Chapter Forty-Five

"I don't get it. Why write me a letter? Why doesn't Snape just talk to me?"

Regulus had to fight back a smile at Harry's persistent questioning, even as his eyes remained firmly trained on his son who was lingering a feet metres away – breaking a previously imparted rule – seemingly completely engrossed in conversation with the muggle girl who was serving hot drinks at one of the market stalls.

"It's not all that uncommon," Regulus said to Harry, sparing the briefest glance in his direction; "Especially considering the times; many parents, particularly serving ones, do leave letters or, even, just trinkets with special meaning in advance of their passing to their children. It gives them something tangible to hold on to, should the worst come to pass."

"Have you done it? Written a letter for Malachi?" Harry asked, curiously.

"Yes."

"Does Snape have it? Is that why he wrote one for Grace?"

"No, he doesn't know that about Malachi's letter," Regulus shifted on the uncomfortable, high stool that he was sitting on, at the elevated circled table in the middle of the market place, with Harry; "I'm afraid I can't take the credit for that."

His own letter or, rather, Malachi's letter had been written long ago and stashed alongside his Bequeathment Notice and various other legal paperwork, that his lawyer held on to.

"It's not the same anyway," Harry shrugged, dismissively.

"Oh?"

"Probably just says; you better look after Mum and Grace or I'll haunt you forever."

Regulus bit his lip, inclining his head, while casting a frown in Malachi's direction, when his son looked at him, quickly, over his shoulder. Malachi turned back to the girl, saying something, and she laughed.

Regulus rolled his eyes.

"He hates me," Harry went on.

"Ah."

"I'm not Snape's kid."

There was a bite to Harry's tone that made Regulus glance back, ever-so-briefly, in the boy's direction; "Hm. Perhaps he thinks differently."

"He doesn't."

Regulus quirked an eyebrow but said nothing.

There was a quietness between them, but the Edinburgh Christmas festivities were far from quiet, where they sat surrounded by the merriment and the excitement of the market goers and the season appropriate music that filled the air.

"Does he?" Harry asked, tentatively.

Regulus met his eyes; "That's something you'd have to ask him yourself."

"He'd just laugh at me."

Regulus smiled, then; "He may just surprise you." He cast a brief glance over Harry's shoulder, meeting the eyes of the man who appeared to be loitering at the corner of the photography tent, before he slipped down from the stool; "Let me see what's keeping Malachi."

Regulus fought down his annoyance as he approached, knowing better than to embarrass his son in front of the girl that had taken his fancy; he'd be in the 'bad books' for the next two weeks if his father dared to emasculate him like that.

"Do you drive?" Malachi was asking the girl, as Regulus finally reached them.

"Not yet," the girl gave a shrug, smiling at him, kindly – for Malachi was, really, still just a little kid compared to the girl who was serving him – before she added; "I've been doing lessons but, yeah, they've been taking a while."

"Oh, lessons? Can't your parents just show you?" Malachi was looking back at her, entirely enraptured and not even noticing his dad's appearance at his side.

"No," the muggle girl giggled; "My dad would probably have a heart attack if I got him in the car."

"A heart attack?" Malachi repeated, utterly bewildered; "What's that?"

"Malachi," Regulus put an arm around him, clasping his shoulder and giving a smile at the girl – quickly picking up on her bewilderment in response to Malachi's question; "I think we'd better let this girl get back to what she was doing, don't you think? Did you order?"

Malachi looked disappointed but didn't protest, clearly realising there had been a slip somewhere, even if he wasn't entirely sure what it was, and gave the girl a smaller smile than before; "Three mulled wines, please."

"Make those hot chocolates. All the extras," Regulus corrected the order and the girl smiled and went away to make them up.

"Why hot chocolate?" Malachi frowned, casting a confused glance his dad's way; "We've got a ton at home."

"Mulled wine?" Regulus repeated with a grin; "You're trying your luck. With that and this girl."

"What? Since when? You let me try some last year."

"It was just us last year –"

Malachi glanced in Harry's direction with a sigh. Regulus went on, voice lowering so that no one would overhear.

"- and muggles have laws, too; thirteen-year-olds can't march up and ordered three mugs of alcohol in the middle of a public place. You need identification proving you're of age – eighteen, in the muggle world, when it comes to drinking."

"Alright, so next time I need to bring something proving I'm eighteen; got it," Malachi nodded, glancing back in the direction of the girl.

Regulus leaned in close, lips close to Malachi's ear when he caught the wicked grin on his boy's face; "Just try it, Son."

"Mr Black."

"Harry," Regulus frowned at the worried look on Harry's face, as he appeared at their side. He put a hand on his arm; "Is everything alright?"

"I dunno," Harry looked, almost panicked, back over his shoulder at the man who Regulus had shared a look with a few moments before. He was closer now than when Regulus had previously seen him, standing at one of the stalls, looking through some of the carved ornaments for sale; "I think that guy is following us. He was watching me, anyway. I noticed him earlier; he was down at the rink when we were skating."

Regulus pursed his lips together, frowning in the man's direction.

"Don't worry, Harry," Malachi spoke up, entirely nonchalant by the fact; "That's just one of dad's lookouts."

Regulus looked at Malachi sharply.

"Lookouts?" Harry frowned.

"You know, bodyguards; men for hire –" Malachi shrugged, as if it were no big deal - surprising both his dad and Harry with the statement – before he pointed at another man further down the row; "There's another one –" and then to the left; "And another."

Regulus recovered quickly from the observation – he'd always thought the guys had been subtle enough that Malachi had never noticed them, all part of his intention to help Malachi feel 'normal' – but Harry's eyes darted between them, frowningly, as he took in the new information.

"Here you go!" the girl reappeared, three mugs of hot chocolate, topped with marshmallows and cream, handed across the counter to each of them. Regulus smiled, handing over the muggle money he'd brought with him – waving a hand to stop Malachi from spending his own – and the three of them made their way down the pathway in the direction of the fairground rides.

"You hire people to watch out for you?" Harry asked, quietly, as he and Malachi walked on either side of Regulus.

Regulus drew in a breath; "They're assigned to someone else."

Harry glanced passed him at Malachi, to whom Regulus obviously meant. His son, however, wasn't looking at either of them, instead glancing down at the activities in the levels below as he sucked in a marshmallow from the top of his whipped cream and pretending that he didn't hear – or care – what it was they were talking about.

Regulus reached up, putting an arm around him again to clasp him by the shoulder and Malachi turned his head to look at him, merely casting a smile and a roll of the eyes his way; unfazed by the measure. He, most likely, had been aware of it for years at this point.

Harry was another matter.

For the rest of the evening, the boy's eyes were constantly darting and seeking out the men to whom Malachi had pointed; as if for reassurance that they were there or an explanation for why they were necessary would be found simply by staring them out.

And the only time Harry wasn't doing so, were when the questions about Severus came forth.

On and on for the rest of the night.

The Christmas Holidays at the Black Cottage were awesome.

Mr Black went out of his way to make sure that he and Malachi were having a good time – even just putting up the Christmas decorations the day after Edinburgh had been a blast – and there were things Mr Black did, traditions that he implemented that were just normal to Malachi, and that were so very familiar to Harry but from a long time ago.

There was a hot chocolate station set up in the corner with cocoa mix and marshmallows and chocolate sprinkles and whipped cream enchanted to keep cool. And Mr Black hummed the very same Christmas tunes Harry had forgotten. And he situated the wreathes in the same manner. And the ornaments on the tree were the same colour scheme; silver and blue. And the stockings were held back to be put up on Christmas Eve.

And it was all so very Sirius, that Harry had felt a warmth and a longing stir within him, as he and Mr Black had carried the box over towards the long side table.

"You do this, too? A Hot Chocolate table?" Harry had remarked, eyes lightening up when he realised what it was they were setting up.

Mr Black had grinned at him, as he tossed out the festive tablecloth; "Sure do. I'm guessing my brother introduced it to your house, as well?"

"Yeah," Harry had said as he nodded. The whole tradition was what had set off his love of hot chocolate that still carried on, to this day; something his Uncle Remus was always quick to mention.

Mr Black had given a hum of laughter, before saying; "Something our Mum did with us when we were nippers."

It was odd.

Harry had known, obviously, that Mr Black was Sirius brother. Hell, it was something that had just always been fact. But fact was not the same as knowing, as seeing, Harry was beginning to realise, and it was then, in the moment, as Mr Black carried on talking to him about the Black family traditions – so achingly familiar and long ago lost, to Harry – that he finally, really saw it.

That Regulus Black was his Uncle Sirius' brother. That they had been boys together and had shared all of this and had loved one another.

And then, at the end of the story, Mr Black had cast him a look and it was one of concern, as if he picked up on the melancholy within him as he dwelled upon it, placing a hand on his arm. And he looked so much like Sirius, with that very same concerned look his uncle would give him when he was a child and upset about something – something stupid, in comparison to current woes – and he had just smiled. He wasn't sad. He hadn't ever felt closer to Sirius since he'd been lost and he was glad, so very glad, that he had come here for the holidays.

Harry could even pretend that everything was right with the world, so long as he didn't dwell too much on all the dragonshit that was going on in his life and in the whole damn world, right outside the window. Each day, it seemed something new and dreadfully frightening was revealed to him, about someone, whether that be Snape, or Grace, or Malachi. All things he guessed he sort of knew, if he really thought about it, before but, still, after all that he had seen and heard and found since he'd arrived only a few days before he couldn't help but feel as if he had been slapped in the face with the cold, hard reality of just what it was, exactly, that they were up against here.

But Harry wasn't going to dwell on it.

Not anymore. Not tonight, at least.

It was Christmas Eve.

And whoever had organised this years Yuletide Gala at the Foundation had gone all-out; no expense or activity spared and he and Malachi were loving it.

And, as much as Harry was coming to like Mr Black – even more than he already did – it was good to be here, a safe and secure and massive enough place, as Malachi's dad had allowed them free reign to go off and enjoy the party, without him.

Mischief awaits!

Malachi laughed, as he held the small glass of firewhiskey he had managed to nab over in Harry's direction.

The two of them were holed up in one of the archways, concealed by the curtains, where Harry had dragged Malachi when he'd spotted his mum among the partygoers.

Harry, having never tried the stuff before, made the rooky mistake of taking a huge gulp of the stuff and, oh, hell; "Eurgh!"

It burned. And it tasted absolutely rank.

And Malachi doubled over, laughing at his disgust, and lifted it to take a small sip himself, screwing up his face in a much more composed manner than Harry reacted, before taking another.

"Do you actually like that?" Harry asked, incredulous at the very notion, that anyone could, and Malachi shook his head, putting the glass down and indicating back in the direction of the bar.

"Nah. It's the worst."

"Maybe we should try and get some of that stuff," Harry suggested, peering past the curtains in the direction of the server who was carrying a tray of Popping Champers – that had a far more appealing name, at least, than firewhiskey. Firewhiskey. Too right. Harry's throat still burned.

The two of them ducked out from the sides of the curtains, heading back out onto the floor when Harry ensured his mum was nowhere in sight.

A crash and a clatter behind them stopped them from scampering off, however, and the two of them – among everyone else in the near vicinity – spun around to see what had caused the commotion.

"Oh, I'm sorry!"

A young woman - with bright, bright pink hair – said, as she scrambled to her feet from where she was in a heap on the floor – surrounded by smashed Champers flutes and the spilled liquid – before she reached down to help the man, the server, who was also on his backside on the floor; "I'm so sorry!" she repeated, while the sever cast a tight smile and waved her attempts at help away.

Harry didn't recognise her.

Malachi did.

"Too much to drink, Dora?" Malachi asked, grinning, while she continued to apologise as she took the man's hand and started to help him get back to his feet.

She looked in their direction, sharply, before smiling brightly; "Hey!" She let go of the server's hand, making him slip on the wet surface and fall back onto his behind with a thud; "Mac."

Mac. It was a nickname for Malachi that Harry had only ever heard spoken by Draco Malfoy.

Malachi smiled, as she stepped towards him, casting another apologetic glance at the glaring sever, from where he still was on the floor, and engulfed Malachi in a tight hug; "Wow, look at you, Kid!" She drew back, eyes wide and sparkling; "Last time I seen you, you were –" she indicated a height about half way down her body and they both laughed.

Malachi shook his head; "It hasn't been that long." He glanced in Harry's direction; "This is my cousin, Do – Tonks, right – Yeah. Tonks. This is my friend Harry. Harry Potter."

Tonks eyed widened further, a smile on her face; "Aw, yeah. Wotcher, Harry. It's good to finally meet you."

"Hi," Harry smiled, although it was a little shy when he caught her eyes drift upwards from his, as if looking for the scar he kept as hidden as possible beneath his fringe.

"Should've known it'd be you causing all the commotion over here, Dora," an older man suddenly addressed them, as he approached, and Tonks indicated in Malachi's direction.

"Look who I found, Dad."

"This can't be baby Mac, can it?" the man asked, smiling warmly at him, before clasping him on the shoulder; "I haven't seen that cheeky smile since you were a nipper."

"Hey Uncle Ted."

"This is Harry Potter, Dad," Tonks introduced him, giving Harry a warm smile and a nudge – as if they'd known one another for years – and the man, Ted, inclined his head and held out a hand.

"Nice to meet you, Son. Ted Tonks."

Harry took his hand, smiling in turn; "You too, Sir."

"Better watch yourself around these two, Harry –" Mr Black said, appearing from nowhere and looking as delighted and relaxed as the rest of these people at coming across one another; "- no telling what mischief they'll drag you into."

"Ah. And here was me thinking I'd better be warning Dora about exactly the same thing with regards to you, Reg; why else would I have dragged myself on out to this thing?" Mr Tonks said, with a grin.

"Good to have you here, Ted," Mr Black said, clapping Mr Tonks on the back before turning his attention to Tonks; "Heard the Ministry's got a new Auror on their hands?" He stepped forward, holding open an arm and she smiled, stepping in for a hug.

"That'd be me," she confirmed, before drawing back; "Just passed through this summer."

"Good to know we're in good hands. Your Mum would've been hella proud to see it," Mr Black smiled at her, earning a bright smile from her in turn.

The conversation carried on between, animatedly, but Harry's attention was quickly drawn to the other side of the room, when he noticed a flash of red hair up ahead.

His mum, again – he'd been avoiding her all night – and she was lingering up towards the back of the room, eyes skimming the crowd, as if looking for someone.

It was obvious who.

Sure enough, a few seconds of observation confirmed it, when her eyes finally seemed to settle on someone across the other side of the room – Snape, who was standing by the bar – and she began to make her way towards him.

Harry watched, unabashedly, thinking that it was odd, really, that his mum would actually approach Snape in such a public place – Mr Black had warned them, him and Malachi, that there were 'eyes everywhere, people who slipped through the cracks, trust no one' – but his musings were for naught because, as she was making her way towards Snape, she glanced away and caught his eyes, then, and that made her hesitate.

Only for a second, and then her course changed, abruptly, and his mum was coming towards him, instead.

Harry drew in a breath, casting a look in Malachi's direction and muttering that he'd just be a second, before he stepped away from the 'Black Family Reunion' that was going on and headed towards her, to meet her halfway.

His mum looked surprised, pleasantly so, smiling when they reached one another.

"Hi, Sweetheart."

"Hey," Harry said, not as warmly as his mum had spoken, no, but not quite as frosty as he'd been for the past few weeks; "Where's Grace?"

His mum glanced in in the direction of the window, nodding in the direction of the Learning Centre; "The Phoenix has some activities on for the children, during the party; she's settled in well, there, at school."

"Right."

"What about you, Harry?" his mum looked at him, carefully; "Are you enjoying the holidays?"

Harry nodded, not quite meeting her eyes; "Yeah. Mr Black's been great."

"I'm glad you're having a good time."

Harry shuffled, feeling awkward. It was difficult not to feel so, considering all he had learned and seen, just over these past few days – the cold, hard reality of all that they were up against – and that, along with the fact that is was Christmas and this was his mum. He'd done a good enough job of just pretending everything was normal, that he was normal, these past few days, that he couldn't help but feel a little bit softened towards her.

But, then, Snape was right over there, and Harry could see him and then, it was just as easy to remember as it was to pretend; so Harry just reached into his dress robes, tugging out the wrapped package he had brought with him – knowing that, at some point, he would have come across his mum here – and held it out to her.

"This is for Grace."

His mum looked at the present held out to her, getting a small smile, before she reached and took it from him; "I'm sure she'll love it."

Harry just shrugged.

But he didn't step back or away or try to dodge it, when his mum stepped forward – only a little tentative – and drew him into a hug.

Harry closed his eyes, not hugging her back, but he let her hold him. And he felt his eyes water, infuriatingly, and he squeezed them shut tighter, willing them not to fall, as much as he felt comforted by this; as much as he realised, then, that he simply just wanted his mum and for everything to go back the way that they were.

"I love you, Sweetheart," his mum whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of his head, before she drew back a bit to look at him; "Merry Christmas."

Harry swallowed, giving a slight nod, before he drew in a steadying breath and walked past her. Not back in the direction of Malachi, this time, but away towards the exit. Not that he could leave, obviously – and he could see one of Mr Black's 'men' that he recognised from his trip in to Edinburgh with him and Malachi earlier that week watching him, closely, ready to follow – but, even, just to be alone for a minute would be enough.

So, he ducked out of the ballroom, waving off the questions of the Security Personnel stationed at the doors, and headed for the nearest bathroom, just to get away.

"You're spending Christmas at Hogwarts this year?"

Severus, who had been surreptitiously watching the exchange between Lily and Harry, turned and gave Narcissa a nod, as they stood off to the side of the dancefloor at the bar; "So it would seem."

His customary invitation to Malfoy Manor had not come that year – a tell tale sign that Lucius would, most likely, be present and wanted to spend the time alone with his family – but Severus couldn't claim to be disappointed by the fact.

It did not sound appealing to Severus in the slightest, what with the dual task of having to keep Lucius convinced that he was on the firm side of the Dark Lord, along with having to keep Narcissa convinced of – well, what, exactly?

Her motives were far less clear than that of her husband.

Did she really want to believe the same, that Severus was loyal to the Dark Lord, and that he was playing Regulus – her dearly beloved cousin – and that his entire reason for being back at the Foundation was a ploy, with him waiting to give the orders to strike?

He doubted that was something that would go down well – even if she must have been told as much by Lucius that this is what he was doing there – and she had suspected, at least, prior to Regulus' open defection that his loyalties were not quite true. Andromeda, whom had been close with both her sister and their cousin during those glory days, had been utterly convinced of Regulus' remorse and turn to the light.

And, while she may not openly defy the Dark Lord himself, Severus did not doubt that Narcissa Malfoy was just quite Slytherin enough to throw suspicion his way if she should manage to get anything on him, in an attempt to lessen the danger to Regulus, if she thought Severus would actually be willing to throw Regulus under the Hippogriff.

It was a tangle that Severus did not want to be caught up in – as if he wasn't already in enough! – and the last thing he needed was to make enemies with the Malfoys, right now.

Regulus, making his way towards them, caught Severus' eye and interrupted his musings on how best the woman at his side ought to be handled.

"Look at you two wallflowers," Regulus chuckled, as he reached them before giving Severus a slap on the back; "Didn't you think my cousin may want to dance, Severus?"

Severus' lips twitched at the bright sparkle in Regulus' eye; obviously in his element, in the middle of the party.

"Leave him alone, Regulus," Narcissa said with a smile – that was warm, and seemed genuine, in light of his presence – before she shook her head; "I'm not at all inclined to dance, thank you."

"Not even with your baby cousin?"

"Not even then," she laughed.

Severus' eyes went back in the direction of the doors as they continued their chatter, to where Harry had recently departed. Not quite recently enough, though, for him not to be concerned.

"She looks so much like Andromeda," Narcissa said, quietly, drawing Severus' curiosity.

Regulus nodded, and Severus noticed the two of them looking in the direction of Nymphadora Tonks and her father, where they were speaking animatedly to Malachi just off the other side of the dancefloor.

"She's like her too," Regulus stated; "Like how she was as a kid, before…Well. You should say hello."

Narcissa made a face, that was almost a smile, but not quite.

"She'll remember you," Regulus went on; "Malachi, too. He'd be happy to see you."

Narcissa kept her eyes on them, on Regulus' and Andromeda's respective children, before she drew in a breath and looked at Regulus, shaking her head. But she didn't say anything, and Severus thought he caught the slightest glance in his direction – making it quite evident that her silence was a distrust of him – before she stepped away, leaving the two of them where they stood.

Regulus' playful demeanour dropped, almost instantly, with the departure of his cousin; "Anything?"

"Well. From my observations I am under the impression that you, perhaps, can trust your cousin; while the same cannot be said for me."

"I meant about a potential attack," Regulus dismissed the statement – as if it were obvious which, Severus supposed, it was – as he glanced in the direction of the East buildings through the window; "Have you heard anything? Seen anything?"

"I have scouted the perimeter; assessed the weaknesses; the magical protections enacted by Dumbledore have been reinforced; there are triple the amount of usual Security Personnel patrolling the grounds. He will not get in, Regulus. Not before everyone in this place is long gone, I am sure of it."

Regulus nodded, slowly, relaxing somewhat.

Severus glanced back in the direction of the doors – eyes quickly skimming the Ballroom and confirming that, no, Harry still had not returned – before he shook his head but, before he could speak and voice his concern, they were suddenly approached by a short, mousy haired man who managed to look both concerned and composed all at once as he addressed Regulus.

"Mr Black."

Regulus pursed his lips together; "I take it you lost him?"

"He's a sneaky little git, that one."

Harry, obviously.

Severus headed in the direction of the doors.

Privacy was utterly impossible that night, it seemed.

Harry was immediately followed by his 'Protector' – as assigned by Mr Black – and he was followed, even, to the doors of the restrooms; albeit it at distance.

It was that distance that proved beneficial, however, as Harry never came unprepared to events such as this and, so, while he was huddled in the toilet cubicle he had tugged out his Invisibility Cloak that he had stashed in his pocket; throwing it over himself and sneaking out of the restrooms hot on the heels of the man who was leaving.

He had easily bypassed the man assigned to him – he was short and scrawny, no one would have guessed he was security which, Harry supposed, was the point – and had made his way deeper into the Foundation; heading in the direction of the Main Buildings where the Research Centre was located.

He'd figured, hey, maybe he'd be able to get some books on how to break Concealment Charms and he'd be able to see what, exactly, it was that Snape had to say to him that had to be written down in a letter.

And, so, here he was; still under the protection of the cloak, sitting on the floor in the middle of the Centre, with a book on the very subject in his lap.

He didn't know how long he was sat there – a while, he guessed – before he was, suddenly, no longer alone. There were footsteps on the wooden flooring, the click of the heel of boots, that was utterly familiar and, sure enough, within just a few seconds Snape, himself, came into view.

His eyes skimmed the room, quickly, as if searching for something. He walked on in the direction of the bookshelves, peering down the length of the wall behind one of them, before carrying on; did the same for another two before they both were surprised by the sound of another, very familiar voice.

"Severus?"

Snape straightened.

Harry did, too, though, thankfully, not with enough of a jolt to knock off his Cloak.

"Lily," Snape frowned, immediately heading towards her; "Are you alright? What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you; I needed to see you," his mum said, as he reached her.

"Not here, Lily," his voice was quiet, his eyes suspiciously darting around, in the direction of the magical enchanted windows that meant no one could see in, anyway; "The Foundation is not as safe as it once was, we cannot –"

"It's about Grace."

That shut Snape up.

Got his – and Harry's – attention, instantly.

"Has something happened?"

"No. Well…yes."

"Lily?"

"Come home tomorrow."

Snape frowned; "What?"

His mum sighed, her hands going to his – Snape's – arms, in a gesture of obvious familiarity and affection; "She's forgetting you, Severus."

If Snape was surprised or saddened or distressed, he didn't show it. Rather, he visibly relaxed at his mum's words.

"I see."

His mum said nothing; looking neither surprised nor affronted by the Potions Professor's – or, rather, Grace's father's - lack of response to the information that his own kid was losing her recollections of him. Harry felt himself bristle on his little sister's behalf.

Snape drew in a breath, glancing away for a second, before his expression softened and he turned back towards his mum, reaching up and taking her face in a hand before he pressed his lips to her forehead.

It wasn't much, really; Harry had seen people be affectionate with one another before, obviously. In muggle films and out on the streets, sometimes, and even some of the kids in his year at Hogwarts – though mostly, it was in the years above – who would hold hands and pet one another's hair and murmur in one another's ear.

But Harry had never seen anyone do so with his mum – the closest only the memories that Snape had restored for him of his parents but even they were beginning to get a little fuzzy, once more, as old memories tended to do as time passed – and never had Harry ever expected to see such a blatant display of affection from Snape, of all people. Nevermind between the two of them, despite what Harry had learned.

It wasn't, exactly, gross. Nor was it heart-warming. Rather, it was enlightening; Harry's first, proper, glimpse at what the two of them actually looked like. And the person who Snape actually was – or could be – if he wasn't, well, a spy.

Snape lingered close, seeming to draw strength just from holding her, before he drew back and reached into his robes, pulling out a rolled-up scroll.

Harry frowned, immediately curious.

His mum, too, it seemed, as she took it with a concerned glance in Snape's direction. The man said nothing, just indicated with a nod that she open it.

Harry waited, daren't moving an inch from where he was sat only a few feet from them in the middle of the floor, desperate for a glimpse of what it was.

He needn't have waited or wondered for long, his mum's confused question letting him know.

"Grace's Birth Certificate?"

Snape said nothing.

"Why do you have this?"

"I need to provide it as evidence, that I am taking the Dark Lord's assignment seriously."

"What assignment?"

"He has requested that I find concrete evidence as to the parentage of Harry Potter's sister –"

His mum started.

"- at the moment, he is of the mind that it is Regulus Black."

His mum stared back at Snape and Harry thought he saw Snape's hand on her shoulder squeeze, slightly, as if in reassurance but it was only slight, and it didn't do anything to quell Harry's alarm at the statement.

"Because of the Fling?" his mum said.

Snape nodded; "Word of it has made it's way to him. We suspected that it might."

"What about this, though?" his mum held up the scroll – his sister's Birth Certificate – shaking her head; "It doesn't prove anything. The father's name is listed blank."

"Yes. Malachi's, however, is not," Snape's hand went to the breast of robe, as if Malachi's Birth Certificate, too, was held within it; "Regulus refused to allow his son to be listed as illegitimate - despite intense familial pressures as it led to the breaking of the agreement of his betrothment to the young Vivienne Greengrass at that time – and it stands to reason, that he would make the same objections in the case of his daughter, if that is what she were."

"Circumstances are different, though, surely –"

"Yes. But it is enough to cast doubt and buy us time. Something particularly precious to us, right now."

"Why has he turned his attentions towards Grace, all of a sudden? Why now, when Dumbledore is so certain of his preparations for war?"

"It seems Harry's grief has ebbed enough, that glimpses of what is plaguing him are beginning to show through."

His mum looked stricken.

Harry was certain that he did, too.

"Then…he can see it? The truth?"

"From what I gather from my interactions with each of them, it is only access to thoughts and events that are taking place in the moment of their mind's penetration, that either are privy to. So long as Harry does not see or speak of anything incriminatory, the situation can be kept under control. For the time being, at least, until –"

Snape went on talking – revealing very, very incriminating information, indeed – and Harry desperately tried to blank it out; squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hands to his ears, in an almost childish fashion to keep from knowing anything further. To not see or hear anything more of what Snape was revealing.

Voldemort could finally see inside his head, at will? Could he be looking now? Could he be seeing all this? Hearing it all?

Had Harry just shown him everything; all of his family's secrets?

Harry had to get out of here now.

Maybe his panic would alert him; maybe, if he hadn't already been watching or trying to get in, he would sense it and would try to, now. He suddenly realised why Snape and his mum had been so walking on eggshells in each interaction since, as if provoking too strong a response might do just that. But then, Snape had mentioned grief during their last lesson; that it was grief that had kept Voldemort out before. Harry summoned it, as much as he could, trying to put it to use, but it wasn't enough, not really.

He didn't feel grief. Not quite like he did, before, anyway.

Not now.

If anything, this whole exchange, along with the letters, and his and Malachi's secret protection and his time at the Black cottage – all of it had taken place over just a few days – it only made Harry finally see just how absolutely terrible it was that he knew any of this at all.

Snape and his mum were still talking.

Harry tried not to look at them, or hear them or make any sound of his own, as he got to his feet and, carefully, made his way from the room.

It was almost midnight.

The Gala was in full swing when Harry, finally, made his way back through the doors into the Ballroom.

Harry was in no mood to party.

To forget or pretend that any of this wasn't happening.

That his baby sister wasn't in mortal danger; not just because she was his sister but because he had, stupidly, taken her to the Foundation months before and made people think that Mr Black was her father, and because he wouldn't take his Occlumency lessons seriously when Snape first started teaching it to him – refusing to believe that he would ever need it – and because he was so focused on hating and being betrayed by Snape and his mum – not that he wasn't still furious about that – that he couldn't get it together and see and realise that he needed to. For Grace, if no one else. And do something to keep that monster out of his head, once and for all.

Harry had noticed he was being tailed, when he had finally taken off and stashed away the cloak, as he made his way back towards the room – by the same, scrawny Security Personnel guard that had been assigned to him – and noticed him nod in the direction of a few others that were scattered about the corridors.

His absence had been noted then.

Harry drew in a breath, eyes scanning the room and trying to calm himself.

Mr Black and Malachi were up ahead, at the bar, laughing and fooling around; Malachi caught in a headlock by his dad and trying to fight his way out, without much luck.

Mr Black released him when he noticed Harry approach and he raised an eyebrow; "Harry. Decided to join us, then?"

It wasn't a normal occurrence, really, for Mr Black to sound cross with him. But, then, it was a drop in the ocean compared to how Harry felt about himself, in that moment.

"I'm sorry, Mr Black," Harry said, quietly.

Mr Black looked at him carefully, before he placed a hand on his shoulder with a look of concern; "Everything alright?"

Harry met Malachi's eyes for a second, before he shook his head; "Not really."

Mr Black frowned.

Harry glanced away. It was Christmas the next day. But, still, Snape was right; time was precious. And with Harry's grief ebbing, undoubtedly, with all that he was finally learning; there wasn't any of it to waste.

"Mr Black; is it alright if I head back to Hogwarts tonight?"