InsaneJournal

Oh God . . . he knew James would kill him if he knew about his ex-relationship, he knew that. But now even the boy's greasy hair was alluring. That damn Vampire and his attractive qualities . . . never thought he'd say that, ever. But there it was all the same, because Sirius Black, pureblood, prodigal son never to return, Gryffindor, was infatuated by Snape.

Actually, it wasn't so much who he was infatuated with, but what he was infatuated with. No, he didn't mean the vampire aspect. Actually, he found that incredibly sexy somehow. It was that Snape was decidedly male.

Snape obviously thought the break-up was personal, what with all the bullying over the years. But he had always, Sirius realized in retrospect, had a tendency to head toward the other boy, Snape.

It's not you, Sirius pictured himself saying and almost laughed out loud, it's your penis.

But, oh God . . . they'd had sex. They had. It had been brilliant, brilliant, unimaginably awesome sex—but it was gay sex all the same. He'd thought he just wasn't interested in any of the girls fawning over him because they were so desperate for him. He had wanted an equal, not a subservient, immature pile of skin that he could kick and wouldn't fight him back. That was for Slytherins, most definitely.

Thinking back, he'd always chalked up his appreciation for James's body to other things on account of their close friendship, but . . . . He was not having this conversation with himself—he wasn't! He could close his eyes and count silently to five, and when he opened them his mind would have moved onto a better subject.

But then Snape entered the courtyard and pursed his lips upon spotting Sirius. Fabulous, just fabulous. This was the day from Hell. He'd already been scoffed at by Snape at the next table when he botched his potion from lack of attentiveness and had been berated by Slughorn afterward for the same, asking him if he were alright. What was he going to say, "I've just been thinking about the way I had wonderful sex with Snape and then broke up with him because I don't want people to know I was attracted to a bloke"? He wouldn't say that to save his own life, much less to answer a question that seemed a mere formality.

"Oh, it's nothing," he lied smoothly. "I just stayed up last night working on some extra-credit."

"Hard-worker in your other classes are you?" He tutted at him.

"I like knowing my strengths and weaknesses," he said casually. But as he left the classroom, he thought of a weakness besides lacking the attentiveness for potions-making. That weakness was the best potions-maker in the entire school: Severus Snape. He supposed he was one of the very few people who realized that, and that was after noting Snape's essay grades and watching how he experimented with the potions—hell, Sirius couldn't even do them from the book's careful instruction. Although, he supposed Snape had such an interesting mind that he perhaps was no better at following directions.

Snape, Snape, Snape. All he though about was that ridiculous Slytherin and how he still wanted him. And it may never wear off. One day, he supposed, he would have to do something about it, and he himself was slightly aware that when he did something it was almost certainly going to be very rash and fairly stupid.

The idea struck him one day while he was staring into the empty, sooty fireplace located in the middle of a wall of Gryffindor's common room. He could pull it off, Snape would definitely listen to him even still. He saw the glimmer of desire in the endless eyes, couldn't help but see the glances Snape gave him that suggested he was not feeling as shut-off from Sirius as he would have him believe. And vice versa, if he were honest with himself.

What he would do, he thought to himself, was scare Snape away. That way he would stop being tempted to fix things with the boy, or even to have to apologize. And he had an idea as to how to do it.

Remus would be the key. He had never seen Remus seriously injure anyone, though he didn't realize this was because he and James were animals. This year had been wonderful so far with them becoming animagi, and Peter too. Remus was so kind and tentative. Snape would be fine. It wasn't like he would stick around after seeing the sight of a werewolf, if he had any sense.

He just had to initiate his plan. He would hand Snape a note, that was it.

"Snape,

Come outside on Tuesday night, after the moon's out so you

can see. Head to the Whomping Willow. It's where Remus

goes every month. To get into it, all you have to do is get a

stick or something and hit the big knot on the trunk.

It's simple enough.

Sirius."

The note was slipped into Snape's hand casually as he left class, but he lingered to see Snape's reaction to it. Snape turned to Sirius and nodded. Perfect. With any luck, Snape might even think he was the werewolf. Slytherins got odd about that sort of thing.

James had seen the note. "What were you writing to Snivellus about?"

"I'll tell you later."

James shrugged. "Alright."

James bothered him about it the next two days, acting casual about it, but it was suspicious behavior indeed for Sirius to pass disgusting, greasy slimeballs notes in class. On Tuesday night he pressed him again. Sirius looked outside and saw the moon through the dormitory window. "I told him how to get into the Willow. Should give him a good scare."

James paled. "What the hell are you thinking half the time? Are you a complete moron?! Come on, we have to get to him before Remus bites him or tears him to shreds."

Remus . . . he hadn't considered the risk to Remus—if anything . . . untoward happened, he would be expelled for one, and most likely sent to Azkaban.

They ran down stairs and out the front doors to the grounds, following Snape who'd just gone into the Willow right before their eyes.

"No!" cried James, speeding up and using Snape's stick to prod the not. "I won't fit, you have to turn into a dog. NOW."

Sirius did and preceded James into the tunnel, bounding to catch up with Snape who was about to get to Remus. Would Remus really eat him? Sirius felt sick.

"Snape!" called James, "Don't go in there."

He turned to look at James, startled. "Sirius told me how to get in," he said quietly, then staring at the dog.

"He . . . he was being stupid. You have to believe me when I say that entering that room won't be pleasant. Oh no . . . get behind the dog, Snape. We've got to get out of here while we still can . . . ."

"What are you talking about?"

All of a sudden, what James was talking about was all too clear. Teeth bared, there was a real live werewolf in the room in front of him. The color—what little of it there was—had all drained from his face.

Sirius ran forward, just as the werewolf had been about to lunge at the one-fourth vampire.

"Snape!" James called again, and pushed him toward the door where they both started running to get out of the shack, Sirius fighting the werewolf until he came out a couple minutes later.

There were tears in Snape's eyes as he stared blankly at the tree that was punching the air, as if looking through it or past it, and not at it. His eyes held the unmistakable pain of a man betrayed.

No, this . . . this was a bit excessive, even for what he had already known he was capable of. But, well . . . it was an accident, really. He certainly hadn't intended for Snape to be bitten or murdered in cold blood and snacked upon until Remus gnawed on the bone of one of his appendages. He shuddered, laying panting on the ground, scratched up and bitten by the wolf, but not seeming to notice, and most of all not seeming to care. He had too much on his mind to care right now.

The hurt look on Snape's face was painful to watch and he flinched, silently berating himself. He got up and laid his head on James's lap, who merely stiffened and did not pet him. He did not even look at him.

"I suppose you're going to tell on him now. I'm coming with you. Alright, Snape?"

Snape looked, repressing the shivering he had been plagued with upon sprawling on the grass, exhausted both physically and mentally. Sirius felt exhausted now too.

He didn't change back until Snape had already followed James up to the grand staircase, which was the castle-tall room full of moving sets of stairs. An owl flew in from a nearby window, though he didn't know precisely where from, and Dumbledore told him to come to his office. Immediately.

He felt sick again, nauseous. But at least he got what he wished for. He didn't suppose Snape's still-interested glances would ever again occur, not aimed at him. He supposed the saying shouldn't be "Be careful what you wish for." It should, instead, he thought, be "Be careful how you get it."