Chapter Sixty-Four

"What time's your dad coming to get you?" Harry asked, leaning back against the tree that overlooked the lake.

"He said after lunch. You want him to take you?" Malachi asked him, from the spot on the glass he was lounged on next to Daphne, who was engrossed in reading the roll of parchment Malachi had given her a few minutes before.

"Nah. Uncle Remus is gonna take me. Just waiting on him saying bye to –" he indicated with a nod in the direction of the castle, where Remus could be seen talking away with Nymphadora Tonks, animatedly, seemingly nowhere near finishing up their conversation.

Malachi got a smirk; "Think there's a wedding coming up in your future, Harry. Better prepare a speech."

"Why'd I need a speech?"

"You'd obviously be the Best Man," Malachi said, as if it were obvious.

"Oh my gosh!" Daphne suddenly exclaimed, before Harry could answer him. She sat up, her eyes wide and her expression one of astonishment, as she clutched the parchment in her hand. Harry tried his best not to stare, glancing out at the lake, before back at her.

Daphne's eyes were all for Malachi; "You wrote this?"

Malachi had reddened and wasn't quite meeting her eyes, as he gave a shrug; "Is it bad?"

"Um. No," Daphne rolled her eyes, looking back at it and quickly skimming through it again, her previous astonishment giving way to one of delight – obviously very impressed with him – before she met Harry's eyes, making his stomach jump at the sudden eye contact; "Have you read this, Potter?"

Harry nodded; "Yeah. It's good. I told him, that."

"It's more than good," Daphne insisted, crossing her legs in front of her, turning her attention back to Malachi; "This is – uh – what's the word…revolutionary."

Malachi scoffed, blushing fully now as he shook his head; "It's just what I think, is all."

"Can I give it to my father?"

Malachi met her eyes, with a frown; "You think he'd print it?"

"Um, yeah," Daphne chuckled, saying it as if it were obvious; "But, I mean, only if you want him to. It's…" she eyed it, barely able to hold in her smile – which Harry had very rarely seen – as she went on; "It's very Pro-Muggle, Malachi. It's probably the most Pro-Muggle Anti-Statute thing I've ever read."

"Well. Good," Malachi shrugged; "It's supposed to be. Opposing the Statute doesn't mean we have to hate muggles. If anything, getting rid of it would bring us closer to them."

"Yeah, but it's something that's gonna ruffle a lot of feathers," she said, though she didn't seem too bothered about that; "It'd change some things. Well. Everything."

"Isn't your dad some big Anti-Statute propagator, anyway?" Harry pointed out; "Doesn't he have a ton of people writing stuff like this."

"Nothing any of my father's writers have ever written is anything like this," Daphne said, with certainty; "He'd love it."

"Does he like muggles?" Harry with a frown.

"No," Daphne scoffed, as if that were obvious, before she said; "But he doesn't shy away from things that make him think. And this would make people think," she turned her attention back to Malachi; "What do you think?"

Malachi shrugged; "Well. Sure. If he wants to print it, yeah. I don't mind."

"It needs a title; you didn't write one."

"Oh, um…" Malachi frowned looking put on the spot; "I dunno. Our World? Or something. I'm not good at that sort of stuff."

"One World," Harry piped up, having read the paper, and both of them turned to look at him.

He raised an eyebrow, giving a shrug.

Malachi smiled, nodding; "Yeah. One World."

"One World," Daphne repeated, with a wide smile of her own - right at Harry, which made his stomach flutter and he looked away, stop it! - before she scribbled it down at the top of the parchment.

"Max E. MacLean," Daphne read the sign off, once she'd done; "Cute quillname."

Malachi got a little smile at – what Harry knew was – the nod to Emma and said nothing more.

"Alright, Max," Daphne said, rolling up the parchment and leaning down to Malachi with a grin; "Prepare yourself – for infamy."

She and Harry laughed, while Malachi rolled his eyes with a wry smile, clearly thinking the whole thing was no big deal, at all.

And then Malachi's eyes lit up when he caught sight of Mr. Black, coming out the doorway up ahead, and he grabbed his bag and got to his feet; "See you at the Foundation in a couple of weeks, alright?"

Malachi didn't wait for a reply, taking off in his father's direction.

Harry watched the scene from where he sat by the tree, at Mr. Black's wide smile and wide arms as Malachi reached him and Malachi rolled his eyes at first, with faux-reluctance, but then he smiled when he was hugged tight in his dad's arms.

Harry smiled at the obvious, unconcealed affection between the two of them as they drew back, Malachi saying something to Mr. Black that earned him a headlock and a hair ruffle, before they laughed and headed on their way.

Harry forced down that feeling of longing that rose up within him. The disappointment that he knew would surely follow if he lingered upon it; that he'd never have that.

"Must be nice, huh?"

Harry glanced in Daphne's direction, having forgotten that she was even there at all.

"What?" he asked.

Daphne's eyes were on Malachi and Mr. Black, as well, not looking at him when she answered.

"To have a father so willing to show you that he loves you. My father always said that Regulus Black was as Slytherin as they come."

"You say that like it's a bad thing. You're a Slytherin."

Daphne got a wry smile.

"I don't think my father meant it as a compliment."

Harry didn't really know what to say to that, unsure if Daphne was expecting him to say something in support of her House or against it.

So, instead, he just said.

"Mr. Black's one of the best men I know."

Daphne met his eyes then.

She said nothing, simply looked at him.

And Harry felt himself blush – infuriatingly so – as he glanced away. He got to his feet, suddenly eager to leave, and nodded in the direction of Remus; "Think they're finished up, now –" Remus and Tonks looked nowhere near finishing up, "- Have a good summer, Greengrass."

"Yeah. You too, Potter."

"What do you think?"

Malachi eyed the new cottage his dad had picked for them.

He both longed for Crail – home – and was glad to not have to go back there.

This one was nice enough, he supposed.

There was water – Harry would like that – and there was lots of land, just for them, on the doorstep. He could see a few other houses, scattered in the distance, but there was a good half a mile between them and the nearest one – unless he used the boat, he supposed, that was apparently theirs down at the edge of the loch – and he gave his dad a smile.

"Yeah, it's nice, Dad."

"Disappointed, huh?"

"No," he shrugged; "Just…it's not…"

"Home?"

Malachi looked down, with a little frown.

"It's my own fault we lost it."

Lost her, his mind whispered, quickly thinking of Emma.

Malachi quashed the thought, shaking his head, before he looked back up and forced a smile; "I love it."

His dad met his eyes, sharply, looking unimpressed at the act, and pointed at him.

"Don't do that."

Malachi's shoulders dropped and the smile along with it, as he crossed his arms across his chest, looking at the house, appraisingly; "It is nice, Dad. I'll get used to it."

His dad's hand went to his shoulder; "Son. It's alright to still be hurting."

Malachi felt a lump in his throat quickly rise, as if the permittance to feel pain for Emma's death had unleashed the gates he had shoved it all behind these past few months, and he looked down, determined he wouldn't cry about it, again. Not in front of anyone. Even if it was just his dad.

"There's…" his dad began, glancing out at the loch; "The Fidelius doesn't reach the whole radius. So that music thing you've got –" Malachi met his dad's eyes, getting a smile – a real one, this time – at his dad's obliviousness to the muggle world, "- it'll work down by the water, if you wanted to use it. And there's a little muggle village down the path – about a mile – we could go sometime if you want."

His dad got a grin, all of a sudden, and then he put both hands on Malachi's shoulders, turning him so they were facing one another, fully; "In fact; if you want to make this summer just an entire muggle-world adventure fest, then I am all for that. Anything you want to do, we're gonna do it."

"That's dangerous, Dad. We should just be staying here."

"No. You've been locked up with me long enough."

Malachi looked at his dad, uneasy at the statement, as he realised he wasn't the only one going through something, right now.

"I'd rather be locked up with you, Dad, than anywhere. Alright?"

His dad got a smile that didn't reach his eyes – exactly the thing his dad had just scolded him for – and he drew him in for a hug; "Where'd I be without you, hm?"

Suddenly, as he held his dad tight, Malachi wished he had stayed after Easter. Not just for himself, but for his dad. He'd obviously needed him. And Malachi had been too wrapped up in his own pain to even notice.

Malachi wondered if he should tell his dad that he'd seen Julia – that she'd seemed happy until she'd thought of him, so she was obviously missing him – but he wasn't sure if that would make his dad happy or even more miserable than he was trying to pretend he wasn't.

So, Malachi kept quiet, drawing back with a smirk.

"Fine. If you want a muggle summer; you'll get one."

His dad chuckled, eyeing him with a grin; "That sounds like a threat, Son."

"Count on it."

His dad laughed, putting an arm around his shoulders, drawing him up towards the house.

"No magic at all?" Harry could hear the disappointment in his sister's voice before he saw her.

"None at all, Sweetheart, those are the rules. You know that."

"But, it's just a little bit, Mummy."

Harry felt his heart sink a little, when he realized his mum must know, now, what had happened at Easter, and he felt his own surge of guilt at it all come back to him, as he pushed open the door into the living room.

Both his mum and Grace turned from where they were sat on the sofa, their eyes brightening when they noticed him.

"Oh, Sweetheart!" his mum was on her feet, coming to him to give him a hug and press a kiss to his cheek, giving him a smile when she drew back; "It's good to have you home."

"It's good to have you home, Mum," Harry asserted, eyes going to Grace – who, usually always pounced upon him at his arrival home every holiday – and his sister shot him a bright smile and a wave.

"Hi Harry! I beat you coming home."

Harry chuckled; "So you did, Grace."

"Where's Uncle Remus?"

"Kitchen."

Grace jumped down from the couch, hurrying in that direction – stopping to give Harry a quick hug around the waist – and carrying on through.

The lack of the usually delighted reunion with his sister – not much need for one after just a few days, after all – was not the only thing that was jarring.

Harry hadn't been home since he'd left for Hogwarts the summer before.

Everything looked exactly the same.

Except, now, everything was so very different.

His mum's hand on his arm drew him from his thoughts; "Harry, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Oh, um. Sure," Harry nodded, going to sit where Grace had just left with his mum.

His mum sat down, glancing in the direction of the door to the kitchen – almost uneasily – before she met his eyes and gave him a smile; "I heard your occlumency has been coming along well."

Harry nodded, immediately, to reassure her; "Yeah. Yeah – " he indicated back at the kitchen; "Snape's given me a bunch of stuff to work on; lots of 'brain enhancing exercises' –" he rolled his eyes, with a grin, " – to practice over the summer."

"Actually, Professor Snape…" she hesitated, then met his eyes; "Severus…"

Harry, despite knowing their history – and present – couldn't help the uncomfortable feeling that rose within him at hearing her speak about the man with such familiarity.

"He hoped that you and he would be able to carry on your sessions throughout the holidays. Keep up the momentum the two of you have managed to build."

"Oh," Harry frowned in surprise; "I just saw him last night. He didn't say anything."

His mum nodded; "We thought it better that I talk to you about it first."

That made Harry feel even more uncomfortable. That his mum and Snape had actually sat and talked about him. Discussing between them what was 'better' for him, like … he hesitated in the thought ... like parents would.

Harry shifted, still with a little frown; "Why would it bother me now? I told him I'm serious about the lessons. And I don't mind if I have to see him over the holidays. We're…we're okay now. I think."

His mum smiled; "I'm glad to hear that." Her eyes went back in the direction of the door, before she went on; "Actually, the reason for some concern is that the lessons are going to have to take place here."

"Wait…here?"

Harry stared at her, baffled at the information.

"But…how could he come here? What about…"

Harry broke off, realizing now what the problem was. He glanced away.

"You want me to keep it a secret from Grace. He's going to be hiding from her."

His mum nodded; "Yes."

Harry shifted, leaning back on the sofa, and did his best not to cross his arms across his chest and sulk. Glowering at the floor, instead, seemed a bit less childish; even if he was now as irritated as he was uncomfortable. He was starting to find that being 'in on the game' with his mum and Snape was not quite the family picnic he had imagined in his head.

But, then, ignorance wasn't exactly a state of being to aspire to, he reminded himself, and he drew in a breath, to keep himself calm – counted, silently, in his head – and reminded himself what was at stake, what he was fighting for; all measures Snape, himself, had taught him to get a hold of his emotions.

And he met his mum's eyes, making to speak, but before he could his mum explained further.

"The Orion suppression hasn't been working in the way that we'd hoped," she said; "It seems that, if she and Severus –" Harry felt that strange discomfort rise again. "- find themselves in a situation, one in which they had previously found themselves in before, it is enough to trigger a memory. It happened at Hogwarts last week; she gave him a stone. It brought back a recollection of a moment shared between them in the past."

Harry nodded slowly, eyes on the floor, as he considered the information. Glad, at least, of the fact that his mum was willing to tell him that much; explain the reasons, this time, rather than just tell him what he was to do.

He met his mum's eyes, getting a little, humourless smile.

"And all Grace's memories of him are here. In this house."

His mum nodded, not holding his eyes for long, and Harry could sense it, then; a little bit of shame that roiled off of her, when she basically admitted that he and Grace had built an entire relationship within these very walls, right under his nose, without Harry even realizing it.

Well. Not for a long while, at least.

Harry swallowed, nodding, not meeting her eyes either when he said quietly; "Okay."

"Okay?"

He met her eyes; "It's for Grace's own good, right? 'Course I will."

I always would have, his mind added on, resentfully. Harry pushed the thought away.

His mum got a smile, but it was a sad one, rather than the warm, affectionate one's they'd shared since she'd awoken, and her hand came up to take his wrist; "Sweetheart. We never really talked. About what happened last year."

"You mean about what happened the last seven years?" Harry met her eyes, guardedly; "I think I've got it pretty much figured out now, Mum."

His mum's eyes lowered, as if she wasn't quite sure what to say.

And Harry wasn't mad at her – he didn't want her to think he was still mad – so he leaned forward and kissed her cheek, and she met his eyes with a look of surprise. Harry gave her a smile, before he got to his feet.

"I'm gonna go upstairs; haven't been in my room in a while."

His mum smiled, clearly touched by his gesture, and nodded; "Okay, Sweetheart."

Harry smiled, heading away.

He wasn't mad at his mum. He was just…disappointed. Like Snape was in him. As if he couldn't, really, trust her now, even if she hadn't really meant to hurt him.

Harry's eyes found the various parts of the room as he made his way to the staircase.

The fireplace and the nook by the window; the bookcase and the doors to the kitchen; the rug on the floor and the picture that hung by the door to the hall.

All home to him.

All home to Snape.

And it was just…bewildering, to know that Snape knew all this and had lived all of this, parallel to him, with his mum and with Grace.

He hurried on up to his room, knowing – hoping – that that was a part of the house Snape didn't know. That in there was a part of home that was just his, and his alone.

And Harry went into it, relieved to see it was exactly as he'd left it, at the beginning of the school year. And he got a little smile when he saw his pillow, torn in the back with feathers scattered all around the bed, the last memory that he had of Grace before she wasn't just his anymore.

And then he sighed, throwing himself down onto the bed, and wondered if the feeling that it had all been a lie was ever just going to go away.

"Are you staying for dinner, Uncle Remus?" Grace asked him, looking at him hopefully.

"Not tonight, Grace, I was just dropping off your brother," her Uncle Remus said, with a shake of his head and a little smile that she returned.

Her eyes went to Harry's bag, that was sitting at the door, and she wandered over to it, mischievously, and reached for the zipper to pull it open.

Before she could, however, her Uncle Remus' voice sounded, sternly behind her.

"Don't."

There was flash in her vision and she was somewhere else, for a second, as a stern voice – not her Uncle Remus' but a familiar one, one that she couldn't quite place – scolded her for something she was doing.

"Don't…Don't."

A hand reached in front of her, grasping the phial she had been reaching for, eagerly, moving it out of reach. Against the rules. And, sheepishly, she raised her eyes up from the kitchen counter…

"Grace, what are you doing with Harry's bag?" her mum's voice sounded behind her, far less stern, and Grace looked over her shoulder at her.

She shot her a bright smile.

"Mummy, when is Daddy coming home?"

Her mum faltered, looking uncertain, and she shared a look with her Uncle Remus.

Her mum cleared her throat, while her Uncle Remus frowned at the counter; "Not for a while, Sweetheart."

"I hope he comes home soon. I want to tell him about all the magic and the people I got to see at Hogwarts."

Her mum just looked at her for a second, before she gave her a smile.

"I'm sure he'd love that, Honey."

Grace smiled, sure he'd love it, too. Her Daddy loved magic, she remembered, just as much as she did.

With a bounce in her step, she headed off in the direction of the stairs. Decided that Harry must have had enough time to be by himself, by now, and made her way up to his room.

The Death Eaters were still there.

Draco lay on his four-poster bed, staring up at the ceiling, surrounded by all the things any rich wizarding kid could possibly want.

He ignored the howls of agony that carried up from the basement. He hoped that it wasn't his father who was making someone scream like that.

His father had gone to Azkaban when he was seven.

Draco barely even remembered the man he had been before he'd been taken away. He was as stern as he was, now, he supposed. And he would often have Draco accompany him on various outings, as if he were parading his young heir out and about in society, making sure he was known to the world.

He knew his father was proud of him, simply for existing.

That, along with all the stories his mum had told him – assuring him that all of the negatives printed in the media were unfounded – had made Draco regret the loss of him; made him miss and wish for him to come back into their lives.

Well.

That was stupid.

Draco wished his father were still locked up in Azkaban.

The wails below intensified to unbearable shrieks. Draco rolled over, buried his face into his pillow and clamped his arm over his exposed ear, trying to block out the sound.

He knew his mother had asked that the basement be sound proofed with silencing charms, so that Draco wouldn't hear all of this. But the Dark Lord had refused – instead, raised his wand and made her scream the way the man below did now – and his father had been furious with her for even asking, telling her she would get herself killed and to do as he says. And he told Draco not to even think about casting a silencing charm upon his room, clearly picking up on his son's intentions.

His father loved his mum.

Draco could see it, the way they looked at one another, but it was marred with a glint, or, even, a darkness that still affected him, his time under the guard of the dementors clearly having driven him to the brink.

Draco had felt the effects of the dementors.

He didn't think he'd last seven years feeling like that.

He was ashamed, then, for wishing his father were still there.

The screaming abruptly stopped.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut.

Tried not to wonder if they were dead.

The house was deadly silent for a few minutes.

Blissful silence.

And then there was a knock at his door.

Draco quickly composed himself, getting to his feet and brushing down his clothing, straightening up as much as he could as the door pulled open; fearing it was his father.

It was his mum.

Draco relaxed.

She gave him a warm smile; "Are you well?"

He nodded; "Yeah. It's good to be home."

His mum eyed him, and he gave her a smirk, and she nodded, smiling, and looking down.

She reached a hand out to him, looking apologetic when she did; "He has asked for you."

Draco felt his stomach drop; "I've only been back an hour."

"I know. But the Dark Lord does not wait."

"I…"

His mum stepped towards him, her hands going to his shoulders, and she looked at him, with affection and reassurance in her gaze when she said, quietly; "I know that this is frightening. But I promise you, my darling, that if you just do as he asks, keep your head down – be a Slytherin –" the two of them smiled at one another; "- then everything is going to be fine."

Draco drew in a breath, nodding.

Before he said: "But. I don't know anything that he wants to hear. I don't know Harry Potter. We don't even speak."

"And your cousin?"

"Malachi? He's Potter's best friend; I don't speak to either of them."

"The Dark Lord has heard differently."

Draco scowled; "Well if he has others spying on them, then why do I have to? Mac's family isn't he? You're the one who told me to look out for him when he started at school. Doesn't family loyalty mean anything to him?"

"Draco," his mum's voice was stern; "Do not ever question the wishes of the Dark Lord. He is our Lord."

Draco sighed, a breath that trembled, and he reluctantly followed her in the direction of the door.

The two of them were silent as they made their way through the house. As they passed all the masked Death Eaters that stood throughout the hallways, silently, following whatever orders the Dark Lord had given them.

It was a thing of nightmares.

Draco wondered, if he were a Gryffindor, would his hands tremble a bit less and would he feel brave, entirely fearless, as he made his way down to report his observations to the Dark Lord.

But Gryffindors were only fearless because they were stupid, he reminded himself, unaware of the value of actually considering the consequences of…well…anything.

And Draco was fairly certain the consequences of meeting the displeasure of the Dark Lord would mean either agony or death; for either himself, his family, or all of them.

He forced himself to straighten up. To be smart. Be a Slytherin, his mum had said, and play the game.

The door to the basement opened, far too soon, and he made his way inside, alone, his mum being held at the door outside.

His father eyed him with cool pride from his place at the Dark Lord's side as Draco made his way to the middle of the room.

Draco couldn't help it. He trembled as he stood before him – the Dark Lord - as his red eyes glinted as he eyed him where he stood.

"So. What information do you bring me of Harry Potter and Malachi Black?"