The Death Debt

Chapter 4

"You can let us out here."

Sirius shook himself awake. The long car ride had devolved into icy silence– Lily glaring suspiciously at Snape, Snape lying through his teeth and keeping his eyes riveted to the scenery passing by, and Sirius squished awkwardly on the other side, trying not to attract too much attention. Which was hard in and of itself; he's Sirius Black, he can't help the attention he attracts.

Mr Evans sighed at Snape's command, but didn't fight him on it. He pulled off the road beside a barren park, turned in his seat and said to Snape, "Keep out of trouble, will you? I don't want to hear about you getting mauled by... by a dragon or what have you."

Snape gave him a small, awkward smile, the kind that would sometimes bloom whenever Slughorn gave him any small praise in class.

"Yes, sir," Snape said and Mr Evans nodded his head in acknowledgement.

"You're eating Christmas dinner with us, right?" Lily asked as Snape climbed out of the car. Sirius quickly followed suit, jogging to the back to pull out his suitcase from the boot.

"I don't know, I'll have to talk with my Mum–"

Lily's pretty face twisted into something dark. "She doesn't care if you eat with us. You've been blowing off Christmas with us for years now."

"Lils–"

"It's fine. I don't care. Have fun with Black."

She reached out and grabbed the door Snape was still holding on to. She yanked it from his hands and slammed it shut, not even bothering to look out through the window and wave goodbye.

Sirius let out a whistle as the car made a U-turn. "Trouble in paradise?" Won't James be tinkled pink?

"Shut it, Black," Snape growled.

"So, which house is yours?" Sirius nodded at the row of houses that sat opposite to the park. They were a little rough and worn with age, the painted facades were chipped and peeling, the cast iron gates a little rusty. It looked as though it had once been a fashionable neighborhood in its heyday, the kind of place where doctors and lawyers would live. Now, though, it must belong to Snape's set, poor Muggles who couldn't even afford proper robes for their son.

Snape cackled at the question. "You think you're going to spend your holiday swanning about here? You poor, delicate pureblood. Come on, pick up your case, this place is too posh for the likes of us."

Sirius groaned as he hefted his suitcase. "You mean you're going to make us walk–"

In a matter of seconds, Snape's long-fingered hands fisted the collar of his Muggle coat and forcefully shoved him against a tree. It was only because of sheer surprise that Snape managed to get the upper hand; Snape was quite a bit shorter than Sirius, thinner, definitely weaker – Sirius spent his days swinging a beater's bat while Snape's abnormally large nose was stuck in a book – and yet Sirius made no effort to break free. He stared down at Snape in shock as the Slytherin leaned in close to his face and hissed, "If you tell anyone about my private life, I'll curse your dick off. Understand?"

He didn't wait for Sirius to reply. He gave him another push and let him go, turning sharply on his heel and matching down the street. "Well? Aren't you coming?" Snape demanded, sneering over his shoulder.

Sirius felt his face grow hot with anger and humiliation and... and... "If you ever try that again I'll choke you just like last time, Death Debt or no Death Debt."

Snape just grinned viciously and lifted his nose in the air, those bruises decorating his throat once more on display. They had faded to a sickly yellow colour. Although his burns had healed, Sirius flexed his hands at phantom pain.