he feels in his skin. How long had Lucius been there? How come he didn’t notice?

Bellatrix makes a noise of displeasure. “I hate that sound, awful thing. Sirius does that all the time—don’t crack your neck,” next to me, she means. And Severus would normally roll his eyes and nod, but the mention of the eldest male Black child flares up his nostrils.

Memories of muddy clothes, obnoxious laughter, entitlement and arrogance—simpleminded stupidity—make his stomach boil.  

“I swear by Morgana he does it just to annoy me, and now he’s doing it without being here—anyway, yes, of course Barty is giving me grief, if he continues this way I’ll ask Master Riddle to transfer his bedding to the stables—”

‘Hey Snivelus! Maybe this is the year—maybe this time Riddle will be impressed with your trinkets and return your affections, did you remember to leave him love notes?’

‘I wouldn’t worry too much Jamesy, Cissy just loves a charity case—’

“Lilian!” Bellatrix screeches, breaking through his thoughts.  

Unbothered by the tone, but quick on her step, Lily joins their group. She’s long since stopped sighing at Bellatrix’s insistence of a name that is not hers.

He once had asked her about it, as they reworked the runes on their flying shoes, why she didn’t insist on being called by her real name. 

And the mysterious orphan Master Riddle brought in from his trip to the Northern Islands went quiet, strands of her flaming hair dancing around her as she finished a circle of wind runes.

And she said,

“Witch Lilian does have a nice ring to it.”

And that was that. 

Women are strange.

“Barty’s at the washing barrels with Evan, they’ve thrown all their clothes in there.” Bellatrix is pleased with the information. But one look at her pocket watch and her temper flares up again.

“Why are you all still standing here?!” 

Regulus actually jumps next to him and is the first to make a beeline to the carriage. 

Severus looks up at the sky, and sighs.

Today is going to be a long day.

*

No matter how many years go by, or the older he gets, Yuletide at Hogsmeade never ceases to amaze Sirius. Garlands with winter berries, pinecones, candles and glass blown decorations of all shapes and shades bring a striking contrast against the white banks of snow.

Their tent this year is by the back entrance to the Three Broomsticks, and Dumbledore is quick to assign them each with their own tasks.

Master Flitwick’s glowstone paths blink in and out in hues of orange, yellow and red as children jump around trying to find the right stones to bring to life. 

And speaking of the small genius.

“Albus!” The man calls as he hurries over to them, his small spectacles slightly askew as if he’s been hunched over parchments making last minute adjustments to his works. 

“Filius, my dear friend!” Dumbledore greets back, “and how lovely to see the talented young Miss Bones and Miss Trelawney with you.” Sirius feels more than hears James flinch next to him and he has to hold back his laughter.

“Don’t let her come near me.” Whispers James, causing Remus and Frank, who are unpacking some boxes, to snicker unabashedly at his despair.

“What, shouldn’t you be using her abilities to your advantage, James?” Teases Frank. Sirius likes what he’s done with his hair, combed back and with his height, he looks rather dashing.

“I don’t know about that Frank, I think it’s worse if James knows what catastrophe is about to befall him, remember the last time he burned off his eyebrows?” Remus says with a smirk.

“There was also that time he broke his arm—”

“I think before that it was warning about mollusks and didn’t he almost choke to death?”

“You’d think he’d be prepared since he was warned of his impending doom in advance, continuously.” Sirius shrugs as James shoots him a glare that screams ‘betrayal,’ sorry Jamesy, will lose a friend but won’t lose the joke, he thinks.  

“Hey boys, hi Marlene!” Amelia greets—their masters now immersed in conversation by the tent entrance. Sybill’s glasses are, if possible, larger than they were the last time they’ve seen her, making her eyes look comically huge.

“Hi Amelia! Gimme one sec and I’ll be there!” Marlene shouts from where she’s bent over a huge trunk.

“It’s good to see you Amelia—” Frank says with a smile as he elbows Remus, not at all discreetly.

Sirius blinks as Remus’ face gains a little color. 

When did that happen? He wonders, but ends up asking about his cousin instead. Which seems to perk James' interest, who comes out from his hiding place behind Sirius—only for Sybill’s eyes, that were looking a little glazed over, to sharpen and zero-in on the Potter heir.

“James Potter!” She says ominously, and if she’s aware of the symphony of snorts echoing from all corners of the tent, she doesn’t react to it. “Beware of the mischievous snake who bites—”

“Ok! Ok, we’re out of here—” and in a whirlwind Sirius is pulled out of the tent as uncontrollable laughter breaks out.

Dumbledore doesn’t have much of a schedule, if at all, but they’re always amongst the first to arrive, which means Sirius and the boys get lots of free time to fool around the village before showtime.

And that’s what they do. 

They climb over the roofs, shoot paper planes at unassuming passersby, jump from building to building, whistle at pretty girls—and boys. And sneak out spiked mulled wine to sip on alleyways.

James's disheveled hair dances in all directions with the vigorous mountain wind, his cheeks are flushed red—and the sun breaks through the clouds in a perfect point of light and the dark brown of his eyes gleam amber. 

Sirius has looked a hundred million times at the trio of freckles on his friend’s left cheekbone, and he looks at it for the hundred millionth and one.

Life is good. 

“James Potter and Sirius Black.”

Fuck. 

A voice they’d been hoping to avoid causes both boys to flinch. 

“Dame Minerva.” It’s years of experience that make it possible for James to hide the nervousness from his voice.

Dame Minerva McGonagall was one of the most prominent names in the Auror Knights, known for her no-nonsense and non-fun attitude—James and Sirius often endeavored that she was probably able to freeze people with a stare if she so wanted to. Her silver armor shines like a beacon ready to undo all the mischief in the world.

“Why is it that every time I come across you both, it is always to witness some buffoonery?”

“Now, that can’t be true Minnie—” James' eyes fill with wonder as he looks at Sirius’ clear lack of self-preservation. “I saw you just a couple of weeks ago having tea with my mother.” 

The older woman stares unblinking at the young Black, and to be honest, maybe his feet feel a little like they’re frozen to the spot. 

He flashes her a smile.

She sighs.  And he can read it in her expression, in the roll of her eyes, ‘Walburga, your son is impossible, he’s Orion’s second coming in life.’

“I hope since last year’s disaster you’ve decided to participate in the fair with a better sense?”

“Of course, Minnie—” a vein bulges in the Knight’s forehead. “As boys it is of the utmost importance that we courageously take risks and fail in order to find fulfillment and contribute to society!”

“I’m certain the good people of Hogsmeade would rather not be hit multiple times in the face with animal feces and rotten food.”

James shrieks, actually shrieks, and keels over the floor with laughter. 

McGonagall remains unfazed, deadpan.

Sirius is impressed.

So, it should come as no surprise, to anyone whatsoever, when Sirius kneels behind Master Scamander’s tent—after giving Andromeda a hug—and adds an alteration to the spellwork on his shoes.

*

Because Severus’ life is anything but uncomplicated, it doesn’t take longer than seven minutes once they set foot in Hogsmeade for their group to cross paths with the miscreant apprentices of Dumbledore.

A stupid grin breaks on James Potter’s face as he notices their group—more specifically, Lily. 

Sirius Black, as always, is smirking in that infuriating way of his. Long black hair, that rivals Bellatrix’s, tied up in a ponytail.

Much to Severus’ chagrin, he stands three inches taller than him. With impeccable robes and boots, as one would expect of any member of House Black.

His smirk grows as he notices Severus staring.

“There’s a painter next to our booth, we can commission him a portrait of me if you want, Snivelus.” Red, it’s red all over his vision. “But I gotta tell you, I’m a bit of a jealous type, dunno how I feel about sharing a spot above your bed next to your Riddle love-notes.”

If Severus is not careful, he’ll break his project with how hard he’s squeezing the ceramic shaker in his hands.

“Stop being mean, Sirius.” It’s Bellatrix who answers, and the shift in the other Black is immediate, his smirk transforming into a more genuine smile. “Also, Severus doesn’t have any love-notes written about our master hanging above his bedding, that’s just ridiculous.”

Black laughs and raises his hands in defeat. 

Before the cousins can say anymore, Potter opens his big mouth.

“Hey Lily! Looking lovely as always, I love that, what’s that? Er—snake and flower embroidery on your robes.” Daft as he is, he doesn’t seem to notice how the temperature seems to drop even lower than what it already is.

“Thank you, James.” Lily’s smile is friendly, but polite. “I made it myself.” And the boy obviously misses how the same exact pattern—a snake wrapped around a lily flower—is also embroidered to Bellatrix’s black robes.

“That’s so amazing, you’re amazing—” Potter laughs. “What are you up to anyway? Would you like to—”

A few things happen simultaneously. 

Black sighs like someone who’s about to witness something he doesn’t want to and Bellatrix steps in front of Lily, blocking Potter’s view. A smile that doesn’t even pretend to be anything but predatory widens in her striking face.

“Oh, hello James, it’s lovely to see you.” And she continues speaking over his confused ‘Hey… Bellatrix,’  “Did you hear the news? Apparently Lucius wants to court my sister, and as a matter of fact I think he just told us he was taking her on a walk, isn’t that right, Lilian?” Bellatrix doesn’t look back at Lily, whose green eyes widen for just a second before she slowly nods.

“Yes, Bella, to the rose garden with the mistletoe canopy.” The color drains from James Potter’s face. 

“What,” he says dumbly.

“Oh yes, and you know how Cissy is, ever so the dutiful daughter,” Severus mentally scoffs, if there’s something Narcissa isn’t, it’s dutiful. But of all the Black children, she’s the only one who’s got Bellatrix fooled.

Narcissa plays her part perfectly, but at the end of the day she does whatever she wants.

“She would never say no to Lucius… you know there’s been talk about their marriage since they were babies,” she continues. “Just the other day Nicola was telling my mother how she couldn’t wait for more blonde haired Malfoy children to run around the Manor.”

Women are devious creatures, thinks Severus as he watches James Potter, with all color drained from him, sprint away from their group.

Lucius is secretive, but it’s hard to keep a big secret in Master Riddle’s workshop. They all know Malfoy’s been meeting with Evan’s cousin, Pandora, since the summer solstice.

And Severus knows Narcissa enjoys giving Potter a hard time. She told him once, “He’s young, he needs to get his impatience out of his system before I give him a third of my attention—Potter gets bored, only boys get bored,”  with a small smirk.

Women.

“Sirius.” The eldest Black says in a warning tone.

“Bellatrix.” He responds nonchalantly.

“I told you that you should be more discerning of your company.”

“James is a great guy, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

And before her temper starts acting up, Black pulls his cousin into a hug and kisses her cheek sweetly. The elder girl nearly disappears as she’s engulfed by his brutish form.

She’s soon laughing and chastising him, but with no bite.

There’s a total of five people who can handle Bellatrix without her being aware of it: Master Riddle, her grandfather, Sirius, Narcissa and Lily.

Severus sometimes wonders what would happen if she were to ever become aware of it.

“So, where’s Reggie?” Asks Black as he herds his cousin to a slow-paced walk. His long arm hung over her shoulder. To anyone walking, they could pass off as twins.

It’s the small weight of Lily’s hand on his forearm that stops him from silently slipping away from the nightmare-ish company.

“Let’s go, Sev?” Lily’s green eyes are kind, her freckles less pronounced with the colder season.

*

It happens like this.

Lily’s stomach makes a noise loud enough that it causes the four of them to stop walking. Bellatrix starts fussing because Lily said she’d eaten that morning but turns out that by eaten she’d meant a single apple and not a whole breakfast. And Sirius, always in the mood for a treat, is adamant they go for food.

Chance found, Severus is ready to simply blend in with the crowd and finally go find peace.

But Black obviously wants to show off his altered flying shoes, and Severus raises an eyebrow at that, but can’t help but be morbidly curious, so instead of leaving he watches. Watches as Black makes it a grand gesture to pick Lily up bridal style, and the two girls laugh—

And Severus understands what that idiot is about to do, notices it’s going to be a catastrophe and this moron is going to end up hurting all of them.

So that’s how he ends up pushing Lily out of the way—and into Bellatrix’s arms who takes a good six steps away from them until she stabilizes. They all lose balance, his ceramic shaker explodes and he bites his lip down hard at the sharp pain slicing through his collarbone.

Severus is disoriented for the next few seconds or even minutes. He’s aware Bellatrix is screaming but it’s all muffled, like when he used to stuff his ears with cotton balls, finally freed from the horrible words being shouted in his home.

He thinks about the yew colored stain in Tobias’ brown checkered vest, how the fabric was sagging in one of the pockets. How the left heel of his shoes always had more scratches from grinding against the curve of their home in a drunken stupor.

“Sev?”

There was a specific discoloration on the wallpaper that went up the stairs in their home due to water damage, it looked as if somebody had poured coffee on their walls. 

“Bella, I think he has a concussion.”

“He’s probably fine, the fall wasn’t that hard—”

“You shut your mouth—pick him up and follow me—”

“Don’t you have—” Black’s voice goes silent, everything goes silent and maybe noticing this means he’s regaining some semblance of awareness.

Something warm wraps itself around Severus' body and it’s warm—Black.

The world turns black. 

*

Sirius blows hot air from his mouth and watches as the clouds dissipate in the cold breeze. Floating in front of him is the unconscious, possibly concussed, body of Severus Snape—because of him.

Left in charge of watching over the boy in a secluded alleway—Sirius, away from prying eyes!—he’s had enough time to contemplate his poor choices. Clearly he’s grown up enough to know one should test alone before showcasing a product.

The air leaves his lungs in an unusual display of self-grievance. Sirius is not particularly fond of Snape, but he had no intentions of harming the other boy. A little verbal teasing was more than enough.

Listen, James is his best mate, they’re brothers (even though he certainly doesn’t french kiss Reggie when he’s drunk… far as he knows), and well. James comes first. Always. And so if James wanted to be childish with Snape… Well, Sirius understood that feeling. 

So what if he enables and indulges because he doesn’t want Jamesy to feel alone? It’s just a little bit of teasing is all. Thickens the skin and all that.

And Severus Snape has quite the thick skin, he knows—Eileen’s gotten drunk with his mother more times than they probably realize. And Sirius is a busybody. The women like to wash their deepest and darkest in the kitchen right by the window Sirius enjoys popping pixie dust on his mouth.

Tobias Snape was a wretch, good riddance the man ‘fell down the stairs.’ Sirius can’t imagine saying his first words and climbing his first stairs and not live in magic.

He once expressed this frustration to his mother, asking why she was still friends with someone who denied their gift and how awful a mother had to be to do so. And she rained down on him in a storm of blazing flames.

‘Arrogant child,’ she accused, nails biting into his cheek. ‘Pass all the judgement you want, but what do you know of a woman’s pain?!’

And that pissed him off, so he pissed her off even more and it escalated as it sometimes did…

Sirius sighs, again and side-glances at the body next to him.

Snape doesn’t even look like he’s got thick skin, or that he’s strong or can stand up for himself. He’s heard Riddle praise the boy enough to know he’s capable, and maybe he has that nerdy—loner—look, he’ll give him that. 

He’s just as pale as Cissy, maybe even more so, now that he looks closely in what little skin the boy shows. His fingers are long and boney, it’s a nice looking hand as far as hands go. Like, Peter’s hands are great, especially when Sirius naps on his lap and the younger boy scratches his hair—but they’re not hands someone would paint.

And Sirius has about half a second to feel dismayed about noticing Snape’s hands when he’s made aware of a bigger problem.

“Fuck—” he swears, going around the boy. “Shit, shit—”

Snape’s bleeding from his shoulder, like a lot. But his bloody black robes made it impossible to see until now.

Alright.

Sirius takes his father’s ink-pen from his inner pocket and the small shrunken notebook Dumbledore’s gifted every one of his apprentices with. He moves with ease and in fluid motions, adds a petrification rune to stabilize the levitation spell on the robe, draws a couple of cleaning and drying spellworks his mother’s taught him back when he became responsible for Reggie’s outside time and goes to work.

Snape doesn’t move as he unclasps his woolen robes nor when he unbuttons his jacket and shirt, the palest collarbone and shoulders he’s ever seen slide into view like the first snow of the year. With precision and care, he removes the boy’s right arm from the sleeve.

A small modified rain spell—Walburga’s own creation—washes over the wound, disinfecting it—alright, the gash is not so bad, it’s big, but not deep. Goes from the collarbone to the shoulder.

“What… are you doing?” A deep but weak voice asks him. Snape’s voice. Coming from Snape’s mouth that is moving and talking to him, awake, with his black eyes staring—glaring—right at him.

“That’s not what I usually get when someone wakes up to my handsome face.” That is a lie, and he’s pretty sure Remus wears a strikingly similar face when he wakes up to find Sirius cuddling with him. “It’s usually wow! Sirius, you’re so handsome, and your hair looks so good!”

And who can blame Sirius? Remus’ nana made him the softest quilt on earth—with her bare hands! And sometimes a couple of heating stones just don’t hit the same as a warm body to cuddle with. 

“What are you? A dog?” The fact that Remus’ agreeing face is the first thing that jumps to his head makes Sirius groan internally, maybe Snape and Lupin should be friends.

“I’ll take that as a compliment, dogs are amongst some of the most incredible creatures in the world.” He delivers with a charming smile. 

Snape rolls his eyes and tries to move only to flinch. 

“Stop moving.”

*

“Stop moving.”

The audacity! Severus would absolutely be moving if this beast of a boy hadn’t pushed him down and was now holding him hostage, big hand locked on his left clavicle.

“I’m almost done.” He tries not to flinch as the other boy holds a small gust of wind to dry off his injury—when did Black draw spells? How long was he out of it?

His line of thought is difficult to follow or inquire as his shoulder is enveloped by bandages. He can’t even fully process how strange it is that Sirius Black is any good at this.

 “Alright, if you wanna give me your shirt and stuff I can throw it all on the barrel together with your—I don’t know what that was.” 

Severus follows Black’s line of sight to what’s left of his project collected on top of a dusty wooden box.

“What?”

“Well some of us just keep at it, you know? What’s a wizard without his spellwork, if you know what I mean—” What is this moron talking about? “Anyhow, while you were taking your princess nap—” Excuse me? Black laughs in his face, did he say that out loud? “I improvised a washing barrel in this big ol’ thing.” He pats down proudly what looks to be a two hundred year old ancient barrel.

Ignoring the offer, Severus tries to get up only to be met with resistance, as if he’s been petrified.

“Oh yeah, my bad—let me break this rune.” Bewildered, he watches as Black bends over and releases the spellwork on the robe. Severus’ still floating, but he gets down even though wobbly.

He glares at Black in a warning as the other boy means to move forward.

Taking a moment to situate himself back into his body, he carefully rolls his wounded shoulder, feeling the stretch of skin being pulled with the cut. It doesn’t feel too bad. Looks worse on his white shirt.

Despondent, he looks at the bloodied mess, straight out of a gruesome attack. He could keep his robes closed at all times, at least this way he wouldn’t have to worry about Bellatrix berating him for embarrassing Master Riddle.

“Just my project,” he answers. “Let us see this contraption of yours, if it’ll work.” 

He should’ve seen it coming. 

Shouldn’t have turned his back to a Black, shouldn’t have gone for his shaker. 

Next thing he knows he’s being manhandled like a ragdoll, his robes and shirt peeled off of him and he’s engulfed by the smell of Sirius Black. Wrapped up in the cloak that had been holding him up until now.

“Morgana’s tits! You're more stubborn than Andy.” Severus thinks the exasperation in Black’s voice is extremely unwarranted. Yet he watches in stunned silence as his things are placed in the historical relic the boy found in this decrepit alleway of Hogsmead.

A few awkward seconds go by as the barrel does its job.

Black first throws him his clothes and Severus quickly starts buttoning himself up. Completely ignoring how he notices the faint smell that still remains on him.

He’s methodical and quick about it, eyes focused in order to be fast and when he looks up it’s to a pair of grey eyes watching him intently.

It’s not often anymore that Severus feels this uncomfortable in his own skin. He’s not pleased with the reminder.

“My project, please.” He’s grateful his nervousness doesn’t come across in his tone. And he’s riling himself up, feeling the bite come as Black will put up a fight.

But the other boy extends his arm, holding out the shaker for him to take. No resistance whatsoever.

Good.

Severus snatches it up from the boy's hands and walks off in a flurry of robes. The alley is bigger than it looks, but he sees the end of it and it takes longer for Black’s shoes to echo against the frozen stones.  

But it’s too late. 

It’s too late when he realizes his feet are literally stuck to the ground, too late when he finds a small spellwork on a side of the wall he can’t reach, too late when he shouts at Black not to come over, too late when he looks up and feels his stomach drop.

“Is that a mistletoe?” 

Severus wants to die.

“Wait a second,  I can’t move—why can’t I move?”

Merlin help him. This can’t be real.

“There’s a gluing spell, it won’t release until we solve—the matter.” He says miserably.

Is this happening because he lied to Reggie about being busy the other day? People from the Eastern islands believe in something called karma, is that it?

“Is that the rune gluing us to the floor? I can’t reach it—this is so ingenious, why didn’t I think of this before? Oh! Of course, a kiss for a mistletoe, right?”

Severus groans, dragging both hands across his face.

“You know a lot of witches and wizards would kill to be on your spot, Sevie.” Stop calling me that, he says, to no one. Because Black is insufferable. “Imagine the next time you sit down for tea time with Cissy and Lily, you can tell them all about how the handsomest Sirius Black kissed you underneath a mistletoe—”

“Shut up or I’m going to kill you.” He would’ve probably sounded a lot more threatening if his face wasn’t beetroot red. Even Severus could feel his body temperature rise, his robes suddenly too hot for him.

“Oh yes, of course, you’d be one of the closeted romantics who pines only for one person—I bet you write love poems for Riddle and keep them locked in a little box—” Severus is not an idiot, he knows Black is teasing but this is too much.

Too much for him. Who could’ve done this to him?!

“I do not hold romantic affections towards Master Riddle! Stop saying that you mongrel!” He shouts instead.

Sirius laughs in his face, that’s it. He shoves Black as hard as he can—to no avail really, the gluing spell is extremely well done and Black is massive, the other boy doesn’t budge. And it infuriates Severus even more. 

Black doesn’t hold back from his amusement, raises his hands as if in defeat. 

“Alright, alright—if it’s not Riddle, then who is it?” He continues, pestering prat he is. “Cissy? All of your afternoon teas—of course I know about it—just an excuse for you to moon over her? I don’t blame you, Cissy is quite stunning—”

“Narcissa is my friend, you imbecile.”

“Oh, so is it our dear Lily? I’d be careful if I were you though—Bella’s never liked sharing, at all—I remember that one time when we were younger—”

“I am not interested in women!” 

A deafening silence is followed by the loud flapping of wings and cawing of birds, forced out of their rest by the stress in his volume. All Severus sees is red, his hands, arms—all his limbs are shaking, even breathing is hard.

Is this Antonin getting back at him? Still not over the fact he didn’t make the cut as Master Riddle’s apprentice? What fault did Severus have if Riddle only takes seven apprentices at a time? Whose fault was it but Dolohov’s if he turned out worse than Severus? Is this his way of humiliating and getting ‘even’?

“Hey,”

Or was this the work of Potter? Was Black in on it, were they in this together in order to make him miserable? And all this was an act, to get Severus to drop his defenses, only to then laugh in his face?

He actually hisses when Black touches his hand, and it’s so startling it immediately drains all the fire bursting inside of him.

“I don’t know who did this.” His face is serious, all jokes evaporated from his eyes. “It wasn’t me, or anyone I know—or that I’m aware of it. But I’m more than happy to find out and get even, and you’re welcome to join me if you want.”

And for some inexplicable reason, maybe it’s because Severus’ never seen Black seem so earnest—and it’s conflicting, like his body wants to fight him on it—

But he believes him.

In what seems to be a continuous streak, Black catches him unaware, again.

“Eileen joined us for Beltane.”

“I’m aware?” He says, confused.

“You didn’t.” It’s not a question, but he responds, unsure of what else to say.

“I did not.”

Black nods, and Severus thinks of the cat he sometimes sees at the barn. Long fur, a stunning shade and eyes that gleam even in the dark.

Severus’ breath catches in his throat.

“I’m going to kiss you now.” And it should bother him a thousand times more than it does how his blush seems to amuse Black.

Severus Snape is not a blushing maid! He’s been kissed before—given that Evan is a drunk kisser and smooches just about anyone on his way when intoxicated. 

But his body heavily seems to disagree. Seems to think he’s never done this before.

“Hasn’t nobody kissed you sweetly before, Sevie?” Black teases and he’s about to sock him in the guts but the taller boy is faster. 

Black’s index finger slides from his jaw to the back of his ear, tipping his face up. He feels the other boy's tongue before he feels his lips. 

It licks at his lips and his teeth and his tongue, and it’s driving Severus mad, his head filled with fog, clouding his eyes and melting his limbs.

He hears a strange noise, was that him?

And Black’s hand squeezes his head in a divine pressure, his other arm curling around Severus’ waist. He feels their erections touch. Earning them both moans from one another.

The spell releases but instead of letting go, Black pushes him against the wall, engulfing Severus in him. His cold hand finds its way underneath his shirt, making him shiver from the contact and the temperature—Severus hisses, Sirius eats his mouth.

It’s too much.

And it’s not enough.

His brain is a complete fog, and everything feels so good. 

Black’s hair is impossibly soft, and the muscles on his traps are hard to the touch. And Severus is not short by any means, but as Black starts sucking at his neck and licking his right ear, his feet keep pushing him higher and higher.

*

“You are a devious woman Narcissa Black.” Speaks a voice full of reverence. 

When Narcissa ran into Bellatrix and Lilian, the last thing she’d expected to hear was that Severus had been in an accident because of Sirius—of all people.

Knowing her closest friend as well as she did, Narcissa did what any good friend would do, sent Bellatrix away under the guise of keeping things under wraps while she, who was the one in charge of Master Flitwick’s medicinal cabinet, went to fix the mess. 

She expected many things, to find her friend in a terrible condition, maybe alone even, or worse, to find Sirius and Severus at each other’s throats. Instead she finds her cousin gently cleaning and dressing Sev’s wound. Their voices are so soft that she can’t hear them from the mouth of the alley.

Flashes of conversations and behaviors blink in and out from behind her eyes. Severus begrudging respect for Sirius despite being a teasing target (no thanks to the handsome idiot behind her)—and Sirius relentlessness, like a dog wanting attention from the one person who doesn’t want to give him. 

So, it should come as no surprise—well, maybe only to a handful of people it would be no surprise—that Narcissa took it upon herself to do a little spellwork with some nifty runes for a locked mistletoe.

More often than not, she’s found that all people need is a little push, a little herding if you will, by a well-intentioned hand. Cissy thinks Master Riddle and Dumbledore are good shepherds. Flitwick’s well… There's a reason why he takes no more than four students at a time, and Cissy chose him because of that.

“Bloody brilliant, but devious.” James’ compliments bring her out of her trance. 

The compliment pleases Narcissa, but showing that it does so, is counterproductive. Her cousin and Severus are snogging passionately in the background. 

Instead, she says.

“Are you ready to explain why you took it upon yourself to embarrass me in public with your ridiculous display?” A single finely groomed eyebrow raises in an arc and it does the job, James Potter gulps like a man full of guilt.

“How fortunate for you that Lucius is so private and that Pandora finds your misguided antics amusing, Potter.” Her nose wrinkles in distaste. “I cannot say the same for Rowle, Rookwood and Dolohov! Right in front of Grindelwald’s tent no less!”

The misery in his expression is instantaneous.

Transparent, as he is. 

She likes it.

“How was I supposed to know Malfoy and Rosier were together?” She stares at him unimpressed. “How was I to know he wasn’t courting you? Your sister heavily implied he was—why would I doubt—”

“You could’ve asked, James.” 

To this, he says nothing. And just stares at her, dumbfounded. Like the thought never even crossed his mind as a possibility.

She sighs. 

Sometimes she wondered if her mother was right, ‘I think you would be a lot less frustrated with Lucius,’ she’d said, more than a couple of times.

No doubt she could. She got along wonderfully with the Malfoy heir, and she knew if she’d wanted to, they could’ve made each other quite happy.

But then she thinks of the softness in Pandora’s beautiful face when she reads Lucius’ letters—of her friend’s quirk of her lips when she’s writing about her current experiments, how she looks forward to exchanging ideas, hearing his suggestions.

And apparently Narcissa had a weakness for handsome idiots. 

“Will you let me court you, Cissy?” Potter asks, looking all serious and determined. As if he hadn’t snogged Charity at Samhain.

Maybe life is too peaceful.

Narcissa rolls her eyes and calmly walks off.

“That’s not a no! Right? Silence doesn’t mean no!” 

*

“So, what is it anyway?” Black asks like nothing’s happened, completely disheveled, shirt loose from his pants, buttons askew, lips swollen red—probably not looking any better than Severus is.

“Are you serious?”

“I’m always Sirius, well—except maybe when I knock m’self a lil too much off my socks, then I can be whatever—Jamesy and I once snuck in on my dad’s Ogden’s cabinet and drained a whole bottle just the two of us—I don’t remember much of what went on, but at some point we ended up at the park, trying to find something on the floor and I thought ‘have I been a cobblestone all my life?’ And it was a bit disconcerting—”

“Merlin’s balls, stop talking!”

“There’s a great way to shut me up.” Sirius says, full of innuendo. And Severus looks like someone who’s regretted every single one of his life choices.

“It’s a snow melter.” Severus looks down at the ceramic shaker in his hands. “Small villagers don’t have as many resources as developed ones,” and he thinks of his boney hands, freezing on doors, windows, handles… “but salt is always available.”

To demonstrate he hovers the shaker above a small mound of snow and shakes it like any other salt shaker.

The snow starts melting right away. 

Most people are aware that salt lowers the freezing point of water, and he says as much, “I used fire spellwork inside in order to keep the salt inside heated, accelerating the process.”  

Black takes the shaker from his hand, and Severus wants to die from the way his heart pumps loudly in his chest.

“How come it’s cold to the touch?” He’s turning the shaker in his hands, looking for the spellwork on the outside. Truly interested and—

Severus cannot believe his treacherous body.

“Underneath.” He grits through his teeth. Black turns the shaker around, grains of salt falling down, creating a small puddle between his feet from the melted layer of ice encasing the stone floor.

“I looked here already—” The sun is tall and bright, a beacon of life in the clear sky. But it also causes the white bottom of his shaker to reflect a lot, making it difficult to spot it. 

Severus ignores the clear look of surprise followed by delight as he takes Black’s free hand in his and starts tracing the hidden runes, thinly carved underneath his shaker—before the glaze.

Black’s face breaks out with wonder and joy.

“This is brilliant!”

That’s it.

“Hey—where you going?” Severus continues his escape. “Sevie—I got your shaker thingy, wait!”

Quickening it is.

“I’m literally just going to catch up to you!”

*

The Yuletide fair is a success, and as expected their workshop receives plenty of orders for scaled productions—even from overseas buyers. 

Lily is not surprised when Marlene McKinnon receives the innovation award for the second time in a row with something she called vapor bubble. A stunningly simple contraption that when activated gathers moisture from the air into a bubble—which can then be poured for drinking, washing, cleaning. 

But what does come to everyone’s surprise, is when Master Dumbledore brings his ‘troupe of buffonic miscreants,’ as Sev likes to say, to Master Riddle’s tent, and two of the most respected and regarded wizards of the last century round up their students to make an announcement.

Of their union.

And Albus Dumbledore’s cheeks are hinted pink and his eyes sparkle like the night-sky outside. And her mentor reminds her of the cat that lives in their barn. The one with the gleaming eyes who loves to hunt bats in the evening. After hundreds of leaps, prowling and waiting—he finally catches a bat.

Lily’s watched it do it for years now. Knows how it flicks its tail pleased beyond belief of its achievement. Chest still heaving—eyes beaming. 

That’s how Tom Riddle looks. 

And Lily is happy. 

Because there’s no one in this world that Lily wants to see get everything they want more than Tom Riddle. The man who dragged her body from underneath the carcassess of her family, from the rubbles of what was left of her village.

He gave her a home and showed her a life beyond her dreams.

And if Albus Dumbledore could be even just a fraction of what Tom was for her, then there was no sun or moon that would deny him that—and she would see to it.

So if Severus blanches and looks like he’s about to keel over, and Sirius and James exchange looks of positive glee like a million and four new ideas for pranks just sprouted out from their brains and she spots about three other expressions in the crowd that need taking note of. Then that just means she has some extra work to see to.

“They are in for a rude awakening.” Says the beautiful girl next to her, a vibrant smirk painting her red lips. Lily laughs discreetly. A conversation with no words happens between them.

“Indeed, Bella.”

Yes, they would see to it.

[FIN]