The Death Debt

Chapter 9

Something inside Sirius was pulled taut, snapped, and then– lightness. There had been a heavy, constricting vice wrapped around his soul and he hadn't even noticed, not until it disappeared. Sirius had no word to describe what he felt now except freedom.

He faltered mid-swing when the snap occurred, stumbled, and nearly fell into...

He could see feet. Feet, legs, and a torso. There were hands and arms and shoulders, and right above the shoulders...

Don't think. It's dangerous to think.

He wouldn't look at it. If he didn't look, he wouldn't think about it. Sirius dropped his bat and turned around; there were more important things to think about. Severus! Was Severus alright?

"Snape?" Sirius asked, peering at the figure huddled in the corner.

Severus was hunched over, his hair hanging limply in front of face, his hands tucked underneath his armpits. He sniffled and Sirius realized he was crying; he had never seen him cry before, Severus would never let himself cry in front of him. The closest he had gotten was when he had run after James, found Severus being dragged from the Whomping Willow, James's cloak halfway off of his head. Severus's eyes had been red-rimmed and glossy, his breath ragged, and if he had blinked Sirius was sure a tear would have fallen. "Snape? Are you hurt?"

Severus lifted his face. There were tear tracks running down his red-flecked cheeks. The hair near his left eye was much shorter than the rest of his hair and the ends were fried and crispy. Severus slowly pulled his hands out from underneath his armpits and held them up.

Sirius could only see colors– black and red and pink in a funny waffle-shaped pattern.

Sirius dropped his bat. He felt something wet splatter against him when it fell into a puddle. But he wouldn't think about that. "Okay, okay, I still have some of Pomfrey's burn cream. It's in my suitcase. I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere."

The look Severus gave him almost made him want to laugh. He could almost hear Snivellus saying, And where do you think I'm going to go, Black?

Sirius ran from the kitchen and bounded up the stairs two at a time. His suitcase was still open and he spotted the cream almost immediately. Tucking it underneath his arm he left the room, only to pull up short.

Mrs Snape's door was open.

Sirius peeked inside. The master bedroom was as dark and gloomy as the rest of the house, but he could see the bed with its faded quilt, the embroidered pillows strewn across the floor, and a deep valley on one side of the mattress where Mrs Snape must spend her days. There was a small side table next to the bed with a framed picture on top. It was their wedding day; speckles of rice were suspended in the air, Mrs Snape was staring up, up at the sky as she exited the church, her mouth wide open mid-laugh. Her arm was wrapped around Mr Snape's and he was smiling, leaning forward as if he was about to kiss her.

He turned his head. Mrs Snape was silently inching her way down the stairs, her shaking hands grasping at the railing, and a low, quiet moan was slowly building up in her chest. It was as if she already knew what she was going to find.

"Mrs Snape, wait!" Sirius called out, and reached out to take hold of her arm, but she snatched it away from him and, with a speed he didn't know she was capable of, took off at a run.

Mrs Snape stumbled on the last step, landed on her knees, and was up again, running straight for the kitchen. "Snape! Stop her!" Sirius yelled, but the woman pushed right past her son, shouldering into him, rounded the kitchen table and– stopped. The low moan exploded into a heart-wrenching wail. Her spidery, claw-like hands reached up to grab her own face as she looked down at her husband, her broken, uneven fingernails digging into her skin.