What He Wanted to Be

"To my mistakes," Sirius said, somewhat unsteadily, squinting into the tumbler of whisky the colour of a werewolf's eyes. "To my mistakes," he announced more certainly, "of cowardice." So saying, he tipped the glass back and dropped it neatly onto the low table between himself and Snape. If he was going to get rat-arsed with Snivellus, he was going to do it right, and no drinking session was complete after a war without the proper amount of self-flagellation.

"Oh, come off it, Black. She wouldn't have blamed you even if she had survived." Reflected in Snape's dark eyes, the firelight danced a shimmy, perhaps reflected by the tears that weren't there. Really. Much like the shakes that had taken up residence in his hands. All of these illusions could be attributed to the alcohol. Not that he could say with any certainty, of course, whether Lily would have blamed the other man or not. He remembered the raid well enough himself--he'd played it over so many times in his head he could practically recite the dead in alphabetical order. Arnackle, Avitus; Charles, Gaius; Dougherty, Jimmy; Green and Grundle--both Jakes... He shook his head, dispelling the litany with a pair of refills. "I think you'll find, Black, that none of us survive two wars without knowing the full consequence of our past actions."

"What about Harry?"

"What about him?" Snape asked coolly, sipping at the alcohol Black preferred to gulp.

"Every misery he's had to deal with has been born of my stupidity." Sirius squinted at Snape, then at his glass, the glint of firelight in Ogden's finest, and predictably tossed back the lot. "It's alright if you want to put on airs of necessity and claim we're all just paying our dues for the greater good-"

"My airs, as you put it, hardly compare to the daily task you've set your godson of dealing with your madness." Snape's eyes narrowed as Sirius flinched, and he smiled slowly. "I do declare, Black. That seems to have struck a nerve."

Sirius shook his head, looking into the fireplace, anywhere but at Snape--and his glass was too empty to be a comfort. "Remus said that it's okay--it's a labour of love putting up with me until- It's-" his breath hitched, and the flinch turned into a trembling. One hot tear coursed over a roughened cheek, and Sirius scrubbed furiously at it, whirling on Snape. "Is this what you wanted to see?" He demanded.

"It's who you are," Snape countered quietly, the thin smile having faded back into that inscrutable expression. "Whether it is who I wanted you to be..." He trailed off, shrugging mildly, and taking another sip of his drink.

"What do you mean?" Sirius's voice was still rough, but no more tears ran over the shadowed bones beneath his eyes. "Why do you keep coming here? The war's over. Nobody's forcing you to sit in my parlour, drink my whisky, goad me into-"

"For you. It's what you needed, Black. To feel," he elaborated, "is what you need, regardless of the nature of that feeling."

"And you're the one who give me that? Thanks, but no thanks, Snape. I thought you had classes to conduct at Hogwarts."

"It's called 'Flooing,' Black. Bloody convenient. I'm told it's a very nearly instant way to travel between two places."

"Alright, alright. You don't have to take the piss, greasy bastard." Sirius settled into grumbling.

Snape returned to sipping his drink, nursing it with no desire to end up in the state Black was rapidly deteriorating towards. "In any case, should my nightly absence from Hogwarts be noted, Minerva has agreed to answer any questions that arise."

"How's that then?"

"She'll make it up as she goes, I'm sure. That is what Gryffindors are known for?" An inky eyebrow arched sharply. "Abrupt decisions in all matters of deception, lust, love, and action?"

"And I suppose Slytherins never need to think by the seats of their pants?" Black snorted into his glass, refilling it without benefit of Snape's more steady hands. Excess sloshed onto the table.

Snape waved a hand, then a wand, the mess vanishing as he smiled somewhat smugly. "You'll find it's all in who you know. Almost any decision can be delayed if you know the right people."

"So what're we going to talk about?" Sirius slouched back into the couch, this time cradling his tumbler in both hands, grasped carefully against his chest. "Love? Hopes? Dreams? How about dreams? I had a dream I was being chased by a Muggle with a machine gun once. It was all in shades of blues--the way it is when I'm Padfoot, then I'm running down the street away from mother and her voice is hurting my ears, so I duck into a pub, then-"

"Black!" Snape stared at him, silent until blue eyes lifted inquiringly. "Please try not to be more vacant than usual. While my time is valuable, I don't intend to rush into anything, even something that is--so mundane as conversation." Snape's tone was steel, then softened as he continued. "I'm unaware of any lasting effects from a trip behind the veil that should entirely rob you of your ability to hold a decent conversation, and I have been repeatedly assured that you have that capability. So unless you find yourself too lost inside your visions of what might have been and should have been to relearn how to converse like a civilized wizard, I suggest we settle on a topic we can--relate on."

"Alright," Sirius said, setting down his glass and watching Snape with eyes entirely too intense for a man who'd finished half a bottle of whisky on his own. "How about discussing my retrieval from behind the veil?"

"I can't imagine why you would want to discuss that with me," Snape replied coldly, looking away from the fire-burnished blue gaze.

"It is what got you that scar, isn't it?" Sirius watched the impassive face with vague curiosity, eyes flickering to the starburst that now hovered between dark brows. "I got mine too, you know," he said, tugging his shirt open to reveal an identical mark over his ribs at mid-chest.

"What makes you think I got mine for anything having to do with your sorry hide?"

"Maybe a little rumour circulating around that it was your brilliant idea that got me out? And before you deny it, I had that piece of information confirmed."

"So I got you out from behind the veil," Snape said. "Why on earth would that leave me with this ridiculous scar?"

"Means you had to go in to bring me out. I know what kind of curse leaves a mark like that. You died for me, didn't you?"

Snape snorted, turning his head until the mark was obscured, back stiff as if rejecting anything that could relate him to Black, let alone Black and the Potter brat both. "Don't be absurd. I assure you, you're the last person for whom I would have risked an unknown."

"You know, I don't believe that, Snape."

"Oh? Why?"

"Cause I know you."

"You're insane."

"And I know what makes a man like you obsess enough to come up with a plan that risky."

"I already told you there was no risk involved, Black. If I'd believed I could have lost my life as senselessly as you lost yours, I wouldn't have done it."

"Love." Sirius said.

Snape looked at him in horror, frozen as Sirius leaned forward still more until his lips hovered inches from Snape's. "It's-" The smooth voice choked on the word.

"Is this what you wanted to see?" Sirius was so close, Snape could feel the hot breath against his mouth.

"It's-" Snape choked out again, trying to sink back into his chair with muscles that refused to move.

"Maybe that's who you wanted to be." Sirius rested his arms on the back of Snape's chair, framing the greasy hair between wasted forearms. "The hero. The one to do the rescuing."

"For what-?" The words trailed off, lost in an attack of hyperventilation and wide eyes.

"You needed to-" Sirius stopped, shook his head, and continued, "need to prove yourself don't you? It's that Slytherin ambition." A bony knee rested on the seat of the chair, pinning the immobile Snape by the edge of his robes, breath feathering warmly over sallow cheeks.

"Why would I want to prove myself to you?" Snape's voice came out mercifully low, menacing, marred only by the sharp intake of breath when Sirius cut off his words in a lingering press of lips.

"Slytherin ambition?" Sirius guessed, his other knee joining them both in the chair, wasted body folding over Snape's, radiating heat. "Curiosity?" He followed each guess with a nipping kiss, a brush of too-hot tongue, and a tightening of his fingers in greasy hair. "The fact that I'm still a sexy bastard?"

Snape all but shoved Sirius out of the chair, growling. "Get off me, you shameless mutt!"

Sirius held on, laughing, and snogged Snape again, leaning in and pinning him hard against the back of the chair. "Can't scare me, Snape. I've died twice--nothing is going to scare me after that. Not even you naked."

"Me what?

"Naked," Sirius purred in his ear, gleefully, and bit down on an earlobe.

Snape moaned. "Minerva's going to run out of excuses when I don't make it back to Hogwarts, Black."

Sirius smirked. "I'm sure she'll think of something."

"Think of what?" Snape asked, becoming rapidly very vaguely distracted by those dangerously roaming lips and hands.

"...she'll make it up."