Chapter Forty-Seven

Harry had surprised him.

And Severus was not often surprised.

His coming to him the day before – at a point when Severus was certain he was going to have to drag the boy kicking and screaming down to the dungeon for these lessons – had managed to strike one of the burdens off of his ever-increasing task list.

And, with the situation with Harry somewhat subdued – only a little too late to have avoided repercussions – Severus had begun to attempt to make further progress with the other, incredibly pressing matter of how to direct the Dark Lord's attentions away from Grace.

Lupin's cooperation would be necessary for that – the joy – but hell would sooner freeze over than the man would hear anything Severus had to say on the matter, which meant it would have to be Lily. Which, of course, meant that Severus would have to go into some detail as to the gravity of the situation at hand – breaking a previously established rule that he could not involve her in the goings on behind the scenes of the war and, also, risking a less-than-subtle reaction from her to the situation, to boot.

But that was something to be dealt with later that week, when he would have the excuse to catch Lily during the Phoenix Centre's Christmas Fete that he was certain Grace would be attending.

For now, there was Harry.

"I don't get it," Harry burst out, in frustration, when he failed, once again, to keep Severus from penetrating the barriers the boy had attempted to hold up against his legilliemency attack; "It's as if we've only just started, every single time. I'm never going to be able to do this."

"Patience, Potter."

"Patience? We've been doing this for months."

"Your problem is that you are trying too hard –"

"That's a new one."

"- don't I know it – and, in doing so, you are not allowing the natural defences that come with clearing your mind of emotion. Your mind is filled with emotion, right now, which is why I suggest we use that to our advantage and –"

"No," Harry shook his head; "No. It won't work. I know you think I'm this overemotional idiot who's 'at the mercy of every emotion under the sun' –" he repeated the statement from months ago, impressing Severus with his recollection; "- but I can't feel that stuff at will, Sir. I've tried! It won't keep him out. What if I don't feel it strong enough? What if it just gives me away? I want to do it the way that you do it. The right way."

Severus' lips twitched; "Alright. In which case, the key to your success is obvious."

"Which is?"

"Calm down."

Harry sighed, shoulders dropping and shaking his head, looking defeated; "I can't. How can I calm down knowing what the hell is going to happen –"

"Potter –"

"He's going to come after me, after my family, after my sister. And all he has to do is look in my head and see how to get to us. I can't even talk to them, to anyone, without wondering if he's watching me."

Severus nodded, slowly, considering the words.

"If it is of any comfort, the Dark Lord is tied up with more pressing matters at the present time and does not have the luxury of spending every moment checking in on what you are doing."

"What? Pressing matters like getting ready for war?" Harry said, with a look of scepticism; "Yeah, that's a real comfort."

Severus released a breath, averting his eyes. There was no pleasing this child.

"This is hopeless," Harry went on, in the self-deprecating manner he had appeared at his door with earlier that morning. His determination from the night before quickly snuffed out by Severus' easy attempts at getting into his mind the night before; "This is why you didn't want me to know the truth, right?"

Severus looked at him sharply, warningly. Because, for all of Severus' attempt at reassurance that the Dark Lord was not, in fact, spending his days basking in a fourteen-year-old boy's head, he was not willing to risk that it be the moment that they are discussing Grace that he pops back in again.

Harry, however, went on with more discretion than he had done so, in the past; "Because you thought I was too stupid to actually learn this?"

Severus crossed his arms across his chest; "You have spent the better part of the last week with Regulus Black, have you not?"

"Yes," Harry said, frowning at the – seeming – change of subject.

"And is 'stupid' a word you would use to describe him?"

Harry looked taken aback; "No. Not at all."

Severus raised an eyebrow; "He can't do it."

"Do what?"

"Occlumency. Not at the levels at which you are seeking, in any case."

Harry looked uncertain at the revelation.

"I thought it was something that people could just learn?"

"Not entirely. The character of the person attempting to perform it comes into play, in a similar manner to which it does when attempting to cast the Patronus Charm – though, obviously, in a far more prominent way – and there are some who simply cannot shut down the necessary parts of themselves needed to successfully disconnect from that which they wish to conceal."

"Oh."

"A difficulty with which, I dare say, you, also, are going to struggle with throughout these lessons."

"Is that why's he's hunted now?" Harry asked, curiously; "Because…You-Know-Who looked inside his head and saw that he was lying to him?"

Severus stared back at him for a moment, surprised once again by the boy in front of him. He had always just assumed Harry knew of the events that had led to Regulus' defection.

He cleared his throat, when Harry's look turned from mildly curious to expectant; "No. As it happens, Mr Black was indisposed during the initial interrogations following the Dark Lord's second return – incapacitated, you might remember, by an attempt on his life by Eugene Hopkins."

"But he found out. And, now, Mr Black lives free from him."

"Ah. I rather think you're idealising his circumstances a bit but, yes, other than the threat of impending torture and execution, Mr Black does live a life of his own choosing out with the Dark Lord's influence."

"He's happy, though. Him and his son," Harry went on, crossing his arms across his chest and looking at Severus, almost reproachfully; "They're together and Malachi knows how much he loves him, and they have a life and memories. Together."

Severus drew in a breath, aware of where the conversation was going.

"Just seems to me like, why would someone choose something differently than that? Why wouldn't they want to put their family – their kid – first. And be with them."

"Perhaps it is not a choice, Mr Potter."

"Why wouldn't it be?" Harry shook his head, before dropping the roundabout manner in which he was speaking; "Why do you spy for them? Why don't you just walk away? Even a few years of having a life with people is better than years and years of a miserable one without."

"Because it is not an option in the case to which you are referring."

"Mr Black did it."

Severus released a breath, shaking his head at the boy's naivety; "Mr Black went to trial. He was acquitted. He is beholden to no one; his life is his own."

"And yours isn't?"

"The very reason I am standing here, now, Mr Potter, is because I have something to offer to those whom would quite happily see me locked up in a cell in Azkaban."

"So, what, you're too scared to go to trial in case you end up in Azkaban?"

"There is no 'in case' about it."

"Mr Black got off with it."

"One of the richest and most well connected nineteen-year-old boys in the country – what a surprise."

"That's why you're a spy then?"

Severus eyed him, irritated beyond measure by the self-righteousness the boy was displaying. There was no way on this Earth that he was going to reveal his own motivations for doing so, in light of that.

Even without revealing so, it did not take a man of infinite intelligence to realise that to walk away and have the happy life that Harry was demanding of him would not be a case of him defecting from the Dark Lord – that ship had long since sailed – but from the bloody Order; and there's no way the Ministry or Dumbledore would stand for that.

From him to whisk his own family off into the sunset and leave the rest of them to ruin, when he had it within his capabilities to fight the Dark Lord from the inside.

Madness.

"Would I recommend myself to you more, Mr Potter, if I were to make a grand declaration of devotion to my loved ones and find myself languishing in a prison cell; leaving the rest of you to fight, blindly, when the Dark Lord should come in retaliation?"

Harry only looked back at him, saying nothing.

But the boy's expression said enough, the dawning understanding that quickly came over him, in light of the statement. The fact that he, and Harry and Lily and Grace – the four of them, together, in the way that Harry was demanding was the right thing to do, and to have – was a thing of utter fantasy.

Neither side would allow it, so long as Severus served two Masters, and to not serve either of them – or both of them, as the case may be – was not an option. And why would he throw it all away, his position in the war, for something that could never be had; when to do so would only leave those whom he loved even more vulnerable than they already were?

Their circumstances, as they were now, were, quite literally, as good as things could possibly be for them until this war was done.

Severus nodded, as Harry met his eyes; "I understand what it is that you are saying, Mr Potter. Do you understand what it is that I am telling you in turn?"

Harry drew in a breath, not looking away, before he nodded, ever so slightly.

The silence that had descended upon the room was suddenly interrupted by the sound of a voice.

A voice that Severus knew well and that he missed – so very much – that rung out from the inside of Harry's robes.

"Harry Potter," Grace's voice said, out of nowhere, once more. And then again. And again, her volume level increasing; "Harry Potter."

"Sorry," Harry said as he reached into his robes, tugging out a small mirror, and casting Snape a look; "I gave Grace one of these mirrors for Christmas; she's been on at me with them all week." He turned his attention to the object, as if to activate it.

"Do not answer that in here, Potter."

Snape turned away, the weight of both the conversation and the sound of Grace's continuing insistent voice filling the air seeming to have drained all the energy from him; "So concludes our lesson for the day."

"Okay, fine," Harry said, quickly, grabbing his bag from the floor and hurrying from the room. Before the door was completely shut behind him, Severus could hear the boy's greeting.

"Hey, Grace."

Crouch struck first.

Aurors raided the homes of two known Death Eaters a few days after Christmas - finding nothing, of course, but their wives and children at home celebrating the holidays – and it was only a matter of time, now, before retaliation was made by the other side.

There was a rather crude irony to it.

That in order for him to live an – almost – normal life, away from the omnipresent threat that he was hunted, Regulus was forced out into the muggle world.

Out into the muggle world with his son where, indeed, some of the best memories of his life thus far would be found.

Just he and his boy, where magic - and all the ties that came with it - didn't touch them.

Of course, the muggle world was by no means untouched by magic and Regulus was not fool enough to believe that he and his son were entirely safe out here – the ever-present security personnel that followed were proof of that – but, still, it was a far more preferable choice for excursions such as these.

Not that Regulus would ever, in a million years, have selected this particular activity as a way to spend an afternoon.

He made his way down the walkway, shrugging out of his coat in the heavily heated room, and eyed the various stationary, lined up automobiles that he passed, with a disinterest bourn of the fact that he knew nothing about these things and, really, had never had any wish to.

Malachi, however, was another matter; darting up and down the walkways, peering in the windows, sitting in the worn leather seats, delightedly turning the wheel before him and pointing out to his father that he was controlling the wheels and wasn't it awesome, how muggles had built these things from nothing to replace what they could do by magic?

Regulus wasn't sure, exactly, how Malachi's dissatisfaction with the Statue of Secrecy had somehow been turned around into this, rather odd, muggle obsession; nor was he entirely sure why, exactly, it made him just as uncomfortable – as it was surely the preferable alternative – but he went along with it, anyway, letting Malachi pick the events of the week now that it was just the two of them.

Well.

Except for one, maybe.

"Check out this, Dad," Malachi beamed up at him, as he approached.

He was sitting on a motorbike.

That was a bit more familiar to Regulus.

"Very nice."

"Wizards have things like this too, you know," Malachi pointed out and Regulus nodded, crossing his arms with a smile as Malachi elaborated; "Magically enchanted ones."

"So, they do. Your Uncle Sirius had one."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Where is it now?"

Regulus gave a shrug; "I imagine he sold it."

"Can I get one?"

Regulus snorted; "Fat chance of that."

Malachi grinned, rolling his eyes, before turning his attention to the bike and fiddling around with the handles and buttons.

"Listen," Regulus said, tossing his coat up over his shoulder. He leaned a hand upon the surface of the bike in front of him, in order to encourage Malachi to look at him as he brought up the topic; "I wondered if you'd mind us having Julia over for dinner sometime this week? Before you go back to school."

Malachi's expression was uncertain; "Oh?"

"I'd like the two of you – well, the three of us – to spend a bit of time together. Get to know one another a bit better."

Malachi leaned back on the seat of the bike, shaking his head; "It's fine, Dad. I like Julia. We don't need to make it all weird or anything."

"Having dinner would make it weird?"

"A bit."

"Well, do you think you could endure the weirdness for a couple of hours? The only way to stop it from being so is by doing it enough that it becomes normal."

Malachi looked at him for a second, before he shrugged; "Sure. Okay."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Malachi leaned forward, taking hold of the handlebars again; "It'll be like…stepmother auditions."

Regulus glanced at him, catching the wicked little grin on his son's face; "And you better be on your best behaviour, Son. I don't want any of your nonsense about it."

Malachi's grin widened.

But then his son's eye caught something, and he frowned, reaching up a hand from where it rested and going to Regulus' arm, where the sleeve of his shirt had rolled up a bit; "Hey, you've got something on your –"

Regulus snatched his hand from the bike.

Malachi looked curious, getting another grin; "What's that?" he tried to catch a glimpse, as Regulus pulled down the sleeve; "A tattoo? I didn't know you were such a rebel, Dad."

Regulus tried to smile but it came up short. He'd have known that, even if Malachi's amusement hadn't quickly given way to a look of concern, as he caught his dad's uneasiness.

"What is it?"

"Oh." Regulus waved a hand; "It's nothing, Son. Just, uh…something stupid that I regret. Surprise, surprise."

Malachi looked at him, eyes going between his face and his arm, before he answered him; "Oh. It's about him, then?"

Regulus put a hand on Malachi's shoulder, giving him a smile and saying nothing, but his son wasn't to be deterred. Malachi shook his head, his voice softer as he looked up at him; "You don't have to hide who you are from me, Dad."

For a second, all Regulus could do was stare back at him – at the boy that, sometimes, he couldn't quite believe was actually his – before he drew in a breath, averting his eyes. And then he reached back for the sleeve of the muggle shirt he wore, tugging it back up and letting him see it.

The Dark Mark.

Malachi simply stared at it, saying nothing.

"I like to think that this is not who I am, anymore," Regulus remarked, eyes glancing around the room, at neither the ugly branding upon himself nor the innocent look in his boy's eyes.

"What does it mean?"

"It's his Mark. His followers – all the Death Eaters – they take it, when they swear their devotion to him. It's…rather an exclusive 'honour', shall we say, to be granted the privilege."

Malachi got a little smile, meeting his eyes at the sarcasm.

"So, that's it then? He brands you? Why?"

"It's rooted in Dark Magic; it links us to him and to one another. He can sense us through it; he can summon us; we can summon one another - even him, though we daren't do so unless we have something of great worth to offset the displeasure he feels at being so."

"So, he can sense you? Right now?"

"That I'm alive, yes. Not where I am."

Malachi's eyes were on the Mark, an expected uneasiness in his expression as he considered the information imparted to him.

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Is there really going to be another war?"

Regulus waited until his son raised his eyes to his, before he nodded, slowly; "Yes."

"Are you gonna fight?"

"From the shadows, yes," Regulus confirmed; "On the field, though, me being there would only prove to be –"

"Good," Malachi interrupted him before he could finish; "'cause, I don't want you to be on the field."

Regulus gave him a small smile, a sympathetic one, and placed a hand on his shoulder; "Malachi –"

"I don't think it's brave when people do stupid things and get themselves killed."

Regulus gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze; "Neither do I, Son."

Malachi's eyes were back on the Mark, and then his dad's eyes, and then the floor, before he drew in a breath, seeming to struggle with what it was he wanted to say; "Dad…"

Regulus tilted his head to the side, patiently waiting for him to go on.

"Dad, please don't…"

Malachi broke off, releasing a shuddering breath as he averted his eyes. It wasn't quickly enough for Regulus not to catch the glimmer there, though, and he stepped forward, knowing what it was Malachi wanted to say, and wrapped his arms around him, holding him tight.

It wasn't a normal occurrence, not at all, for it all to overwhelm his son in such a way.

"Excuse me, Sir? Hey! Sir?"

Regulus drew back – but not completely – and cast an irritated look over his shoulder at the man who had addressed him.

The man looked a little cowed by the look on his face, his tone somewhat sheepish; "Sorry, Sir. You can't let your kid sit on the exhibits –" he pointed, vaguely, in the direction of the entrance; "There's a sign."

Regulus gave a curt nod; "Noted. Thanks."

He turned back to Malachi, who had reddened and was swiping at his eyes, furiously, in order to hide the few tears that had managed to slip free.

"Come on," Regulus said, drawing Malachi from the bike but keeping his arm around him; "What do you say we head on into Manchester? Didn't you say you wanted to pick up a few books?"

Malachi met his look, giving him a small smile and a nod. Regulus grinned, drawing him back in and pressed a firm kiss to his forehead – receiving an 'eurgh!' and a shove, in response – and the two of them laughed, stumbling a little as they disentangled themselves and headed in the direction of the doors.

"Remus?"

"You seem surprised," Severus remarked, as he leant back against his desk in the Foundation; "It's hardly an out-of-the-blue request; it's something that has been assumed for years now, to which he has had little objection."

"I wouldn't put it quite like that," Lily said, glancing away for a second, before she went on; "In case you've forgotten I'm not exactly in a position to ask any favours of Remus right now."

"This is a little more than a 'favour'," Severus pointed out; "You don't think he'd be willing to put aside recent events for Grace's sake?"

"Oh. I'm quite sure he'd be more than happy to lord it over me," Lily stated, as Severus crossed his arms, and she could tell he was biting back a smirk at her tone; "You actually want me to go to him with this?"

"I rather think it's our only option. And as much as I should not wish to invite him back into our lives after finally getting him out of it –"

Lily shot him a look.

"- it is what is necessary, under the current circumstances."

Severus allowed his amusement to show, then; "Though I must admit it seems as if you have more of a problem with it, than I, at the present moment."

"You didn't hear the things he said to me, Severus."

"No. Though I did hear a rather colourful tale to the effect."

"He accused me of not caring about my own son; that I, personally, brought all of this down on us – as if I had any idea that this is how things would have ended up –"

"Lily," Severus interrupted her, no longer seeming amused; "If Harry is capable of putting this all aside, then so are we. Things are escalating, quickly, and it is only a matter of time before they unravel, completely, if we do not get this situation under control. We cannot have the Dark Lord continue to believe that Regulus fathered our daughter and confirmation that it is, in fact, Lupin, with all of the evidence already pointing so much in his direction, is the quickest way to nip all of this in the bud, lest people dig deeper and find out any more of what went on in the months preceding her conception."

Lily frowned; "What aren't you telling me?"

"Only that you and I have not always been quite so careful to conceal our feelings for one another and that is not something that has been overlooked."

"Someone else knows."

"Yes."

"Who?"

Severus regarded her, hesitantly.

"Severus, who?"

He cleared his throat; "Lucius Malfoy."

"What?"

"And most likely his wife, considering it was she who related the whispers to him that were going on that year. Hence the need for discretion when it comes to these meetings; there are eyes in the Foundation – everywhere, in fact, these days – and the less we are seen together, the better. Not at all, in fact, lest it stir any reminders to the staff of those rumours."

"Wait, Severus. Are you serious? Lucius Malfoy knows about us. How aren't you freaking out about this? Do you actually trust him?"

"Whether or not I trust him is irrelevant; he'd use it against me, regardless, but only if it serves some purpose to himself. He would not throw valuable information like that away with nothing to gain, nor would he do so unless his hand were forced."

"Which you don't think is going to happen?"

"It might. But for now, there are more imminent threats. The fact that Narcissa's role in the Foundation was so negligible and yet she still managed to hear and remember all that was said about us back then - enough so that Lucius was so able to make that link despite spending these past five years in Azkaban – is evident of how precarious this circumstance is."

Lily nodded, reaching up to brush her hair back from her face and trying to get a handle on her panic – that Severus was obviously expecting, hence his reluctance to relay this to her – and said; "I'll talk to Remus."

If Severus were glad of his success in talking her round, he certainly didn't show it.

Lily glanced at the timepiece on the mantle; "I'd better go and pick up Grace, the Fete will be closing up about now."

Severus gave a nod and glanced towards the window in the direction of the Tonks Facility, eyes narrowing ever so slightly, enough that it gave away his longing to see her. Lily stepped in closer, drawing his attention back to her when her hands went to the side of his neck. He gave her a small, rare smile that she returned, before pressing a soft kiss to his lips and drawing him to her, offering the comfort he'd never actually ask for in her embrace.

It wasn't long – though Severus would say it was more than they ought to grant themselves – before she drew back, pressing another kiss to his cheek, this time, and headed from his office. She was careful, as always, not to be spotted and made her way across the grounds to where the Christmas Fete was going on for the school children.

There was laughter in the air and Lily had to dodge the playful antics of children running through the corridors and from the room where she knew Grace's year were being held within. It took a moment, for Lily to locate her, up at the far side of the hall.

Her daughter wasn't alone.

Even from this distance, Lily could clearly make out the woman who was kneeling in front of her – Narcissa Malfoy – a hand on her daughter's arm as she gave her a smile, saying something that Lily could neither hear nor make out, from this distance, before the blonde-haired woman's eyes lifted, apparently noticing her, and she rose from her crouched position.

Lily hurried towards them.

But the Assembly Hall was so large, and Grace so far at the other side of it, that by the time Lily reached her Narcissa had long since swept from the room.

"Sweetheart," Lily quickly knelt in front of Grace – startling her, with her sudden presence – and took her hands; "Are you alright?"

Grace frowned, looking baffled at the question; "Uh huh."

"That lady, the one you were talking to just now –"

"Mrs Malfoy."

"Yes. Do you know her?"

Grace shrugged; "A little bit. She works here, too."

"What was she saying to you just now?"

"She asked me about Christmas and about Harry and if I got presents this year from Father Christmas. I told her about my unicorn that Uncle Remus gave me. She went away really quickly."

"I noticed," Lily glanced in the direction she'd gone, pushing down a sickening churn in her stomach that she couldn't quite shake; "What did she ask you about Harry?"

"She asked if he's nice to me and a good brother. I said yes. Has a little boy, too, and he goes to school with Harry! Draco. That's a funny name, isn't it, Mummy?"

Lily reached up, tucking Grace's hair behind her ear; "Grace, I don't want you talking to Mrs Malfoy, okay? Never again."

"Why not?"

"I just don't like you talking to people that we don't know very well. You remember what I told you about strangers?"

"But everybody's a stranger if you don't talk to them. That's how you make friends."

"That lady is not our friend."

Grace looked back at her, entirely innocently and completely unaware of any danger whatsoever, and then she smiled and nodded; "Okay."

Lily got to her feet, reaching for her hand; "Come on, then, let's head on home."

"Are we coming back for the party tomorrow night?"

"Yes, we are."

Grace smiled, widely, at the confirmation, and Lily forced one of her own in return, as they headed over to gather her things for leaving.

Harry supposed he should have thought it was odd that it had been almost twenty-four hours since Grace had tried to get him through the mirrors.

But then, it had been almost a week now since she'd received hers from him – what with it being New Years Eve – and, as was always the case, it never really took that long for his sister to lose interest in things as she became better acquainted with them; once the magic had worn off. She was always on the lookout for something bigger, better, something more magical to learn about.

And, so, Harry had only acknowledged the fact vaguely – and with no little level of relief, at that – when she didn't attempt to speak to him throughout the whole of New Years Eve.

Harry was tied up with Snape, anyway, for most of the morning. Trying – and failing – to get some stable occlumency barriers on his side but he was beginning to think that, maybe, Snape was right and the other way he'd suggested – an enhancement of his emotional responses – might be the better option. Particularly now that he'd learned it wasn't a given that he would ever be able to do it the way that Snape did.

And, then, following that training, Harry had gone on down to the library and hung about there. He was bored, obviously, and the Castle seemed larger and quiet and lonely without Malachi, or even Ron and Hermione, there to fill the empty days.

Someone else was there, though – Malfoy – and Harry had been getting the distinct impression that the Slytherin had been following him that week.

Harry had simply ignored him, though – he'd never cared for Malachi's cousin and he talked to Ron as if he were dirt – and just carried on talking to Grace in the mirror whenever he noticed him about.

It was grating, now, though; six days of seeming surveillance and Harry was pretty sure that Malfoy's presence had something to do with either the war or Snape. Like, maybe the great 'honour' Snape had bestowed upon him had been for Malfoy to keep an eye on Harry whenever Snape wasn't able to or something.

So, he took to locking himself up in the Gryffindor Tower, that night.

He'd quite happily spend the New Years Celebrations in his dorm room, rather than in the Great Hall where the few occupants of the Castle had been invited down to socialise until midnight.

That's where Harry was.

In his dorm room, lying back on his bed, the time just about reaching eleven pm. His mind filled with thoughts of occlumency and Snape and Malfoy and the war.

He was thinking about all that Snape had said – how impossible his circumstances were, so much so that Harry actually felt bad for him, now, that he really couldn't be with his sister and how hard that must be – when his mind went blank for a second.

Harry frowned, shaking his head, clearing it of the odd almost-buzzing he felt within it.

For the life of him he couldn't remember what it was he was thinking about.

Snape?

Yes.

Snape.

Or Malfoy, even. He'd never really had much to do with Malfoy; the leader of the 'Prissies', as he and Ron liked to call his group of Slytherins. Though Harry had actively tried not to think of them in that manner, now that Malachi had seemed to have joined that crowd.

Still. He knew that he had known Snape as a child, at least, and most of the Slytherins worshipped the ground that he walked on; it would make sense that, in lieu of himself, Snape would ask one of his students to keep an eye on him.

It didn't explain why Malfoy had returned to Hogwarts so abruptly right in the middle of the holidays though.

Harry's focus drifted in and out, and he squeezed his eyes shut. When he opened them again the brightest of the room was almost blinding.

What had he been thinking about?

Malfoy?

Snape.

Voldemort.

Harry was suddenly walking down the corridor of what he recognised was the Foundation, in long, purposeful strides that was not in any way how he would walk.

There were doors on either side of him as he made his way towards the doubles up at the end of the corridor. The Lab. Harry knew it from the few times that he visited his mother where she worked.

He burst through the doors, with purpose, and his gaze centred on the small form in the middle of the room.

It was Grace.

She was sitting there, upon a chair, frozen still and she was staring back at him – right at him – with a look of utter terror in her eyes and when he spoke, his voice was that high, chilling familiar voice that haunted Harry's nightmares.

"No need to be afraid, child. Surely someone will come for you soon."

Harry was circling her as the voice spoke.

Grace was trembling where she sat.

Her breaths coming out as little shudders, as the voice went on.

"That elusive father of yours, who has evaded me so all these years, will certainly come to his daughter's aide, would he not?" Harry was in front of her once more, Grace lifting her chin to meet his eyes; "Or, perhaps, even a sibling who could surely not stand by and allow his dear little sister to suffer the same fate as that of his beloved uncle?"

Grace's voice was a quiet whimper; belying terror and hopelessness and desperation. A tone that should never be heard from her.

"Harry."

There was a moment of stillness, where his sister's pleading, frightened eyes stared straight back into his.

And, then, the high voice uttered from his lips; "Crucio!"

And his baby sister was screaming and writhing on the floor.

And Harry was screaming and writhing on the floor.

His scar was on fire and he was yelling and Voldemort - Voldemort – had his little sister.