Chapter Eighty-Eight

The door to the bathroom opened up behind where Malachi sat on the couch – in their new, tiny living quarters – the room suddenly filling with the steam built up from a very long shower and, a few moments later, Draco strode passed, chin held high, stark naked with the exception of a towel that hung loosely around his waist.

Malachi stared at him as he passed while Draco simply ignored his existence.

He went into the room to Malachi's left – their new, shared bedroom – and shut the door.

Malachi eyed it in annoyance, Draco's continuing brazen rudeness and disregard for his family starting to grate.

The house by the lake that Malachi wasn't sure felt much like home suddenly felt way more preferable than it had in recent weeks – he sure regretted complaining and comparing it to their real home in Crail, now – and tried to focus on the parchment resting on his drawn up knees, dipping his quill into the ink jar beside him.

Murmured voices and soft laughter from the other bedroom, slightly behind him, made him roll his eyes.

Malachi peered more intently at the words he was writing, determined not to be put off his train of thought, even when their laughter became giggles, their tones more hushed, and then, of course, came the unmistakable sound of enthusiastic snogging and Malachi flipped his head in their direction.

"Ugh. Can you at least close the door? You're not the only two people living here, you know."

His dad's grinning face immediately popped around the doorframe, eyebrows lifting, "Keeping you off your work, Son? My apologies."

Malachi shot him a look, as Julia appeared behind his dad, chuckling as she walked out from their room, and headed over to the cooling unit.

"Well, I can certain sympathise with that –" she pulled out a bottle of water, taking a drink, "You do have a rather distracting quality about you, Black."

Malachi looked at Julia, dressed in the white tabard that she now wore over her dress, in lieu of her usual robes – the loss of the loose fabric making her pregnancy extremely obvious to anyone who looked – and he immediately straightened up when he took in her Healing attire.

"Oh, are you heading back down to the Healing unit?" he glanced between the two of them, "Did they bring more people in?"

His dad stepped towards him, shaking his head as a hand went to his shoulder but, before either of them could answer the door to his shared bedroom with Draco opened and Draco strode out – completely ignoring all of them, as he had been doing ever since his dad had brought him home – striding to the door, obviously intending to just leave and stay out of sight all day, again.

"Hey, Draco," his dad called after him, hastily rounding the couch and Draco stopped, meeting his dad's eyes with obvious reluctance.

"There's food in the cooling unit, I brought it over for breakfast –"

"Saw it. Had some in my room this morning."

When his dad just continued to look at him, Draco added as an obvious after-thought; "Thanks."

His dad nodded.

"Well. Good. That's what it's there for. Do help yourself to anything –" his dad said, shooting a look at Malachi when he glowered at him, pretty sure his dad would smack him up the back of the head and give him a good telling-off if he dared to be such an arse as Draco was being to them, " – this is our – um – our joint home for the time being," he met Julia's eyes, who gave Draco – who barely met her eyes – a warm smile, before his dad went on.

"We have the six o' clock slot in the Bistro for dinner tonight. Don't be late this time, alright? It mucks up the system, a bit, when people diverge from the arrangement and we need to get things running as smoothly as possible before more people start coming in."

Draco met his eyes, looking a little bit sheepish that time, but just nodded.

Not apologizing for the fact he'd been either not turning up – or turning up two minutes before their dining slot was due to end and the next group were waiting to come in for theirs – and being downright rude to his dad and Julia, to boot – staring at her stomach as if she were carrying the Dark Lord's child, himself.

Draco turned and headed out the door, without another word.

The atmosphere seemed to immediately lighten with his departure.

"Well," Julia capped the bottle she held and dropped it into the pocket of her tabard, "I'm no stranger to prickly – I was a bit of a diva, myself – but I have to say, your warnings were a little off the mark. Spoiled, no doubt, by this one."

She ruffled Malachi's hair as she passed – Malachi smiling up at her, over his knees – and made her way to his dad.

Julia looked at his dad, affectionately, adding a little more quietly, "He needs you, that one."

His dad nodded, pressing a kiss to her cheek, "See you at dinner?"

"Wait," Malachi quickly stopped her departure, "How come you're heading down to work? Are you expecting some more people in soon? Is there going to be another big fight –"

"Hey, take it easy, Son," his dad chuckled, approaching, and dropping down onto the couch beside him, while Julia smiled, shaking her head.

"No big emergencies, Kid. But there's always those everyday aches and pains and ailments that we all need to see a Healer for, right? I'll see you two tonight."

She headed from the room, and when the door clicked shut completely, Malachi relaxed completely, finally in the company of just his dad and shot him a look.

"Why am I sharing a room with Draco?"

"Because, Son, there is a distinct set-up within each of the quarters – two bedrooms for all, no excuses, unless the family exceeds five."

"You're the leader, couldn't you have made us a bigger place if you were gonna bring home my cousin who hates me?"

"And what sort of message would that have sent, hm? Us living in grandeur while the rest of them slum it? Nope. And Draco doesn't hate you, Son," his dad rubbed Malachi's shoulder, with a smile, "He hates me, if anyone, and, even then, not really. He's angry. He's hurting. He's alone. He needs to know he has people in the world who care about him."

Malachi sighed, eyes turning back to the parchment on his lap.

His dad peered at it, curiously, "That another one you've got for us?"

Malachi met his eyes, reddening a bit, under the immediate shine of pride his dad's eyes as he nodded.

His dad grinned more widely, the hand on Malachi's shoulder squeezing, before he tilted down his chin, "Have I told you today how proud I am of you –"

"Think the ten thousand times you've said it the past few weeks probably makes up for missing one today."

" – well, let me rectify that mistake, I am very proud of you, my son," he grinned, patting his shoulder, before going on, "These are going to make all the difference. So long as we keep getting your words out there, people are going to know that there's still a chance."

Malachi's shoulders shook, as he gave his dad a smile.

"You're the one making the difference, Dad."

It was his dad's turn to look bashful, then, under his son's praise, before Malachi nodded at the door.

"Julia; she seems really happy to go back to work."

His dad nodded, eyes brightening at the change of subject.

"That she is. It was a huge part of who she was before … Well. She loves it. Healing. Helping people."

Malachi could tell just by looking at him, that his dad felt guilty. Guilty at all Julia had given up for him. Even if he was trying to hide it and accept that it was up to her, like he'd told Malachi the summer before.

"Not as much as she loves you, Dad," Malachi said, in what he hoped was a reassuring tone, "You're both really happy. It's pretty gross."

His dad met his eyes, grinning at him, "Well. With your baby sister on the way, that is only going to get worse, Son."

He seized him and pressed a firm kiss to the top of Malachi's head – "urgh!" – before he got to his feet.

"You know the rules, right?"

"Same as always. Stay on the grounds. Don't get killed –"

" – Don't goad madmen on the other side of the gates," his dad added, in a tone meant to imitate Malachi's own mocking one.

"Like you're one to talk, Dad," Malachi chuckled.

His dad ruffled his hair, "See you tonight. You need me before then, office door's open, alright?"

Malachi nodded, turning back to writing his article – finally alone and able to think – while his dad headed off, ready to get planning whatever the next steps were to bring Voldemort down.


Harry was bored.

He lay on his back on the cushion on the ballroom floor, half-heartedly playing with the snitch that hovered above him, snatching it from the air whenever it came within distance.

Squeals and laughter came from the other side of the room, at the cordoned off area, where all the younger kids that would normally be attending the Learning Center were running around, playing games, their lessons still carrying on as normal despite the new change in circumstances.

A flash of lightening and a crash of thunder outside the windows made the children scream with exaggerated fright.

Malachi and Ron spoke to one another beside him, Harry barely even listening, his mind on Hogwarts.

Thoughts lingering on Daphne and their mornings and evenings in the Astronomy Tower and he wondered at her – how she was doing – back there without him. Wondered if she missed him like he missed her.

And he found himself longing for the previous term, when they were together – and Snape was there – and he tried, hard as he could, not to let his thoughts linger on the man for too long.

Couldn't help it, though.

They always strayed to Snape, eventually, these days. So often that, when Ron said it, Harry almost missed it; mistaking it for his own thoughts.

"…pretty awful there, now that Snape's been assigned as Headmaster."

Malachi didn't say anything.

And it took a second for the statement to sink in.

Harry sat up; "Snape? Snape is Headmaster at Hogwarts?"

Ron nodded; "Yeah. Mental, right? Heard it on the radio this morning. School's gonna start back up tomorrow and they've got bloody Death Eaters going in there now, as Professors of Muggle Studies and Defence Against the Dark Arts. Can just imagine what they're teaching everyone."

Harry shared a look with Malachi, knowing he was surely thinking the same thing; that Snape should not be back at Hogwarts right now.

Not ever.

"Good thing Professor McGonagall and the other professors are staying put. After what Snape did, they'll not be letting him off easy."

Harry cleared his throat, shifting uncomfortably, and forced down the immediate urge that swelled up within him to defend Snape. Obviously, he couldn't do that.

Malachi glanced at him, briefly, with obvious concern before he redirected the conversation, saying; "Feel sorry for the muggleborns."

Ron nodded; "Not just the ones at Hogwarts. Bill was telling me they're pushing through legislation right now, making it law that… wait –" Ron broke off, seeming to spot something, and he got up and went over to one of the tables, coming back with a copy of the Daily Prophet that he tossed onto Harry's lap.

Harry eyed it, quickly skimming the words before him.

"They're pushing that through. That it's not possible for a person to even be muggleborn – not unless there's an ancestor of theirs that was a true witch or wizard. They're making out that real muggles can't bear magical kids, that they must either be squibs or descendants of squibs and, if not, then the muggleborn with the magic must have stolen it. If a muggleborn can't prove it – that they've got someone of magical blood in their family tree – then they're getting put in Azkaban for –"

"What?" Malachi was outraged.

Harry stared at Ron, horrified, when he looked up from reading the article he'd shown him, which said the very same thing.

"There's a list of people being called before the Ministry –" Harry said, quickly turning the pages of the Prophet; " – Muggleborns who have to go in front of these 'hearings'. With a Dolores Umbridge –" he broke off, coming to the list.

There were dates and names listed across both spread pages.

Harry's eyes quickly skimmed the page, looking for Potter, finding it listed a few days from now.

Lily Potter nee Evans, hearing date the nineteenth of January, at eleven am.

Harry glowered at it, furiously, offended and outraged on his mum's behalf, that they'd consider her unworthy – untrue – of being a witch, under any circumstances.

His eyes drifted back up the page then, to today's date – the fourteenth – and the first group called forth.

Julia Black nee Bradbury, fourteenth of January, two pm.

Harry glanced at the timepiece. It was almost four.

"What happens if they don't show up to the hearing?" Harry wondered, aloud.

"Straight to Azkaban, if the aurors or Death Eaters get their hands of them."

Harry met Malachi's eyes, who had also been reading Julia's name.

Harry tossed aside the offending newspaper, telling himself it didn't matter.

Both his mum and Julia were fugitives anyway – in fact, he was pretty certain Voldemort had a much worse fate planned for both of them than Azkaban if he should ever get his hands on either of them – but, still, Harry felt incensed. His blood boiling at the very thought of it; that his mum would get thrown behind bars simply for daring to be born with magic in her blood.

Unworthy of being a witch in her own right.

"Ron Weasley!" Mrs. Weasley's voice called across the ballroom.

Ron nodded, before turning back to them, "Four o' clock dinner slot."

"Six."

"Same."

Ron looked disappointed, giving a nod, "Catch you later." He got to his feet, heading over to where Mrs. Weasley and Ginny stood, the three of them heading out of the ballroom to head to the Bistro were the meals of the day were set up to be served.

Another crash of thunder outside the window made the kids at the other side of the room scream – enough of a racket that Harry could feel himself start to get a headache – and he got to his feet, indicating with his head that Malachi follow.

The two of them strolled, basically, entirely aimlessly around the entrance lobby; nothing much else to do.

"You been listening in on any of your dad's meetings?" Harry asked, knowing it was nosey, but bored and keen to hear about anything that was going on beyond the walls.

Malachi shook his head, "Nothing. I asked if he'd heard anything about Hogwarts – Daphne – but he clammed up pretty quick. Think because – well. I guess, if what Ron just said is right, it'd have something to do with Severus."

Harry nodded.

He tried to look on the positive side of it. Snape being at Hogwarts – if there were Death Eaters there – he'd at least be able to take care of Daphne. The thought made him uneasy, that she was there at all, after Astoria.

He and Malachi passed the Bistro, where a small queue was forming, now, for the four o' clock dinner slot and Harry smiled, giving a nod to the Weasleys lined up as they walked by them.

There was a little crowd gathered near the front of the entrance lobby, as they made their way through the other side, a small congregation of people who stood and read the mounted articles on the wall that Malachi had written, some of them seeming to be in deep discussion and debate about the points that were made in each one.

"Actually, I did hear something," Malachi said, as they headed up to the door that led to the offices – a restricted area, with guards on either side of the frame – and Malachi nodded at one of the Security Officers, who gave him a smile and stepped aside, letting them through without question, " – apparently they're gonna start giving us some lessons, too. With the Foundation operations being mostly suspended, a lot of the staff staying here don't have much to do –"

"What, like the rest of us?"

"Right. So, I overheard my dad and Healer Heart talking; while he's dealing with all the war stuff, she's gonna be sorting out all the day-to-day goings on over where we are. They're gonna see if some of the staff want to do tutorials and workshops and stuff with us."

"Like defence?" Harry piped up.

"Well. They're researchers and healers and counsellors, mostly, so it'd be more likely to be potions experiments and stuff. Think they said something about public speaking – no thanks."

Harry swallowed, mind back on Snape at the mention of potions, but shrugged, as it didn't sound all that bad; "Suppose it passes the time."

The two of them peered curiously around the area – Harry especially intrigued, as it was the first time he'd been in this side of the building since the stand-off with Voldemort and the Fidelius had been enacted – and they carried on exploring, looking around, glancing in each of the doors as they passed.

It was almost entirely deserted, this side of the building.

Harry thought it would have been bustling. Full of energy and excitement, as the Order and everyone else involved tried to come up with strategies to bring down Voldemort and end the war.

Instead, there was complete silence.

It wasn't until they were on the floor below that they heard voices and Harry realised, looking ahead, that the Healers unit that had been set up was through the double doors at the end of the corridor.

Harry could see Julia through the small window, moving around the room, obviously working.

The voices weren't coming from the Healing unit though.

They came from the door a few steps away on their right.

He and Malachi crept up to it, not even entertaining the notion that they wouldn't try to eavesdrop – to get a little bit more information on what was going on beyond their own protected bubble – and Harry heard a voice he didn't recognise speaking.

" … sort out what's going on with these hearings."

"There's a team out there now," Mr. Black's voice said, "Mad-Eye's leading a group to try and recover any that we can. My wife was on that list, as it so happens."

"It's all a ruse. And these crooks that are going around profiting on people's desperation with those family tree offers. Absolutely scandalous –"

Suddenly, a door a few feet down the hall burst open – one that Harry knew led down to the basement level and the tunnels – and people, sopping wet from the rain of the storm outside and shivering and crying and, some even, bleeding poured into the corridor.

Voices run out, then, Mad-Eye Moody's and his mum's and Tonks', all calling over one another.

"Keep on going, straight ahead."

"Gonna need Healer Bradbury for this one, Mad-Eye."

"Go on ahead, Nymphadora; this one's gone, I think."

Mr. Black pulled open the door behind Harry and Malachi, stepping out, as if making to go down and greet the newcomers but he stopped, looking startled at coming face to face with the two of them, instead.

"Malachi."

Malachi's eyes were on the people coming down the hall – especially the crying and the wounded – with a look of disconcertion and Mr. Black put a hand on his arm, indicating with his head that Harry follow them, as he led them back towards the stairs.

"Come on, Healing Unit's just up here," Harry heard Mad-Eye saying behind them; "Get you fixed right up."

Harry glanced over his shoulder, at the man Tonks' was supporting, blood soaking through his robes and head lolling as he stumbled along.

"Is daddy going to be okay?" a little voice said, somewhere amongst the crowd.

Harry frowned, turning away, the voice immediately reminding him of Grace, and he felt uneasy, then, when faced with a proper look at what was going on out there; people suffering and dying, his own mum going out and risking her own life trying to get people to safety, while he was tucked up safe and sound behind the Foundation walls.

Harry didn't realise his hands were shaking until he, Mr. Black and Malachi reached the top of the stairs.

"You boys alright?" Mr. Black looked at them both, with obvious concern, a hand on Malachi's arm.

Malachi nodded.

So did Harry.

Even if he felt nothing close to being alright. Shaken by what he'd just seen; the muggleborns, he realised, who'd only just been rescued, escaping Azkaban and – obviously – an attack by Death Eaters.

"Is…Is it always like that?" Malachi asked, looking at his dad, uneasily.

Mr. Black gave him a lopsided smile, a nod; "Sometimes. Depends. There's a fair few Death Eaters beyond the gates right now. But we're working on that. Might get easier bringing them in, once we start making things a bit more difficult for him out there."

Mr. Black spoke with a hint of optimism in his voice, even if he did seem affected, just as they were, by the sight of those who'd just been saved.

"You boys head on up. Alright?"

Both he and Malachi hesitated, and Mr. Black gave them a warm smile, an affectionate pat on his son's cheek, and then a wink and they gave small smiles back to him, before he turned and started to head back downstairs to greet the new arrivals.

"Oh – Harry," Mr. Black called from behind them, just as they'd started to turn, "Come to my office tomorrow morning, would you? Ten o' clock?"

Harry frowned, "Your office?"

Mr. Black nodded; "Yes. Or eleven, if ten isn't convenient."

"No. No, ten's fine."

When Malachi's dad didn't elaborate any further, Harry nodded, the man giving them both another smile before he carried on his way.

Harry and Malachi shared a look – Malachi seeming just as bewildered by the request as Harry – before turning and heading back through the corridors.

Harry feeling like an idiot for ever complaining that he was bored.


The thunderstorm raged on.

Severus strode up to the entrance doors of Hogwarts Castle – flanked on either side by Amycus and Alecto Carrow, the newly assigned Headmaster and deputies of the school – his chin held high and his steps determined, unwavering, as he flicked his wand and the doors opened to him.

Across the threshold, every remaining Hogwarts professor, along with Irma Prince, Poppy Pomfrey, Madam Hooch and Filch were lined up along the corridor by which Severus would have to pass to reach the Headmaster's office.

Severus' steps slowed, somewhat, in acknowledgement of their greeting and he was careful not to meet the eyes of Remus Lupin – lest the man give them away with questioning eyes that would need to be addressed, privately – and, instead, met the eyes of the first professor in the line.

Minerva.

There was so much revulsion and fury and loathing in her gaze as she glowered back at him, unyieldingly, on his approach that Severus almost flinched.

Almost.

He kept his eyes on hers, unforgivingly, and – as he reached her – Minerva spun on heel. Turning her back.

Severus' steps almost faltered.

He carried on.

The next in the line – Filius Flitwick – did the same.

And then Pomona Sprout.

And then the next.

And the next.

Each and every one of them presenting him with their backs as he passed them in the corridor. A disrespect. A shun.

A joint declaration of their contempt for the man who had killed Albus Dumbledore – Severus Snape – and who now dared to set foot back in the castle, taking his place.

Severus carried on in his steps, steadily, ignoring the way the bile rose within him, the tightness in his chest making it a little harder to breathe, and he met Remus Lupin's eyes – the last of the professors in the line – and, as he'd expected, there was no hatred there.

But Lupin did as the rest of them.

Kept up the show.

And turned his back.

Beyond the line of professors who'd come to greet and judge him, he picked up the pace of his steps, making his way up to Dumbledore's – his own – office.

Went about the process of arranging his new password – Dumbledore – and headed on up the spiral staircase, leaving Alecto and Amycus – and all the other professors who loathed him – behind.

Severus almost stumbled into the room, when he finally got through the door, slamming it shut behind him.

He hesitated over the threshold, drawing in a steadying breath – his hands not quite steady, themselves – as he attempted to collect himself.

More affected than he'd expected he would be, when faced with the scorn and disgust of his colleagues.

"Severus, my boy!"

A wholly unwelcome voice greeted him from the wall.

Severus met the eyes of Dumbledore's portrait, who beamed at him from inside the frame, and he rolled his eyes heading over to take his seat on the other side of the desk, this time, taking no joy, whatsoever, in his new promotion.

"It seems our plan has worked perfectly. Is everything else in place?"

Severus nodded, reaching into his robes and pulling out the minimized wooden box – the one that directly communicated with Regulus – and flicked his wand, returning it to its correct size, and placed it at the top corner of his desk.

An ornament, almost.

"The Foundation is secure. Regulus has rallied support and gotten the word to those so inclined to continue to resist. As expected, I have been assigned to the post of Headmaster of Hogwarts, with Amycus Carrow and Alecto Carrow as Muggle Studies and Defence teachers, respectively –"

"Defence, Severus?"

"Indeed," Severus didn't elaborate further than that, going on, "Classes resume tomorrow. As you may have noticed, there has been a delay in the commencement of the new school term. Many parents opted to withdraw their children immediately, following the fall of the Ministry, and it took several days for the new legislation to pass mandating the compulsory attendance of all wizarding children at the school – so long as they be of proven magical blood. The last of the students have been ordered to return by this evening."

"Ah. Then –"

Before Dumbledore could go on there was a knock at the door – Lupin, it must have been, for he was the only one to know the password to the staircase – and Severus called that he enter, while Dumbledore's portrait quickly resumed a sleeping pose.

Lupin pushed open the door, eyeing Severus almost uneasily from where he stood, not stepping over the threshold.

"Might I have a word…Headmaster?"

Severus leaned back in his chair, inclining his chin, and Lupin walked into the room, shutting the door behind him.

"I trust you were careful to ensure you were not spotted coming to speak with me."

"Would it have mattered?" Lupin rejoined, eyes on Dumbledore's sleeping portrait as he approached, taking a seat, "You are my boss now, are you not? Although I am a little confused as, going by the current announcements, my subject is now under the jurisdiction of Amycus Carrow."

"We shall come to that shortly," Severus said, without preamble, "Lily has informed you of my true allegiances and the truth behind what happened that night and I am in need of eyes and ears on the grounds of Hogwarts. That little display of you all has made it abundantly clear that my own cannot quite be relied upon, nor is my tenure in the role of Headmaster likely to be respected. That will not do."

"Vo –"

"Do not –"

"Voldemort is aware of my condition as a werewolf, Severus. I don't quite like my chances of remaining employed within the school much longer."

"It just so happens, the very fact that you ran with werewolves last summer has provided me with amble enough material to spin an excuse as to why you ought to remain in post. The last thing the Dark Lord needs, at the present moment, is to alienate an entire faction – particularly the strong support he has managed to acquire from the werewolves – when the Foundation has risen up so strongly against him, and Statute Opposers continue to dwindle in their support. To evict one of the few werewolves who has actually managed to gain employment and built a, somewhat, stable life from their position is not a message he will want to send out and a risk not at all worth taking. Particularly when the Dark Lord cares so little for the wellbeing of the students as it is and the parents are mandated to deliver their children, regardless of whether or not they would be safe here, or spend the rest of their days in Azkaban."

Lupin released a breath, looking sickened by the unwelcome truth, and glanced away.

"And, so, I ask you, are you willing to be my eyes and ears on the grounds of the Castle, so that you and I may do all that we can to protect the remaining students and assist Regulus and the Order in their attempts to frustrate the Dark Lord's progress beyond these walls."

Lupin met his eyes.

"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't, Severus."

"How absolutely splendid," Severus bit out, before he leaned forward and gathered up some parchments, handing them over.

Lupin took them with a frown, "Potions?"

"The only available vacancy within the school, I'm afraid."

"I'm no Potions Master –"

"Hence these lesson plans I have constructed. You can surely read and follow them, they are elementary level, at best."

Lupin fingered through the parchments, eyeing them, before he met Severus' eyes and gave him a nod.

"The first thing we need to do is ensure that no muggleborns remain within the school. I am aware that some parents thought themselves clever enough to pay crooks and swindlers in order to fabricate their family trees, under the impression that it would be in the best interest of their children that they return to Hogwarts. Soon, they will be either expelled – or worse – once legislation passes through the Ministry and when it does it will be out of my hands to protect them."

Lupin nodded, rolling up the parchments and tucking them into his robes, "I'll do what I can."

Severus inclined his chin – a dismissal – but Lupin lingered a bit. Eyes upon him. For a moment, Severus thought he could see concern – compassion – the same as had been there the year before, when he'd gone to the man's chambers to wipe the memories of his daughter.

But neither said anything.

And, when the silence stretched, Lupin inclined his head in a slight nod.

"Headmaster."

It did not sound mocking. Not in the slightest.

If anything, there was the slightest tinge of respect in Lupin's tone as he spoke it.

Still, Severus hated it.

That was good. Hate he could use.

Lupin got to his feet and headed from the office.

Leaving Severus alone once more.

If only.

Dumbledore's portrait immediately sprung awake.

"You were saying, Severus?"

Severus' eyes lifted to the ceiling, reaching into his robes and pulling out a minimized briefcase, putting it on the desk and wordlessly returning it to its original size.

Unlatching the buckles and getting to work.


Malachi stood at the doorway of the newly constructed Healing unit early the next morning.

Unable to stop thinking about all the people - the wounded and the suffering - that had been brought in the day before.

His eyes slowly glanced around at all those within in. There weren't many. Only five - he knew there had already been two before the group had been rescued the day before - and three of them were asleep.

Of the other two, one of them was propped up, reading a book, and another was behind a drawn curtain, whimpering, as he was being tended to.

Obviously the one who'd looked really bad the day before.

There was another area up the back that Malachi knew had beds, with the curtains drawn, and he tried not to think too much as to whether or not there was anyone up there.

Bodies.

He'd heard Mad-Eye Moody say one hadn't made it.

There was soft shushing sound, a muttering of voices, before the curtain pulled back a bit from the man who whimpered, and Julia stepped out from behind it, the fabric falling back into place as she headed towards the desk.

She halted in her steps when she spotted him, eyebrows raising.

"Hey."

Malachi gave her a little smile, "Hi."

Julia approached, frowning, "Is everything okay? Your dad, is he –"

"He's fine, don't worry," Malachi shook his head, quickly reassuring her.

Julia looked more curious then, her expression warming, "What about you, Kid? You feeling alright?"

"Oh. Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine. I don't…I don't need a Healer or anything," Malachi said, "I was just…"

Julia got a look of understanding then, giving him a smile, and motioned he follow her, "Come on in."

Malachi followed her up to the desk, his eyes still glancing around the room, "It's a lot of work for one person."

"Things are pretty quiet just now," Julia said, glancing at him, a smile still playing on her lips as she set about making up some potions phials, "If it does get too busy Harry's mum steps in and helps out."

"She's not helping now?"

"She's back out there, on the field."

"Oh."

Malachi glanced at the curtain, behind which the man continued to whimper, while the man who was awake called over, "Those my meds, Healer Bradbury? Starting to get a bit of a twinge over here."

"Coming right up," Julia called to him, shooting him a smile, while still sorting out the potions Malachi realized were for him.

One of the people in the other beds started to stir.

A house elf popped in, all of a sudden, carrying a tray with bowls piled up, a basket of pastries and a large pitcher of porridge.

"Thank Merlin, I'm starving!" the woman who'd just woken said, noticing the food.

Julia nodded, eyes still upon the potions she was measuring up, "Oh, well, they've anticipated you, Madam Quill."

Malachi quickly leaned down, taking the tray from the House Elf and putting it on the desk.

"Thanks, Kid."

Malachi made to start dishing up, putting down a bowl and lifting the ladle, but was stopped by Julia's hand on his wrist, "Hey. You don't have to –"

Malachi met her eyes, "I can help. Then maybe…maybe you could show me some stuff? Some healing spells. As payment," his eyes gleamed, while Julia eyed him in amusement, "They'd be useful, right? For out on the field."

Julia raised an eyebrow, leaning closer to him, "And when are you expecting to ever be out on the field, young man?"

Malachi shrugged, lips twitching.

"In here then. I can help you for a while. Dad would like that. Soon you're gonna be massive and need it. Best get me trained up now."

Julia laughed, heartily at that, and she nodded.

"Alright. Knock yourself out, Kid."

Malachi smiled and stepped in closer to the desk, carrying on with dishing up the soup.


Harry was up and ready early, eager to see what it was Mr. Black had called him to his office about. He doubted – knew – that it wouldn't be about Snape. That Mr. Black wouldn't risk talking about him with Harry.

So, maybe then, it would be about Sirius.

The thought made Harry quicken his pace, reaching the door to the man's office earlier than planned, but he knew Malachi's dad wouldn't care so went ahead and knocked, before pushing open the door.

"You asked to see me, Mr. Black?" Harry peeked his head around it.

"Harry, yes!" Mr. Black immediately sprung up from behind his desk, shooting him a smile as he did, and – instead of inviting Harry in – came up to him, taking him by the arm, and urged him out and further down the corridor, "Little project for you and I."

"Yeah?"

Harry was immediately intrigued, as he was led on, until they reached the last door – Harry was sure this was one of the main conference rooms, the biggest one – and Mr. Black flicked his wand so that it opened.

Harry found his eyes widening in amazement at what was suddenly before him.

Delighted, even, at where Mr. Black had taken him.

What had previously been a convention room had now been redesigned into a combat training space, Harry realized, as they stepped over the threshold. With training dummies and benches and cushioned mats and the walls – charmed, now, so that it was without windows – were all lined with padding.

"Your Uncle Remus tells me that he'd been training you up," Mr. Black said, shutting the door behind him and crossing his arms, "He hoped you might be able to continue with them, even in his absence."

Harry's eyebrows lifted in surprise, "Oh?"

"Yes," Mr. Black grinned, giving a nod, "And, so – with everyone else tied up – I offered my own services. Granted, I am not exactly a whizz myself, though I am a bit –" he winked, making Harry smirk, " – better than you are. And any form of training is better than nothing."

Harry's shoulders shook in his attempts to conceal his amusement, smiling widely.

He nodded, "Yeah. Okay. Thanks. That'd be great."

"Excellent," Mr. Black slapped him on the back, before nodding to the middle of the room, "Show me what you've got."

Harry headed to the spot indicated, while Mr. Black went to stand several feet back, the two of them gripping their wands.

Harry hesitated, though, when he turned and was faced with Mr. Black's expression.

Usually, during training sessions – whether in legillimency with Snape or in defence with Remus – the person he was meant to attack was either serious, taunting or stoic.

None of which were presented to him now.

It felt, well, wrong to lift his wand to Mr. Black.

He wasn't smiling, no. But his bluish grey eyes danced with playfulness and a warmth towards him. An ever-present affection, that had always been there when the man looked at him, ever since his Uncle Sirius had died for them.

Attacking him felt a bit like kicking a kitten or something.

Mr. Black did smile, then, when Harry continued to hesitate, seeming to understand Harry's thoughts and the man chuckled and lowered his wand.

"Harry. I want you to use everything you have learned so far – utilize every bit of knowledge and skill you have acquired – that you would be willing and able to put into practice when faced with a duel. This is not the time to be holding back."

The seriousness of Mr. Black's tone, then, made Harry feel a little bit less reluctant.

"Don't you worry," Mr. Black went on, "I have my own personal healer to take care of me, assuming you do as much damage as you seem to think you're capable of doing to me."

Mr. Black winked, and Harry grinned, then, at the taunt.

Sufficient enough that Harry hoped he would be able to at least zap Malachi's dad a bit.

But Harry did wonder then at what Mr. Black was asking of him. It was a little bit more than what he'd done when he'd been dueling with Remus, after all, if he was supposed to be using everything he'd learned.

Even…

"You mean I can use –"

Harry hesitated, remembering what Snape had told him. That it was illegal for anyone under eighteen to be trained in legillimency.

Even if the law no longer mattered so much anyway, at least to him and Mr. Black. They were all fugitives here, at the Foundation, anyway.

But it was a confidence between them – him and Snape – that Harry didn't really want to break.

"Whatever methods you have at your disposal, Harry," Mr. Black assured him, "Don't worry –" he patted his chest, " – I can take it."

Harry smiled.

Glad to be given leave to use it – legillimency – without having to actually break his word to Snape and reveal their secret.

That Snape had shown Harry how.

And, by the end of those lessons, Harry was actually pretty good at using it.

Besides, it would be better that way, Harry told himself, if Mr. Black didn't know what he was doing.

His opponents in a real battle weren't to know, after all. And most of them didn't know how to use occlumency themselves, anyway.

It'd be exactly how it would be for him on the field. If he ever actually found himself out there, that is.

"Brilliant."

Harry grinned.

This would be easy.

Especially if what Snape had told him in the past were true.

That Regulus Black was the poorest occlumens in the Order.