Chapter Forty-Four

The expected knock came at Malachi's bedroom door a few minutes later, the person on the other side not waiting for the customary – 'enter' – before it opened, and his dad's face popped through the gap.

"Alright?"

Malachi lifted his eyes from the shirt he was folding, as he unpacked the duffle bag on the bed in front of him, to give him a small smile.

"Can I come in?"

Malachi nodded.

His dad walked into the room – shutting the door behind him as he did – and smiled, widely, as he approached. It was brighter, less of a cover up than it had been downstairs – although he was obviously here without Harry for that very reason – and he held out his arms; "What's this, then? Getting too old for a hug?"

Malachi tossed the shirt onto the bed, stepping forward, and was immediately engulfed into the tight, welcome embrace of his dad. He'd missed him, and the smile and the warmth from him quickly drove away the uneasiness that Malachi had been feeling since he'd seen his dad with Julia downstairs.

"Hey Dad," he finally spoke, when his dad drew back.

His dad ruffled his hair, affectionately; "Good to have you back, Beansprout."

Malachi rolled his eyes, smilingly; "Not too old for a hug, maybe, but for that, yeah – 'Beansprout' – where did it even come from, anyway?"

"Would you rather I call you 'petal'?" his dad teased, before he pushed aside the pile of books Malachi had already unpacked and placed on the bed – a neat tower which now collapsed in a messy pile in the middle of it – and took a seat in their stead; "I can't believe you don't know the story. Soon as you started walking, you were into everything. You certainly kept your dad on his toes – constantly going AWOL whenever I was left with you – and –"

"You mean you lost me," Malachi smirked.

"No," his dad grinned; "I mean you kept wandering off. Anyway; off you went one day in the garden while I was trying to get your first little broom set up and there was your dear old – or, rather, young – dad tearing up the garden looking for you. No luck. So, I tried the greenhouse – low and behold – but where would my boy be but digging up and rolling around in your Mum's treasured batch of Demaria Bean Sprouts that she had been carefully growing for almost three months. They were ruined. Your Mum blamed me."

"That's why I ended up being called Beansprout?"

"I find when you make a joke about your shortcomings enough, even the most furious of women will eventually thaw out," his dad said, his grin becoming wider, even if his eyes softened in remembrance of her.

Malachi chuckled; "Did Mum come up with a name for you after that happened?"

"Ha. Several."

Malachi smiled, warming as well at the recollection of her – they had always been able to talk about his mum, just as easily as they were now – and he reached into his bag, pulling out more clothes.

He knew his dad was watching him, weighing up whatever it was he had come here to say. An excuse or an explanation; Malachi was curious, even if he felt immensely uncomfortable by the whole thing. Sure, he'd heard about his dad's reputation – it was one of the lesser irritating sources of teasing he'd experienced while at Hogwarts, even from those out with the Slytherin House – but he'd never actually seen his dad with any women. Not since his mum.

"Listen," his dad finally said, his tone softer, and he reached over, touching a hand to Malachi's arm to stop his movements; "About what you saw just now."

Malachi met his eyes, and shook his head, deciding to let him off the hook. He was pretty sure this was only going to be embarrassing for both of them, actually having to have a conversation about his dad's sex life. He'd actually rather imagine it didn't exist, despite the obvious evidence to the contrary.

"It's fine, Dad. I get it."

"You do?"

"You obviously slept with her."

His dad pursed his lips together, averting his eyes at the statement; "Hm. Yes. I suppose that part is obvious."

He cleared his throat, releasing Malachi's arm to grab the duffle bag and toss it further up the bed, before he patted the newly-freed spot next to him on it; "But I really think we need to talk about it a bit more than that."

Malachi released a groan; "Aw, Dad, please. This isn't going to be another one of your sex talks is it?"

"My 'sex talks'?"

"Yeah," Malachi responded, seriously, despite his own underlying embarrassment and amusement; "Rest assured that your son is totally aware of the dangers of 'the temptations of the flesh'."

His dad snorted, as predicted, his shoulders shaking with laugher; "I never called it that. You've obviously been reading up."

Malachi smirked, even if he could feel himself reddening, and shuffled on his feet.

"Like you're one to talk, Dad. You obviously got your lecture this summer from a book."

His dad nodded, leaning back and still smiling, as he admitted; "I may have perused some relevant texts for tips on how to broach the subject."

"Sex bad, don't do it," Malachi rolled his eyes, smilingly; "Think I got the gist. Not like your one to talk, though."

"Ouch."

"Yeah," Malachi crossed his arms across his chest, eyeing him; "It's weird you bring them here. I mean I know you like to joke about, but when you used to go on about this place being our 'secret bunker' and all that, I thought you meant this place was safe. That it's ours."

"It is."

"But you bring women here?"

His dad averted his eyes, seeming to be bracing himself for something – Malachi's reaction, he guessed – and that was why he wasn't all that surprised, why he understood what his dad meant, immediately, at the next words that came from his mouth.

"No. I don't. She's…um…she's actually a bit more than that. Julia."

Malachi met his eyes, uncertainly.

His dad held his look for a second, before he nodded; "Yeah."

"Oh."

Malachi's voice was quiet, belying both his unease and his uncertainty at the statement. Before, he'd thought he'd just caught his dad with his trousers down – pretty embarrassing enough, considering Harry had to be there when it happened – but, well. He wasn't sure that knowing it actually meant something was a particularly appealing alternative.

Malachi felt his dad's hand on his arm again, urging him to sit, and this time, he did. But he was quiet and unsure of what to say or how to even act about this; finding out his dad had someone, someone other than him, and that he'd brought her here, to this house – it was obviously serious then – and he was reminded of Harry and Mrs Potter and Severus and all the other crazy secrets that had been flying around this year.

He looked up, quickly; "How long have you been together?"

"A couple of months –"

Malachi visibly relaxed, at least a little.

"- we've known one another for a while. But we've grown closer, recently."

Malachi nodded, slowly.

"Okay."

His dad didn't say anything, just sat there next to him, as if he were waiting on Malachi to do so. To say something or asking something or do something. But he really didn't know what to do, on all those accounts, and the only thing he could even think about wasn't even Julia at all but his mum.

"She's not much like mum," he finally said.

His dad lifted his chin, and then he smiled, warmly; "No, she's not."

"She's, well…she talks a lot."

"Yes, she does," his dad's smile widened.

Malachi smiled at the obvious affection his dad held for her – his new girlfriend - but it was almost sad, he knew it, as he couldn't help but think about his mum and how she was so very different from Julia. She was quiet and reserved and shy, Malachi remembered. And it was a bit strange, at least, how his dad could be with both of them, when they were so unalike.

"She's nice," Malachi eventually conceded, not meeting his eyes.

His dad's hand went to his shoulder, his face leaning in close to encourage him to look at him; "Malachi. There is no one on this Earth quite like your mum."

There was a sting at the statement, as it was so very true. No one was or could ever be like her, because she was his mum and she had been wonderful, and Malachi missed her every day, even if his own memories of her seemed to be fading more and more as time went on. Sometimes, he couldn't even remember what she looked like – in his own head – and he'd have to look at the picture on the wall in the hallways of the three of them to remind himself. But it didn't stop the love he felt for her or the pain that she wasn't there.

He felt guilty, then, because what he'd said was true. He did think that Julia was nice. He'd always liked her, Mrs Potter's friend, she was funny, and she wasn't even nearly as uptight as Harry's mum was. They'd always loved it, he and Harry, whenever they were at his house, if his mum had to work and she'd ask Julia to come and watch them and Grace for the afternoon.

But now, with his dad feeling the same way about her, it was different. Wrong somehow; for either of them to like her enough, that she would actually stand where his mum had stood – with them.

His dad nodded, seeming to know what it was he was thinking; "No one can ever take that place."

"I know, Dad."

His dad's hand squeezed where it rested upon him; "And just because we start to care for other people, just because we find other places for them in our lives, that doesn't take that away; it doesn't mean we love them any less."

Malachi looked at his dad then, at the sincerity in his eyes, before he nodded. He understood what it was his dad was saying, even if he didn't quite feel it yet.

"Does Julia know about her? Mum?"

His dad's look turned questioning.

"How she died," Malachi elaborated, straightening up a bit; "Hopkins."

It was always something that made his dad uneasy, whenever it was brought up; how his mum had died and his Auntie Andie and his Uncle Sirius. All dying just because they had loved him.

His dad averted his eyes, and Malachi could see it there, in them, the sorrow that he dad would never, willingly, let him see. But it was a flash, the briefest of them, and his dad spoke as if it wasn't there at all.

"She does, yes."

"Isn't she scared?" Malachi asked.

"I imagine she must be, a bit. It's still early; we've not really been very open with others about it, yet. Not until we're sure that it's something Julia wants to…"

The words tapered off.

Malachi titled his head to the side; "What about you? Is it something you want to go somewhere?"

Obviously, it was. Otherwise his dad wouldn't be making such a big deal, telling him about it. Still, Malachi wanted to hear it, all the same; what his dad actually felt about her, here. He very rarely revealed anything like this to him, anything that opened him up, past the playful, joking dad that he always was with him.

His dad smiled, giving a shrug. A concession, but not at all a detailed one.

Malachi traced a finger on the bedsheets, asking uncertainly, pressing him for more, even if he wasn't entirely sure he knew what to do with the answer yet; "Do you love her?"

There was a silence in response to the question. One that stretched until Malachi finally lifted his head, to meet his dad's eyes. And he was looking at him, carefully.

"Would that bother you?" his dad asked, and there was obvious concern and love there – for him – and it warmed Malachi to see it; "If I did?"

And he thought about his dad and how he lived, all alone in this cottage, whenever Malachi wasn't there, and how incredibly lonely it must be. Especially for someone like his dad, who loved people and company; stuck at home loving and missing all of those people, who were lost to him now, and Malachi guessed he should be happy about it, that his dad had found someone, to chase all of that loneliness away.

Malachi smiled, shaking his head; "No, Dad."

His dad sighed, drawing him into a hug, and Malachi hugged him back, feeling a kiss press to the side of his head. His dad held on a moment, before he drew back, giving him a smile that was equal parts affection and pride.

And then he ruffled his hair, lightening the moment.

"Did you leave Harry downstairs?"

"I did," his dad confirmed, before pushing himself up to his feet; "I'll send him on up." His eyes went to the bed, catching sight of the books that littered it, properly, for the first time. The relaxed, contented expression he had gave way to a slight frown; "Huh. They sure go into a lot of stuff on that Muggle Studies course, don't they?"

Malachi looked over his shoulder at the scattered titles and he shot his dad another smile, excited this time; "Yeah. It's great! You know, with them not able to apparate or anything, they've got cars – I mean, we know that, obviously – but look at these –" he grabbed the book closest to him, the one with all the sports cars he'd come across; "These aren't just cars, they're awesome! They do shows with them, sometimes; we should go."

His dad was smiling, but there was a tightness there, before his eyes glanced over the books that lay scattered; "Hm. Yeah." He nodded, clearing his throat; "Well, I'll go and send Harry on up, then?"

Malachi nodded, and his dad headed on towards the door, leaving Malachi to return to unpacking. But, even as he did, Malachi caught it; the second glance his dad gave in the direction of the muggle books he'd brought home, and there was an uneasiness, almost an apprehension in his eyes, as he did. His dad didn't say anything about it, whatever it was that bothered him about Malachi reading this stuff – it wasn't like there was anything there about the Statute or the Witch Trials, after all, Malachi was careful to keep those hidden – but he could easily pick up on it; a concern of his dad's that he was, before he headed from the room.

"Mummy, look!"

Lily smiled, as Grace hurried up to her, clutching two pieces of parchment in her hands; the sight of her daughter's smiling face driving away the grief, for a little while, at the way things carried on to play out with Harry.

"What's this?" she took the items Grace quickly handed over, as they reached one another on her collection of her from the Learning Centre.

"Christmas cards!" Grace smiled, while Lily pressed a kiss to the top of her head; "We've been making them today. Before school finishes. There's a Fete next week as well, you know, for school. Can we come?"

"Oh, I think we can manage," Lily agreed, to Grace's delight, as she looked at the creations her little girl had proudly given to her; "These are lovely, Sweetheart."

"I made them for Harry and Uncle Remus," Grace explained, as she shrugged into her coat; "Since it's just us two and they can't be with us for Christmas."

Lily lifted her eyes from the cards to her Grace, trying not to frown; "Just for Harry and Uncle Remus?"

Grace nodded; "Uh huh."

She was smiling, entirely oblivious to anything unusual about it; to anything or anyone missing from the inclusion. And Lily nodded, slowly, holding out her hand; "I'm sure they'll love them."

Grace beamed up at her, happy enough with her mum's assessment, took her hand and said nothing more about it; about Christmas Day and who would and wouldn't be there this year. Lily supposed she could put it down to the fact that her father had never been there for Christmas before, so why would Grace expect as much now. It was just normal for them, for him not to be there.

But Lily knew better.

Because, thinking back over the past few weeks, while she had been so wrapped up in everything going on with Harry, she had missed it.

But she realised, now.

Grace hadn't mentioned Severus in over a month.

"Right boys. These –" Mr Black indicated with a flourish at the two items sitting on the counter in front of them; " – are your portkeys."

Harry glanced to the side, sharing a look with Malachi who was sitting on the stool next to them; "Portkeys? I thought personal portkeys were illegal?"

"Yes," Mr Black conceded, as if that were no big deal; "They are. That's why you're only to use these if it is a matter of safety."

"How did you get them?" Harry asked curiously, while Malachi just sat with his chin in his hand – obviously, this was nothing new to him – and began to reach for the small book that was sitting in front of him.

"Ah, ah; careful," Mr Black stopped him with a hand to his wrist; "Those are touch activated. Twenty second countdown and then they'll have you in my office at the Foundation. If you need to move faster than that, just say 'jump'."

"Jump," Harry repeated.

"Why did you put a countdown on these ones?" Malachi asked, leaning back; "You've never done that before."

"It gives each of you a chance to get to one another, if something happens to one of the portkeys," Mr Black explained; "But, if you do find the need to use them, don't wait for me."

"Wait, what?" Harry repeated with a frown.

"Same rule as always," Malachi explained to him, quietly, and Mr Black made neither objection nor confirmation; made no sound at all, in fact, to confirm that – should they find themselves in mortal danger on any of these outings – they were to simply leave Mr Black behind.

"Uh…is this a good idea?" Harry asked, more than a little unnerved by the extreme measure and rule. In the past, it had simply been 'don't leave my sight' whenever Malachi's dad had taken them anywhere; "I don't mind staying in."

"No need to stay in, when these things will get the two of you home – or, rather, the Foundation – in a couple of seconds flat," Mr Black said, giving him a reassuring smile; "Don't worry, Harry. I've looked into it."

"Dad's speciality," Malachi stated, with a shrug in Harry's direction and then a smile at his dad; "Elaborate escape plans and routes; how else would he spend the free time, right?"

His dad reached across the counter, ruffling his hair; "So, portkeys out the way. Second rule, if I can't reach you, you've gone too far. And I don't mean 'see you', boys, I mean reach. As in –" he reached back across the counter and got Malachi by the collar, making both him and Harry laugh; "- got it?"

"Yup."

"Uh huh."

Mr Black let Malachi go with a smile; "Now, while we're in Edinburgh tomorrow –"

"Edinburgh?" Malachi interrupted with a frown; "What about Hyde Park?"

Mr Black's playful demeanour dropped, somewhat, turning apologetic; "I'm sorry, Malachi. Not this year, alright?"

"Dad, come on," Malachi shook his head; "That's Mum's thing."

"I know," his dad nodded, and Harry could see the regret there – even if Malachi glowered at the next words; "But it's too risky."

"It's never been too risky before," Malachi pointed out, protesting the decision, furiously; "We've gone every year. Mum used to take me every Christmas –"

"Malachi –" Mr Black came around the counter, as Malachi went on.

"You had your first date there –"

"Malachi," his dad silenced him, with two hands to the top of his arms; "I'm sorry. But we can't go anywhere where there might be a magical presence – it's different this year, you know why – and Hyde Park at this time of year; that's always been a draw, to muggles and wizards alike."

"It's worth it, the risk," Malachi said, quietly, imploringly; "Dad, please. We have the portkeys for a reason, right?"

"Malachi, that doesn't mean we go looking where we know there'd be trouble," his dad said, before his voice lowered, so that it was almost a whisper; "This isn't just about us."

Harry immediately felt guilty, realising that, maybe, Mr Black would take the risk, if it was only himself at stake.

"Oh. I don't have to go," Harry quickly said, shaking his head; "This is about Mrs Black – I mean, Mrs Red – Malachi's Mum. I can just stay here."

"No," Mr Black immediately rejected the notion, shooting Harry a look, before he spoke more softly to Malachi; "I'll make it up to you, alright? I've had a look; it's all the same things in Edinburgh as it is down in London. Things your Mum loved."

Harry pushed himself down from the stool; "Uh, I'll be back in a minute."

Mr Black nodded at him, casting a grateful look his way, and both he and Malachi were quiet, Harry not hearing their voices again until he was through in the living room. But they still spoke quietly, so that he couldn't hear what they were saying.

Harry was glad of that. Mr Black had gone out of his way to make him feel welcome, pretty much nothing and nowhere in the house labelled off limits – not that Harry would go nosing in Mr Black's bedroom or anything – but, in this particular moment, Harry felt more than a little imposing. This was obviously a special time of year for Malachi and his dad – a time about his mum – and him being there was changing things up.

He heard Malachi's voice rise a bit and stepped further away, reaching down for the box of Sirius' stuff that Mr Black had given to him earlier that day to look through, and carried it in the direction of the door at the back of the room; through into, what seemed to be, Mr Black's study.

He sat in there awhile, in the chair in the corner of the room, going through a photo album again. It was a different one, this time, for there were a few that Sirius had kept. His mum wasn't in any of them; it was all of the four boys. Harry could feel it, through each image that presented itself to him; the camaraderie and the affection that they all felt for one another. Even Pettigrew. All so young and cheeky and full of life; their whole lives still ahead of them.

A life that, for all but one of them, had ended too soon.

Harry was struck with the realisation, as he looked at a picture of the four of them, that the only one living of them, here, was his Uncle Remus. All the others that surrounded him were dead; gone.

Harry swallowed.

His Uncle Remus; the last of them. With no one, now that his mum had admitted to Harry, earlier that day, that they weren't on 'the best of terms'. Which, obviously, meant that she wasn't speaking to him over all of this; no way would Remus be able to talk his way out of it, once his mum got it into her head that he was in some way responsible for what had happened.

And, now, his Uncle Remus would be spending Christmas alone. At least Harry had had somewhere other than that house to go for the holidays.

The realisation had Harry casting the album aside and getting to his feet, and he headed over to Mr Black's desk. He'd write to him, at least; even if Harry didn't – couldn't - quite want to see him yet, he could at least wish him a Merry Christmas. Remus had never missed a Christmas with him. And it wasn't like all this was his fault, Harry had admitted as much to his mum.

Maybe Harry would even take out one of the pictures and send it to him; the one with Sirius and the snowball. Harry liked that one. He'd willingly bet that Remus would like it even more.

Harry pulled open the drawer of Mr Black's desk, reaching in for a quill and an ink pot, that he found quickly. But he had to go down the next drawer, and then the next, before he found any parchment.

Harry pulled it out, more rolls than he actually needed, and was just about to kick the drawer shut with his foot when something that had been concealed beneath the items caught his eye.

It was his name; on an envelope.

Harry frowned, reaching down and lifting it out – it was for him after all and it wasn't like he was deliberately snooping – and turned it over in his hand, more than a little curious as to why Mr Black would have a letter written to him.

It was sealed.

Harry didn't recognise the handwriting. Well. Not really. It was a scrawl that, actually, did look a little familiar, but he couldn't quite place it.

He glanced, nervously, in the direction of the door that led back through to the living room. It had been a while, but Harry could still hear the distant sound of Malachi and his dad's voices.

He really shouldn't look.

It was obviously something Mr Black planned to give him later.

But, then, maybe – although it seemed a bit weird that he'd hold onto it for so long if it was - but, maybe, this was something about Sirius. From him, even.

Who else did he and Mr Black have in common, after all, but his Godfather?

Harry tore it open, the curiosity and the need to know what this was, making it utterly impossible that he would do otherwise.

He drew in a breath, unfolding the parchment inside, a mixture of both nerves and anticipation as he went to read what was written.

The parchment was blank.

Harry frowned, turning it to look at the back.

Nothing there, either.

"Harry."

Harry started, looking up guiltily, at the sound of Mr Black's voice. He was standing in the doorway, arms folded across his chest and his eyebrow raised.

"Mr Black," Harry stuttered, dropping the – blank, blank – piece of parchment onto his desk; "I…I was just looking for some parchment."

"Hm," Mr Black nodded, lips twitching, as he eyed the numerous scrolls Harry had tossed onto the desk upon noticing the letter; "I see you found some. And something else further, still."

Malachi's dad didn't seem cross. Rather, he seemed amused, if somewhat uneasy at Harry's discovery. He relaxed; it was just Mr Black, after all. And besides –

"Why did you write an envelope with my name on it?" Harry asked, as Mr Black headed towards him; "It's blank, the letter inside. Did you enchant it with a security charm, or something?"

"Hm," Mr Black quirked an eyebrow, saying nothing, as he reached him and lifted the letter from where Harry had dropped it; folding it carefully and tucking it back into the envelope.

"Is it about Sirius?"

Mr Black met his eyes, sharply at the mention, and then his look turned sympathetic and he shook his head; "No. It's not."

"Well, what is it, then? What did you write? I found it –"

Harry's eyes went back in the direction of the still-open drawer from where he had found it, his voice breaking off when he quickly took notice of something else. Beneath where the envelope Harry had snatched up had been, there were another two; both addressed to single recipients, names that Harry knew very well.

Lily.

Grace.

Harry frowned.

It came to him quickly, the understanding of who had written the letter. The handwriting was familiar. Very, very much so. A scrawl Harry had seen numerous times, across all of his assignments in a certain Potions classroom for the past four years.

It was not, only, Sirius whom he and Mr Black had in common, no.

Harry spoke, uncertainly; "It's from Snape?"

Mr Black cleared his throat, resealing the envelope and dropping it back into the drawer, neither denying nor confirming it.

"Why?" Harry pressed; "Why would he write me – all of us – letters? Why wouldn't he just talk to us?"

Mr Black glanced away, before meeting his eyes; a meaningful look cast his way that made it pretty damn obvious exactly what these letters were.

Harry lowered his eyes; "Oh."

It didn't take a genius to work it out.

They were 'after-death' letters, for lack of better labelling. Letters that Snape had obviously charmed only to be readable, in the event of it, that Mr Black was supposed to give to them – him, his mum and his sister – when it did.

Harry didn't quite know how he felt about that.

Well.

No.

That wasn't entirely true.

It was a realisation that left him utterly cold.

Mr Black pushed the drawer shut, placing a hand on his shoulder; "Come on. Malachi has agreed to heading into Edinburgh tomorrow; there's still some stuff I need to talk about with the two of you before we do."

Harry only nodded, unable to find any words in light of what he'd just found, and followed Mr Black from the room.

It was daylight outside but the location to which the Dark Lord had called Severus before him was as appropriately dark and dreary as all the occasions proved to be, whenever he was in the Dark Wizard's company.

Severus was the only one there, this summons, which suggested a task was about to be imparted upon him. Another, newer one, as he continued to come up short – something that the Dark Lord was not letting him off with, lightly – in his attempts to learn what it was that was plaguing Harry Potter with such grief that his master was unable to penetrate through it to find the source of the boy's woes.

"My Lord."

Severus played the part, down on his knees, kissed the hem of his robes; reverent and submissive, as he must always be.

"Rise," came the cold, high voice.

Severus did.

It was only by the grace of the deities that the Dark Lord turned away when he spoke next, picking up a slow pace of the stone ground, for Severus was sure it would have shown on his face; his horror at the next words spoken.

"Grace Potter."

Severus' blood turned to ice in his veins.

It had happened then. The Dark Lord had seen it. Harry's grief finally ebbing enough, that the dark wizard had seen through it; the truth – the dreadful truth – and this was to be his final moments, begging for his family's, his daughter's life.

But, then, the Dark Lord would not execute him here, quietly, with no other's present – he would make a show of it, most definitely – only the most loyal, the most appreciated of followers, were ever granted the honour of a private death.

Never a traitor.

Severus tightened his occlumency barriers. Fought against every instinct within him to respond to the threat to his daughter as any father would.

"My Lord?"

"Each glimpse that I have been granted into that foolish child's head, has been during a moment where he has been mentioning, in some way, his dear, sweet sister. At this time of great grief for the boy, one might conclude that it, in some way, centres upon her. Someone who remains rather the mystery to us, wouldn't you say, Severus?"

"Indeed, my Lord. I know very little about the child."

"But you have surely heard the rumours, Severus."

"Rumours, my Lord?"

"As to the child's true parentage," the Dark Lord elaborated, and Severus knew, he knew, where this was going even if he pleaded, internally, to every all-powerful being above them that it wouldn't be so.

He was not to be so lucky.

"It seems there was an incident rather recently, which has led many to suspect that the girl's father is none other than another adversary of ours; Regulus Black, himself."

Severus lowered his chin, as if considering it. Really, it was to avoid any and all eye contact whatsoever; for he was certain if his occlumency barriers were ever to fail him, it would be now. When he needed to maintain them, most.

"A happy coincidence, indeed, wouldn't you say, Severus?" the Dark Lord went on, as if positively delighted at the possibility; that this little girl – his little girl – should mean so much not to just one, but to two of his greatest enemies; "And with recent reports that dear Harry Potter is to be spending the holidays with Regulus, why, what more confirmation do we need?"

"My Lord, I must express my own reservations. Regulus has demonstrated, repeatedly, that his loved ones are his weakness; if the girl were truly his, it would be obvious."

"Most likely true, Severus, which is where you come in. Now that you have managed to resume your place by Regulus' side, it is only a matter of time before he reveals his relationship to the child. And it is your task, my artful friend, to learn the truth of it. And if it is not, indeed, Regulus Black; well. I should dearly like to know who is."

Severus lowered his head, in concession of the assignment.

"Dismissed."

Severus couldn't get out of the room fast enough.