…….

Just when he had begun to feel safe in his own skin.

Severus had survived murdering Albus, being on the run, a killing curse and all the poisonous things which life had thrown at him over the years. Then he had freed the divinely wicked Lucius Malfoy from Azkaban and somehow, despite all his anticipation to the contrary, had got him into bed within his first 24 hours of being free. Even more incredibly, after two years, the fallen idol was still showing no inclination to leave said bed, or the scarred and ugly man occupying the other side of it. For a brief heartbeat in the drudgery of Severus Snape's life, he had been blissfully happy.

He ought to have known better than to expect it to last.

He wondered what on earth had happened. It made no sense for him to be different from everyone else, at least not genetically. He knew that he had never been one of the crowd, or a person who made others feel comfortable, but he had long since given up believing himself to be a breed apart. Most young magical folk had a phase of believing they were a special being, a changeling, a one-off super-creature with extraordinary powers far superior to the dull old couple who had raised them. Like most young wizards, Severus had grown out of this fantasy at the age of about ten.

Alone in his study, he racked his brains and reflexively traced his scar, desperate to come up with any explanation for the difference which had caused such upset at the Ministry. How had he lived for almost fifty years with no inkling of his being such a freak? Disregarding juvenile taunts about his physical appearance or temperament, there had never been a reason to imagine that he was not human. Scowling, he remembered how quick Lucius had been to bring the idea to the table. Though Tonks had claimed that part-humans were supposedly no different, as regarded these particular tests, so he felt faintly reassured that he had not somehow turned into a monster.

He sank lower in his chair and sulked some more. Surely the Dark Lord would have noticed any abnormality? Or Albus? Both powerful wizards had spent long hours playing cat and mouse games inside his mind, crashing around as though his brain were a Quidditch pitch. It was incredible that neither of them could have missed an important trait which set their quaffle apart – they would definitely have tried to use whatever it was against each other. For a long period of his life, he had been under intense scrutiny from either one or the other, yet it was obvious that neither had found this extra-ordinarysomething or they would have found a way to use it, to use him, abuse him in body and mind, for their own ends.

For the first time ever, Snape's desk was devoid of its usual mountain-range of paperwork, the abnormally bare room exacerbating his feeling of oddness. He used to routinely curse and scowl at the way the piles multiplied incessantly and even rearranged themselves when his back was turned, but now he found that he missed it. While he was under investigation, he could be allowed no access to confidential Ministry information, as though the years he had spent toiling at his work night and day meant nothing, now that he had been found to be strange. For the first time ever, he had no duties to fulfil, no projects to work on, no deadlines to make him sweat and panic.

It was so wrong.

He had managed to train Lucius to knock before entering a room, but the idea of waiting to be granted access would probably take another two years, at least. The hearty rap was followed immediately by his lover's entrance.

Lucius stared at the vacant surfaces for a moment with bewilderment. Eventually, he said:

"What a marvellous grain your desk has," and stepped forward to touch the top. "I had no idea! Oh, and that side-table! Is it ebony? Goodness, how exquisite!"

Snape watched him without comment, as he exclaimed over all the everyday objects which were unrecognisable without their snowdrifts of parchment.

"Please will you stop?" he asked quietly at last. Realising his insensitivity, Malfoy complied at once.

"Sorry," his face sobered. "Are you all right?"

Snape made a sharp little exhalation and looked at the ceiling.

"Well, I didn't really think you would be," Lucius came and leaned against the edge of the desk, peering down at Severus with concern. "I have to ask, my love, forgive me. Is there anything you weren't telling Shacklebolt earlier? Do you know a secret?"

"No," replied Snape, tilting his head on one side to add almost viciously, "Do you?"

"Of course not," he ignored the dig, reaching out to squeeze a black-clad shoulder. "Let's not allow this nonsense to spoil things between us. I don't honestly think they believe either of us have done anything illegal, but you can't blame them for taking precautions. There's probably a straightforward explanation and we'll enjoy the sight of some red faces at number 10 tomorrow!"

Snape grunted non-committally.

"And in the meantime," Lucius continued seductively, leaning closer. "There is no work to do, we can't leave the house – what would you really like to spend the day doing? Hm? What shall we do to amuse ourselves, that we never normally get time for?"

It was not exactly what Malfoy had had in mind, Severus knew, with a sliver of guilt, but it had been so terribly long since he had the time and opportunity to indulge, he ignored the disapproving silence radiating from the other end of the sofa. Reclining with a huge bag of Monster Munch, he pressed play on the remote control and put his feet up.

The film began and Severus crunched his crisps and waited. The pure-blooded wizard was remarkably tolerant of the old habits which the half-blood no longer felt ashamed enough to hide. Over the last few years, being promoted and appreciated for the part he played in the war had done a lot for his self-esteem, although he was under no illusions as to being truly heroic or attractive. He still wore the protective persona which had served him so well all his adult life, but as he had navigated his 40s, he had realised that there was no longer any point in denying certain things about himself. Like his preference for beer over fancy wines. Or being a poof. His extremely humble beginnings, however, still gave him trouble, especially as far as his perfectly-bred boyfriend was concerned.

That breeding was being tested to the limit now, as Malfoy sat stiffly with his hands folded in his lap, looking at the television with suspicion.

"Why is it all blue!?" he huffed, unable to restrain comment any longer.

"Because the action begins underwater," Snape explained patiently.

"Why is there a cello? A cello wouldn't sound like that if it were underwater."

"It is simply background music, intended to create a feeling of suspense," he sighed, certain that they had discussed basic cinematographic conventions in depth last Christmas, while watching 'It's a Wonderful Life'.

Lucius snorted sceptically, burrowing his hand into the crisp packet, then pulling a face as he chewed.

"And these things aren't even made from real monsters!"

…….

Narcissa made her way slowly through the graves, pausing briefly beside those tombstones which were significant. As a rule, she never brought flowers, or knelt down to speak to the departed as others did, preferring to pay her respects by simply setting aside time to come to this place. To remember. As usual, she had been reminded of more than she could comfortably cope with at once, so was now heading to the best-kept, most visited and most outrageously floral plot in the graveyard to give a quick nod to the late Molly Weasley, before apparating back to the land of the living.

A tousled mop of black hair visible between the stones as she approached told Narcissa that she was not the only one thinking of the past today.

"Harry," she greeted her almost-stepson.

"Hi, Narcissa," he stood and brushed the grass from his knees.

"Doing some weeding?" she found that stating the obvious was always a good way to test the variable moods of all the young men for whom she now felt responsible. They had mostly taken to her better than she would have imagined, the odd unfavourable comparison with their mother, made under duress, notwithstanding.

Though not biologically a Weasley, Harry Potter was apparently the most devastated by Molly's death. Narcissa had always assumed this was due to his guilt that she had been murdered as part of Voldemort's plot to kill him. One candid and faintly drunk conversation the previous summer, however, had revealed that she had been the first adult to ever hug him and the first to offer the unconditional motherly love which so many took for granted. The Blacks had not been a demonstratively affectionate family, but they had other, more subtle ways of making their daughters feel appreciated. She could scarcely imagine what had been going through Albus Dumbledore's head the night he decided to leave the lonely baby with those dreadful muggles, who, it was now common knowledge, had done everything within the boundaries of the law to make their nephew feel as unwanted as possible. The Weasleys would not have minded one extra mouth to feed, or any childless wizarding couple would have been thrilled to care for the little orphan. Had she believed for one minute that he would have considered placing Harry with a Slytherin family, she would have persuaded Lucius to raise the boy at the Manor - but no doubt that would have interfered with the old man'sCunning and Ingenious Masterplan for the Glorious Future of Wizarding Society. The needs of one baby had evidently been considered unimportant when compared with the Greater Good.

"Just tidying up a bit," the grown-up Harry tugged off a gardening glove to wipe the sweat from his forehead. "It's hot today!"

"You're doing a good job," she nodded at the eye-catching riot of flowers, apparently all competing to be the most colourful tribute in the whole cemetery. "Listen, I'm going to do a barbecue in the garden tonight. The twins are coming, and Ron, and Hermione's promised to make it back in time. Arthur's going to make his special summer punch. We'd love you to be there."

"That'll be nice, thank you," he smiled, then looked at his shoes. "I have genuinely been busy, you know. I'm not avoiding you."

"I'm glad," she responded to his confiding tone immediately. "I'm trying to be lead this family without trying to be a replacement for someone who can never be replaced. I don't want to upset anyone."

"You're doing fine," he reassured her sincerely. "It feels a bit weird still, that's all. Give us time."

He turned back to the flowerbed and she stood watching for a moment, pleased with his approval, although Arthur was always brilliant at advising her when she was unsure what to do, so she was never completely lost. There were so many pitfalls in her new life, which her upbringing and previous marriage had offered no preparation for. Conforming to the Weasley family ethos, despite its joyous playfulness, was like living on another planet.

"Oh, I meant to ask, how's Snape?" Harry said, after using his wand to uproot a particularly tenacious weed.

"Severus? What do you mean?"

"This is the first time he's not been at work in years. They say he's got the Dragon pox, and he and Malfoy are quarantined at home. Do you know anything?"

"No!" Narcissa bit her lower lip. This was the first she had heard. Dragon pox could still kill, despite all the treatments and precautions now available. She remembered being quarantined herself just after her first marriage, locked up inside the Manor while in other rooms Lucius swore and Abraxas roared in frustration at the itching of their horrible new scales. Lucius had got away with a mild dose, making a complete recovery except for the very slight weakness in his right ankle which led him to begin carrying that ostentatious cane. Abraxas had not been so lucky.

"Oh, right. Might just be a rumour, of course," Harry backtracked on seeing her expression. There was a moment of awkward silence before he decided to change the subject. "So, who do you visit when you come here?"

"The same as you, I imagine. Parents, old friends, my sister. Too many people," she shrugged.

"Yoursister?!" the young man's brow creased in the expression which Narcissa had learned to recognise as the pilot fish of ferocious and explosive anger.

"Yes," she replied steadily. "Whatever she did, she was still my sister."

"Sirius! Neville's parents! All those wizards! You can't just ignore all that because of a family connection! She…she…" he lost coherence as his anger built, not that Narcissa could blame him for being so affected by the mere mention of Bellatrix.

"I don't ignore what she did. How could I? I witnessed more of her exploits than you did," she explained, refusing to be cowed, or even ruffled by the fury radiating from Harry. "But I think you ought to go and look at her grave."

"Bollocks!" yelled Harry. "I'll go and spit on it!"

"I can't stop you doing that, of course, but I would rather you didn't," his stepmother, born a lady, remained serene. "It's just over there."

With one last heartfelt plea for Harry to come to the Burrow for dinner, Narcissa squeezed his hand and walked away. She needed to find out what was happening with Severus and Lucius. It was highly unlikely that they both had Dragon pox. Having survived it once, her ex-husband would be immune to further attacks, and she was fairly sure that all the other Death Eaters - including Snape - had been inoculated against the disease as soon as it transpired that the Malfoys had been affected. Voldemort had not wanted an epidemic.

The two of them were clearly up to something, and she ought to be careful. As she reached the cemetery gate, she glanced back to see Harry standing in the section set aside for Lestrange family graves, doing as she had asked despite his anger. Narcissa did not need to look at the words anymore, she knew them by heart. There was the newer memorial commemorating the lives of her sister and brother-in-law, then there were the three small headstones just adjacent to it, which were what she had really wanted Harry to see, to try and make him understand.

Marmaduke Rodolphus Lestrange.
12th - 14th December 1976.

Aurora Morgan Lestrange
Who was born on 2nd October 1977 and died the same day.
And her twin,
Emilia Cassiopeia Lestrange
Who died on 9th October.

And finally, the worst of them all:

Hope Lestrange
Born 28th September 1978.
Died 14th February 1979.

Hope had struggled to cling onto life for almost five miserable months. She had stopped breathing almost every day, had suffered endless cardiac arrests, terrifying fits, had been too weak to feed or even cry, severely brain-damaged from oxygen deprivation and weighed next to nothing. Lucius had reported a muttered comment from Walden MacNair that even he would have not allowed a creature to suffer so badly for so long. Despite everyone's best efforts with nutrition potions and ventilation spells, Bellatrix's Hope had faded away and died.

It wasn't that Narcissa considered these tragedies an excuse for her sister's behaviour. Even as a girl, Bella had always been sadistic and slightly unhinged, inflicting horrible tortures on her elves and unfortunate sisters as part of her games. Yet Narcissa could not help believing that, had any of the children lived, she might not have flung herself so whole-heartedly into being a Death Eater. Voldemort must have been delighted with his most vehement follower. She avidly swallowed his every word, pursued his interests with the recklessness of those who have nothing to lose and had inexhaustible supplies of personal agony, which she was more than ready to transfer to others.

Narcissa suspected that the Longbottoms might have got away with either a beating or a quick and painless AK, had their living room not been plastered on every surface with proud pictures of their giggling, healthy baby.

Harry Potter would not be capable of understanding all of this, not really. But she would feel that she had performed some kind of pseudo-parental responsibility by trying to make him think about it.

The thought of responsibility made her think of Lucius, who, though no longer technically her responsibility, still had some claim on her emotions. It seemed there was something strange afoot with him and his unlikely new love, and though it probably did not concern her in the least, she felt she ought to investigate.

If Lucius was up to his old tricks already and had done something to threaten his own liberty and that of Severus, she would personally throttle him.

…….