More WIP amnesty

[isiscolo]

Well, heck. After I said I really wanted to get That Afterlife Thing going, I looked at it again, and I'm still stymied. The entire last scene sucks and goes nowhere. And I'm not sure that the fic itself is going anywhere as it is. See, the whole idea is that I wanted to do a Snape/Black that wasn't a denialfic. So, Black's dead. Hey, what if Snape's dead, too? Except...what do dead people do?

So. That Afterlife Thing, Snape/Black, Snape/Regulus, R (so far). Minus the sucky last scene that goes in the wrong direction.



Harry Potter was startled but not surprised; Snape had saved his life with distressing regularity over the past seven years, and he had almost begun thinking of him as his greasy guardian angel. Albus Dumbledore was saddened but not surprised; he'd always known that Severus had a nobler heart than he admitted even to himself, and an eye for the grand gesture that was not altogether self-serving.

No, the only person surprised when Severus Snape jumped in front of Harry Potter, taking the Killing Curse that Voldemort had directed at the boy, was Snape himself. His eyes had widened slightly, as if he had only just realized the depth of his sacrifice, but his long body did not flinch as he hurled himself into the path of the green light.

He was considerably more surprised when he woke to see Sirius Black looking down at him.

"Glad to see you made it in one piece," said Sirius, smirking. "It makes things so much easier."

"Black," said Snape. The one person he least wanted to see, ever. The one person he had thought he would never have to see again. When Sirius Black had died, Snape had felt a queer sort of relief mingled with disappointment, the feeling that a door had closed, for good or for ill, but that despite all it was closed forever. And yet Black was there before him. Which meant… "I see that I am in Hell, after all."

"Purgatory, actually. If you want to use the Christian term."

"Purgatory," repeated Snape, thoughtfully. He sat up and regarded his surroundings. A forest. A cave. A lake. The shores of Avernus, he supposed. "So I am indeed dead, then."

"As a doornail," confirmed Sirius. "But I can't gloat, as much as I'd like to, seeing as how I'm in much the same state myself. And it turns out, Snape, that you are my key to paradise."

He snorted despite himself. "Heaven forfend."

"Quite the opposite. It seems that my really shitty treatment of you is what's keeping me out of Elysium, as it were. So I've been assigned to be your guide to the Underworld by the Powers that Be." His face wrinkled in a moue of distaste. "As my penance."

"Mine as well, I imagine," muttered Snape under his breath.

"Could be," replied Sirius airily. "You can always file an appeal with the Authorities, of course. But if you think the Ministry bureaucracy was an impenetrable maze, you should see what they've got in place here." He held out a hand to Snape. "Come on. We've got a river to cross."

"So," said Snape, looking with interest at the ferryman, "the ancient Greeks had it right, after all."

"Not a bit. Old Charon here started out as just another doomed soul with a taste for classical literature. He decided it would give him something to do, I think."

"You're joking."

"Maybe." Sirius smiled at him, a flash of white teeth in that nearly-handsome face, and Snape felt his face go hot. Sirius Black, smiling at him. A pity he had to be dead to have it happen.

In fact, Snape realized with a bit of a start, Black had been uncommonly civil to him ever since he had…well, it sounded odd to say 'ever since he had died', but he supposed that was the proper terminology. I am dead, he said to himself, dead and in a ferryboat with Sirius Black, who has been dead for two years, wandering…would it be the Plain of Judgement, then? Waiting, apparently, for him.

At the far side of the river they disembarked and Snape followed Sirius into a field of asphodel. The flowers gently waved, although he felt no breeze. "What, no Cerberus?"

"If you wish," said Black, carelessly, and pointed off toward the shore, where a three-headed dog -- the image of the one that had guarded the Stone seven years ago -- snarled menacingly. "But you do know, don't you, that these images are all being pulled from your mind? You see what you want to see."

"Then why," spat Snape, "do I see you?"

"Because the only things in the Underworld that have any objective reality whatsoever are souls. And yours and mine have some unfinished business to attend to."

"Your so-called penance, I suppose." Snape curled his lip in a sneer. "It must really gall you, Black, having to be nice to me. No doubt you'd rather hex me into oblivion."

"You're already there, in case you haven't noticed. As am I."

"Well, it's about time you got your comeuppance for being such a bastard. Of course, your rather inglorious death suited you, don't you think?"

"And yours suited you not a whit." Sirius's face had gone white, his voice tense.

"The hero's death is not reserved for Gryffindors, Black. Although I would have preferred the fame and recognition during my lifetime, I admit."

To his surprise, Sirius turned on him, knocked him to the ground with an angry backhand. He felt the wind go out of him, exhaled from his lungs in a rush as he hit, and was vaguely surprised. Breath. Lungs. Things he didn't have any more, he had thought.

But Sirius was kneeling above him, his face contorted, his breath -- yes, his breath, breath he should not have -- hot against Snape's face. "Yes," he ground out, "you saved him. You were the hero, you bastard. And it should have been me."

Sirius's lank black hair hung down, brushing Snape's face, and he could feel the heat from the other man's skin radiating into him. Hair, heat, skin. He supposed it all must be springing from his imagination, if they were simply souls wandering in the Underworld, but it seemed so very real. And how had his imagination come up with this, anyway? When Sirius had tormented him during their schooldays, it was always at wands' length; he never had deigned to get this close, this physical. He had no memories to draw on of Sirius straddling his body like this, so close he could reach up and kiss the man if he wanted to.

Perhaps Sirius saw it in his eyes, because he suddenly drew back from him and stood, awkwardly. "Get up. We need to talk, and we might as well be comfortable." He led the way to a small cottage at the edge of the meadow that Snape was certain had not been there before. Inside were a table and chairs, a kettle on the stove; the place could have been lifted straight from any rural town in England, with its swept wood floors and gingham curtains.

Sirius motioned him to a straight-backed chair, then went to the stove. "Tea?"

"Good God, you sound like Albus," grumbled Snape. "No, I do not want tea. I want you to tell me, how is it we *can* have tea?" He leaned forward and the scent of steeping leaves filled his nostrils. "I can smell it. I expect you will drink it, and then I presume you will excrete it as well."

"That is the standard order of things, yes."

"Don't be deliberately obtuse, Black. We are dead. How is it that we have bodies that can --" feel? breathe? kiss? He settled for finishing, " -- drink tea?"

"Ah," said Sirius, pouring himself a cup. "It's because that's what we're accustomed to doing. Leaving the body behind is a difficult task, so the soul gathers a body to it -- if, that is, the body wasn't so stupid as to accompany it in the first place." The bitter note had returned to his voice, and he looked down into his teacup.

"So the afterlife is not so different from worldly life." A cottage like any other cottage. Breathing in and out. Perhaps he'd have a cup of tea, after all.

"Not for us. Not yet." Now he sounded wistful. "This is only Purgatory, the realm of the body. Beyond lies the realm of the soul, which I am not permitted to enter until I have --" he glanced at Snape -- "completed my penance."

"Heaven?" His lips twisted, imparting a scornful note to the word. Heaven and Hell were concepts he found difficult to believe in. This, this Purgatory, was something familiar. A realm of lost souls, in the forms they took in life. But eternal reward, eternal punishment?

"Elysium, if you prefer. Paradise by whatever name."

Snape leaned back in the chair, feeling the hard wood against his back, and narrowed his eyes. "Then you will never make it into paradise, because I will never forgive you." The taunts, the tricks, the humiliations. They were all engraved in his memories, as familiar and painful as a cracked tooth that one cannot help but prod at, repeatedly, with the tongue.

Sirius's eyebrow raised a fraction. "What makes you think that forgiveness is what's required?"

"You said --"

"I said that we have unfinished business." He shrugged elaborately. As though he had no idea, himself.

"So you don't want my forgiveness," Snape said, suspicion creeping into his voice. "But you're after something. What do you want from me?"

"I wish I knew, Snape." He sipped at his tea. "Understanding, maybe."

"Which you never gave me," Snape shot back.

At that, Sirius smiled again. It was a sad smile, one that did not touch his eyes. "You'd be surprised," he said, softly. Rising, he went to a cupboard and came back with something wrapped in a thick cloth. "You'd be surprised," he repeated.

He laid the object in front of Snape and began to undo the shroud-like wrapping. Underneath was a mirror, cracked and old-looking. "There are countless legends and myths about using mirrors to summon spirits from the Otherworld. As it turns out, it works in quite the opposite way." He blew on it, and an image appeared.

The first thing he saw was Harry Potter, and Snape snorted in disgust. "So I can not escape that brat even in death."

"Shh," said Sirius, and Snape heard a faint noise coming from the mirror. It was like the ghost of speech, and he leaned forward to listen more closely, and to watch.

"…to honor the man who gave his life for me." Potter was in black robes, a somber expression on his face. "There have been many, myself among them at times, who doubted his devotion to the side of Light. He was not a pleasant man, but even unpleasant men can be heroes. And Severus Snape was a hero."

"Good God, is Potter giving my eulogy?" Snape shook his head, but a smile lurked at the corners of his mouth. It wasn't every day that one watched one's own funeral, and Potter had called him a hero, after all. "'An unpleasant man', indeed. I should take off House points for speaking ill of the dead."

"I can't argue with him, Snape. You are an unpleasant man. As well as a hero."

"Because I saved your precious godson when you weren't around to do it," he sneered.

Sirius's mouth tightened, but he ignored the jibe. "Because you have done much more than that, over the past few years. I had always been suspicious that you were only paying lip service to Albus, you know. But I've seen enough over the past two years to know that you were the truest member of the Order of the Phoenix."

Anger flashed in Snape's eyes. "You've been spying on me? I knew you were twisted, Black, but I never dreamed you were a voyeur."

"I've been watching Harry," said Sirius. "And I've been seeing you. Teaching him, training him."

"Shouting at him. Hurting him. Hating him."

"I know you never liked him. But despite that, you helped him. Despite everything James and I did to you."

"And that surprises you." Snape crossed his arms, frowning. "Clearly you don't understand the concept of duty. I did not do it for him. Nor for you or James."

"Yes, I know. You did it for Albus." Sirius continued to look into the mirror, a wistful look on his face. For a moment Snape felt almost jealous, that he had someone back in the world to care about, to watch over. Someone who missed him. Nobody cared that Severus Snape had died, despite Potter's laudatory words. An ugly man, a spy, a reluctant teacher, a talented brewer of potions. Requiescat in pace, and there an end. Albus was no doubt thinking through a list of candidates to take over his position at Hogwarts, even as he sat at the memorial service, listening with only half an ear as his late Potions master was praised.

"I didn't do it *for* anybody. It was necessary," he muttered.

"And that," said Sirius gently, "is why you are a hero."

"And that," said Snape, "is why I am dead."

The small room that Sirius led him to was furnished exactly the same as his own chamber at Hogwarts had been; the same iron bedstead and dark coverlet, the same simple furniture. The volume of Ars Alchemica that he'd been reading the night before was on the nightstand. He opened it at his bookmark and saw the notes he'd penciled in the margins.

What was the point of death, then, if it was exactly like life, he wondered. They had eaten a small meal in silence, and it had tasted exactly like normal, everyday food that he would have eaten in his normal, everyday life. But for the presence of Sirius Black, he would believe that things were still normal and everyday; that tomorrow morning he would eat breakfast in the Great Hall and then descend to the dungeons to teach his classes. He would believe that the Death Eaters had not raided Hogsmeade, that the Three Broomsticks hadn't gone from a warm and genial pub to a killing ground, that he hadn't spotted Potter, defiant but unprepared, and hurled himself in front of the boy, into the path of the flash of green.

Maybe it didn't happen, he thought, as he slipped into his bed. Maybe it was all a dream.

But in the morning when he awoke he was in the cottage, not at Hogwarts, and Sirius Black was at the kitchen table waiting for him. "Sleep well?"

Snape eyed him cautiously as he slid into a chair. "The sleep of the dead."

"You'll get used to it," said Sirius, cheerfully.

"Oh, I will, will I? Will I get used to you as well?"

"I think that's the idea, actually."

"A bloody stupid idea, if you ask me," said Snape, savagely stabbing a piece of toast with his fork.

"I don't think we get a choice in the matter, Snape. It's like schooldays again. Only the lesson is not quite so clear."

"Schooldays again. Heaven forfend." His eyes narrowed. "Are we talking about the schooldays in which you taunted me and hexed me and generally made my life utterly miserable?"

"Why, yes. Snivellus."

Snape roared and stood, pulling his wand as he did so, but Sirius was faster and had him by the wrists before he could cast any spell. "Do you remember why I made your life utterly miserable?"

"Because you're a stupid git who didn't deserve what he had!"

"Because you're a stupid git who thought that was worth having!" countered Sirius. They glared at each other across the table, eyes locked on each other for a long moment.

A knock on the door broke the tension. "Right on time," said Sirius, a bit grimly. He raised his voice. "Come in, Regulus."

"Regulus?" breathed Snape, as he turned toward the door and watched Sirius's younger brother stride in. Almost as tall as Sirius, still young, still handsome. Still eighteen years old, with a shy smile that tore at his heart. And glowing with a lambent light that almost hurt to look at.

"Heard you'd arrived, Severus." Regulus dropped easily into the chair next to his. "Welcome to the Otherworld."

For once, Snape found it difficult to speak. "Are you…are you also awaiting judgement?"

Regulus's smile widened. "I passed from this realm when Sirius and I made our peace. I came back to help you achieve yours."

Snape looked at Sirius, who watched them both with unreadable eyes, then back at Regulus. It had been a complex triangle, back then. He had envied Sirius's family money and position; the Snapes had been poor folk, not important like the Blacks, who were nearly at the Dark Lord's right hand. But Sirius had thrown it all away. Sorted into Gryffindor, of all things, then becoming friends with that odious James Potter, whom Severus had disliked on sight and vice-versa. Rich boys, handsome boys. Boys who had things that Severus Snape would never have.

And then Regulus Black arrived at Hogwarts, and the Sorting Hat screamed, "Slytherin!"

"Black's brother," Severus had whispered to Rodolphus and Evan. They nodded; none of them liked the snotty, rude Gryffindors, purebloods who ought to have known better than to make enemies among their kind. "Over here," Severus had called from the Slytherin table, sliding aside to make room. Of course the awed first-year had looked up to them all. But especially to Severus, who had made a deliberate effort to befriend him. So what if Sirius didn't want anything to do with him? He'd take his little brother instead, and make him his own brother.

And that was exactly what he had done.

"Come try this, Reg." Severus sat cross-legged and gangly in the common room, intent on a box in front of him.

"What'cha got, Sev?"

"Take a look." There were two spiders in the box, marching back and forth. "I've got them under Imperius. You should take one and we can make them have a fight."

Regulus's eyes grew big. "Isn't that Dark magic?"

"The darkest," Severus confirmed. "But it's okay if you're just doing spiders. Come on, I'll show you how."

Regulus had been the little brother he'd never had, and it was all the sweeter because he'd stolen him away from Sirius. And Sirius had hated him for it, but he didn't care, because Sirius hated him already, so what was one more affront? It was his way of getting his own back, getting in with the Black family; a way to become more than just a Snape with noble blood and not much else.

They had stayed close after Snape had finished school, and when Snape joined the Death Eaters it was only natural that he would sponsor Regulus among them. The Blacks were proud, of course, and it was a coup for Snape, to have his name associated with the ancient and wealthy Black line.

And it was just too bad, wasn't it, that Sirius had broken with the rest of his family. That Snape could step in, take the place that should have been Sirius's. In his fantasies, old Mrs. Black embraced him, called him the son she should have had. But then he looked at handsome Regulus, elegant in his bespoke robes, and then thought of his own beaky, angular face, his own shabby clothes, and knew that he was only a visitor in this world.

And then it had all fallen apart.

Regulus smiled sadly at him. "It wasn't your fault."

"I killed you as surely as if it had been my wand that had cursed you."

"No, Severus." He glanced at Sirius. "I didn't have my brother's strength of character. I would've joined Voldemort anyway. My family would have seen to it." His voice softened. "Your motives weren't always honorable, but being with you was a protection, of sorts. From Bellatrix, and Rodolphus, and the rest of them. If it hadn't been for you, I might not have tried to leave."

"And been killed."

"I wouldn't have survived in any event. And if I had been killed in Voldemort's service, I would have never been redeemed. I wouldn't have been able to enter Avalon." He laughed, a high peal that sounded almost musical. "Maybe I should have been a Gryffindor, like Sirius, here. I had no head for intrigue. If I'd listened to your cautions …" His voice grew lower, more serious. "The important thing is that my death saved your life. You saw the risk of open rebellion, and instead became a spy. Which saved many lives."

Sirius looked at Snape with surprise. "You really were a spy, then." There was a new tone of grudging respect in his voice. "I didn't know."

"It is not the sort of thing that one tells people about."

"Not if you plan to stay alive. But none of us are concerned with that now, are we?" Regulus smiled, and Snape again thought how remarkable these brothers were, the way they lit rooms with their smiles. How much he had wished to have been a Black, with straight white teeth and an open, shining face.

"I am…sorry, Regulus. For everything."

Regulus stood, and the other two men rose as well. Then Regulus embraced Snape and kissed him gently on the lips; Snape could feel Sirius's eyes boring into his back, and he shifted his stance awkwardly. This was not a moment he wanted to share with the older Black brother. "I don't blame you. For anything." He looked intently into Snape's eyes. "You do believe me?"

Snape nodded. Regulus had always been sweet and trusting, willing to follow him no matter where he led. And honest. He was right, he had had no head for intrigue; so if Regulus said he was forgiven, he was forgiven.

He stepped away from Snape and turned to embrace his brother. "We will meet again in Avalon." And he disappeared, silently and suddenly.

There was a short, uncomfortable pause. Finally Snape said, "Avalon?"

"Elysium. Paradise. It's all the same place, or rather not-place. Where souls go when they have found peace." Sirius's eyes narrowed. "Now you tell me, Snape. What did he mean by that little display?"

Snape did not even consider pretending not to understand. "None of your business."

"My brother, Snape, my business."

"Oh, get all solicitous after he's dead, will you. Not my fault that he preferred my company to yours," he snapped.

"Your company?" Sirius's voice was sharp as he advanced on him, and Snape took an involuntary step backward. "And what did that involve, Snape?" He put his face very close to Snape's. "Did you fuck him?"

"None of your --"

"Did you fuck him?" Sirius roared, hands gripping Snape's shoulders. Gripping hard enough to hurt. Snape wondered if his fingers would leave bruises. His face was inches away.

"What are you going to do, Black," Snape sneered. "Kill me?"

"I might at that." Each word was ground out separately through clenched teeth. "I doubt being killed is pleasant, even here. But you'd come back, and I'd have to deal with you again. So." Abruptly he let go, and Snape staggered back from him and then sank again into his chair.

Frowning at Sirius, he massaged his own shoulders for a few moments, then leaned back and sighed. "I did not, as you so quaintly put it, fuck him."

"Oh, really." His voice was flat. "Did he fuck you?"

"Black. Your afterlife must be terribly boring if my past sex life interests you."

"So you were lovers."

A pause. "You could say that."

"You sick fuck." Sirius's eyes flashed with anger again.

"Oh, really. I don't seem to recall it made any difference to you whether your bed partners were male or female."

"That's not the point!" Sirius exploded. "He was my little brother!"

"Whom you did not give two Knuts about!"

"Whom I -- right." He exhaled heavily and sat down. "Look, Snape, things are different between us now. I mean, between Regulus and me. When I came here, he was waiting for me. He was my guide. Like I am for you."

"Some guide you are," muttered Snape.

"Yes, well. He needed to make his peace with me before continuing to…to Avalon. So we, well, we talked. Until we understood each other." A smile crossed his face at some private memory. "And then he was free to go."

"Then you already know everything."

"I know about him and me. Not about the two of you."

Snape raised an eyebrow. "You and he, really, Black? How debauched."

"You prat. That's not what I meant at all." Sirius sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I hated you because Regulus looked up to you."

"You hated me before he ever came to Hogwarts. You and your friends." Snape's voice twisted with bitterness. "Tell me, will I be favored with a visit from James as well?"

"I don't know. I expect not," said Sirius. "The sins of the fathers appear to have been expiated by their sons. Or maybe it's the other way round." His eyes narrowed, and he leaned back in his chair, tilting it on the back two legs. "Now, tell me about Regulus."

Snape looked at him appraisingly for a moment. Black didn't know what he was asking, he thought, and there was no way in hell… And quite suddenly he was certain that it was not a coincidence that he'd thought those words in that way, that the eternal punishment of Tartarus, or even an eternity of his current pseudo-existence was possible, if the two of them did not come to some -- accommodation.

"Well," he finally began, "it was really all your fault."

"Stop staring at them."

Severus grunted and took a careful drink of butterbeer. "I'm not staring at them."

"You are, Sev," said Regulus. "And when they notice they'll come over and hex us. Why did you come in here, anyway? You don't really even like butterbeer. Are you following them?"

"They're probably planning some trick to play at the Leaving Feast. I don't want to end up covered in green tentacles and hanging from the ceiling."

"If they were planning something, then Lupin and Pettigrew would be involved, wouldn't they? It wouldn't be just Sirius and Potter and their girlfriends." Regulus smiled and swigged his own drink. He looked relaxed and happy, a typical Hogwarts student on a typical Hogsmeade weekend. No cares, no troubles; that was Regulus.

Severus scowled; at the table across the room, the blonde sitting next to Sirius laughed at something he said, and his face darkened even more. Regulus caught the look.

"You fancy her? Lisa Brocklehurst?"

Severus mumbled something and turned a bit red, and Regulus laughed. "Don't tell me you fancy my brother!"

The look of raw pain in his face told the truth. It was Sirius he wanted, had wanted for years. He had gone from wanting to be like him, to wanting to be him, to, finally, wanting Sirius himself. Handsome, witty, self-possessed Sirius, who hated him. Who lured him to what could have been his death in the Shrieking Shack that night. Sirius, whose one goal in life seemed to be the torture and humiliation of Severus Snape.

He still hated Sirius, but he wanted him too, and that made it all the worse.

Sirius crowed triumphantly. "So you *did* fancy me! I had a bet on with Remus --"

"Shut up, Black." Snape glowered at him. This was worse than schooldays, having to admit his boyhood crush on his boyhood tormenter, to none other than the man himself. Maybe this *was* Hell, after all.

To his relief, Regulus forbore teasing him about his revelation, at least when they weren't alone. Bisexuality was not uncommon among the purebloods of House Slytherin -- in fact, it was darkly whispered in some corners that this was the true reason for the ever-diminishing numbers of pureblood wizards, as fewer and fewer were choosing to marry and raise children -- but Severus knew he'd be in for it if his friends knew it was Sirius Black that he thought about when he lay alone in his bed after curfew. It was bad enough that he was a Gryffindor and a blood traitor; but the elder Black's hatred for Severus was well known, and Severus's weakness -- for that's how it would have been seen -- would only have earned the disdain of his Slytherin friends.

But sometimes when they were alone together, Regulus would make some remark, always with a smile to show he was just teasing. When Severus visited the Black home in London that summer, Regulus would sigh and say that it was a pity his brother had run off to live with the Potters; when they met in Hogsmeade during the school year he would joke that there was nobody for Sev to moon at in the pub. And then one night, shortly after Evan had been killed and the two of them nearly had been, he'd crawled into Severus's bed.

"I don't want to die," he'd whispered. "I don't."

Severus had put his arms around him and stared out the window, thinking. Evan had been unlucky, no question; he had always been a careful man, and nobody had been expecting Aurors that night. But Evan had also been nosing around things he oughtn't to have, and been expressing certain contrary opinions -- opinions Severus was privately beginning to share -- and it had crossed Severus's mind more than once, in retrospect, that perhaps the Dark Lord himself had arranged somehow for Moody to have caught wind of the operation.

A warm head burrowed into his neck. "I don't want to die," Regulus repeated, and then Severus felt lips on his neck, soft and moist.

He'd pulled away sharply. "You're not going to die, Reg. And you don't -- you don't want to be --"

"Don't tell me what I want and don't want." Regulus lifted his head and looked at him, eyes wild, hair mussed and tangled. In the dim moonlight the resemblance to his brother was strong, and he could not help a pang of jealousy, that Sirius would never look at him like this, never ever. And then Regulus had leaned over and kissed him on the lips.

Severus had tried to resist, mumbling against Regulus's mouth. "I wanted to be your brother," he started, but Regulus shook his head and pushed him more forcefully against the pillows.

"I don't need a brother, Sev. I need you." And even though the words were whispered, Severus could hear the desperation in them, the mix of uncertainty and defiance, as though he knew he was going to die the next day and wanted to go down fighting, fucking, shaking his fist and screaming at the world, and he'd relaxed against the bed and wrapped his long arms around Regulus, and held him as tightly as he knew how.

Later, as they lay entwined and sated, he listened to Regulus's soft snoring and stared at the ceiling, wondering how he was going to get them both out alive.

"You tried to get him away from Voldemort." Sirius's voice was curiously flat.

"I failed. In the most pertinent way."

"Yes."

Sirius was staring at him from across the table, eyes hollow and unreadable, and Snape began to feel uncomfortable. "What is it, Black?"

"I don't know. I don't like thinking about you and Regulus."

A smile crept across Snape's lips. The bastard. "A little too late to be worrying about his virtue."

Sirius pushed his chair from the table, stood. "That's not what I'm worrying about."

"Then what?" Sirius didn't answer, and of a sudden Snape felt the heat rush to his face; his blood pulsed with a quick anger that he couldn't identify, and he stood, crossing the space between them in a single stride. He placed his hands on the other man's shoulders, shoved hard against the wall. "This is pointless, Black. I know that you are dead. I have accepted that I am dead. And you," he said, punctuating his words with another shove, "you are supposed to be my guide. I have no idea what that entails, but I have damn well had enough --" another push, rougher this time -- "and I demand that we end this ridiculous farce of sitting at a -- a -- a kitchen table in hell, drinking tea!"

Sirius was still looking at him with that same flat expression, and Snape had a wild urge to put his hands around Sirius's neck and squeeze, squeeze until he said something, until he fought back, until something happened. He could do it; there was nobody to stop him, he knew, and maybe even if he couldn't actually kill him the feeling of squeezing out his breath would be satisfaction enough. The thought of Sirius's neck under his fingers made him groan. He was there, he was right there, backed hard against the wall, and Snape felt a frisson of electricity tickle across his groin as he realized that he could do it, he could do anything, kill him or kiss him or both at once. His lips twisted into a thin smile and he bent toward that mouth that had cursed him so many times, sliding his hands upward to circle that neck.

And he was on the ground. Just like that, between one heartbeat and the next -- assuming that whatever passed for his heart was still beating here, he thought grimly. No time had passed at all, he was certain, between his movement toward Black's lips and his sudden arrival on the floor; Black looked just as bemused as he himself felt, looking at his own hands. After a moment, Black reached out a hand, and with some trepidation Snape clasped it and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet.

They both started speaking at once.

"Don't --"

"I'm not --"

Silence, for a moment. Then Black looked off in the distance, over Snape's shoulder, as if looking out a window that wasn't there. "I've a feeling," he began carefully, "neither of us knows what the fuck is going on here."

"Not exactly a difficult conclusion."

Black was still not meeting his eyes. "I've got to think about some things. Figure it out." He cut a quick glance toward Snape, then away again. "Probably you do, too. The, uh, place is yours. It's not really a place, anyway."

Snape watched him walk to the door.

"I'll most likely be back." A sort of harsh bark of laughter. "I most likely have no choice."

And he turned and was gone. When Snape finally went over to look out the door, he saw nothing, nobody, not even the black dog he'd expected to see bounding through the field of asphodel.