Blackmail

The outside of the letter said:

Professor Snape: URGENT

Snape only hesitated because he recognised the handwriting. He knew the artfully messy curls and flourishes. And though the message said 'Urgent' he was unsure if he was willing to lend any assistance.

However, he was on Dumbledore's side now, and would be derelict in his duties if he did not at least glance over the message. So he snapped the seal and scanned the few lines of writing. And froze.

Dear Snape,

You are a complete tosser. You have poor personal hygiene and a big nose.

Sirius Black

Snape looked at the other side of the parchment, wondering if he was perhaps missing something. But no, there was nothing else. He flung the letter into the wastepaper bin, muttered Incendio and headed off to teach the first lesson of the day.

*

The second letter was also masquerading as something 'Urgent'.

Dear Snape,

Do you know that you smell bad? I mean, truly awful. And that's coming from someone who's smelt the inside of Azkaban.

Sirius Black

Snape rolled his eyes and was gratified to realise that whereas he had matured and become wiser, the bully from school still had the mentality of a fifteen-year old.

"Idiot," he murmured, crumpling the letter into a ball.

*

The third letter irritated him. The other two had been juvenile but nothing more. However, Snape had had a bad day and did not need to be greeted by:

Dear Snape,

Have I ever mentioned that you're an utter wanker? A first-class, unsurpassed, accredited moron? Well I have now.

Sirius Black

It was bad enough that he'd had to deal with Draco pestering him about when he was going to get a Dark Mark, Granger hassling him about extra-credit essays she'd like to write and Potter stubbornly maintaining ineptitude when it came to Occlumency; he really didn't feel he should have to endure the infantile insults of a man who was quite obviously bored out of his skull.

Cursing just about everyone he knew, Snape shredded the letter viciously and stuffed it in a vial of Gorgon venom. He watched it bubble and dissolve in the red liquid, and felt a bit mollified.

*

By the fourth letter, Snape was, to put it politely, extremely pissed off. He'd sat with it in his hand for the last half hour.

Dear Snape,

I feel terrible about almost feeding you to a werewolf. I'll try harder next time and make sure not to tell James.

Sirius Black

Black was clearly demented. Or drunk. Or both. Not that it made a great deal of difference either way. What mattered was how to Avada Kedavra him and make it look like an accident.

*

The fifth letter,

Dear Snape,

LOSER!!!

Sirius Black

had convinced Snape to bring the matter up with Albus.

By the sixth letter, though,

Dear Snape,

You have a face like a Hippogriff's backside. And your people-skills are shockingly inadequate.

Sirius Black

Snape had changed his mind, primarily because he was unsure how to explain the problem without it sounding like, "Sirius is being mean to me again, sir. Please make him stop."

*

When the seventh letter arrived, Snape made up his mind before he'd even finished reading it.

Dear Snape,

Know why I didn't like you at school? It's because you're a weirdo.

Sirius Black

He was going to have a few words with Black about this.

*

Despite the fact Lupin, Mad-Eye and Shacklebolt were in the kitchen apparently planning some sort of suicide crusade, to which Snape severely doubted Albus would agree, Black was nowhere to be seen. Snape left them absorbed in their strategising, which currently revolved around the distance at which goblins can generally shoot with a crossbow if they're afflicted by a Jelly-Legs Jinx, and went in search of Black.

He climbed the stairs and made his way along the passage to the room shared by Black and Buckbeak. It occurred to him, not for the first time, how hypocritical it was of Black to call Snape a weirdo when he was himself hiding out in his mother's bedroom with a Hippogriff and a cache of firewhiskey.

Snape went in without knocking and raised an incredulous, contemptuous eyebrow at the sight of Black weaving some dusty stems of dried Deadly Nightshade into a resignedly patient Buckbeak's feathers. Black looked at him and rolled his eyes.

"Fucking Grim Reaper," he muttered. "Get out of my bedroom."

The room was littered with rats' bones, empty bottles, unwashed clothes and Hippogriff droppings.

"This isn't a bedroom. This is a health hazard."

"Feel free to bugger off then," Black answered, turning back to Buckbeak and attempting to surreptitiously remove the mouldering plant-matter.

"I will not remove myself from your rather," Snape sniffed distastefully, "...malodorous presence until you've explained the meaning of the... correspondence with which you have seen fit to bombard me."

Black shrugged.

"Don't know what you're talking about," he replied, the grin evident in his voice.

"The hatemail," Snape hissed. "The juvenile, immature, ridiculous missives of your addled brain."

"Someone sending you hatemail?" asked Black innocently. "Now why in the name of God would anyone do that?"

"Don't play coy! While you may be able to spend your days composing puerile little letters to send me, I actually have work to do. Though I'm sure it goes against the grain, if you're going to be spending the time lolling around in hiding, surely you can find something useful to do?"

"Apparently not," Black snarled, spinning round to face Snape.

The unexpected fury in Black's eyes knocked Snape a little off balance. He was somewhat unsure why the atmosphere was suddenly so tense.

"Why aren't you down with the others?" he asked suddenly.

Black turned away, anger ebbing away to be replaced with weariness.

"What's it to you?" he muttered. He crouched back down by Buckbeak and stroked the sleek feathers with his wasted hand.

Snape glanced around at the room. He noticed for the first time the pile of completed crosswords torn from the Daily Prophet, the chess pieces lying scattered near an upturned chessboard. He saw the stack of books, a strange mix of wizarding research texts and Muggle novels, each with their own bookmark, sometimes over halfway through but more often only a few pages in.

He saw the depressed slump of Black's shoulders and the ragged mess of uncared-for hair that had once been glossy and admired.

"Stop writing to me," he said curtly, then withdrew.

*

The eighth letter arrived the day after Snape had confronted Black.

Dear Snape,

You're a creep. You were then and you are now.

Sirius Black

It drew Snape's eyes to it, where it lay on his coffee table, for most of the evening. Eventually he snatched it up and carried it to his desk. He turned it over, dipped his quill vigorously in the ink and wrote:

Black,

I am frankly amazed that you continue to harass me in this manner. Not only is it plumbing depths of lunacy I was not aware even you would stoop to, but it is pathetic. You are a grown man, and it is surely time that you acted as one.

While I understand that neither you nor anyone else can find anything meaningful with which to engage your pitiful mind, I would appreciate it if you did not attempt to drag me into your adolescent games.

Contact me again on anything other than Order business and you will regret it.

Snape

He laid the quill down and surveyed his effort. He looked at it for a long time then pointed his wand at it.

"Eradicus."

The words faded from view. Taking up his quill again, he heaved a sigh and placed the point on the parchment.

Dear Black,

I know you are, but what am I?

Snape

That was sufficient.

*

The ninth letter appeared the very next morning. Snape read it and rolled his eyes.

Dear Snape,

I've never known such an utter twat as you. Plus, you have bad breath.

Sirius Black

Before he went to lunch, Snape scribbled:

Dear Black,

So's your mother.

Snape

and sent the owl back with it.

*

The tenth letter,

Dear Snape,

I wonder that no-one's ever killed you, considering what an arsehole you are.

Sirius Black

prompted Snape to reply,

Dear Black,

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but names will never hurt me.

Snape

while the eleventh,

Dear Snape,

In Azkaban, there's big pit where they throw leftover food, which is practically inedible to begin with, and into which the shit drains. It's gross, but you're grosser still.

Sirius Black

required only,

Dear Black,

Same to you.

Snape

*

Snape was composing a reply to the twelfth,

Dear Snape,

Rot in Hell.

Sirius Black

when he was summoned to Professor Umbridge's office.

*

And when he next sat down at the desk, it took him a long time to decide what to write. He considered many options but finally settled on,

Dear Black,

How fucking stupid are you? Hopefully now you've learnt that while jeering has an important role to play in combat, it does not replace keeping an eye on your opponent and knowing when to DUCK. Imbecile.

Snape

He watched the owl sweep into the sky, and hoped for a reply.

END