Chapter Twenty
Harry's wish to be alone was not granted.
Barely an hour following his conversation with Remus, the announcement had been made that all students were to sleep in the Great Hall that night; a grand celebratory occasion to mark the end of the school year. Nevermind the fact that the school year didn't actually end until next week and most of the students actually had examinations scheduled for the very next day.
These exams were postponed in favour of this occasion.
Neither Harry, nor any of the other students, were so brainless to fall for the charade. Obviously, something was going on, something that required getting the students out of the way for the night.
Though Harry knew he was the only one who really knew what it was.
Peter Pettigrew.
Harry did not want to go.
The last thing he wanted to do was spend the evening socialising and engaging in games and pastimes with all the students at Hogwarts. He wanted to brood.
As Harry always seemed to be doing these days.
About Grace.
About his dad.
About Sirius.
About Snape.
It seemed as if he had spent the past few months since Christmas dealing with one big dark secret after another, to the point that he was truly becoming nervous whenever he found himself engaged in conversation with anyone; wondering just what the person he was speaking to was going to reveal next. All of it starting with that newspaper article hinting that Regulus Black might have been – and was – a Death Eater and ending with this most recent one, that Peter Pettigrew was too.
And one that had actively tried to kill his own family, to boot.
Harry longed for the summer, when it would just be himself and Malachi, sitting in their bedrooms at one of their respective homes and pretending the rest of the world didn't exist.
Harry was one of the last students to arrive in the Great Hall, so late that the arranged festivities were already wrapping up, and he was quickly ushered in by a less-than-impressed Professor McGonagall at his tardiness. Harry's eyes immediately sought ought his best friend amongst the masses of students that congregated in the Hall.
It took a while – an age – for Harry to spot him, eyes going to all the usual places he'd expect to find him; a corner, a concealed area where he would be hardly noticed.
Tonight, though, Malachi was almost entirely out in the open – though Harry didn't spot him, hidden so well in plain sight he was – amongst a group of third year Slytherins.
Malfoy was one of them, which immediately put Harry off approaching, but he shook off the urge to simply go and find Ron and Hermione and made his way across.
"Hey, Malachi," he said, when he was close enough that he only had to slightly raise his voice.
Malachi looked up from where he was sitting, huddled on the floor in deep conversation with Daphne Greengrass, Harry recognised.
Malachi shot him a bright smile, immediately getting to his feet; "Hey." He reached down, grasping his sleeping bag and dragging it along beside him as he approached; "You took your time."
Harry was about to respond when Malachi's steps where interrupted, halted by a grasp of his arm as he tried to pass by Malfoy.
"Mac. You're not leaving us to go and be with Potter, are you?"
"Oh. Uh. Yeah? I haven't seen Harry all week."
"We don't associate with the likes of him."
Harry bit back a retort.
Malachi shot his cousin a look, annoyance evident on his features; "Well. I do. I'll see you later, Draco."
Harry shot Malfoy smug look, as Malachi approached, and the two of them headed further into the Great Hall, looking for a spot to set up camp for the night.
"Since when do you hang about with Malfoy?"
"He's my cousin."
"He's always been your cousin, though. He's never bothered you before."
"He's not bothering me now," Malachi said, with a shrug; "He just doesn't like you. Same as your friends don't like me."
Malachi indicated at a spot far away from anyone else and Harry nodded, tossing his sleeping bag down, and Malachi did the same, the two sitting cross legged upon them and facing one another.
"Ron and Hermione don't mind you," Harry stated, refuting Malachi's statement; "Ron's just a bit…"
"Ron's an arse."
"Hey!"
"What? He talks to me like I'm dirt. We were friends before I came to Hogwarts. He acts like Slytherins are the spawn of Lucifer or something."
Harry snorted, a little; "He's a bit overdramatic about it. But he knows you're just you. And Malfoy's not much different to me."
"You don't have to hang out with him though. And you were never friends. It's different."
Harry nodded a little, knowing that was true, before he glanced out over the Hall; "Listen, I wanted to tell you something."
"What?"
"It's about Pettigrew."
Harry told him everything.
All that had been going on in the past couple of weeks, that he hadn't been able to share, time and company preventing it; told him about the occlumency lessons and Pettigrew and the nightmares and how he'd gone to Snape and then Remus, leaving out only one thing.
The memories he'd seen; the ones that told him how his dad and Sirius had treated Snape.
Harry was still ashamed of it, so much so that even just saying the words out loud was impossible to him.
Harry told himself it was that, which stopped him from telling the full story to his best friend – the person he had always told everything to – and not the fact that Snape would be hurt or betrayed or disappointed or furious about it; that Harry would dare reveal what he had seen to anyone, least of all his Godson.
It wasn't that Harry cared about Snape, or his feelings.
Not at all.
Malachi, of course, didn't buy that – even without the whole werewolf-baiting, removal-of-underwear, total jackass behaviour of his dad and their uncle being revealed – quickly picking up on the fact; "You told Professor Snape about your nightmares? And Pettigrew?"
"Yeah. I had to tell someone, right?"
"Why didn't you tell your own Head of House? Or Professor Dumbledore?"
"Because it was the middle of the night, I didn't want to disturb them if it was nothing."
"But you were happy to wake Professor Snape up," Malachi pointed out, a grin tugging at his lips.
"He was already awake! I wouldn't have gone to him. It was just because Uncle Remus wasn't there that I told him, at all. He would have caught me, anyway, and asked."
"Usually you'd just lie when that happens. Anything so you didn't have to spill your guts to 'big-bad-Snape'."
"I dunno, I guess I was just freaked out when I realised what Pettigrew really was. I would have told anyone, really."
His friend was chuckling mercilessly, moving to lie down on top of his sleeping bag, as Harry attempted to convince Malachi – and himself – that, if he had been thinking clearly then no way would he have gone to Snape and told him all of this. Hell, Malachi had pretty much told him that Snape was a Death Eater, if the whole 'Dark Lord' thing was anything to go by.
"Just admit it Harry. You like him," Malachi said; "And I was right."
"I don't like Snape." Harry denied it, vehemently, determined that it was the truth; "Obviously you'd like him. He's your Godfather."
"Come on, even the way you talk about him now is different."
"I just don't think he's a complete tosser now, that's all," Harry conceded, because that was the truth, at least, and one he could live with; "But he's still an arse. He still treats me like crap."
It wasn't true.
Harry realised it when he said it.
Somewhere, somehow, that had all stopped. And what had it been, really? A few – a lot – of detentions. Passing over him in classes. Weird looks Harry could catch, when Snape thought he wasn't paying attention.
Those were the same, actually, Harry realised. He still caught Snape watching him, now and again.
But the others, Harry couldn't even remember the last time he had been given a detention, which was shocking enough in itself as their allocation was almost a weekly occurrence until, suddenly, they weren't. And in classes if he offered up answers, Snape would call upon him now – sometimes, even when he didn't, which wasn't exactly something to celebrate – but if he answered correctly, there was a satisfaction about the professor when he did and Harry couldn't help but be pleased about. Like he was happy and hoping to impress him.
And then there were the Occlumency classes.
The weren't so bad, anymore. It wasn't so much of a chore to drag himself out of bed for them in the mornings.
It was crazy.
Harry actually looked forward to them, sometimes, which was utterly insane, considering the fact that his whole private thoughts and experiences were being laid bare before the Potions Master.
A commotion at the other side of the Hall stopped Harry from having to fend off any more of Malachi's teasing; students rising from their sleeping spots and gathering by the far war, all ignoring Professors Sprout and Burbage's insistence that all return to their sleeping bags and stay away from the windows.
Harry and Malachi quickly sprung to their feet, hurrying to the nearest window, as the Great Hall sprung to life, an excited energy coming over the room as all realised something incredibly exciting must be going on out on the grounds.
Harry knew before he even got the window what it was.
Pettigrew.
He and Malachi peered out at the grounds, ignoring the shoves and stepping on their toes of their fellow students, as others attempted to squeeze in, eager to look.
Out on the grounds, figures could be seen in the darkness in the distance. Wands drawn and lights spring back and forth. Someone – Pettigrew – was scrambling away, firing curses backwards at their pursuers, and Harry recognised McGonagall as one of the Professors out there attempting to apprehend him.
It took a second for Harry to recognise one of the others as Headmaster Dumbledore.
The lights firing back and forth, the seeming pursuit, lasted less than two minutes. Giving way to darkness.
And, then, Harry could spot them making their way towards the Castle; Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, Vector and Dumbledore.
Before them, bound and transported through the air by magic, the man who could only possibly be Peter Pettigrew.
It was not thoughts of Harry Potter's connection to the Dark Lord mind that plagued Severus' thoughts.
Nor was it the unexpected revelation that Pettigrew had been stalking the grounds of Hogwarts; spying on them both and Regulus' son.
It was not, even, the entirely unwelcome and appalling possibility that James Potter could soon be walking back into Lily's life, turning his own upside down in the process.
No.
Severus' mind dwelled on one simple thing.
The Dark Mark had not burned.
The fact held little comfort.
Therein lay the possibility that anything and everything that had been done for all these years had been for naught.
Severus could deny the truth no longer. The Dark Lord had returned – in whatever way was irrelevant, a fragmented soul, a spirit – and he was surrounded by his inner circle, his most trusted. The Marked followers. All of them were there, Severus had received confirmation as such from Potter's visions, the first and each occlumency lesson since where they had been presented to him.
Bellatrix Lestrange.
Peter Pettigrew.
Sebastian Nott.
Lucius Malfoy.
Barty Crouch Junior – and where the hell had he come from, Severus had been under the impression he had perished long ago.
And others, of course, some of whom Severus had not yet had the pleasure of serving with under the Dark Lord and, as such, was not familiar enough with their masks to identify them. He could easily guess, of course, based on his own first-hand knowledge and suspicions of who had been sympathetic to his cause, along with all the information that had come out during the initial trials back in nineteen eight one.
In nineteen eighty-eight, following the second demise, there had been no trials. Not a single one.
The Wizarding World had been so shaken, so spooked, by the Dark Lord's sudden and unexpected return, that any known or accused followers were immediately imprisoned without a hearing; no mores names exchanged for clemency, no more pleas of imperialisation, Crouch Senior would hear none of it this time around and his ruthless, steadfast dedication to eradicate everything Dark during this time of fright and frayed nerves easily earned him the public's favour and secured his position as Minister for Magic when Millicent Bagnold vacated the post two years later.
Fighting fire with fire.
Merlin help them all when the war was to resume.
Which led him back to the source of his worry. His inactive Mark.
Why was he not by the Dark Lord's side at this very moment?
Why had he not been called upon?
The time was obviously close.
It would be simple for the Dark Lord to do so, Pettigrew's easy passage in and out of the Castle making it so, even if there were reasons for the Mark not to burn.
Severus attempted to calm Lily with words of assurances that he would be dead by now if the Dark Lord suspected his loyalties. It was the way the Dark Wizard would operate in the past; suspicious disappearances, unexplained deaths.
But then, the Dark Lord had demonstrated himself to be more careful during his second rise, and even more so since that fall; it could simply be the case that Severus was still alive, only because the Dark Lord did not feel his demise was worth the possibility of alerting Dumbledore to his current state of being.
Whatever that state of being, was.
Severus sighed, shaking his head, as he stalked back through the abandoned corridors of Hogwarts, having received Dumbledore's Patronus message that Pettigrew had been apprehended and he may return from the Foundation at his own convenience.
It was no good.
It could go on no longer this way.
If the Dark Lord had returned, Severus had to be by his side. Everything counted upon it. The light, Dumbledore, he, Lily, Potter, they could not fight this war blind.
If the Dark Lord would not call upon him, Severus' only choice of action was clear.
He had to go to him.
Of his own accord.
That would surely grant some credence to his story, his pleas, when he reunited with the Dark Lord once more; that he would do so, willingly.
And with the school year due to conclude in mere days, there was no reason for him to hold off any longer.
A scuttling figure in the corridor, having skulked out from the door of the Great Hall some distance away, drew Severus from his thoughts.
"Malachi."
The boy spun round, looking startled; "Professor."
Severus lifted his eyes skywards, continuing to make his way towards him and stopping with a click of his shoes in front of his Godson; "Mr Black. Out past curfew?"
"Oh. We're, uh…we're sleeping in the Great Hall tonight. But I needed to use the bathroom."
"Ah. Then, do explain, if you will, why are you heading in this direction," Severus pointed to where Malachi had been walking, before turning to indicate behind him; "When the bathrooms are in that direction?"
"Oh, I don't like those bathrooms much, Sir. They stink."
"Indeed," Severus eyed him, unimpressed; "Lying to your Godfather, Malachi?"
Malachi pursed his lips together, though his eyes flashed with guilt; "Not exactly fair to play the Godfather card at school, is it?"
Severus lips twitched.
Malachi raised his shoulders, a slight smile of his own on his lips now; "Otherwise I could maybe then just plead with him to let me off this once and not tell my teachers what I've been doing?"
Severus fought back a smile, the twinkle in the boy's eyes so uncannily like that of his father's.
"And what exactly have you been doing, Mr Black?"
"I wanted to go to the library."
"It is past midnight. Surely whatever academics that have got you so inspired could wait until morning? Did you not consider there is a reason why the Professors insisted upon this charade," Severus waved in the direction of the Great Hall, where all the students were – he knew, pretending to be – asleep.
"It's not academic," Malachi said, averting his eyes; "I just wanted to look something up. A phrase. But I didn't want people to wonder why. And with the exams going on, the library's going to be packed all day tomorrow."
"A phrase? Perhaps I could help you with that."
Malachi met his eyes, uncertainly.
Severus raised an eyebrow.
Malachi drew in a breath, before looking at Severus closely when he finally said; "Toujours pur."
Severus' eyes narrowed, slightly, in recognition; "Hm."
"Do you know what it means?"
"Indeed. Might I ask where you heard the term?"
"From a girl. A friend."
"A friend," Severus repeated, dubiously; "Mr Black, have you been having further troubles with your Housemates?"
"Not everyone hates me, you know."
"That is not what I meant to imply."
"Is it bad then? Toujours pur?"
"Merely a saying."
"What does it mean?"
Severus looked at him, considering for a moment, before he nodded, figuring he may as well put the boy out of his misery – lest he go looking any further; "It means 'Always Pure'."
"Always Pure," Malachi repeated, carefully, before shrugging and shaking his head; "What does that have to do with my dad?"
"What makes you think it has anything to do with your father?"
Malachi simply looked at him, revealing nothing.
Severus drew in a breath, crossing his arms across his chest and lowering his chin; "Malachi. If you want to know what it is that those words mean to your father, my suggestion is simple; ask him."
Malachi swallowed, looking uncertain; "Will…will he be upset?"
"Not as upset as he would be if you were to engage in another hairbrained escapade to try and find out. Such as the one at Easter, perhaps?"
Malachi gave him a small smile, lowering his eyes.
"Now." Severus said, voice become stern once more, drawing Malachi's eyes back to him, and he nodded in the direction of the Hall; "Return to your sleeping spot, if you will."
Malachi nodded, turning and heading back towards the Great Hall, albeit it with less enthusiasm than when he had been creeping out of it.
"Oh, and Malachi?"
The boy turned back to him.
"That's ten points. And a detention."
Malachi rolled his eyes, releasing a puff of air along with a wry smile; "Of course, Sir."
Severus gave him a small smile, waiting until he was sure Malachi was back behind the doors of the room, before he swept on by back down to the dungeons.
Preparing to wrap up for the summer.
"Mummy, how does magic work?"
Grace peered at the tip of her Lily's wand, eyes narrowed in complete focus.
"It's just something that's inside us, Sweetheart."
"But how do I make magic actually happen?"
"What are you trying to do?"
"I want this to light up like a candle does," Grace said, keeping her eyes entirely trained on the end of the wand.
"You need to use a spell to do that. 'Lumos'."
Light suddenly shone from the end of the wand and Grace jumped back, eyes wide and smiling, brightly; "Did I do that?"
Lily chuckled, putting her arm around her and giving her a squeeze; "I'm afraid not, Honey. How to do magic is something you'll learn when you go to school."
"But that's such a long time! A whole summer, to wait, still. I want to know how it works now. How do we make brooms fly? And how can we get that cup to come over here, just by shouting on it? I see Daddy do that all the time. And potions, too; I want to make a potion!"
Lily smiled, leaning down, and pressed her lips to the top of her head; "How about we write your next letter to Daddy instead?"
"Oh, okay!" Grace nodded, eagerly, shrugging out of her embrace and hurrying to the kitchen table; "I wanted to tell him the story about the Learning Centre last week. My first visit!"
"I'm sure he'd love to read that."
Lily took the seat next to her, where the quill and parchment was already set up, and Grace propped her elbows up on the table, chin in her hands as she watched Lily dip the quill and prepare to write; "Okay. To Daddy," Grace dictated, lifting her eyes upwards at thinking; "Once upon a time…"
"Once upon a time?"
"Yes. Once upon a time, I went to the Learning Centre – are you writing, Mummy?"
"Yes," Lily chuckled, writing down the words, as Grace carried on her story, full of embellishments and tangents about all she had seen and done when she had been taken to her first school for the first time; a place where she would finally be able to see how to do real magic – just little spells – and boring things, too, that Harry told her about, like numbers and letters, which she could already count and say…
The letter went on and Lily fought back her grin at the dramatic assertions that just had to be included and she imagined Severus reading it with a similar smile upon his face, fully able to just see the look on her face, as if Grace were there, herself, relating it all to him.
And Lily told herself to just take comfort in that, at least, that Severus would be grateful to have these words, if not his daughter in his arms.