“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 is where he learns 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 when dawn is just chancing upon them.

Not even the thick layer of snow outside can buffer the stale air that tastes 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 Severus finds on the cobblestones out back.

It is with a feeling of inadequacy that Severus wakes up most days. But it all changes 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 sight and a flock of Jobberknolls fly past.

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

But it’s when he sees the Castle of Hogwarts in the distance that Severus can’t help 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 are hard to come by, his mother doesn’t like remembering them often, but these tales are his favorites. 

In most households, a person of magical blood is considered a blessing. And names such as 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 to the entranced audience. Its legs are carved in a perfect replica of a goat's. Severus knows this is no coincidence, as goats are known for being able to navigate even the most challenging terrains.

Elation breaks through a young boy’s face as he’s sat on the strange chair with the help of his father. Missing more than half his legs, the audience gasps and laughs with him as the chair walks him around the small podium, takes small jumps and then bigger ones. He even goes up and down the stairs, seamlessly. 

The boy’s parents cry, the father even falling to his knees and a thunderous applause breaks through the crowd.

All the hairs on Severus' arms go haywire.

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

And it’s past midnight when Eileen finally comes to 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!” James' voice moans out loud in what can only be interpreted as an extreme case of boredom malaise. 

Not one to pass up an opportunity to be an inconvenience, Sirius answers in kind.

“Ja—mes!” Though he does increase his volume by an offensive notch.

But the damage is done, the challenge has been set: he who can be the most obnoxious, ye shall claim thee title! James’ head pops up from the mezzanine above, a wolfish smile breaks on his handsome face as their eyes meet.

“Si—ri—us!” James adds an odious sort of high-pitched thing he nearly, nearly laughs mid-delivery. Sirius can work with that.

“Ja—mes!” 

“Si—ri—”

“Ja—a—mes!”

“Si—i—i—rius!”

“SHUT UP BOTH OF YOU!” Yells Remus from across the room. Poor Peter fails, quite miserably, at concealing his laughter behind his book. 

Sirius knows he can always count on Pete to enjoy a good show.

“Don’t you guys have work to do?” Asks Frank from where he’s bent over revising Arthur’s runes over at his workstation. Weasley’s done creating a small device that ‘memorizes’ voices and replicates it for an infinite amount of times until a new one is recorded and replaces it.

Sirius doesn’t think it’s a bad idea, he just thinks all Arthur wants with it is to exchange voice messages with Molly… and that doesn’t sound that much exciting of an idea to him, let alone a Hogsmead idea.

But to each their own. I guess. Sirius doesn’t even want to try to understand what Arthur sees in the girl, that witch is bonkers. 

He likes her well enough, he just would never date her. Molly would do great with the Knights… he thinks with a shudder. 

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

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

“She does sound like that though.” This earns Sirius a pebble thrown in his general direction. “Are you back to collecting rocks, McKinnon? Do we need to have a talk again?” 

“Seriously though, guys, Master Dumbledore said he’d be back in a couple of hours to evaluate our projects… ” Peter interjects. Sirius allows for it, and only because he knows Peter keeps his own rocks too.    

“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 can’t help but throw the challenge.

Sirius would never admit to 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. He’s no whiner. But Merlin’s balls, none of them can do anything around here (or elsewhere too, honestly) without the others finding out about it.

Everyone except Marlene.

For months now, Sirius and James have been trying, researching and failing at getting the small door under the stairs—McKinnon’s super secret workstation—open. But Master Dumbledore’s locking runes are bloody impossible to break. They’ve been dying of curiosity, and it has been extremely frustrating for both of their egos, not that Sirius would ever say that out loud.

“Dream on, Black, you’re seeing it with everyone else when I, successfully, once again score another deal.” Marlene brags, as if the success of her debut hadn’t been told a hundred times over in this household. “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, “Oh, c’mon Marlene, not this again, I don’t even care!” 

Everyone laughs as if he’s genuinely embarrassed or something when Sirius’ only kind of annoyed that people are so uptight which in turn only makes life more boring.

Yes, it’s true that Marlene did a great job, a well deserving job, and Sirius has no trouble admitting that. Good magic is good magic. He just wishes fun magic would also be seen as awesome magic, is all. 

And a childhood in the Black household was a sure way to either be the most intense about traditions or I couldn’t care less… But even Sirius can understand his family’s standing, and what it means to most to receive a stunning, hand painted manuscript from the heir of Black. 

Cheers to McKinnon, but all Sirius got was pinches, ear pulling and a vicious, unnecessary, scolding from Bellatrix. 

So what if instead of pulverizing bad soil, his large barrel had started spinning and spitting diseased dirt like crazy. Absolutely intentional. James had laughed so hard he’d fainted for a quick spell. Even Master Dumbledore had to hide his amusement behind his fan! That counted as a massive success to Sirius.

Bellatrix just had no sense of humor. 

Ok, that was maybe a lie. Sirius has shared many great laughs with Bellatrix.

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

Not that Sirius blames her. Not a day went by that he didn’t thank Magic itself for not having been born the eldest Black child of their generation. If there had ever existed a responsibility Sirius did not want in his life, it was being the head of their family. Stuff of nightmares. So boring, a complete prison.

“Make fun of us all you want, McKinnon, you know what they say, the smartest ones laugh last.” James says confidently, but that’s not the right—

But it’s Frank who corrects him.

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

“Same thing, Longbottom, same thing.”

“Those are literally two distinct claims, Potter.” McKinnon says with equal parts condescension and surprise.

“Who invited this girl here?”

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

“Does anyone hear anything? I swear there's this incessant, annoying sound, it’s so high-pitched, maybe some kind of small, insignificant but very annoying insect? 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, everyone except Sirius.

***

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

“An exquisite project, young Sirius. Approved for presentation.”

Master Dumbledore is thorough in his evaluation and when he returns Sirius project to a pair of waiting hands, the master looks over his half-moon spectacles with with a knowing glance that says ‘Young Sirius, I see no need to remind you to not prompt yourself to spontaneous rune altercations even though they’re hilarious and provide extreme levels of entertainment to all,’ 

Well, Dumbledore’s eyes don’t say that exactly, but they say something close.

But they’re now all squeezed tight inside Master Dumbledore’s colorful vardo, flying over Feldcroft and Sirius can see the red pointy towers of their workshop getting smaller and smaller. 

His right leg’s starting to twitch.

And 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’s 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?

Severus doesn’t like how he missed that. But he sighs and looks forlorn at his incomplete notes. Best finish once they’re back then 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, on occasion, 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 but also like he wants to talk about something he shouldn’t. 

Their pace is slow as they make their way past the foyer and through the enormously carved doors of their master’s workshop.

Everyone knows Master Riddle is an extremely private man, and that 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 he does give his friend a small glance, their eyes meet, and it’s all the encouragement he needs.

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, right? And that was before him, my parents and my uncles had to transfer and finish their studies with Master Slughorn, yeah?” Severus nods, it is common knowledge amongst wizardking. “Well, it seems Master Riddle’s animosity towards Grindelwald dates that far… 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, goes unsaid. “And that the two masters even taught 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 adults are tight-lipped about it, but there’s more to this story. I’m certain.” Severus can understand Reggie’s interest, Master Riddle is an exceptional man. A prodigious child, come from one of the most brutal war-torn regions in the world, taken under the wing of the illustrious Master Dumbledore, only to surpass even him. 

Severus sees his admiration for their master mirrored in every single one of his fellow apprentices. Anything to do with or about Master Riddle is always of interest to any of them.

“Sirius has been trying to spike Master Riddle’s drinks for years,” Regulus says in a way that is so casual Severus does a double take. “You know how he doesn’t drink much. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Master Riddle inebriated if I think about it—but anyway, with each passing year Sirius would increase the potency of his concoction, at each failure, more incentive—and he did it.”

Severus rolls 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 nearby, “The MacNairs flew north to celebrate Samhain with us, and with Walden apprenticing under Grindelwald, his name was bound to make its way through the conversation—” his friend continues, “I’ve never heard so many negative adjectives directed at a single person before.” He says, looking a bit out of it, as if stunned by the memory.

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

Regulus blanches, it’s pathetic. At least Severus is capable of 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, or his petty way of sharing personal details about their master.

She can’t, Severus knows that. But Regulus acts as if she does. This hold Bellatrix has over Regulus is difficult for him to understand. Perhaps being the eldest gives you plenty of room to experiment, Bellatrix was clever after all. 

Whatever worked, or didn’t work on her sisters or her cousin, Bellatrix made sure to take notes and apply it tenfold to Reggie. 

Regulus’ belief of his eldest cousin's telepathical abilities is the most irrational thing about him. 

“Apologies, Bellatrix.” The least Severus 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 long 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 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.” How long had Lucius been standing there? How come Severus didn’t notice when he arrived? 

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 to say. And Severus would normally roll his eyes and nod, but the mention of this particular Black flares up his nostrils in anger.

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

“I swear by Morgana that he does it just to annoy me, and now he’s doing it without being here! Stop it! And 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?’ The distasteful memories fill his mouth with a bitter taste.

‘I wouldn’t worry too much Jamesy, Cissy just loves a charity case—’ So stupid, so childish.

“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.

Severus thinks women are strange. He’d once asked Lily about it, why she didn’t insist on being called by her real name. 

(Not that he would ever ask Bellatrix why she insisted on calling Lily by a name that was not hers).

She’d gone quiet, this mysterious orphan found by Master Riddle, brought back from his own homeland. A strange look passing her eyes before a smile took up her face, strands of her flaming hair dancing around her as she finished a circle of wind runes.

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

Was what she said. And that was that. 

Women are strange.

“Barty and Evan are nearly done with the washing barrels.” Bellatrix is pleased with the information. She doesn’t see the wink Lily sends his way. Severus nods. 

The calm is quickly shattered when Bellatrix takes one look at her pocket watch, her temper flaring 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 set up 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 from one stone to the next trying to find the right ones to light up. 

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 it is 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.” James whispers with a hiss, causing Remus and Frank, who are unpacking some boxes, to unabashedly snort at his despair.

“Shouldn’t you be using Trelawney’s abilities to your advantage, James?” Teases Frank. Sirius likes what he’s done with his hair, how he’s combed it back. It gives Frank a more mature look that with his added height, Sirius thinks is 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 nearly die?”

“You’d think he’d be prepared with so much, consistent, forewarning of his impending doom.” Sirius adds and 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 entrance of the tent. Sybill’s glasses are, if possible, larger than they were the last time they’d seen her, making her eyes appear unnaturally large.

“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, and then he elbows Remus, not at all discreetly.

Sirius blinks as Remus’ face gains a little color. Amelia and Remus? When did that happen? He wonders and files it for later. 

Instead he asks about his cousin. Which instantly perks James' interest, making him leave the shelter of Sirius’ taller frame. The change in Sybill’s eyes is so evident it’s impressive really, how they sharpen as she zeroes on the Potter heir.

“James Potter!” So dramatic, and ominous! If Trelawney is 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—”

But James will have none of it. He cuts her off before she can get another word out. Speaking so loud Sirius will remember it forever.

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

It’s only when they can no longer see their tent that Sirius stops laughing.

“Done now?” James asks with an eye roll. 

Sirius responds by throwing an arm around his shoulder, bringing his best friend in for a hug.

Despite Dumbledore not following much of a schedule—something many masters seem to find appalling for some reason—they’re always amongst the first to arrive, which is something that works great for Sirius, because it means he 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.

They’re sitting on a particularly nice spot, on what is probably their fifth warmed drink when the sun breaks through the clouds in a perfect point of light, and James’ disheveled hair dances in all directions with the vigorous mountain wind, his cheeks flushed red and his normally dark brown eyes gleam amber.

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

Life is good. 

“James Potter and Sirius Black.” That’s about the last voice they were hoping to come across. Least of all atop private property, where they really shouldn’t have been.

Fuck. 

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

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

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

“Now, that can’t be true Minnie—” Minerva’s eyes grow the size of saucers at Sirius’ audacity to call her that. James’ eyes fill with wonder at Sirius’ clear lack of self-preservation in the name of a good affront. “I saw you not even a moon ago, having tea and biscuits with my mother.”

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

He flashes her a smile.

She sighs.  And he can read it in the resignation of her expression, in the roll of her eyes, ‘Walburga, your son is impossible.’

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

“Minnie you wound me! A tragedy? I would hardly call it that, a great spectacle perhaps—” a vein bulges in the Knight’s forehead. “A great entertainment, most certainly! As boys, you know, it is a character building experience to courageously take risks and fail in order to find fulfillment and contribute to society!”

“I’m certain the good people of Hogsmeade, men and women alike, 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.

Sirius feels challenged.

So, it should come as no surprise, to anyone whatsoever, that the obvious thing to happen would be that after giving a warm hug to his favorite cousin Andromeda, Sirius would find himself kneeling behind Master Scamander’s tent, altering the runes at the soles of his shoes.

***

Because Severus’ life is anything but uncomplicated, it doesn’t take any longer than seven minutes for them to cross paths with Dumbledore’s miscreant apprentices once they set foot in Hogsmead.

A stupid grin breaks across James Potter’s face as he takes in their group—or more specifically, Lily. 

Sirius Black, as always, is smirking in that infuriating way that makes you believe he knows things that would turn your skin inside out. His long black hair, rivaling Bellatrix’s, is tied up in a ponytail.

Much to Severus’ chagrin, Black stands three inches taller than him. It’s impossible to miss his impeccable robes and high quality dragon leather boots. Nothing less than would be expected of any member of House Black.

Unfortunately, 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 Severus’ 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.”

Severus unclenches the ceramic shaker in his hand, today is not a day to fail on account of idiots. His project is too precious for this nonsense.

“Stop being mean, Sirius.” It’s Bellatrix who speaks, 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. Green’s a good color on you, too.” Daft as he is, Potter doesn’t notice how the temperature, or rather the atmosphere seems to drop.

“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—can also be found, embroidered on 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 that 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.

“Cissy 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. How she and Abraxas are ready to be grandparents.”

Women are devious creatures, Severus thinks as he watches James Potter, with all the 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 courting Evan’s cousin, Pandora, since the summer solstice.

But Severus knows Narcissa enjoys giving Potter a hard time. Not that he’d ever understand what she saw in the manchild. 

And he’d asked her that 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,”  she’d answered with a small smirk.

Women are so strange.

“Sirius.” The Bellatrix says in a warning tone.

“Bellatrix.” He responds nonchalantly.

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

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

Before her temper can even think to act up, Black pulls his cousin into a hug and kisses her cheek sweetly. Bellatrix nearly disappears as she’s engulfed by his brutish form.

She’s soon laughing and chastising him, but with no bite. Her grievances long forgotten.

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

Severus sometimes wonders what would happen if Bellatrix were to ever become aware that a handful of people could play her like a flute.

“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 brings the four of them to a halt. Bellatrix starts fussing because apparently, earlier that day, Lily had informed Bellatrix she’d had breakfast, but turns out that by breakfast Lily meant a single apple and not an actual meal. 

“Oh, I’m always in the mood for a treat!” Black says smoothly, with an ability that is very foreign to Severus. 

Though quick to latch on the opportunity of the distraction, Severus is ready to escape, ready to blend into the crowd and to finally go find some peace. 

So, of course Black chooses this very moment to show off his altered flying shows. Eyebrow raised, Severus can’t help but feel… morbidly curious about it. And instead of leaving as he initially planned, Severus watches. Watches on as Black makes it a grand gesture to bridal pick Lily, startling both girls into laughs—

And Severus understands what the idiot is about to do, realizes the catastrophe that this moron is about to bring upon them when the coloration coming from underneath his shoes sparkles a dangerous but familiar combustible hue.

And that’s how Severus ends up pushing Lily out of the way and into Bellatrix’s arms—with enough force that it pushes them a good six steps away from the boys in order to find their feet.

They all lose balance, Severus’ ceramic shaker explodes and he bites his lip down hard as sharp pain slices through his collarbone. He feels the impact of their bodies against the hard wall.

Severus is disoriented for the next few seconds or maybe minutes. He is aware of Bellatrix, who is screaming, but it’s all muffled, like when Severus used to stuff his ears with cotton balls, finding some reprieve from the shouting in his childhood home.

He thinks about the yew colored stain in Tobias’ brown checkered vest, how the fabric sagged in one of the pockets. How the left heel of his shoes was full scratches from grinding against the curb of their home in his drunken stupors.

“Sev?”

He thinks of that oddly specific discoloration on the wallpaper that went up the stairs, due to water damage… almost as if somebody had poured coffee down the 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 the fact that everything is silent means he’s regaining some semblance of awareness. 

That doesn’t seem to make sense.

Something warm wraps itself around Severus' body, encasing him as a moth’s coccoon, and it’s so warm and—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. 

All because of him, because Sirius.

Left in charge of watching over a comatose Severus Snape in some secluded alleyway—Sirius, away from prying eyes! Bellatrix had whined—Sirius’ had enough time to contemplate his poor choices. Clearly he’s grown up enough to know one should test in a controlled environment before showcasing a product, and or testing it with other living objects.

The air leaves his lungs in an unusual display of self-grievance. Sirius is not particularly fond of Snape, but he’d never harbored any intentions of harming the other boy. 

A little verbal teasing was more than enough to scratch the itch.

Listen, James is his best mate, they’re brothers, the two of them (even though he’s certain he’s never french kissed Reggie… far as he knows, a drunk Sirius is a volatile Sirius). Anyway, James comes first. Always. And so what if James wanted to be childish with Snape… Well, Sirius understood that feeling. 

So what if Sirius enables and indulges a little in childish behavior 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 honestly, Snape does bug him a little, sometimes, and Sirius likes to know what makes a person tick.

And Severus Snape does have 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? Where their voices carry out, quite conveniently, right by the wall and window where Sirius enjoys leaning over with a mouthful of pixie dust? Well, it’s his lounging time. He can’t help it if they’re there and he has ears.

Tobias Snape lived and died a wretch. Good riddance he ‘fell down the stairs,’ or whatever it was that happened to him. Sirius cannot imagine a world where he says his first words, climbs his first steps and he is not living in magic.

Even if he’d been born to a different body, carried a different blood. Knowing that magic is out there, Sirius knows he’d have found a way to surround himself with it, to find ways and as many apparatuses as he could.

He’d expressed this frustration to his mother once. And he asked her why she was still friends with someone who denied their gift, how awful a mother she had to be to do the same to her child. 

And his mother rained down on him in a storm of blazing flames.

‘Arrogant child,’ she’d 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 right off. Because he knew he wasn’t wrong, even if Sirius had missed something. He still had a point. So he pissed his mother off even more and it escalated as it sometimes did…

Sirius sighs, this time pulling himself out of the memory, and throws a 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 that he can stand up for himself. He’s heard Riddle praise the boy enough times to know he’s capable and talented, and maybe he has that nerdy—loner—look to him, he’ll give him that. 

He’s just as pale as Cissy, though now looking closely at what little skin the other boy shows, Snape might be even more pale than his cousin. 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 is bleeding from his shoulder, like a lot. But his bloody black robes made it impossible for Sirius to spot until now. Until the blood is dripping down the cobblestones.

Alright. Cut the thinking.

Sirius takes his father’s ink-pen from his inner pocket and the small shrunken notebook all of Dumbledore’s apprentices carry. He moves with ease, his motions fluid. Sirius adds a petrification rune to stabilize the levitation spell already inscripted on the robe. He draws a couple of cleaning and drying runes and keeps a close eye on the body levitating in front of him.

Snape doesn’t move when Sirius unclasps his woolen robes nor when he unbuttons his jacket and his shirt. The palest collarbone and shoulders Sirius’ ever seen slide into view like the first snow of the year. As carefully as he can, Sirius removes Snape’s arm from the sleeve.

Then with a small modified rain spell—Walburga’s own creation—washes over the wound, disinfecting it. Sirius feels immediate relief, the gash is not so bad, it’s big but not deep. It goes from the collarbone to the shoulder.

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

“That’s not what I usually get when someone wakes up to my handsome face.” Though Sirius is pretty sure Remus wears a stringingly similar face to the one Snape has on right now when he wakes up to find Sirius cuddling with him on his bed. “It’s usually, wow! Sirius, you’re so handsome, and your hair looks so good!”

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

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

“I’ll take that as a compliment, dogs are amongst the most incredible creatures in the world.” He replies 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 wasn’t intent on keeping him hostage by pinning him down to this textile prison. One large hand locking him by his unhurt clavicle.

“I’m almost done.” 

Severus tries not to flinch when Black holds a small gust of wind over his injury, drying it off—when did he draw those spells? How long was Severus out of it?!

But he gets no question out of his mouth, instead his shoulder is enveloped in bandages. And Severus can’t even fully process how strange it is that Sirius Black is any good at this.

(But Regulus did mention his older brother taking good care of him when they were children, hadn’t he?).

 “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 is… was? Will become!” 

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.” Black proudly pats down what looks to be a two hundred year old barrel. 

Ignoring the offer, Severus tries to get up only to be met with way too strong resistance. His body immediately tensing up, is this a petrification rune?

“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 is able to get down. 

He glares at Black in a warning as the other boy means to move forward. His legs are wobbly but he can hold himself just fine.

Taking a moment to situate himself back into his body, Severus carefully rolls his wounded shoulder, and feels the stretch of skin pull with the cut. It doesn’t feel too bad. The damage looks worse on his white shirt.

Despondent, he looks at the bloodied mess, straight out of a gruesome attack. It would be problematic to explain. 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 that the exasperation in Black’s voice is extremely unwarranted. Yet he watches in stunned silence as his things are placed in the historical relic Black found in this decrepit alleyway of Hogsmead.

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

Black first throws him his clothes and Severus is quick to button himself up. He also ignores the faint smell that still lingers on him from the other robes.

Severus is methodical and quick about it, staring intently at the buttons. When he looks up, it’s to a pair of grey eyes, watching him just as 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 show in his voice. But Severus is riling himself up, feeling the bite come as he knows Black is about to put up a fight, just to get under his skin.

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

Good.

Severus snatches the shaker 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 than it does for him to reach the end of the alley.

But it’s too late. 

It’s too late when he realizes that his feet are literally stuck to the ground, too late when he finds a small circle of runes on the side of a 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 Regulus about being a couple of days ago? People from the Eastern islands believe in something called karma, is this it? Is this karma?

“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.” Do not call 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, he doesn’t even budge. And it incenses Severus even more.

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

“Alright, alright—if it’s not Riddle, then who is it?” He continues, pestering prat that 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 of his limbs are shaking, even breathing feels hard, heaving, consuming.

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 Dolohov’s way of humiliating Severus and getting ‘even’?

“Hey,”

Or was this the work of Potter? Was Black in on it? Were they in this together, another hilarious way to make Severus miserable, for a good old laugh? Was Black’s conduct thus far all an act? To get Severus to drop his defenses, only to then laugh in his face?

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

“I don’t know who did this.” All joy and mirth evaporated, Black is all seriousness. “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 Samhain.”

“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, strands of his dark hair have fallen gracefully along his face, coming loose from the tie. Somehow Severus thinks of the cat that lives in the barn. Its long fur, a stunning shade and with 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 who’s ready to eat just about anyone’s mouth who stands in his way.

But Severus’ body seems to heavily 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 his lips. 

His tongue licks at Severus’ lips and his teeth and his tongue, and it’s driving Severus mad. His head feels as if it’s been filled with a fog, because what else could explain how clouded his eyes feel? 

Melting, he feels as if he’s melting.

Severus 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, now a complete mess out of its ponytail, is impossibly soft. His trap muscles are hard to the touch. If he’s in any pain with how much Severus is squeezing him, he says nothing.

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 Severus higher and higher.

***

“You are a devious woman Narcissa Black,” announces 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. She sent Bellatrix away with assurances and reminders that Narcissa herself was the one in charge of Master Flitwick’s medicinal cabinet, and therefore the person with the most appropriate expertise to deal with this situation. 

Narcissa expected many things, such as finding her friend in a worse condition than expected, or to find him abandoned and alone in some deserted alleway—or worse, to find Sirius and Severus at each other’s throats. 

Instead she finds her cousin, being gentle in a way she remembers from when Regulus was just a child. With careful gestures and touches, Sirius cleans and dresses Sev’s wound. 

Their voices are so soft that she can’t hear them from the mouth of the alley.

But flashes of conversations, expressions and behaviors she’d filed for later blink in and out of her mind. Narcissa thinks of Severus’ begrudging respect for Sirius despite being a target of his antics (no thanks to the handsome idiot behind her). She thinks of Sirius’ relentlessness, the way he reminds her of a dog that keeps insisting on getting attention from the one person who doesn’t want to give it to him.

So, it should come as no surprise—well, maybe only to a handful of people it would come as 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… he is a fantastic teacher, but 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 she appreciates it, is counterproductive. In the background, her cousin and Severus are snogging passionately.

“Are you ready to explain why you took it upon yourself to embarrass me in public?” 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?” Narcissa stares at him unimpressed. “How was I to know he wasn’t courting you? Your sister heavily implied he was—why would I doubt—”

Narcissa did not put it past Bellatrix to do as much, but she will not tell him that. 

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

No doubt Narcissa would. 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, and hearing his suggestions.

And apparently Narcissa seems to have contracted some kind of illness that causes 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 this past 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. He looks 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 a fire spellwork inside in order to keep the salt 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 on the cobblestone.

“I looked here already—” The sun is tall and bright, a monarch 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 and even 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 Lily’s 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. 

When, after hundreds of leaps, prowling and waiting—it finally catches a bat.

Lily’s watched that cat do that 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 carcasses 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, even when she spots about three other expressions in the crowd that need taking note of. Then that just means Lily 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 giggles discreetly. 

A conversation with no words happens between them.

“Indeed, Bella.”

Yes, they would see to it.

[FIN]

“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]