Chapter Text
SIRIUS' POV
Severus Snape was an absolute prick.
He sat in his chair like an impossibly narcissistic bat, his haughty eyes surveying everyone else at the table as though they were utterly beneath him. The black hair that hung lankly around his face put Sirius in mind of a wayward youth who, despite his years, had still not developed enough emotional maturity to relinquish his emo phase.
Sirius was just itching to punch him.
Or... anyone, really. He'd been cooped up in this infernal house for so long, and he'd give anything to stave off the monotony. What he craved was a sharp fist colliding with his jaw - maybe it would snap his head back just far enough to puncture the odious suffocation of Number 12 Grimmauld Place. He longed for someone to let his anger loose on; someone to strangle. Just enough that he'd see that hint of lifelessness in their eyes, that momentary flash when their irises would reflect his own breathing death right back at him... Trapped. Immobile. Emotionless.
Stone-cold dead...
He shifted in his seat.
Dumble-bore continued to drone on about pointless information Sirius couldn't be bothered to absorb, the firelight dancing over the glass of his spectacles.
Albus was a prick as well, he decided derisively.
He just wanted to get out. Just for a while...
Snape's sallow face suddenly animated as his lips moved to answer one of Dumbledore's questions, muttering with that usual sneering drawl of his. The Dark Lord... Something, something... Blah, blah, blah...
Sirius wondered where the greasy git had been off to this week. Probably on another one of Voldemort's errands. Doing something.
Unlike him.
Rage bubbled under his skin. A culmination of the arduous days he'd waded through with nothing but Kreacher and tales of the Order's expeditions to keep him company. Of the days even before this blasted house when he'd been no better off - trapped in a dank cell in Azkaban, watching droplets of condensation slide down the freezing stone. Hearing the faint screams that would echo all through the night. Eating rats. Picking the mould off chunks of stale bread. Hungering for something.
"--Sirius?"
He blinked, registering his name and pulling himself back from the past that he'd never truly left.
"What?" He asked, turning to look at Arthur, who was frowning in his direction.
Snape scoffed.
"For someone who's so keen to be more involved with the Order, you certainly seem to be heartily invested in letting every word of this meeting fly over your head," he drawled.
Sirius saw red.
His fists clenched tightly under the table, knuckles white over the bone, the dog within him howling for a fight.
"I may be trapped in this house," Sirius growled. "But at least I don't spend my every waking moment as the Dark Lord's little slut." He spat.
"Sirius." Remus said sharply.
But Sirius couldn't give a flying fuck. He stared at Snape, grey eyes boring into black, begging silently:
Come on. Fight me. Fight me, you pompous, stuck-up, arrogant, slimy, cocksucking coward of a man.
Snape's sneer deepened.
"Careful Black, if you fail to keep that temper of yours in check, we might have to send you to the pound." Snape said silkily.
"Enough," Dumbledore interrupted, before Sirius could launch himself over the table to punch that smug cunt in his smarmy fucking face. "It's late, everyone here has had a very long day indeed, perhaps it is wise if we leave the rest of this meeting for another time." Dumbledore stood up, brushing his long purple robes. "Thank you for your hospitality, Sirius, and for very kindly allowing us to make use of your kitchen table once again. Good night."
Sirius barely noticed as the other Order members filtered out, muttering their respective goodbyes and throwing a few concerned glances his way. Remus looked like he had half a mind to talk to him, but Sirius flat out refused to meet the man's eyes, and he too, left.
The fire crackled in the hearth.
Sirius necked the rest of his Firewhisky in one large gulp, feeling it scorch down his throat.
The silence rang in his ears.