Snack: In Silence Part 1. NC-17

[nwhiker]

Title: In Silence
Author: nwhiker
Pairing(s)/character(s):Sirius Black/Severus Snape
Rating:NC-17
Word count: 14000
Summary: Sirius is back, in his Animagus form and with amnesia.
Warnings: Highlight to read*Some man/dog action*
Disclaimer:Jo's world, not mine. Alas!
A/N: cassandra7 turned my writing into a readable story. As always if you like something, she made it better, and if you hate it, the responsibility is mine alone.

Written for the Sirius Black Fest. There are good fics over there to read!


In Silence

He often wondered if Snape remembered or knew who it had been.

Sirius had been in Hogsmeade one cold afternoon a few months after his escape from Azkaban, scrounging around rubbish bins for something—anything—to eat.

Outside The Three Broomsticks, he'd seen Snape and snarled. The man had stared at the scrawny black dog, gone inside, and come back out with a bowl of warm stew. He'd broken bread into it and called the dog over.

"Go ahead, eat. You look like you need it."

Two years later—warm, well-fed, and imprisoned in his own house—he fought viciously with Snape and remembered the kindness shown to a stray dog and wondered.

He woke and managed to drag himself over to a wall to lean against, smelling that it had been pissed on.

Something was wrong. He could not lean. He lay down, his back to the solidity.

The alley was narrow, and the smells were complex and intriguing.

It was dark, but not so dark that he couldn't see that, instead of the long legs he expected, there were paws. And a tail.

His scream came out as a howl of panic and despair.

He wasn't sure how long he lay there, but eventually he calmed down.

What had happened? How had he ended up in this alley? He wasn't sure. He didn't remember coming here.

His chest hurt, and he didn't remember being hit. Or, he thought, kicked, since he seemed to be a dog.

That was the part he really didn't understand. He was a man. He knew that. His name was...

He slumped down. He didn't remember his name.

He didn't remember his life. Who he was, where he lived, what he did.

He didn't know why he was a dog.

He was a dog. Things were different.

The smells, for example. At least five different people had pissed against the wall recently. He could hear the rats in the large refuse bin a few meters away. The blue door down the alley belonged to a restaurant, his nose told him, an Indian one.

If he was a dog, how would he know the smell of Indian food? The layers of spices he couldn't put names to?

He was hungry.

Slowly he stood and walked over to the bin. When he stood on his hind paws, he could see that it was closed, but his mind was a man's, more or less, and he used muzzle and paws to shove open the lid.

A man would not have revelled in the smells of garbage or been as unconcerned about eating it as the dog was, he thought.

After eating, he trotted down the alley.

He had trouble keeping track of time. Days, he thought, passed since what he experienced as his first memories. He must have had a life before this, but he wasn't sure what it had been.

He panicked when he couldn't remember if that life had been as a dog or as a man.

He met other dogs who lived in the city, some wild, some lost. They seemed eager to communicate with him, but he was missing something, he didn't know what.

"I'm not a dog," he thought to himself. "I'm a wizard."

He was a wizard. A man and a wizard.

He was smarter than the other dogs and managed to avoid getting picked up in the sweeps. He understood human speech, and they did not.

From time to time, wandering through the city, he'd see places that seemed familiar. He'd been there before, but he couldn't remember.

He felt ill at ease, desperate to learn more about himself.

One warm morning he trotted through a park. There was a small pack of male dogs chasing a female in heat. He ran behind them, but it was largely for the company. He wasn't interested, which seemed very strange. Dogs are interested.

His mind was a man's. Maybe his partners needed to be human.

He ate something bad and was violently ill. He lay in an alley behind a dumpster and waited to die.

"I'm a man," he thought. "A dog wouldn't expect death."

He saw him on a park bench. An older man with ginger hair, in a shabby suit, reading the paper and eating a sandwich. He knew him, his smell, and he knew they were alike. They were wizards. Not...Muggles. The word came to him. A Muggle, someone who was non-magical. Most of the people in the city.

The man was back the next day, and he followed him from a distance, keeping out of sight. At one point the man disappeared and he couldn't tell where he had gone.

He didn't see him for a few days, though he waited near the bench. The man finally appeared, in another worn suit, and he sat patiently nearby and hid while he ate his lunch. When the man got up to leave, he followed.

He disappeared into a building, and the dog sat in the shade of a wall and waited for him.

They were alike.

He waited all afternoon. Then people started coming out of the building and many simply disappeared. Some walked off. Most were dressed normally, but a few of them wore long gowns.

Robes. He remembered that they were called robes.

There was no doubt in his mind that these were witches and wizards.

The man came out, now dressed in robes, not the suit. He didn't know who he was, but he knew he knew this man. He could smell the knowing.

He walked over to the man before he disappeared like the others and put his nose on his thigh.

"Harry!" the man shouted as soon as he had the door open, raising his voice above the racket Madame Black's portrait was making. "Molly! Ron!"

Clean water and good food. These people knew him. They called him Sirius.

Sirius.

That sounded right.

He was a wizard named Sirius.

They were in the kitchen, sitting around a table. He'd figured out everyone's name.

The man who had brought him here was called Arthur, and his wife was Molly. Two boys, one called Ron and one, sadder and a few years older, called George. They all had red hair. The girl who started to cry when she saw him was Hermione.

And then there was Harry. Harry who had fallen to his knees in front of the dog, put his arms around his neck, and said, "Sirius," in a tone of love and relief.

He listened as they talked. They were pretty sure he was him. He was a man, a wizard, they confirmed that. They kept saying, "Change back, Sirius!" but he had no idea what they meant. He hung his head, and his tail was between his legs. He was ashamed at not being able to do what they wanted.

They told him that Voldemort had been defeated earlier that summer and that Remus Lupin was dead. He didn't know who Remus Lupin was. Or Voldemort. They told him Fred had died, too, and the boy called George turned away, and Sirius could sense his pain.

Again and again they asked, they wondered, how he had gotten back from behind the Veil. Veil? He had no idea what they were talking about.

Hermione talked the least. Finally, after dinner—the best food he'd eaten since he'd woken up in that alley—she stirred some sugar into her tea and spoke. "I agree that this is Sirius. But there's something else going on."

"What do you mean, Hermione?" asked Harry, whose hand was buried in the fur at Sirius's neck, scritching his neck and behind his ears. It felt nice.

"Aside from the fact that he can't seem to change back, Harry, he didn't react to your telling him Remus had died."

Remus must have been his friend. His ears perked up, and he listened more intently.

"Well, what, Hermione?" asked Ron.

"I think he's lost his memory."

She looked at him. "Sirius, raise your right paw if you understand me," she said, gesturing toward his right paw.

He did.

"All right. Raise your right for yes, your left for no. Got that?"

He lifted his right paw.

"Do you know who you are?"

He hesitated. He knew he was a wizard called Sirius. After a while he raised his right paw.

She nodded slowly. "Do you remember your life as a man?"

This time he did not hesitate. He raised his left paw.

"Do you know who we are?"

Left paw.

They all sat back.

"Now what?" asked Harry. He sounded worried.

"I'll floo Minerva," Molly said. "She'll need to know that Sirius has turned up somehow and that he's in his Animagus form. Maybe she can help."

"Well, she can at least help him transform," said Harry.

Hermione shook her head. "No, she won't be able to, Harry."

"Why not?" he asked. "Remus and Sirius transformed Scabbers back into Peter Pettigrew that day in the Shack."

"Yes," said Hermione. "But there's a difference. He knew—Peter, I mean—who he was. Sirius doesn't. Forcing him to transform back might not bring back Sirius."

Everyone looked as confused as Sirius felt.

"It depends on why his memories are gone, I think. If it was a knock on the head, you know, time might fix it, but, if it was a Memory Charm, who knows? We can't just transform him back and hope for the best."

Sirius lay down in front of the stove. He was safe and fed and very tired. They'd work something out. He'd gotten out of worse scrapes before...hadn't he? Yes, he had. What, exactly, he didn't remember, but he remembered the shimmer of something like that.

They were still talking when he fell asleep.

The next day a woman they called Minerva came. Sirius had been bathed by Harry and Ron, and he felt clean. George had dried and brushed him.

He remembered her. He was a bit scared of her, and he listened carefully as she explained how to switch back into his man shape. He cocked his head and didn't understand. He didn't know how to do magic.

She herself transformed into a cat, and part of him wanted to chase her, but he didn't. Then she changed back, and he wished he could do the same thing.

Eventually she shook her head. "It's no use, Miss Granger, Potter. I don't think he remembers anything about magic."

"But what do we do?"

They all stared at Sirius who stared back. "Try to help him remember," she said.

"Do you think it's a Memory Charm, Professor?" asked Hermione. "That could be reversed?"

"I don't think so, Miss Granger. I don't see any evidence of a Memory Charm. My suggestion would be to take him to St. Mungo's tomorrow and see if someone on Ward 49 can help."

The younger people nodded, and Sirius tried to quiet the despair that was creeping up in him. He didn't hate being in dog form, really. The smells were interesting, but he would rather be, well, himself.

Minerva drank the last of her tea, stood, and said, "I'll go up to see Severus, and then I'll be on my way."

"Do you want one of us to go with you?" asked Harry.

"Don't trouble yourself, Potter. I can find his room. How is he doing?"

Harry shrugged, but Hermione answered, "The same, Professor. He sits and stares out the window. He's...compliant, he changes his robes and all that, and George can get him to eat a bit—"

"George?"

"Yes. George is the only one he acknowledges. The rest of us seem to be shadows."

"Has he seen—?" She pointed her chin at Sirius who thumped his tail. Someone new to meet?

"Uh, no. We didn't want to mop up the blood," said Harry, shuddering.

Sirius wondered what that meant.

"It might not be a bad idea. Miss Granger, I'm sure you've read about amnesia in Muggle texts?"

"Yes, Professor?"

"They say a shock can restore memories, strong emotions. Seeing Severus might remind him of something."

"I suppose Snape can only have his throat ripped out once," mused Harry, and Hermione suppressed a snicker.

"How is the Legilimency coming along, Potter?"

Harry shook his head. "I'm not good at it to begin with, and Snape is making no effort whatever. He doesn't want to bother, I think."

"I'll talk to him. He needs a way to communicate with us, and he needs to re-engage with life."

She left the room and they heard her steps on the stairs. Hermione knelt on the floor next to Sirius. " 'Re-engage with life'?" she said. "He wants to be dead. Why bother? He's angry that they saved him against his will."

"I know," said Harry with a sigh. "What do you think we should do to help Sirius?"

Hermione gave Sirius's head one last pat, and he sighed when he realised she was done.

"I think he does need to see Snape. They're the only two left, you know, of that whole generation. It might help. If it doesn't, I think we need to take him to Godric's Hollow, to Hogsmeade, to Hogwarts. The shock of strong emotions." She bit her lip. "If none of that works, I think we need to take him to Azkaban."

Terror. The dark, the hunger, the pain. He howled.

They went to St. Mungo's the next day, to Ward 49, and talked to three healers in succession.

They all agreed with Minerva McGonagall's assessment: that it was not a Memory Charm or spell damage, but possibly a blow to the head that happened behind the Veil. That changing him back might have unforeseen consequences since he didn't really know who he was or had been. For whatever reason, his mind and his body had chosen its dog form, and it was safest to work on getting his memories back. Their suggestions for that were much the same as Minerva's: Bring him to places he'd been, have him see people he'd known.

Discouraged and without a solution, they left and took the dog for a walk in Regent's Park.

That night when he went to sleep curled up on his bed, he was confused and sad. He didn't know if he'd ever get back his human body, his past. He didn't know if anyone could help. He didn't remember his life, and he longed to.

Sirius cringed at having to move his bowels when he was walked on a lead by Harry. He hated it. Ron and George were easier to ignore, but he refused to go out at all with Molly Weasley. He liked the exercise after the long days and nights in the house, but the other was humiliating.

For that matter, he hated the lead, but he knew they had to in Muggle London.

They went to Diagon Alley, Sirius on the lead. They visited Olivander's and Flourish and Blotts, and had an ice cream, giving Sirius a dish of vanilla and strawberry.

Sirius had vague recollections of some people. The man in the wand shop. The woman who took in laundry. A smiling older man in deep burgundy robes. A witch called Hestia Jones they said had been a member of the Order of the Phoenix, whatever that was.

After stopping at Gringott's where Harry got some money from Sirius’s vault to help with living expenses, they were set to leave from the Leaky Cauldron when they met Lucius Malfoy. He sauntered over, pale and thin, to talk to Harry.

Sirius hated this man. He knew it. He smelled him and hated him, and he started to growl, very low, bared his teeth and snarled.

Malfoy backed away, his eyes not leaving the dog.

"Is that—?"

"Yes," said Harry. "You were saying?"

The growls intensified, and Malfoy backed further away. "I wanted to talk to you about some fund-raising, Potter. Widows, orphans. One of these days, though. Not now."

Sirius didn't relax until the man was out of his sight.

"Whoa," said Ron.

"And Professor McGonagall thinks we should let him in to see Snape?" said Harry. "He's liable to tear him apart."

He knew the man they called Snape was in the house. He had a bedroom on the second floor, and Sirius had sniffed at the door a few times. He recognised the scent and recoiled violently from the feelings it aroused. Harry, Ron, Hermione, Arthur, all of them he'd known he liked. He despised Malfoy. Minerva McGonagall he both liked and feared. Snape he hated.

They'd told him everything they knew about his past and Snape's, and he could see why. The vicious conflict that was not just a series of pranks. More like warfare. That the antagonism between two arrogant eleven-year-olds—brilliant, passionate, badly brought up—culminated in attempted murder (hard to face, but there it was). Humiliation, public exposure, life debt, fear. That they'd pushed Snape into lashing out at Lily, his only friend. That Snape had betrayed James and Lily to Voldemort and they'd died. He could see why he'd hated Snape, and he could see why Snape would hate him.

That didn't feel good, to know he was hated.

It was George who took him up to see Snape. Harry and Hermione had hesitated about it, but Sunday George called to Sirius, "I'm going to bring Snape his breakfast. Do you want to come, Sirius?"

The others froze, but, curious, Sirius padded after George. Halfway up the stairs he heard Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Their voices were full of fear.

George knocked, then opened the door to Snape's room.

"I've brought you a visitor, Severus," he said, and he motioned to the dog to follow him in.

Sirius trotted in, his claws on the floor sounding very loud to his ears.

He knew Snape right away.

The man was sitting on a straight-backed chair by the window, staring out, an empty look on his face. His neck was slashed with scars, and Sirius wondered how he'd survived that injury. He was dressed, as he always had been, in black, and his face was pale.

He didn't move. Didn't turn to look at whoever had entered.

George set down the tray, poured a cup of tea, and took it over to Snape. He set the cup down on the windowsill. "You remember Sirius is an Animagus?"

No answer. Sirius moved closer, wanting to see the man's face.

He sat in front of Snape, not making a sound. He stared at him. George sat on the bed. Snape looked out the window. The tea in the cup steamed.

He didn't know how long it had been when George got up quietly and left. He could hear him talking to Harry and the others in the hallway.

Sirius stared at the man's profile, the beaky nose, the skin like ivory, the thin lips.

The tea was no longer steaming when Snape slowly turned to look at Sirius.

Eyes met, and Sirius felt himself pulled down into a pit of emotion. Pain and fear, despair, terror, regret. No hope, no desire. Darkness. His heart beat faster.

This man needed him. He wasn't alive. If he was going to live, he needed Sirius.

He put his head on Snape's knee. He sat. Snape sat. Neither moved. Sirius stared at Snape and Snape at him.

George came with a tray for lunch, but neither Sirius nor Snape moved. He picked up both of the untouched trays. The daylight was starting to fade. "Do you want me to light the candles?"

He lifted his left paw, and George left them in the growing darkness.

It was almost full dark when Sirius felt Snape move. Very slowly, a hand came to rest on his head. It didn't stroke. It just was.

They just were.

George came to bring a light meal late at night. Harry stood at the door watching as George put the tray down on the table next to Snape's chair, took a dish from it and put it in front of Sirius.

Snape didn't move to eat and neither did Sirius. Snape had to eat to live, and Sirius was going to make him live. It was instinctive and powerful, and he refused to consider the possibility of this man's being more stubborn than he was.

George looked at them both, linked in some new and important way. "Severus," he said. "He won't eat until you do."

Snape looked up, surprised. It was the first time he'd reacted to anything any of them had said. He nodded, picked up the spoon, and slowly took a swallow of soup.

It seemed to hurt Snape to eat.

After dinner Sirius went out with George. Harry followed, and he said to George about how odd it was to see Snape and Sirius, I mean, they hate each other, and look at how they sat all afternoon, and—

Sirius tuned him out. He wanted one thing: to get back to the small room where Snape—Severus—was.

He stopped by the kitchen for water. He could tell Harry was upset, but, even if he could have spoken, Sirius knew he couldn't explain.

Nothing had ever felt right before the way laying his head on Severus's knee had. Nothing.

Nobody stopped him when he went upstairs. He found Severus sitting in bed, emaciated in the blue pajamas. They looked at each other again. Then Severus wordlessly extinguished the candles, and Sirius wondered how he'd done it since any of the others needed a wand and spoken words to do magic. He didn't wonder long, though. He was tired, and he jumped up onto the bed and settled himself at Severus's side.

He fell asleep listening to the other man's hoarse breathing.

The sound of his claws on the stairs must have warned them that he was coming because, when he trotted into the kitchen the following morning, everyone stopped speaking. Ginny stood up, saying she had to go. She had a summer internship she referred to as Quidditch Camp. She left, and Molly got Sirius's breakfast.

"Is Severus awake?" asked George and Sirius indicated yes. "I'll go up and help him, then."

Days passed. Sirius sat by Severus with his head on the man's knee or he lay at his feet. Silent.

He ignored the noise downstairs, Molly continuing on her mission of clearing out the old mansion, Harry and Ron practising dueling in the parlour with Hermione's helpful—or perhaps not—suggestions, George bringing over new products to test out for the shop, often inducing screams or laughter or both from Ginny’s friends from Quidditch Camp.

Upstairs it was quiet.

George came up. He was Snape's caretaker. He helped Snape with the daily routines of living—eating, bathing, dressing—and he mentioned to the others later in the week that Snape was starting to take some initiative. He had shaved himself that morning, careful with the straight razor around the scars. It felt the first time he'd done that, and Molly was pleased. She'd volunteered them to take care of Snape when he came out of St. Mungo's, and the protests had been vehement, but she'd won.

When George came to bring Snape tea one afternoon, Snape glared at him.

"What's the look for?" asked George, setting down the tray. Snape blinked, and George called Harry, who came running.

"Can you figure out what he wants?"

Harry got images of Sirius, and the lead, and anger, but he was confused.

"No."

Snape's lips formed the word, though there was no sound. "Write."

"Right? Oh. Write. One sec."

Harry ran to get some parchment and a quill and ink, and set them down in front of Snape who started writing furiously. They'd never tried this before since Snape had seemed so determinedly locked in his silence.

"Get a neighborhood boy to walk him. He's a man, not a dog. Allow him some dignity."

Harry's eyes widened. "Oh. Do you think it bothers him that we walk him?"

Snape's glance was ice-cold scorn. Harry fled, promising to find someone. George turned to Snape.

"Thank you, Severus. You're right, of course, and we should have known."

Snape nodded.

Sirius jumped onto the bed later that night and stretched out next to the other man, his head on the second pillow. He wished they could talk. He wanted to know why. Why, if Severus hated Sirius Black, did he accept the dog? And why did he, Sirius, why did he feel so close to Severus? He'd hated him. Harry and the others had been clear about that. And yet he'd felt something connect that day, the first time he'd seen him.

Nothing would ever be the same.

In the meantime, he saw Severus pulling together more and more. He'd been weak but seemed to be rallying, and he made a real effort to eat now that George had told him that Sirius needed him to eat first.

That was something else Sirius did not understand. Why did he feel compelled to do these things? Wait for Severus to start eating. Be near him. Protect him.

In silence, they sat. Severus stared out the window and Sirius sat next to him. He could feel Severus attempting to break free of the swamp that seemed to be holding him. He was trying. Trying to change his direction, Sirius felt, towards life rather than death and despair. Sirius could feel Severus's emotions, his struggle, his small successes, and his smaller setbacks. He was winning, Sirius thought. Turning around. He hoped.

George moved back to his flat on Diagon Alley the previous week since Snape was more reliable about eating and getting out of bed without being prompted. He stopped by at midday to check on him, and, before she went to visit her parents, Hermione left a supply of parchment, ink, and quills for Severus to use, though Severus was working on a spell to let him write in the air in small bright letters, something nobody had bothered to do before. Harry hired a boy who lived a few streets away to walk Sirius, and this was better. Timothy also gave him another bath, and it felt wonderful to be clean.

He often felt bewildered and frustrated at not remembering. It felt like the memories were there, just out of his reach, but he couldn't find them, like dreams he couldn't remember the next morning.

Dreams. Or nightmares. Most nights, sometimes two or three times. He could never remember them, only the overall impression of dark and fear. He'd be terrified that he wouldn't wake up and would hear himself scream.

Each time now an arm went around him, pulling his shivering body close, holding him. No voice—that Severus did not have to give—but a soothing rumble from the man's chest. He'd be held close until the trembling slowed and he was able to go back to sleep.

He did not understand the terror. He experienced it.

And there were nights when he was the one to give, when Severus tossed and turned in a panic, the sheets and blankets twisted, and he'd wake up in a cold sweat, bury his face in a pillow, and curl up into himself. Then Sirius would get close, lay his head on the man's shoulder, and nuzzle until Severus would turn his face, and he could lick his cheek. He'd keep nudging and nuzzling until he felt Severus let go, and he wouldn't go back to sleep until he did.

One evening Harry asked them to come to Godric's Hollow the next day. He and Ron would be there, and if Snape wanted to come—?

Severus nodded. He'd go.

They'd had several talks, with Snape writing furiously, about how to help Sirius regain his memories, and Snape had agreed that their plan seemed best. Harry explained to Sirius that Godric's Hollow was where James and Lily had fought Voldemort to their deaths and Lily enabled the baby Harry to damage Voldemort and survive. Harry would have preferred to Disapparate, but Sirius couldn't and, while Severus had indicated that he could easily take Sirius along, he didn't want to chance it. Snape was casting non-verbally, though with a wand, and Harry felt nervous entrusting Sirius's life to him. They took the train.

They walked to King's Cross Station early in the morning and onto Platform 9 and 3/4. George wasn't going with them but had come to the station, and he and Harry picked up Sirius and got him through the wall. Sirius had been frightened as they lunged towards the brick wall, but all had gone well.

It wasn't the Hogwarts Express, of course, but a local Wizarding train that ended in Hogsmeade. They would get off at Godric's Hollow.

George said goodbye and motioned to Snape to follow him. When Sirius tried to join them, George shook his head, and Sirius growled, unhappy at being excluded.

Snape turned and knelt, looked into his eyes, and ran his hands through the thick fur at Sirius's neck. Sirius calmed.

"Severus," said George. Snape raised one eyebrow. "Can you teach Sirius Legilimency?" Snape shook his head.

"Why not?"

Snape took his wand from his pocket and used it to produce jet black letters in the air.

"No magic," he wrote.

"But he's a wizard."

"Doesn't know it."

"But think about it. Children do magic without knowing how to control it."

Snape nodded and wrote, "Easy, violent things. For higher magic need intention and to know you can."

"Ah. But you'll try anyway?"

Snape nodded again. "Will try."

"Because I think it would help if we could find out what he remembers, what he knows, to help him regain his memories and then his human shape."

Snape made a slight grimace.

"What?" asked George.

He thought he'd guessed, but was surprised when Snape confirmed it. "Won't like me when he does," he wrote.

"No, he probably won't. But he needs to regain his human form—" He stopped.

Snape was glaring at him and writing. "Will help if I can."

"Of course. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to imply that you wouldn't."

After eating they walked over to the cottage where James and Lily had died. As they approached, Sirius started to whine, and Harry and Ron looked at each other with hope. Was he starting to remember something?

He wasn't. He was reacting to Snape. Snape, whose emotions had chilled, deepened to the darkest black. His step faltered, and Sirius pressed against his leg, hoping his presence would help. They stopped in front of the house, and, while Harry and Ron asked him if he remembered where he was, if he'd been there, and Sirius, do you...he only had attention for Severus. Who was clinging to the fence, his eyes wide, his breath ragged. Sirius whined again, took Severus's sleeve in his teeth, and tugged him away from the place. He resisted at first, and then followed in a daze, and Sirius continued to pull him away.

The place meant nothing to him.

Harry and Ron led them to a plaque. It had some names on it, and Sirius could read them. He'd be surprised about that when he had time. Ron and Harry were subdued, and Severus...

Snape fell to his knees in front of the plaque and hid his face in his hands. Harry came to him, and Sirius turned and growled. He wanted Harry away from Severus. This place was hurting him, and Harry had wanted to come here. His growl deepened.

Severus was crying. His raw sobs hurt Sirius. He growled again at Harry, then turned his back on him and Ron, and went over to Severus. He licked his face and tasted the salt of his tears, saw his pain, felt it.

They ended up Apparating back to London, straight to the kitchen. Sirius had continued to growl any time Harry or Ron came within several feet of Severus. It took Severus a long time to calm down and then to calm down the dog.

They were discouraged. As wizards, they saw the statues of James, Lily, and baby Harry. Sirius had seen only the plaque with names on it that Muggles saw.

Sirius followed Snape slowly up the stairs. Snape collapsed on his bed, his face buried on the pillow, and Sirius climbed up next to him.

He didn't sleep. Snape was lost in the depths of a despair Sirius did not understand, and Sirius could not follow him. Harry had told him that Severus had loved Lily, Harry's mother, but Sirius could not remember loving anyone enough that many years later their memory would still tear at him.

He did not remember his own years spent mourning James.

So he lay beside his man, licked his face from time to time, trying to comfort him and let him know that he, Sirius, loved him.

Because that was what it was, he knew. He loved his man, enemy or not, for reasons he did not understand. His life belonged to this other, his happiness was in his hands, and nothing would mean anything if they weren't together.

Snape sat at the window all the next day and the following one. Sirius did not leave him.