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[st]utter in riddled chain-link [lim]it a body
an unstable [volt]age. dense [mus]cled [s]urge
thru much dark & primal [b]lushed [bit]ter
mire or [f]lux in form. wing or [gi]zard, stem
in sprout, [sun]lit gimmick [bl]ossom or [g]litter
gash the wet sea open fin or fang [p]ried
loose a ridge or [s]pine. tense [mus]ical
[sc]ales condensed syrinx from [sum]mer
[plum]age or graft. limb. teeth or tin, mem-
brane [shel]ter.
—Cody-Rose Clevidence, “King//dom”
Severus leaves a note on the refrigerator on the day he’s supposed to introduce Sirius to Minerva: NO TO THE FAGGOT SHIRT, “no” having been underlined three times. Sirius pouts at the fridge, but he hadn’t ever even pulled it out as a serious contender for today.
He’d worn the shirt the second day he’d ever seen Severus; the man had invited him over for dinner, taken a look at the blaring letters screaming, THAT’S MR FAGGOT TO YOU, and said, in a perfect deadpan, “Welcome to my home, Mr. Faggot.”
Sirius had known then and there that he was going to fall in love with him, however unwise it was. He hadn’t made a big deal out of it, at least not until three days later, crying at the pub into gin so bad he had food poisoning the next day. Remus had patted his shoulder, and said, “You’ve only met him twice. You can still break it off.”
Sirius hiccuped and clutched the gin to him. “I don’t want to.”
“You really want to be with someone closeted? You really want to do that to yourself.”
“It’s not like I come out to everyone.”
Remus gestured at his shirt, a Tom of Finland print with two leather-clad mens’ bulges touching. “Okay,” Sirius mumbled. “Point taken. But I knew we were coming here!”
“You’re conspicuous, Padfoot. I love you very much, in part because of that, but you are inescapably and undeniably conspicuous.”
Sirius hugged the gin harder. “Whatever.”
A month later Remus had met Severus; he’d watched them together in obvious wonder, and said, as he was leaving, “Okay. I get it now. Hang onto him, Padfoot. He’s good for you.”
“Believe me,” Sirius had said. “I intend to.”
And now it’s been six months, Bear and Sirius live at Severus’s house, and Severus is introducing him to his favorite colleague. Minerva. He’s not sure how to even talk without coming across as hopelessly queer; he supposes the best route of action is to simply pretend he and Severus aren’t together, which strikes him as so upsetting and disingenuous and just plain sad that it makes his toes numb. But it turns out he loves Severus more than he loves his pride, so he wears the least gay clothing he owns, an outfit he’d usually reserve for a funeral, and sets out for Severus and Minerva’s favorite café.
The woman sitting next to Severus is so fabulous she takes his breath away, and he aches to tell her so, but manages, barely, to restrain himself. “Hi,” he says, trying for even, failing. He knows he has a gay voice, a gay face, gay mannerisms; he tries to hold out his hand in a heterosexual way, straight up and down, firm, unmoving. “I’m Sirius. Nice to meet you.”
Minerva stands, taking his hand, and he shakes hers briskly. “I’ve heard so much about you,” Minerva says warmly. “I never thought Severus of all people would find a flatmate.”
“I, er—I’ve heard about you too.” Sirius sits. He still wants to tell her how gorgeous she is, and can’t find a non-gay way of saying it. “He didn’t tell me you were fabulous.”
Sirius winces. Severus sighs. Minerva looks delighted. “He didn’t tell me you were nice!”
“I’m obsessed with your outfit,” Sirius says, and Severus sighs again and gazes at him with such overwhelming fondness that Sirius feels a little embarrassed for him. “Let’s go through it piece by piece, please. Start with the shoes, and then up to that hat. I need all the details.”
Minerva grins. The process of reviewing her fit takes them all the way through the end of the appetizers, and she laughs and dabs at her mouth with a napkin and gives Severus a wry look. “He doesn’t strike me as your type, Severus.”
Severus doesn’t even attempt to deny it. Instead, he looks carefully blank. “Blind date. Lily and her fiancé set us up. You won’t tell anyone at school, will you?”
“Of course not,” Minerva says firmly. “I’m so happy for you. Really. I like him.”
“Me too,” Severus says. “Unfortunately.”
Sirius laughs, and Minerva laughs too, and then a voice comes from behind Sirius. “Professor Snape? Professor McGonagall?”
“Shit,” Severus hisses, and then looks up and lets out a strained smile. “Lucius! What a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see a member of the school board today.”
Shit, Sirius thinks, and tries to make himself as small as possible. Minerva’s face is a mess of tight lines; she’s not even attempting to smile. “Who’s this?” Lucius asks, a dangerous hint to his voice, rapping a tall, obviously decorative cane with a handle like a silver snake, emeralds embedded in the eyes.
“This is my friend, Sirius,” Severus says shortly. “He’s an activist. Nothing you need to concern yourself over.”
“Anyone interesting enough to come to your attention is certainly worth mine,” Lucius says silkily. “Tell me, Sirius. How did you and Professor Snape meet?”
“We were introduced by our friends,” Sirius whispers, hoping it’ll help conceal his innate himness, wishing he could turn invisible instead. “They thought we’d get along.”
“And why is that?”
“Severus is funny. I like—I appreciate funny people.”
“He certainly is,” Lucius says, a thin smile gracing his lips. “Speaking of funny. I don’t suppose you’d like to explain Draco’s latest lab grade to me, Professor Snape?”
Severus glances at Sirius, then at Lucius. “I should think he would be the one doing the explaining, Mr. Malfoy. He spent the entirety of the lab portion attempting to sabotage Mr. Weasley’s work. The majority of his lab sheet was filled out in Miss Parkinson’s handwriting. He didn’t even try to conceal any of this.”
Lucius looks unsurprised. “My son is very special, Mr. Snape. I won’t have you or anyone else hindering his education.”
“Grades are earned, Mr. Malfoy. I cannot in good conscience give your son a grade he doesn’t deserve.”
“And I would never ask you to,” Lucius lies. “But I know that class performance is often tied to the quality of our educators. I wonder if perhaps he would fare better from someone with a little more… compassion.”
“If I didn’t have compassion, I’d have quit my job years ago. What your son needs is discipline.”
“I’m sure you’d know all about discipline.” Lucius glances at Sirius again. “You’re his friend. Tell me, what do you think he’s like as a teacher?”
Sirius tries to speak, clears his throat, and forces the words out. “Stern but fair.” Then, before he can stop himself: “Something about which I’m sure you know nothing. Tell me, exactly how spoiled is your son?”
Minerva laughs. Lucius’s face grows pinched. “Draco is a perfectly normal teenager.”
“He’s a spoiled brat, sounds like.” Sirius sits back in his chair. “You wanted to be a politician, right? An MP, or maybe Prime Minister. But instead you’re on the school board. Do you lie awake at night dreaming of what it must feel like to hold real power?”
“Sirius!” Severus hisses. Minerva is looking at Sirius in open admiration. Lucius is a little red. “Mr. Malfoy, I am so sorry, I—”
“I see why you like him,” Lucius says stiffly, and then his face is dispassionate, calm and controlled again. “I’ll talk to Draco. Maybe we can work out an alternative for him.”
“Indeed,” Severus says. “Good to see you, Lucius.”
“And you, Professors Snape, McGonagall. A pleasure to meet you, Sirius.” The words are dripping with insincerity. He raps his cane twice. “Good day.”
When Lucius leaves, all three of them sit together for a long, silent moment. The restaurant’s fountain burbles; a child giggles in the background. Above them, streaks of cirrus clouds cascade and interrupt one another like runners on a boundless, infinite track. Severus draws in a deep breath, then another.
“Well, at least I didn’t wear the faggot shirt,” Sirius says, and Minerva bursts out laughing.