Chapter Twenty-Two
It had been five weeks.
Five long weeks of searching and, still, Severus had found nothing.
There were traces, of course, and even verbal confirmations from locals that he stopped to engage with, saying that there had been a man or a woman who looked just as Severus described – he alternated his search between various followers, but it was Lucius' description which almost always caused a stir – and so, he knew, that he was close.
He was always close.
Just a hairbreadth away, it seemed, sometimes, only for them to slip through his fingers and the trail to come to nothing.
And after five weeks of coming up short, Severus was growing impatient. His longing to be home began to take grip within just a couple of weeks, missing Lily and Grace – Merlin, how he longed to see his daughter's face – and, even, Severus had realised with a jolt, Harry.
That was certainly a bizarre turn of events; that the mundane routine of waking before the crack of dawn to complete his marking, before heading through to the office and taking on the extra occlumency lessons – hardly something that ought to evoke any joy or anticipation – had somehow become a part of his day that he had looked forward to.
Severus never thought he'd see the day. The day he actually enjoyed teaching.
But he had, and Severus knew better than to put it down to the task or subject at hand, or even down to the satisfaction that he had felt that he was finally doing something useful, at last, to prepare the boy for his inevitable confrontation with the Dark Lord and that his efforts were actually being appreciated and responded to.
No. It was Harry Potter, himself, that had brought it about.
Those couple of hours each day spent in the boy's company. And with each passing day and lesson, as Severus saw more and more of him – in personality and in memory – he couldn't help but be taken in by him. Taken in by this boy who Severus had always sworn he would, and must, keep at distance and no wonder – his thoughts on the matter were entirely right – as the boy turned out to be so engaging that, even under the guise of extra school lessons, Severus couldn't help but connect with him.
A connection which could prove deadly to both, should it become apparent to any hostile observer.
Not that it mattered, at least at this moment, as Severus was far from Harry, and their family, and may never even have the chance to return to them. Not if his current suspicions were proven accurate.
Yes, Severus' attempts to regroup with the Circle had proven less than successful. But he was not a fool. He knew they were aware of his attempts to locate them. There would be a Death Eater tasked with scouting the land, taking note of their surrounding areas, and Severus knew he had gotten close enough to be picked up on the radar, whoever that person may be.
He had not been approached.
However – Severus knew it as certain as he knew the sun rose in the East – he was being observed.
The Dark Lord had been having him followed.
And so, tired and impatient and, downright, cranky, Severus had finally hunkered down in one of the local taverns, renting out an upstairs room for an unspecified number of nights, and ordered a double firewhiskey and sat at a table in the furthest corner of the room.
Spent the rest of the day at the table there, doing nothing but waiting.
From dawn until dusk, he had done the same the second day.
And then the third.
Until, finally, on the fourth day, Severus had heard the tell-tale sound of solid footsteps thudding upon the floorboards, approaching him from behind.
Severus didn't look up. Merely tapped his index finger against the side of his still-full glass, as a cloaked figure stopped up short next to him.
"I was beginning to doubt that I was welcome."
"You are not the only one," came a smooth, familiar voice that Severus had not heard in years.
Severus raised his eyes from the table, meeting those of Lucius Malfoy.
They said nothing, merely looked at one another for a moment. And then, the tension broke and Lucius gave him that enigmatic smile, that was never earnest, but it was not chilling either and it was the warmest welcome Severus could possibly hope for.
He got to his feet.
"Severus." Lucius held out a hand and Severus took it, nodding at him.
"Lucius. You look well. Considering."
"Considering," Lucius conceded, flexing his jaw and looking darkly at the window; "Yes. Five years in Azkaban. Hardly a vacation spot I would recommend, I must say."
"Why has it taken so long for you to contact me?"
"I was under orders not to approach until I was certain of your commitment to him."
"Ah. Then I have passed the test."
"Not quite, old friend."
Lucius raised a finger in the direction of the bar at the barman, before taking a seat at the table Severus had chosen, Severus doing the same and sitting opposite.
"Where are the others?" Severus asked, immediately.
"We shall reconvene with them shortly," Lucius said, taking the offered drink from the barman without gratitude, raising the glass to his lips; "You are the last."
"After five weeks of scuttling through the streets of Romania, I am not surprised."
"This is an interesting choice of lodgings," Lucius remarked, ignoring Severus statement as he glanced around the interior of the drinkery; "Regulus' habits certainly appear to have rubbed off on you."
Severus leaned back, eyes narrowing at the mention, and he reminded himself that he mustn't react to the little jolt inside him, positively screaming out that Lucius had been the one to turn Regulus over to the Dark Lord, sentencing him to certain death, some years before – and this man was his family – and instead addressed the obvious issue at hand; "Should I assume the Dark Lord is unimpressed, then, by my placement at the Foundation?"
"You should," Lucius said, looking at him closely as he took another, slow drink.
"It can only benefit him, surely. To have a follower right under Regulus Black's nose."
"And I suppose Regulus is not suspicious? He served alongside you, Severus. He knows you well – do not deny it – better than anyone, I am inclined to say. If Regulus believes that you are disloyal to the Dark Lord – " Lucius gave a low grumble of a laugh, shaking his head; "I must say, that does not do you any favours."
"Come, Lucius, the man is your family, however much you wish to deny it, you know well enough Regulus' weaknesses. A simple word, a plea, a reminder of all we once were to one another and he was putty in my hands. Regulus is not blessed with the ability to remain immune to the tortured souls of others, as we have all seen, evidence of that dating back to the wet sixteen-year-old who thought he had what it takes to follow."
Lucius regarded him carefully, seeming to turn over words.
Severus lifted his glass to his lips, raising an eyebrow; "If I am able to secure the confidence of the Great Albus Dumbledore, which the Dark Lord was quite willing to believe some years ago, does he truly doubt that I would be able to do so with that of Regulus Black?"
"That old fool was not privy to your true self, Severus, not in the way your dearest friend was. Or, indeed, may still be."
"Surely you do not doubt the Dark Lord's abilities to see through such a scheme as you seem to be implying, Lucius; that I should return to him, a snake in the grass, the most brilliant wizard of our age deceived by myself. That would be a most ungenerous presumption, don't you think?
Lucius gave him that enigmatic smile again; "And you want to be put forward to him for verification, do you?"
"I have nothing to hide."
Lucius glanced down at his drink, clearly pondering the words, the explanations that Severus was sure to have to repeat upon facing the Dark Lord, but his arguments were sound, he knew they were.
He had been rehearsing all this for months, years, even.
Lucius drew in a breath and lifted his glass to his lips, finishing off the liquid that graced it in a single mouthful, before returning it to the table with a thud and getting to his feet; "Very well."
Severus got to his feet, leaving his own full glass, and brushing down his robes as he did.
The two of them headed from the tavern, Severus a mere step behind, as Lucius led the way. The two stepped outside into the harsh sunlight, the suffocating heat, and when they did, Lucius turned to him, looking at him once more, and Severus met his look without hesitation, raising a questioning eyebrow.
Lucius smirked.
"It is good to have you back, old friend."
"I'm afraid your husband isn't responding in quite the way that we hoped, Mrs Potter."
"It's Lily, Hubert," she said, in response to Healer Clay's statement, for they knew one another well enough not to bother with the pleasantries; "Just tell me what's going to happen."
"Lily…" he hesitated.
Lily kept her eyes on James' face, eyes squinting and her lips pursing together when his silence made it more than clear. She drew in a breath, willing her voice not to tremble when she spoke; "How long does he have?"
"A few days."
There was compassion in the healer's tone, her colleague, a gentleness and a kindness that they knew they really oughtn't let show to the families when they delivered news such as this – they expected the healers to be stoic, composed, entirely sure of their diagnoses with no sign of doubts or fallibility – and Clay reached out, placing a hand on her arm.
"He was the ideal candidate for the trials. I was almost entirely certain of its success. I'm very sorry, Lily."
Lily drew in a breath, her heart heavy and her stomach tight when she met his eyes, and she forced a nod, unsure if he was apologising for his own benefit or for hers, which one of them he was granting pardon to, for even trying this; "Okay."
Her voice was quiet.
She stepped away, turning from the room, unable to look any longer. She couldn't look at James, knowing this, not today. She had to be at home. It was Harry's birthday, his fourteenth, and they had people coming and she had to smile and entertain and host the small party she insisted be thrown for him, all the while holding back the news that his father was dying, and Harry really needed to know.
Lily apparated home, stepping through the gate, immediately greeted by the sounds of Grace's excited squeals.
"Higher, Uncle Remus!" Grace laughed with delight, as Remus threw her up in the air once more, catching her and giving her a spin.
"Mum, Mr Black is in the kitchen," Harry said, suddenly at her side, before he took off in a jog across the garden to where Malachi, Ron and Hermione were huddled on the grass beneath the shrubbery.
Lily headed into the house in a daze, thoughts suddenly warring between concern for James and concern for Severus, as she considered the reasons why Regulus would actually wait behind to speak with her. All involved Severus and his plight to return to Voldemort and it had been so long, too long, since any word of his whereabouts had reached them.
"Lily," Regulus stood from where he was sitting at the table, seemingly doing nothing but staring at the fruit bowl in the middle of it until she arrived.
"Regulus," Lily frowned, completely unable to keep the concern from her voice, so rattled by the news about James that she couldn't even muster up the usual controlled front she often did when it came to Severus; "What's wrong? Have you heard something?"
It had been five weeks of nothing and she struggled not to fear the worst.
Regulus nodded; "There's been sightings of them in Romania. Odd but that's what the rumours are saying. But that's all I've heard. Nothing about Severus, directly. Have you heard from him?"
Lily bit her lip, feeling her eyes start to brim; "No."
Her voice trembled, and Regulus looked startled. They had, after all, discussed far more dire circumstances than this and both had agreed, albeit without much conviction, only earlier that week, that no news was good news, for the time being.
If the school year commenced and he still had not returned, then would be the time to worry.
"I…I'm sure he's fine, Lily," Regulus said, shifting awkwardly; "I didn't mean to upset you."
"No, you're not," Lily quickly composed herself, shaking her head and looking away; "I…It's not Severus."
"Oh. Okay," Regulus still looked uncomfortable, clearing his throat; "Is there something I can do?"
Lily started to shake her head, when the door to the kitchen sprung open and Remus walked into the room. He paused a few steps in, looking between them with undisguised curiosity. And then, when he quickly picked up on Lily's upset, concernedly spoke; "Is everything alright?"
Lily brushed her hand back from her face, glancing in Regulus' direction for a moment, before drawing in a breath and Regulus quickly took the chance to escape.
"I'd better go," Regulus said, handing her over to Remus' disposal; "I'll be back over for Malachi in a few hours." Then he glanced between Remus and Lily, thinkingly for a second; "Or I could take them with me? The kids?"
"All those kids," Lily said, sceptically and shooting him a grin through her distress, and Regulus grinned in turn and gave a shrug.
"Can't say no to a challenge. Yeah, I'll take them, alright? Think there's a thing going on over on the coast that the boys would like. Give you a couple of hours?"
Lily frowned; "Regulus, are you sure?"
"Yes," he nodded, turning away and seeming to take that as her answer, as he pulled open the door; "See you then. Grace! Come here, Monkey." The door clicked shut behind him.
"What's going on?" Remus asked with a frown, stepping towards her and looking at her, carefully.
Lily met his eyes, drawing in a breath.
"Is it Severus?"
She shook her head, "No. No he's fine."
God, please let him be fine.
"What, then?" Remus touched her arm, leaning his head down to look at her, anxiously; "Lily?"
She met his eyes, shaking her head, her voice quiet; "It's James, Remus."
It was all she needed to say.
Remus just looked at her for a moment, before his gaze seemed to go right through her, not seeing her any longer, as the simple statement began to sink in. He drew in a breath, meeting her eyes, and she saw the sadness in them, and while there wasn't any question there – Remus knew what it was she had to say – she gave the slightest of nods, confirming it, feeling the lump in her throat that would prevent any elaboration, even if Remus had asked her for it.
Remus didn't.
He just stepped forward, hands on her arms and allowed her to lean on him if she wanted to, and she did, pressing her face into his chest and grateful for the arms that held her as the tears started to fall.
This was odd, being sent off with Mr Black for the day, his birthday, but the man seemed determined to make sure they all enjoyed themselves, offering a selection of various activities to choose from; the seaside, a funfair, an ice rink, 'just name it birthday-boy', and Harry had chosen the fair and they quickly found themselves whisked off to the pier.
Grace laughed as she ran on up ahead, Malachi seeming to be left responsible for entertaining her as he hurried up along behind her.
Ron and Hermione were straggling along behind, bickering about something or other.
And Harry stuck close to Regulus Black, desperate to ask him the question he was sure he already knew the answer to; something that he had been certain of for months.
"Mr Black?"
"Yes, Harry?"
"My sister…she's yours, isn't she?"
Malachi's dad looked at him sharply, eyes dancing with amusement; "Oh. You think so?"
"I know it."
Mr Black tilted his head to the side and then he laughed, glancing up ahead and giving a nod; "I should be so lucky, Harry."
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, no. But I am honoured to be considered."
"You're so good with her," Harry stated, as the man glanced at him out the corner of his eye, smilingly; "And with me," he added, timidly; "I wouldn't mind, you know. I know it has to be a secret, obviously. But…if you'd just tell me, it'd be better for everyone, right? You could see her, then, properly. Not just wait until it's my birthday or something to find an excuse to come out with us."
"Ah. You think I dragged you all out here to spend time with Grace?"
"Yup."
"I am sorry to disappoint you. But I only have one child," Mr Black's eyes went up ahead, to Malachi, who was helping Grace climb up onto a low wall, holding her hand as she carefully balanced and walked along it; "And only ever will."
Harry hesitated in his steps for a moment, struck by the obvious regret in the man's voice, and his resolve wavered a bit when he noticed; "Why only one?"
"I'm sure Malachi has told you."
"Well…yeah," neither said the word 'Death Eater', but it was obvious what Mr Black meant; "But you had Malachi."
"Who has suffered for it, don't you think? My mistakes. Another child? Not on your life, Harry."
Harry couldn't help but believe that Regulus Black meant it, with every bone in his body, the statement was made with such conviction.
But, then, he had to be Grace's father. It was the only thing that made any sense.
"Mr Black!" Grace suddenly ran up to them, stopping in front of Malachi's dad; "Can I ride up on your shoulders?"
"My shoulders?" Mr Black repeated with a grin, not stopping in his steps, so that Grace was forced to carry on walking quickly, backwards, looking up at him with a bright smile and wide, pleading eyes.
"Yes! Daddy lets me."
"Oh, he does, hmm?"
Harry eyed Mr Black carefully as Grace said it, spoke of her father as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and the man didn't react in any knowing or surprised way by it. Simply gave his sister a smile and then, in a flash, it turned cheeky and he grasped her by the sides and tossed her up into the air making her squeal and laugh, before he did as she asked and plonked her up on his shoulders; "To the carousel, Miss Grace, I think?"
"Giddy up, horsey!" Grace grasped fistfuls of Mr Black's hair, making him wince and remind her that:
"Hey, those hairs are attached, don't forget!" and then he took off in a speed walk towards the fair that was now coming into view.
Harry watched them go, thinking he had to be right. The picture in front of him should only confirm it. Regulus Black laughing and carrying his baby sister up on his shoulders, as she giggled and cuddled into the top of his head, as if it were the most natural thing in the world and something they had done numerous times before.
But after the conversation just had, Harry couldn't shake it.
That maybe he hadn't got it quite right, after all.
Harry sat on the floor of his bedroom, eyes closed, as he breathed in and out; not counting the breaths, no, as he had often found himself doing in the early weeks of doing this. He was just focusing on them, breathing in and letting them go, careful not to let his mind wander. To feel himself enter that strange, eerie calmness that he had, only just last week, finally started to be able to reach.
It was weird, the utter stillness he found he was able to reach when he did this, the control he was able to command over his mind and his thoughts; thinking only of the here and now, not letting them drift and linger and take him out of the present moment of nothingness.
And, ever since he had managed to reach it, Snape had been right.
Harry hadn't had a nightmare ever since.
Bizarrely, he found himself eager to get back to Hogwarts, desperate to boast to Snape of his accomplishment – because he was totally convinced that Snape doubted he could even do this, even if it had been assigned to him as homework – and see the look on the Professor's face when he proved it to him.
Harry only hoped it would translate well into a defence against Snape's legilliemency when their occlumency lessons resumed.
A knock on the door disturbed Harry from his thoughts.
His thoughts, Harry realised with exaggerated despair. He had to watch that; when he got too excited, he lost it. The calmness, the control over himself.
"Yeah?"
The door to his bedroom opened, his mum popping her head around the door.
"Still awake, Sweetheart?"
"Yeah," Harry nodded; "Homework assignment. But I'm done now. What's up?"
His mum stepped into the room, closing the door behind her; "I wanted to speak to you."
"Oh," Harry frowned, quickly picking up on the sombreness of his mum's mood; "Okay." He got to his feet, going to the bed and taking a seat. His mum sat next to him, looking torn, as if she didn't know how to begin.
Harry swallowed, nervously; "Did Mr Black say something to you, yesterday?"
His mum looked at him sharply, frowningly; "Mr Black?"
"Yeah. About Grace?"
His mum rolled her eyes, her voice weary when she said; "No. Harry, this…this isn't about Grace."
Harry only looked at her, feeling anxious as the silence between them stretched and he quickly picked up on the fact his mum was upset and struggling with whatever it was she had to say to him.
"Mum?" Harry reached out, taking her hand; "Are you okay?"
His mum released a breath, squeezing his hand in turn and giving him a smile that didn't meet her eyes; "Yes. Well, no. I…It's your dad, Harry."
Harry immediately frowned, the statement so out of the blue and of a subject so-never-spoken-of between them that he was immediately thrown; "My dad?" he repeated, stupidly, as if he had no idea who this person was.
His mum nodded, taking his other hand and looking at him, concernedly; "Yes. Your dad, he's been receiving treatment this summer. Only trials, but we thought that, maybe, they would bring him back to us."
Harry swallowed, taking in the information spoken, nervously, wondering if his mum was about to tell him his father would soon be coming home to them. After all these years. A father he didn't remember. Harry turned the thought over in his mind, trying to make sense of it, the idea that James Potter may soon be in his life once more, not sure exactly how he felt about the prospect; knowing he should feel excited, thrilled.
But his mum wasn't acting as if what she was telling him was something to be thrilled or excited about.
Harry realised, no, his mum wasn't telling him his dad was coming home.
"It didn't work?" Harry said, knowing the answer.
His mum shook her head; "No, Sweetheart. It didn't."
His mum squeezed his hands, drawing in a steadying breath; "Actually…" She hesitated, still seeming unsure what she was going to say but Harry realised it, then. Because, if James Potter wasn't coming home, there was only one other thing it could be.
"He's dying, isn't he?" Harry said it far too bluntly, he realised, when his mum met his eyes, sharply.
His mum nodded, tentatively; "Yes."
Harry tried to make sense of that and found himself just as bewildered by the thought of his father's death as he did by the idea of his father actually coming home. Neither evoked much reaction except, he supposed, the thought of him coming home made him nervous, while the thought of him not left Harry feeling blank.
Nothing.
Harry immediately felt guilty, which he supposed was better than the utter nothing he'd felt a second ago, but feeling guilt for not being upset, devastated, distraught at the death of the man who had given him life wasn't exactly on par with what a son ought to feel upon learning about the death of their father.
Not at all.
When Sirius had died, Harry wouldn't eat for days. Couldn't sleep unless he was held tight in his mother's arms. The knot in his stomach, the raw, painful lump in his throat, the utter loss he had felt had rendered him completely broken.
For James Potter, though, Harry felt only emptiness.
It was…wrong.
Harry lowered his chin, willing himself to feel the pain he knew his mum was expecting, but instead, unable to properly muster it up past his bewilderment at what he wasn't feeling, squeezed his mum's hands instead, because she clearly was feeling the things that normal people felt when they heard someone so important to their lives was about to die.
"Mum, are you okay?"
His mum nodded, immediately; "Sweetheart, are you?"
"I…yeah? I guess? I…I'm okay."
He wasn't sure if that's what he was supposed to say. He was so confused. He'd never been so much so.
Harry tried to remember his dad, all that people had told him about him, how good and kind and brave he had been. Willed himself to cry, if only for his mum's sake, but it came up short; so short. He only shook his head. He thought harder, willed the sadness to hit, and remembered what Remus had said about his dad.
How he was 'bright and loyal and too cocky for his own good'. And, then, of course, of course, the only real picture or memory he had at all of his father came to mind and it wasn't even his own memory, no; it was of a hard glare of hatred and a cold voice and it wasn't what Harry wanted to see or remember, not now, but it did the trick and he felt tears spring to his eyes, as he remembered all he had seen in that occlumency lesson with Snape some months before and that, that was all he had of his father and all he ever would.
His mum pulled him into her arms, noticing his distress.
Harry simply allowed his mum to hold him, as he tried to make sense of it in his mind.
That, soon, James Potter, his father, would truly be gone.