Chapter Sixty-One
"I have said it before, and I will say it again. In-House fighting will not be tolerated, Miss Greengrass."
Daphne Greengrass stood defiantly in the middle of Severus' office, Minerva standing a few steps behind her.
"I was defending myself."
"That does not quite match up with the account I have been given."
"He threatened me. If I can draw faster than him, that's Zabini's own fault. And he attacked first. On Malachi."
Severus met Minerva's eyes.
"Mr. Black?" he repeated.
"Yes."
"Explain."
"There's nothing to explain, Sir. Everyone knows what they've been doing to him. It's been happening for years."
"I should like a student perspective, if you will."
Daphne shrugged, speaking as if it were all entirely common knowledge.
"Everyone knows who Malachi is. His dad was scum who turned his back on us. So, people expect Malachi to be the same. But he's not like that. He's kind. But that's not really doing him any favours; the opposite, actually. It's not something we see often in our House, Sir. And it makes him an even easier target; that he wouldn't just blast their heads off. They'd deserve it, though, if he did. If anything, I should have hit Zabini harder."
Severus' eyes went to his desk.
It was a situation in which he had to tread carefully: the bitter infighting within his own house. He could not, after all, show disfavor towards those who spouted the pureblood supremist notions of the Dark Lord nor could he be seen to be favouring any student – least of all, the son of Regulus Black – especially in a precarious time such as this, when the events at Easter meant that the Dark Lord knew well enough there was a spy within his ranks.
"I appreciate the sentiment, Miss Greengrass. Your wish to defend a fellow student is admirable. But the detention still stands. In-House fighting will not be tolerated under any circumstances."
"But –"
"Send Mr. Zabini to my office," Severus went on, not waiting to hear any further excuses; "And have one of the prefects call an assembly for this evening in the Great Hall –"
"- the Great Hall? –"
"7pm. The entire House, no excuses."
"Yes, Sir."
Daphne nodded and turned, heading from the office and pulling the door shut behind her as she left.
Minerva wasted no time in making her thoughts known.
"Severus. That boy –"
"I know, Minerva," Severus pinched the bridge of his nose.
"We cannot allow this to go on. These concerns, they are not new. And in light of what has recently transpired – that poor girl…Severus, you came to me at the beginning of the year to request a place for him, in Gryffindor House. And he is more than welcome with us. Indeed, I must insist!"
"I'm afraid Mr. Black does not seem to think so. And what message would that send to the students? To punish Mr. Black and remove him from a House with which he so identifies himself with, because of the short-sightedness and arrogance of others within it."
"There is only so far that boy can be pushed. He is a child. And a lonely one, we have all seen it."
"As Miss Greengrass has just demonstrated, he is not alone. Not quite as much as we – and he – may think that he is. And I quite think a lesson in House Unity and what makes a Slytherin is in order."
Minerva eyed him at the suggestion; "Dare I ask?"
A knock at the door prevented him from answering, as it was pulled open and the student he had called for stuck his head around the side.
"Mr. Zabini. Do come in."
"Your Housemates are very unkind to you."
Malachi glanced at Luna, where she was sitting next to him at the desk in their Defence class, before following her gaze to a group of Slytherins up ahead who were making various obscene gestures in his direction.
Malachi turned his eyes back to his textbook, even if Luna continued to just keep staring, unblinkingly, at the Slytherins attempting to provoke him.
"Yours are horrible to you, too," Malachi pointed out.
"I don't think it's quite the same."
"Stop staring at them," Malachi whispered.
Luna turned her eyes upon him, instead, and left them there. Malachi rolled his eyes, before turning his entire attention – as much as he could – on reading over the passage in front of him – about the Unforgivables in preparation for this dreaded assessment – ignoring the whispers of 'Muggle-Banger' and 'Blood-Traitor' and 'Mudpies', that he could hear all around him.
He clutched his wand, where he'd hidden it in up his sleeve. And he tried, as much as he could, not to feel quite so angry when he heard the last one.
"Alright, so we're going to get started on the first of these practical assessments," Professor Lupin finally spoke up, having been going around setting up the tables at the front of the room, sounding almost as reluctant to announce it as Malachi felt at having to actually participate.
Malachi looked at the set up with dread.
"Now, it is not necessary for you to carry out these spells for long, and if anyone doesn't yet feel ready, then the assessments can be held off until the next term. This is advanced magic and a different kind to what we are all used to."
A hand raised up.
"Yes, Miss Bridgeway?"
"If we don't want to take the assessment, what does that mean?"
"Only that progression onto the next stage will be delayed; we'll continue to do further work on this, until everyone is satisfied that they are comfortable with it."
"Bring it on!" one of the Slytherin boys – MacMillan – declared, loudly, to laughter and jeers, from the majority of the Slytherins.
Malachi drew in a breath, shaking his head.
"If you don't want to do it, Malachi, you can just tell Professor Lupin," Luna's dreamy voice said to him, unhelpfully; "He'll hold the class back for you, if you want."
Malachi looked at her, impatiently, whispering; "Yeah, because that would really help."
"Alright, any volunteers?"
MacMillan was on his feet and in the front of the class in seconds.
"How about we all line up?" Professor Lupin suggested, when he noticed the rest of the class simply sitting at their desks, staring at the tables, expectantly.
Malachi was relieved about that, at least.
They did as they were told, and Malachi tried to get as close to the front as possible – so that more students would be queuing than watching when it was his turn – and he could hear MacMillan uttering the incantations of the Unforgivables at the front of the class, almost with pride, as one of the creatures they were to be practicing upon screeched out under his – seemingly – effortless casting.
"Alright, you're all numbered, one to three," Professor Lupin said, indicating to the line; "Ones are the Imperius, Twos are the Cruciatus, Threes are –"
"Those who mean business!"
"5 points, Mr. Avery. This is not a joke."
There were grumbles of outrage among the Slytherins.
But Malachi could only stand, frozen on the spot, as he worked out his allocated unforgivable.
The Cruciatus.
He thought he'd get to pick. Obviously he wouldn't be able to do the Killing Curse. And the Imperius wasn't exactly a good Unforgivable; but it was certainly more preferable to the others.
But the Cruciatus…
He was two away from the front.
The students who had successfully completed their tasks were walking past with smiles, clutching their piece of parchment confirming their pass level.
Luna was a few people behind him, and Malachi quickly counted and realised she had the Imperius.
"Luna," he whispered, waving a hand, trying to get her attention; "Psst."
Luna swayed on the spot, hands clasped in front of her, as she hummed to herself, with her eyes closed.
"Mr. Black?"
He spun round, at Professor Lupin's gentle voice.
It was his turn.
No.
Dammit.
He could already hear the snickers of his housemates behind him, when he didn't bound on up with the same enthusiasm that the others had. He reluctantly approached, before Professor Lupin could suggest he sit back down – Malachi could see it in his eyes, that he was about to, that glimmer of concern unable to be mistaken – and he took his spot behind the table.
He felt Professor Lupin's hand on his back, gently, his voice quiet and only for him; "Take your time, Malachi."
Malachi could do nothing but stare at the mouse.
He couldn't even lift his wand.
"Try the Imperius."
"Hey, that's not fair, the rest of us don't get to pick!"
"5 points, Miss Davies."
The Ravenclaws grumbled at the deduction.
Malachi shook his head. He couldn't do the Imperius either. He couldn't stop thinking about the Cruciatus. And how it felt. And how his dad had screamed and begged and begged for them to stop and let Malachi go. And he remembered the pain. The agony.
And the Imperius; that was surely no better. It was not the same pain, no, but they could have made his dad do anything. They could have him do anything. Totally at their mercy, whichever Unforgivable they chose, and the Killing Curse would be a blessing in the end after they'd torn their nerves to shreds and made them do anything they should have wished to, anything and everything against their very nature, so that they couldn't live with the things that they'd done.
Malachi couldn't do it.
He couldn't lift his wand and cause anyone – anything – to experience that kind of pain. Not at his hand. He would sooner lay down and die, himself. He didn't care if that made him weak. He didn't care if that made him a coward.
He felt Professor Lupin's hand on his back again.
"Stage fright, eh?" Professor Lupin said, and his eyes were warm, understanding, and he gave a nod back in the direction of his desk; "We'll pick this up after class, Mr. Black."
Malachi went back to his desk, ignoring the sniggers and the jeers of his Housemates, and he tried to call on his dad's words for strength, to make him stand just a little bit taller. His assertions that it was nothing to be ashamed of, to not be able to cast the Unforgivables – in fact, his dad had made out that to not be able to do so, was something to be proud of.
But Malachi didn't feel proud.
Everyone else in the class could do it. Even Luna.
It took a few of them a few tries. And some of them had to switch – none of them could cast the Killing Curse – but any that couldn't do that or the Cruciatus, they could cast the Imperius, and Professor Lupin passed them on that.
It seemed like he wanted them all to pass, dropping the bar a little lower for each of them, to let them through. So that the only person who was then holding the entire class back from progressing was him.
Malachi's hand that clutched his quill shook, as he worked on the written assignment that they had been told to go on with, once the practicals were done.
The lesson seemed to drag on and on and on and it didn't help than Luna had decided to take it upon herself to reassure him that he wasn't a complete failure, her dreamy, far-away voice insisting that the gentlest of souls were truly the strongest or some such rubbish – and he really wished she'd stop talking so loudly – until, finally, it was over and he was standing at the front of the class, alone, with Professor Lupin.
"I am sorry for that, Malachi. I should have suggested a private assessment from the outset; that was short-sighted of me."
"No. You shouldn't have to make special exceptions for me just because I'm…"
Professor Lupin was looking at him, with that same understanding in his eyes, and simply waited patiently for Malachi to go on and say what it was he thought of himself.
Malachi shook his head, abandoning the statement; "Just fail me. Let the class go on. I can just copy the work from textbooks next term or something."
Professor Lupin looked at him, appraisingly, for a moment, and then he handed over the piece of parchment with his name on it, beneath it written a single word.
Pass.
Malachi frowned at the parchment.
"But…Sir, can you do that?"
Professor Lupin put a hand on his shoulder.
"The assessment is whether or not the student has a comprehensive understanding of the Unforgivable Curses. I am quite certain that, in that regard, you have a much better understanding than a large number of your fellow students."
Malachi swallowed, glancing down at the parchment; "Thank you, Professor."
"Of course, Malachi," Professor Lupin gave him a smile, that Malachi returned. Before he headed back to his desk to lift up his schoolbag and head from the room.
"Harry? Are you okay?"
Harry glanced up, meeting his mum's eyes at her concerned tone, and he realised he'd zoned out in his brooding as all that Snape had told him a few days before played over in his mind.
"Yeah. I'm fine," Harry forced a smile, hoping it was convincing.
It wasn't.
"What's wrong?"
His mum tilted her head to the side, looking at him closely, as her hand came up to clasp his arm.
"Nothing. Um," Harry didn't want to talk about it. Not about Crail and Emma. So, he grasped for something else, something he did wanted to talk to his mum about, now that he thought about it, and had just been waiting for the right time; "I…uh…I know about the prophecy."
His mum drew back, straightening up slightly in obvious – unpleasant – surprise at the statement, where she was still sitting in the hospital bed.
"Wh-" she hesitated, steadying her voice; "Where did you hear about it?"
"Snape –"
At her – even more – surprised look, he quickly corrected himself.
"Well. No. I saw it, in a memory. Dumbledore's –" his mum's eyes narrowed, ever so slightly, "- So, I asked Snape about it and he told me."
"I see. And what did he tell you?"
"Everything. I think," Harry added, with a roll of his eyes – for goodness knows what he didn't actually know, he just hoped that this was everything – before he explained; "I know he was the one who told him and then he went to Dumbledore to try and stop him from killing you. And that he became a spy then – and now – to protect us. And I know that it says that I'm meant to be this…this hero or something, some saviour, that's supposed to defeat Voldemort. But I…I just, I don't believe it, Mum," Harry shrugged; "I don't."
His mum gave him a small smile – it was almost sad – but it quickly became reassuring, as she shook her head, reaching up to brush the hair back at his forehead when she said; "I don't either, Sweetheart."
"You don't?"
Harry felt as if a weight had been lifted, all of a sudden.
Obviously, it didn't change the fact there was a prophecy saying otherwise. But to hear someone – his mum – reassuring him that, yes, it was just as ridiculous to her as it was to him was, in many ways, comforting.
"No," his mum said, with certainty, before her hand clasped his shoulder and she stated, "We are all in this. All of us. Together. Alright?"
Harry's eyes flitted between hers, wanting to believe that to be true so much. And he smiled, before he nodded, slowly, accepting the comfort.
Even if, deep down, he knew it probably wasn't true. That his mum was just as unable to believe it as he was.
He glanced at the timepiece, noticing it was past his agreed return time, and got to his feet; "I better get back," he kissed his mum on the cheek; "I'll come back again tomorrow. No occlumency. I'll bring Grace this time."
His mum smiled, giving a nod; "Alright. Goodnight, Sweetheart."
Harry gave her a warm smile, glad of the fact she was there – back with them – again and headed out into the corridor.
He had to be quick – it was past six – and he quickly made his way in the direction of the office with the floo set up at the bottom. But, as he made to pass the reception desk, Julia glanced up from behind it, quickly waving him over.
Harry gave her a smile, as he stopped up in front of her.
"Hey, Kid," she greeted him with a returning smile.
"Hey."
"Listen, um," Julia glanced around them, carefully, before leaning closer and going on, more quietly; "There is a weak point in the security, the guards do a changeover between 1am and 2, and it's up to us hospital staff to keep an eye on things up here for that hour that they're on break. Just so happens that tonight, between one and two, I have been granted that privilege of overseeing the clearances. So…if you think there might be someone – anyone – that might want to take advantage of that? Maybe you want to let them know."
Harry frowned, staring back at Julia. He didn't know she knew about them.
"Are you talking about…" at the twinkle in Julia's eyes, Harry smiled; "I'll tell him."
Maybe then Snape wouldn't be quite so disappointed in him, anymore. If he actually managed to give him some good news for a change.
"Harry."
Harry had started to step away, to hurry on back to Hogwarts – he'd need to be even quicker, now, if he was supposed to pass on this message – but stopped at the obvious concern in Julia's voice.
"Yeah?"
"How…um…how's Malachi doing? He alright?"
Harry hesitated; not sure that Malachi would want him to say anything about it. Especially to someone so likely to pass the information on to his dad.
But, hell, he needed it. Someone had to do something.
"No," Harry shook his head; "Not at all."
Julia got a little frown at the frankness.
But she said nothing more and Harry gave her a small smile of goodbye, before he turned and headed on back to school.
It was almost seven by the time Harry had learned – through hearsay – that Snape had summoned the Slytherins to the Great Hall for an assembly that evening, having spent a good half an hour attempting to track him down.
As such, upon learning the information and failing to come across him, Harry hurried on up to the Hall in the hopes he might be able to catch him once the assembly had concluded.
The Great Hall was bustling, far more than would be at that time of night, and the Slytherin table was already almost full with those waiting for Snape to come and say whatever it was he'd called them there to say.
Harry had come here to wait for Snape but, obviously, he couldn't do that with obvious intentions.
So, it was with relief that he noticed Hermione and Ron sitting at the Gryffindor table with Ginny and Luna, and he headed over to sit with them while he waited, to make his presence there seem a bit less conspicuous.
"How's your mum, Harry?" Hermione asked, when he sat down.
Harry smiled, giving a nod; "Yeah, she's good. The Healers think she'll be home in the next couple of weeks."
"Just in time for summer," Ron said.
Harry nodded; "It's great. Perfect timing…"
Harry caught sight of Daphne walking into the Great Hall, flanked on each side by Parkinson and Davis, the three of them giggling amongst themselves as they made their way in the direction of the gathering Slytherins. She tossed her dark hair over her shoulder, smiling, before shooting a smirk Blaise Zabini's way, as he glowered at her from where he sat at the table, and she and Parkinson shared another laugh between them, before she climbed over the bench to sit down –
A hand slowly moved back and forth in front of Harry's face.
Harry quickly looked at the person trying to get his attention, and noticed Hermione was fighting a smile and raising an eyebrow at him, as she lowered her arm.
Harry blushed, quickly scoffing and shaking his head, but, before he could make any verbal protest, the sound of boots making a distinctive stride into the Hall and up the length of the room to the top of the Slytherin table got his – and everyone's – attention.
All the Slytherins were there, as far as Harry could tell, for the table was packed full now – he noticed Malachi, for the first time, down at the very bottom of the table, trying to make himself as unnoticeable as possible – and there were a few other House students scattered throughout the room, at their own respective tables.
Including Harry's little group at the Gryffindor table.
All had turned to look at Snape's entrance.
It was a Slytherin assembly.
But Snape didn't seem to care that they had an audience.
The Slytherins were entirely silent, their eyes all for their Head of House – an obedience amongst them that was, somewhat, foreign to Harry and his experience of the Gryffindor House assemblies – and Snape stood, at the top of the table, looking at them all appraisingly, before he finally spoke.
"I feel that the time has come for me to become a little more…personal in my address to you all. For the first time since my own Sorting, I am ashamed to call myself a Slytherin."
There was a stir amongst those in the Hall.
"I am sure you have all noticed that we have managed to earn ourselves a quite comfortable lead on our opponents this year. Indeed, our victory is quite inevitable," Snape said, softly, eyes upon the House Hourglasses that could be seen through the double doors; "Well. No more. Every single Slytherin house point is now deducted –" the stirring intensified, as the students – including those who were not Slytherins – quickly scrambled over and turned to look and, sure enough, all the emeralds in the Slytherin hourglass vanished, as protests quickly erupted at the Slytherin table.
Snape silenced his entire table of Slytherins with that look.
In fact, the whole room fell silent, as they waited to hear what Snape was going to say next.
"- And you will all feel the shame of our House collapse at the end of term assembly next month as I have.
This House does not stand divided. That is the first – the definitive – rule, above all others. And none of you before me can claim not to know it.
We are at war, as you are all well aware. And wars are not fought by single men. They are a collaboration of efforts, of talents, and of strengths. Of ambition and of cunning. We, Slytherins, we, more than any other House, ought to be aware of the merits of standing together as one. To overlook that which we cannot respect and find another that we can.
Slytherins are the House. Every single student in this House belongs here. Every Slytherin will be seen and heard and respected for what they contribute to it.
Only by standing together – here and in life – can we achieve victory. And if that is all that you learn during your time at this school, in this House, then so be it."
The Slytherins – every student in the room – stared back at him in stunned silence.
"Dismissed."
Snape, himself, strode from the room, before anyone at the Slytherin table dared move an inch.
The Great Hall erupted into a din of furious voices and outrage from the Slytherins – and spirited delight from the other house students – once he had gone, and Harry shot Malachi a sympathetic look – one that conveyed he'd come and speak to him about this, soon, for this obviously stemmed from what had been going on with him – before he used the distraction of the furious Slytherins and the amused chatter of all those who had witnessed their smackdown to slip out, unnoticed, and hurry after the man who'd just thrown the entire hall into chaos.
"Professor!" Harry called after him, when he finally got within hearing distance of him at the end of the next corridor.
Snape turned to face him and Harry was struck, suddenly, with how weary he looked when he did. But he quickly reigned it in, giving Harry a slight nod; "No lesson tonight, Mr. Potter, did we not agree?"
Harry nodded – conceding the point – but still approached, so he was close enough that they wouldn't be overheard. With a quick glance around, to be sure they were alone, he said; "This isn't that. It's…it's mum." He ended, almost on a whisper.
Snape eyed him; "Has something happened?"
Harry shook his head, quickly to reassure him; "No. She's great. It's…" he glanced around again, before saying; "If you want to see her; go tonight. At 1am."
Snape frowned; "I beg your pardon?"
"It's sorted. Julia's on guard, she'll let you in –"
Snape closed his eyes.
"Mr. Potter –"
"It's all sorted. So just go."
Harry gave him a look, at Snape's obvious unease; "Just go. You get an hour. Just an hour, so don't be late."
Snape simply stared back at him.
And Harry gave him a smile, and a shrug; "You're welcome."
Snape lifted his eyes to the ceiling, while Harry grinned, and turned heading back in the direction he'd come to go and find Malachi.
This was a bad idea.
A foolish one.
Severus knew it, even as he made his way, carefully, back along the corridor that Julia Bradbury had caught him in the last time he had dared come to Lily's bedside.
But there was no way he wouldn't have come.
Not when he had been granted this chance – the first in so long – to see her, now that she had finally awoken.
And no man was immune to weakness, just as he had said to Harry some weeks before.
His hand rested upon the door handle that would lead to the corridor that he knew Lily's room resided. Drawing in a breath, he opened it, and stepped across the threshold.
As Harry had implied, Julia Bradbury was up ahead at the reception station.
She didn't look up.
But Severus knew she had heard him; that she was aware he was there, as she studiously kept her eyes upon the parchments in front of her.
Regulus had surely warned her about legilliemency.
Severus did not linger. He made the few steps down to Lily's door, a quick glanced around himself when he reached up for the handle.
Severus slipped into the room.
There was a comfort, there, being back in the shadows.
His eyes found Lily in the darkness: sound asleep in the bed.
Severus hesitated.
He shouldn't wake her – had Harry or Julia not told her he would be coming? – he should allow her to rest, for she surely needed it.
But who knew when they would have this chance again and he knew she would not thank him, for sitting in the chair at her bedside and simply staring at her for the full hour they had been granted, while she slept their time away.
Perhaps he was just making excuses – for he felt incredibly selfish, this night – but he approached, taking a seat beside her on the bed.
Severus reached up, gently brushing her hair back from her forehead, and the soft skim of his fingertips was enough to rouse her.
Lily blinked awake.
Simply stared back at him for a moment in that endearing – oh-so-familiar – bleary way that she always did, in those first few seconds of wakefulness.
Her voice was a murmur when she spoke.
"Are you real?"
Severus leaned closer; his own voice as quiet as hers; "Are you?"
Lily's eyes closed and she reached for him, pulling him close, and he went to her, burying his face into her neck as he breathed her in and held her tight.
It hurt more now, in her arms, than it had in all those months that they had been apart – which made no sense – but, now, knowing she was here with him once more, he finally allowed himself to feel it.
All the grief and the fear and the anguish he had suppressed when she had been lost to him; all the guilt and the remorse at his shortfalls and his choices, as he'd attempted to steer Harry and Grace down a path to safety, without the guidance of their mother.
"Shh," he heard Lily's voice murmur into his hair, and he wondered if he had spoken it aloud, what he felt, or if she just knew, as she always did.
"Lily."
His voice was a whisper; hoarse and grief-stricken. And if she hadn't known what he felt, she surely did now.
"Shh. I'm here."
She was here. She was in his arms.
Severus drew her closer, still, simply holding her. No words would come to him – there should be so much to say, after all these months apart – but all seemed to pale in the face of the significance of her simply being there, with him, and breathing.
And, in that moment, nothing else mattered but the feel of her alive and there in his arms.
Lily reached up to where Severus' head lay upon the pillow beside her, cupping his cheek in her hand and brushing away the dampness that still lingered upon it with her thumb.
It was rare for him to allow himself to be seen this way, so vulnerable – even by her – and it was both warming and alarming. And it pained her that he had obviously been through so much – had forced down and suppressed so much of what he had been feeling – so much so that simply seeing her again was enough to make him break.
"Forgive me," he said, quietly.
"Hush," she touched a fingertip to his lips, and they twitched, in the slightest of smiles, before he gave it a kiss.
Lily smiled, unable to help herself, and shuffled closer, so their noses were almost touching; "I dreamed of you every night."
"Hm?"
She nodded; "And I would waken longing for you."
"We only have a little time," Severus glanced at the timepiece; "I should not have wasted –"
"It wasn't wasted, Severus," Lily hushed him again; "I'm here with you, for you, always. Don't hide how you're feeling; not from me. Not ever."
Severus averted his eyes, going to look at where his fingers were slowly trailing up and down the skin of her arm, as if he were afraid to stop touching her. As if she might simply disappear.
"I'm here. And I love you," she murmured.
His eyes met hers once more.
And then he gave her one of his small, rare smiles; "And I, you."
Lily brushed her nose again his once, twice, and pressed her lips to his – their first kiss in far too long – and he returned it, tenderly, gently, his fingers a feather touch upon her cheek as if he were afraid of breaking her.
Lily drew back, only slightly, so that their noses still touched.
There should be so much to say, she knew it, so much to ask and know, after all these months.
But she was content in the silence, in his arms and in his gaze and, it seemed, so was he. So, they simply lay there, together, in the dark. In the silence. He there with her and she with him.
Until, too soon, he pressed his lips back to hers, once more, before he got to his feet and left the room without a word.