Chapter Fifty-Two

Severus had managed to dodge such an encounter for a full two months.

He'd sought Grace out, himself, of course and stolen glances from afar whenever the opportunity surfaced – and had, quite successfully, managed to suppress the rising resentment at just how close she evidently was with Lupin – but such moments were nothing compared to the experience of actually standing before her, a stranger, as she chattered on in a way that was so very Grace that his chest constricted with every word, every bright smile she sent his way.

She was far too innocent, too trusting for this world.

Severus had spent the rest of the afternoon, into the evening, rattled by the experience: haunted by the smiles and giggles and dramatic antics of his little girl.

It was almost a blessed distraction when Dumbledore's summons had been revealed to be regarding the ongoing crimes and misdemeanours of a certain, well-known group of students within his House.

A group that had, quite recently, found itself graced with the presence of a certain Malachi Black.

"Is this about Grace?" Malachi said, before Severus even had the chance to speak upon summoning his Godson to his office the next day.

Severus drew in a bracing breath; "I beg your pardon?"

"Grace," Malachi repeated, as if Grace and his fathering of her were an entirely acceptable subject of conversation; "Is she why you've been watching me all the time? You're not doing it with anyone else."

"I have been watching you, along with the other involved members of this House," Severus stated, before clarifying; "For obvious reasons, I cannot intervene in quite the same manner in their case as I can yours – as you have just indicated, you are well aware of my position – but rest assured, Malachi, intervene in your case, I will."

"I'm not going to tell them who she is."

"I know."

"I wouldn't do that."

"Malachi," Severus put a hand on top of the items that Filch had confiscated, pushing them in Malachi's direction; "This is the reason that I have called you into my office. Statute propaganda; banned books; breaking curfews; the practicing of dark magic – I could go on, but I think the implications are quite clear."

Malachi sighed, shaking his head, a vehement denial of the accusation; "I already told you, last year, Professor. I don't want to be a Death Eater. I don't even think they really want to be Death Eaters' either. Not all of them, anyway."

"If you suspect that any of them do so, then why associate with them at all?"

"Because I'm one of them."

"What?"

"Not the Death Eater part, obviously," Malachi clarified, "But the thinking part. And most of them are really smart, you know. The Slytherins. They see how damaging the statute is to us, to our way of life, making out that we're the freaks, the ones who have to hide who we are. It's not right, having to spend your whole life hiding who and what you are just to stop people from killing you."

Ah.

Severus lifted his chin, in a slight indication of understanding, as he realised that, perhaps, his Godson's view was more shaped by that of his own experience of being hunted, rather than the influence of his peers.

Still.

"Muggles don't want to kill us, Malachi."

"Because they don't know we exist. Because we don't give them a chance to even know us. To understand us," Malachi said, becoming more and more impassioned with each statement; "The Statute, we make it a secret – magic – something to be ashamed of; to be scared of. So, why are we even surprised when they are afraid and do want to hunt us, like they did before?"

"You want us to live among muggles."

Malachi looked hesitant at the statement. Though whether he was actually unsure or just uncomfortable to say so, Severus wasn't certain.

"I guess. Eventually," he shrugged; "We're not ready yet, I know. But…I don't think they're so different from us."

"I see," Severus said, before the two of them fell silent.

While it wasn't what Severus had been expecting to hear – though, he supposed, there had been hints of such a viewpoint – it was, nonetheless, reassuring that the severance of his friendship with Harry hadn't thrown him down a path that was just a bit too familiar in circumstances to his own as a boy for comfort.

"I suppose you're aware that such a revolutionary stance is likely not one that is shared by those of your housemates?" Severus finally said, as way of warning; "Particularly the ones with whom you're associating."

"I know you think it's stupid. Lots of wizards do."

"No. It is not stupid," Severus conceded for, really, it was admirable, particularly for one so young to come to such a strong-held conclusion themselves. Even so, it was a particularly naïve stance; "It is just…unattainable. As is always the case in such matters in nature, one must always be the superior – or, at least, believe themselves to be – and, as such, we find ourselves at war. The Statute protects us all, Malachi."

"Well. It's not doing a very good job of that right now, is it?" Malachi countered, with a raised eyebrow.

Severus' lips twitched – almost a smile – but before he could offer a retort of his own there was a knock at the door to his office before it opened a crack and Regulus' head popped in through the gap.

He shot them a wide grin; "Am I late?"

Malachi rolled his eyes and slumped down further in his chair.

Grace looked up, eagerly, when another tall figure in black robes strode into the Great Hall.

But it wasn't Professor Snape, so she sighed and turned her attention back to the picture she had been drawing.

"Hey, Grace."

"Harry!" Grace beamed, for her brother was an even better person to see, even if she was really looking forward to seeing the man – the professor – who she'd met the day before.

She didn't even, really, know why she had liked him so much or why she was so desperate to see him again, but she'd asked her Uncle Remus, anyway, if she could spend the afternoon in the Great Hall that day – close to the corridor of talking portraits – just in case he came back. She didn't tell Uncle Remus that was the reason, of course. She could tell right away that they didn't like each other.

"What are you up to?" Harry asked, taking a seat on the bench beside her; "Where's Uncle Remus?"

"He's teaching," Grace said, politely not pointing out that obviously that's where their uncle was; "I didn't want to sit in the back, so he said I could sit here –" she glanced in the direction of the top table, " – as long as Hagrid can see me, wherever I am. I'm just drawing pictures."

"Aw, yeah, that looks great," Harry said, with more enthusiasm than the picture really deserved, but Grace just smiled, enjoying her brother's approval, anyway; "Is that the basement? Do you miss it?"

"It's the potions jars and stuff, see," Grace explained, pointing them out; "I remember where everything is, even though we haven't been home for so long."

"Well, yeah, no surprise there. You're awfully smart, Grace."

Grace shot him a look at the exaggerated praise and Harry chuckled.

Grace grinned; "You can show me magic instead, though." She put the colouring pencil down; "Something you did in class."

"Boring. Here," Harry flicked his wand and all her coloured pencils turned into coloured feathers. He gave a blow and they all scattered across the table.

"Hey! Bring those back!" Grace laughed, reaching out and grasping for the feathers.

Harry laughed, flicking his wand, and transfigured them back into pencils.

"Can you help me write something?" Grace asked, handing him the blue one.

"Sure."

"Okay, here," Grace pointed to the top corner of her picture and Harry smiled, obliging by pressing the top of the pencil where she indicated; "To Professor Snape."

The pencil lead snapped.

"Oh no! Harry!" Grace looked at the offending mark left in its place.

"Um, sorry," Harry muttered, looking confused and worried and glancing all around them before he leaned in closer and spoke more quietly; "Professor Snape? This is for him? Wha…why…how do you know Professor Snape?"

"I saw him yesterday. He was in a storeroom, it looked just like that," Grace explained, as if that were a good enough reason, pointing at the picture; "I wanted to show him what our basement looks like, so he'd see it looks just like ours."

Harry looked at her, strangely; "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you want to show him what our basement looks like?"

"Because I do."

"Snape doesn't care about our basement, Grace."

"It's Professor Snape, Harry," Grace pointed out, making her voice higher in the way she knew Harry hated; "Mind your manners."

"Look, just…just stay away from Professor Snape, Grace, alright? Leave him alone."

"Leave him alone? Why?"

"Because…well, because he's…he's…"

"He's what?"

"He's a Slytherin."

"Malachi's a Slytherin."

"Yeah, well. Stay away from him, too."

Grace crossed her arms across her chest, defiantly; "I will not stay away from Malachi. He's my friend, too."

"Look, Snape doesn't like pictures. He'd just make you upset. Please, Grace, just – just stay away from him. And don't talk about him. Not to anyone."

"Why?"

"Because I said so."

"That's not right. You're not my…"

Grace broke off, suddenly, when that strange feeling she'd gotten the day before came back.

"Grace? Grace?"

When the feeling passed, Harry's face was even closer to her, his hand on her shoulder; "You alright?"

"Yeah. Just…felt funny, that's all."

"Funny how?" Harry pressed his palm to her forehead, fussing like their mummy would do.

Grace swatted him away; "It's okay. It's just a funny feeling. Not a sick feeling. Kind of like…like I've seen everything before or been here before. I dunno."

"Déjà vu?"

"Day-what?"

"Déjà vu, it's…well, it's like what you said. Feeling like you've experienced something before. Something happening right at the same time."

"Yeah. That's it," Grace nodded in agreement, mouthing the new phrase, quietly, under her breath; "I got it when I was talking to Professor Snape yesterday, too."

"You had déjà vu? You…did you have any other feelings? Or – I dunno. See things? Things that weren't there or something?"

"No. I'm not loopy," Grace went cock-eyed, making a face, because Harry's silly questions and meanness about the nice professor were starting to annoy her now.

"Grace."

"I had nice feelings," Grace said, lifting a pencil and finishing off her drawing, in the hopes her brother would shut up if she just told him; "Safe feelings, his voice made me feel. He was nice. I like him."

When Harry said nothing, Grace looked up at him from the paper, but he wasn't looking back at her. Instead, he was looking out at nothing with a frown and a thinking face and Grace realised;

"Oh. You don't like him, do you?"

"What?"

"Uncle Remus doesn't like him, either."

"Grace, who told you that? They like one another fine. They…they probably don't even know each other – look, just stop talking about Sn – Professor Snape, alright?"

"Only if you give me a good, proper reason."

"I'll give him the picture for you, alright? If you promise not to talk about him again – ever – to anyone except me?"

Grace's eyes lit up; "Done!"

"Done," Harry repeated, with a sigh, taking the picture she eagerly handed his way.

Severus was muttering something to his dad just over the threshold to his office and Malachi could see the tension leave him as they did, before he nodded, his familiar smile returning, and he gave Severus' arm a pat as headed in Malachi's direction.

His dad looked fine. Great, even.

"How's your leg?"

"Good as new," his dad said, giving it a firm slap as if to prove it true, before he took a seat in the chair beside him. The door to the office clicked shut behind them, signaling Severus' departure.

"Good," Malachi mumbled, shifting under his dad's watchful gaze; "Julia, she's been looking after you?"

"My own personal healer, Son," he grinned as he said it, before reassuring him; "You don't have to worry about me."

Malachi gave him a small smile, more than just a little glad to hear it and, despite the circumstances of the visit, he was glad to see his dad. If only to see that his letters were true, and he was getting back to himself – his full self – after what had happened.

"So," his dad began; "Severus tells me –"

"Aw, Dad!" Exasperation quickly snuffed out his gladness; "I know what Severus has been telling you. He's got it wrong, alright?"

"Is that right?" his dad said, eyes glancing over all the books and Statute journals on Severus' desk, his skepticism obvious.

"Yes," Malachi insisted; "I just spoke to him – he shouldn't have dragged you here, you should be in bed."

His dad snorted; "You're so much like your mother, sometimes, Son. I've long since recovered. I'm even practicing my dueling now; let's try and avoid a repeat of that embarrassing performance at New Year."

Malachi shot him a look; "Fat load of good being better at dueling is going to be, if another building falls on your head, Dad."

His dad's laughter was something he missed like crazy these past few weeks, ever since that night, so it was a welcome sound, even if what he'd just said was bang on right. His dad was lucky. He was lucky.

"How's Harry?"

Malachi averted his eyes.

"He's fine."

"He is, hm?"

"Yes."

"Mind telling me how you know that?"

Malachi shot his dad a look; "You know, it's not me Severus is supposed to be spying on."

"He's not spying on you, Malachi. He's concerned. As am I."

"I can choose my own friends."

"Oh well, yes. Of course. And you made a good choice there, you know. You two have been running me ragged for years, now. It'd be…well, a bit of a pity to let that go over something that…well. That was nobody's fault."

"How can you be so calm. Weren't you scared?"

"Of course, I was scared, Son," his dad sighed; "But that wasn't Harry's doing."

Malachi looked away, gloweringly, the subject only igniting the furiousness he had been feeling for months – even past any regret or missing of Harry that swelled up from time to time, especially now Grace had turned up – but he said nothing to his dad about that.

"Malachi."

Malachi shifted where he sat, leaning back further, and avoided his dad's – infuriating reasoning look – because he was determined he was right about this.

"Well," his dad finally said, with a roll of the eyes; "You certainly are a Black."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, we Blacks, we know how to nurse our grudges."

Malachi met his eyes then, more than a little confused at the statement. That wasn't his dad, at all. He was everyone's friend. A smile for anyone. He never even seemed angry at Voldemort, for Merlin's sake, or even Hopkins for trying to kill him and killing his mum.

"That's not you, Dad."

His dad held his look and for an alarming moment the spark, the one that Malachi was so used to, the one that was always there except during those moments, was gone. Those rare ones where he actually told him stuff; things like his mum was dead or that he was Death Eater.

This, Malachi realized, was going to be another moment like that.

His dad drew in a breath before he spoke, but his eyes were on the floor not on him when he did.

"My brother died for me, thinking that I hated him."

Malachi hesitated, the rawness of his dad's revelation knocking him back for a second. It wasn't what he had been expecting; the admittance or the pain that was evident behind it.

"Uncle Sirius didn't think that. How could he?"

'After all that he had done for them', it went without saying. But, then, maybe that explained the palpable regret in his dad's expression when he finally looked at him.

"He did."

"How do you know?"

"Because I did."

Malachi could be nothing but silent in face of the admittance. He never knew that. Or. Well. Maybe he did. He remembered, now, how he used to think they didn't even really act like brothers.

"I have a, rather, endless list of regrets, that I think you're getting pretty familiar with, by now. I wasted a lot of time – most of the time – I had left with my brother, holding onto past hurts that, quite frankly, didn't hold up against how that all ended up."

Malachi met his eyes, his resolved softened, somewhat, by what his dad was saying, and shook his head; "It's not the same. Me and Harry. It's not the same."

"No?"

"No."

Malachi looked away, because talking about Sirius dying only reminded him of how close his dad had come to joining him there – wherever there was – his Uncle Sirius, and Auntie Andie and his mum and that was a thought that was just unthinkable and incomprehensible to him.

Malachi only looked back at his dad when he felt him grasp his wrist, a look of such concern and of love there, that he finally just said it.

"Dad. Dad, if you died…" Malachi swallowed, irritated that he could feel the prickle of tears; "I wouldn't have anybody. There wouldn't be anyone for me to even be here for."

The grip on his wrist tightened and his dad leaned in closer.

"Malachi. That is not true."

"Who'd I have?"

"Harry."

Malachi looked down at the assertion.

"Harry…he's…he's got his own family. Professor Lupin. Severus. He's got all these people who care about him. He's got all these people and he treated them like crap."

He finally said it, something he never would have dreamed of even thinking, never mind saying, the year before when it had all been happening because Malachi had been there and he'd understood and he'd felt sorry for him. But now.

"He treated them like crap. And he pushed them all away. And when they were gone, like he wanted them to be, like he made them be, and he realized he needed them, they weren't there anymore. So, then he came and he took you and you almost died for him. That's not okay, Dad, it's not."

His dad's arms were around him, then, and they just sat like that for a minute.

When they drew back, his dad looked at him, understanding in his eyes now but, of course, he wasn't done.

"I get it, Son. I do," he squeezed his shoulder; "So, would Harry. We all make mistakes. And Harry understands what's happening here, what you've been through – with everything, not just at Christmas – better than anyone. You know that."

Malachi lowered his eyes.

"Malachi. A friendship like yours and Harry's; bonded with someone who has shared the same experiences as you, who knows the same reality and really understands it and you. A friendship like that, it is rare and…well…"

He glanced up, noticing his dad's eyes glancing in the direction of the door, looking somewhat uncomfortable, and, despite the heaviness of the moment, Malachi's lips twitched when he realized why his dad had broken off.

"Precious?" Malachi offered up, teasingly; "Life- affirming?" – his dad looked back at him with a frown, while Malachi grinned – "Something to be treasured, for all eternity? Severus isn't here but I'm sure he'd appreciate the sentiment."

His dad scoffed, rolling his eyes, and shot him a grin.

"It's not something to be taken for granted. Least of all something to be thrown away. Especially now. Because time is short. For all of us."

Malachi drew in a breath, as he mulled over his dad's words. After a moment he gave him a small smile and a nod, and that wide smile and the spark in his dad's eyes was back, before he stood and went to give him a hug.

"Uncle Sirius knew you loved him, Dad," Malachi said, quietly, into his shoulder; "If I could see it, so could he."

His dad said nothing, only the tightening of his arms around him indicating that he heard at all.

"Did you give it to him?"

Harry jumped, startled at the sudden presence of his sister at his side and quickly shushed her, with a look around at the congregated third and fourth years; "Yeah."

He headed further into the room, Grace on his heels, glad he wasn't late enough to actually miss the beginning of the called assembly.

"Did he like it?"

Harry nodded. It was only a white lie, really – obviously Snape was going to like it, or he had better, unless he really did have a heart of stone – as while Harry hadn't given the picture to him yet, he would do, later that day, at their next occlumency session. But Harry figured it was better to just concede he already had, rather than deal with Grace's wrath in the middle of the Great Hall for anyone to hear.

"What did he say?"

"He said 'thanks', Grace," Harry said, giving her a smile; "He liked it a lot. Maybe you could do some pictures for the other professors too?"

"Um," Grace thought about it and then shrugged before giving a nod, but it wasn't with the same enthusiasm that she had had for Snape's; "Yeah, okay. I'll do some now, while you're practicing."

"Be careful, make sure you stay back, okay? No wandering."

"Uncle Remus already set up that desk for me," Grace indicated one in the corner of the room, which Harry guessed had a barrier spell placed around it and he gave her a smile and ruffled her hair, before she bounded on over, obviously pleased by the confirmation of Snape's approval.

Why did she care about Snape's approval?

If what Remus had told him were the case, the whole point of this situation was that Grace wasn't supposed to have any attachment whatsoever to Snape, much less be drawing him pictures and professing her admiration while addressing him by name.

Any further thoughts on the matter were pushed from Harry's mind when Remus – with Nymphadora Tonks at his side – addressed the room.

"Alright, everyone. I'm sure you've all heard by now that the Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum is undergoing some changes and, well, this is one of them. Combat tutorials, four afternoons a week after classes –" there were murmurs amongst the listening students, some of discontent, some of excitement; " – which are compulsory and, I'm sure you'll be happy to hear, in lieu of final exams in the subject. You'll be expected to meet a certain level of understanding and of combat abilities and graded accordingly, before moving onto the next levels."

Remus glanced to the side, at the woman who was standing by him, and smiled; "This is Nymphadora Tonks, an auror. She'll be assisting me –" there was a little smile from Tonks, which made Remus avert his eyes – "and us in these sessions, throughout the rest of the year."

Harry snickered at their obviousness.

"So, if you could all pair up," Remus indicated; "We'll begin."

Harry hesitated for a second, eyes scanning the hall and looking for any sign of Ron, but just as he caught sight of him – appearing to be pairing up with Hermione – Malachi stepped into his line of sight.

The two of them just looked at one another for a second before Malachi headed towards him.

"Hey," Harry said, uncertainly, when he reached him.

Malachi shifted, looking a bit uncomfortable; "You wanna pair up?"

"Um…do you still want to kill me?"

"A bit."

Harry gave a little smile, lowering his eyes, because he knew Malachi wasn't looking for another apology. He just wanted Harry to know that while he might be here, he was still mad, but this was a start and a scrap that he was willing to take, so Harry shrugged.

"I'll take my chances."

Malachi smiled and the two of them headed off to find a better spot in the room.