Chapter Fifty-One

There was a strange sort-of emptiness within Harry, as he went about his days at Hogwarts in the weeks that followed the incident at New Year.

He only saw Malachi a couple of times, from a distance, and neither had yet crossed the divide that had opened up between them in the aftermath. That, alone, would have shaken him enough in the past but, of course, that wasn't the worst of it.

No, the worst of it, was that his mum was still laid up in a hospital bed in St Mungo's and, while he was granted allowance to go and see her whenever he wanted, he couldn't help but be reminded whenever he did of what had happened to his dad, before her, and how horribly familiar all of this was and what the eventual outcome of his dad's circumstances had been.

Harry did his best to push such thoughts away.

As much as he didn't want to admit it, Snape was invested enough and – urgh – brilliant enough that he would, surely, be able to find something, anything of a solution and bring her back to them. He was certainly confident enough of that during the encounters they had had with one another in the weeks that followed but, mostly, the two of them didn't really talk about anything.

It was almost…polite, for lack of better word, with Snape encouraging him to focus only upon keeping his mind closed during their occlumency lessons – no time for any other discussion – which was beyond frustrating, as Harry had plenty of things to say, right now, if not about his mum, then at least as to what was going on with Grace, or with them – all of them – which really, all seemed incredibly trivial in light of the fact the war was now in full swing.

Nonetheless, Harry's mind continued to dwell on it. Over and over again in his mind, all that had happened and what was said and done in the lead up to New Year, twisted and turned, and, now that he wasn't so very angry about it all, he needed to talk to someone about it and, well, there was really only one person that he could.

"I assure you, there is no doubt in my mind that Professor Snape loves your mother very much."

Harry wasn't really sure what he expected Remus to say, when he had dropped on by his office after class, but that didn't even come close.

There was so little he knew about Remus and Snape, just a little bit of history. But he knew enough to know that they didn't like one another, even now. For obvious reasons, Harry supposed, now that he knew – he hoped – everything that had been going on in the background while he and Grace had been growing up.

"What about my dad?"

It was strange, how different his dad and Snape were to one another; how his mum could love both of them.

Well. They were both arseholes, Harry supposed.

Remus smiled, as if hearing his thoughts; "She loved him, Harry, don't ever question that. But we lost your dad a long time ago. And, while the idea of remaining devoted to another even after losing them is a romantic notion, in theory, such a life is a lonely one. And that is not a fate which I would wish upon anyone. Least of all your mum."

"But why him? Why Snape?" Harry asked, genuinely bewildered, for knowing and, even, understanding Snape's position in the war; "It's not exactly the best chance Mum had of being happy, right?"

"The heart wants what it wants."

Harry rolled his eyes; "How could anyone want him?"

"He may not be the doting, larger than life character you are used to when it comes to father-figures – Sirius certainly raised the bar in that regard – but he does have his moments. He adores your sister, I've had the privilege of seeing that, and I'm quite certain he would do most anything to keep you safe, also."

"Because of my mum."

"Would you rather it was because of attachment to you?"

Harry frowned, suddenly feeling caught out. For what reason, he didn't really know.

"What? No," Harry denied it, because it made no sense for him to think the alternative; "No, of course not. I wouldn't care…I don't want him!"

"Your mother does, though," Remus said, and the way he did so made it clear to Harry that, actually, Remus' thoughts on the matter probably were more along the wavelength of his than they were of that of his mum's. Still, he didn't say that, instead going on; "And she has built a life, there, with the hope for a future that most definitely includes you. And I believe it is that hope that gives them the strength they need to keep fighting; what they have had to do can't have been easy for either of them. But yet they go on. Which says a great deal about the depth of your mum's feelings; that she has stayed for so long. Particularly considering your mum could have had any other man that she wanted."

"Any man including you?"

"Ha. You cheeky little sod."

Remus laughed and so did Harry, and Remus didn't seem either offended or bothered by the suggestion, even if it was something that actually seemed pretty possible, and not just by Harry, going by how quickly everyone swallowed the ruse that Grace was his.

"You never wanted to?" Harry pressed.

"Oh, you're Uncle Sirius would have had my head for even thinking it."

Harry frowned, wondering what at all Sirius had to do with it, and he wondered if maybe Remus did, or had, wanted to go somewhere with his mum – somewhere better than where Snape had taken them, anyway – and Harry thought he'd much prefer that somewhere, than this reality. Odd, now, considering how horrified he had been by the notion that he could have been Grace's father just the year before.

"Maybe you shouldn't always be worrying about what other people think."

"Hm. Yes. And that, right there, Harry, is the rub of it all."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Harry. You mum has always wanted a man who will stand up."

Harry frowned. His Uncle Remus couldn't really think he was a lesser man than his father, or than Snape, surely.

"You stand with them too, Uncle Remus," Harry said, more sincerely than ever; "You're the best man I know."

Remus gave him a warm smile, clearly touched by the assertion; "Thank you, Harry. Thank you."

"Well. It's me that should be thanking you," Harry said, wanting to make him see how much he did appreciate him, and all that he had done – especially in light of how he had treated Remus after what had happened last year – and he elaborated; "I mean, for everything, obviously. But especially for Grace. If you hadn't –"

"Harry," Remus interrupted him, shaking his head; "You don't have to thank me for that."

Harry hesitated, wondering why he shouldn't be grateful that he had taken Grace in and brought her here. But then, it only took a second for him to realise why, and then he smiled and nodded; "Right."

Harry stepped around his desk, giving Remus a hug where he sat, even if he was getting a bit too old for this, and Remus chuckled, hugging him in turn.

"I'll come by your chambers after dinner," Harry said, as he stepped back and slung his school bag over his shoulder; "No practice tonight so I can take care of Grace if you want."

"No need, spend the evening with your friends."

Harry's smiled faltered, but he pushed away any thoughts of Malachi; "I'll spend it with both of you, then."

Remus opened his mouth to speak, as Harry headed to leave, but before he did there was a knock and the door to the office sprung open.

"Tonks."

Remus was suddenly on his feet, where he was behind his desk.

Nymphadora Tonks – Malachi's cousin – smiled at his uncle; "Hi Remus," her eyes turned to Harry; "Hey, Harry."

"Hi," Harry smiled, politely, glancing back at Remus as he continued on his way out; "I'll see you later, Uncle Remus."

Remus smiled, nodding a dismissal, but his eyes were quickly all for the young woman who had entered, and Harry watched the two of the with interest as he slowed in his departure from the room. He could hear them, faintly, from where he was heading out the door – "…brings you here…" "…Ministry. Crouch insisted…Dumbledore…" "You're kidding." "Nope…so, here I am…"

Harry couldn't made all that much sense of it, the words, but he was far, far more interested in the exchange not because of the words, but because of the way the two of them were looking at one another as they spoke, Harry's presence long since forgotten.

Harry realised with a smile as he headed on out the room that, actually, he had never seen Remus look at his mum that way, in all the years that they had all been a family together.

Well. At least, maybe, one of them would get to be happy.

The last in a long line of impossibly quick-fired spells hit Regulus square on the chest, sending him flying and twisting in the air across the room in the direction of the bookcase.

It was transfigured, mere millimetres from impact into a cushioned mattress, and he hit it and bounced down onto another mattress – his new couch having been transfigured, also – on the floor of the office with an 'oomph!'.

The bookcase-mattress then proceeded to tipple over and land on top of him.

Regulus flicked his wand, throwing it aside, and got to his feet – albeit awkwardly, atop of the bounce of the mattress springs – his wand lifted and ready to go on.

Severus, however, was fighting a smirk and merely crossed his arms across his chest, as he regarded him with triumphant amusement.

"Thanks," Regulus muttered, with a glance at the two mattresses

"I cannot claim it was entirely for your benefit, Regulus. The furniture does tend to take a bit of a walloping, whenever you decide to get your wand out."

Regulus' lips twitched at the joke – glad of Severus' ability to find his sense of humour, considering his friend's current unsavoury circumstances – and made his way back in the direction of the desk, flicking his wand as he did so, transfiguring the mattresses back into their previous forms.

"Goes without saying I'm a little rusty," Regulus had remarked to him, a couple of weeks before, with reference to the, somewhat, embarrassing display of his lack of skill with a wand.

"So, I noticed."

Regulus had avoided it for years, combat too much of a reminder of his time in the ranks, but even then it was not only the passage of time that attributed to his poor performance at the Foundation at the beginning of the year. He wasn't, exactly, spectacular at duelling when he was running with Death Eaters – although he was much better then, than now – but he had been far too cocky and certain of his own abilities back then to even consider that practice might be needed.

Not so now, though. And foolish, when one considers that he ranked very highly on the Dark Lord's current 'must-kill' list.

As such, what with Severus in need of letting off some steam and Regulus is need of learning some decent defence skills, duelling sessions had become a regular engagement between the two of them since the Foundation had finished reconstruction a fortnight past.

"Dare I say it," Regulus remarked, as he lifted a bottle and poured them both another glass of firewhiskey; "You're in a good mood." He held out Severus' drink towards him.

Severus lifted his eyes heavenward but said nothing to dispute the statement, as he took the offered glass; "The Foundation is close to opening its doors?"

"Pending Ministry approval," Regulus clarified, with a shake of his head, as he lifted and downed his own drink in one swig: "Ministry personnel on the door. Log sheets of the comings and goings. Waiving of the confidentially rights of the patients in the Counselling Department." Regulus broke off, pouring another drink.

Severus reached into his robes, pulling out a phial and placing it on the desk; "For Julia."

Regulus glanced at it, the lone phial, aware of the unspoken truth – 'for Lily' – and got a small smile, realising the reason for the apparent good mood of his friend.

"Almost there?"

Severus glanced away; "It is too soon to know for certain."

"But there's reason to hope."

Severus did not grasp the opportunity for optimism – though, obviously, it was something he felt, his demeanour prior making that clear enough – and instead simply said; "If she could keep you informed of the results, I'll be able to make any necessary adjustments to guarantee success."

"Sounds like good news to me. Harry will be –"

"Do not say anything to Harry," Severus warned him, before he could even finish; "It's too soon to make such promises and with circumstances such as they are the last thing he needs is to be distracted by further...disappointments."

"Well, with the boys still being at school I wouldn't have the opportunity to do so," Regulus pointed out, dialling back his own enthusiasm a notch, as he quickly picked up on Severus' meaning. Regret, even, at what had transpired, though Regulus knew better than to expect such a sentiment to be admitted out loud.

He indicated the middle of the office, once more, instead; "Another opportunity for me to embarrass myself?"

Severus' lips twitched and he shook his head, finishing off his glass and placing it on the desk; "Dumbledore has requested an audience with me."

"Finally managed to get something sorted out with Crouch?"

"I suppose we're about to find out," Severus conceded; "I do believe their previous point of contention was whether or not Defence Against the Dark Arts was a subject which ought to even be taught," he paused with a scoff; "Suffice to say, it seems Dumbledore's argument in favour was, perhaps, a little too convincing."

"How so?"

"You haven't heard? Well. In lieu of eliminating the students' knowledge of the Dark Arts completely, Crouch has now taken Dumbledore's assertions of the need for a strong defence a little further than intended and believes that a strong offence from our 'future soldiers' is most invaluable. He has mandated the introduction of a more rigorous Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum with compulsory combat instruction to those in years three and above."

Regulus could only stare back at him, as he attempted to digest the information, and whether or not he thought this was a good idea or otherwise.

"Something you may have benefited from, Regulus, had it been mandated during our years at the school," Severus jibed, as he shrugged into his outer robe.

Regulus shot him a look, exaggeratedly offended.

"He has assigned one of his aurors – your younger cousin, in fact – as overseer of the project."

"Dora?"

"The very one."

Regulus could feel himself visibly relax at the information.

"Well. They're in good hands, then."

"She's practically a child herself," Severus stated, as he made his way to the door; "But, then, you and I both know that Dumbledore prefers the company of the easily influenced."

"I thought you said Crouch assigned her?"

Severus smirked; "And I'd bet he's under the impression that was his own idea."

Regulus released a breath, a sort of scoff of agreement before, with a nod to take leave, Severus made his way from the room.

Grace bounded from one step to the next, before launching off the last of them onto the stone ground at the bottom of the stairwell.

She loved it here.

Living at Hogwarts.

A real castle, like something from the fairy tales her mummy had told her, with passages to explore, and new people to meet – and not just human people, either! – and there was magic here, everywhere she looked. But the best part, as much as she had always longed to be amongst the magic, was that Harry was there too and they could see it all together.

Well. They could do, if Harry wasn't always so busy.

Quiddich practice and classes and homework and private lessons all kept him away from her for most of the day.

But that was fine.

Grace was happy to go and explore alone, sometimes, and have adventures of her own. On the rare occasions – like now – that she managed to sneak out from under her Uncle Remus' watchful eye, that is.

She walked with a skip and a smile for anyone she passed. It was daytime so there was a few of them, but classes were in session, so it was just the odd stray prefect, a professor, a ghost. They barely gave her a second glance, her presence so commonplace now after these past few weeks, except for a smile and a nod or an 'afternoon, little Potter'.

There would be more people up ahead, though, if she carried on her path towards the Great Hall, so she took a turn and, instead, ended up in a corridor with walls lined with portraits and hanging tapestries and Grace grinned, excitedly, as the portraits sprung to life with chatter as she walked by them.

She turned in circles as she moved, giggling at the display, once again enamoured by the magic of the castle – she had never seen so many talking portraits at once before! – and she was feeling dizzy and giddy when she made her last spin and began to bound on further down the corridor but, instead, found herself colliding with an array of dark robes and a solid person beneath them and ending up on her bottom on the floor with an;

"Umph!"

Grace gave herself a dramatic shake, to shake off the confusion and the dizziness, before peering, sheepishly up at the person she had run into.

It was a man – a professor, Grace supposed – that she hadn't seen before and he was looking down at her, strangely, neither scolding nor greeting her. Just staring.

He was tall, hair black and long, and his nose was crooked, and his eyes –

Grace felt weird, all of a sudden, when she looked into his eyes and she had to look away; a feeling of both eery familiarity and disconcertedness washed over her, as if she had been here before, but it was there, and then it was gone, and when she managed to shake that weird feeling away she noticed there was a hand in front of her, waiting to pull her back up.

Grace grasped it, immediately, and allowed the strange man to pull her to her feet and she shot him a bright smile; "Hi!"

He let go of her hand, his own falling to his side, and he gave a slight nod but said nothing. Oops, he probably was expecting an apology! Her mummy would expect one – Grace pushed away that thought. This wasn't a time to be sad.

"Um," Grace glanced down at the floor, shifting on her feet, before giving him another sheepish look; "Sorry. I wasn't looking - there's talking portraits you see! – I mean, I should have been looking where I was going. Uncle Remus always tells me to. He's a teacher here! Are you a teacher, too?"

The man nodded. Barely, though, so Grace found it hard to notice.

But he didn't look like a mean man, even though he wasn't speaking, and he didn't even really seem cross with her, that she had run into him, so she smiled, brightly, before her eyes caught sight of the room from where he must have come.

Her eyes lit up, as she spotted the shelves within that were lined with brightly coloured glass bottles and phials and jars; "Woah!" She looked excitedly up at him, then back at the shelves; "Is that your room? Oh. It's a storeroom," she realised; "It looks like my basement at home! There's all these jars, just like those ones. It's my…"

Grace trailed off, a further feeling of disorientation coming over her, just like the odd one she'd had a minute ago, and, for a second, it felt like she wasn't really there, or she was spinning. But it was only a second and, by the time it was over, she couldn't remember what she'd been saying and she looked up at him with a smile.

"I'm Grace," she said and held out her hand.

The man was looking at her with a frown.

Grace raised an eyebrow, expectantly; "You're supposed to tell me your name and shake my hand."

It took a second, and Grace wasn't sure if he was going to do as she asked, but he did and he took her hand in his, watching her closely as he did so.

That felt weird.

The feeling from before, even stronger, came back. There and then gone.

"Are you alright?"

It was the first time the man had spoken and Grace looked up at him, quickly, because that time, the strange feeling was accompanied by one of safeness, as if this man could be trusted, as if she knew the voice and she nodded, before asking:

"What's your name?"

She wanted him to talk again.

Before he could, though, another, very familiar voice, called from up the corridor.

"Grace!"

Her Uncle Remus was upon them, before she barely had a chance to turn around, and she felt his hands on her shoulders pulling her back towards him; "Severus, I am so sorry –" he sounded almost panicked, which wasn't something Grace was used to when it came to her always serenely calm uncle, and she looked up at him with a bemused frown.

"I'm okay, Uncle Remus," Grace said, confused at the seeming line crossed; "I was just exploring the castle, like always."

But Remus only glanced at her briefly, his hand squeezing her shoulder, before he looked back at the other man. The other man who looked a little bit different now, colder, or maybe just annoyed. Grace wasn't sure, it was difficult to tell. But he didn't look annoyed in the brief moment he looked back at her, before he spoke again.

"No harm done."

He stepped by them, beginning to walk in the direction Grace had been coming from, but he glanced over his shoulder as he passed, his eyes meeting Remus' and they just looked at one another but didn't say anything. Grace quickly realised that the two of them weren't friends.

A flick of his wrist – a wand – and the door to the storeroom clicked shut before he carried on his way.

"Wait!" Grace called after him, and the man came to an immediate halt. But he just stopped where he was, not turning round.

"You didn't tell me your name," Grace said, crossing her arms, expectantly.

The man still didn't turn, only looked back over his shoulder at her.

Grace raised an eyebrow. She knew it was rude not to tell someone your name during an introduction, after all, and although her Uncle Remus had addressed him when he got there, it was a strange name, that she wasn't able to pick up from his hasty interruption.

The man drew in a breath before he said:

"Professor Snape."

Grace got that funny feeling again at hearing his voice, of disorientation and of warmth, and she gave him a smile when it passed; "Pleased to meet you, Professor Snape!"

There was a slight tilt of his chin, before he said; "And you, Miss Potter."

Grace felt her Uncle Remus' hand squeeze her shoulder, the kind of way you'd do for comfort, through the strange feeling that came over her again at the sound of Professor Snape's voice.

And then, suddenly, both it and he were gone.