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Best Served Cold	By : KohakuShadow Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Snape/Sirius Views: 12564 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of its characters, nor am I making any money off of it. It's called FANfiction because I DON'T own it, right? Right. Good that we're clear.

Chapter List
- 1-1
- 2-2
- 3-3
- 4-4
- 5-5
- 6-6
- 7-7
- 8-8
- 9-9
- 10-10
- 11-11
- 12-12
- 13-13
- 14-14
- 15-15
- 16-16
- 17-17
- 18-18
- 19-19
- 20-20
- 21-21
- 22-22
- 23-Epilogue
- 6
- 7
- 8
Chapter
7

“Your brandy, Sirius.”

“Sorry, what?” Sirius blinked out of his thoughts just as
he knocked the glass over and cussed when it spilled into his lap.

Molly Weasley whacked him upside the head and declared, “Language!”
as if her children hadn't heard (or said) worse at their age, and
bustled him off to change his trousers, which now had a rather
prominent stain about the crotch. When he pulled on the new
trousers, a pair that had been sitting in his drawer since school (he
took pride in the fact he still fit into his old clothing, though he
knew he had Azkaban to thank for that), he felt a curious lump in the
pocket and pulled it out.

A small, unobtrusive and strikingly plain brass button sat in the
palm of his hand. He knew instantly where it had come from, and
cursed himself for the weakness of having accidentally kept it for so
many years. He clutched it tightly, cocked his shoulder as if to
chuck it across the room, but deflated. He still couldn't do it.
“Why am I still holding on to you?” he complained as if
the button held within it the secret of the universe and the answers
to all the things that had gone wrong in his life. The button didn't
offer any answers, which he supposed was for the best, since it meant
Azkaban had left him with at least the shred of sanity that told him,
unless bewitched, buttons still didn't talk.

Sirius turned to the mirror on the inside of the wardrobe door and
sighed. “Can't exactly say you've kept your looks, Padfoot,”
he told his reflection. “You're barely a shadow of what you
were as a boy.” That applied to more than just his looks,
“but...I suppose that's for the best.” He wasn't
normally the introspective sort, but trapped in Grimauld Place, alone
more often than not, cleaning as if he were a house elf, when
the house elf he had refused to clean a thing anymore, left him with
plenty of time to think about things. 'Plenty of things to
regret.'

*

He tried to be reasonable, really he did, but 'reasonable' wasn't one
of Sirius Black's most pronounced qualities. Even when he thought
what was going on in his mind made perfect sense, a good deal of the
time it only made sense to him. So, when he rationalized that
tricking Snape into the Shrieking Shack during the full moon was the
best thing for him, and for Remus – who was fighting so hard to
keep his secret – it never really dawned on him what a
horrible, horrible prank it was. The tiny little, practically
nonexistent possibility that Snape could be killed never really
crossed his mind. He just missed waking up next to him so much, and
refused to admit it so firmly, and was so intensely jealous that
Remus was still shagging him that he lost his teenage mind without
realizing it.

It's not as if he cared about Snape anyway, he reminded himself. He
was a greasy git. Snivellus. That's all he'd ever be. The fact that
he purred like a cat during sex and smelled of lavender and
honeysuckle didn't change any of the rest of it. He deserved
to have the wits scared out of him. He deserved worse than that. He
was just using Remus. (The fact that Remus was also just using Snape
was one of those little details that got conveniently ignored in
favor of the righteous indignation he was using to mask his seething
jealousy.) Severus Snape, Sirius had decided in only a few short
days since their last encounter, was clearly the scum of the Earth,
and Remus shouldn't be wasting time or sexual energy on him or his
abnormally large nose.

He considered forging Remus's handwriting again, but it seemed like
it would be more convincing if it was his own, considering he'd be
asking Snape to come to the Shrieking Shack, where he'd spent a lot
of time with Snape, and Remus...well, hadn't. The note was simple.
Anything to flowery or suave, Snape would see right through. So he
just wrote the date and time and the words, 'Can we talk? If you
come, I'll let you in on what's wrong with Remus.'

It had only been three days since Remus had spilled the lie that
Snape had fed him. Severus would probably still buy that Sirius
wanted to hear it from the source. Sure, it made him sound like an
over-emotional poof with effeminate tendencies, but he was pretty
sure Severus would show up. If their roles were reversed, he
wouldn't, but Severus? Yeah, he'd definitely come. His curiosity
about Remus's 'mysterious illness' would get him there, if Sirius
himself wasn't a good enough reason to show up. And then he'd know
just what Sirius thought of all his bullshit, and about Remus too.
All of it out in the open, once and for all. Uh, yeah, so that bit
about Remus being a werewolf was the most important part, for the
record. I mean, obviously. Just shagging or no, Remus deserved
someone who could accept him for what he was, and stuff. That's
where the righteous indignation came in to cover the part that made
Sirius sound like a jilted lover out for revenge. It totally
wasn't like that.

“Sirius, maybe this isn't the best idea,” James said,
concerned. “Things could get out of hand.”

But Sirius was too lost in his own thoughts, which James couldn't
even begin to understand. Snape was the one big secret both Remus
and Sirius had kept from him, after all. Sirius barely even
registered that his friend was talking, let alone what he was saying.

“Come on, Prongs, this is gonna be great. I wonder if he'll
piss himself.”

“Sirius...”

*

“...Sirius?”

“Sorry, what?” Sirius blinked to find Harry giving him a
concerned look.

Harry smiled a bit. “You were somewhere far away, just now.”

“Yes well, we old fogies do that sometimes, Harry,”
Sirius answered with his most playful smile. He had a feeling it
didn't quite make it to his eyes – they never seemed to
anymore, not since the Dementors. He sometimes wondered if he would
ever really be free of them, or if their featureless black cloaks
would haunt his dreams for the rest of his life. “I was just
thinking about the past,” he said, stuffing the button back
into his pocket. He'd get rid of it later. “But I've already
told you all of the good stories, no sense repeating them. I imagine
Molly's sent you to fetch me for supper? You would think with all
those children she'd have learned a bit of patience.”

Harry grinned, but didn't answer. He adored Mrs. Weasley, but she
was rather pushy at times.

Sirius pushed open the door and heard a familiar husky voice
downstairs. Twitch. “Snape is here?”

“Mrs. Weasley's bullied him into staying for dinner,”
Harry answered, clearly uncertain how he felt about sitting down to a
meal with his least favorite and most interesting professor.

Sirius knew exactly how he felt. “Then tell her to take out
the good whiskey and that I'll be right down.”

“The good whiskey?” Harry asked. For Snape?

Sirius grinned at the boy who looked so remarkably like his father
again. “If we plan to get through dinner in one piece, then I
think one, or both, of us ought to be properly soused, don't you?”
he joked.

Harry couldn't argue the point. Even he got on better with Snape than
Sirius did. Somehow he knew now wasn't the time to ask about it. He
knew a lot of the history between Sirius and Snape, at least in bits
and pieces, but he also knew, perhaps by instinct, that there was a
lot more to it than what he'd been told. But no one was telling him
anything these days. He wasn't going to push his luck with
Sirius's past until he got some answers about the present.
Besides, if it had to do with Snape, Harry was sure whatever had
happened must be his potions professor's fault.

In the eyes of Harry Potter, Sirius Black could do no wrong. 'If
only the way he saw me were the way I really am,' Sirius thought
dryly. 'Everything would have been so different if I'd just left
well enough alone...'

To
Be Continued...
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Best Served Cold