Flash and Substance by seeker

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Severus Snape glared out over the assemblage in the Great Hall of the Ministry of Magic and scowled. It was ridiculous. All flash and no substance. Rather like the other so-called honoree at the pathetic excuse for a ceremony. He shifted infinitesimally away from the man seated to his right, taking up more room than he ought, as he always had.

Sirius Black.

Getting a Medal of Valor for his service during the war, so recently and painfully won, against Voldemort.

Sharing the stage with the other deep-cover spy being awarded the same honor. Purportedly for the same reason. Not that twenty years of risking his life daily as a deep cover double agent within the ranks of the Death Eaters could be compared in any way to spending twelve years, as a dog, in Azkaban doing nothing more than surviving, then spending five running about the country, as a dog, eavesdropping and digging through the trash.

Snape felt he should be getting an Order of Merlin, Second Class if not First, for his efforts. Not that he was one to put himself forward, of course. If Dumbledore hadn't insisted, he wouldn't be here for this inanity.

Well, if Dumbledore hadn't insisted, and if Black hadn't already RSVPed.

Doing his best to ignore the man beside him, Snape swept a glare over the faculty of Hogwarts, ostensibly there to support him but in actuality there to cheer on the simian perched next to him, grinning like the idiot he was. Dumbledore and McGonagall were beaming, and Lupin, returned once more to the DADA position with his own war medal on his chest, looked like he was glowing. The uncharitable thought struck Snape to wonder if he was pregnant, but besides the idiocy of a man getting pregnant, and a sterile werewolf at that, he knew for an unfortunate fact that Lupin wasn't actually sleeping with Black.

No, that was reserved for Hooch, and damned if he was going to go there. There was something unnervingly feral about the mental image of Lupin and Hooch having sex. It made Snape's palms sweat and his neck prickle, and not in a pleasurable way.

Next to the faculty sat Potter, Weasley and Granger, there from the Aurors Training Program, no doubt on a special pass since the ape was the closest to kin Potter had, and wherever the boy wonder went so too did his sycophants. A few seats down sat Draco Malfoy, disinherited, then orphaned, now a veteran in good standing by default, since it was his turning in his own father that turned the tide of the war. Not that it had done Draco much good. He was still a pariah.

Snape knew the feeling.

A hand clamped down on his shoulder and he only kept himself from hexing the owner of said hand by supreme self-restraint. Baring his teeth in a snarl that wouldn't pass for a smile under any circumstances, he glared over at Black.

Who, being dense as a plank, left his hand where it was and actually leaned closer to say something in Snape's ear. Snape was too busy restraining himself from biting the berk to actually hear what it was, so he contented himself with a glare.

"Right?" Black prodded to whatever the hell he'd said.

The glare became a glower. "Sod off."

"I'll take that as a yes, then!" Black replied with a toothy, idiotic, altogether much too canine grin.

Before Snape could break down and ask what the question had been, the ceremony began.

It was interminable, and that was before the opening addresses were finally completed.

Close to asleep where he sat, Snape found his mind wandering. It did that often, now, as if to make up for years spent in total concentration because his life was in constant danger. Now that he could relax, internally, at least, he found himself distracted by the oddest things.

Like the way Black smelled.

Snape had always been extremely sensitive to scents. Some might say it was genetic, given the size of his nose; he preferred to believe it was a natural talent honed to perfection after years of hard work. In truth it was a little of both. However it happened, he could tell in a single whiff if a potion was true or off, and the same held true for the most part with humans.

Particularly animagi.

Something about Black was off.

That in itself wasn't unusual. The egg was cracked, after all, if not from the cradle then definitely after so long surrounded by Dementors. But Snape knew Black's smell, just as he knew all the personal scents of all the people with whom he'd fought. And today, the scent was much spicier than usual. A dash of sage, a hint of lemongrass, not at all his usual fresh-mown-grass smell. Snape peered at him from the corner of his eye.

Oh.

So that's what happiness smelled like on Black.

Grumbling internally, he nearly missed his own introduction.

"The first recipient of the Medal of Valor for Service Above and Beyond the Call of Duty in Defense of the Wizarding World for the Defeat of Darkness --"

Snape stifled a yawn. Leave it to the Ministry to make it so pompous it lulled the honorees to sleep, if not the audience.

"-- years in the most dangerous, thankless task imaginable, as he delved deep behind enemy lines --"

Quite deep, some of them. He thought of Lucius, now in exile in Argentina since Draco ratted him out, and smothered a chuckle at just how deep he'd gotten at times.

"-- invaluable intelligence that tipped the balance many times to the side of the Light, when all could have been lost --"

Not that all the deepness had been enjoyable, for Merlin's sake. Getting on his knees for the Dark Lord had never been any fun. Particularly when things were going poorly for the Death Eaters and the only joy Voldemort got out of life was jolting his fuck partner with the Cruciatus while he was having at him.

"-- can finally be seen for the dedicated, courageous Hero that he is. Ladies and Gentleman, it is my privilege and honor to award this Medal of Valor to Mister Sirius Black!"

Shite. Second at his own bloody medal ceremony. Were it not for the fact that he'd look like he was leaving in a snit, which of course he would be, he'd stand up and stalk right off the stupid platform right now.

Black bounded up to the podium and began to blather. Snape ignored him in favor of his own dark thoughts.

Years of service? Compared to his own they were a mere handful. Dangerous, thankless tasks? The closest Black had come to danger was contracting salmonella from eating out of rubbish bins. As if the Death Eaters would care about a simple mangy black dog hanging about!

"-- friends who stood by me through the darkest times, when I honestly believed justice would never be found, and I would stay in the darkness forever --"

Where he bloody well belonged. In the rubbish. Come to think on it, knowing the appetites of some of the Death Eaters -- he thought of Goyle and shuddered slightly -- the dog had been in some danger, but whether of being boinked or eaten it was too close to call.

"-- Albus Dumbledore, who has always been in my corner --"

Right. Even when you're setting up your supposed friends and trying to murder innocent schoolboys. No wonder they believed so easily you could betray the Potters, Snape mentally snarled, though his face stayed expressionless. You had quite the track record there already! Speaking of which ...

"-- Remus Lupin, who earned his own Medal of Valor, and deserves so much more, for all he's done for all of us --"

True, he didn't actually eat any children. Thanks to Snape and his supreme ability at brewing potions, and the monthly wolfsbane he still provided to Lupin, the danger was largely nullified. Still. Hooch! He shuddered again, and glared all the harder at Black.

"-- my godson Harry, who's suffered much more than any boy his age should have ever had to face --"

Babble, babble, babble. Snape's eyes had dropped, from boredom he assured himself, and he realized he was staring at Black's arse. Well, it was quite an appealing arse. All those years on the run hadn't hurt, and he'd always been quite an eyeful, even when he was an appalling twit of a teen. Now that he was a man grown, he was rather sinfully delicious.

"-- friends who've proven themselves when it felt like all the world was against me. With all that's happened, I can honestly say I've been truly blessed --"

If he'd just shut the bloody hell up.

Thought prompted deed, in an abstract way, as Black finally wound down. The new Minister of Magic, Arthur Weasley now that Fudge was keeping time with the Dementors in a dank cell at Azkaban for being a traitor, beamed at Black and placed a gleaming ribbon about his neck. Black beamed back. The audience applauded. Loudly. Everyone with the exception of Snape beamed at everyone else like a congress of lunatics until Black finally marched back over to his seat and sank into it, robe brushing Snape's in an irritating manner, still waving and mugging at his fans.

Nauseating.

Eventually the clamor died down enough for Weasley to start talking again, and Snape leaned forward a tiny bit to hear better. He had low expectations. The Weasleys despised him, the Ministry despised him, most of the people he'd put his life in immediate danger for over the years despised him, and he hadn't much use for any of them either. But Albus had asked -- demanded -- and he'd shown up.

His only hope was that he get through it with a modicum of dignity intact. From the audience, he expected nothing. As he had no friends, and therefor no cheering section, the best he could expect was silence. He quite expected to hear a round chorus of boos and hisses, actually.

In the relative calm after the excited cheering died down, Weasley said gravely, "Our final Medal of Honor to be awarded from the last campaign is one of the most sorely deserved. This man lived two lives. On the surface, he was suspect, believed by many to be in the service of the Dark Lord, known by only a few as the single most important source of intelligence supporting the efforts of the Order of the Phoenix."

Snape blinked. This is what he would have expected to be said about Black, not himself.

"For almost twenty years, he put his life on the line to protect those in his care, and defeat the Dark Lord. He did it by becoming that which he sought to defeat, by bearing the Dark Mark and the pain that came with it in a desperate battle to gain the information needed to bring the Dark Lord and his followers to their ends."

Lovely. Now all the idiots who'd been convinced all along he was a Death Eater had proof. Thank you, Arthur, please continue to paint the target on my back. Snape glared at Weasley so hard it was a wonder the Minister didn't spontaneously combust.

"He suffered in ways the rest of us can only imagine in our darkest nightmares. Yet still he fought on, and in the end, it was his continuing efforts to protect Harry Potter that led directly to the death of the Dark Lord."

He winced. Potter, of course. Not that he hated the boy, but he was so infernally SICK of the name. Yet here it was, cropping up in his own honorific declaration. Everywhere he went, there was Potter.

"He placed his life in jeopardy as he had done so many times in the course of his work, and took the brunt of the magickal attack upon himself so that Harry Potter was able to cast the final curse, ending the war and freeing us all from the threat of the Dark Lord. For this final astonishing act of bravery, in addition to years of such quiet courage, the Medal of Valor for Service Above and Beyond the Call of Duty in Defense of the Wizarding World for the Defeat of Darkness is awarded with highest gratitude to Professor Severus Snape."

Well, that hadn't been quite as awful as he'd expected. He rose slowly and walked to the podium, nodding solemnly in the face of Arthur Weasley's painfully serious smile. Standing, staring down at the faces staring back up at him, he swallowed.

Harry Potter rose to his feet and began to applaud. His friends were right behind him, and as one the faculty of Hogwarts rose as well. To his utter shock, behind him on stage he could hear Black also rise and clap his hands. Slowly, as if a wave passed over the audience, the rest of the gathered rose to their feet and applauded.

He had no idea how to react. After staring out at them, their faces a stark somber contrast to the wild elation of Black's ovation, Snape swallowed again and lowered his face to stare at the podium. Eventually, they finished clapping and with a rustling of robes that made the silence painful they regained their seats.

When he had conquered the wild urge to run away that hit as soon as Potter stood, Snape raised his head again and looked out at the audience. He cleared his throat, and opened his mouth.

The only words that came out were, "Thank you," in a rusty approximation of his usual velvet tone. He stared back down at his hands and licked his lips. Then he tried again.

"I regret many things," he began, wondering where on earth the words were coming from. "But I do not regret surviving, although I did not expect to do so." A whisper passed over the crowd, but he ignored it. "And while I regret the losses more than any of you will ever know, I celebrate those who also survived." He raised his head and swept his glance across the faces staring up at him, who appeared mesmerized by his quiet words. "It is my heartfelt wish that there will never again be cause for such regrets, nor such celebrations."

With that, he stepped back from the podium. He looked over at Weasley who, for some unknown reason, had tears in his eyes. The ribbon felt soft against his skin as he pulled his hair from beneath it, and the medal felt heavy upon his chest.

A sudden swell of applause caught him by surprise. He looked over at the audience and saw that many others also had tears on their cheeks, and he thought perhaps they must be remembering those they'd lost. He hadn't meant to cast a pall on the occasion. Yet another reason he should have stayed in his dungeon.

Turning his back on them, he returned to his seat. As he settled himself, Black had the audacity to lay a hand on his arm. Snape glared at him.

"Beautiful," Black breathed.

"You're out of your tree," Snape shot back.

At that, Black laughed, under cover of the dying applause, and grinned like a loon. Snape shrugged him off and left him to it.

The closing remarks were nearly as interminable as the opening remarks, and Snape's buttocks were long since deadened by the time they were finally able to escape. Having had his fill of officialdom, not to mention people in general, Snape took one look at the receiving line and did something he hadn't done in years.

He ran.

Well, actually, it was more of a fast stalk, but it got the job done. While the multitudes thronged about Black, Snape went out the side door, found a handy fireplace, and flooed his way back to Hogsmead. It was late, too late to go back up to the castle that night, but he had a room, and he had privacy, and he had blessed silence, and he was damned well going to make use of all of it.

Taking the medal off carefully, he gently placed it on the bureau and looked at it for a very long time. It meant something more than he had words to articulate, not because he hadn't the vocabulary, but because it was a symbol for so many losses and so few gains.

Shaking off the morbidity of his thoughts with the ease of long practice, Snape disrobed and slid between the sheets, forgoing his usual nightclothes in deference to the heavy heat of the August night. The linens felt cool against his body, and he stared up at the ceiling for hours, deliberately not thinking, before sleep finally claimed him.

In the early hours of the morning, he woke suddenly. He hadn't dreamed, which was a testament to his own determination and powers of repression, and he was instantly alert when he woke.

Only to be immediately disoriented as a warm body covered his and a warmer mouth closed over his own. He recognized the scent before the touch, for he'd smelled Black much more often than been touched by him. Kicking and squirming madly, he managed to force a few inches between their bodies and disengage their mouths. It was a struggle. Black didn't want to let go.

"What the bloody fuckin' hell do you think you're doing?!" Snape nearly screamed.

"Exactly what I said I would at the ceremony, don't you remember? Mending fences!"

While Snape was still trying to connect 'mending fences' with 'being kissed halfway out of his mind' Black upped the ante. Wrapped his fingers about Snape's prick and wrapped his other arm around Snape's waist and proceeded to play Snape's body like a fine instrument.

Somewhere between Black's tongue invading his mouth and Black's fingers invading his arse, Snape realized he'd lost control of the situation. He seriously considered summoning his wand and hexing the bastard, until Black squeezed his prick in a rippling motion and ran the pad of his thumb over the head, making Snape feel as though the top of his head could blow off at any moment.

Wands, hexes, any and all defensive moves turned to smoke as he wrapped his arms about Black's shoulders and held on for dear life. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had an orgasm that didn't have a trace of pain involved somewhere, so the mental discombobulation at having such pleasure at the hands of a man he absolutely despised actually made it easier to accept.

Or so he told himself, as he gasped into Black's mouth and came all over Black's hand.

Lying there trying to catch his breath, Snape shivered as Black pulled his fingers from deep inside him and shifted up between his legs. Spreading his thighs with well-trained ease, Snape bent his knees and took Black in up to the balls with easy, shallow thrusts. As his body adjusted to the gentle fucking, his mind gibbered that it was all completely mad and he must DO something.

To which his body sleepily replied that it WAS doing something. It was taking the ride of its life, and enjoying every minute of it, thank you very much.

His mind gave up, shrugged metaphoric shoulders and shut down, moments before it would have melted anyway as Black wrapped his hand back round Snape's prick and coaxed a second, even harder orgasm from him. It seemed that's what Black was waiting for, because as Snape began to recover, Black sped up until he was pounding against him.

It felt ridiculously good.

Then Black arched, his arms tightening about Snape's waist, his face buried in Snape's throat, and he came nearly as hard as Snape had. Mouth that close to his ear, it was easy for Snape to hear the words muffled in his hair.

"Finally," Black groaned, "Severus!"

Well. That was a bit of a surprise. And a bit of an understatement.

Lying there, wrecked beneath Black's equally wrecked person, Snape made a quick re-evaluation of his fellow Hero. Flashy, yes, as always, and distastefully so. But as he flexed his arse around the prick softening within him, Snape decided Black had more substance than he'd ever expected.

Not that he'd ever tell Black that.

END