Chapter Six

Harry stared into the Mirror of Erised.

His Uncle Sirius stood behind him, smiling with that proud, beaming smile that Harry never thought he'd see again.

It was a memory of a fantasy. Something Harry would only ever see in dreams.

The vision faded to black.

Suddenly, he was moving swiftly through the darkness. There was a low, recurring 'hiss' that filled the air that he vaguely identified as coming from himself.

He was hungry. Hunting. But more than that, he was determined and furious, heart racing as he picked up the pace.

Everything was passing in a blur as he moved.

Faster.

Faster.

Harry woke with a gasp.

It took a moment for him to gather his bearings, breathing unsteady and his heart thudding in his chest as his eyes darted the room from where he was, sitting up in bed in his dorm room. He was the only one awake. He could take some small comfort from that fact, at least, as he felt himself begin to calm down, surrounded by the peacefully sleeping faces of his dormmates.

The nightmares were getting worse.

They were incessant, this already being the second that week and it was only Wednesday, and he always woke in the same state; shaking, sweating, heart racing as his mind attempted to make sense of what he had seen, reassuring himself that, however real it all felt, it was only a dream.

This night, though, his scar was burning. It was the first time in his life it had ever bothered him and he clutched at it, helplessly, doing his best not to make a sound in case someone was woken by the commotion. The last thing he wanted was to have to explain to them that he'd had another nightmare.

It was both unnerving and embarrassing. He felt like a child. His dormmates had even teased him that they could leave the light on that night for him if he wanted, which he'd laughed off as it was all in good humour, but he wondered if maybe that would help. He wasn't afraid of the dark, no, but visions and feelings of such intense – he could think of no other word to describe it but – evil were more than enough to unsettle him.

He went to bed each night anxious what he would be seeing next.

Harry was embarrassed to realise that, in that moment, he really wanted his mum.

He was almost fourteen and he was being bothered by nightmares. It was silly.

The pain in his scar subsided and slowly, Harry began to relax, but not enough to go back to sleep. He fought sleep most of the time now, figuring that the less he slept the less he'd have to put up with it.

Quietly as he could, he drew the curtains around his bed and plucked the Marauder's Map out from under his pillow.

It was the dead of night, so, really, there shouldn't be anyone visible on the map.

But there was.

Remus Lupin in the Defence classroom.

Severus Snape in the corridors.

And another, a name that was vaguely familiar, but Harry couldn't say for sure that he knew it.

He watched it curiously, as it moved through the Great Hall before seeming to disappear into nothingness, leaving him wondering where he had heard the name before.

But he couldn't, for the life of him, remember where it was that he'd heard the name Peter Pettigrew.

Malachi jumped as Harry excitedly tossed the Daily Prophet down onto the table in front of him.

Several Slytherins glanced their way, both curiosity and disdain in their eyes as they took in where he stood at the end of the Slytherin table, but he ignored them, sitting down on the bench next Malachi.

"Look at this," he said, barely able to contain his excitement, drawing the newspaper closer to point out the headline; "Your dad's opening up the Foundation this month."

"What?"

"Some sort of Fundraiser or something. This article said they used to do them all the time but not since…well, you know."

Malachi lifted the Prophet, eyeing the front page with all his scepticism visible on his face; "My dad doesn't even let me go out the house."

"Maybe he's lightened up a bit?"

"Doubtful," Malachi said, not bothering to read the article, and put it back down onto the table, reaching for his Potions textbook.

"That's not the best part though, Malachi, look," Harry said, lifting it and rustling through, quickly finding the schedule of events; "Look. Marvin McAbbot's going to be there, he's going to be doing a signing and it even says there's talks to try and get a Quidditch friendly that day."

Malachi's eyes lit up but only for a moment. He shook his head, defeated before he had even agreed to it; "There's no way my dad would let me go."

"Why not? I thought your dad lets you go back and forth during the summer? The Foundation is the safest place there is, they've got all that security."

"But if he's opening it up…I dunno. He just wouldn't. He gets really weird whenever we go out in public."

"But he'd be there, right? He takes us out sometimes. Do you think you could ask him?"

"I thought you wanted to stay here for Easter?"

"Well, I was going to," Harry lifted the paper with a smile; "Then I saw this."

Malachi looked thoughtful at that and Harry knew that he was mulling it over seriously this time. They hadn't really talked about it, all the stuff Malachi had to put up with in his own house, but Harry knew the reason he had opted to go home at every available holiday this year was more as a means of escaping his housemates than a big desire to go back and sit about staring at the walls of The Meadows' living room for two weeks.

"Alright. I'll ask him."

"Great. I'll send Mum an owl, tell her I'm coming home this month."

"Occlumency?"

"It would solve the problem, wouldn't it? If he were able to master it."

"Indeed."

Try as she might, Lily couldn't shake off the words Remus had spoken to her.

It was true, she and Severus had their reasons. It wasn't safe for anyone to know the truth of Grace's paternity. The only people who did know were those who had managed to figure it out for themselves. Both Lily and Severus knew that no one could be told the truth and, as difficult as it was, that included Harry.

But then, neither of them had expected it to get this far.

Voldemort had his followers, all still, at least, maintaining the appearance of devotion. It should not be taking this long for him to resurface.

That delay was disconcerting.

And Harry was only, now, reaching the age where they ought to question what they were doing by keeping him in the dark. Before, he was too young. It was that simple. But at almost fourteen and more than a little aware of the world around him, how long could they seriously keep this secret from him?

A whole other life, as Remus pointed out.

She and Severus had already discussed it, years before, that if Grace reached the age where she could blow his cover, Severus would step away. He would have to. It was too dangerous for him to be around her then.

But neither she nor Severus had been strong enough to bring it up again when she eventually turned three, and then four, and, she even doubted they would do so in a few months' time when she would reach five.

They just continued to follow their carefully set rules. His name was never said in front of her. They never discussed his job. He never told her where he went; just 'work'. Nothing at all that could link who he was as her father to who he was when he wasn't with them.

Severus was simply 'Daddy' in their house.

"You could teach him."

"I could. If that's what you wish. I've already laid the foundations for it in our detentions."

"Great. Maybe then –"

"Don't get your hopes up, Lily," Severus interrupted her, knowing exactly where she was going with this.

She knew, of course, that convincing Severus would be a long shot. She knew that, in Severus' mind, there was little to gain and everything to lose by revealing the truth. Harry would be furious whether they told him today, next year, or even beyond, and it was better to keep Grace protected for as long as possible.

Lily was plagued with the uncertainty. With the weight of the decision.

She had chosen wrongly before when it came to keeping her son safe. She had taken Dumbledore's advice and waited, not running or hiding as every instinct had told her to, and the entire thing had backfired miserably.

Sirius ended up dead. And her son, marked.

Lily couldn't do it again; she couldn't fail her son, or her daughter, neither of her children.

Never again.

"I just think it's better we cover all the bases; use every option at our disposal. You've always said he'd have to learn, so why wait?"

"I agree. Of course, Pott - Harry will wonder as to the reasons why and I'll have to inform the Headmaster. It is not typical for a student to receive private tutorial after classes."

Lily almost mentioned Harry's lessons with Remus but thought better of it.

"Right. Well, that wouldn't be a problem. Dumbledore wouldn't object to something that will strengthen him when Voldemort returns."

"Yes. But that's not why you're asking me to do it."

"I just think –"

"You don't need to tell me what you're thinking, Lily, I already know," Severus said, with a sigh in his tone, "Which is why I'm asking you not to get excited by this. Occlumency takes great focus, self-control and determination, and even then, many fail to master it completely. Regulus has studied it for years under Dumbledore's guidance, by the same methods which I was taught, and he still comes up short."

Lily's lips twitched; "I'll be sure to pass along the vote of confidence."

Severus released an amused breath, shaking his head; "It is not a matter of intelligence. It is of control. One needs to be able to detach oneself from their emotions completely. From their memories, their motivations, their loved ones; even from themselves. Regulus can't do it; he never could."

Lily only nodded, not surprised by the information. She and Regulus had worked together now for years, both at the Foundation and hunting the horcruxes and, often, he would drop hints that he would like Severus' input on something and she would pass messages back and forth between them. Over time, the two had gotten more personal, with her seeing past the playful façade that Regulus displayed to the world and she caught glimpses of the person only Severus got the see. The damage beneath the surface.

"Your son is just as emotionally driven," Severus went on; "And also a teenager. Their emotions are out of control even at the best of times. This will take time."

Too long, is what Severus was telling her. Too long to be the answer they were looking for.

Lily drew in a breath, before she nodded; "Right. I get it."

"I'll speak with Dumbledore with plans to start after the holidays. Until then, I have to deal with this ludicrous idea of Regulus'."

"To open up the Foundation?"

"The other. Though you'd be right to group them under the same description."

Lily's lips twitched; "The whole reason behind the Foundation was to serve the public."

"That was before. Things have changed. It will not only be those sympathetic to the light who make an appearance at this event."

"As is at all public events."

"Which Regulus has no business partaking in. Consider the consequences if Death Eaters were to show up and attack."

"He's evoked the highest security measures possible, they would have no chance at inflicting any damage."

Severus only made a small 'hmph' in response, as he finished organising the potions phials in their case, preparing to head back to Hogwarts for the day; "I suppose the one – and only – benefit of this circus is that I shall be able to do so myself without appearing too out of place."

"You're going to go?"

"I need to speak with him personally and this would be the safest way."

"With witnesses?"

"That may work to our advantage."

A tapping at the window stopped any response; Hedwig.

All talk of occlumency, Regulus and the Foundation were driven from her mind, as she hurried to the window to allow the owl access, retrieving the note quickly as she did so.

Severus clicked the potions case closed and drew on his cloak, preparing to leave, asking only with a slightly raised eyebrow.

"Harry. He's coming home next week for Easter."

"Ah."

Severus' response was, of course, not as enthusiastic as hers – it did mean a fortnight at Hogwarts for himself, after all – but Lily found it hard to be anything but delighted. The times she did get to spend with Harry were short enough, as it was, and in light of the recent issues that had arisen, she was more than eager to have him there with them, at home, where he belonged.

Of course, the issues that had arisen since Christmas could make themselves known once more. But Lily held out hope that, just maybe, the conversation he had Remus a few weeks before might have been enough to satisfy Harry's curiosity.

If only.

"He said no," Malachi announced, as he plonked down next to Harry on the library floor, sounding neither surprised nor happy about it.

Harry did his best to hide his disappointment, though it was too obvious to miss; "Did he say why?"

"Yeah. Just the same reasons as always. Not safe. People there he doesn't want me to meet. The security guys aren't foolproof."

He refrained from adding 'blah, blah, blah', however tempting it was, firing off the excuses without enthusiasm. They had been given a thousand times before and, though he knew Harry got it, it didn't make the whole thing any less humiliating.

"He said he'd try and get us into a private box at the World Cup this summer, to make up for it. You know, with security escorts and hippogriff patrols. If that's your sort of thing."

Harry's lips twitched at the muted sarcasm though his eyes did light up at the suggestion.

"Was just an idea. It's fine."

"It's not. You should go."

"Nah. We can do something else."

"Like what, play wizarding chess?"

Like that would make up for missing out on meeting a Quidditch champion.

"Sure."

"Just go. Take Ron or something."

Harry shook his head, saying nothing, but he didn't push and, for that, Malachi was grateful because, while the gesture was kind, it didn't make him feel any better knowing Harry was missing out on something because he was denied permission, as if he were a five year old who wasn't trusted to follow basic safety precautions. Like don't get killed.

Malachi reached for his school bag, the embarrassment still rolling off him as he reached inside and drew out the first piece of parchment he got his hands on.

Not the Transfiguration assignment he was expecting but a newspaper page, an old edition from the looks of it, and he frowned as he unrolled it to reveal the front cover of the Daily Prophet, dated 11th December 1981.

Black Heir Acquitted.

There was a picture of his dad beneath the text, looking dishevelled and broken and insanely young, but with not a trace of the playful spark in his eyes that Malachi was used to and he quickly recognised the scene for what it was; his father, shackled in Azkaban. He recognised it from the others, the more recent imprisonments, his Uncle Lucius being one of them.

"What is it?" Harry asked, curiously, quickly picking up on Malachi's silence.

"It's…my dad."

Malachi made no move to shield the text from Harry as he shuffled closer to have a proper look, despite every instinct in his being telling him that he ought to; that this was something that should not be seen by anyone.

Malachi struggled to even take in the words, eyes skimming frantically through the article, attempting to gather what information he could from the single page someone had left there for him.

Following detainment on the 7th November…call for witnesses unsuccessful…released due to lack of evidence…

Malachi realised his hands were shaking and he lowered the paper to his knees, simply staring at the page, dumbly.

He and Harry had come across some information the year before, learning that the followers of Voldemort had been labelled 'Death Eaters' – neither knew if that was the correct title and neither were willing to ask their respective parent – and Malachi had quickly realised that his Uncle Lucius must have fallen under the category. It had unnerved him, then, to think that someone he knew had been a follower of the Dark Wizard at all.

Malachi ran a hand across the page and then, as he expected based on previous encounters with his housemates, the words 'Blood Traitor' once again materialised across the middle, corner to corner. And, suddenly, everything made sense.

He had always assumed it was who his father was, the founder of Aurelius, that had made them a target. A pureblood, the head of one of the oldest and most respected blood lines, and a Hogwarts Slytherin alumnus; it was offensive enough, Malachi had thought, that his father would take such a bold stand against everything Voldemort believed and attempted to impose upon the world.

But to have been one of them. And then to do so…

"It doesn't mean anything, Malachi," Harry attempted to convince him, though he didn't sound at all sure himself; "It just says they accused him. Loads of people get accused. They let him go."

"Because they couldn't get the evidence."

"Maybe because there wasn't any?"

"Or maybe because all the witness were…"

Dead.

Malachi couldn't say the word. He couldn't finish the thought and make sense of what it would mean because, although it made sense that this would be the reason why his dad – and him – were so in danger, Malachi just couldn't reconcile it when the man he knew and lived with and loved.

His father had always instilled within him, in no uncertain terms, that blood didn't matter. That everyone was the same. That people, alone, were responsible for their choices, not who or where they came from.

And, even if he hadn't, it just wasn't him. That wasn't his dad. His dad was warm and kind and gentle, he played and laughed and spoke happily with everyone when they did happen to step out from the four walls of their Fidelius-protected home.

No one had ever said a word of it or turned away.

It just couldn't be true.

Malachi's mind was racing and he wanted, more than ever, to go home. Go home and ask his dad, himself, what had happened back then and why did he build Aurelius and, if he had followed Voldemort, truly, then why, why, why. But he was stuck here in this Castle that he hated, now more than ever, as he realised that his housemates had known all along and this was the reason why it was like this.

This was the reason he was like this.

"I have to go."

"Malachi –"

"Don't tell anyone."

"I wouldn't –"

"No one!"

No one could ever know.

But, Malachi realised, stuffing the offending article back into his bag as he hurried away, if it was true then people did know. Everyone knew.

It was in the Daily Prophet for all to see.

And he was the one who had never realised the truth.