Chapter Eight

Any unease Lily felt about the disastrous dinner on Harry's first day home was quickly driven away in the days that followed. Not by reassurance, no, but by an issue far more pressing than how to deter her son's curiosity about Grace's father.

Harry had been home for three nights.

He had been plagued with nightmares for two.

Lily could hear him, even downstairs, the whimpers that turned to sobs and shouts, the creaking of his bed frame as he tossed and turned and fought some unknown threat, whatever he was seeing when he closed his eyes affecting him so much that by the time Lily had gotten to and managed to wake him, he was sweating and trembling and shaken; simply letting her hold him, in a way he hadn't allowed her to for years.

"Harry," Lily said, quietly, stroking the back of his hair and drawing back, "What is it? What did you see?"

He had calmed, now, enough that he shook his head and attempted to send her away, again, as he had done the first night.

She had accepted the brush off then, Harry's reassurance that he was fine – along with a residing attitude that still clung to him following their confrontation at dinner – and his insistence that it was just a silly dream was enough to placate the worry.

This time, she was not so easily dismissed.

"Harry. Was…was it him?"

She knew, before even asking the question, that it was.

Harry met her eyes then, looking surprised. And then, slowly, he nodded.

"And Sirius?"

Harry swallowed, drawing in a breath, before he shook his head; "Not this time."

"You've had these dreams before? Since before Saturday night?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want to talk about it? What you've seen?"

"Just…Voldemort. I don't see him but…I remember his voice. How he –"

He swallowed and then looked away. He reached up then, rubbing his scar, and that got her attention further.

"Has your scar been bothering you?"

"No, not really. Just at night, sometimes."

"At night?" Lily frowned, her concern rising; "You mean, when you're having these dreams?"

Harry shrugged; "I dunno. I probably just hurt it or something when I was rolling about."

Lily doubted it.

But she also was uncertain as to what it could mean. Voldemort had given it to him, yes, but it had been accidental. All who knew the events of that night were sure of it.

It made her uneasy, her breath almost catching as her mind immediately offered up the possibility; Voldemort had made a point of marking his followers, linking himself to them and one another in a way that was entirely unnatural.

That couldn't be what was happening here. Not only because the very thought, alone, was so appalling. But could Voldemort really do the same thing to another person unintentionally? Were his capabilities with dark magic so strong that he had been unable to control it, as he teetered on the brink of his demise?

Severus had been warning her for months, now, that the Dark Mark he bore was coming back to him; even before it had shown, this time, he said he could sense it. The dark wizard's presence.

Perhaps Harry's scar worked in that same way. Perhaps he could somehow sense Voldemort through it.

Lily fought back the rising panic, forcing herself to remain calm so as not to alarm her son any further; "Okay. If you have these nightmares again, will you tell me? Or your Uncle Remus at school?"

"Why?"

"Just…just to make sure you're okay, Sweetheart."

"They're just dreams, Mum. I've had them for years. You don't have to worry all the time, you know."

Even as he said it Lily could tell he was still unsettled, trying to fool himself with his words as well as her. Putting up a front now that the initial fright had abated and she forced a smile and brushed his hair back from his forehead; "Now, you know better than to ask the impossible, Harry."

Harry smiled.

Lily was relieved. It was the first he had offered since the night he'd come home. She leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek, even when he screwed up he nose somewhat at the gesture in mock protest and they laughed.

"Did you want to come downstairs for a while?" Lily offered, unnecessarily, as Harry was past being given a set bedtime and could simply take himself downstairs if he wanted to. But that didn't put her off asking, wondering if maybe he'd welcome the company; "I could put on that muggle film you like?"

Harry waved a hand, dismissively; "Nah. I'm okay."

"You're sure? It's awfully quiet down there when you two head up to bed."

Harry hesitated, his pride no longer on the line, and seemed eager to accept now that it seemed as if it was him doing something for her – the company – rather than the other way around and Lily knew, for sure, as he met her eyes with a grin that he was far more shaken by these dreams than he was willing to let on.

"Well, is there ice cream involved in that offer?"

Lily smiled and raised her eyes skywards; "Oh, there could be."

Harry threw the bed sheets from himself with over-dramatic flare and got to his feet; "Can't say no to that."

They went quietly down the stairs, so as not to wake Grace, and spent the next couple of hours curled up side by side on the couch, both fighting the pull of sleep as best they could.

But Lily couldn't enjoy it, the longed-for quality time with her son. Even as they sat there, laughing and mocking the lines and actions of the muggles on the screen, as they always did with that particular film, it was there, at the back of her mind.

These nightmares, the scar.

Dumbledore had assured her it was simply a side effect of the magic Sirius had evoked; old Magik worked in mysterious ways.

But her old Headmaster had been wrong before.

And what if it was as she feared and he was, in some way, linked to Voldemort in the way that his Death Eaters were? Lily had never really spoken to Severus about the Mark, his Mark, and what it meant to him; she knew that was the means by which he was summoned, yes, but could they actually sense one another through it?

Probably not, she realised with relief. Otherwise, wouldn't they have discovered Regulus with ease when he had run from them?

The thought brought comfort.

But only a little.

She still wasn't sure if that's what Harry's scar was. A link to Voldemort.

Severus could answer the question, maybe, if he knew what she had now learned from Harry. But they could not possibly wait the two weeks it would take before he returned to find out. She didn't know exactly what it meant or what they could do about it, but they had to do something quickly.

And so she sent a patronus, moments after she was certain Harry was asleep next to her on the couch, telling Severus to look out for her that weekend at the Foundation. He was still determined to go the last she had spoken with him and it would be easy, to slip a message to him through Regulus as to where to find her.

Lily gathered up a blanket, laying it over Harry where he slept, not wanting to disturb him by sending him on up to bed.

However, not feeling entirely comfortable about leaving him now, instead of retreating to her own room she gathered up another blanket of her own, settling down in the chair next to him and, eventually, drifted off into a fitful sleep of her own.

"Oh. You're up."

Regulus glanced up from the briefcase he had been packing with no little amount of surprise at seeing Malachi enter the living room, just past eight thirty.

It was the fourth day of this. Whatever this was.

Regulus sitting in the living room with paperwork, or a book, or anything that could occupy his interest in his solitude, while Malachi hid out in his bedroom doing goodness-knows-what.

Finally, Regulus had mentioned to him at dinner the night before – the only time of day they actually spent together – that he would be heading into the Foundation for an hour or so that morning.

Regulus didn't need to go. The staff had been briefed and were more than capable of keeping the place going for the week he had intended to spend at home but his utter boredom had driven him to it.

"Yeah. I was gonna come with you," Malachi said and Regulus noticed that his son barely met his eyes as he spoke; "Harry's at the Foundation today, we were gonna hang out."

The boy who had come home from Hogwarts that month wasn't his son.

Sure, he looked like Malachi.

Even sounded like him; on the few occasions he deigned to open his mouth, that is.

Regulus could turn his head, put it all down to Malachi becoming a teenager – was he really turning thirteen next month? - but he knew better.

It was something that had worried him for years; what would happen when his son finally went to Hogwarts.

Privately, silently, he had pleaded to the deities that Malachi may follow in his uncle's footsteps, rather than his; go to Gryffindor, with the safety of Harry Potter and his friends – who, apparently, drove Severus crazy – but it was a doomed plea from the start.

The Blacks belonged in Slytherin.

And so, to Slytherin, Malachi went.

The son of a traitor.

Regulus had owled Severus at Hogwarts immediately upon hearing of it, careful to make his words sound like those of that from a concerned parent to their child's Head of House rather than was it truly was; one friend pleading with another to keep their child safe, protected, sheltered from the obvious difficulties that Malachi would soon face.

Severus had come to him, personally – one of the few times that he had in recent years – to reassure him that he would.

But both knew there was only so much a Head of House could do. Both knew, well enough, from their own times within the Castle all that went on in those hallways, those dorm rooms, those dungeons. There was a camaraderie, yes, a loyalty to one another and one's House that could rival even that of the Hufflepuffs', but to be in that House and not considered one of them...

It was all Regulus could do not to go to Dumbledore, himself, and demand his son be placed somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Regulus was reassured, somewhat, when the first Christmas came and Malachi returned home, the same bright, happy, sweet boy he had been when he had left a few months before, happily informing him that his friendship with Harry had survived the unexpected separation and even going so far as to tell his dad that his big cousin, Draco, was in his House and he had been kind to him. Had been showing him the ropes.

Regulus knew he had Narcissa to thank for that. Free from Lucius' domineering presence for five years now, the softness of his mother had surely rubbed off on him.

"Well, great!" Regulus lifted his hands in an approving wave; "Go get your things, I'm just leaving now."

"I have everything."

'Everything' appeared to simply be the clothes on his son's back but Regulus didn't object, happy to just have his son willingly in the same room as him at last.

"What are you boys going to be up to?" Regulus asked, by means of conversation, as he lifted the case and began to make his way towards the fireplace, indicating for Malachi to do the same.

Malachi bristled; "Nothing. Hanging out."

Regulus eyed him, only mildly alarmed at the attitude, but still, he was the parent and his son was definitely exhibiting less-than-Malachi-like behaviour the past few days and so a little reminder was definitely warranted; "Rules are still the same. You stay on the grounds."

"I know," Malachi mumbled, still not looking at him, and he reached for the tub of floo power and handed it to Regulus.

Regulus took it but didn't turn to use it, staying facing his son instead, looking at him closely until Malachi was forced to meet his eyes.

There was a guardedness there that Regulus had never seen. And something else, something that looked a little too much like sadness for his liking.

"Hey."

Regulus put a hand on his shoulder; "You alright?"

Malachi nodded, before averting his eyes again.

Regulus kept his hand on his shoulder, his eyes on him a little longer, appraisingly so, knowing without doubt that something wasn't right but Malachi shrugged him off after a few moments, sadness yielding to impatience and he looked at his dad, expectantly.

"He's probably already waiting, Dad. His mum started at eight."

Regulus gathered the floo power and tossed it into the fireplace, speaking the Foundation's address and urged his son through. Regulus followed immediately afterwards and within a few minutes they had arrived and cleared the security lines, making their way into the lobby.

Harry Potter was waiting, as Malachi predicted, standing self-consciously by the beams in the middle of the room and making a good show of pretending he didn't notice the prying eyes upon him; the great spectacle.

The Boy Who Lived.

"Good morning, Harry!"

"Hi, Mr Black," Harry straightened up, smiling easily as they reached him.

"Wait in my office next time, would you? I'll see to the clearance."

"Oh. Really? I don't –"

Regulus gave him a reassuring smile, placing a hand on his shoulder and speaking more quietly; "There's only so much gawking a man can take, right?"

Harry smiled again, reddening slightly, before giving a nod; "Thank you, Sir."

"How's your game coming on?"

"Oh! It's great!" Harry's eyes lit up at the mention; "I love it. We're playing Slytherin in a few weeks, after the holidays."

"I did hear about the change in schedules this year. Well, I'll wish you luck, then. If my House's team is anything like it was when I was back there, well, we were quite the force to be reckoned with," Regulus teased, giving a nod and patting his own chest; "Especially the Seeker."

Harry snickered, still smiling brightly; "Thanks, I'll do my best."

"We're going to a game next week, Malachi and me. Talk to your mum, there's a ticket for you, too, if you want it."

Harry's eyes widened, sharing an excited glance with his still-less-than-enthused son.

Regulus liked Harry Potter.

Mostly, he was polite and well-mannered. Sometimes, though, he'd come out with the cheekiest of comments and Regulus was instantly reminded of his brother. Regulus always did his best to make it happen whenever he saw him.

Malachi shuffled at his side, not partaking in the pleasantries and looking as grim and miserable as he had when they left the house, reminding Regulus that all was not well, but maybe a day with Harry might perk him up a bit. They were far from the interference of any of Malachi's housemates, after all.

Regulus reached into his robe, pulling out a few galleons and handing them over; "For lunch, if you boys need it."

Malachi took it, almost reluctantly. He gave him a small smile; "Thanks, Dad."

Regulus reached up, unable to help himself at the small expression of affection, and squeezed his shoulder; "You know where to find me."

Malachi was looking at him, really looking at him, for the first time since he had come home and it almost made Regulus uncomfortable, his son looking at him like that; as if he were measuring him.

Regulus gave a nod, a dismissal, and the two boys headed on by, in the opposite direction from where Regulus' office was located; off in the direction of the Research Center.

Regulus watched them, unable to shake the ever-rising concern he felt for his son, but was reassured, somewhat, when Harry slapped Malachi on the back and their laughter filled the lobby.

A day with Harry would do him good.

If not, well, he had received a message through Lily that Severus would be attending the Fling later that week. Not only attending, he wanted to see him and with an audience, too, which seemed to suggest that tactics were changing – Regulus was glad and had a few suggestions of his own on that front – and he would use the time then to check in on what Severus thought was going on with his son.

Regulus set off for his office, mind filled with ponderings on the new-Malachi that had come home to him, as he attempted to reassure himself that he had been exactly the same at his son's age. He had been more than happy to lock himself away for hours on end in his bedroom, content in his solitude.

But any comfort Regulus may have gained from the remembrance was quickly washed away by further reflection on what it was he had actually been doing at that time. Sitting in solitude, soaking up all the articles in the Prophet, pondering over conversations his parents and Aunt and Uncle had been having over dinner, completely taken in by this new, exciting agenda of the great Dark Lord who promised them freedom from the Statute and the Ministry, if they would only take action against these muggles who made it all necessary.

The memories made his stomach churn; the shame burn.

A familiar head of dark hair up ahead promised to chase the dark thoughts away.

"Well, this is a surprise," Regulus said with a smile.

"Mr Black."

Julia gave him an unabashed smile and fell into step beside him when he didn't stop, merely indicated she join him with a nod.

"What brings a pretty girl like yourself to the Foundation, Miss Bradbury?"

"Looking for you."

"And how did you know I'd be here?"

"I have my ways."

They stopped at the door to his office and he grinned at her, wordlessly casting the spells to take down the wards; "Thank the deities for that."

He reached down and swung the door open, taking a step back with a slight bow; "After you."

Julia laughed and headed inside, he following immediately after, and within just a second of the door clicking shut behind him, the promised distraction very quickly helped him forget it all.

If only for a little while.

"Weird. It's not like you know a ton of guys old enough to be Grace's dad, right?"

"Right."

They were in the private room of the Research Center, the same room that was always reserved or cleared out for Malachi whenever he was on the grounds, as per his father's instructions. Normally, Malachi was embarrassed and irritated by it but, this time, he didn't seemed bothered. The two of them could do with the privacy, after all, what with the reason for them being there.

They couldn't very well be seen looking for any incriminatory evidence against Regulus Black right under his staff's nose.

"That's why I thought it could be someone here," Harry went on, as he skimmed through another Prophet page; "I mean, maybe I don't know him personally. Maybe we'd know him because he's done something? For the Foundation."

"Maybe. Yeah. That'd make sense. Not everyone who's been through here has been good, mind. You sure you wanna open up that can of roaches? Your mum's probably freaked out for a reason. Especially if Professor Lupin's on board with it; he's honest, right?"

"Uncle Remus would jump off a bridge if Mum asked him to," Harry stated, dismissively, knowing that trying to get any information out of Remus now was a pointless endeavour; "I keep trying to remember back then. There weren't any boyfriends or anything. Just him and Uncle Sirius."

"Maybe Uncle Sirius?"

"I thought that, too, but the timing doesn't match up. And, you know, why would that be dangerous?"

"I dunno. It wouldn't be, I guess."

"And there'd be no reason to lie, anyway. He's…not here anymore."

Malachi hesitated, looking up and casting a sympathetic glance in his direction, before he reached for another of the records he was going through.

"Hey." Malachi lifted his head; "Got it."

"What is it?"

"Trial dates. People they called up."

A heavy silence filled the space between them, as Harry waited, almost entirely certain that, no way, had Regulus Black been a Death Eater back then.

It was crazy.

Malachi's dad was so nice.

Not to mention, totally awesome. Harry didn't see him all that often but he was one of the few people that ever came to the house, that actually spoke to him and listened to what he had to say in turn, that made him feel like it was him he was actually seeing, not just the boy with the scar.

"Malachi?" Harry tried, softly, when the silence stretched on and Malachi didn't seem inclined to speak.

"Yeah. It's here. Apprehended November 15th 1981. Trial was scheduled to start on the 8th December."

Malachi spoke without feeling, just reiterating what the text said, but Harry knew he was just holding it back. He quickly made to reassure him; "We knew that already. We're trying to find out the reason he was called up in the first place. What evidence they did have. Could have just been someone threw out a name to try and save themselves, I heard the Death Eaters did that sometimes back then. Some got out of their own trials that way."

Malachi only nodded, slowly, not looking up from the parchment.

"Anyone else we know on the list?"

"Not really. A few."

"Really?"

"Uh. Lucius Malfoy. Sebastian Nott –"

"No surprises then."

Malachi gave a lopsided smile.

"Snape on it?"

Malachi met his eyes with a frown; "What?"

"Snape? Seems like the type."

Malachi snorted, shaking his head and looking back at the parchment; "Giving you a few detentions doesn't make him a Death Eater."

"A few? Right. And that's not why I'm asking. He's…"

Malachi looked straight at him at that, putting Harry off, because he was reminded that Malachi actually liked Snape – which was also pretty crazy, but then he was one of his Slytherins – so Harry changed his tune; "He was one of your dad's mates, right? If he was accused, it might give you an idea of the kind of people your dad spent time with."

Malachi looked thoughtful at that, only glancing back at the article briefly, because he'd probably already checked and remembered every important name on the parchment at this point; "He's not on the list."

"Really?" Harry couldn't hold back his surprise.

"Yeah, really," Malachi rolled his eyes and tossed the paper aside and reached for another; "Not everyone you don't like is a Death Eater, you know."

Harry knew better than to get into another argument with Malachi about their thoughts and feelings on their Potions Professor, instead directing the conversation back to where it belonged; "I like your dad."

"You don't think he was one, though."

"Do you?"

"I dunno. I mean, look," Malachi waved an agitated hand in the direction of the parchments.

"You should just ask him. You're only going to go crazy until you find out it's not true."

"But what if it is true?"

Harry shrugged.

"Still better to know, right?"

Malachi didn't respond, just kept going through the Prophet he was holding, both of them surrounded by all the information they could get their hands on from nineteen eighty and nineteen eighty-one, all of which were coming up short. Everything prior to November 1981 was awash with pointless stories, barely reporting on Death Eater activities during the war at all.

In fact, from what Harry was reading, it was as if the Prophet was actually supportive of Voldemort's actions, a definite slant in their dark wizard's favour in the articles that were available, even if they did not say so outright, and Harry guessed they weren't going to find anything more from this time period.

He said as much to Malachi, gathering up the mess and going to trade them in for some others; something from earlier.

Malachi was sitting quietly brooding, exactly where he left him, when Harry came back with more copies of the Prophet, among other dated journals he could find.

"The librarian, Miss Cartwright, she thinks we're up to something," Harry remarked, dropping the armful he had onto the floor in front of Malachi.

"We are up to something."

Harry grinned, sitting down next to him, and the two of them gathered up something each to go through.

"You know, your dad was talking about people he didn't want you to meet at the Fling, right?"

"Yeah."

"Maybe that's who he meant."

"Death Eaters?"

"Yeah."

Malachi frowned, looking hesitant; "My dad wouldn't let Death Eaters in here, Harry. They're who the Foundation is fighting. It wouldn't make sense."

"Well, who else could he mean? Maybe it's a test. Or a trap."

Malachi didn't respond, seeming to think on the information.

"Would be good to go, to see for ourselves. That could answer the question, seeing how he is with them."

"My dad talks to anyone, though."

"Maybe he won't talk to them. Keep the list, see if they're there."

"You just took it away."

"You remember it though, right?"

Malachi shrugged; "Does it matter? I told you, I can't go."

"No, your dad can't know that you're there. That's even better. Maybe he acts differently when he knows you're around."

"I thought you said you had to watch Grace?"

"It's a family thing, right? She's no bother, she can come with us. I'll give her some chocolate frogs and we're sorted, her silence is easily bought."

"She's four."

"Almost five. And it's my mum she'd tell, not your dad, if she did rat us out and by then we'd have seen what we wanted to see."

Malachi was quiet, not responding to what he was saying at all.

In fact, he'd gone completely still, simply staring at the Prophet he was holding in front of him, the only movement the slow back and forth of his eyes on the page, and a frown that was deepening as he read on and on.

"What is it? Did you find something?"

Malachi raised his eyes to Harry's. He swallowed, looking, for all intents and purposes, gutted. And he simply held the page out for him, an opinion page, and Harry grasped it and had a look.

It was an old issue, years before either of them were even born. Malachi's dad could have only been a teenager then. A young one, maybe Harry's age?

It didn't matter, Harry realised, as he first skimmed the words and then frowned, reading them again more carefully. They had to be read carefully. Maybe then, he and Malachi could find some hidden meaning, something that told them that this couldn't possibly be written by the name signed at the bottom of the paragraph.

Regulus Black.

Harry mumbled the words as he re-read them; "It is an abomination that we, the superior race, must conceal ourselves behind our own magic to protect ourselves against persecution and execution by those who are, undoubtedly, inferior. At no time in history –"

Malachi snatched the Prophet back from him, eyes quickly scanning the room, before he tore it up. Or, rather, Harry thought he was tearing it up. Instead, he tore around the words his father had written and stashed it in the pocket of his trousers.

An uneasy silence settled over them.

Both knew the other was thinking the same thing.

Regulus Black had been a Death Eater.

Sure there was the chance it was all circumstantial. This really only proved that he was sympathetic to anti-Muggle sentiments. It didn't prove that he had been a Death Eater. But then, nothing really would, otherwise he would never have been acquitted. This was as close to it as they were going to get.

Even this went entirely against everything the man seemed to stand for, now.

Harry was gobsmacked.

His mum worked for him here. Did she know? Would she work with someone who had been one of them?

But then, he was his Uncle Sirius' brother. His Uncle Sirius had put his life on the line to protect him. Because he wanted out of all of this, maybe? Was that what had happened?

There were so many questions running through Harry's mind as he attempted to process it but he forced them away, glancing at Malachi and knowing that anything that was going on in his head at that moment was nothing in comparison to what must be going on inside Malachi's.

"Hey," Harry grasped him on the shoulder, "Malachi."

The younger boy drew in a breath and met his eyes, a determination in them this time which Harry wasn't expecting to see. He frowned but Malachi only lifted his chin, higher; "Alright, let's go."

"Go?"

"To the Fling. If it's true, I want to see it."

Harry wondered if they really would, what it was that Malachi wanted to see and what would be more incriminating; his father snubbing the previously accused Death Eaters? Or fraternising with them?

But it had been his idea, after all, and they had nothing to lose.

So Harry nodded.

And then he smiled.