Disclaimer: All characters and recognizable story elements belong to J. K. Rowling.

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oOoOoOoOo

The next day started out normal enough. That is, if the definition of 'normal' included having lessons with someone who looked like himself. Correction: who looked like he used to. But while he no longer quite thought of himself as Harry Potter, it was nevertheless his reflection he'd seen in the mirror all his life. So it felt decidedly weird to see Dora looking like that, knowing he himself no longer did. Somehow it was worse than when she looked like he did now, as had been the case in most of their sessions so far. Because Corvus still wasn't the reflection he expected to see in the mirror.

However, from now on, Dora would assume this appearance whenever they were training together. It was just safer in case someone from the Order came around without warning, and wanted to meet 'Harry'. It also gave her further practise for Hogwarts, so Corvus had no real reason to object. But it was ... strange. Even more so to see 'himself' pout, mope and generally behave in a rather moody manner. Dora claimed she was simply copying what she'd observed in the past. It certainly matched what they'd discussed about how she should behave as Harry. But to actually see it acted out, on the face he still mostly thought of as 'his own' … well.

Had he really behaved like that? Worse, did he still? All this … teenage drama?

It was a most disconcerting thought. And rather distracting.

Which earned him a gentle lecture from Remus about not letting himself get distracted. After that, he made an effort to pay her no attention. The pretend moodiness got on his nerves, however. Honest, if he'd actually been like that, how had his friends managed to put up with him? All right, they were teenagers themselves. And so was he. He sure hoped he didn't act like that anymore, though. Yet in case he didn't, but used to, it begged the question of what exactly had changed. Well, aside from possibly everything, of course.

Finally, when Dora went for a break, he nerved himself and asked Remus.

"Did I really behave like that?"

The teacher sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "Yes," he admitted. "You did. Sorry," he added at seeing Corvus' disturbed expression.

"Do I … still?"

"Sometimes you can be a tad sulky. Usually when you are tired. But mostly … no. Not anymore. You seem a lot more … content now. And more settled."

"Oh. Good."

That would explain a drastic change. Because Remus was right, he did feel content most of the time. Maybe not outright happy, but definitely content. It was knowing that he was wanted, and protected, and someone cared how well he did. That he had real connections to people, and was no longer floundering, all on his own. It was like having a security blanket to shield him from the world. A blanket partly made of fluffy white clouds, he realised after a moment. Because his increased proficiency in Occlumency was likely the other reason he was no longer such an emotional mess.

Clear your mind, indeed.

It also helped him sleep better. No longer were his nights constantly plagued by nightmares. Which in turn made it possible to deal with some of those … issues which caused the worst nightmares. It was simply easier to put things into a proper perspective when you weren't forced to relive them at their worst frequently. So yeah … there were actually quite a few reasons for a change.

In fact, all things considered, it would be more surprising if he hadn't stopped being so moody and depressive. Because his new life really was much better. Mind, it was stressful at times. It was hardly perfect. But it was definitely better in many ways.

Now he only needed to work out why he felt vaguely guilty about that.

Shouldn't he rejoice things were starting to look up? Indeed he should. And he probably should also leave the survivor's guilt behind. He'd had a long talk with Remus about that shortly after Sirius' death. It hadn't helped much then. But now ...

Let's face it … neither Sirius, nor Cedric, would grudge him for finally getting something worth calling a life. Nor would the Potters. Depriving himself would not help those who were unfortunately gone. What he could, and should do now on, was to work hard to make their deaths count. To avenge them, and make the bastard snake-face pay. And maybe help create a better world in their memory. Moping and feeling bad would certainly not help with any of that. Having guilty feelings because he was doing better was just stupid.

And he'd already established that he had no more room in his life for stupid. So … take the good and appreciate it, and try to turn the bad into something better, too. That was the only way forward. As well as the best way to honour anyone who'd died because of him. Or for him. Or frankly, had died because Voldemort was a murderous bastard.

Right. Onwards.

Aside from that, the morning passed fairly tranquil. The lessons went pretty well, only interrupted a few times when Winky popped by to ask them a question or show them something she'd found. It was also uplifting to confirm that yes, he was now much better at Transfiguration.

He'd never realised the importance of visualisation for the subject. But then, the theory consisted largely of laws and rules on what could be transfigured into what else, based on similarities and obstructions and whatnot. And the practical work was all incantations and precise wand-work. Which worked well enough. So given how McGonagall always stressed the importance of precision … how was he to know. That with the addition of really strong visualisations, like he now used in silent casting … it became ever so much easier.

Well, it might be another case of trees and woods, and people not realising they needed to tell him something. Or perhaps it was simply that he was so much better at visualising than others? Because if you couldn't picture the result perfectly and without effort, you were probably better off not doing it at all. It would just distract from the actual spell-casting. So why tell the students something which hardly anyone would be able to put into practise, and might even be dangerous? Still, whatever the reason, he was not going to look this gift horse in the mouth. Harry Potter had been merely adequate at Transfiguration. Corvus Black looked to be fairly exceptional, with some practise. It was definitely something to put him in good spirits.

It was at lunch when the bomb dropped.

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oOoOoOoOo

His father had shown up just before midday, since Corvus' daily headache was scheduled for afterwards. The four of them were peacefully eating their meal in the kitchen, with occasional banter and appreciative noises for Winky's cooking, when Dumbledore joined them. He didn't look very happy. Given that he also carried a stack of official looking documents and a couple of books, his expression promised complications.

"Albus? Is there a problem?" Remus asked tentatively.

The blue eyes were unusually stormy. "Please finish your lunch, everyone."

"Why do I suspect what you are going to tell us will rob us of our appetite?" Snape remarked with a frown.

The headmaster sighed and put his burden down on a sideboard. "It is a possibility," he admitted, sounding uncomfortable. "Nevertheless, some things are better faced on a full stomach. I will fill you in afterwards."

With that he sat down, accepted a plate from Winky, and refused to answer any questions. Lunch was finished in a tense, uneasy silence. Finally they were all done, and Snape gave Dumbledore a fierce glare.

"All right, we are done. Talk. Now."

"Oh, Severus, always so ferocious," the old wizard said with a smile which seemed forced.

"There obviously is some problem with the emancipation … so talk!" Snape snarled harshly.

The headmaster heaved a great sigh of capitulation. "I was indeed called into the Ministry early this morning … by the Minister himself, no less. And the advisory council of the Wizengamot," he added. "There was much heated discussion, but in the end they did agree to the emancipation. In principle. Provided ..."

Corvus swallowed around the constriction in his throat. He'd already struggled with the remains of lunch, as apprehension had sat heavily in his stomach. His imagination had gone into overdrive meanwhile. And now it was busy throwing everything at him that the Ministry could possibly want, in return for granting his emancipation.

"Albus ..." Snape growled, his voice carrying a clear warning for Dumbledore to stop stalling.

"They insist on questioning Corvus under Veritaserum to make sure he does not intend to follow in his mother's footsteps. In front of the full Wizengamot," the headmaster told them quietly, his unhappy expression from earlier returning full force. "I tried to argue for a more … restricted setting at least, but ..."

His father gave the old wizard an appalled look. Dora had paled. Remus looked slightly sick. And Corvus could only agree with those reactions. They had feared the possibility of Veritaserum, and considered various ways to get around it, but those all depended on a limited number of spectators. Switching or affecting the effectiveness of the potion would be impossible in front of the full Wizengamot. As for influencing the questions, or worse, the last resort measure of changing the memories of the interrogators … none of that would work under those circumstances.

"How can they demand that?" Dora asked, sounding horrified. "This is nothing like normal procedure for an emancipation, even when it involves a Lordship. They are treating him like a criminal!"

"Of course, but these are unfortunately not normal times. Usually they would not dare, as it sets a most inconvenient precedent for the future. However, they just saw Voldemort returned, and everyone is terrified. And then, mere weeks afterwards, someone claiming to be Bellatrix' son shows up and lays claim to the Black fortune and Wizengamot seat. Under these circumstances, it is somewhat understandable they wish to make sure."

"Yet most inconvenient for us. But what can we do now? We never counted on something so … public," Snape said, clearly frustrated.

This was indeed a huge problem. Worse, they could not get out of the situation without arousing a lot of suspicion. Because if Corvus Black refused this questioning … it would give a horribly wrong impression. Everybody would assume it was because he was on Voldemort's side. They would never suspect he was instead Voldemort's favourite enemy and main target, and desperately needed to hide the fact.

Dumbledore sighed and passed a tired hand over his brow. "I may have a solution. But first I need to test your son's progress in Occlumency. To see whether it is feasible at all."

Two pairs of dark eyes met in shared unhappiness.

"Do I really want to know what obscure technique you have dug up, Albus?" Snape asked darkly, his gaze never leaving his son's.

"Probably not, dear Severus," the old wizard admitted with a rueful chuckle. "However, if it works, it will solve our problem quite handily."

"All right then. Go ahead and test him, if you must," his father said, sounding resigned. The corner of his mouth was curved into a malicious smile, however.

Corvus could not entirely fault him for that smile. Because if Dumbledore felt at all guilty for what his decisions had done to Corvus' supposed 'childhood' … then he was in for some rather unpleasant surprises. He had learned a dirty trick or two, after all. Time to show the headmaster what he could do.

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oOoOoOoOo

Dumbledore eventually finished his guilt-ridden apologies. They had pleased Corvus' more vindictive side … and made him feel uncomfortable at the same time. He was perfectly happy, though, that he had spotted the old wizard's intrusion quite easily. And gratified by the fact that his ability to shuffle memories around and hide them clearly impressed the headmaster. Which apparently opened the way for whatever the old man had in mind …

"You have come incredibly far in the last couple of weeks," the headmaster praised yet again, looking relatively composed for someone who had been close to tears recently. "Which should, with the help of your father, allow us to use this method to shield you from the effects of the Veritaserum," he added, smoothing out a page in the ancient-looking tome he had brought out after they were done with the testing.

Said father was busy peering over the headmaster's shoulder at the visible page of the book. And frowning heavily, which was less promising than Dumbledore's enthusiasm.

"Fidelius Mentis, Albus? Do you really think he is ready for something like that?" he asked with disbelief in his voice.

"I do. Because the two of you have come far in trusting each other and working together as well, or is that not the truth?" Dumbledore countered with a touch of challenge, looking back over his shoulder at the younger wizard.

"Much further than I would have believed possible. But this ..." Snape admitted stiffly, still studying the page intently. "This demands an entirely different magnitude of trust."

"Corvus has the necessary skills at ordering memories. And you should easily be able to affect the connections. The question is simply whether he trusts you to do it. I maintain that he does."

"But enough for this?" Snape asked, raising his eyes from the book to stare directly at his son.

"Enough for what?" Corvus retorted, somewhat impatiently, as his father kept staring at him in assessment.

"We are talking about an Occlumency technique which is somewhat similar to the Fidelius charm," his father explained carefully. "It is, however, rather … advanced. And frankly, rarely used in this way, as it demands a high level of trust between two Occlumens. Since most people who resort to Occlumency do so out of a need to hide things … trust is usually an inherent problem."

"Oh."

"I do actually agree with Albus that your ability to handle memories is adequate for this, but … you would need to fully trust me with your memories, Corvus. To let me see, and manipulate them, without fighting me. And … I simply do not know, if you can really do that?"

The last sounded very tentative and doubtful. But it was, indeed, the big question. Whether he, Harry Potter, who had learned the hard way not to trust anybody, could really trust Snape … his father ... enough to let him mess about with his mind. A month ago, the answer would have been a clear no. Now … he really didn't know. Yet there was a great deal of need for this. All the more so, because he had just automatically thought of himself as Harry Potter. If someone asked him for his name, it was still his first impulse to say Harry Potter, even though it was not exactly true anymore. But it was a deep-rooted habit.

A problem which would be horribly compounded when under Veritaserum.

So. Needs must. Though he had never really understood the rationale behind the whole quote. How exactly did the devil drive? Or what, or where? But he understood the meaning well enough. He needed to trust, though every instinct told him not to. He stared back into his father's eyes, which were glittering darkly with intensity. Did he trust? Could he trust? Did he even want to trust this man, who had always gone out of his way to make Harry Potter's life unpleasant.

On the other hand, as far as seeing the memories was concerned, Snape already knew a lot about him. And even last year, during those horrible Occlumency lessons, he'd never gone and blabbed about them. At least as far as … Corvus knew. There was one thing he did know, however. Indisputably and without the least doubt. His father cared a great deal for his son's safety. The man had always protected him, even while he was still detested Harry Potter. He could definitely trust in that. Still ...

"Maybe you could explain to me how this is meant to work? And exactly why it needs so much trust?"

"It has to do with the way Veritaserum works. The potion depends largely on automatic responses," Snape explained, frowning slightly. "You know the impulse to give an automatic answer? Like when I say 'black', you would say …?"

"White?"

"Indeed. There are … connections between words, facts, and memories. It has something to do with the way our minds are organised. The Veritaserum strongly enhances these connections, making it almost impossible not to give the immediate, and generally truthful response. Now, despite the name, the Fidelius Mentis does not actually lock memories or facts away, not as such. It instead removes something from them. It is not easy to explain," he added with a frustrated sigh.

Corvus gave him an encouraging smile.

"It affects the connections between facts and memories by disrupting associations. Afterwards, associated memories can only be accessed clearly by someone with the key to the Fidelius. Which is you and the 'secret keeper'. Though normally this technique is done internally by the Occlumens himself. To have someone else perform this … requires you to trust them to tamper with the very nature of your memories. Something which the mind will normally rebel against."

"Oh. Well, that makes sense, I guess."

"At your current skill level, you are as yet not able to do this all by yourself. However, I could also not do it without your willing participation. You would need to sort and … bundle the memories, for lack of a better term … allowing me to afterwards disassociate them," Snape continued his explanation, clearly struggling with the words. "But you would have to allow me do that, without fighting it."

"Basically, this technique works against Veritaserum, because it disrupts the immediate connection between a question and the corresponding answer. Which allows you to give a different answer, despite the serum. It also makes the underlying memories difficult to access for anyone who was not involved in the disassociation process," Dumbledore summarized. The old wizard had been watching the two of them with an annoyingly knowing twinkle in his eyes.

But the day the headmaster stopped trying to meddle, was probably the day the sun stopped rising in the East.

"So instead of having to follow the impulse to say Harry Potter, I'd be able to say Corvus Black, for example?"

"Yes. Unless you have yet another identity hidden away somewhere?" Snape asked with a sardonic smile.

"Well … "

Corvus gave his father an innocent smile back.

"Right," the man said drily. "However, a side effect you may or may not appreciate is that to some extent these connections are of an emotional nature."

"Which means?"

"That it also puts the memories and facts under Fidelius at an increased emotional distance. They are still there, of course, but … much less present. Emotionally, that is."

"So I would likely feel even less like Harry Potter?"

"A great deal so, I fear. Which is one major reason why this technique is not often used. However, it is something which can be executed by another Occlumens … and you are unfortunately not advanced enough to foil Veritaserum by other means yet."

Well. All things considered, emotional distance would be more a benefit than a flaw. Because regrettably, far too few of Harry's memories were really good ones. Being distanced from them would mostly be a blessing. So this was actually another reason to go through with this.

But would his subconscious mind allow this tampering … without fighting it? On an instinctual level?

He looked back into his father's eyes. Could he actually do it? That was the big question. He was all right with it happening in principle. He certainly wanted to be safe from the Veritaserum. But he still might fight Snape, simply because he didn't have the necessary instinctive trust to allow him to mess with his mind. However, there was really only one way to find out ...

"Does this have to be done all in one go?" he asked. "Or could you test it with something, so we know if it is possible at all?"

"No, it does not need to be in one piece. I take it you would want it done as late as possible?"

"Well, when is the Wizengamot meeting scheduled for, sir?" Corvus asked the headmaster.

"Tuesday, dear boy," Dumbledore told him. "Which gives you a little time … though not overly much."

"Do you think I could go visit the Weasleys on Sunday? I think I would like to meet them one last time … as Harry that is."

Snape's gaze turned calculating. But also understanding. "Because after the Fidelius, you will find it harder acting like Harry?"

"It's very likely, isn't it? So if this does work, I'd like to delay it until … Monday? Unless that is too close?"

"No, that should be doable, if we keep the whole day free for it. Provided we can do it at all, of course. We will practise bundling memories starting today, though. That will make the main task easier. What would you like to use for a test?"

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe my birth-date? That's one of the standard questions they always ask, isn't it?"

"Yes. And a good choice, since it is a concrete and simple fact, while still linked with multiple memories."

They had settled on the 12th of July for Corvus' supposed birthday. It was far enough from his real one to put him safely out of range of 'as the seventh month dies'. And as far as they could tell, no-one had looked at the tapestry within the two weeks prior to his real birthday. As to why Corvus had not shown up there beforehand … in case anyone asked, they would simply go with the real explanation. That he had been hidden for some reason, but whatever spell had been used to make him forgotten expired upon his reaching the age of consent.

Not that anyone was likely to question it, but you never knew. And there was always Moody. It was better to have an explanation on hand, just in case. As for the tapestry itself … Corvus had discovered today he was able to transfigure the weaving of the date itself. The thing was normally quite resistant to being spelled, but he'd managed it easily. Though given he was wearing the Lord-ring, maybe that was not so hard to explain. He'd have to redo it frequently, of course, to be on the safe side. It would not do to have it wear off at an inopportune moment.

But it was ever so much safer than a glamour. Nothing to dispel or see through. And once he left for school, the thing could conveniently go into 'storage'. Or better yet, he could see about having it restored instead. Surely all those burnt spots had done the spell-work no good, and it would make a perfect explanation for its absence, too. He would ask at Gringotts next time he went there.

"Son of mine … I would like to get this done today, if you don't mind?"

Oops. There he had gone wool-gathering again. He gave his father a slightly sheepish smile.

"Sorry. How do we do this then, Padre?"

"Hmm. I believe it would be a good idea for you to be in a trance. As deep as you can go. You are much less likely to fight me in that state, methinks."

Corvus nodded his agreement. "Right. So … let's do it?"

"Indeed. Make yourself comfortable and start with breathing exercises while I go over the text again to ensure I have understood this perfectly ..."

Right. Nothing new about a trance. Nothing he had not done before. Nothing he needed to get nervous about. This would either work or not. He could leave it all in the able hands of his father … and the trust would either be there or not. That was the lovely thing about being in a trance … you had nothing to worry about. It was a lot like being under the Imperius … only not quite. There was the same feeling of floating and listening to directions, yet nothing to force him to do anything. He didn't have to listen. He was simply much more likely to do so, and trust the deep, smooth voice directing him.

The voice he had come to associate with safety.

It was a very satisfied headmaster indeed who left Grimmauld Place a while later, knowing his solution would work.

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oOoOoOoOo

"I promise to keep Draco safe to the best of my ability. I already told you I would. But I will not gamble my life on his willingness to see reason and cooperate! I will do what I can, but I refuse to fall with him … because of his mistakes, or worse, his wilfulness!"

"Severus ..."

"Do you honestly think our Lord would refrain from punishing all of us in case Draco fails … and I had to step in? Do you really believe he would be appeased if your son failed and I had to act in his stead? Which I would have to, if I bound my life to his. No, Narcissa. Do not ask this of me. It is folly, utter folly!"

The message arranging for this late-night meeting had been politely worded, and exceedingly formal. Narcissa Malfoy, pleading for his help in person, was anything but. She was distraught. Wringing her hands, and almost in tears. All of which earned her disgusted looks from her sister, who once again had accompanied her. Though this time, Bellatrix was not looking too well herself. Her dress was dirty and torn, and she could not hide the spasmodic twinges of her hands. The Dark Lord had been most enthusiastic in his use of the Cruciatus, when his former favourite proved unable to answer his questions.

How far she had fallen from the beautiful, confident seductress of the past.

Seeing her now was quite unsettling. Or more accurately, the thought that this demented wreck had given birth to someone like Corvus. His son had inherited some traits from her, no doubt, but in most ways they were so very different. As for their appearance … they shared the same impossible curls, though hers were matted and unkempt at present. They had similar features, though her current gauntness disguised that fact to some extent. And those lips which could be so sultry and seductive in her face, were still given to rather shy smiles in her son.

However, the mere act of bearing a child did not make a woman into a mother. Especially, when she could not even remember it. The contrast between the two sisters was really quite extreme. One was willing to debase herself for her only child, while the other was only interested in saving her own skin and perhaps gaining power over her offspring. It made him more sympathetic with Narcissa, helplessly caught in webs spun by others.

But he would not swear his life to what she wanted of him, not for all the desperately pleading looks in the world. Especially now that he knew his days as a spy were numbered. And when he finally had a very good reason to stay alive, too.

"No. I will not. I cannot. You do not understand what is at stake here. You do not know all that is happening … nor what plans the Dark Lord truly spins."

"And you do, Snape?" Bellatrix snarled at him.

Her frequent hostility towards him made him wonder if she remembered at all that he had shared her bed at some point. Maybe he had made her forget that little fact along with their son … but he could hardly ask her. Not without the risk of alerting her to possibilities. So he just gave her a cold look, flicking his eyes up and down her figure with his usual disdain.

"More than you these days, dearest Bellatrix," he told her silkily. "Tell me, did you enjoy the attentions of our Lord after I informed him of your … failings?"

"How dare you! It was all your fault ..."

He interrupted her before she could start to vent her rage properly. "My fault you had a child and lost him? How can that be my fault? I was, however, the one to discover the fact, and to bring it to the Dark Lord's attention. Before he had to learn it from other sources … at the same time as everyone else. You cannot believe this would stay a secret?" he asked her with a raised eyebrow.

"If we got to the brat in time ..."

"But it is already too late," he cut her off again. "Dumbledore himself has his claws into your son. You should have been the one to raise him for the Dark Lord's glory. Instead you carelessly lost him … and you cannot even remember how," he continued relentlessly, openly mocking her. "And you call yourself a witch?"

She appeared quite ready to start hexing him, but Narcissa latched onto her sister's arm and held her back.

"Enough! Severus! I beg you … please … reconsider!"

"Not again! Did you not listen to me at all, woman? I will help Draco … if the foolish boy lets me. I will protect him … as much as I am able. The Dark Lord does not look kindly on failure. And if Draco fails, and another has to finish his task for him, he will still see it as failure! I will not tie my very life to that risk. This is my last word on the subject, Narcissa. As for you, Bella ..." he turned his attention to the older sister, who was glowering at him, her eyes full of impotent fury.

"Our Lord has already tasked me with what you asked … and I will deliver my findings to him only. I care not a whit whether you manage to wriggle out of your own mess! If you could not take care then … why should I now?" he told her venomously. "Do not think to make demands of me … at the moment the Dark Lord holds you in little esteem … and much less trust than before."

"All because of you, traitor!"

He sneered at her. "You have only yourself to blame. You obviously sought only your pleasure, and now you must pay the price. So who truly was the traitor there, hmm? Though … it is convenient you are here ..."

"Convenient?" she spat at him. "I'll show you convenient, you bastard!"

"I need your blood, witch. Our Lord wishes to know for certain if the brat is really yours. Who knows, you may yet be lucky and he is not, after all," he pointed out coldly. "I hope in your own interest you will cooperate ..."

The rage in her eyes gave way to calculation. "Could you make it … so he is not?" she asked slyly.

He gave her another disdainful sneer. "Salazar save me from stupid women. What good would that do, if shortly afterwards the goblins declare the opposite? You and your sister are obviously well matched in not thinking things through."

Narcissa's expression turned pained, and she turned her face away. Bellatrix was another matter. Of course, he was not helping with all the mockery he was subjecting her to. Her fingers flexed towards her wand as she glared at him. Ah ...

"Are you going to curse me, when your hands yet tremble and twitch from our Lord's parting gift? When the pain of the Cruciatus still burns through your nerves?" he taunted her cruelly. "When you can hardly grasp that wand? Go ahead and try it," he challenged her. "Show me what you can do after you have been on the receiving end of your favourite spell."

The fingers stilled … but if looks could kill …

"Indeed. Be wise, Bellatrix, and pick your battles well. You do not want me even more your enemy … not at the moment, dearest. Not when you have fallen out of favour, and are in such poor shape. Now … your blood," he demanded imperiously, half turning to pick up a knife and an empty vial from a side-table.

He watched her coldly as she sliced her finger, deeper than necessary in her anger, filling the vial and thrusting it at him. He simply took it from her, and put it away carefully in an inside pocket.

"That done … get out," he told her harshly, flicking his fingers at the door, which sprang open sharply. "Narcissa," he added courteously, inclining his head politely. "I will keep you informed. And again, I promise to do what I can for Draco."

Neither of the two sisters were happy to leave, their tasks essentially unfulfilled. One had pleaded for the life of her son, the other demanded information she could use against hers.

So similar, so different. One might yet redeem herself, or at least leave this madness behind. The other …

There was nothing to salvage there. Nothing. Between the Dark Lord and the Dementors, there was nothing worthwhile left. Nothing. Only the legacy of a son, whom he would keep from her.

Far, far away. If they never even set eyes on each other again, all the better. She had done enough damage to Corvus as it was. Not that he held any grief for the mutt, but Black's pointless death had hurt his son. For that alone, she deserved her current predicament. And more, so much more. Then again, the Dark Lord was not exactly known for his forgiveness of failures. She would likely suffer more before he forgave her. If he ever did.

As his eyes roamed over the dingy sitting room of his father's old house, which only his mother's love had once kept from being totally unbearable, Severus considered all the mothers of house Black that he knew …

Walburga, who lost both her offspring because she clung to empty blood-purity ideals and propaganda. And who was now ironically falling for the charm and deceptions of his half-blood son.

Bellatrix, who first lost all innocence because of her fascination with the Dark Lord and his teachings, and later her mind to the Dementors. And because of that, she had lost her son before she even knew him.

Narcissa, who had recently discovered to her desperation that thanks to losing her husband to the Dark Lord, she was likely to lose her son as well.

And finally Andromeda, who lost her old family because she turned her back on blood-purity, and gave it all up for a highly improper love.

All in all, it looked like she made the best choice by far. Not that the other three were likely to agree …

But no matter what, he would do his best to keep the children of the three sisters whole and alive. And maybe the next generation born of Black blood would not find themselves on different sides of the divide.

Maybe. Redemption could perhaps not be considered the most typically Slytherin of ambitions, but it would definitely need a lot of cunning to achieve.

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oOoOoOoOo

AN: I am really very sorry for not updating in over a month. I could make various excuses, but in the end, it would be just excuses. Let's instead say a horrible lack of motivation and an utter absence of inspiration combined into a most unproductive month, and leave it at that. On the plus side, careful consideration of what I still need to have happen made me realise I should be able to wrap the summer up in another six to ten chapters at most. Exactly how long depends on how much I compress or extend some things, and whether some of the characters end up wanting to have long conversations again. However, it really should not take much longer to finally get to Hogwarts.

To be honest, I have no idea yet how extended Corvus' interactions with Neville and the various Black relatives will be. It will happen. That is about all I know at this point. The extent is entirely up to the part of my brain which writes this story. A lot of the interactions so far were not planned beforehand, but simply wrote themselves. Some characters kind of butted their way in and are now here to stay (I did not plan for Remus to be so important, nor for Phineas Black). So they might yet play an important role … or not. I am sure they will let me know.

As always, many thanks for the lovely reviews, whether you are one of my regular returning reviewers, or someone new letting me know you enjoyed the story so far. I really appreciate all of you. A few quick answers to some of the other recent questions: 'Harry Potter' needs to stay alive for the moment, as he is the perfect red herring for Voldemort. Severus and Remus will stay 'just friends', though if Remus gets his act together with Dora, they may yet become sort of in-laws. And there are no Hallows in this story, therefore no resurrection stone, and no talks with any dead characters, sorry.