Chapter Forty-One

Harry avoided Snape's eyes, cursing his own decision at the beginning of term to sit at this desk, right at the front of the Potions classroom.

Harry could not wait until he could get out of the Castle for Christmas.

He was tired of Remus' concerned looks across the Great Hall and his less-than-subtle enquires into his state of mind at the end of each Defence lesson – the class ones, not the private ones they had been doing, as Harry hadn't attended those for weeks, now. Harry had been so very excited the year before, when he'd learned that his Uncle Remus would be coming to teach at the school – that he'd get to see him every day – which, now, had clearly come to bite him on the behind. He really didn't want to be seeing Remus – or any of them – at all, nevermind every day.

But then, as irritating as it was having Remus almost constantly hanging over his shoulder, that wasn't quite as bad as having bloody Snape doing so, as well.

Harry wasn't quite sure what to make of the man anymore. Except for the fact that he was an arse, which he'd always believed, anyway, and that sentiment had multiplied to astronomic levels now that Harry knew the truth about him.

But then, things hadn't exactly been hostile between them before all of this went down. They'd been alright. Harry had – stupidly – trusted him. They had spoken. Or, rather, Harry had spilled his guts about things he'd never spoken about to anyone; his feelings about his dad, how Sirius had died because of him – rather than for him, as everyone else believed – and how he knew, without doubt, that Voldemort had been after him for a long, long time, even before that night.

Harry had hoped to ask Snape about that – being a Death Eater, he'd surely have an idea why – but he'd prioritised getting help about his dad, first, and now that ship had pretty much sailed. He wasn't going to ask Snape for anything; now or ever again.

The first thing Snape had done in response to all of this had been to pawn him off on Dumbledore for the rest of his Occlumency lessons.

Thanks a bunch, Snape. As if having one guy – you – raid through your mind and know every deep dark secret within it – a walk in the bloody park compared to yours – wasn't bad enough, now Dumbledore gets to have a look in as well.

Harry was comforted by the fact that the Headmaster kept putting off the commencement of the new lessons.

But even then, that didn't diminish Harry's sentiments on the whole trade-off.

It was unfair. It was unjust!

Everyone got to know everything he was thinking and feeling and making memories about – his whole self laid bare – while pretty much everyone he knew was harbouring their own crazy secrets. Secrets that just got more and more insane with each revelation.

Mr Black was a Death Eater.

Uncle Remus is a werewolf.

Snape is Grace's father!

What next? Dumbledore is his own long-lost Grandfather? Voldemort is his brother?

Harry scoffed at his own thoughts, shaking his head, as he stood over the cauldron in front of him – having hardly made any contribution to the potion within it at all – and he almost jumped out of his skin when he heard a silky voice speak, quietly, behind him.

"Something amusing, Mr Potter?"

Harry's amusement became a scowl, but he didn't look up; "No. Sir." There was a pause between the words; a reluctance to the second.

The only times he met Snape's eyes these days was accidentally, when Harry caught the man eying him across the room or the Hall or the corridors with almost trepidation; and he rarely looked away, anymore, when they did. He waited until Harry did.

Snape pulled his timepiece from his robe, glancing at it, lazily; "We are a third of the way into our lesson today, Mr Potter; is there a particular reason you have yet to start the assigned task?"

Harry sighed, rolling his eyes, almost grounding out the response between a tightened jaw; "I have started."

"Is that so?" Snape stepped in closer, so that Harry could see him out the corner of his eye next to him, and peered into the cauldron.

An inspection both of them knew he didn't need to make to assess the truth; that, yes, Harry had started. He'd chucked in the first ingredient, at least, before he'd begun his sulking that day.

"Ah," Snape finally said, softly, drawing back and Harry couldn't care less that they had now acquired an audience. This was the most the two had spoken since the 'Great Reveal' a few weeks before and Harry found he was itching for a showdown with him, now. Or, at least, to present him with some cheek. Call him out. Ask him questions. Tell him what a coward he thought the other man was, for refusing to commit himself to his mum and his sister – and him – like a real man would.

"Well, Mr Potter, I dare say it will be quite impossible for you to complete the assignment in the remaining time we have left of this lesson. An automatic fail for the entire term, if the task at hand should go incomplete, I am afraid –"

A jolt went through the eavesdroppers, a stirring amongst his classmates, at the newly-dropped information that Harry knew Snape had just pulled out of his arse there and then.

"- fortunately for you, I do have a merciful side," Snape carried on, ignoring the sudden rise in activity around them; "And you shall have the opportunity to try again. In detention. Tonight."

Harry met his eyes then.

Snape raised an eyebrow.

"Seven thirty, Mr Potter, do not be late."

The snowfall was light, but it was enough that a dusting of white had been cast upon the surroundings.

It was that, along with the general merriment of the market goers and the spicy scent of mulled wine on the breeze, the fairy lights glowing that hung upon every stand and fence and the distant sound of season-appropriate melodies up the pathway that made for a rather festive atmosphere, indeed.

"So, what are these rules that you abide by then, Mr Black?" Julia asked, as she tucked her gloves into her pockets, and lifted her clasped hands to her mouth to blow warmth upon them.

"Well," Regulus smiled his thanks at the woman – the muggle woman – who handed him the two mugs of mulled wine across the market stand, before he and Julia stepped away; "The first, of course, is muggle only locations," he handed over the second mug to Julia, as they strolled, leisurely, down the pathway that was lined with various festive stalls serving up Christmas merchandise and foodstuffs; "The second, don't draw unnecessary attention to ourselves," he went on; "And the third, the big one, is never visit the same place twice."

"All that I can easily find examples of which you have broken," Julia pointed out with a smile, as she lifted her mug for a sip; "Repeatedly and recently, in fact."

Regulus chuckled, tugging down on the end of the woven beanie hat he wore and drew the scarf – a lovely, inconspicuous yellow and black – up further over the bottom of his face; "In lieu of the rules, there are disguises. And, obviously, there are certain circumstances where the 'only once' rule must be broken; such as when I need to scout out the location before bringing my boy on down here."

"And that's what we're doing here, is it; scouting?" Julia cast a wry smile his way; "How romantic."

"Ah, is it romance you were hoping for, Miss Bradbury?" Regulus chuckled, reaching for her hand and pulling her towards him with a spin and flourish; "You may just be in luck."

"Oh, I bet."

"You sound sceptical and yet it's true; it's something I quite excel at, actually," Regulus stated with a smile, winding an arm around her waist and drawing her closer without missing a beat, as they carried on walking.

"I can well believe it, Black."

Regulus reached up and tugged down on the scarf to first press a kiss to the top of her hair, before lifting his mug for a drink and enjoying the immediate warmth each brought him – both for entirely different reasons; "Of course there's such a thing as overthinking it," Regulus said, returning to the matter at hand – the reason he had invited her across to the city – and glanced around the surroundings at the various hazard points he could identify; "We don't wallow in the doom and gloom of it all and Malachi is quite unaware of all the extreme measures his father goes to before we embark on these great adventures."

"Then why are we in Edinburgh? Didn't you say he wanted to go into London?"

"Yes," Regulus conceded, sobering somewhat, as they walked on by the ice rink set up in the gardens down below; "It is…somewhat of a tradition; Hyde Park."

"A tradition?"

He nodded; "Each year. It's a thing we do; used to, in any case. Something we can no longer keep up, considering the current circumstances."

Julia glanced at him curiously; "Mhm. Something to do with all of the disappearances that are happening, no doubt; I know who that is."

Regulus drew her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple, before he murmured against her ear; "Believe me. You don't want to know any more than that."

"The ins and outs of it all; I see them all coming through my rounds, Black," Julia stated, taking another drink.

"Ah," Regulus nodded with a smile, tightening his hold on her, as they slowed to a stop in front of one of the stalls; "Healer Bradbury. I'm forgetting you're the one that fixes us all up when we're done with the dirty work."

"I do my best," Julia smiled, glancing at the items upon the stand he'd drawn her to; "Looking for some home furnishings, Black? I have to say, these don't quite meet your current décor tastes," she was grinning, as she fingered some of the hideous item for sale upon it.

Regulus chuckled, finishing off his mug and placing it on the ledge, drawing her to face him fully in his arms; "Speaking of which, I have to ask; what on Earth would have a woman such as yourself wait so long before finally gracing my doorstep with her presence after all this time, hm? I did leave an open invitation."

Julia raised an eyebrow, as she smiled up at him from where she was nestled; "I haven't graced your doorstep at all, in recent weeks, as it so happens."

"Hm. I had noticed," Regulus remarked, with a grin; "Though I hoped that may be rectified in, oh, an hour or so. Unless there's a particular reason why you opted to stay away?"

It was a serious question, hidden beneath the banter. If it was what he suspected it was – something a little bit more serious than just his inability to outright tell her what he wanted – it was an issue that they really should address. And what better time than now, when he was outlining all the various insane measures he had to take, before doing something as simple as taking his son to a Christmas marketplace for an evening of festive frolics, after all.

Julia smiled, nodding slowly at the obvious meaning behind the enquiry as she averted her eyes for a second. When she met his look once more, it was with a shrug, conceding the point Regulus had been pretty sure was behind it; "You've got baggage, Black."

"Ah," Regulus lifted his chin and gave a nod, smiling; "You noticed."

"I did."

"Puts you off, does it?"

Julia lifted her eyes upwards, as if in contemplation; "Hm. Might do." She met his eyes once more, raising an eyebrow; "More to the point, does it you?"

Ah.

Regulus hesitated.

It was as close to 'what are we doing here' as their conversations had ever been. So, maybe it was about him, then, too. And how he could never quite just let it go, himself, enough to let anyone in.

He swallowed, nodding.

"A bit."

Julia nodded in turn, slowly though, the lightness of their encounter seeming to die away with his admittance; the creeping of reality right on the edge of all of this – that he, indeed, tried not to overthink, when he was with either of them, Julia or his son – as it could never quite be shaken.

"Not enough, mind you," Regulus pointed out, his arms around her waist tightening, instinctively; "I'm here, aren't I?"

Her lips twitched, and she tilted her chin, conceding; "So, I see."

Regulus reached up, brushing the hair back from her face and tucking it behind her ear; "And you?"

Her eyes flitted back and forth between his, for a second, as if she were considering it – the question – really rather carefully. Making a choice.

And then she smiled.

"As you see."

Regulus own smile came back, immediately, at the concession and he leaned in, closing the small distance between them and pressing his lips to hers. It was soft and sweet, lacking the usual lustful urgency that they were always caught up in with one another.

It was almost a promise or, it would have been, if Regulus were the sort of man who actually made promises. As things stood, all he could ever offer anyone was now. And, even then, he never did.

Not until this moment.

He didn't draw back far, touching his forehead against hers and his lips lingering close, when they parted, and his voice was that self-conscious husky murmur that people got when – well – when.

"Fancy a ride?"

Julia's brow twitched, casting him a questioning look in response. It never failed to endear her to him, the way she could almost frown and smile at the same time, whenever he managed to bemuse her.

Regulus smiled and nodded in the direction of the Ferris Wheel behind her. She glanced back at it over her shoulder, before she chuckled and met his eyes with a smile. She nodded, placing the mug she carried next to his upon the ledge, and reached for his hand, tugging him to follow.

Harry headed on down to the dungeons.

It was so familiar to him, the sights, the sounds, the smells – he had been there so often, before – even if he hadn't come back in weeks.

He was nervous. Even more nervous than he had been in the wake of all of the summer revelations. It was almost ludicrous, that his trepidation now – upon learning that Snape was Grace's beloved father – was higher, than it had been back then, when Harry had learned that Snape had been – still was – a bloody Death Eater who could chop someone up into pieces without blinking.

Surely that was something that ought to have evoked a more profound and horrified response. But, no, it seemed not.

Harry didn't think he'd ever get over the truth of all this.

Too soon, he was taking the final few steps to Snape's office and he had no idea what to do or say when he finally faced him.

He was furious with his mum.

He felt utterly betrayed by Remus, and his decision to side with her, over him.

But Snape?

It wasn't like they owed one another anything. Harry doubted the man even cared what Harry thought or said about any of it, anyway.

He knocked on the door, before he pushed it open – not waiting for a response, as he never had before – and stepped into the room.

Snape was standing, seemingly doing nothing but waiting for him, leaning back against his desk.

Harry leaned his back against the door, shutting it behind him, and reluctantly approached; stopping a few feet away in the same spot as he always did.

For a moment, the two of them just stared. Each regarded one another with equal caution, as if Snape was at just as much of a loss as to what to say to him, now, as Harry was.

Harry spoke first; "Should I get started then? Or did you call me down here just to have a stare off?"

Snape's eyes narrowed; "Watch your attitude, Potter."

"I thought it was Harry?"

Snape crossed his arms across his chest, continuing to regard him with a calmness that was infuriating.

"Or do you only call me that when you're trying to appeal to my forgiving side?"

"For obvious reasons, I cannot address you with the familiarity you seem to crave."

"I don't crave familiarity with you," Harry retorted, furiously; "I don't want you anywhere near me. I hate you!"

Snape lifted his eyes to the ceiling; "Of course."

"You're Grace's father!"

Snape's eyes were on him in a flash; calmness giving way to a glint of fury.

"Potter, I swear, if those words ever leave your mouth again –"

"What? You'll kill me?"

Snape eyed him, looking entirely unimpressed with him; as if Harry were in some way disappointing him here which was outrageous considering the fact that they were nothing to one another and Snape was the one who had lied and deceived him and made a life with his mother behind his back, making a fool out of him in the process.

"Why can't I talk about her?" Harry went on; "It's not like I haven't before. I think about her all the time. He knows who she is; she's my sister."

"A dangerous enough connection as is," Snape stated, finally straightening up from where he was practically lounging against his desk, and stepped around him; "Let us not bring his interest down upon her with any further damning associations that she may have within the world."

"He'd come after her, anyway, if he had the chance."

"With entirely different motivations."

"What different motivations?" Harry frowned.

"Consider the circumstances of your dearest friend, Mr Potter, and you may have an idea of how the loved ones of traitors are treated."

Harry did. It wasn't something he or Malachi did often – ever, actually, as it wasn't exactly a pleasant scenario – what would happen if Voldemort were to get his hands on them. Harry would be killed, flat out; point made that no one, especially not a kid – the Boy Who Lived – could outmatch the great Dark Wizard. There was no reason not to kill him. Of all the times Harry had faced him, that had been the obvious outcome – his death – never the need to make him suffer for it.

Malachi, though; he'd be kept alive. Tormented and tortured and torn apart, all for the benefit of his father's anguish. His punishment.

A fate that awaited Grace, if the truth of her parentage were ever revealed.

The realisation only made Harry hate Snape even more.

"I have brought you down here, Mr Potter, to address any questions or issues you may have regarding the matter at hand."

"How am I supposed to ask you anything if I can't talk about her?"

"Surely subtlety is not entirely above your head?"

Harry simply stared at him.

There were so many things he wanted to ask.

So many things he had to know.

But did he want to hear it all from Snape, of all people, who had proven, leaving him with no doubt whatsoever, that he couldn't be trusted?

Everything Harry said to him, here, would no doubt find its way back to his mum.

Of course.

Harry eyed him; "Did my mum tell you to speak to me?"

Snape lifted his chin, the returning air of calmness seeming to stir, a little, at the accusation; "Would that be an issue? If she and I were in touch?"

"I know you're in touch," Harry growled out; "I know you're together."

Snape nodded, slowly; "I am not speaking with you now, under orders, no."

"Then why are you?"

"I was under the impression that you and I had developed a measure of understanding," Snape stated, almost entirely without emotion, that made it totally ridiculous that he was trying to encourage Harry to be forthcoming with his feelings on this whole matter; "As such, I –"

"Thought you'd reach out to me, out of the goodness of your heart?" Harry offered up, voice dripping with sarcasm; "As if you won't just go back to my mum and tell her everything I've said to you?"

Snape simply looked back at him at the statement, but it was not without expression this time, and for a second it was as if he were actually considering whether or not he would be able to maintain a confidence between them and keep it from his mother. In fact, Snape seemed entirely at a loss in that moment, as if he weren't sure what he ought to be doing or saying to him here.

Harry almost felt sorry for him.

Almost.

"You did, didn't you. You told her everything," Harry went on, and he could barely keep the betrayal from seeping into his voice – one he didn't even know was there; "I told you stuff. Stuff I hadn't told anyone before. She knows, doesn't she? She knows he was coming for me from the start; it wasn't about Sirius at all, or Mr Black. It wasn't an accident that he tried to kill me."

"As much as you may not appreciate hearing it, Potter; you are a child. A child who should not have to bear the weight of these half-truths that have been revealed to you."

"Please, like you even care about that!" Harry snapped, furiously, realising Snape was admitting that he and his mum had been talking about him – about all of this – the whole time behind his back; "It's Voldemort you're supposed to be spying on, not me! I can't believe you told her!"

Snape released a breath, an almost exasperated sigh, as he glanced away; "Is this truly the issue you wish to discuss? That I may have revealed matters of concern to your mother?"

Harry shook his head; "I don't want to discuss anything with you."

Snape pursed his lips together, but kept his eyes on him. They were almost sympathetic but, then, maybe that was all part of the act.

Everything else seemed to be.

"You know, I actually thought that I trusted you," Harry said, as if it were so, so ludicrous now – because it was, he should have known, how could he have possibly thought he could trust a bloody spy and a Death Eater, after all – and then he swallowed, his voice becoming quieter, almost pathetically so; "I talked to you about my dad."

Snape glanced away at that.

Harry thought he caught a flash of guilt, of humbleness at the statement.

But he didn't care.

No way was he ever going to be spilling his damn guts to Snape, of all people, again and he certainly wasn't going to let himself be drawn in by all of these lies and performances that the man put on; wrapping every other person in this world around his finger.

"I bet you and mum had it all planned out, right?" Harry went on, straightening up, and Snape met his eyes once more at the hostility in his voice; "I bet she wanted you to come live with us when all of it is over. She said as much; that we're family."

Snape gave him nothing at the statement. Simply regarded him, carefully, as if he were trying to assess his feelings on it, rather than his own.

Well, no legilliemency necessary on that front!

Harry shook his head. "Well if that's what I've got to look forward to when all this is over, I hope the war bloody well never ends!"

Snape rolled his eyes, looking entirely exasperated with him; "Harry –"

"Don't!" Harry snapped, feeling his blood boiling, just like it did the first time Snape had dared to call him by his name; "Don't ever call me that; not ever! Don't even talk to me. I'm not falling for any of your dragonshit, alright!"

Harry glowered at him, daring him to shout back or discipline him or, even, just damn well respond in some way, other than that exasperated, disappointed, utterly infuriating calmness that Snape was regarding him with.

Harry shoved by him, back in the direction of the door – fully intending to leave, if Snape wanted to keep him there he'd bloody well just have to stop him; "I'd rather live under the Fidelius and keep fighting Death Eaters for the rest of my bloody life than have you as my dad."

Snape only met his look, evenly.

Hell, did this guy have no feelings whatsoever?

Harry released an exasperated sigh, unable to believe how infuriating stoic Snape remained in the face of all of this, and shook his head; gave up on trying to provoke any sort of emotional response from the man.

"I hope the war never ends and you have to stay away from us forever."

Harry repeated the earlier sentiment, storming from the room.

Snape said nothing at all, barely even reacting to the statement.

Harry wasn't even surprised when Snape just let him leave.

What did surprise Harry, though, was his own dismay that he did.