Chapter Twenty Eight

The first day of term was a Friday.

Saturday was to be the first Hogsmeade visit of the year.

Harry, for the first time, had actually been granted permission to go - so long as his Uncle Remus was with him at all times – and Malachi had been granted the same approval.

Of course, even with it being a Friday and all the student abuzz with the upcoming visit, the school took no pity on it's students and Dumbledore had declared that classes would go ahead and begin as usual on the Friday.

First up for Harry; double Potions.

Fantastic.

Harry couldn't quite be unhappy by the fact, even if his mind was still reeling in the aftermath of what had happened the last time he had set eyes upon the Potions Professor.

He didn't know why he even cared what Snape was and had been and what he was doing now; a spy, someone who brushed shoulders with bloody Voldemort and all his insane followers, who all wanted him dead.

It wasn't as if Snape owed him anything.

And it wasn't as if Harry even liked Snape.

But still, as Harry stepped into the Potions classroom for the millionth time in his life, Hermione and Ron bickering behind him as they followed, his mind warred between two entirely opposing wishes.

The first, that he was so freaked out by the side of the Potions Professor that he saw that night, that he wanted to run.

And the other, that was almost desperate to see him and talk to him again, to weigh him up and try to make sense of it all, now that Harry knew what he knew.

Harry sat at the desk at front of the classroom.

"Harry, are you mad?" Ron asked, when he took note of the chosen desk; "We can't sit here!"

"I'd be quite happy to sit at the front of the class," Hermione remarked, earning a glare from Ron.

"Just sit, Ron," Harry said, pulling out the stool beside him, and Ron sat down next to him with a look of horror in the direction of the desk, only a few metres away, while Hermione took a seat at the desk to their right.

Snape swept into the classroom less than a minute later and Harry noticed the way his eyes glanced over them, his brow furrowing ever so slightly, at the placement of the three of them at the front of the room.

Other than that, Snape ignored Harry completely, beginning the lesson with his usual formal address, and Harry simply stared at him, unabashedly, as he did.

" – unless any of you are particularly keen to miss out on this weekend's Hogsmeade festivities, I urge you all to handle said ingredients carefully while brewing your Elixirs, lest you blow up the entire classroom with your mishandling. The dragons scales must be added prior to root of hemlock. Anyone foolish enough to do otherwise will spend the entirety of tomorrow's daylight hours scrubbing cauldrons."

With that Snape turned from them all in dismissal, so they may begin, and Harry set off to gather the necessary potions ingredients from the store cupboard.

Snape was more aloof than ever, as the lesson progressed, and didn't make eye contact with Harry, not even once, directing the small amount of commentary regarding their potion to Ron when he did happen to pass by them.

"Dragon scales, Weasley, not lizard."

Harry had brought the wrong ones, intentionally, in the vain hope it might inspire a sparring exchange between the two of them, but following his words to Ron, he merely swept on by, eyeing Hermione's potion and saying nothing.

Snape came nowhere near them for the rest of the lesson and Harry felt himself grow increasingly frustrated by his lack of acknowledgement of his presence. Snape was acting as if Harry didn't even exist! No exchanged glances, or scoldings when he and Ron allowed their voices to rise slightly higher than appropriate as they discussed the next steps, no odd looks sent his way when he thought Harry wasn't looking that, Harry realised, were so frequent in the past that they had become commonplace to him.

This was infuriating.

Snape was simply ignoring him and everything that had happened a few weeks ago.

And Harry would not be ignored.

Nor was he going to wait until Monday, the whole weekend, to finally find out what the hell it was all about, what had happened that night.

Harry clutched the root of hemlock in his hand, casting a look Ron's way and speaking quietly; "You mind going to the store cupboard for the dragon scales, Ron?"

Ron shrugged, slipping off his stool, and heading in the direction Harry said.

Harry glanced in Snape's direction, who was simply walking slowly between the desks at the back of the room, looking bored.

Harry drew in a breath. He had really wanted to go to Hogsmeade with Malachi that weekend. But, he realised, not more than he wanted to get answers about Voldemort from Snape. Leaning back as he did, face already scrunched up in anticipation of what would happen next, Harry reached his hand forward, dropping the root of hemlock into his cauldron.

For a second, nothing happened.

And then, Harry was suddenly thrown backwards onto the desk behind him as the cauldron and all the liquid inside it erupted with a deafening 'BOOM' that echoed throughout the classroom and evoked screams of terror from all the stupid girls within it.

"Potter!"

Snape was at his side in an instant.

He did not look amused, even as his eyes swept over him – checking for injuries or for visible evidence of his utter idiocy, Harry wasn't sure – and the Potions Professor's gaze quickly hardened, eyes narrowing suspiciously when Harry looked back up at him, in what he hoped was innocence.

His vision blurred and then Harry saw his actions, what he had just done, a few seconds ago flitter past his eyes for only a second.

Snape clenched his jaw, looking at him murderously, as Harry's vision cleared.

"You've just bought yourself detention, Mr Potter."

Snape swept away from him, voice clipped when he spoke without turning; "Seven am. Clean up this mess."

Harry watched after him for a second.

And then he grinned.

It was only the first day of term and what a day it had been, already!

Potter. He always had to make everything so bloody dramatic.

Severus had eagerly left the walls of Hogwarts before lunch, keen to get to the Foundation, where he hoped he could just sit down in peace.

Such wishes were not to be.

Regulus' welcome certainly lacked the same warmth and delight that Lily's did, which was obviously to be expected.

What Severus hadn't expected was to find him completely beside himself in his office when he had finally made it to the Foundation that afternoon, unhinged in a manner that Regulus rarely – if ever – let himself be seen.

A pile of Oracle Bulletin journals and Daily Prophet clippings were waiting on his desk, upon Severus' arrival, along with Regulus himself and he quickly related to him details of a furious argument that had erupted between himself and Malachi in his absence.

Severus' attempts to placate him were not going well.

"How could you not know this was going on? In your own House!"

Severus lifted his eyes heavenward; "I cannot stop the boy from thinking, Regulus, thus far that is all that he is doing."

"You should have seen the way he looked at me, Severus. The things he said. It was like looking in a damn mirror; back at that stupid boy I was back then!"

Severus was finding it almost dizzying, as he turned on the spot where he was stood once again, trying to maintain eye contact as Regulus paced the floor of his office.

"It is hardly a unique viewpoint, to oppose the Statute of Secrecy," Severus stated, attempting to reason with him; "Of all the influences Malachi is exposed to within his House – the Dark Arts, the muggle prejudices – this is the least damning. It is only politics, Regulus."

"There is nothing 'only' about it. It is exactly this sort of thinking that got to me, Severus!" Regulus snapped, shaking his head, and indicating at the things on his desk; "This, all of this!"

Regulus snatched up one of the parchments, one that appeared to have been torn from its binding and folded and unfolded, multiple times, reading from it aloud; "It is an abomination that we, the superior race, must conceal ourselves behind our own magic to protect ourselves from persecution and execution by those who are, undoubtedly, inferior."

Severus frowned, reaching out a hand for it; "I do not believe I am familiar with the text." Regulus handed it over as he asked; "Who wrote it?"

"I wrote it!"

Severus glanced at him, pushing aside any amusement that threatened to rise at the irony, before skimming the remainder of the text as Regulus went on.

"Thinking I was so damn clever sitting in my room, waxing poetics about wizarding utopia and pureblood supremacy."

"You are overreacting," Severus stated, assuredly, as he refolded the parchment he had been given, tossing it back onto the desk; "There is nothing at all in this text – in any of these writings, I am certain – that advocate the methods of the Dark Lord or his followers."

"That's not the point!"

"That is the very point," Severus said, going around the desk to take a seat, where he could more easily keep his eyes on Regulus rather than his constant twisting and turning in the middle of the room; "Regulus, do you really think Malachi would join the ranks? Have you met your son? He would not raise his wand to a moth, nevermind a muggle."

"Neither would I have, Severus," Regulus said, his voice quietening somewhat, as it always did when the conversation tread too close to things done in times past; "Not until I was convinced it was something that had to be done."

"It is not the same circumstances," Severus said, in his attempt to placate him; "You are forgetting how it was back then. The Dark Lord's Circle was a mystery, a shroud of intrigue and exclusivity that made it all the more appealing, the true nature of his dealings were not laid bare to the world at all, certainly not in the way that they are now. If Malachi truly is becoming sympathetic to the plight of those who oppose the Statute – even the Grindelwald sympathisers – he is not going to confuse that mindset with becoming a follower of the Dark Lord. The very wizard whom he has been running from since he was six years old."

"Don't speak logic to me, you're only pissing me off even more," Regulus growled, turning away; "I know what I saw when I looked at him. You did not hear the things he said to me."

"Regulus –"

"He threw Anchor Ridge in my face, Severus."

There was a silence in the immediate aftermath of the statement.

Severus drew in a breath, looking at him carefully; "What happened?"

"He asked me about it," Regulus said, eyes getting that haunted look that Severus had often caught glimpses of; "He asked me what happened there."

Severus sighed, shaking his head; "That is hardly throwing it in your face. I assume you overreacted?"

"No," Regulus said, before glancing away with a dark look; "I simply told him to leave before I did."

"Regulus."

"What?"

"Did you consider that if you were to tell him the truth of it, it may just have the effect of nipping all of this rebellion in the bud before it even begins?" Severus said, even as Regulus immediately shook his head at the very notion; "Not to mention that nothing would deter him more from turning to the Dark Lord, than hearing the story of what happened that day."

"The only purpose that would serve, would be to inform him what a pompous, arrogant fool he has for a father."

"On the contrary, it may reveal the opposite. It certainly did me."

Regulus met his eyes.

It was the truth, for both of them. For it was only after the events of Anchor Ridge that the two of them had stopped eyeing one another with disdain.

"I'm not telling him that," Regulus said, even if his voice softened ever so slightly in recognition of the recollection; "I won't."

"You think the things he's been reading in the Prophet are any better?"

"I don't give a damn what the bloody Prophet says about it," Regulus growled, turning away.

"Nonsense. It is far worse, the spiel they cast out."

Regulus turned warning eyes his way; "You swore to me you'd never speak of it, Severus."

"And so, I won't. But you ought to. To your son. He, at least, deserves to know the truth of it, lest he hear another version of it from somewhere else."

"He already has."

Severus cleared his throat, straightening in his chair, for he could put off what he had to say no longer. He had hoped to address it when Regulus was calm, or even at least acting rationally, but the moment was here, now, and he couldn't just brush it aside to bring up at a later time in light of the current conversation.

"On which note, I do have something further to add to the current discussion."

Regulus looked at him, the distressed look in his eyes giving way to curiosity, as Severus went on. Reluctantly.

"It regards the article that was left for Malachi – among a number more that I'm guessing he never reported to you – the one that led to his discovery of your trial; it was not his housemates who were responsible for it."

Regulus frowned; "Who was it, then?"

"Pettigrew."

A heavy silence fell upon them, as the magnitude of the revelation sunk in.

Severus spoke again, first, while Regulus' mind continued to, not doubt, spiral, wildly; "Indeed, it seems a number of items were left for him to find, no doubt with the intention of setting him off on this witch hunt as he seems now to be engaged in."

"On the Dark Lord's orders."

"Yes. Lucius informed me of it."

Regulus had paled, as he attempted to digest the new information.

"It is the Dark Lord's style," Severus said, when Regulus' silence stretched; "You and I both know how he enjoys toying with his adversaries prior to their elimination."

"My son, Severus!"

"With Pettigrew gone –"

"He'll find another way. Those kids in that House, doing their parents bidding –"

"Now that I know, I can protect him from it."

"Protect him? How?" Regulus snapped; "These are orders directly from the Dark Lord, you can't intervene, not without him knowing you are doing so, and then what? You can't protect him. And even if you could, it's too late for that! I've lost him already!"

"You have not lost anyone, Regulus."

"He is lying to me, keeping secrets, sneaking around, associating with that girl –"

"What girl?"

"Greengrass."

Severus pursed his lips together.

Of course.

Severus raised an eyebrow; "I think you and I both know better than to hold a child responsible for the mistakes of their father."

"She sounds like a right little snake, she does."

"She is an amiable girl, I have taught her for years. I doubt her intention is to corrupt Malachi. In fact, Elijah Greengrass was a rather vocal opposer of the Dark Lord, if I recall correctly."

Regulus glowered at him; "If you recall correctly. As if you don't remember."

"On the contrary, I paid little attention to the dramatics that went on amongst the youngsters of our House at the time."

Regulus' eyes flashed, making to speak.

"In any case, he would not have his daughter do the Dark Lord's bidding," Severus said, before he could, dodging the bullet; "She has probably just taken a liking to him. They are at that age."

"Well, someone will be doing his bidding, even if not the Greengrass girl. So how do I stop it? What do I do?"

"What you've been doing. He is not lost, Regulus, not even close. I have seen him, he is kind and good –"

"And alone," Regulus said, shaking his head, and his eyes glimmered, now; "He's alone, in that place, with those people. People who are coming after him, to get to me."

"Regulus."

Regulus shook his head, holding up a hand, and speaking with sudden conviction.

"I want him out of that House."

"Regulus –"

"I want him out of that House," Regulus repeated his statement; "Put him in Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, hell, put him in bloody Gryffindor if you have to, just get him out of there, Severus!"

"I don't think Dumbledore would agree to –"

"I don't give a bloody damn about what Dumbledore thinks about it! Get Malachi out of Slytherin, or he's not going back. Or I'm not going back. You tell Dumbledore that, you tell him I'm out. He gets my son out of there or I'm done."

Severus simply looked at him for a moment, at the haunted, broken but utterly certain eyes of his friend and he knew it was pointless to try to convince Regulus otherwise.

With a nod, Severus conceded.

"Leave it with me, Regulus."

"Gryffindor?"

Malachi was gobsmacked.

And utterly mortified.

He was being sent to go and live with the Gryffindors?

"Indeed. I felt that, upon assessment of the situation regarding your difficulties with your current housemates, a change was necessary. We would not want your academics to suffer due to these 'pranks' that you call them, nor is it acceptable for you to continue to suffer them in silence."

"So, it's Gryffindor to the rescue," Malachi said, aware of the biting sarcasm and unable to reign it in.

Severus – Professor Snape – lifted his chin slightly at his response but said nothing.

Malachi forced down his upset, not wanting to whimper or plead with him, but absolutely knowing that there was no way in hell he was going to go crawling to the bloody Gryffindors for refuge from his own Housemates, when the people in that house despised him just as much as they did; at least the Slytherins had a reason to dislike him, his dad. The Gryffindors didn't like him just because the Hat had sorted him there in the first place.

Malachi swallowed, forcing his voice to remain steady; "Are you kicking me out?"

Professor Snape's eyes softened; "Of course not, Malachi. You are always welcome in my House. It is just my opinion that –"

"Good. Then I'm staying."

"Ah. I must say that I am surprised. Is your closest friend not a member of Gryffindor House?"

"I'm not his sidekick," Malachi growled; "We get on just fine in different Houses. And his Housemates are dicks."

"Language, Mr Black."

"Yeah, right. You think exactly the same, you're always pushing us to do our best in here 'lest we be humiliatingly defeated by Gryffindors once more'; I'm not going there."

"Malachi, this is not a punishment," Professor Snape – or Severus, rather, because he seemed to have adopted Godfather mode in his attempt to get rid of him – said, trying to reason with him; "It is true that I have often used the rivalry between the Houses in order to encourage members of our own to strive to be the best that they can be; but the Gryffindor House is a worthy opponent. They have many estimable virtues."

"Such as?"

Severus hesitated.

Malachi snorted; "You can't even think of any."

Severus' lips twitched; "There is loyalty."

"There's loyalty here."

"Indeed? You feel that your own Housemates have your back?"

"They would if someone from another House came after me. We look after our own. And I'm not a complete loser, you know. I have some friends here."

"Malachi –"

"This isn't about my Housemates," Malachi said, eyes narrowing; "This is about my dad. He talked to you."

Severus' lips pursed at the accusation.

Malachi felt himself bristle under the threat of being expelled from his House over all of this; "It's not a crime to read, you know. And it's not like no one else in Slytherin haven't been looking at all of the same stuff. I don't see any of them being thrown to the lions."

Severus said nothing but Malachi thought he saw his lips twitch a little, as if he were amused, but Malachi couldn't even enjoy it because he was getting so angry, so very quickly, at what he realised was happening.

Malachi scowled, looking away; "He's acting totally crazy."

"Your father always has your best interests at heart," Severus said, leaning back in his chair; "It is normal for a parent to be concerned for his child."

"He thinks I want to be a Death Eater."

Severus simply stared at him.

Malachi shrugged, looking at him expectantly; "Doesn't he?"

"It is not a case of him believing you want that, Malachi. There are certain influences within the world, in this House in particular, that have less-than-appealing connections to circumstances which have arisen in the past –"

"My dad thinks because he was stupid enough to join Voldemort that I'm going to as well."

Severus shook his head, eyes closing; "Malachi. Watch your tone."

"Are you my Godfather or my teacher?" Malachi shot back; "Why won't either of you just listen to me?"

"Both positions command respect. And I have always made it clear to you that I am available should you need it. Try putting across your point of view without the delightful dramatics that come with being a teenage boy, if you will."

"I'm not going to Gryffindor, they hate me there. If Dumbledore tried to make you their Head of House instead of ours, wouldn't you be angry? They're totally different from us. I'd rather be a Hufflepuff!"

"In that case, I could have a word with –"

"Please, Sir," Malachi shook his head, his voice finally taking on the pleading tone he'd be trying to avoid; "I'm a Slytherin."

Severus regarded him carefully.

Malachi willed it with all his might, that Severus would let him stay. He'd never asked his Godfather for anything, he had to give him this.

Surely Severus wouldn't make him leave. He was finally finding a place in his House, he finally had some friends other than just Harry, and he had finally found something he was actually interested in and he knew he wouldn't find any Gryffindors who agreed with what he thought about the Statute.

All they cared about was Quidditch and posturing and strutting about the corridors, flaunting their red and yellow sweatshirts as if they were cloaked in gold.

Except Harry, obviously.

Most likely, Draco and Daphne would want nothing to do with him after that happened and he'd become known as only Harry's sad, friendless sidekick who everyone was forced to put up with just because he said so.

After a moment, Severus drew in a breath and gave him a single nod – to Malachi's utter relief – and then he reached for a binder that Malachi realised had his name on it. He frowned when Severus opened it up, noticing various parchments held within it, realising that he had already prepared it to hand over to his – thankfully no longer – new Head of House.

Severus plucked his timetable out from it, placing it between them, and snapped the binder shut before returning it to the corner of the desk.

"I see you have selected Ancient Runes and Arithmancy as your electives."

"Oh, um…yeah," Malachi shrugged, taken aback by the sudden change of both tone and subject, 'Professor Snape' suddenly back in the room.

"Rather odd choice, Runes, considering where your passions truly lie."

"My passions, Sir?"

"History. Politics."

"Oh. Well, I already take History of Magic. And Politics wasn't an option."

"Hm," Severus nodded, pulling open a drawer from beneath his desk; "Sometimes it is necessary to look beyond what we expect to see in order to find what we are looking for."

Malachi shrugged; "History of Magic is okay, I guess. It's really stuff I look up on my own that I like to read though. Professor Binns he's…uh…he's not exactly the most engaging of teachers. I don't think he even really likes it; it's like he's been cursed to teach it, even in death."

Severus lifted hand to his mouth, smothering a smile with it.

Malachi grinned, pleased that he'd managed to amuse Severus even in Professor mode.

"In any case, it seems that your interest, in both History and Politics, tends to lean in a more focused direction. Tilting rather in the direction of the Statute of Secrecy and Muggle Relations."

Malachi wasn't sure if he should answer, considering their more recent topic of conversation.

Severus placed another piece of parchment on the desk in front of them, pushing it in Malachi's direction, and he noticed it was the Elective Selection booklet they had been given to take home for the summer, in order to make their selections.

"There is an element of both History and Politics within the Muggle Studies course. The Witch Trials are touched upon, in the more advanced lessons, albeit not to the degree your level of interest would be quenched by. But then, that could be said about many aspects of the Hogwarts curriculum. As well as the Statute, of course, and many other aspects of current Wizard-Muggle relations."

Malachi stared at him, almost dumbstruck by what he realised Severus was trying to say.

"Muggle Studies?" he repeated.

Severus only returned his look, seriously.

"Is that even an option for Slytherin students?"

"All classes are an option, Mr Black," Severus said, leaning back in his chair; "I suppose it goes without saying that Muggle Studies is not considered a high demand subject within our House but should a student wish for a placement it is my duty as your Head of House to make it happen."

"You're actually serious."

"Have you ever known me to be anything but?"

"Well…no, but…" Malachi was flabbergasted, still not entirely convinced that Severus wasn't joking. He could only just imagine the reactions of his housemates if he were to actually enrol on the Muggle Studies course.

"Um…How long have you been Head of Slytherin?"

"Since the year you were born."

"And have any Slytherin students ever asked you to do it before?"

"No."

Obviously.

Malachi gave a humourless smile, glancing around the office; "Yeah," he began, before he crossed his arms, looking at Severus sceptically; "Well…You see, I've kind of been trying not to stand out a bit. What with my dad and everything. So, I really don't think taking Muggle Studies would help, Sir."

Severus regarded him carefully, raising an eyebrow when he spoke; "Stand back or stand out, neither will change your circumstances, Malachi. I remember it well, myself, how it is to be considered…lesser than your housemates."

Malachi frowned, immediately intrigued; "Why would they think you're lesser than them?"

"Because of my father. A muggle."

Malachi could only stare back at his Godfather, shocked at the admission. Malachi had always just assumed Severus was a pureblood.

"Oh."

A silence fell over them both, as if Severus had just revealed something extremely taboo and, Malachi realised, maybe amongst his own housemates it would be; "But…The Sorting Hat put you in Slytherin."

"Because that ratty old Hat saw something other than the long-held prejudices of what makes one a Slytherin. Contrary to what your housemates may have you believe it is not bloodlines nor history that does so."

Malachi nodded, slowly, digesting his words.

"Do you think differently of me? Now that you know?" Severus asked, without any hint of vulnerability in his tone; rather, he put it towards Malachi as a challenge, daring him to do so.

"No, Sir," Malachi shook his head, utterly certain he didn't; "Of course not."

There was the slightest of twitches on Severus' lips, before he reached beneath the binder he had put on the side of the desk, pulling out another roll of parchment that he handed over.

Malachi unrolled it, quickly realising it was an outline of the Muggle Studies curriculum, as Severus went on.

"I presume you did not look too much into the course during the selection process – very few students do, due to the less-than-challenging nature of the early lessons – but, in your case, the tedium of it will pay off once the more thought-provoking topics begin to be addressed."

Malachi glanced over it, eyes quickly picking up the various essay assignments that would be handed out within it. The mundane ones which Malachi expected and which his Housemates, many students, actually, not just Slytherins, would scoff at.

Why Do Muggles Need Electricity?

What are Automobiles and Why Do Muggles Need Them?

Is Muggle Christmas the Same as Ours?

How Do Muggles Put Out Fires?

Malachi's eyes drifted to the later questions, the more interesting ones that Severus made reference to, and his eyes quickly fell upon the one, the very question, that Malachi had been plagued with all summer.

Who Does the International Statute of Secrecy Protect? Us or Them?

Malachi drew in a breath, meeting Severus' eyes.

Severus raised an eyebrow.

Malachi put it down on the desk, as if it were a dangerous item to touch, and shook his head with a frown; "I don't…"

"You don't? Is this not the very thing that you have been trying to find the answers to?"

Malachi looked at him.

"The answers to the questions that you seek will not be found in the whispers of the Common Room or even in the books and articles that have been so eagerly passed your way."

"You think I should do this?" Malachi looked at the parchment in front of him, realising that he desperately wanted to.

"I can certainly see where your enthusiasm lies."

Yes, it did. It really did. Malachi wanted so much to do it, now that he could see what they'd be studying. He caught a glimpse of a question that could only relate to the Witch Trials he had been reading about.

"You have talent, Mr Black," Severus said, drawing his attention back to him; "And ambition. Do not allow the foolishness of youth, either your housemates or your own, deter you from who and where you want to be."

Malachi bit his lip, drawing in a deep breath through his nose, looking back at the parchment between them.

After a moment, Severus spoke again; "Shall I have a word with Professor Burbage?"

Malachi met his eyes and Severus only returned the look, utterly serious but there was warmth and encouragement in his eyes as he did. After a second, Malachi grinned, giving him a nod and was rewarded with a rare smile in turn.

"Muggle Studies?"

Regulus was aghast, and Severus fought back his amusement at the look on his friend's face.

"The boy is merely curious, Regulus," Severus said, by means of explanation, as he regarded him over his desk; "About our relations with them, not about the Dark Lord or joining his Death Eaters. Indeed, he apparently thinks we were very stupid for joining the ranks in the first place."

"But Muggle Studies, Severus, at the expense of Ancient Runes, no less!"

"Pah. I can count on zero fingers the amount of times I have put the teachings of that course to use since completing my own NEWTs. Muggle Studies, at least, has some relevance to the issues your son is going to face."

"It is a waste of an elective."

"Not at all," Severus denied the statement; "You've seen where Malachi's interests lie and, frankly, a little more understanding of muggle life will go a long way in deterring him from taking up arms against them in the future, if that is still an ongoing concern of yours."

Regulus eyed him; "I thought you said he rejected that notion, completely."

"He did."

"And his Housemates? They were already insufferable –"

"Are all scheduled to take alternative classes, thus ensuring he will have at least one class free from their influence for the next few years that he has opted to remain with them," Severus said, unclipping the fastenings of his briefcase.

"I don't know if you're encouraging him or playing him in all of this," Regulus stated, uneasily.

"I am doing my job as his Head of House, to guide in the direction which one believes will be of benefit to him," Severus said, unassumingly, tossing the parchments that needed overlooked onto his desk.

Regulus paced the ground in front of him, seeming to think over the new turn of events, the utterly comical notion that a Black should be enrolled on a course studying the ins and outs of muggle life; it would be amusing to Severus, even, if his reasonings behind it were not so serious.

After a minute, Regulus sighed, meeting his eyes; "You're sure, Severus?" there was trust in his eyes, hope that Severus had managed to steer his son away from the path he seemed doomed to follow, mere hours before; "There's nothing to be worried about?"

"Completely," Severus said, entirely certain, and leaned back to meet his eyes; "The boy is yours, Regulus."

Regulus gave him a small smile and a nod, gratitude in his expression as he regarded him. And then he turned away, to head back to his own office, even then, Severus heard him mutter under his breath, derisively as he did so.

"Muggle Studies."

Severus couldn't help but chuckle to himself, as he reached for his quill, when the adjourning door clicked shut behind him.