A/N: To answer a question about the previous chapter, Severus' Achilles heel is simply girls' scout cookies. I mean, who can resist those cookies (especially when it's a cute, little girl asking you to buy them). This next story is about a heartfelt conversation between two men.

The Order meeting ended right before six in the evening. Severus stifled a groan when he glanced at the clock. He wished it had run two or three hours over, as they usually did. That meant that everyone would feel obliged to stay for dinner, make small talk, and pretend they were a circle of friends instead of a secret society of vigilante insurrectionists. He might be able to make it to the door, but the odds were that Dumbledore would already be there, instructing him oh-so-gently go get back in there and be social. "Few things bond a group together better than a shared meal, and there's nothing for trust like shared bonds," he would say, with the unspoken implication that Severus sorely needed to cultivate that area.

Not that he was wrong. Severus could feel it whenever any of the others looked at him. He was trusted only as an extension of Dumbledore. Everyone present were adults, thankfully (the Weasley brats and Granger being confined to cleaning upstairs), and they all delivered their reports and strategies during meetings without missing a beat.

No, it was in the spaces in between business, like now, that he felt the void. He lingered in a corner of the kitchen while McGonagall and Dumbledore traded last-minute comments over some documents. Shacklebolt, Podmore, and Vance were trading casual conversation in a corner, while Black was likely insulting Severus, based on the way Lupin was elbowing him. Save Severus's childhood tormenter, everyone's lines of sight never seemed to quite intersect with Severus. Good. He eyed Dumbledore, trying to parse out if the old man was truly distracted and whether he would make it to the front door on time.

"It's nice to get out early for once, isn't it?"

Severus nearly jumped out of his skin. The voice was too jovial, too sudden, and too loud. Arthur Weasley had come up to him on his other side, wearing the too-bright, demented smile of a maniac suffering a terminal break with reality.

"Is it?" Severus asked. If he'd had time to plan, he would have intended the remark to come out caustic and biting. As it was, it sounded more flabbergasted.

"Well...yes," Arthur said after a prolonged pause. "Isn't it?"

Severus recovered himself enough to wonder what in Merlin's name Weasley was doing. "I happen to prefer late hours," he said frostily.

Arthur nodded. "I always pegged you for a night owl."

Severus stared. He was not taking the hint. "What do you want-" He barely decided to use the man's first name, in order to maintain the most basic civility. "-Arthur? Is this about your daughter's potions grade? Her performance was only acceptance, therefore she merited only an A."

"Ginny? Oh, no, no. I completely agree. Potions isn't her best subject. No, I... I just wanted to see how you're doing. That's all. How are you doing?"

Severus stared at Arthur. Surely, Arthur Weasley realized who he was talking to you. Hasn't he noticed the whispers and hidden glances directed at Severus? Glances that even the older wizard's wife had thrown towards his way.

"You are usually the first one out," Arthur continued, the two men standing out in the front hallway. He took a drink from his butterbeer (light on the foam, Severus could not help but note). As if Arthur had read his mind, he chuckled, "Let's keep this between us guys," a grin plastered on his face, motioning to the sugary beverage, as if he were sharing an inside joke with Severus. "Molly doesn't like it when I drink too much sugar. Says it raises my blood sugar."

Severus just nodded, uncertain of what or how to respond.

Fortunately (or unfortunately, depending on one's perspective) for the alleged death eater, the beaming father of seven continued with a sigh, "I am quite envious of you." Surprise colored Severus' face. "Giving up your life at a young age to help us. You joined in what your twenties? I wanted to. Almost did, but, you know," he shrugged, his eyes wandering to his wife of nearly 30 years who was chatting with Tonks. Arthur's gaze did not wither, it was as if he was seeing every moment he had with Molly and seeing every moment that he has yet to have with Molly. He sighed, looking down at the glass of butterbeer. "I am here now."

"Why are you telling me this," Severus asked, once he found his voice.

"Aren't we talking? I know I am old but isn't that we people do, Severus – Share?"

"No," Severus said. "Not me. I am a spy – so no."

"But you're not spying on us," Arthur said with such naivete Severus might have rolled his eyes. He was right, granted, but still.

"You're not that old," he said instead. "What, ten years? It's not such a great difference now. You're certainly no Dumbledore."

"Yes, about ten years," Arthur said thoughtfully. "I'm not old, no, but... some days I feel... You know."

Severus did know that feeling of being older than mercy, older than love, just bones and hatred holding his disintegrating body together. Those were only the worst days, mostly. He said nothing, unwilling to share so much of himself with Arthur Weasley.

Nonetheless, Arthur did not seem to mind sharing so much of himself with Severus Snape. "I feel...not old exactly, but...spent. No, not spent, not tired. I love my life-my wife, my children, my job, the muggle artifacts... I want to grow old. But spent like my time is spent, like I've got a travel itinerary and I've checked off most of it and can see the departure date is coming up." He gave a strange chuckle and lifted his butterbeer. "You see why Molly objects to me raising my blood sugar. I spout nonsense." He took another swig and gazed across the room at his wife... softly, thoughtfully. "I hope if anything happens to me, that Molly remarries."

Severus blinked. It was not often a wizard left him stunned (the only other one was Dumbledore and that was when Dumbledore granted him amnesty), let alone a bright red-haired wizard who most likely cannot say a bad word to the dark lord himself.

"What do you mean," Severus asked. "You're afraid of dying? Most people are. It is wartime."

"No, not afraid," Arthur said, his light green eyes met Severus'. "I have come to terms with death. I just hope Molly will be okay. She doesn't like to talk about death."

"Most people don't," Severus said. Even he didn't, though death felt like it had been his imaginary friend since childhood. It had been there in his mother's vacant eyes and his father's empty bottles until the one brewed herself an escape and the other drank himself into the grave. Severus fancied that was why he so rarely talked about death himself – he knew it too well. For some reason, though, he felt compelled to add a remark to keep the conversation going. Not because he was enjoying it exactly, but because it was a genuine conversation. Ninety percent of speech was empty prattle. "Because of her brothers?"

Arthur sucked on his teeth in thought for a moment. "No, not really. Because of becoming a mother just as the war began, I think. Bringing every one of our seven children into such a world. Sometime in the first week or so after every birth, she'd say, 'That's it, no more.' We both wanted a big family, though, and I always knew we were meant to."

"You always knew?" Severus repeated, not bothering to disguise the disgust in his voice for such sentimental arrogance. After all, this was a genuine conversation.

Arthur shrugged with self-deprecating humor. "I know, I know. But just look at what Ron alone has accomplished, and he's only fifteen. Helping stave off You-Who-Know's return twice? That's four years without war, thanks to him and Harry and Hermione. That's worth a lot in my book."

Severus's lip curled, allowing his cynicism to be clear without words. "That's a conversation you should have with your wife, Arthur. Financially, if for no other reason."

Arthur allowed for the silence to settled before he smiled, "We have. Having a child is a strange phenomenon. You wish they didn't have to live in a broken world, but the moment you see them," he choked, "you, you know that they were meant to be here."

Severus watched Arthur closely. Tears rolled out of his green eyes freely and the wizard made no effort to dry them. Severus was suitably impressed. Most men tend to "man up" and avoid showing emotions, especially around other men. But here was Arthur allowing Severus to see a vulnerable side of him.

"Besides," Arthur said, smiling through his tears. "Molly was made to be a mum. She asked if we could adopt Harry before we even met him. Ron, in his first year, had sent Molly a letter two or three days before we left for Romania saying that Harry was not expecting any presents. Molly stayed up those two days knitting an extra Christmas sweater." He laughed softly, glancing back at his wife with a look of pure love.

Even with his strong dislike of Harry (Lily was the boy's only saving grace), Severus had to admit. That was a remarkable act of love.

"It is," Arthur said, "Molly is a remarkable woman."

"But what if," Severus started to say, pausing before he mentioned Molly. He was on first name basis with Arthur, but what about his wife, "Molly had decided she truly was done with having children? Would you have stopped?"

Severus did not know what compelled to ask. He had not given the Weasleys any thoughts. But this whole conversation with Arthur was so surreal that Severus almost felt protected over Molly and her compassion spirits. When he thought Arthur was not looking, he snuck a peek back at Molly who was advising Tonks about men (although Severus or Arthur did not know that or who Tonks harbored a crush on).

Arthur stared back at Severus; his eyes narrowed as if trying to read the professor's mind. Severus made eye contact. No way was the Weasley dad going to make squirm.

"I did," Arthur said. "Bill came unexpectedly, first year in marriage. Charlie - we wanted a sibling for Bill. Percy - three kids sounded like a good number. We got pregnant again, miscarriage, and then, oh, four or five weeks later, Molly got pregnant with the twins," Arthur explained with a short laugh. "She calls the twins 'her double blessing' and swore she was good. Ron and Ginny were other blessings, but the twins were the rainbows after the rainfall."

Severus made a noncommittal hum. His previous strange interest was starting to change to awkwardness. The more Arthur said, the less he understood. "Children are far and away outside of my realm of business," he said when Arthur looked to him as if for comment.

Fortunately, Arthur did not make any inane comments on how he was a professor and wasn't that the same thing? Instead, he said, "That's a good sign, that you recognize you don't understand. I always thought I did, until the healers put newborn Bill in my arms. Then everything changed, like... like the world went from grey to color. I'm... so lucky to have been able to experience that seven times." This time he swallowed several times to contain his emotions. "And to live to see them all grown, or nearly so. My only wish would be to meet at least one of my grandchildren and see if it's the same, but we can't have everything."

"Why this assumption that you specifically are going to die?" Severus said, deliberately waspish to hide his discomfort.

Arthur only smiled, close-lipped. "But back to what you said earlier, Molly and I have our wills in order, down to who will take care of Ron and Ginny until they come of age. But the rest of it – that I hope she meets someone else, the letters I've written for the kids to open on their wedding days – she doesn't like that. She knows where they are, in my workshop, but she refuses to acknowledge them, or to write any of her own."

Severus shifted, now eyeing the door again. He felt... out of his depths. It was an unaccustomed and uncomfortable feeling. "She has the right idea."

Arthur shrugged with the casualness of someone who knew he was right but wasn't looking for converts. "I think a part of her knows she'll survive the war. When you're realizing you're mortal, though, you want to make sure no important words go unsaid. It's part of being a father. You'll see when you have kids of your own."

It took a moment for the last remark to register. Then Severus's jaw dropped. "Kids? Me?"

Arthur smiled wider. "Why not?"

"Because..." Severus came up short. It should be obvious. "Because I would be terrible, just like my father before me."

Arthur studied him in a strange way, almost like he was seeing into Severus. "You're not a nice person, I'll grant you that. But you're a good man, Severus Snape. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, including yourself."

"Good," echoed Severus. If he were not the order's spy (and if it was public knowledge), Severus would have listed off the numerous deeds that he had done as a death eater. Instead Severus settled for: "You don't know what I have done. How can you call me good?"

"It's not the deeds that make a man good or evil," Arthur said sagely. "It's his heart. Your heart is good." He, then, turned and leave but not before glancing back. His light green eyes staring into Severus' eyes, but it was as if Arthur was looking through Severus. "Guarded, but good."

THIRTEEN YEARS LATER...

Severus, wordlessly, was pushed farther away, but his eyes never left that pink bundle. He had ten grandchildren already and somehow loved them. However, this one was different. This one he was in the delivery room during the birth.

Molly was sick, the father was on an auror mission, and the baby came early. The mother wanted a quiet delivery (with no press or family, just the husband). But, when babies were involved, plans rarely go accordingly. Thus, Severus helped delivered Ginny's daughter and was among the first to hold Lily Luna.

It was, then, his grey dismal world flashed into vibrant colors. He saw every red and peach-colored hair on the impossibly tiny newborn's head. He saw the way the light hit the baby's bluish eyes and he saw the warm tones of brown and emerald green (he swore up and down, he saw the green) sparkling as the newborn reached her tiny hand towards him.

Now, he watched as the father (who fortunately was not on a secret operative and could be reached) meet his daughter. Severus left the room, his mind replaying the events of each grandchild's birth (that he was presented for). All the way from Dominique (his first) to Molly (Percy's prediction of a girl coming true) to Georgina (Lily Luna's cousin closest to her age, next to the ready-to-be-born Hugo).

Before long, a memory resurfaced, and he left St. Mungos in a flash. He walked into The Three Broomsticks briskly, ordered his drink to-go, and then disapparated.

Severus shivered under the autumn chill; his fingers stiffed from the cold drink. His eyes fell downcast:

"I understand," Severus said finally, his throat hoarse. "I will protect each one until my dying breath. All of them." Then, Severus Snape lifted his butterbeer, light on the foam, to the grave of Arthur Weasley.