Chapter Forty-Three
There was a lightness, a joviality in the air that clashed, infinitely, with the reality of what was going on beyond the Castle walls.
It almost felt like Christmas.
But Lily could barely muster up the enthusiasm for it, even faced with the festoons of holly and mistletoe she passed by on the way to the Great Hall; the festive decor and the enchanted snowfall and the light emitting from the candles that floated and sat donned upon the dozen of Christmas trees lining the walls also doing nothing to ignite it, as she stepped through the double doors.
Her eyes immediately sought out Harry.
It would be the first Christmas since she had become a mother that she wouldn't be spending the day with her son.
Grace had taken the news better than Lily had expected, that it would just be the two of them this year, easily convinced by her mother's reassurances that they could have just as merry a Christmas, even if the boys – Harry and Remus – weren't to be joining them, this time.
It was a reassurance Lily had barely been able to muster up, and she most certainly didn't feel it, herself.
Lily caught sight of Harry up ahead, at the Gryffindor Table, and made her way in that direction; smiling at the odd few parents who had also come to collect their children home for the holidays, dodging the students that hurried on by, laughingly, spirits high amongst them on the last day of term.
"Are you sure you're alright, Harry?" Lily heard Hermione asking, as she neared where Harry was sitting; "You've been awfully quiet these past couple of weeks."
"I'm fine, Hermione. I told you. It's nothing."
Harry's tone was impatient, as if he'd already answered this question before.
"Bet you've told Black what's up, though," Ron piped in.
"Does it matter if I did?" Harry's tone was almost a sigh, as he reached for a plate that was nearing the last few pumpkin pasties.
"Hope you two have a –" Ron broke off, quickly noticing Lily's approach.
"What time is Mr Black coming?" Hermione asked, shooting Ron a look.
"About lunchtime, he said."
"Harry," Lily said, as she stopped up behind him.
Harry looked over his shoulder, sharply, his surprise quickly giving way to a frown; "Mum."
Lily gave him a small smile, despite his quickly growing annoyance at her presence.
"What are you doing here? I…you said I could go with Malachi for Christmas," Harry turned to face her, fully, looking more and more annoyed with each word spoken.
"I know," Lily reassured him; "But I thought, maybe, you and I could have a talk, before Mr Black comes to collect you."
Harry looked at her with immense reluctance, eyes glancing sideways at Hermione who was sat beside him, as if he knew he really shouldn't make a big fuss in front of them about her being there. Even as much as he wished to. Lily was relieved of it; that he obviously hadn't told them what was going on.
"Okay," Harry mumbled, not meeting her eyes as he got to his feet and walked past her, heading from the Great Hall without waiting.
Lily followed, close on his heels, despite his speedy step, and it was only when they were a good distance away from the double doors in the corridor, over by the arched windows that Harry rounded on her.
"I'm not coming home."
"That's not why I'm here."
"Oh. Of course not," Harry rolled his eyes.
"Harry," Lily reached out, placing her hands upon his arms and encouraging him to look at her; "I understand if you don't want to be at home right now. But can we go somewhere else for a little while? Just you and me. And talk about this?"
"I don't want to talk about it."
"We'll talk about something else then."
"Like what?"
"Anything. Quidditch. School. The weather. Just come out with me this morning. I'll bring you back in time for Mr Black."
Harry eyed her, guardedly, looking almost doubtful, as if he were expecting this were all a trick, but he didn't say no. Not right away.
Harry drew in a breath, biting his lip, before he gave a nod, his voice quiet; "Okay."
He took a step back; "Just, let me go and tell Malachi, first. So, he doesn't think I'm not coming."
Harry didn't wait for a response, turning and heading back towards the Great Hall – without the same gusto with which he had left – and it was only when he was back through the doors that Lily turned away, drawing in a breath, relieved that he was, at least, granting her this much.
A couple of hours; if not a couple of weeks. It wouldn't be enough time, not for either of them, but it was a start.
Lily was standing there for a couple of minutes before familiar billowing, black robes caught her attention and she quickly turned her head in their direction. It took a second for Severus to notice her and he was only a couple of metres from her when he did, giving a double take and slowing in his steps as he reached where she stood.
Severus was hesitant.
Lily was relieved beyond measure.
It had been almost two weeks since she'd even had word of him and the only thing that she had found comfort in, regarding that, was the fact that no news was good news, when it came to his absences, and Regulus or Dumbledore would surely inform her if something was dreadfully amiss.
It didn't stop her worrying. It never did.
"Mrs Potter," Severus finally said, making the decision to stop.
"Professor," Lily held back the wider smile she actually felt, giving him a polite nod; "It's been some time."
"It has," Severus agreed, with a careful glance around them, quickly ensuring that there was no one close by – they were far enough away from the Hall to see to that – and then added, his tone becoming quieter as it softened, even if his pose did not; "Are you here to collect your son? I was under the impression he would be spending the holidays elsewhere this year."
"Just for the morning," Lily stated, while Severus continued to glance, surreptitiously, at the passers-by; "It's been some time since I've seen him."
Severus nodded; "I am sure he'd appreciate that. Do accept my wishes for the festive season. If you'll excuse me."
He made to head on by, carrying on his path to the Great Hall, but Lily stopped him with a quick touch to his arm as he passed; "Severus."
He met her eyes.
"Be careful," she said quietly, before she raised an eyebrow; "You look like shite."
Severus' lips twitched, a small puff of air from his nose, and then he gave a single nod – "Noted," – before he resumed his steps but there was a hesitancy, almost a stumbling over them, for the briefest of seconds when he glanced up ahead. But it was only slight, and he carried on, as if it hadn't happened, and it only took a second for Lily to realise the reason.
Harry, standing just the other side of the door, had been watching them.
Harry met his eyes darkly, as the Potions Professor passed by him, and she saw Severus' lips move – a distinct "Mr Potter," escaping them – before he disappeared through the double doors.
Lily approached, even as Harry eyed her, his expression just as dark as it had been for Severus. She drew in a breath, giving him a smile that she didn't entirely feel; "Ready?"
Harry shook his head – not one of refusal but, rather, of disbelief – and then he rolled his eyes, with a shrug, and the two of them headed from the Castle.
"What are the chances of you being enticed into joining us for a Black family dinner, Miss Bradbury?" Regulus dumped the box he was carrying down on the coffee table.
It was asked mere minutes before their final farewells, Julia having been under the impression that he would be occupied, entirely, for the next fortnight with Malachi and Harry and a Christmas of boyish frolics.
"Yeah?" she looked pleased at the suggestion as she approached, and Regulus was relieved, that they appeared to be on the same page in all of this.
"Mhm," Regulus reached up, brushing aside the hair that had fallen forward across the side of her face when she reached him, tucking it back behind her ear and letting his fingers linger there in a soft caress; "It's not often my son is home. I should quite like to get the two of you in the same room together, if you wouldn't mind. Might as well get these introductions out of the way."
"Might as well, huh?" Julia grinned, tilting her head to the side; "Hate to break it to you, Black, but your son and I already know one another. Pretty well, in fact. Little angel, that one."
"Ha. So, he'd have you believe," Regulus chuckled; "In any case, the context is a bit different this time."
Julia's eyes widened, playfully; "Oh, so, you're going to be introducing me to him as someone in particular, then?"
"I might just do that," Regulus' smile widened, impossibly, further; "What do you think?"
Julia gave a small 'hm', which seemed to be of approval, before she suggested; "Next day off is Thursday, how about then?"
Two days away.
Far too soon.
This was a conversation that would have to be handled, carefully, at any time of year – particularly considering Regulus had never once even mentioned women to his son, except during a rather embarrassing conversation he had felt necessary to give him over the summer about 'the wands and the cauldrons', following Harry's suggestion that Malachi was engaging with the Greengrass girls – but the festive period, in particular, was even more delicate.
It wasn't ideal, no. But then, he didn't want to wait another four months – or longer, if Malachi should decide to remain at Hogwarts for Easter – to do so, for things were bound to be serious enough, by then, that his son wouldn't take kindly to have been kept in the dark so long.
"Ah," Regulus glanced away, and the tone of conversation sobered, somewhat, when he explained; "Tomorrow is the anniversary of his mother's death."
"Oh," Julia sobered, suitably, in turn; "Oh, God. I'm sorry."
"Yeah," Regulus nodded, forcing himself to meet her eyes; "We do a thing; it's not dark and dreary or anything, but it's probably not the best time," he cleared his throat, before suggesting, lightly; "I was thinking after Christmas, sometime next week?"
Julia smiled, though there was still an underlying sympathy there, that always lingered from any and all whenever the death of a loved one happened to come up in conversation; "Sure. Next week. Just let me know, I'll be here."
Regulus smiled, leaning in; "Excellent." He kissed her, soundly, glad of the arrangements just made.
Julia chuckled, hands tangling in his hair, as their quickly embrace became more heated; "I thought you had to go?" Julia asked, breathlessly, when they drew up for air.
"Malachi isn't expecting me for another couple of hours – not until lunch, in fact – though I was thinking I'd head on over a bit earlier and drop into muggle London with the boys for a while. Every letter he's sent me has been adamant we do so. Might score me some extra points."
"Trying to rack up those points for a reason, Mr Black?" Julia smiled up at him.
"I always need a high number of points when dealing with my son, I'd better warn you. He's far too perceptive for his – or, rather, my – own good."
Julia laughed, and he smiled, leaning back down to kiss her once more, and make the most of this little farewell, that was lasting quite the while, for she had planned on leaving the night before. Julia's hands went back into his hair, as their embrace heated up ever further, so much so that Regulus thought, perhaps, they could keep this all going a little longer; make it a little bit more satisfying, even.
Malachi really wasn't expecting him for a while.
They had plenty of time.
While things hadn't exactly been warm during Lily and Harry's initial conversation, when she had asked him to spend the morning with her, they were, now, downright frosty following his witnessing of the brief encounter between her and Severus.
"So, what, now he doesn't even see Grace anymore? I don't get it. Why would you even want to be with him? Even if he was alright – which he's not – you were always going to have to lie if you were together. What sort of family is that?"
Harry's insistence that he didn't want to talk about Severus and his part in the family had held up for, oh, all of five minutes, upon their arrival.
They were speaking under the protection of the 'muffliato' charm. It was the only moment since they had gotten here, when Harry had actually appeared happy, quickly picking up on the new – and, no doubt, very exciting - spell.
He didn't quite meet her eyes, as he sat across from her. There was a glass of eggnog for each of them sitting, untouched, on the table between them, where they sat in the Three Broomsticks. Almost an attempt to make this festive, if this was to be the only time they would see one another these holidays.
"Yes, I've heard it all before," Lily admitted, figuring she may as well just be open with him about all of this, rather than trying to sugar-coat the circumstances; "Both Remus and Sirius –"
Harry looked at her, sharply; "Uncle Sirius knew about this?"
Lily hesitated, struck by the look of utter disbelief on Harry's face, before his shoulders slumped and he gave a humourless smile, shaking his head.
"Unbelievable," he muttered, under his breath, before he lifted his shoulders; "How long have you even been together? Is there anyone who doesn't know?"
Lily sighed, brushing a hand through her hair; "Seven years. Harry, the only people who know this are people who managed to figure it out for themselves. No one has been told; no one can be told."
"Grace knows."
"She was four. It was always our intention, that once she was old enough to blow the cover, that Severus would step away."
"She is old enough to blow his cover," Harry reminded her; "She told me. Four isn't stupid, either. If that was the plan he should have gone ages ago. She knows who her dad is now. So, what, the plan was just that he'd leave, with her wondering where he went?"
"Severus hadn't been there enough for Grace to notice the absence right away, though…" Lily hesitated, wondering just how much she ought to reveal, before finally deciding on everything; "We considered making it easier for her. If it seemed that she couldn't cope with it."
Harry frowned, staring back at her, as he processed the statement and what it meant. When he finally did, when it sunk in, his eyes widened; "You mean you were going to obliviate her? Take all her memories of him away?"
"We talked about it," Lily explained, remembering the conversation as if it were yesterday – torn over how dangerous it was for her to know anything, but how unfair it would be to take those memories away; "But we thought that it wouldn't be –"
"You can't do that!" Harry burst out, looking entirely affronted; "What if he dies! Do you even realise what that's like?"
"Harry –"
Maybe she shouldn't have told him that; with his inability to grasp the seriousness of all of this, there's no way he'd understand the need if they'd decided to go through with it.
"Not knowing your own dad or who he was," Harry went on; "Just having to listen to all the dragonshit that everyone else has to say about him – and Grace would get a ton of that, by the way – it blows! If Snape hadn't shown me…"
Harry broke off, seeming to realise what it was he was saying. He pursed his lips shut, looking away, almost in a glower; refusing to admit anything that Severus may have done for him.
"I know, Sweetheart," Lily reassured him.
Harry eyed her; "She is upset he's gone, you know. You better not have told her that I'm the reason he hasn't been showing up this year."
"Of course I haven't –"
"Because it's not my fault that he hasn't been there."
"I know."
Harry looked down, going quiet for a minute, and Lily let him process it; sitting silently and waiting until he was ready to keep going.
"Was she upset?" he finally, asked, quietly, not looking up; "When you told her I wasn't coming home?"
Lily drew in a breath; "She was disappointed. We'd both love to have you home, you know that. It won't be the same, just the two of us."
"Two?" Harry looked up with a frown; "What about Snape? And why isn't Uncle Remus going?"
"Oh. Um…well," Lily hesitated, at the reminder of the massive blow-up she had had with Remus, that she still hadn't yet had the chance to smooth over – the letter that she had sent inviting him to Christmas after Grace's insistence he be there had gone entirely unacknowledged; "Remus and I aren't exactly on the best of terms at the moment."
Harry leaned back in his chair, looking annoyed; "It wasn't his fault, Mum."
"No. I know it wasn't," Lily agreed; "It's a bit more complicated than that, who was at fault."
"Well it wasn't him, either way," Harry bit out; "So, what, now you're pissed at him, so me and Grace don't get to see him, anymore?"
"Of course not, Sweetheart," Lily reassured him, reaching over to put a hand on his arm; "You'll always have your Uncle Remus; you'll still see him, every day at school, like you do now."
Harry shrugged her hand off, under the guise of lifting his eggnog and taking a drink; "But what about Grace?" he went on, after he swallowed the gulp; "She'll want to see him too. They used to see each other every day," he shrugged; "He's practically her dad."
He met her eyes as he said it, as if daring her to dispute it.
Which she did; gently, but firmly, all the same, because she wouldn't have any of that drama anymore; "No, Harry, he's not."
"Oh yeah. Almost forgot," Harry snorted, rolling his eyes, tone dripping with sarcasm when he said; "You sure picked a real winner there, Mum."
"Harry –"
"What kind of guy would rather be a spy than a dad?"
"It's a bit more complicated than that, Sweetheart. He'd be with us if he could."
Harry, who had been lifting his glass back to his lips, slammed it back down with a thud, shooting her a frustrated look; "I don't want someone who would be with us if he could; I want someone who actually can be. So, should you. Even Mr Black would be better, even with Voldemort wanting to kill him. At least he'd actually be there. Or Uncle Remus. Or even just some wanker you'd met in the pub -"
"Harry! –"
"Anyone would be better than Snape."
Lily only held her son's look for a moment, at the assertion. And then she finally lifted her shoulders; "We don't choose the people we love, Harry. We just do."
Harry glared back at her, with neither warmth nor understanding, until he finally pushed back against the table, his chair moving backwards with a scrape as he got to his feet.
"I have to go. I don't want Mr Black to think I'm not coming."
"It's barely ten, we still have some time yet."
"I want to go."
Lily got to her feet, nodding, almost in defeat; "Alright. I'll take you there, then. We'll go and get Malachi now."
Harry only shrugged his acceptance of the offer, turning and heading for the exit, with Lily following, slowly, behind.
Harry didn't feel any better after talking to his mum.
Even with the bits and pieces of information she'd given him in response to his questions, he was still furious. From what his sister had told him, he'd thought that Snape had been living it up with Grace and his mum these past few years in his absence. The fact that he hadn't, and they'd actually planned on keeping it all a big secret from her, too – for Merlin knows how long – offered no comfort whatsoever.
Rather, it just pissed him off even more.
That Snape put the war and being a spy above them. He hadn't even bothered showing up to the second Occlumency lesson he'd arranged with him the night before.
He walked into the Great Hall to get Malachi, leaving his mum waiting at the doors, and almost stomped his way up the Slytherin row to find him.
"Here's that book you wanted on the Statute originators," Daphne was saying as Harry approached, handing over a thin volume that Malachi took, eagerly.
"Thanks."
"Malachi," Harry said, and Malachi looked up at him, quickly; "My mum said she'll take us to yours."
Malachi frowned; "Oh. But, my dad's going to come and get us."
"I know," Harry shrugged, rolling his eyes; "I told her that, but she's still offering. I'd rather that, than have to sit about for another two hours listening to her talking about you-know-what."
Malachi gave him a sympathetic smile and nodded, getting to his feet; "Yeah, alright. Just let me get my stuff."
Harry nodded, asserting his need to retrieve his own luggage for the holidays, as well, and the two of them headed off to their respective dorm rooms to get themselves ready.
They were in Crail within half an hour, walking down the winding street of the little village that Malachi and his dad had taken refuge in. It wasn't the first time Harry had been there but the other times he had, he didn't pay all that much attention to it, and his visits had always been brief. This time, though, as his mum led them in the direction of the cottage, his eyes turned, eagerly, towards the wharf and the little fishing boats that were docked.
It was silly, as his dad probably didn't even like the fishing trip he had been telling Harry about in the memory – he was totally hopeless just at dealing with the rod, after all – but it made him feel closer to him, somehow.
The three of them reached the blue door of the cottage within less than a minute of their apparition, to the cottage that no one else could see, and Malachi was only just reaching for the handle, when the door was suddenly pulled open.
"Always a pleasure, Miss Bradbury," Mr Black was saying – an entirely familiar name to Harry – and, sure enough, Julia was there was him – apparently leaving - and the two of them were smiling at one another, though it only took the briefest of seconds for the man to take notice of them.
His smile dropped, instantly. Happiness giving way to surprise; "Malachi!"
And not a pleasant one, it seemed.
Malachi only stared back at him.
Mr Black straightened, quickly composing himself, and cleared his throat; "I was just coming to get you."
"Mrs Potter brought us," Malachi said, his blank stare becoming a confused frown, even if his eyes remained entirely on his dad.
The look he was giving him was entirely disapproving and Harry fought a grin; it was funny, to Harry, how, sometimes, Malachi seemed to be the one that did the scolding in their relationship.
Mr Black's eyes went over their heads, to where his mum was standing, before he turned his attention back to his son and smiled - obviously forced – as he said; "Well. I, uh…I think you know Julia?"
For the first time, Malachi's eyes left his dad and went to Julia, who was standing beside him, and she smiled, warmly – they did know each other, after all, she been at Harry's house a ton – saying hello.
Malachi gave her the shiest smile imaginable – one he saved for total strangers – before he mumbled something almost unintelligible about needing to unpack and headed on past her into the cottage.
Mr Black watched him go, obvious concern on his face – that must be nice, to have a parent who actually cares – and then he and Julia shared a look, almost apologetic on both sides, before she stepped across the threshold, outside.
"Hey, little man," Julia greeted Harry with a smile, a bit more relaxed than before.
"Hi Julia," he smiled in turn, before lifting his eyebrows; "Having fun?"
She gave a hum of laughter, ruffling his hair; "Cheeky sod," he grinned, widely, as she pulled him into a hug; "I'll see you later."
"I was at the Castle," Harry heard his mum say to Mr Black, as he and Julia said hello and goodbye; "I thought I'd save you the trip."
"Thank you."
Harry bit his lip, holding back his amusement.
Mr Black did not sound thankful.
Harry didn't bother saying goodbye, heading on into the house while his mum was distracted with Mr Black and Julia.
The house wasn't decorated for Christmas, as his own always was whenever Harry went home for the holidays.
Instead, there were boxes scattered throughout the living room, a few here and there, which seemed to imply that it was something Malachi and his dad did together – putting up the Christmas decorations – for Harry doubted that they didn't have any.
Mr Black walked into the room shortly after him, neither Julia nor his mum in tow, and Harry gave him a smile.
"Sorry to crash your Christmas, Mr Black."
Mr Black, who had been looking a mixture of both annoyance and concern as he re-entered the cottage, quickly snapped out of it and shot him a smile in turn – more genuine than the previous ones – and put a hand on his shoulder.
"Not at all, Harry, the more the merrier! And you, especially, are always welcome. You've been here before, right?" He kept his hand on his shoulder, pointing first in the direction of the door at the right and then at the hallway up ahead; "Kitchen; help yourself to anything or just summon Kreacher, if you want something hot. Through there, you get upstairs – you know that – and you and Malachi will be bunking together; no point putting you down here on the couch when you'll just be sneaking back and forward all night long. We'll transfigure another bed up there out of his chair or something."
"Sounds good."
Mr Black glanced in the direction of the hallway that led upstairs, clearly wanting to go to Malachi and explain himself.
It was obvious, he was holding back from doing so, only because Harry was there, and he didn't want to just head up and leave him.
"It's okay, Mr Black, just go," Harry said, hoping to reassure him that he wasn't a kid who needed to be supervised. He nodded at the boxes; "Are these the Christmas decorations? I can start pulling them out, if you want?"
"Oh," Mr Black shook his head, his attention back on him; "They are but we don't put those up until the twenty second."
Harry frowned, about to ask why, but he caught himself in time; remembering that the twenty first was the day Malachi's mum had died. He pursed his lips together, nodding; "Oh, yeah. I remember."
Mr Black's eyes brightened, as if with an idea; "Ah," the hand on Harry's shoulder guided him in the direction of one of the boxes; "Except this one."
Mr Black lifted it from the ground, placing it on the couch and indicating that Harry come over; "When we lost Sirius –"
Harry started, at the unexpected mention.
"- anything that he hadn't left to you, the Wizarding authorities sent to me. Not much, really," he indicated at the box with a hand, as Harry approached; "Some old photo albums and Quidditch medals – there's some stuff with your dad in here, too – a bunch of old scarfs, some banners and bulletins Sirius had cut out," he broke off, shooting Harry a grin; "Gryffindor crap, basically."
Harry chuckled, smiling widely.
Mr Black shrugged, looking back at the box; "Anyway, have a look. Anything you want, it's yours."
Harry looked at him, surprised; "Really? But…don't you want this stuff?"
Mr Black smiled, shaking his head before he knocked on the side of it with his knuckles; "All I need is up here." He put a hand back on his shoulder; "You'll be alright?"
"Yeah," Harry nodded, looking at the box, eagerly, before shooting him a smile; "Thanks."
Mr Black didn't waste any time, accepting the dismissal, and heading in the direction of the stairs.
He hadn't even left the room before Harry had the box open, eager for anything and everything he could get of Sirius, and he first pulled out a photo album that was sitting on the top. He flicked it open, immediately greeted with two moving photographs of his uncles; Sirius and Remus, so, so young and laughing, as Sirius threw his arm around the other in the top one. The one just below, Sirius launching a snowball – obviously with magical force – at Remus' face. The moving image lasted just long enough for Harry to catch a glimpse of how pissed off Remus was at him doing so.
Harry chuckled to himself, turning the page; there were more of them, the two of them, and it wasn't until the third page that his dad popped up. A picture of him and Remus sitting on a wall, his dad giving the finger at whoever was taking the photograph – Sirius, Harry guessed, as there was another boy on the other side of Remus that he recognised as Peter Pettigrew from Remus' picture of the four boys – and Harry couldn't help smiling.
He carried on looking through; the book was filled with them. Pictures of these four boys, barely older than he was now.
And, on the final page, the inside of the back cover, two words were inscribed as if in gold.
'Mischief Managed'.
Harry grinned.
He had suspected as much, that the Map had been theirs – all the clues had pointed to it – the map that Snape now had.
Harry pushed the thought aside, the bitterness that rose with thoughts of the man; he didn't want to think about him right now.
Instead, he turned his attention to the last photograph on the page. It was his dad and Sirius and Remus. No Pettigrew this time – on the other side of the camera, Harry supposed – and he drunk it up, the image of the three of them together.
Harry reached into the box, wondering if there would be any more – hoping that there was – but his hand, instead, came into contact with soft fabric, wrapped around something hard. Harry frowned, putting the album down, and lifted the wrapped item. Unrolling the cloth, he found inside it two old, identical, small squared mirrors.