Chapter Fifty

Severus paced the floor of Dumbledore's office, trying in vain to get it together.

It would do no one any good for him to lose grip, now, and fall apart.

He had waited at the Foundation – what was left of it – along with Dumbledore and Harry, as the wounded were rolled out by the first responders; had watched, heart in his throat and his chest constricting, as Regulus was brought by and, then, not long after, Lily.

Neither had looked good.

No.

That was putting it mildly.

They looked as good as dead and if it hadn't been for Harry's immediate, utterly distraught response at the sight of his mother's beaten and broken body being carefully removed from the rubble, he was sure everything of what he felt in that moment – not at all unlike the wails of her son – would have been entirely evident, written all over his face, and Dumbledore had implored him to come back to the Castle, to wait here, while he learned the details of their condition.

That had been almost five hours ago.

The door to the Headmaster's office swung open and Dumbledore walked, slowly, into the room, seeming to wear every one of his years on his face in that moment as he cast Severus a look – a look of alarming empathy – and passed by him to sit behind his desk.

"Well?" Severus didn't beat around the bush. He wasn't waiting. Screw propriety or politeness; he needed to know, now.

"At the moment, Regulus remains unconscious," the Headmaster began, indicating that Severus take the seat opposite and he did, right on the edge of it; "Though the Healers are confident that their treatment of his injuries were done in a timely enough manner, that they are no longer life threatening. They expect that he should regain consciousness within the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours."

Severus nodded, slowly, at the welcome news, but his eyes remained on Dumbledore's; asking about another for whom he had to know about.

Dumbledore's voice softened, as he went on; "The same cannot be said for Mrs Potter –"

Severus released a harsh breath, getting to his feet and turning away from him.

He pressed his palm to his mouth, his eyes squeezing shut, as Dumbledore went on and he tried, desperately, to listen, to take in what it was he was telling him.

"As yet, the Healers continue to treat the injuries sustained. But they are substantial enough, that her condition is expected to remain critical, once their efforts conclude."

"There must be something else," Severus said, eyes closed and his back still to him; "Something more that they can do."

"They are doing everything possible –"

Severus rounded on him with a snarl; "Evidently not!"

And when he did, oh hell, there was such tenderness and compassion, such bloody sympathy, in the old man's eyes that Severus wanted to draw out his wand and hex him, then and there, for daring to come to him with news such as this.

It couldn't be true.

It couldn't be.

Severus turned away, once more – he couldn't bear to look into Dumbledore's, into anyone's eyes any longer – and he tried, futilely, to get himself in check; to get a hold of his breathing that was coming out in rapid gasps, and his bloody hands that were shaking, as he braced himself with one of them against the beams in the middle of the office.

"Harry is taking it particularly hard, as you can imagine."

Severus closed his eyes.

"He refuses to leave her side, on the occasions that it is possible for him to be with her. At the moment, with the school year in session, his care remains under the responsibility of Hogwarts."

Severus tensed – further than he already was – turning only his head from where he stood to meet Dumbledore's eyes.

The Headmaster nodded, slowly – that same damn compassion in his eyes when he did – and told him; "Harry's younger sister, however, has been taken into the care of the Wizarding Authorities for the time being. As her brother is not of age, they refuse to grant the release of her to him. And to anyone else, not considered family."

Severus turned away, leaning his forehead against the back of the hand that was braced against the beams, eyes squeezed shut, as his stomach churned, and he felt utterly sick with it all and he released a sound, so soft, so quiet, that was not quite human, but it was reflective of everything that he couldn't quite hold back, and he was certain that the Headmaster heard it.

He could hear no more of this and keep himself together.

He would surely fall apart if Dumbledore said another word.

Severus drew back, straightening up, and he noticed his hands were shaking as he did, and he drew in another breath, making to speak, but it came out as silence, for what could he possibly say and what could he possibly do but break.

But he would not do that here, not with Dumbledore and his ever-increasing pitying eyes upon him, and he tried for a stride – but it was more of a stumble – down the stairs and he uttered an almost inaudible 'excuse me' – his voice a hoarse, broken whisper that revealed it all – as he walked, briskly, from the room.

He could hear voices.

They sounded far away, and he felt light, lighter than air, the world spinning, and when he squinted, it was all so bright, so bloody blinding, that he flinched but then they focused, slightly, and he could see the blurred forms of, who he recognised to be, Julia and Malachi, at the foot of the bed, their voices soft and he couldn't quite make sense of them.

Julia's was speaking to him, to his boy, gently; "Harry…wondered…something to eat?"

Malachi's voice was quiet, a grief-stricken whisper; "No."

"…maybe talk…he's just outside."

"No."

Regulus blinked.

They were gone.

Some time must have passed. The curtains were drawn, this time.

But the world was still so bright, so blinding, and his eyes flickered throughout the room, not moving his head or his body or anything but his eyes, and then he felt the mattress beside him dip and Julia was sitting down beside him, her gaze smilingly upon him; "Welcome back."

Regulus gave a weak smile.

"Can't get rid of me that easily," he said, his voice rough and his throat dry, and Julia 'accioed' a glass and a pitcher, pouring him a glass of water that she held to his lips.

He lapped it up – the water and the nursing – and when he was done, she put the items upon the bed stand at his side, lifting her wand and muttering something under her breath as she waved it over him.

"Malachi?"

Julia met his eyes, her serious expression becoming a small smile, and she turned to look to her left – and he followed her gaze – to where Malachi was curled up asleep on a chair nearby.

Regulus' heart swelled at the sight of him. Of the both of them; here, with him, in the same room.

Julia's expression had become serious again, as her wand was waved above him, doing various checks and rituals; "Is there pain?"

"Right through the heart, Miss Bradbury; Cupid's arrow got me good."

Julia shot him a look; "Any other shooting pains? Your chest, your ribs? There was a significant impact upon –"

"Merlin, you're sexy when you're in Healer mode," Regulus flashed her a wide grin.

Julia fought a smile, rubbing her fingertips against her forehead; "Regulus."

"Don't I even get a kiss to welcome me back to the land of the living?"

Julia smiled, then. She didn't kiss him, no, but her hand found his where it lay upon the bed, entwining their fingers amongst the folds of the sheets, and he squeezed, affectionately.

"How long have I been out?"

"Two days."

"How bad is it?"

"Do you remember anything that happened?"

He shook his head, no, not much of anything after he'd hastily related the details of the disastrous turn of events to Severus when he'd saved his skin from Bellatrix.

"You're going to be fine. When the building collapsed –"

"I meant out there," Regulus interrupted; "The casualties. Did anyone…who died?"

"Three Aurors, an Order member – Hestia Jones – " Regulus closed his eyes, nodding, knowing her; "No Death Eaters, though some were rounded up to Azkaban. The casualties, though, there were a lot of them. The vast majority of the people there that night ended up in here; some got away pretty soon. Others…"

Regulus lifted his chin, looking at her carefully, when he sensed the slight change in tone before her statement teetered off; "Julia?"

She drew in a breath, meeting his eyes; "Lily."

Regulus released a slow breath; "How bad is it?"

"It's bad, Regulus. Even now, her condition's critical. The Healers assigned to her finally managed to get her stabilised last night, but she hasn't regained consciousness since they brought her in. Some admitted that they don't expect that there'll be a change –" she broke off, voice wavering, and he took her hand, fully, squeezing it tight and, hell, what must Severus be thinking and going through, right now.

Regulus knew it well, that grief. That loss.

He shook himself, internally - it wasn't as if Lily was actually dead, he reminded himself – before he asked; "Will she…is there a chance that she'll pull through?"

Julia met his eyes. She didn't look as if it were hopeless, no, but she didn't look entirely convinced that Lily would make it, either.

Regulus closed his eyes. His heart going out to them. To Severus. To Harry and to Grace.

He raised her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it, before a quiet, groggy voice spoke from the chair.

"Dad?"

Regulus pushed down the heaviness that had arisen with his and Julia's conversation, and it was easy to smile when his eyes met that of his boy – particularly when they widened in relief and utter joy at the sight of him awake – and he raised an eyebrow; "Hey, Beansprout."

Julia stood, as Malachi hurried over; "Dad."

His voice was filled with emotion, wavering as he sat down on the bed and – ever so gently – wrapped his arms around him.

Regulus embraced him in turn, even if the movement and the weight of his son when he pulled him down further made him wince at the unexpected – though it shouldn't be unexpected after having a building fall down on him, he supposed – pain.

Malachi's voice was a whisper near Regulus' ear when he spoke; "I'm so glad you're still here."

Regulus pressed a kiss to the top of his head.

"Me too, Son."

The door to Mr Black's room in St Mungo's was open and he could see Malachi speaking animatedly with his dad - who looked awful lying beneath the covers on the bed, though he was putting on a good show of a smile and a laugh – but Harry still knocked.

Both of them turned his way.

Mr Black smiled.

Malachi didn't.

Malachi pushed off from where he was sitting on the bed, heading over to him where he stood at the door, as Mr Black spoke to him, his voice weak but jovial when he did; "Good morning, Harry."

"Hi, Mr Black," Harry smiled, both relieved and uneasy with guilt at the sight of him; "I…I'm glad to see you're awake."

"He just woke up this morning," Malachi stated, standoffishly, as he reached him; "The Healers don't want him getting over-excited; he needs to rest."

Mr Black shot Harry a cheeky grin, rolling his eyes at Malachi's fussing, and Harry tried to smile back but he didn't blame Malachi for it, considering how weak and beaten up the man appeared to be.

"We'll just be a minute, Dad," Malachi said, his tone softer when he spoke to him, and Mr Black responded with a 'take your time, Son', that was only just heard before Malachi pulled the door shut behind him.

Neither of them said anything for a second.

Malachi didn't quite meet his eyes.

"I'm sorry," Harry said.

Malachi crossed his arms across his chest, still not looking at him.

"I'm sorry!" Harry repeated himself, more desperately this time; "I didn't think…I didn't know…I wouldn't have…"

Malachi shook his head, finally meeting Harry's eyes, and he almost shrunk back at the look of betrayal in his friend's expression when he did. But, still, Malachi didn't say anything; offering him neither censure nor forgiveness.

"It was about Grace," Harry explained, hoping he was listening, at least; "I saw Grace, in my head, he made me see her. I thought she was in trouble, I thought she needed me! I had to do something. I had to –"

"I get it, Harry," Malachi interrupted him, sharply, looking at him, squarely now; "I do. But that was my dad."

"I…I know. I didn't mean for him to get hurt –"

"How could you think he wouldn't get hurt?" Malachi looked at him, incredulously; "I thought he was gonna die!"

Harry swallowed, looking back at him, his guilt swelling within him.

Malachi looked away for a second, drawing in a breath that wavered as he did. And then he looked back at Harry, and there was a distance that had never been there between them before when he did.

"Next time you wanna forge a two-man army against the people who want to skin him alive –" he shook his head; "- don't go to my dad. Go to one of your own parents. Go to your mum, or to Professor Lupin or to Severus. Go to one of them, just leave my dad alone."

Harry could only stare back at him, no words coming at all.

But he wouldn't have been able to say them, even if they had, for Malachi simply turned away – nothing left to say to him, either, now that he'd said that – and he pushed open the door to his dad's room and went back inside.

Closing the door behind him, this time, as he did.

Harry sat in the chair of his mum's room, staring at her almost-lifeless form where she lay on the bed.

She won't die.

She won't die.

He kept repeating it to himself, over and over – because it was utterly impossible that she could – and he swallowed the rising lump in his throat, as the minutes, the days ticked by, with no change, no indication that she was going to wake up. And he was growing tired of seeing the Healers – whom he had been so desperate and eager to see working on her, before – coming into the room, doing their checks upon her, hearing the soft tuts, seeing the sympathetic looks they cast his way when they thought he wasn't looking.

It didn't mean anything, he told himself.

His mum was going to be fine.

She had to be.

The door to the room clicked open and, then, shut.

Harry figured it was time for another look over.

But when he – reluctantly – lifted his eyes from his mum to the person who had entered, it wasn't a Healer who was standing there, no.

It was Snape.

Harry looked at him where he stood.

It shouldn't be a surprise to see him there. Obviously, the man would come.

But, then, maybe not. Because Harry was surprised. And it was surely a risk, wasn't it, for him to be there; but, then, Harry couldn't muster up the energy or the will to care if it was and if he felt like that, then surely Snape must feel the same way, too.

For a minute, Snape didn't even acknowledge him. He simply stood there, staring at his mum, with an expression entirely unreadable. Even now, when his mum – the woman he loved – was lying there, like that, Snape didn't let Harry see it; whatever it was that was going on inside.

It didn't take much to guess, Harry supposed.

And then Snape drew in a breath, taking a step towards the bed, but rather than going to her – as Harry expected – the man took a seat upon the bottom of it, facing Harry instead.

Looking into the man's eyes, then, at the guarded concern that he offered him, it was impossible for Harry not to feel it. For him not to feel everything.

"Guess you were right about that whole grief thing, huh?"

Snape's chin lifted ever so slightly at the attempt at snark.

Harry lowered his eyes, not feeling the sass at all above everything else – or anything else – that was almost crippling him, right now; "Most things."

Snape still said nothing. Stoic as ever. Just sitting there, as if inviting Harry to talk – finally – but Harry didn't know what to say. There was nothing to say, nothing to defend or excuse it, what had happened that night.

"This is my fault."

"No," the man finally said; "It's not."

Harry didn't understand why Snape wasn't angry with him. He'd been furious at him for far less.

"You told me this would happen," Harry went on, as if begging for a lecture, for a bawling – for something to be normal, and familiar, from the way that things were before; "You told me he'd use it, that he'd try to manipulate me with it. And then he did, and I did exactly what he wanted. I totally fell for it!"

"Of course, you fell for it, Potter. He preyed upon your darkest fears, the person you cared for most. That is what he does. He finds our weaknesses, he exploits them."

"You told me that, too. That he'd use the people we loved."

"And so, he will. There is nothing too far above or beneath him; there is nothing that he would not do."

"Mr Black almost died!" Harry burst out, the excuses that Snape was offering up on his behalf only increasing his guilt tenfold – he didn't need understanding, he needed a damn walloping for this! – and he shook his head, pushing on, trying to provoke it. He knew how much he cared about Mr Black, too; "I took him into a bloody death trap and then the Order had to come and save us and then they started dying, too! Uncle Remus, he only just made it. And, Mum…How can we even win against someone like that?"

"We will."

Snape didn't break. He was as silent and still as ever. And, looking at him, now, Harry finally saw it for what it was – a strength that he couldn't even begin to imagine having, himself – as the man sat there, inches from the – oh, hell, maybe dying – woman that he loved, that he had remained true to through all of this crap, trying to offer comfort to her son, while asking for none of it back for himself.

Harry lowered his eyes, so he didn't have to look into the understanding that was in those black ones staring back at him.

Even if Harry could accept it, could let him offer it, he wasn't the one who Harry needed forgiveness from, here.

His voice was a murmur, filled with all of the regret and vulnerability he daren't let show to the man ever since he'd found out all of this; who he really was to them.

"I was so awful to her," Harry bit down on his lip, when his voice wavered, willing for even a smidgen of the strength that Snape had in that moment; "What…what if those are the last things I ever get to say to her? What if she's gone –"

"She's not gone."

"What if we lose her –"

"That will not happen."

"Look at her!" Harry snapped, lifting his head finally to look at him.

Snape didn't. He kept his eyes firmly on Harry's when he answered him. Voice full of determination, of belief in the truth of it when he repeated;

"It will not happen."

Harry swallowed, looking back at him, and wishing, with everything within him, that it were true; that sheer will and wishing could make it so.

"The Wizarding Authorities took Grace."

Snape was the one who looked away that time. Grace was not only Harry's greatest weakness.

Harry shook his head, a lump rising in his throat and his eyes filling as he thought on it; how afraid his baby sister must be, right now. Knowing nothing. Knowing no one. Just waiting and hoping that someone she knew and loved would come for her.

"I went there because I thought Grace needed me and, now, they've taken her away. They won't let her come home. They were talking about placing her somewhere, somewhere that you know she won't be safe – not while he's out there – and then they were saying something about mum having a sister –" Snape looked at him, sharply; "- and how she was the only family she had left and we've never even met her. We're her family. They can't take her away from us. They can't make her live with strangers."

Snape shook his head, slowly.

"No. They can't."

Harry stared back at him, at the unspoken promise there. That Snape would handle this. That he would do something.

And, then, Snape got to his feet. But he didn't move for a second, didn't make to leave the room. And then he turned, taking a few steps further up the side of the bed, his eyes going to his mum's face.

He didn't look quite so strong now.

He looked almost…broken, as he looked down at her. He lifted a hand, as if reaching out, to touch her, but it curled before it got far. A loose fist that shook, ever so slightly, where it was suspended in the air. And then Snape turned away, as if he could look at her no longer.

But, as he passed, the hand that he had been unable to reach out to her with, touched Harry upon the shoulder. A brief but firm grasp - even if Snape didn't stop in his steps - as if he could find or offer comfort to him, instead, before he strode from the room.

A knock at the door had Remus lifting his head from the book that he was reading, where he was lying in his hospital bed in St Mungo's.

"Yes?"

The door opened.

Of all the people who might come to his bedside – he'd had several most welcome visits from Nymphadora Tonks each of the four days that he had been in here – Severus Snape was not one Remus would have bet even a knut upon.

Remus lowered his book.

Snape didn't wait for an invitation to come in – he just did – pushing the door shut behind him as he walked up the few steps and took a seat in the chair next to his bedside.

"Is it Lily?" Remus asked, with rising concern – for there was surely only one reason why Snape, of all people, should be here – and shook his head; "She's not –"

"There has been no change."

Snape's voice was clipped and to the point, offering nothing at all as to indicate the reason for this surprise visit.

The two of them just sat there, in silence, the awkwardness of which increasing enormously as the seconds ticked on – even if he had only been there for less than a minute – and Remus finally drew in a breath.

"Is there something I can do for you, Severus?"

Snape met his eyes.

It was perfectly obvious that Snape would rather be anywhere but here right now; that he would rather eat his own boot than say to him whatever it was he had come here to say.

"The Wizarding Authorities are holding Grace in custody."

"So, I've heard," Remus stated, guardedly; "Harry told me as much. Seems rather an extreme measure, no? Most fathers would have made it a priority to go and get their daughters, even in the wake of disasters such as these."

Snape glowered at him; "I am not registered as her father. I can't."

Remus lifted his chin, realisation coming over and suitably cowing him – diminishing his previous, less-than-flattering assumptions about the matter – as he said; "Oh."

Snape didn't look triumphant or gleeful at all by Remus' defeat. Rather, it was defeat of his own he was offering up in his expression, when he finally got to it.

"As her Godfather, they would release her to you."

Remus nodded, slowly; "Of course. I'll bring her to you."

Snape shook his head, averting his eyes.

"Or is that not the plan?"

Snape met Remus' eyes.

There was a vulnerability there that Remus hadn't expected.

"You have seen what the Dark Lord is willing to do. There is no low to which he would not stoop."

Remus crossed his arms, leaning back against the pillows.

"He has been interested in Grace for some time. He has – for the time being, particularly considering recent events – settled on the belief that she is the daughter of Regulus. An assumption that cannot go on."

Remus only looked back at him, as the realisation – the shocking, startling realisation of what, exactly, it was Snape was asking of him here – became clear.

"I have to bring her to the Castle. It is the only place that she will be safe. The Services are speaking as if they mean to send her to Lily's sister; a gross misjudgment, for reasons even beyond the very fact that there is no way that she would be safe there. The Dark Lord would come for her, no resistance whatsoever, he is probably already waiting for it."

"What about you, Severus?"

"I cannot have her with me. To do so would make her no more safe, than it would be if she were considered Regulus', only if the truth were to come out – which it would, she is far too young to be able to keep this quiet and too old for her stories to be passed off as childish imaginations – then I would no longer be in place to offer the necessary information that could, very well, diminish the damages of this war. You saw it yourself, only days ago, why I need to be where I am."

Remus nodded, albeit with reluctance, as it was not only Harry who was beginning to understand the value, now, of having Snape by Voldemort's side.

"You want to bring her to the Castle, Severus," Remus pointed out; "Even if I took her, what do you expect me to do? You'll be there too, for her to see and recognise at every possible turn. Do you expect me to keep her locked up in my chambers, a prisoner?"

"No. I think you are very aware of the fact as to what we would have to do."

Remus sat up, straighter, as the magnitude of what Severus' was proposing became clearer. For a minute, the two of them just stared at one another. Snape utterly serious, utterly resolved in what it was he was suggesting, while Remus was entirely floored.

"You want to…you would do that?"

It wasn't accusatory. It was, almost, admiration. Remus wasn't young and foolish enough, to not understand that this would be a sacrifice. That Severus was telling him that he would do this; that he would give up his daughter, forever, all that he had and loved of her, if it would only mean she were safe.

"I have turned it over, all the possible scenarios. There is no other way. Even if we were to allow the Authorities to place her, at random, in the hopes that she would go undiscovered, become randomised by the system – even if it worked – she would be among strangers. She would be – " Snape faltered, averting his eyes, and there was vulnerability there now, Remus could see it, even if the man did not meet his eyes when he went on; "- frightened and alone. At the Castle she would have her brother. She would have…others. Better she lose only one, rather than all."

Remus released a breath, leaning back on the pillows, knowing that it was true. That everything Severus was proposing was the only option; the only thing that made sense, now. Now that Lily…

"What about Lily? What would she think about it?"

"It is something we have already discussed. Extensively, in the past. It is not an 'obliviation'. Orion – an almost forgotten project, following the first attack on the Foundation – grants the user with the power to restore memories. It's counter – not widely known, as it's creation was only undergoing trials at that point – grants them with the ability to suppress them."

Remus tilted his head; "So, you could suppress her memories of you."

"And return them, at a later date, when it becomes safe to do so."

"I see. It sounds rather elusive, as if you are the only one who knows how to restore them."

"That is likely the case. The other would be a Healer Eugene Hopkins whom, for obvious reasons, I would rather not be involved."

"And what if you don't make it, Severus?" Remus asked, bluntly; "She'd lose it all of you."

"If I were dead, would it matter?"

Remus shot him a look.

Severus nodded, getting a wry smile and looking away; "Yes. It was…a thorn, shall we say, of Lily's. How her son could never quite grasp that connection with his father."

Remus was startled at the unexpected mention of James.

"You must have wondered why I remained with them so long."

Remus lifted his shoulders; "I assumed that the three of you were a family. That you saw yourselves as such. And were unwilling to make a choice to either have it or give it up."

"We always knew we would have to give it up. With the intention in place that we would take those memories from her, Lily considered it the best of both worlds. Grace, so long as her stories could be dismissed as those of dreams – which your very suggestion allowed – would be able to form an attachment to her father, a bond that Harry was not able to form with his own, which would eliminate those difficulties, later on for her, if her father were to return. She called it a mistake of hers, that she did not allow Harry the same opportunity to know Potter."

"It wasn't exactly the same thing."

"What she was asking of them both would be. If either were to return into their lives, after a substantial period of time, without knowing them. Expecting a bond."

"And if you don't return to her life? Those memories would still offer comfort. Something precious, no doubt; you saw it yourself, when you gave them to Harry."

"I could advise you of the procedure, if you feel so strongly about it. So that you could restore them, if I were to meet my demise."

"And if I were to meet my own, also?"

Severus smirked; "I highly doubt the deities should see it fit that both of us should not survive this war."

Remus drew in a breath. The course of action clear, obvious, unavoidable.

"I know this is no ordinary request," Severus went on – very, very reluctantly, Remus could tell, as his eyes were everywhere but on his as he said it – shifting in the chair; "- and it would not be without…gratitude, that you would be expected to undertake it."

Remus released a breath, an almost laugh, at Severus' way with words. His continuing refusal to say please, or thank you, and Severus met his eyes.

After a second, Remus nodded; "Of course, Severus."

Severus held his look. Even if the man wouldn't speak it, the thanks, the gratitude that he had just implied, was right there, in his eyes.

And then he nodded, getting to his feet and heading, briskly, to the door.

"Severus. The procedure," Remus reminded him; "I am not familiar with it."

Severus stopped where he stood, back to Remus, facing the door.

"I will do it," Severus didn't turn around; "Your chambers at the Castle. Tomorrow night."

Severus drew on every morsel of strength, of resilience that he could muster, as he knocked on the door to Remus Lupin's chambers.

It had been months – months – since he had seen his daughter. Since he had looked into those bright, adoring eyes of hers. She was the only person who ever, truly, looked at him that way; entirely unaware of who he was and what he had done and what a pitiful, wretched being she had for a father.

The door drew open, immediately, and Lupin stood there.

There was sympathy in his eyes. An understanding that had never been there before.

But Severus wasn't there for Remus Lupin's understanding.

He was there for only one person.

Severus stepped across the threshold, into the chambers, and his eyes were all for his daughter.

Grace was sitting in front of the mantle – playing and giggling, happily, with a doll, one that he had given to her, the year before – entirely unaware of all the darkness, all the gloom that surrounded her.

He forced any and all dark thoughts away. His daughter deserved him, all of him, even if just for a little while, without all of that weighing down upon them. He could offer her that much, at least.

"Grace."

Grace looked up sharply from where she sat on the floor, recognising his voice instantly.

Her eyes widened; a bright, delighted smile spreading upon her face as she took him in, where he was standing there, in front of her.

"Daddy!"

She was on her feet and running to him in an instant and he scooped her up, holding her close.

"Daddy!" she laughed, hugging him tight before drawing back, to look at him, a little hand touching his cheek as she declared, triumphantly; "I knew you'd come back!"

Despite the heaviness in his heart, Severus smiled.

Grace, she could always do that; tear it out of him, the little bit of happiness, of joy than lingered there, in the depths of him.

"I know you did."

"Can you stay?"

"For a little while."

"Uncle Remus said I get to stay with him now, here, at the Castle. Harry's here too, you know! And Malachi. I'll get to see them, now, every day!"

"So you will."

"But Mummy went away."

Severus swallowed, nodding; "Yes."

"Will she be gone for a long time? Like you?"

"Hopefully not as long as that."

Grace's eyes lowered, almost sadly, but then she met his eyes with another smile – as if it were normal to her now, to be left behind, and it struck him, hard, that she should ever consider such to be normal.

Severus pressed a kiss to her cheek.

"Did you come to read to me, goodnight?"

"I did."

Grace wrapped her arms around Severus' neck, once more, hugging him tight, and said to Lupin – a smile in her voice when she did – "Goodnight, Uncle Remus!"

"Goodnight."

Severus glanced at Lupin over his shoulder and the man indicated with a nod in the direction of the single bedroom – he supposed Lupin had opted for the living area, until his request for a double chamber was granted – and he headed on through.

Severus basked in it.

In the smiles and the chatter and the giggles of his daughter, as they sat upon the unfamiliar bed, Grace tucked up tight against him as he read through the first book. And then another. And another. Giving in to every request of hers for 'just one more' not caring that he was spoiling her, that she was pushing boundaries, walking all over him and that he was letting her do so, in a way he had never done so, before.

She wouldn't remember any of this, anyway.

They carried on, it seemed, long into the night – but, even then, it didn't seem long enough – until Grace could keep her eyes open no longer, and she drifted off to sleep in his arms.

It came to him, then.

The grief. The utter devastation of what had happened that appalling night some days before and he held her tight, finding rare comfort there, even as she slept, entirely unaware of his anguish – as it should be – and he felt a tear, maybe more, slip down his cheeks and into the soft, red hair of his little girl.

His voice was a whisper, as he pressed a final kiss to the side of his sleeping daughter's head; "Goodnight, Grace."

And then he lifted his wand, touching the tip to her temple, speaking the incantation.

Suppressing the memories – those memories of utter gold – for now, until, it seemed, forever. Even if he tried to tell himself it were not so. That they would pull through this. That he would hold his daughter, again.

And then he drew away. One long, last look at her sleeping face, before he slipped from the room.