A/N: ...and now for something completely different.

After a time – there was no telling how long, in the Between, and Severus's legs should have ached and he should've stunk and his shoes should've been torn to shreds, but there was none of that, either – he came upon a cottage in the wood.

When the path had begun to lead through a wood, Severus could not say. The last thing he recalled was the whisper of the ocean, a strange sense of urgency pushing him on, and now here he was.

The cottage was the sort of ancient farmhouse that looked as though it had been clapped together in the sixteenth century and dutifully tended and mended ever since, with a patchwork of brick and mortar more or less worn and discoloured by wind and weather and time. Wild roses climbed the gates, blossoming a vibrant pink-red, and daisies were planted at the windows. A curl of smoke rose from the squat chimney.

Severus had seen gorgeous, sweeping landscapes that he could have scarcely imagined in his dreams, much less while coherent, but this was the first faint sign of any human habitation since his conversation with Dumbledore and Harry at King's Cross. Sometimes he felt it had been years since he'd heard another human voice, since he'd had a conversation; and suddenly he – misanthropic bat of the dungeons, he – was absolutely sick for one.

The garden gate gave easily under Severus's hand, and he walked out along a charming path of half-sunk, irregular stones that led to the cottage door. Severus felt for his wand; there it was, reassuringly in his pocket. This world had refused to present him any dangers so far, but he had not travelled so long only to fall prey to some hazard he could have avoided through vigilance.

He knocked at the door. There was no sense in being rude, after all. He thought he heard a muttered voice from within, so he took that for permission and stepped inside, closing the door behind him.

Severus's offices: an experimental potion bubbling away on the hob, a stack of marked and three stacks of unmarked Potions essays littering the desk, a hot cup of tea steaming away and leaving a ring on some poor unfortunate's parchment. The fire crackled cheerily, casting a golden glow on the braided hearthrug in silver-and-green. For a moment, Severus found himself surprised by his surroundings, but he was not certain why he ought to have been: this had been precisely where he was headed, surely…

"Good," Harry Potter said, where he stood by the fire. "I'll sit on this side of your desk and you can sit on the other, and you can yell at me for whatever you think I've done this time. That is the way this goes, right?"

Severus stared. For a long moment, it seemed odd – even worrying – that Harry was here, sitting across from him.

"Harry," Severus said, striding to his desk and examining the papers there, "what are you doing here? It's late." He added the last in concession to his inexplicable panic at finding Harry in this place, when Harry Potter at Hogwarts – even Harry Potter in his office – was a familiar sight. Since Voldemort had been vanquished, Potter had spent an increasing amount of time here. At first, Severus had been worried Harry expected Severus to entertain him in some way, but increasingly they sat together while Harry completed his homework and Severus marked things, punctuated by an exclamation over their respective horrid lots in life in a way that even Severus had begun to find rather companionable.

Harry groaned theatrically, slumping into the seat across from Severus.

"Only small children are so dramatic about bedtime," Severus said with a raised brow, dragging an essay forward to read, giving Potter time to sort himself out. He'd learned in that once-forgotten summer that when Potter got like this – all heavy sighs and rebellious frustration –it was best to give him time to think rather than demanding capitulation straightaway.

Sure enough, after a brief space of silence, Harry leaned forward to peer at the papers littering Severus's desk. "I can't believe you became a Potions Master," he said. "Old Sluggy never did like you."

Severus cleared his throat. "Is that what Lupin says? I've warned you about grilling him when he's moping over Black," he said quietly, placing the quill aside and abandoning the essay for the time being.

"Have you," Harry said, levelly.

"A half-dozen times," Severus returned. "And dredging up the past with Professor Lupin is… unkind of you."

Harry flushed. "I guess it would be, rather," he said. He shrugged, full of adolescent awkwardness. "Sorry," he added – again, rather dramatically – and rose to examine some of the books on Severus's shelves.

"It's all right," Severus said. "You are allowed to be mistaken, you know. So help me, we're going to weed out this guilt complex of yours if I have to labor over it like some ancient granddarm over her prize petunias."

Harry blinked, then dissolved into laughter.

Severus's lips quirked as he waited for Harry to get hold of himself. Harry's laugh was trying-to-be-cool warring with a wild, helpless joy. "Petunias," he wheezed.

"There," Severus said. "That's better. Now," he said, placing his hand on Harry's shoulder, "if it wasn't Obscura you needed help with, or Charms homework, then why have you come to see me?"

Harry's shoulder was tight under Severus's hand, almost as though he was uncomfortable with the touch. Severus frowned and dropped the friendly clasp.

"Harry?" he said.

"I was curious," Harry blurted, drawing himself up. "About why you're here."

Severus sighed. "Harry, we've been through this."

"Well… I guess maybe I need to hear it again," Harry said, jaw sticking out stubbornly.

"I promised you once that I should not leave Hogwarts. And so long as I am here, I will do all that I can to ensure that Professor Lupin is able to remain as well… no matter what Madam Umbridge has to say about it," he added under his breath.

Harry looked around Severus's office as if he were grounding himself in the familiar surroundings… or reminding himself where he was. "When he tutored me, I always understood. He's a good teacher," Harry insisted.

"So everyone keeps telling me. Your Miss Granger especially. I believe she thinks that if she praises Lupin to the heavens, I shall forgive him all his previous trespasses. Or perhaps learn from his example?"

"You and Remus get along, though, now," Harry said, but cautiously, as though he were feeling his way. "You've known him forever." He scuffed his shoe against the carpet. "…far longer than me, at any rate."

"Really, Potter, what's this about?" Severus said, beginning to feel the prick of genuine worry. "Remus and I are long since past our differences, surely you know as much. Are you worried about something it is that you believe you have done wrong? Or not done?" Something in Harry's face, Severus could not have said what, alerted him that this was the truth of the matter. "You must learn to accept that there are things beyond the locus of your control. Think what a terrible world it would be if we truly were able to snap our fingers and call whatever we wanted to heel. Think about how boring and narrow and predictable life would be; how incurious we would become, how spoilt." He leaned forward to drive his point home. "Everyone would be Dudley Dursley," he confided.

Harry was startled into a second bark of laughter.

"Your saving people thing," Severus said. "It's good – it shows that you want to do good and be good, which is –"

Harry's features split into a wild grin that reminded Severus of Black. "…good?"

"Yes," Severus said with a brief, censorious glare. "But your fumbling attempts at defeating the greatest Dark Wizard of his generation have placed my nerves in dire jeopardy, and that was when I couldn't have cared less if you'd disappeared off the face of the earth."

"…thanks for that."

Severus looked up to see such an uncertain expression on Harry's face that he thought perhaps he ought not continue. But the importance of the discussion outweighed the boy's discomfort. "You have persevered through stubbornness and inherent talent, it's true… but also through a frankly terrifying number of circumstances in which you were in the right place at the right time, or spoke to the right person, or your enemies underestimated you. For Merlin's sake, Voldemort's defeat hinged on the off-chance you might manage to befriend Draco Malfoy."

"What?" Harry said, blankly.

Severus manfully resisted rolling his eyes. "In short, battles are won when the right witch or wizard fights alongside you. It makes sense that it be me: I bear some guilt for Sirius's rash actions as well. Show me the respect you gave Miss Granger and Mister Weasley when they were eleven and allow me to help you."

Severus thought he'd been getting to Potter, but at the mention of Black, all signs of tentative capitulation disappeared.

"Don't insult Sirius," he snapped.

"Merlin's sake, I won't then," Severus said. "I'll just traipse off to the Land of the Dead and fetch him for you without complaint, question, or even discussion. Is that what you wish?"

Harry went white. "That – that's your reason? You're here for Sirius Black?"

Severus frowned in concern. " 'Here'?"

"You really can't tell the difference, can you?" he muttered, raking both hands through his hair.

"Cease immediately," Severus said dryly. "When you do that to your hair, you look just like your father."

"I could help you," Harry offered suddenly. "I know where he is; I know where to find him, I can guide you." His features closed down into familiar, stubborn lines. "You don't know how valuable that is, you should take me up on it. Otherwise, you could wander around in here for ages more, like a lightning bug caught in a jar."

Severus blanched.

Harry scraped a foot on the ground like a child, but then squared his shoulders and faced Severus head-on, bracing himself. "But we've got to get one thing straight, okay?" he said. "Because the part where you're, like, my dad? …It really creeps me out."

A half-dozen details filtered from Severus's eye to his brain for the first time: the way Potter stood a little bit taller, a hair broader, the way his eyes shone not grass-green but muddy hazel.

"…James?" Severus croaked.

"And the other shoe drops," the boy replied. "I was wondering if you were about to try and tuck me in, next."

Severus couldn't help but stare. "But – you're practically a child," he blurted, then winced.

Potter squinted. "And you got awfully old, didn't you?" he said, eyeing Severus up and down.

"It's been a difficult life," Snape returned, dry wit proceeding ahead of him like a charmed Snitch.

"A difficult time, looking after Harry Potter, you mean," James said. "Well. Did you want my help, then, or not?"

And Severus swallowed past something so large it could only be his pride.

"James. James Potter," the young man repeated as they trudged along the dirt road through the wood.

The same wood? Impossible to tell.

Severus huffed a breath. "Yes, James Potter. For the twelfth time."

"I'm not going to stop, either," James said stubbornly. "Time works strangely, here, and so does memory. If I don't keep telling you, you might forget."

"Is it my fault you're still so young that I confuse you for a student?"

Severus drew himself up short in horror, because the argument could be made that it was, in fact, Severus's fault that James would never grow a day older.

"I'm not young. I was a strapping twenty-something –"

"You were twenty-one," Severus said. "How old were you when you had Harry?"

"Nineteen. Nearly twenty. Plenty old enough," James said.

Severus decided that discretion was the better part of valour. "Sirius Black," Severus said. "You told me –"

In the way of the place, the forest was suddenly behind them and they were standing on a bluff overlooking the sea. In the misty distance, Severus could make out the harsh peaks and crags of Azkaban. A lonely seabird cried out over the water.

"Of course," he said.

"Never said it would be easy," James returned with a very familiar smirk.

The sun rose and set three times before he and James stood on the beach below, looking out across the water to the dark crags and towers of the Wizarding prison. James had neither rested nor eaten, but Severus was not sure if this was a sign of distress or simply normal for the dead; whenever he woke, James would be staring off in the direction of Azkaban.

Now that the travel was over and they were ready to face Black – and anyone else within Azkaban, though Severus wondered if anyone here could share the same exact nightmare – Severus was plagued by doubt.

"You have failed to rescue him," Severus said, bluntly. "What makes you think I shall have any more success?"

James squirmed. "He always thinks he's hallucinating me, and sometimes he forgets I've ever come for him before. Must've done it a lot when he was alive and stuck in the real deal. He won't suppose he's hallucinating you. Who'd want to do something like that?" he added with a wise nod.

Severus acknowledged this with a roll of his eyes.

James shuffled his feet. "Whatever. Go get Sirius and come straight back to the cottage, but just –" He paused, biting his lower lip. "Just be sure you're thinking of me when you come in. I'll need to talk to him before he goes back."

"You will not accompany me?" Severus said.

James shook his head. "Like I said, I think I'll do more harm than good, Snivellus."

"You should hardly boast about tormenting a young boy so badly you made him cry."

James looked torn between horror and admiration. "Merlin, you did become a professor!"

"You behave yourself while I'm gone," Severus told him, just to twist the blade. When he turned to face the water, a pale skiff held a paler man in a dark cloak.

"I suppose you'll want a coin," Severus said, and stepped inside to be rowed to the island.

Severus nodded to the man in the skiff, then picked his way through an overgrown, thorny path to the battered wooden gates of Azkaban, which swung open to admit him.

The Between produced three-dimensional backdrops: the wind whistled through the ballistraria; the old wooden doors creaked on their hinges; and Severus felt cool, if not freezing, in the shadow of the place. From living things, however, there was no sound, not even the whisper of mouse feet on stone that was the hallmark of one of these draughty, ancient places. In the waking world, Azkaban shook with the screams of the imprisoned. It was icy-cold with Dementor-mist, and populated with guards who sneered or worse, wore the same, empty-eyed faces as the criminals they purported to watch.

The contrast turned Severus's blood to ice: it was not for Dementors that Severus drew his wand and hid it in the folds of his sleeve, but from a more primal, shapeless foreboding that grew eyes and teeth and hid behind the silence.

Severus had begun to despair of meeting anyone again in this forsaken place when he first distinguished the wailing of a man from the wailing of the wind. He crept forward, wand brought to bear, and turned the corner, heels clicking against the lifeless, grey stone, to find Sirius Black, or some shadow of him.

The man within the cell was hardly a man at all, more a collection of bone and sinew with thin, unhealthy skin stretched taut as a drum to contain the lot, dark eyes unseeing, teeth bared in a rictus of pain and despair behind a straggly, grey-streaked, filthy beard: every privation Black had experienced distilled to its darkest essence.

"Severus," hissed the apparition. "Severus Snape."

"I –" Severus began, though his carefully planned opening salvos seemed to have fallen straight out of his head.

"Come to see Azkaban's handiwork, have you? Is it all you'd hoped for?" the ghost rasped, and Severus could barely recognize the other man's voice through his parched, scratched throat. "I'd hate to be a disappointment," he added, spitting at Severus's feet.

Severus saw blood in the spittle and recoiled.

"You liked it, didn't you, to hear that I was the one who betrayed my friends," he said in a voice like the growl of an animal.

Severus had. He'd felt smug in the wake of Lupin's pain, the Headmaster's, but dwelling on that dark satisfaction would do no one any good. "Do you know where you are?" he asked instead, ignoring Sirius's question for the goad it was.

The simple question only enraged Sirius further. He gestured towards his cell, though Severus didn't dare shift his gaze from the other man for fear he might miss some fleeting expression that could steer Severus through the labyrinthine turns of the other man's lunacy and despair. "Do you know where you are?" Sirius quoted darkly. "If you've come to gauge my madness, then I've a trick or two up my sleeve, yet, Snape, to keep me sane. I'll see you under Crucio first!"

Severus refrained from sighing with greatest effort. James was wrong; surely a friend could do better at such an endeavor than an enemy. "If you are referring to your Animagus form –"

"Who told you about that?" Sirius hissed, lurching to his feet and stumbling against the bars, gripping them with knarled hands aged by dark and damp and thin rations. "Who told you? WHICH ONE OF THEM WAS IT, SNAPE? I'LL KILL THEM!"

Severus slid back a step, wary fingers twitching for his wand. "Pettigrew, it was Pettigrew… for Merlin's sake, Black, you know it was. And he told all the Death Eaters of your Animagus form... all your little tricks... it's how he caught them, Potter and Lily." Severus stopped, then, because he could hear the tightness in his throat in his voice, and could not stand to think that Black could hear the same.

"No. No. No," Sirius chanted, shaking his head. "No, no, not Peter. He wouldn't. It – it had to have been Lupin, somehow, maybe Jamie didn't trust me anymore, he pulled a double-switch…"

And the flame that had refused to kindle in the face of Black's abuses suddenly burst into life. "Remus would rather die!"

Sirius froze. Severus stared past scraggly, oily hair in a state that his had never approached and into eyes like stone. "You call him Remus," Sirius said.

Severus turned his head to watch Sirius prowl the length of his cage. "So I do," he said. "Sometimes."

"You – you and him," Sirius said, eyes widening with fear and horror. "You were in on this together."

"You're raving," Severus snapped.

"You were in on this together!" Sirius repeated, whirling, his eyes a shade of madness Severus had only seen in Barty Crouch. "You planned it, the two of you. James and Lily…" Sirius said, slumping to the filthy cell floor, "…and poor little Harry…" Sirius tacked up, slumping suddenly.

Severus felt the energy go out of him as well, and when his voice emerged again, he was quiet, though no less frustrated or infuriated. "Harry's alive, Black; surely you remember that much."

"The Boy Who Lived," Sirius agreed, but he wasn't meeting Severus's eyes. In fact, he gave all appearance of having forgotten that Severus was there at all.

Severus was torn. Part of him wanted to rage at Sirius for even suggesting that Remus had betrayed the Potters. The part of him that was a fool Gryffindor, the part of him that had agreed to this mad quest in the first place, wanted to hammer at Sirius's psyche until he accepted that they were in the Between. But the Slytherin part of him bolstered him and quieted him and told him to use this space of silence, free of mad recriminations, to think.

Severus examined Sirius's cell, first. The stone was uneven, mostly, though it seemed smoother in places: from pacing, from the heap of straw in the corner, to the bucket in the other corner, and back. There was a pile of newspapers stacked against the wall that seemed to serve as a chair if the sag in their centre could be believed. There was an incessant drip through a crack in the stone ceiling that splashed to the flagstones below, creating a tiny hollow that held water.

First, Severus wondered if the dripping played a part in leaving Sirius this mad. Then it occurred to him how long that leak had to be there to create the little hollow below it. Finally, he wondered if Sirius had ever gotten so thirsty that he'd sipped from it. Listening to the man's scraped-raw throat, Severus knew he must have.

And suddenly, Severus's old, old rage dropped its sword and shield and quietly retreated, and he felt queerly hollow and uncertain in the space it left behind. He lowered himself until he was seated directly across from Sirius Black and watched, and waited.

Sirius's gaze darted to Severus and away with increasing discomfort.

Severus, for his part, said nothing. Instead, he examined the threadbare edges of his own robes – surely his imagination, and surely he could have thought up something better. Warmer. He ran his fingers down the slightly-rough, cast-iron edges of the cell bars, marvelling at their tactility.

Finally, "what are you doing? Why are you still here?" burst out of Sirius.

Severus looked up curiously. "Is there a reason I should have gone?"

"They never stay; nobody stays," Sirius muttered. "Besides, you're too – too middle-aged - to be Snivellus. What, are you supposed to represent my fucking father or something? Because I couldn't care less about what he'd think of me. I think less than nothing about my father, you hear me?"

"I am no one's father," Severus said. He felt the oddness in it, the way he'd said it twice, now, in one form or another, but the unusual statement was as a key to a lock, allowing Severus to open the door of the other man's thoughts and stride confidently through.

If imprisonment in the real Azkaban was anything like Sirius's memory of it, could Sirius truly have grown to adulthood here, or was he still a child in his heart, in his head? Was he like James Potter, frozen in time at the age of twenty-one?

Black was still babbling, something about Jamie that caused Severus to snap to attention.

"James?" he said. "You remember James coming here to speak with you?"

"They all speak to me. Lily, Jamie, even little Harry sometimes," Sirius said. "But why you? I don't understand."

Severus placed his wand on one knee. "You are not in Azkaban."

Sirius barked a laugh, but it was a sad, pinched-off sound that was half a sob.

"Black…" Severus paused, marshalled all his logic and wrestled the panic in his chest until it lay gasping and pinned. "You are correct in one thing, Black. You would not imagine me as your rescuer. Would you?"

Sirius looked up at him through grimy lashes wet with tears.

Please, Severus thought, sudden and unexpected as a blade. "You escaped Azkaban; you found Pettigrew. You reunited with Lupin and Harry. You must remember Harry. Harry, your godson. He turns seventeen this summer. You were back with the Order. But then," in a foolhardy attempt to prove yourself immortal, "you fought Bellatrix Lestrange in the Department of Mysteries and fell through the Veil to the Between. And that is where we are, now; I have come to retrieve you."

Sirius shook his head. "Those were dreams."

"No," Severus said, firm. "That was the reality. This is the dream. There is no Azkaban here save the one you have built." He gave the other man a moment and then cast Alohamora on the rusted iron enclosure.

It swung open with a squeak of protest.

Once again Severus became aware that the only sounds he could hear were the wind racing through every crack and cranny of the ancient fort, the creaking of doors and gates. It was as though he and Sirius Black were the only living things in the whole world.

A change came over Sirius Black's features, then: a combination of desperation and mulishness and hope.

He pushed himself to his feet and tottered there for a minute, like a drunkard.

"Fine," he said. "Fine, let's just see how far we get."

Severus did not so much lead the way as serve as a walking stick. Oddly, Sirius did stink and look as though he needed a change of clothing, but Severus wasn't sure how to provide either a bath or fresh robes to a man who would not generate cleanliness or warm, soft garments for himself. He remembered James's words, though, about memory. Snape still wasn't certain whether or not the other man truly believed him, so he did something he had not done since he was a child, to keep Black focussed on the here-and-now... such as it was.

He babbled.

"We are in the Between. You are not in Azkaban. You have not been in Azkaban for many years. I am sent here to retrieve you. We are going to cross the water, now," he added, helping Sirius into the skiff; the other man settled with a rattling sigh. "We are in the Between…"

Severus might have expected Sirius to snap at or interrupt him, but instead his gaze went faraway, as though he were focussing intently on Severus's voice; and occasionally he would issue a decisive nod when Severus said that he was no longer in Azkaban.

When they reached the other side of the water, Sirius seemed to rouse himself a little. "The Order sent you?"

Severus rejoiced in questions; it meant Sirius's brain was beginning to untangle itself from the dark threads of his nightmares. "No; Remus and the children and I fashioned the spell."

"You and Remus," Sirius said, brow furrowed.

Severus hoisted him up underneath one arm, hoping Black no longer saw this as suspicious. "Yes," Severus said. "It had to be someone who had a connection to Death, or he would have come, himself."

Sirius stared.

"I died," Severus said, "a little. Draught of the Living Death is close enough for this place."

"So Remus asked you," Sirius said, "and you agreed…"

"Yes."

"…to come here and fetch me," Black went on, cautiously, steadying himself on the edge of the skiff as he climbed out.

"Yes," Snape returned.

Sirius stopped walking, suddenly, gazing into the distance.

Severus's head snapped up. "…Black?"

"No," Sirius said. "You can't be here. You wouldn't be here just for me –"

"Yes. Yes, I would," Snape said, gripping him by the shoulders. "You are not in Azkaban. You are with me, in the Between."

"How did you get here? Why are you here?" Sirius demanded, and he sounded almost angry, now. "You're not here for me, the Order didn't order you, so explain it to me!"

"Because if I did not go, Harry would have done so in my stead!" Severus growled. "He would have leapt here without any idea of how to extricate himself, like that fool jump he made into the Chamber last year! He was the only other one of us who had died."

Sirius's lip curled. "And why should you care if he did?"

"Why should I…?!" Severus growled, then trailed off into stony silence. Why, indeed? How to explain everything that had transpired last year? "He was much damaged after he lost you," Severus muttered.

"And you stepped into the breach, is that it?"

Severus felt his shoulders climbing up to his ears. "Not at first," he bit off. "At first, I was teaching him control through Occlumency. Then, eventually… breaches were forged," he said tartly. "I consider it my duty to prevent him from rushing where angels fear to tread."

"Merlin, my mind is a fucked-up place," Black muttered, dragging his hands through his hair.

Snape stared at him, folding his arms in his classical intimidate-the-student-body posture. "Clearly. Now, I had some help in finding you."

"Did you," Black said, peering over both shoulders, back over the water where the ferryman waited impassively. "You haven't seen my parents here anyplace, have you? Since this is the – the Beyond."

"The Between. And no," Severus said, mentally confirming his image of Black as frozen in his early twenties. In light of that, and of Sirius stumbling forward so badly onto shore that Severus had to catch him at the forearms, Severus deigned to be merciful. "Surely, Black, you cannot have but so many allies that are deceased."

Black's skeletal grip released Severus's arms the moment he gained his footing. "Is – is it – Jamie?"

Severus felt a prickle along the back of his neck and turned to find the grim man standing at the prow of the skiff was staring at the pair, or rather that his dark hood was oriented towards them: Severus could not make out his eyes beneath its black expanse.

YOU DO NOT BELONG HERE, he said.

Severus blinked. "I…" He cleared his throat. "No, we do not."

"We'll be out of your hair in no time," Sirius croaked. "That is, er, your... metaphorical..."

The ferryman stared for another, eerie moment. ASK POTTER ABOUT THE HALLOWS.

"Will do," Sirius babbled. "Come on, Snivellus."

ASK POTTER ABOUT THE HALLOWS, the ferryman repeated.

"We will," Sirius replied, grabbing hold of Severus's sleeve and tugging him away from the shore with both hands.

They strode swiftly away until they were surrounded once again by forest – although Severus was relatively certain that they only were because he expected them to be – before pausing for breath.

"So. Death," Sirius said.

Severus shook his head. "Death is not a personage, no matter what the stories may imply."

"He asked after the Hallows," Sirius prodded.

"Veritable proof of his duplicity," Severus said, "as the Hallows are a children's story writ to underlie the finite nature of life." He frowned darkly. "But for the fact that Dumbledore stated he'd sent Harry the Resurrection Stone. Sent it. Odd choice of words. Perhaps it was delivered… supposing it exists."

"That's not coincidence, Snape!" Sirius shouted, waving his arms, "if Dumbledore mentioned it and Death mentioned it!"

"That was not Death," Severus protested, striding forward – forward being as close as one could get to a direction in that unseelie place. "But I will ask your Jamie about it if you so desire."

"James," Sirius muttered, and Severus paused.

All around them, the forest was quiet: wind blew the leaves, and the leaves rustled, and branch twisted against branch, but there was no birdsong, no skitter of small animals as they darted through the underbrush, no low hum of insects. Still, the sun – or something like it – shone dappled patterns on the ground, and the green perfume of growing things hung in the air, and it was a quiet and pleasant place, if a lonesome one.

"What?" Sirius said. "What is it?"

Severus scarcely knew how to begin. He was not skilled at human interaction as Albus was; he could not charm people like Potter. Perhaps the direct route would do; it seemed the only path open to a one such as Severus Snape. "As we left, you said, let's see how far I get. How far you get before what, Black?"

Black shuffled his feet, looking so like one of Severus's recalcitrant students caught in a falsehood that Severus felt suddenly on far more familiar ground.

"Black," he pressed. Perhaps the old wounds were lanced, but they could re-infect at any time. "How many times have you tried to leave?" he said, in his Remus-est of voices.

Sirius glanced up and Severus swallowed, kept his expression neutral through sheer force of will. Somehow, Black looked even worse in the sunlight. His lashes were still damp, and his cheeks were hollowed with lack of food and drink. He was parchment-pale and grime was smudged across a painfully sharp jawline, and his hair was full of grease. His clothing hung off of his too-slender frame, and the expression on his face – so suspicious, so wary, like an abused dog before an open palm, not knowing if the morsel being offered is safe to take.

"Black," Severus tried. He cleared his throat. "Sirius," he said, and he seemed to have borrowed Remus's soft tones again – he'd never said Sirius's name like that, like the name meant something to him.

Black ducked his head and lifted one, bony shoulder. "Dunno," he said dully.

Severus's lips thinned with worry. He could end up visiting Azkaban and convincing a ruined Black all over again if he did not find something to anchor the man to reality. "There's a cottage nearby," Severus said, and prayed it was true. "There's a cottage very close to here, where you can get clean and eat something, and perhaps we might even find robes that could fit you."

"And Jamie will be there," Sirius echoed, but it didn't sound like a query. It sounded dull-edged, as though Black were an Imperius victim who didn't know any better than to repeat what Severus had told him.

"And James will be there," Snape replied. "Come along, Black; we wouldn't want to keep him waiting." He took two steps forward to find that Black was standing in the middle of the pathway... fading.

"No," Severus said, and lunged forward.

To his shock, he caught hold of Black's arm. Suddenly, the man was solid as anything was in the Between.

"Sorry," Black muttered, not meeting his eye.

"All right," Severus said, absently. Merlin, how was he to keep track of the man?

There was nothing for it.

"Take my hand," Severus said.

For just a moment, Sirius Black much like his old self, eyeing Severus disdainfully.

"And we shall never speak of it henceforth and ever again," Severus snapped. "I have gone to all the trouble of fetching you; the least you can do is oblige me by doing everything you can to avoid returning to that dark, miserable oubliette of a place."

Black eyed him warily, but allowed Severus to reach for his hand and squeeze it firmly. "This is full-moon lunacy," he rasped.

"And you'd know, wouldn't you? You and your friends," Severus said, tugging him along.

"Yes," Black said. "Yes, me and Peter and James and Remus have known madness."

"You're a veritable Cheering Charm," Severus observed. "Has anyone ever told you that?"

"No," Sirius replied. "But keep talking."

Snape snuck a look at the other man to find that his gaze was slightly sharper than before, more focussed. He searched for something else to say; besides barbed banter or outright violence, he wasn't sure how to approach a conversation with Sirius Black. "Lupin will be beyond grateful to see you. Expect to be soaked with many a tear."

"Remus," Black breathed. "He's still alive?"

Severus was brought to a halt. "What? Yes, he's alive; of course he's alive." A dreadful thought occurred to him. "You haven't seen him here, have you?"

"N-no. I mean – yes," Black admitted. "Yes, but that doesn't mean anything. I've lost my mind, here. Real Azkaban didn't manage it. And yet."

"Oh," Severus replied, not certain what he should say to this. "Oh, well. I suppose that doesn't mean much, then." He swallowed and turned to tug Black once more down the path; Black stumbled after. "Do you feel tired?"

"Yes. No," Black said, after a beat. "I'm exhausted, but I'll stay just this exhausted no matter how fast we walk or what we do. I think."

Severus thought about what might have happened to him if he had died an angry, embittered man; what traps might have lay in wait for him, and suddenly he was furious. Somehow he had thought that people got what they deserved here; that the righteous were rewarded and the evil punishéd. Instead, those who were strong in themselves traversed the world with nothing to slow them, and those who had experienced tribulation were doomed to experience it over again until they learned better – if they ever could push themselves beyond their horror – just as in the rest of human existence.

The lesson never changed. The path never altered. It was more concrete in the Between, more pointed maybe, but all the same. There he was, dragging Sirius Black out of perdition and despite their shared enmity, Sirius was already just another person he was yanking upward half against his will, someone who had to be convinced he was good, and worthy.

Merlin – he was a professor, wasn't he? That was the job description, wasn't it? All along, he'd been so sure that he stumbled headfirst into the profession –

This means that Harry was right to insist he stay at Hogwarts.

Merlin, he must never know. Severus would never live it down.

So this was where he was meant to be, was it? Dragging Sirius Black up behind him? Fine. Severus knew himself, now, and that was something. Even his darkest self, even his worst mistakes pointed to it. He tried to destroy his own world, once, and he failed at it. He failed at it because it was the antithesis of who he was. It was in his fabric to carry a torch ahead for others, so they could see the pitfalls where he had stumbled.

Draco Malfoy had tried to tell him this, but he ignored facing his own nature because it frightened him; the responsibility of it frightened him; the faith it implied made him feel like an imposter.

But he wasn't. Severus knew himself, now, and –

The cottage was the sort of ancient farmhouse that looked as though it had been clapped together in the sixteenth century and dutifully patched and tended to ever since, with new brickwork and cleaner mortar shining in places. Wild roses climbed the gates, blossoming a vibrant pink-red, and daisies were planted at the windows. A curl of smoke rose from the squat chimney.

"I've... been here, before," Severus said. He turned to look at Black.

Sirius's face was transported, shining. He'd gained two stone from one breath to the next, his cheeks flush with colour, his filthy clothing replaced by smart wizarding robes circa 1970. He was in his early twenties.

"Of course you haven't been here; this is Godric's Hollow," Sirius said.

The garden gate gave easily under Severus's hand, and he walked out along a charming path of half-sunk, irregular stones that led to the cottage door, hand still firmly tucked into Black's, afraid of letting him go lest he slip. Severus felt for his wand with his left; there it was, reassuringly in his pocket. This world had refused to present him any dangers so far, but he had not travelled so long only to fall prey to some hazard he could have avoided through vigilance.

He knocked at the door. There was no sense in being rude, after all. He thought he heard a muttered voice from within, so he took that for permission and stepped inside, closing the door behind them.

And then Severus was watching a nightmare unfold in stop-motion photography.

FLASH. There were three people in the room, two at the base of the stairs, one halfway up.

FLASH. The man standing at the base of the stairs was Lord Voldemort.

FLASH. Take Harry and run!

FLASH. Lily spins on the stair. She half-stumbles. She darts up.

Someone is holding him by the shoulders. "Severus. Severus!"

FLASH. There are three people in the room, two at the base of the stairs, one halfway up.

FLASH. The man standing at the base of the stairs isn't a man at all.

FLASH. Take Harry and run!

FLASH. Lily spins on the stair. Severus catches sight of her eyes, sees the moment she fully understands her position, sees her death.

"Snape. Snape."

FLASH. There are five people in the room. Two at the door. One is tugging at his hand, the other is holding him by both shoulders and saying something over and over. Of the other two, one is at the base of the stairs, one is halfway up.

FLASH. The love of his life is standing on the stair: she is about to die. The man at the base of the stair is immaterial: she is all that matters. For a moment, she catches his eye. She looks relieved to see him there before she remembers who he is and what that means.

So she runs; of course she runs.

FLASH: Take Harry and go – Snape – Severus, stop. It's not – I know it looks – can you look at me?

FLASH: There are five people in the room. Two of them are shouting. The hand in his is weak, dissolving, sliding apart. It's like gripping wet sand.

FLASH: Red hair – green eyes. She is going to die, Severus – do something, do something –

FLASH: She spins on the stair – stumbles –

Wait, wait, there is something he discovered. There is something he knows. That he has the power to affect this world. That he can move through it, if – if what?

If he knows who and what he is, and he is not afraid.

Severus breaks away from the door and they dart up the stairs – all together, Lily lifted from her feet, and into the baby's room.

FLASH: The baby is shrieking, the baby – Harry – knows something is terribly wrong.

"Take Harry and run," Lily says, and hands Severus the baby.

He knows there is something wrong with this. He knows he shouldn't be the one left with Harry – something has gone terribly wrong. But somehow, he manages to dart down the stairs and out into the wood, and –

Severus stood, huffing, tears streaking both cheeks.

"I tried to tell you."

Severus startled, stumbling backward. "What – what was –?"

"I tried," Potter repeated, as though he were trying to convince Severus of something, when Severus was still trying to place himself in space and time. He looked down at his empty arms.

After all that, he hadn't managed to save the baby. The feeling of horror and despair was indescribable; he was entrusted with something small and breakable, that was now destroyed –

Severus gulped a gasp of air. Harry is all right: Harry is at Hogwarts. Severus had to picture him sitting down to lunch with Granger to get his heart back to something like a normal rhythm.

"Godric's Hollow is always like that," Potter was going on. "It's my fault."

"W-what?" Severus couldn't imagine what could motivate Potter to keep that scene replaying again and again.

"I get trapped in it once in awhile, myself," Potter admitted, scrubbing at the back of his neck. "It's hard to – it's hard to push past it."

"That one's – yours," Severus managed, raking a hand through the hair that had fallen into his eyes. "Your Azkaban."

Potter tilted his head to the side, his eyes suddenly too old in his young face, too knowing.

"...also mine?" Severus wondered, the realization growing in him like the blossom of some poisonous flower, tingling through him. "I've been here before, I entered, I – You said that Sirius forgets you've come for him – how many times did I come in, how many times did I...?"

A second realization shuddered through Severus with more force than the first. "Black," he gasped. "Sirius, I let go of him –" He staggered to his feet and ran for the cottage.

"Snape –" James got out, and took off after him.

Severus ignored him, throwing open the door, searching the cottage at Godric's Hollow frantically, ignoring the scene before him – he knew who he was, Severus was here to make the way, create the path, he could not fall by the wayside himself – and found Sirius pressed into a corner, his edges bleeding Azkaban-grey, lips moving soundlessly.

"Black, Black," Severus shouted, and hauled him to his feet and shoved him out of the cottage. Black fell, gasping, to the earth, or what passed for it, here.

Severus collapsed beside him, flipping over onto his back to gaze at the bright sky. His hand had fallen amongst the thorns of the roses alongside the path, but so long as he didn't yank himself away, it did no harm.

James Potter entered his field of vision, worried hazel eyes blink-blinking as he leaned over the pair of them. "You're all right," he said, uncertainly.

Twenty-one. He's twenty-one, Severus thought unaccountably. Lots of boys still have a few centimeters to grow when they're twenty-one. "I'm perfectly all right, Mister Potter," he said, slowly withdrawing his hand from its thorny cage and turning to face Black. To his shock, he'd managed to keep hold of Black with his other hand, tangled at the back of his robes. "Mister Black?"

Sirius turned onto his side, huffing with shock and fear. Severus moved to assist him, but Black reached out a hand to snag Severus's sleeve and clenched his fist in the black material, then hid his face in shame.

"It only makes sense to stick together in such a place," Severus said calmly, knowing he had to legitimize Sirius's action before his shame shifted into anger. "How many times," he added.

James was still blinking at him uncertainly.

"I was wondering how many times you had hauled me free of there," Severus said. "The question still stands."

James was trying on bravado, which was so odd that Severus stared. It was odd because he could tell it was a front, now, but he remembered the exact same expression sending a bolt of fury through him when he was younger – Severus picking at James picking at Severus. "Enough," James said, the exact same way Potter, trembling, had faced off against Draco Malfoy, wand aloft: scared, Potter?

You wish.

Severus had the odd thought that he'd always thought Harry was so much like James, and never once had he thought that James was anything like Harry. He'd naively placed all of Harry's irritating qualities under a heading called James Potter and all of his positive ones in two other columns entitled Lily Evans and upbringing. It was more than a bit sobering really, how stupid he'd been.

"I'm in your debt, then," Severus said with a shudder. "That was... unpleasant, eh, Black?"

Sirius warbled into the dirt and panted a little.

"No, no, you're staying right here with us," Severus said bracingly, shaking him at the shoulder. "Sit up, that's it. Merlin, my kingdom for some Pepper-Up. Or chocolate," he added soberly, thinking of Remus.

"Merlin, he sounds just like –"

"He does that, sometimes," Black said, the first coherent thing he'd muttered since the murder of the Potters on repeat.

"Exactly what do I sometimes do?" Severus murmured, though he thought he knew. Harry had more than once commented that when Severus wanted to 'get on' with people, he adopted Remus's mannerisms. Severus supposed it didn't take a genius of Merlianic proportions to recognize that Remus was better at massaging people into doing as he wanted than Severus on his best day. It made sense Severus would try to use some of his techniques to produce the same result.

Potter and Black merely eyed each other as only decade-old friends could, what Remus would have called a 'speaking look'. It didn't speak aloud, however.

"In any case," Severus said, "I do think we must be going. I've done what I came here to do, and..." He paused, clearing his throat. "Mister Potter, unfortunately I have no earthly idea what becomes of anyone who belongs here, then dares to leave."

"Oh, only all three Deathly Hallows could do that, reckon," James said, shoving his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels.

Severus stared, and Sirius gawped. They exchanged a helpless, gobsmacked glance.

"I'd forgotten," Sirius admitted faintly.

Yes, Severus had forgotten too, and little wonder.

"What?"

"The Deathly Hallows. Death said we should ask about them," Sirius said. "That we should ask you, Jamie. What have you been messing with?"

"Me?" Potter asked, with a wide-eyed expression of sublime innocence that looked more like Draco Malfoy at his worst than any version of Harry Potter. "What have I done?"

"That's just what I want to know," Black pressed.

"Well, I haven't done anything," James persisted. "But if you must know, the Cloak could be a Hallow. Dad told me the year he died. Thought he was taking the mickey, of course."

Severus would have stomped off in a fury if Black weren't still clutching his sleeve like a four-year-old in a crowded grocery. "That. That blasted Cloak. Is a Deathly Hallow."

"Well, so family legend goes," James said dismissively. "Merlin, Snape, don't make such a fuss. It's not like I really believed it was. You know, I thought it was something like the way the Blacks swear they've got Boudicca's armor."

Severus thought he might explode from horror. "All this time... Potter..."

"What?"

"No, Harry... has been teetering on the brink of being the Master of Death."

"Hardly," James scoffed, "unless I was too."

"Prongs," Black said, "that is easily the scariest thing I've ever heard. And I died a bit."

For once, Severus was in complete agreement with Sirius Black.

"Shut it," James said easily. "Anyway, there are two more, right? One-third the Master of Death is hardly the Master of Death at all."

But Severus was frowning to himself, putting it together. Surely Potter would have the Cloak; surely the Stone would be with the other items of Dumbledore's bequest, if Dumbledore had willed it to Harry as he claimed. Severus already knew to whom the Wand belonged, if matters were the same as in his own reality.

Merlin above, it was in reach, wasn't it?

Severus swallowed. "Potter – if I were to... call. If your son needed help, and if by some truly Potteresque stroke of luck we happened to have the Hallows. Would it even be possible for you to come?"

Potter shrugged, laconic with all the willpower in his frame, but Severus could see him thinking carefully. "I mean, I would come, of course I would. But I don't know what sort of power I'd have in the waking world. The best I could do would be, like, 'Go on, Harry, mate! We love you!' And I can't imagine what that would feel like, wanting to help him and – being able to see him, but not – I mean, he was just so tiny when I last held him," James babbled, "all snug in my arms and now I'd be telling him to fight for the glory of the Potter name?" He shook his head. "Merlin, Snape, what good would I do?"

Snape's heart sank. "I see."

"If there were any way, any way at all, you know I would. You'll do all right by him, though?" James said, looking at them both, now, eyes desperate. He reached both hands out to them, and clasped one of Sirius's hands and one of Severus's, squeezing hard.

Here, at least, it felt solid as anything. Solid and, Severus was surprised to note, warm.

"Of course, Mister Potter," Severus said gently.

"Sometimes I can see. Just a glimpse," Potter said forlornly. "And don't get me wrong, Snape, I'm glad he has you. But I'd be gladder if he had me," he added, fierce.

"I know," Severus said, returning the squeeze of James's hand and releasing him.

"Guess this is goodbye, Padfoot," James said, and clasped Sirius to him. "I don't know how you'll leave, but if I know this place –"

Suddenly, they were standing at the shore of a vast stream, tributaries dissolving off into the mist. The tail-end of the skiff was bobbing to and fro – empty – while the front wore a furrow in the sand. Heavy mist hinted at the presence of rough waters, perhaps a waterfall just out of sight. Severus squeezed Black's arm to ensure he was still quite solid; he was, but Potter was nowhere to be seen.

"I didn't get to pass on the message," Severus said. He frowned, and picked a stick up from the crashing beach.

With a decisive hand, he wrote,

HARRY POTTER SENDS HIS LOVE, and tossed the stick to the sand.

Sirius looked down at the sand, then back up at Severus. "Who the hell are you, anyhow?"

"I am the man who keeps his promises," Severus said, "even to you."

Sirius frowned, and suddenly he was sixteen, freshly kicked out of the Black family home, wary-eyed. His school scarf fluttered in the breeze, only it was Slytherin green. "Is that true?" he said, a world in the words.

Severus bit down on his tongue to keep from saying anything that might cause Black to flutter away on that selfsame wind. "You'll have to wait and see, won't you?" Severus replied. "Come along, then, Mister Black, into the skiff; we'll navigate together."

Severus pushed the skiff into the water and clambered inside, Black behind him; then, he then stood at the prow, peering into the distance ahead. He cast a charm and the mists parted a bit, but showed only that they were floating in water and drifting forward, something Severus could have divined for himself.

Black tossed the edge of his scarf over his shoulder and stood as well, gazing off into the mist. "There are pathways," he said.

For the first time, Severus saw it, too... that the way split, and meandered... that as the wind shifted, one way was illuminated, and then another...

Black shivered and thrust his hands in his cloak pockets. "Which way?"

"I learned at Godric's Hollow that it is intention and purpose that gives us control over our surroundings," Severus said. "Perhaps that is what will show us the way."

Black looked up at him out of wide, grey eyes so like Draco's. He scanned Severus's features, then cast a helpless look around the Between. "Intention and purpose," he repeated, with a keen student's determined, parroting air.

It hadn't escaped Severus's notice that in the Between, he was always the same man, whereas Sirius had been in his thirties, twenties, and teens. Perhaps it was only a matter of time before Severus was left with a squalling baby, but somehow he doubted it. He suspected that Sirius had finally found his true form: that Azkaban had captured Black in time like a fly in amber.

"What?" Black pressed.

"I think," Severus said, experimentally, "that only I can pave the way forward. You do not know where we are going, and you do not know those who stand to meet us."

"I know Remus," Sirius said. "I know Harry." But he was stating facts, and his voice was even.

"You do," Severus agreed, "but we are not to meet your Remus or your Harry. It's a long story, but a few explorers were lost along the way. They are safe, but we must retrieve them. I think I can find the way, but you will have to hold fast to me."

The grey eyes flickered in Sirius's expressive face. "I won't let go," he said, and grabbed a good handful of Severus's robes and tugged for emphasis.

Severus closed his eyes until he held the image of Draco Malfoy in his mind: the whinging, entitled, spoilt brat, who'd begun to love Harry Potter in spite of himself. The way that love had, as love does, opened Draco's insular world enough to let others slip in: Ron and Ginny Weasley, and Granger and Zabini. The way that love had lifted his gaze to Lord Voldemort's and made him choose death-and-Harry. His regret at passing information about Severus to the Death Eaters, his atonement...

He felt a sense of motion, heard the sound of the skiff cutting through the water.

...Ron Weasley, himself. Severus's earlier memories of the boy involved a lot of overly-jocular attitude and a deep (and all-too-obvious) desire to appear as impressive and interesting as his two best friends. Oddly, that had changed with the addition of a fourth member to his insular little group. Somehow, Draco made Ron feel it was safe to be himself; or else Draco's exaggerated attitude dampened Ron's. Severus held a warm memory in his mind, details sharpened by long familiarity with Occlumency:

Severus entered the Hospital Wing, ostensibly to drop off some Scaradicate Solution, but in reality to check on Draco Malfoy, who'd been out of class for three days. To his shock, Ronald Weasley sat perched on Draco's bed, seated across from him; a chess board lay between them, the pieces showing they were mid-game. Weasley was staring at the board, but Draco stared at Weasley: darting little glances he did not believe Ron would catch. Incredulous glances, as though he could not quite believe Ron were real. They were both distracted enough not to see Severus slip into Poppy's empty office and set the Potion down on her desk before turning to observe the boys from the shadowed doorway.

"Ha! Check and mate," Ron declared, sliding his bishop into position.

Draco gaped in a manner that was so comical that Severus could hardly hold in a chortle himself, and he expected Weasley to roll on the floor laughing; but Weasley was offering up a cautious smile, instead, the features of a boy who knew he stood on shaky ground.

"You cheated," Draco said. "Where did you learn this? You cheated."

Then Ron did laugh, scooping up the pieces, which were cheering in victory, and carefully stowing them away. "Sure, Malfoy, you tell yourself so," he agreed. "Only the Slytherin's on your side of the board."

Draco huffed. "Well, I don't know how you keep on winning."

"Should I let you win?" Weasley asked, and it was impossible to tell whether he was serious or not.

"Don't be stupid," Draco snipped. "I'll get you one of these nights, Weasley. Just keep coming back," he ordered, with a queer little waver in his voice he couldn't quash in time. His free hand stroked a fresh bandage wrapped about his forearm.

" 'Course, mate, same time tomorrow night," Weasley said, and waved.

He didn't see the way that Draco mouthed the word mate silently, as though testing the flavour of the word on his tongue.

Draco didn't see that Weasley lingered at the door to the Hospital Wing, fidgeting with his bag of chess pieces, abstracted. "They'll come 'round," he whispered to himself, re-tying the drawstring more tightly. A fierce, determined look crept across his features. "They've got to," he added, sneaking one last look to Draco, who was settling into the hospital cot behind him. Weasley slipped out the main door and into the hallway, joining the door carefully to the jamb.

The water was rushing past, now, the spray splashing Severus's robes and hands. That memory had taken them a long way, it seemed, and for the first time it occurred to Severus to wonder if these paths weren't choices; if, by summoning an unusual memory, he was going to the reality to which those memories belonged. To test his theory, he conjured the memory of a conversation that had taken place here in the Between: the baby and Harry and Dumbledore. But the skiff continued to cut through the water like it was pushed by a spell.

That Harry, Severus thought, more desperate and more alone than his own, though gathering allies by the day. Part of him was glad Draco and Ronald were there to help him, as his task seemed far more onerous than theirs. Harry's core goodness that made him who he was had guaranteed he'd take the child back with him, and Severus was burning with curiosity as to how that action had translated in the waking world...

Please, he thought again, please let me bring them home.

The skiff jolted and Severus instinctively opened his eyes as he sought to regain his balance.

The small craft had pulled up onto a beach populated by scraggly grass, the lapping sound of the water, a few dark-colored rocks, and an old, black door that, though upright, did not appear to be anchored to anything.

"We did it," said a wondering voice at his side.

Severus turned to find that Sirius was still there at his right hand, chunk of robes gripped in one, white-knucked fist, expression sobered. "That's it," he went on, jerking a nod at the black monstrosity. "It's the same as the one at the Department of Mysteries."

Severus said nothing, approaching the Door while keeping a firm grip on the boy at his side. It was not anchored to anything on the other side, either, he discerned as he paced around the thing, but he did not know why he expected the gateway between life and death to follow the laws of physics or conventional magical principles. If his time here had taught him anything, it was that this world was what he supposed it to be, clay to be molded in the shape of his thoughts. The Door was the first thing that refused to adapt to his expectations; and to the tentative fingers of his magic, it felt solid. Immovable. Immutable. A fixed point.

"What're we waiting for?" Sirius said. "I'd like to get out of here, if it's all the same to you."

Severus turned to him. "Very well. Listen to me a moment, first. Listen carefully." He waited until Sirius's large grey eyes were fastened on his. "If this is to go wrong," he said, knowing that by saying it he might well be increasing the possibility in a place such as this. "If it does, you may well end up back in Azkaban."

Sirius's features flickered like a dying Lumos charm between the deepened lines of his face, his furrowed brow, his dirt-smudged cheeks, and this newer, younger visage.

"If you do," Severus said, "you must remember that it is not real. You must hold the idea firm in your mind that however many times you go back, that is how many times I will come after you." Severus felt his smile turn sinister. "You remember me at school, Padfoot," he said. "I never, ever gave up or gave in. Did I?"

Sirius shook his head. "Stubbornest bastard," he said, low.

"That's right," Severus replied. "So. That much is up to you."

"To remember that you're coming for me," Sirius repeated gamely. "No matter what. No matter how many times."

"Five points, Mister Black," Severus said, suddenly glad that the business with the Unsorted House had made it second nature to award points to the student and not the House.

Sirius was wearing that queerly wary expression again, though, staring into Severus's face. "You always looked a little like him, you know," he said. "Maybe that was always a little bit of the problem between you and me." Sirius shook his head. "But it doesn't matter; you're nothing like him, really. For one thing," he added with a sideways grin that looked odd on his youthful features, "you haven't let go of me, yet."

Severus looked down at where he was gripping Sirius's forearm. "...if I let go, you could go back to Azkaban."

"He wouldn't have cared," Sirius said, voice wobbling a bit at the end, before he scoffed. "Don't know why I'm going on like this. I just feel weird."

"All boys your age feel that way," Severus said with calculated condescension, and to his shock, it worked: Black rolled his eyes and smiled again, weakly.

Together they approached the door and Severus placed the flat of his free hand against it.

Solid. It was solid and warm, like James's hand.

Sirius placed the flat of his own, smaller palm beside Severus's, fingers long and gangly, presaging his grown-up height. He exchanged a loaded glance with Severus, full of worry and wonder and behind it all, a wellspring of hope just beginning to bubble up through the depths of him.

Severus took in a long, slow breath and placed his hand to the knob. For a moment, he feared it should be locked; and why wouldn't it be? But perhaps because they had permission to leave, or perhaps because they did not belong there at all, or perhaps because they had fought and bit and crawled their way to this tiny island with its gravity-defying door, the knob turned easily under Severus's hand.

The door opened on soundless hinges to reveal a black beyond blackness. It was not like looking at the inside of his closed lids, or even like looking up into the vast emptiness of space on a clear evening, because at least the night sky held stars. This was a black beyond imagining, so black that it did not feel as though the name of a paint colour could possibly describe it; instead, it was looking into vacuum, into an absence so profound that it prodded the gaze away.

"Uh, wow," said Black intelligently, though Severus could not find it in even his sour heart to blame him. "So, we're gonna, uh, walk through that."

"We are," Severus said, not allowing himself to falter.

Sirius's young throat bobbed, but he nodded a beat later.

Perhaps there was something to be said for Gryffindors, after all. Sirius was pale and trembling and so, so young, a thing of too-long limbs and heartbeat fluttering in his neck, but he swallowed and nodded and looked to Severus.

And Severus, true to form, put one foot before the other until the edge of his serviceable black boot began to disappear into the aether, and with it all of the feeling in his toes. It did not hurt – it nothinged – in the most disconcerting way. "It's all right," he told Black, even though he was not the least bit sure it was. "Though perhaps we'd best go swiftly."

"Like through the barrier to Platform 9 ¾ ," Sirius said.

Severus found himself rooted to the sand, but he needn't have worried about his own lack of Gryffindor bravery: Sirius Black was, as always, already rushing where angels feared to tread. And it had already become instinct to never let go of him, no matter the provocation.

So it was that Severus Snape tumbled out of the Between nearly headfirst, to land in a heap of limbs with Sirius Black.

A/N: So, I spent some time putting this up on Archive of Our Own; my handle there is the same, so if you prefer it there, you can read the story there. A few tweaks and such have been done there, since it is the later version.

I have had a protracted illness, hence my long departure from fiction in general and this story in particular, but while I am not well, I am working from home and back up to 65% capacity. This may sound sad to healthies, but I absolutely celebrate it, having at one time been at about 20% capacity! I am a new person compared to two years ago, and markedly healthier than one year ago, and which of us can hope for more?

While the rest of this story is not written, it is plotted out by chapter, and I am excited to keep it going. That said, part of why I posted is because of a particular request from a longtime reader and reviewer and partially because I'm hoping that reader comments will encourage me to push forward! I have a special place in my heart for this series and would never abandon it.

Thanks for reading and reviewing, and keep fighting, my friends!