Denial

He is dead because of me.

Sirius sat, numb and unmoving. Harry was white-faced and silent beside him. The only sound in the room was that of Dumbledore, going on and on about what a wonderful person Remus Lupin had been and how they were all lucky to have known him and how they were all better people for having worked with and been friends with him.

He wasn't listening. The only thing he could hear, replayed in the fog of his mind was You have to come back, Padfoot. You can't stay here.

Dumbledore stopped talking, and after what seemed like a respectful pause people began to rise and leave. Out of the corner of his eye, Sirius saw Harry get up, Hermione's small hand tucked into the crook of his arm, Ron watching with a concerned frown. Sirius still didn't move. He didn't want to get up, because when he did Remus's memorial service would be over and that would mean Remus was gone for good, and he couldn't accept that. He could not accept that Remus had given his life to bring him back.

It should not have been possible, and yet it had happened. He was here and Remus was gone and nothing made sense.

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and his forehead on the heels of his hands.

"Black."

Sirius ignored him, staring at the stone floor between his knees. There was no pattern to the stones laid there, but Sirius looked for one anyway.

"Black, the service is over."

"No, it isn't," said Sirius. His voice felt rough in his throat. "It shouldn't have happened in the first place."

"Spare us the histrionics," said Snape.

A swish of purple robes passed just in front of Sirius, and he felt a hand on his shoulder. Dumbledore's hand, he realised, and flinched.

"I am sorry, Sirius," the headmaster said. After a pause he added, "Perhaps it is best if you do not return to your mother's house tonight. There are guest quarters in the staff wing for you, if you wish them."

Sirius did not reply. It seemed pointless.

There was a whispered conversation; Sirius ignored it in favour of staring at the stones again. He watched the hem of Dumbledore's robes disappear from sight, and was annoyed that Snape's did not disappear as well.

"Are you going to sit there all night, Black?"

"Possibly."

"Idiot."

"Just go the fuck away, Snape. I don't feel like dealing with you right now."

"And of course we must do as the golden Gryffindor wishes," Snape replied, and turned to leave with a sharp swish of black robes.

There was a crack in the wall beside his bed. Sirius stared at it, memorising its shape. If he tilted his head just the right way it looked like antlers. There was a small spot beside it – some sort of discolouration in the plaster – that looked like a full moon.

He closed his eyes against the idea.

Things were much better with his eyes closed – comfortably grey and silent. With his eyes closed he could pretend that his bed was only temporarily empty, that Remus was in the shower and would be out in a minute. His hair would be wet, clinging in slick tendrils to his neck, and he would drop his towel and slide into bed with Sirius. His skin would be warm and still damp from the shower, and Sirius would press him into the mattress, licking off every remaining drop of moisture. Remus would moan and tangle his fingers in Sirius's hair, urging him lower, and Sirius would happily oblige. The moans that Remus would make would send shivers along Sirius's skin, and he'd slide his fingers up Remus's thighs to hear it again and again. Then when Sirius had left Remus breathless and gasping, he'd turn Remus over, tracing the line of every scar along his arms and shoulders and back with his tongue, the salt-soap taste of him filling his senses and making him dizzy until he couldn't distinguish between himself and Remus anymore.

Sirius turned over, pressing his face into the pillow. The ache that filled his body was worse than the ache of missing him in Azkaban, because there were no dementors here to take away the good memories. Every touch, every sound, every taste of Remus was perfectly clear in his mind, and he couldn't stop replaying them. It was like that old Muggle record player Remus had – sometimes the records would get scratches and the needle would catch and play the same phrase over and over and over again until Remus would gently bump the needle so that it could continue on with the song.

Sirius pulled the covers over his head and filled his mind with grey again.

"Black."

Sirius did not reply. If he did not reply, Snape would go away.

"Black, I know perfectly well you hear me. Why you insist on this pathetic display is beyond me. Get up."

"Go away," said Sirius. He poked his head from under the quilt and stared at Snape, who was regarding him with a vague look of disgust. "What the hell are you doing here, anyway?"

"Potter," answered Snape. "How long has it been since you talked to him?"

Sirius couldn't remember.

"I thought as much." Snape looked as though he were having a difficult time keeping himself from rolling his eyes. "Your spoiled brat of a godson is refusing to cooperate with his studies. He is not attending classes, he skips meals, and he has missed every Occlumency session since – " An almost uncomfortable expression passed across his face for a moment. " – since your – since Lupin."

Sirius sighed. "Harry will be fine," he said, with more conviction than he felt.

"The boy is not fine."

"He will be."

"Obviously the job of pseudo-parent is too daunting for you, Black," said Snape. "You would rather lie in bed and hide than face the fact that your worthless hide is alive again because Lupin got sentimental. Though I am quite certain, had he known how pathetic you would be upon your return, he would not have made that sacrifice."

"You have no idea about Remus," said Sirius. He could feel angry red cracks forming in his grey shell, and he clung to it, trying to pull it around him again. "Don't you dare say what he would or would not have done."

Snape's face paled, then hardened. "Do I not?" He stepped closer, his voice dangerously low. "You presume too much."

Sirius was on his feet before he even realised it, fisting his hands in Snape's robes and shoving him towards the door. "Get out, Snape, so help me God, or I'll –"

"You'll do what, exactly?" Snape detached himself from Sirius's grip with little difficulty, straightening his robes. "You are still wandless, and you are as skinny now as you were when you left prison. I hardly think you are in a position to threaten anyone." He turned at the door and added, "Potter has Occlumency tonight at nine. If he does not show up, I will no longer be responsible for tutoring him. I suggest you find him and ensure his attendance if you wish his lessons to continue."

Finding Harry was not difficult, as he had the castle's secret rooms and passages memorised long ago and had a good idea where to look.

"You need a shower," was all that Harry would say. Sirius grunted and escorted him to Snape's office. Part of him felt as though he should try to talk to Harry about what had happened, but the rest of him refused. He could not have this conversation. Bringing up the subject, saying the words out loud – Remus is dead, Harry, he is gone, and it is because of me – he could not do it. His brain could not construct the sentence, his mouth could not form the words, his body could not give voice to the truth.

He left Harry at Snape's office and went back to his rooms.

You need a shower, Harry had said. Perhaps he did.

Sirius stared at the shower taps for a long time. Whether to turn on the hot water first or the cold seemed an impossibly huge decision. He settled for cold, not even bothering with the hot, then stripped and climbed in. The water stung his skin, turning to a pleasant sort of numbness. He leaned against the cold tiles of the shower and let the water chill him on the outside as much as he was on the inside.

"You are the biggest fool I have ever had the misfortune to come across." The shower door flew open and Snape stood there, arms crossed over his chest.

Sirius jumped, banging his head against the wall in the process. "Snape! Don't you fucking knock?"

"No." Snape reached in and twisted the tap, shutting off the water, and threw a towel at him. "Get out of there before you give yourself pneumonia."

"What the hell are you doing here?" Sirius wrapped the towel around his hips but made no move to step out of the shower. "What about Harry's lesson?"

"He is in no condition to have an Occlumency lesson, thanks to you," said Snape. "Between his grief for Lupin and his concern for you his mind was pitifully transparent, and it would have been a colossal waste of time for me to even attempt to teach the boy tonight."

"Fuck off." Sirius reached for the shower door again, to slide it shut, but Snape grabbed his wrist. His hand was warm, almost hot against Sirius's chilled skin, and Sirius flinched. He tried to pull out of Snape's grasp, but Snape would not let go.

"Lupin would cringe to see you like this, Black," he said, and there was a note to it that Sirius had not heard before.

"You don't know what Remus would do," Sirius said, trying again to free his wrist from Snape's hand, but Snape tightened his grip and pulled him out of the shower. Sirius had to catch the towel bar with his free hand to keep from stumbling into Snape, who then gripped him by the shoulders and turned him to face the mirror over the sink.

"Look at yourself."

Sirius did not want to look, but he did anyway. He did not recognise the face that looked back at him. This face did not look like him – this face looked as dead as he felt inside. "Why are you doing this?" he asked Snape, looking at the reflection in the mirror.

Snape let go of his shoulders, stepping to the cabinet and rummaging. "Shave first, questions later," he said, pulling out Sirius's shaving things. He held up the shiny cutthroat razor that had once been Sirius's father's, with its deep ebony handle and wickedly sharp blade, considering it. "I doubt you are capable of managing not to kill yourself with this."

"Wouldn't that make you happy?" said Sirius. There were two warm spots on his shoulders, glowing faintly with a bit of heat from Snape's hands, and the contrast between them and the rest of his still-numb skin made his teeth chatter slightly.

"It would make my life much less complicated, I assure you." Snape reached for the bathrobe on the hook by the door, handing it to Sirius.

Sirius shoved his arms into the sleeves and belted it hastily, letting the towel fall and kicking it out of the way. "Give me that," he said, taking the shaving soap and brush from Snape, working up a good lather, and applying it to the thick stubble on his jaw and throat. He reached for the razor, but Snape held it just out of reach.

"The headmaster would never forgive me if I allowed you to slit your throat," he said gruffly. "Be still."

Sirius hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do, before turning slightly to give Snape a better angle. The temptation to close his eyes was great when Snape positioned the razor just at the curve of his jaw, but he watched him carefully. If Snape was going to kill him, he wanted to see it coming. There was no sound except the soft slice of the razor through the days' worth of stubble along his jaw and cheek.

Snape moved behind him, one hand at the side of Sirius's neck to pull the skin taut while he worked, gliding the razor in a smooth stroke over Sirius's Adam's apple and under his chin, then along the under edge of his jaw. Sirius closed his eyes then; he could feel how warm Snape was, just behind him, standing close so that he could reach. Snape repeated the motion on the other side, and Sirius tilted his head to give him more room to work.

"There," said Snape. Sirius heard the faint click of the razor as Snape laid it on the edge of the sink, but did not open his eyes, because a moment later he felt Snape's hand along his face, tracing over the newly-shaven skin. "You look almost like a human being again," Snape said. His breath ghosted against Sirius's neck, sending tendrils of warmth over the chilled skin of his back, and Sirius pulled away from it.

"Why are you doing this?" he asked, leaning against the sink, not looking at Snape. "Just stop. I don't like it."

"Why, Black? Is it because you cannot continue your comfortable little charade that Lupin will be back if you just wish hard enough?"

"I'm not – "

"You are, and it is pathetic," said Snape. "As much as I despised you and your pet werewolf, Lupin did not fall apart so melodramatically when you died. He had the admirable sense to pick up the pieces and move on with his life in a somewhat orderly fashion. It is too bad the same cannot be said for you."

"He must not have moved on too far, then," said Sirius bitterly. "I didn't ask him to give up his life for me."

Snape grabbed Sirius's shoulders, turning him around and pushing him against the wall so fast that Sirius's head spun. "But he did, Black, and you are making a mockery of his sacrifice with your tiresome whinging! Can you not see how fortunate you are that someone cared enough about you to die for you?"

"Remus – "

"Is dead, and the sooner you accept that the better off we will all be."

"No," Sirius whispered, closing his eyes, searching his comfortable grey haze, feeling it slipping away.

"Yes," said Snape.

He felt fingertips on his cheek, tilting his head, and the nerves of the freshly-shaven skin there hummed with feeling. The grey wall he'd built around himself was rapidly crumbling, bright fragments of colour and light pushing their way through, and he fought to keep them out.

"Stop," said Sirius, half-heartedly attempting to push him away.

"Not until you admit that Lupin is dead and you are alive," said Snape, untying the belt of Sirius's bathrobe and pushing it open.

Snape's hands were warm against his skin, moving slowly along each bit of it, driving the chill away with each touch, and Sirius couldn't help but moan. As his skin returned to its normal temperature, the last bits of grey melted away in a painful rush of feeling and colour, and he felt his knees buckle. Snape pressed him more firmly against the wall, one hand on his hip, the other curling around the back of his neck.

Snape's lips were unfamiliar, too thin, too rough, but they were warm, and Sirius responded, sliding his tongue against Snape's, drawing it into his mouth, even as memories of Remus flashed before his eyes. He remembered pressing Remus against the battered old piano in the Shrieking Shack, Remus's mouth moulded to his, teeth clacking together in their awkward excitement, and the memory blurred with Snape trailing his lips over Sirius's neck, his hair falling over Sirius's shoulder. He thought of the time Remus had bent him over his father's desk at Grimmauld Place, the both of them too impatient to make it upstairs, and Sirius had stuffed his knuckles in his mouth to keep from making enough noise to make his mother's portrait shriek again. Then Snape's mouth moved lower, heating Sirius's skin as he went and he couldn't hold back the moan that escaped from his throat, couldn't stop his hands from clutching Snape's hair.

Little by little he felt the last of the cold inside him melt away, and it hurt, the rush of feeling and burning warmth as Snape's mouth closed over him, warm fingers digging into his hips and pressing him against the wall. It hurt to feel, it hurt to realise that it wasn't Remus's mouth and hands and lips on him and it hurt to know that he was enjoying it even though it wasn't the same. It welled up inside him, squeezing his chest like a vise and burst, and he gave a hoarse half-cry, half sob as he came, slumping back against the wall.

Sirius pulled his bathrobe around himself, gasping for breath, and when he opened his eyes he saw Snape watching him carefully. "Snape," said Sirius, not exactly sure what he wanted to say, but feeling he must say something.

"Black." Snape crossed his arms over his chest, though his face did not look quite as severe as usual. "Have you chosen to join us in the land of the living?"

"I – maybe," said Sirius.

"That is acceptable, for now," said Snape. "Though, if I ever find you lurking under your bedcovers like a scared little child, or attempting to drown yourself in the shower, I shall be forced to take more desperate measures."

"I'll hold you to it," said Sirius, feeling an unfamiliar sensation creep across his face. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror and realised it was a smile.

It felt good.