Chapter Twenty-One
Responsum

September 1981

Severus walked into Iliad Cottage and sighed as he looked around, finding the living room immaculately clean but empty save for the small house-elf in the corner, polishing something that looked like it had been dusted already twice that morning.

"Master Snape," the older elf addressed him respectfully, nodding her head. "Master and the Young Miss are resting."

Severus sighed in frustration. "He's been resting for months. I brought you here to help him not to enable him."

"Meela cleans the house and cooks the meals and watches the Young Miss when Master leaves," she said looking offended, if that were even possible, at Severus's implication that she was not doing her job.

The man growled under his breath. "He's still leaving at nights then?" Meela nodded. "This needs to stop." He turned swiftly down the hallway, robes billowing behind him as he moved. He walked past Hermione's room, her crib untouched, and finally reached the master suite. He knocked once before opening the door quietly and peering inside.

Regulus lay on the large bed, long black hair spread out on the pillows and blankets in a mess. The bags under his eyes were prominent and he obviously hadn't shaved in weeks. Severus narrowed his eyes at the sight. Good days and bad. Mostly bad since Marlene died. Since Severus rescued Hermione from the raid and set fire to the old McKinnon home. Telling his friend that his wife was dead had been the hardest thing Severus ever had to do, and that was saying something since he'd murdered people and tortured others at the behest of the Dark Lord. When suffering hit closer to home it was harder to ignore; harder to pretend it didn't really happen.

Penance. Vengeance. Punishment.

They'd joined the Death Eaters under the false idea that they didn't have a choice when in reality they did. The choice they didn't make at the time just seemed to be a poor one. They convinced themselves they had joined for all the right reasons. Self-preservation was high on the list, of course, but they naively thought they'd somehow prevent worse things from happening. Certainly, when paired with people like Macnair or Dolohov on missions, they could help speed along painless deaths as opposed to the horrors their fellow Death Eaters could inflict upon their victims. Blood on their hands regardless.

Marlene's death could be thought of as punishment for Regulus's sins.

Severus himself would attend Order meetings, having been under the thumb of Albus Dumbledore for over a year now to suffer the consequences of spilling an overheard prophecy to the Dark Lord; the same Dark Lord that was now planning the murder of the woman that Severus loved—and her family. He'd begged her to be spared and had played both sides to see it done, but after watching his best friend crumble to pieces only to cling to his daughter for life support to avoid drowning in his grief, Severus couldn't help but wonder who would save him should his plans fail.

The tiny witch in question was sitting up in the centre of the bed, her small hands patting Regulus's face. Her own mass of black curls had been tied back in a neat green bow; the clean work of elf hands. Severus cleared his throat and gave a tight-lipped smile to the child, briefly narrowing his eyes as she looked up at him and grinned. "Sev!".

He gave half a smile to the little girl, the only person these days to elicit even the slightest hint of happiness in his face.

"Are you going to get up today?" he asked Regulus, reaching forward and pulling Hermione into his arms, cringing a touch as she kissed his cheek and tugged on his hair affectionately.

Regulus didn't move.

"Regulus!".

"Papa sad," Hermione whispered in his ear.

"Meela!" Severus turned and passed the child over into the hands of the house-elf. "Take care of Hermione while I deal with her father."

"Yes, Master Snape," Meela said and smiled sweetly at Hermione. "Come, Young Miss. Meela makes you lunch."

When the bedroom door shut behind the elf and Hermione, Severus sighed and sat down on the bed, looking into the empty, red-rimmed eyes of his friend. "It'll be over soon. The Dark Lord is planning to make a move within the next few months. Likely Christmas," he said with disdain. "He always was one to enjoy a good celebration. The Order is aware. Potters and Longbottoms are being moved to hidden locations."

"My brother?" Regulus asked in a hoarse voice.

Severus rolled his eyes. "Oh, you'll speak when it concerns people you give a damn about but no one else?"

Regulus shrugged.

"He was injured in a recent . . . scuffle with some of ours. The younger ones. Untrained. He killed Wilkes in battle. Avery's father as well. Rodolphus hit him with a decent Slicing Hex, but I'm told but he'll live," he said. "You don't want to know how Bellatrix rewarded her husband for that one."

Both men shuddered at the thought.

"It will end soon. We need to make arrangements."

Regulus sighed and sat up. "I've told you before. If the Dark Lord wins, I'm leaving Britain. Hermione and I will vanish into thin air. Go to America perhaps. If he loses, we'll test the waters. See how the Wizengamot treats you in the aftermath."

Severus sneered. "So glad to be your experimental subject. And if I'm imprisoned, you'll run away with the girl to France? You mentioned it before."

Regulus nodded. "She can go to Beauxbatons there. Change our names. If you go free, I suppose we'll come out of hiding. Beg for mercy for my actions."

"Ask forgiveness?"

Regulus laughed harshly. "Don't kid yourself, Severus, there's no forgiveness for what we've done."

"It wasn't your fault."

"Where's my daughter?"

Severus sighed. "With the bloody elf, who informed me today that you're still mucking about at night. Leaving the cottage. I don't even know why I bother telling you things. It'll get you killed in the end. You've turned yourself into a bloody—"

"Gryffindor?"

"Idiot."

"Did you know the Sorting Hat wanted to put me there?" Regulus asked. "I begged it—begged it—to put me in Slytherin instead. Didn't want to deal with the shitstorm that would come if I was sorted elsewhere. Didn't want to deal with my family. What family do I have now? Father's dead, Mum thinks I am, my brother hated me when he thought I was alive, and I got the only woman I ever loved murdered by my fucking brothers in arms."

Severus frowned and looked away from his friend, reminded of the sounds he'd made when told his wife, his childhood love, had been murdered. Severus himself held no affection for Marlene, but she had made Regulus happy and that made her, at the very least, valuable. Seeing her dead body on the ground of the McKinnon home beside her parents and brother however . . . sparked a guilt inside him like he'd never before felt. He might have even stopped to mourn the woman himself had he not been panicked when the other Death Eaters pointed out the crying child in the room.

"Hermione," he whispered to Regulus, pointing out that the man still did have family.

"Is all I have left in the world."

"And if you keep going out and playing vigilante, you're going to leave her an orphan. Killing Death Eaters will not balance the innocent lives you took. They will not avenge your wife. They will not end this war. They will most definitely not keep your daughter safe. But if you insist on being a reckless arse, arrangements need to be made for Hermione in the case of your inevitable death."

Regulus turned away, not wanting to look at his friend. "She goes to you."

Severus growled. "I will not have the luxury of keeping her in any situation. If the Dark Lord falls, I will be outed as Dumbledore's man, and my life will be threatened by any Death Eaters that may slip through the legal system. If the Dark Lord wins, and I somehow survive, she'll be taken from me because she is yours. I would suggest Minerva, but not only is she loyal to Dumbledore to a fault, she believes Hermione died with the rest of the McKinnons," he snapped. "Why you people put me in charge of your children, I'll never know. I had to have this same stupid conversation with Lucius and Narcissa last week. They, of course, want me to raise Draco should anything happen to them. If only to keep Bellatrix and Rodolphus away from the boy."

"What's he like?" Regulus asked. "Narcissa's boy."

Severus rolled his eyes and tried to keep the bit of affection he held for Draco out of his usually expressionless eyes. "Ever the image of his father. Spoiled positively rotten. Narcissa dotes on him with both pure adoration and fear."

"Fear?" Regulus asked, turning to look at him.

Severus nodded. "The Dark Lord has been talking about the future at great lengths lately. His plans to murder Potter's boy are always at the forefront of his mind, but Nott, Crabbe, and Goyle have all recently had sons and swore them each to the service of our Lord," he said the title mockingly. "Little lambs sacrificed on the altar."

"Lucius did not offer up his firstborn then?" Regulus questioned.

"And it was noticed. The man played it off well, I think. Told the Dark Lord that he would prefer it to see his own child make the choice himself. It would bring honour to his name and other such nonsense," Severus said, rolling his eyes.

Regulus scoffed. "Lucius is a coward. Narcissa is blind. Keep the Malfoys away from my daughter," he said, his voice distant and tired.

"Stay alive, and I won't have to bother. Same thing I told Narcissa," Severus said with an indignant huff. "Merlin help me, I'd rather glamour the boy and dump him off with Muggles than let Bellatrix—"

"Muggles."

"What?"

Regulus almost smiled. "That's the answer."

September 1998

Severus stared across the Great Hall at breakfast as owls swooped in, flocking to the tables to deliver the mail. The scene at dinner a week earlier with Draco, Hermione, and the boxes of jewellery had been repeated at each meal since. Small containers of priceless stones, long boxes filled with flowers, dresses, and one particularly attention-grabbing gift of a brand new Firebolt.

Hermione seethed and Draco smirked and the whole Great Hall watched with rapt attention to see what would happen next.

When Hermione set the boxes on fire, Severus's colleagues finally decided to step in.

Gryffindors jumped back from the flames, and every other House stood back in shock and watched as Hermione glared at her betrothed through the smoke, the fire reflecting in her grey irises. She looked positively enraged to the casual observer, but Severus knew that look. She was amused by Draco's efforts to irritate her. Just like her parents; always so damned dramatic.

"You two!" Minerva growled and pointed to Sirius and Severus while Flitwick and Lupin extinguished the flames. "In my office. Now!"

They marched up past the stone gargoyle, looking like a pair of third years that were due for a punishment for starting a food fight or hexing one another in the halls. Sirius plopped down in the chair in front of the large desk, while Severus stood in the corner of the room.

"This has gone on long enough!"

Sirius smirked. "To be fair, it's only been a week."

"Miss Granger set fire to a table in the Great Hall!"

"Technically, she set fire to a broomstick. A pretty expensive one from the look of it too. Why he thought to buy the witch a broom, I'll never know. She hates flying, which I don't understand. Regulus loved it more than anything. Then again, he also keeps buying her jewellery. Boy even bought her a house-elf," Sirius laughed. "I was surprised to see it hadn't been freed, but then again Hermione's never really understood house-elf bonds. Sweet little elf, that Winston—"

"What do you want us to do about it?" Severus asked, cutting off Sirius's ramblings.

"You two are the only proper adults in their lives!" Minerva snapped. "They are children who were forced to grow up too soon in the middle of a war, used as pawns and weapons and forced to fight on opposing sides. Hermione has had her world upended with the discovery of her true parentage, not to mention losing her Muggle parents, and goodness knows what Mr Malfoy has gone through with that . . . that monster living in his own home during the war. And now they're forced into this arrangement. For Godric's sake, they hate one another!"

Severus scoffed. "Your perceptive abilities are, as always, astoundingly poor."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means . . . like mother like daughter."

Sirius turned and glared at Severus. "You knew?"

"Knew what?" Minerva asked.

"You knew that Hermione and Draco were seeing one another the year before last and you didn't do anything about it?" Sirius stood up and narrowed his eyes.

Minerva's mouth fell open in shock. "What?"

"I was a bit busy that year," Severus drawled. "Dealing with a ridiculous teenage romance was not on my list of things to do."

"Severus, they . . . they're your godchildren. Both of them!" Minerva said in a reproachful tone.

"And I remember vowing to protect and teach them, but offering advice on Contraceptive Charms and broken hearts was not in the job description," he snapped bitterly. "If it will keep you from screaming at me," he said, narrowing his eyes at the headmistress, "I will endeavour to speak to the pair of them in order to stop the foolish public displays of affection and reciprocated disdain. Is that all?"

He'd fully intended on ignoring the issue in favour of seeing how it all played out, but when Hermione began screaming at Draco in the middle of his Advanced Potions class that same afternoon, Severus dismissed the rest of the students and held his godchildren afterward, scowling at them with narrowed black eyes filled with impatience and frustration.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor.'

Hermione's eyes widened. "What? You're taking points from me? Didn't you hear him in class? He threatened to slip a Love Potion in my pumpkin juice! How can you take his side?"

"Because, Miss Granger, he's not screaming in my classroom," Severus said evenly. "And if you think that Mr Malfoy could actually get a Love Potion past you, then you're not practising . . . what did Moody call it? Constant vigilance?"

Hermione growled. "I shouldn't have to be vigilant. This was supposed to be a normal year!"

"You're a pureblood now, Hermione," Draco said smugly. "Whatever you thought was normal isn't anymore. And I didn't threaten to slip you a Love Potion, I asked you if you'd like me to brew Amortentia or just give you a bottle of my cologne seeing as they'd likely smell the same."

"Twenty points from Slytherin," Severus hissed at Draco.

Silver eyes widened. "What? All I did was tell the truth! Why're you taking her side?"

"Because, Mr Malfoy, she's not an idiot," he snapped at the boy. "Miss Granger, you will leave my classroom with the instructions to cease all screaming as well as your current proclivity for pyromania at mealtimes. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir," she said with a sigh and turned to leave but stopped just short of the door. "By the way, calling us by our last names like that still doesn't make you any less our godfather. You're purposely trying to emotionally distance yourself from us and it's very obvious."

"Out!"

Draco watched as Hermione left the classroom, and he turned and looked at Severus with an expression that spoke comradery; a look that was not reciprocated. "You see what I have to deal with?"

Severus sighed in frustration. "Draco, I have spent eighteen years watching you make many mistakes. From overindulging in treacle tart, to purposely provoking temperamental Gryffindors, to the asinine choices you have made that could have easily ended your own life countless times," he said and raised a hand indicating that he demanded silence when the boy opened his mouth to speak. "I watched, waited, and counselled the best that I could under the impression that one day, you would become a man and would learn from the mistakes of your youth. It is greatly upsetting to see that I was wrong."

Draco screwed up his face in anger. "I've learnt just fine. And I'm not the one making mistakes. She's—"

"A Muggle-born."

Draco's eyes widened. "She's not. You said so yourself. Daughter of Regulus Black."

"Who died when she was two-years-old, forcing me to disguise her for her own safety and place her with mind-altered Muggles," Severus responded. "Eighteen years and a war where you were on the losing side, and you've yet to figure out that blood status does not matter? The girl may have been born to pureblood parents, but she was raised by Muggles for the majority of her life and took great pride in what she thought was her Muggle heritage. Her identity was stolen from her, and instead of gradually being able to come to terms with that, she is forced to endure another challenge: you."

"I'm not a—"

"You, Draco, are my godson and as much affection as I can force myself to feel for any given person let alone a child, I can truthfully claim that I have felt such for you. But," he paused and stared at the boy, "you are a challenge to any you encounter; most of all the Muggle-born girl who was very unfortunate to find that she's not a Muggle-born after all and is, in fact, tied to you for the duration of her life."

Draco frowned and looked away from Severus, clearly struggling to contain his anger. "I don't . . . I don't care about—"

"About her blood status? No. You stopped that during your sixth year."

The boy turned and stared at him. "You knew?"

Severus kept his stony expression but was having difficulties not rolling his eyes. In the end, he raised an incredulous eyebrow and made an insulted scoff. "I was a spy for twenty years, Draco. I was able to keep the Dark Lord himself from knowing my true allegiance. Did you think that two hormonally inhibited teenagers, both of whom I am magically tied to, sneaking around the castle would escape me?"

"Why didn't you stop us?" Draco asked.

"Because I had hoped some of your self-preservation would rub off on Miss Granger. And perhaps, in exchange, you would learn compassion from her."

"Hermione," Draco said, correcting him. "She's right. You're distancing yourself."

Severus sneered at the boy. "Your relationship with Hermione, however inappropriate at the time," he added and the look of disapproval could not be more clear in that moment, "was something I felt best to cultivate instead of dissuade. Efforts I now see being wasted as you act the fool by provoking her to anger. And if you say that she started it, I will hit you. I'm aware these little games you are playing are merely for your amusement, but did you ever think that perhaps if you put any actual effort into being kind to the girl, you would have her adoration instead of fury to keep you entertained?"

The boy remained silent, reflecting on the words of his godfather.

"When you first found out about this betrothal, I cautioned you to tread carefully."

Draco frowned and turned his back to him, likely to hide his fears and vulnerabilities. "I'm good at making her angry."

"Obviously."

"I hurt her," Draco said quietly. "I hurt her a lot."

"And Gryffindors aren't known for being very forgiving," Severus said, his tone tinged with a touch of understanding that he hoped Draco knew better than to question. "I'm aware."

"Making her angry is easier than . . . than apologising."

Severus leant against the desk and allowed his shoulders to relax a touch now that the boy had dropped his arrogant attitude that had a tendency to raise his blood pressure in response. "Gryffindors wear their emotions on the surface. You would do well to mimic that behaviour . . . in this instance."

Draco nodded his head and then, after half a minute of silent contemplation, he turned and smirked. "Are you offering me relationship advice, Uncle Severus?"

Severus snarled, "Get out."

Hermione left her godfather's office but not the dungeons.

She had contemplated going back to Gryffindor Tower and ranting to her friends, or even to visit her uncle and Remus and let them know how she was feeling. Gryffindors, she thought. They were all just like her and a little too hot-tempered to offer any form of genuinely useful advice.

Ron would likely either laugh at her house-elf problem or offer to hex Draco in the halls.

Harry was busy avoiding Gryffindor Tower where Winston had taken over, stopping her self-imposed cleaning regimen only to seek out Hermione to make sure she was well, or to admire Harry from afar, having heard tales of the Great Harry Potter, friend to elves.

Sirius, ever the imposing figure that he adored being, would gladly follow Draco around in Animagus form, taunting him, if she only asked.

Remus would likely be helpful, but she knew her uncle would pout if she asked for help from the werewolf instead of him; he already had issues with Snape being her godfather, though he at least understood Regulus's reasoning.

No, she couldn't go to the Gryffindors. She wasn't very close with the Hufflepuffs. She could barely understand Luna half the time which left out the Ravenclaws. That left only one other option.

"I am angry, Theo!" she said as she paced back and forth in the Slytherin common room, forcing away the shiver that crept over her skin. Honestly, how did these people not freeze to death in here? "He only wants me because I'm a pureblood now, and that disgusts me! He bought me an elf. An elf! He doesn't know a thing about me, doesn't care about me, and I hate him!"

Theo sat on the sofa, watching her wear a hole in the carpet. She'd stormed in, caught him off guard reading by the fire, and went into a massive rant about "that rotten ferrety bastard!" without even so much as a "hello, Theo, and how are you this fine day?"

When there was a lull in her ramblings, he took a breath and decided to participate in the conversation just in case those pesky rumours about the Black family's mental instability were true. "I take it your Gryffindor friends are used to little outbursts like this?"

She huffed. "I can't talk to them because they'll just attack him, and I . . . I don't want anyone to get in trouble."

He smirked. Theo figured that trouble wasn't what she was avoiding. She didn't want to see Draco get hurt, at least by anyone but herself and even then her morally grey area always did lean closer to white than black. "Well, first, calm down and stop crying," he advised and watched as she wiped at her eyes in confusion, clearly not having noticed that she'd started leaking tears.

"Second, Draco doesn't care about your blood status," he continued, and at her incredulous expression, rolled his eyes. "Don't look at me like that. He's been my best friend since we were in nappies. I know him better than I know Daphne," he said and then paused and carefully worded his next sentence. "And I know about sixth year."

Her grey eyes widened and her cheeks flushed.

Predictable.

"What do you know?" she asked, her voice barely a squeak.

Theo smirked. "Everything and more. Likely more than you."

"He . . . th-that was . . ." she stammered. "He was using me," she finally spat out angrily. "That pureblood tradition that you told me about—"

"The one where pureblood wizards are instructed to bed as many witches as possible? That tradition? The tradition that Malfoys are historically known for ignoring?" he said, cutting her off. "Hermione, you're the only witch Draco's ever been with," he said quietly, making sure that no one else was in the room with them. "I know because after he was with you the first time, he came back here and drank himself sick. Not to embarrass you but . . . there was talk about blood," he said and watched as her face turned red and she looked away from him. "He screamed about his father for a good hour, said your blood was red and not dirty like he'd been told his whole life. He said a lot of things that night."

Hermione forced her bottom lip not to quiver as she remembered that Draco had left her alone in the Room of Requirement after letting her fall asleep in his arms. She woke to a note and a Calming Draught. Apparently, he had needed one as well. "He . . . But he broke up with me," she said in confusion. "Called me a Mudblood and said . . . And what about Astoria? Daphne said he was engaged to Astoria."

Theo nodded. "Who he's thought of as a little sister since we were children. Daphne and I are a lucky pairing," he tried to explain. "I learnt to love her. Most children that are betrothed at such a young age develop sibling-like love. It creates some nasty marriages. Most contracts are broken by the time they're out of Hogwarts."

"Then why—?"

"Sit down." He sighed and ran a hand through his dark brown locks. "Fuck, he's gonna be pissed I'm telling you this, but he's clearly too stupid to handle this situation on his own. Hermione, sixth year over Easter break, Draco went home to report to the Dark Lord about his . . . mission. The man wasn't pleased. He entered his mind, nearly broke Draco doing it too," he said the words in a whisper. "Cracked his Occlumency shields enough to see . . . well, you," he told her and watched as understanding dawned on the Gryffindor. "Only not you. Draco said he was able to keep your face away from the Dark Lord. But he knew what you were up to. Knew there was a girl that was distracting him."

"Oh my god."

"The Dark Lord assumed, since Malfoys are known to not venture outside of their betrothals," he said very pointedly, "that the girl in question was Astoria. She was kidnapped from her home and brought to Malfoy Manor. She was threatened . . . in a . . ." he hesitated and sighed at the memory of Daphne's crying when she'd been told by Draco himself what her sister had gone through on his behalf, "a variety of ways. They didn't physically hurt her, but they made Draco watch while she cried. She was fourteen for fuck's sake. They told him what they'd do to her. Essentially, what they wanted to do to you. Then they Crucio'd him."

He watched carefully as she flinched, her hand rubbing against the forearm of her left arm which remained tucked beneath the sleeves of her red and grey jumper. He knew what was there though. Draco had told him. "Slytherins are self-preservationists," he said, "and that means that people think we'll sell anyone out to save our own lives. But we keep one another safe. We protect what's ours."

She looked up at that. "I am not—"

"Make all the excuses you want to, Hermione," he said, cutting her off. "Blood status. Former rivalry. The fact that he's decided to take this contract thing and hold it over your head a little. Don't pretend that you don't know it's his way of trying to get a second chance. Don't pretend this little war the two of you have going on isn't some weird fucked up flirtation. You belong to him. He belongs to you. And I think you've both proven that time and time again. You kept the secret of your relationship from your friends, not because you were embarrassed but because you knew they'd attack him. You kept him sane and alive that year. He kept you hidden from the Dark Lord, and then tried to deny who you were as best he could to his crazy aunt then took a bloody Crucio for you. You stood side-by-side in battle, and then you testified to keep him out of Azkaban. Maybe, just maybe, start acting like you like one another when it's not a life or death situation.".