Chapter Sixty-Five

"How come you're not coming to the beach, Harry?" Grace asked, innocently, as she shrugged into her cardigan.

"I've got schoolwork to do, Grace. Boring stuff."

"Schoolwork? But it's summer!"

"I know. Blows, right?"

"Yes," Grace said, frowningly, her eyes going to their mum as she zipped up the bag they were taking; "You should write a letter to excuse him, Mummy. They made Harry do extra lessons at Easter, too."

"I'm sure Harry will be just fine, Sweetheart," his mum said, with a smile at his sister. She guided Grace in the direction of the door with a hand on her shoulder, meeting Harry's eyes as she did; "Right?"

"Yeah," Harry said, with a nod; "It'll be fine, Mum."

Harry was nervous, though, after they left. He was to just stay there and wait. Wait for Snape to come to his – their – house.

He had no clue how this whole thing was going to go. And he'd been nervous about it ever since his mum had first dropped the information on him, the second he'd come home. from school, that Snape would be carrying on his lessons here for the next few weeks. And he found he had both anticipated and dreaded that coming Wednesday in equal measure.

But Snape had postponed the first lesson they were due to have, the first week of the holidays.

And, then, again, the second. Both of them without explanation; just an order to carry on with what Snape had already supplied.

And, so, Harry had half-expected that this one, now two weeks into the summer holidays, would also be cancelled. But he'd had no word of it so far and it was past time, now, so he could only assume that meant that Snape was actually coming.

Harry sighed, impatiently, his eyes going to the timepiece. It was almost half three.

Snape was late.

Snape was late.

The very idea of it seemed almost ludicrous.

The Potions Professor was not one who'd be late for anything – especially not by half an hour – and Harry rolled his eyes, knowing that if he had dared to show up to this lesson half an hour later than instructed, Snape would have skinned him for it.

"Potter."

Harry spun round, shocked to find Snape already in the house, behind him.

Harry frowned, glancing between him and the kitchen door; "Um. Wha – how did you-?"

"I entered the premises through the basement. Are you ready?"

Harry realised Snape had probably done so a million times before. He probably already had a bunch of routes and plans for getting in and out of the house, unnoticed.

Harry wondered if he had ever done so, while Harry was actually in the house. If he and his mum had ever been together, here, with him in just the other room.

He pushed the thought aside.

Thoughts like that entirely unhelpful, always, but especially right now.

He hurried to keep up when Snape didn't wait; the man turning swiftly on his heel and heading back down the stairs into the basement that he had just come up from.

"I trust you have been exercising the methods of calmness that I assigned to you prior to the holidays?" Snape said, before Harry had even reached the last step.

"Oh. Um…yeah," Harry nodded, as he came to stand in front of him – at a distance – taking in the man's appearance properly for the first time.

Harry hesitated.

Snape did not look well.

He was pale, much paler than usual – almost completely white – and even in the dim lamp light of the basement Harry could see a little bead of sweat glean and slip from his temple down to his chin.

"Um. Are you alright?"

"Quite alright, Mr. Potter," Snape said, his tone clipped.

"You look really bad. Do you want me to get Mum –"

"I certainly do not."

"She's a Healer."

"And I am a Potions Master; I assure you, I am quite well and capable of tending myself should it be necessary," he drew his wand; "Now. That is enough of your stalling, Mr. Potter. We are running late as it is. Prepare yourself."

Harry scowled.

He wasn't stalling.

Snape looked like death and anyone would be concerned, having someone show up on their doorstep looking like that.

But with the man refusing to even entertain the idea of being tended to – and Harry certainly wasn't about to offer to do so himself – Harry did as he was told and stood in the middle of the room, gripping his wand tight.

"I can use my own magic, right? It won't trigger the trace, like before?"

"You may use your magic. The Fidelius conceals all that happens within it."

"Oh. I didn't know that."

That quickly set Harry's mind going.

Snape picked up on those thoughts, instantly; "Do not even think about abusing that knowledge, Mr. Potter."

Harry sighed, eyeing Snape with annoyance, and wondered if it was going to be like this all summer.

He had – foolishly – thought things might be a bit different between them, being in the house, but he supposed it was probably better it wasn't. It'd make it far easier, after all, lying to Grace about what he'd been doing if he really was just with 'Professor Snape' in the basement other than the 'Severus' his mum had begun to refer to him as.

"Ready now?"

Snape's voice spoke, drawing Harry from his thoughts, and Harry quickly focused, clearing his mind, and he brought forth the barriers he knew to pull upon; pushed away all the dangerous memories he had back into their box.

"Legillimens!"

Memories flittered on by. Harmless ones. Ones of Malachi and Daphne and Grace and his mum; nothing that Voldemort didn't already know about him. He was slinging his arm around Malachi at the career fair; staring in amazement at Daphne as she'd dared raise her wand against a Slytherin; Grace was giggling as she clung tightly to his back as he giddy-uped around the living room with her upon it; he gave his mum a kiss on the cheek.

Snape lingered a while, pushing and prying, trying to get on further, and it took a good few minutes before he could – catching a memory Harry had tried to conceal – but it was a buffer memory, as Harry called it. One that he didn't want Voldemort to see but that didn't really matter if he did.

Snape withdrew, looking impressed – as impressed as he could while trying to remain upright, that is – and gave a nod; "Again."

They went again.

The cycle continued. Each time, Snape pushed a little harder. Each time, Harry was able to keep him at bay a little bit longer.

They went again.

And again.

Doing so, as the minutes ticked on, until more than an hour had passed. Perhaps they were even closer to two.

Snape showed no sign of stopping, seeming determined to make up the time for the lessons lost.

The man tried harder, as time went on, becoming a little bit more aggressive in his attempts to break through; still, Harry's barriers held. But he was growing weary, now, under the strain.

Harry was pretty sure they both were, as Snape's posture seemed to wilt even further.

"Good," Snape said, finally satisfied; "Good."

It was difficult not to puff up at the – unexpected – praise.

"There is almost no trace of you attempting to exercise occlumency. But it is not entirely absent, as it must be. The Dark Lord must not know you are utilising it; if he does, he will know to keep looking."

"Alright. So, I've got to be…even more subtle?"

"Try not to exercise the magic quite so obviously; keep your memories flowing smoothly. Do not give any indication that you are aware of what he is trying to do. And be aware of your body language. You must remain relaxed, calm."

"Well, I won't exactly be calm and relaxed if Vold – if he is standing in front of me, looking through my head, will I?"

"Who is giving the lesson, Mr. Potter?"

Harry shut up.

Normally – granted, their more recent normal – he'd maybe offer up a comment, give him some sass, but Snape looked ready to collapse where he stood now and Harry was becoming more and more alarmed by the minute.

The little bead of sweat was no longer a bead; the man's entire forehead, his face, even, gleamed in a light sheen of sweat and, now and again, his breaths would come out in little puffs.

His mum would be pretty angry, he imagined, if she came home and found Snape dead and Harry hadn't thought to get him to St Mungo's or something.

"Now. Shall we try it?" Snape said. Despite the obvious weakness of his body, Snape's voice was as collected as it always was. Maybe Snape didn't realise how bad he was. Maybe he was delirious?

Snape looked back at him, coolly, suddenly looking much more composed – stronger, even – when Harry made no move to prepare himself.

Harry sighed, doing as he was asked, and within a few seconds Snape was back in his head.

Harry remained calm. He wondered if the reason he was doing so well was because Snape was so weak, right now. He wasn't sure how the powers of legillimency worked. If Snape needed to be at full physical strength to go into people's heads, the way you should be to keep people out.

Memories from his childhood flitted on by. Sirius was there, laughing and giving him a hug, and Harry – against the rules – held onto that one, a little, before it faded, Sirius' face easily morphing into Malachi's similar, much younger one and Harry was showing him his Hogwarts letter in excitement. He liked that memory, too.

Harry forced himself to focus and he pushed back, knowing better than to allow himself to get lost in the warm memories. That was a tactic Voldemort would deploy, Snape had warned him, to encourage him to let down his guard.

Harry flicked his wand. It wasn't against the rules, but Harry hadn't used it much during the sessions, always opting for control and mind balance, as Snape had encouraged him to do. And when he did change tact, using his wand and magic for defence, he was suddenly – expectedly – thrown into other, far darker memories that were not his own.

There was darkness and glinting red eyes and yowls of agony.

It only lasted a second before he was out.

Harry was startled as he found himself staring back at Snape. It had only happened a handful of times – less than a handful – but that was enough for him to know what he had seen and realise what Snape had endured at Voldemort's hand. Probably this very day, before this lesson, if the state of him were anything to go by.

Harry almost shuddered, unable to shake the unease that had risen at the sounds of his agony; almost unhuman. Harry didn't know a person could sound like that.

Harry had had enough, lowering his wand and finally voicing his concern more forcefully.

"I think you need to rest, Sir."

"That's enough, Potter," Snape snapped; "I was off my guard, that is all."

Snape reached up, wiping a hand across his forehead, and he rolled his eyes when he noticed the sweat that then sheened upon it.

"There's handkerchiefs in the –"

Snape was already going to the cabinet Harry was going to indicate, the drawer open and one of said handkerchiefs in his hand, rubbing impatiently at his face, before Harry had finished the sentence.

Harry frowned, watching him, before his eyes slowly moved around the room, taking in everything that was in it; for the first time, really looking at all of it.

There were phials and bottles and jars of potion ingredients everywhere. Books packed into every nook and cranny of the cabinets and the bookshelves at the other side of the room. There was a smaller cabinet, next to the bookcase, that Harry knew housed two small cauldrons and brewing supplies. And there was a workbench, in the further corner, that was never used.

At least, not as long as Harry was in the house, he realised.

Harry's eyes went to Snape, who was folding and tucking the handkerchief – one of his own handkerchiefs – into his pocket. He was looking slightly less sickly, now that he'd wiped away the sheen of sweat that had built up and glistened upon his brow.

"This is your room," Harry found himself saying.

Snape met his eyes, wearily; "I beg your pardon?"

"The basement – this basement – it's yours. All this stuff."

Snape eyed the room, before he met Harry's eyes, neither confirming nor denying it. Not that there was much need to. It was obvious, now. Harry had never really wondered why they had all this stuff – his mum was a researcher, after all – and it had always just been here.

Before either of them could say any more, the door slammed overhead and the sound of footsteps, followed by the laughs and voices of his mum and his sister filled the quiet.

Harry's eyes were on the ceiling at their return and, when he looked back down at Snape, he saw that his were, too.

"Should we cast a silencing charm?" Harry asked, almost in a whisper, when Snape made no move to do anything.

Snape shook his head, the slightest turn from side to side; "No. We have gone on long enough, today. I shall return this weekend. Saturday afternoon. I will contact your mother with the set time."

Harry nodded; "Okay. Um…"

Snape still looked awful and Harry didn't really want to leave him like this.

"Do you…do you have to go back now? To him?"

Snape met his eyes, guardedly.

Harry simply held his look, fully convinced that if Snape said he was on his way back to Voldemort's side to spend the rest of the afternoon in excruciating torment then he'd just have to march upstairs, right now, and bring his mum down here to talk some sense into him.

"No," Snape finally said, and Harry wasn't sure if he was lying; "I am to return to Hogwarts."

"Oh. Hogwarts? I didn't know that teachers stayed there over the holidays."

"Where else would I be, Mr. Potter?"

Harry held his look for a moment before giving a small nod.

It wasn't as if Snape could go – come – home, after all.

"Well. Alright. Make sure you see Madam Pomfrey or something –"

"As I said, Mr. Potter, I am quite capable of tending to my own needs. Now." He nodded in the direction of the stairs; "I have given you a dismissal."

"This isn't school. It's home."

"And you are to follow my direction in both."

Harry kept his eyes on him, still hesitant, but when Snape's eyes narrowed and his lips moved – a lecture, obviously imminent, at his impertinence – Harry sighed and turned, heading on his way up the stairs. He glanced back, keeping his eyes on Snape, who had moved towards the exit, and Harry headed on further up the staircase out of sight.

He waited a moment.

And then he crept carefully back down a couple of steps, peering through the little gap where the wall met the bannister; and, when he did, he saw Snape slowly make his way back further into the room – after he was convinced Harry had gone – and gingerly lower himself into the chair by the workbench, with a shudder.

Harry drew back and, as silently as he possibly could, made his way up the rest of the stairs and out into the kitchen.

He hurried into the living room, where he could hear his mum and Grace's voices.

His mum met his eyes, getting a smile when she noticed him; "How did it go, Sweetheart?"

"Mum," Harry's voice was a whisper, as he hurried over to her – casting a cautious eye Grace's way, as he did, to ensure she wasn't paying any attention – before he went on, still whispering; "I think you need to go down to the basement."

His mum immediately looked concerned; "What's the matter?"

"It's…I think he's really hurt," he whispered.

His mum's concern seemed to amply tenfold at the statement, and she glanced quickly in Grace's direction; "Can you –"

"Yeah. Yeah, Grace," he called his sister over; "You wanna come upstairs?" His mum was already heading away, back in the direction of the kitchen.

"Why?" Grace asked him, suspiciously, as she approached.

"I've got something to show you. A surprise."

Grace's eyes lit up; "A surprise? What is it?"

Harry got a little smirk and he leaned down, nose to nose with her; "If I told you, it wouldn't be a surprise, would it?"

Grace got a little grin.

And then she hurried on past him, in the directions of the stairs – and he had twenty seconds to come up with a good enough surprise to placate her – as he followed on her heels, his own eyes going in the direction of the kitchen and the basement, where he'd just left Snape.

Severus accioed the phial he needed – a second dose, the first being taken upon his surreptitious arrival – from the cabinet and downed the potion in one swig. He drew in a breath, letting his head lean against the back of the chair, giving the concoction a chance to work before he made his way back to the Dark Lord's side, having lied to the boy to spare himself the – further – headache of having to engage in a debate about the matter with him.

"Severus?"

His eyes snapped open at the sound of Lily's voice.

He cursed his own foolishness. That could have been Grace.

Severus started to get to his feet but Lily was swiftly at his side, her hand on his arm keeping him still, as she knelt beside him; "Are you alright?"

Severus met her eyes.

Her eyes were full of concern and love but that wasn't enough to whittle away his annoyance at Harry's fussing.

"Harry sent you."

"Yes. He's worried about you," Lily said, immediately, before she glanced over him; "And he isn't the only one. You look like shite, Severus."

Severus met her eyes, giving her a wry look; "I have to admit that after two weeks apart, I had expected a warmer welcome."

The concern in Lily's expression dimmed, somewhat, to allow a softness to join it, and she gave him a smile, reaching up to caress his cheek; "Is it the Cruciatus?"

"Lily."

"Have you taken –"

"I have taken all that I can and need to. It will pass. You know how it is."

"Yes. I do. You should have cancelled this session."

"I have already cancelled two. Harry's progress is at risk if I cannot maintain these arrangements."

Lily looked thoughtful, before she look at him again with concern; "Severus, if these added responsibilities are too much for you, then…I mean, didn't you say Dumbledore was able to take over the lessons throughout Easter?"

Well. That was a surprise. He must look particularly ghastly if Lily was willing to hand Harry over to Dumbledore's disposal for any length of time.

"The Headmaster is otherwise engaged, these holidays," Severus said, beginning to feel the second dose of the potion he had taken kick in, and he straightened up; "I can handle it, Lily."

"Engaged with what?"

Severus shot her a look at the forbidden question.

Lily rolled her eyes, giving a nod, before her eyes met his; "Are you sure you're –"

"I am recovered," he announced, getting to his feet, his brew doing the job nicely – enough, at least, to get him back to the Manor – and Lily stood before him.

At the continuing concern and affection in her eyes – that he could no longer be unmoved by, now that he was not feeling quite so exposed and ratty – he touched his forehead to hers; "I shall see you soon."

Lily got a smile.

He pressed his lips for her forehead, before slipping by her, accioing some phials from the shelves and shoving them into his robes as he did – his alibi for the Dark Lord when he returned – and headed from the house.

The muggle summer his son had promised had turned out to be quite the experience.

Thus far, he and Malachi had ridden every rollercoaster at the largest muggle amusement park in Europe. They had eaten every flavour of cake at the nearby bakery. They'd gone water-skiing. Flown a plane. Jumped out of said plane wearing a flimsy piece of fabric – a parachute, they called it – once, and never, ever again.

They'd gone to every old muggle style car show that they could track down. And, feeling inspired, they'd bought a car; immediately crashed said car when he couldn't get it out of reverse; and obliviated the police officers who'd attempted to arrest him.

They'd gone to Paris for the day to try the wine.

And then to Berlin to try the beer.

And to the Alps to try their luck on the slopes. In fact, on the latter experience, Regulus thought he just might have found his calling. He was a natural at skiing – they both were – and they'd be back, if survival chances allowed it.

And then he'd stuck in a stopover in Talloires, along Annecy Lake, remembering Julia had told him she'd grown up there and they'd eaten pastries on a terrace while he had imagined her there in her youth; as bright and vivacious as she was now.

All in all, a success.

Three weeks in.

Several more – but perhaps not quite enough – to go.

And Malachi still had a list as long as his arm of all the muggle things he wanted them to do before he went back to Hogwarts in September.

Regulus was determined to make this summer the time of his son's life.

And he was finding that, actually, he was having the time of his own life, too. And the heaviness in his heart had gradually lifted, as he realised just how much his son would be able to live even once he was gone.

Regulus couldn't help thinking as his son lit up more and more as the days went on - their laughter and their smiles and their jokes coming easily to both of them – that his son was simply made for life. For exploring and questioning and doing. And he was glad he'd finally let him – them – out to try it all on for a little while, while they could still do it all together.

"Beer, Sir?" the girl behind the stall shouted to him, over the din of the music that blared in the background of the music festival Malachi had picked for them, next.

"Yes, two, Sweetheart," Regulus agreed.

She handed them over with a smile and a wink, and Regulus gave her a little grin in turn as he handed over the muggle money, taking them and finding Malachi in the crowd.

"Here."

Malachi took it, taking a drink and screwing up his face.

Regulus laughed, drinking his own; "I think I prefer butterbeer."

"Me too," Malachi agreed, pouring his out, and chucking the plastic cup away as he'd seen the others in the crowd doing, while Regulus shot him a disapproving look.

But Malachi didn't notice. His eyes were all for the performers wailing up on the stage – what an absolute racket – and his son was obviously enjoying it, the music, and Regulus took another gulp of the beer he held as he grinned at his son's enthusiasm.

They carried on that way for hours, from first thing in the morning until the darkness started to fall, and Malachi was entirely engrossed in the entertainment while Regulus easily picked up conversation with the muggles who happened to come and go at their side.

"Where's your tent?" the most recent one, a girl – she was surely only a teenager – asked him, with a coy smile and a flick of her hair.

"Um," Regulus gave a little laugh, shaking his head; "I don't –"

"Oh, I have a friend," she indicated in the direction of a group a few feet away, where several other teenage girls where lying sprawled out on a blanket smoking some rather suspect smelling stuff; "A few actually. For your brother."

"My brother," Regulus laughed, fully now, nodding.

He glanced Malachi's way.

Malachi was eyeing the girl, with a little bit more interest than he'd shown any of the many others who'd been eyeing his son up for the past three weeks wherever they went, and Regulus rolled his eyes and got a wry smile, shaking his head at her; "Sorry, Sweetheart. We're taken."

The girl looked mildly disappointed, giving them both a flirtatious smile; "Well. If you change your mind, we're in the third row from the loos."

"Third from the loos. We'll keep that in mind."

Malachi shook his head, rolling his eyes, and dug his elbow into Regulus' side with a snicker.

Regulus flung an arm around his shoulders when the girl had gone, ruffling his hair with his nose; "Hear that, Son. Apparently, I look young and dashing enough to be your big brother."

"Maybe I just look older and distinctive, Dad. Or maybe it was a joke; a bet. Who can bag the granddad."

Regulus snorted with laughter, giving him a shove, while Malachi grinned, proudly, at his own joke.

"What's next up?" Regulus asked.

"There's still another day here, the ticket says the weekend."

"Son," Regulus put his hand on Malachi's shoulder, meeting his son's twinkling eyes; "I am begging you. Do not put me through another day of this."

Malachi smile with bright, his shoulders shaking with laughter; "Too much for you, Dad?"

"It's awful," Regulus eyed the stage, where the singer was still screeching; "I much prefer the car shows, I must admit."

"Well, that's because you're old, Dad," Malachi said with a grin.

Regulus gave the shoulder he held a shove with a smirk.

Mind you, he certainly felt decades older than his thirty-three years.

"Come on," Malachi took pity on him, indicating that they leave; "Wanna go to that open-air cinema I was telling you about?"

"What's that?"

"The pictures, remember? I told you about them a couple of days ago."

"How about tomorrow? I need my bed, Son. Like you said, I'm old and frail."

"Maybe the next day, then. I have to go to the Foundation tomorrow, to see Harry."

Regulus lifted his chin in a nod, remembering the arrangement.

"Think he could come with us to that festival?" Malachi asked, hopefully; "I'll get him to ask his mum if he can stay next weekend."

"I don't think so, Son."

"Oh. Why not?"

"Well, because…"

Malachi got a smirk; "Because his mum wouldn't approve? Mrs Potter's gonna be thinking you're a bad influence, when I tell him all the stuff we've been doing."

"Oh, I know," Regulus grinned, as he slung his arm around his shoulders; "Hate to break it to you, Son, but that's something the world already knows."

"This has been great," Malachi said, more sincerely, as he looked at him; "Thanks, Dad."

Regulus smiled, drawing him close and speaking into his ear.

"Don't thank me yet."

Malachi got a grin at the promise of more to come. But it faltered a little, this time.

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

"Are you alright? Really?"

Regulus swallowed, keeping his eyes ahead as they carried on, making their way to the edge of the field where they could disapparate; "Never better, Son."

"I know something's wrong. Tell me."

"Nothing's wrong, Malachi," Regulus tightened his arm around him, with a smile; "I've got my boy home and he's laughing. All is right in the world."

Malachi looked unconvinced and Regulus could sense all the progress of these weeks of delight beginning to unravel, so he stopped, turning Malachi to face him.

"There's a war," he said, simply; "It weighs. But not on you. Alright?"

Malachi's eyes flicked between each of his before he gave a little nod.

Regulus leaned in closer, giving him a smile; "And not on either of us. Not this summer. So, you keep making that list."

Malachi drew in a breath, not smiling back this time.

"It's just…it kinda feels like you're trying to squeeze all this stuff in," Malachi said, looking at him, uncertainly; "Like…you think we're not gonna have any other time to do it."

Regulus shook his head, quickly; "No. Don't think like that."

"I don't think that, Dad. I'm just worried that you do."

Regulus reached up, squeezing his shoulder with a small smile; "Every minute counts, Son. That's all. And I've always told you; live for the moment. Not the future."

"Because there's no future."

"Well, I've never said that."

Malachi got a little smile, then.

And Regulus titled his chin forward, giving him a smile in turn; "I promise you, Malachi. You're going to have an amazing future."

Malachi made to speak – and Regulus had a pretty good idea of what it is he was going to say – so he went on.

"But we don't live in that. So. With that in mind; you keep making that list."

Malachi didn't seem entirely convinced - or satisfied – with his answer, but his son sighed and nodded, seeming to realise he wasn't going to get anything more from him right now.

And Regulus took it, the little reprieve, knowing nothing good could come of lingering on the subject further, and he indicated with his head.

"Come on. Come to think of it, I could just do with a trip down to that picture place you were talking about."

"Yeah?" Malachi got a smile.

Regulus smiled, giving a nod; "Yeah."

"It's in London."

"To London it is."

Snape was late, again, to the next session.

But he didn't look like he was going to just drop dead on him at any given second this time, so that was a good thing.

And the lesson went well. Better, even, than the last one now that Harry wasn't concerned with the worry that he was going to have to explain to his mum why he hadn't gone to get her, immediately, to come tend to her dying…Severus.

So, Harry guessed it wasn't just that Snape had been too weak to break into his mind the week before. He really was able to do it; occlumency.

He could keep the secret – any secret – he could protect Grace and he could keep Voldemort out of his head.

He hoped.

"Do not get over-confident, Mr. Potter," Snape said, as if reading his thoughts; "Arrogance and pride, they can be used against you just as well as weakness of mind."

"Right. Okay," Harry nodded, glancing surreptitiously – he hoped – in the direction of the timepiece.

Snape caught the look, immediately.

"My apologies, Mr. Potter. Is there somewhere else you'd rather be?"

Harry shook his head; "No."

Snape eyed him.

"I mean. Well. I was supposed to be meeting Malachi at the Foundation."

"I see."

"It's fine, his dad's probably with him. He won't miss me."

"No. Go. It was I who rescheduled this session at the last moment."

Harry was surprised.

"Oh. Really?"

"Yes. Go."

Snape turned away from him, going to the – his own – cabinet, and pulling out some phials.

"I shall return the same time next week. Wednesday."

"Alright."

Harry didn't move from where he was standing. Unable to help but worry that him running off to meet Malachi would mean that Snape would have to return sooner – spend longer – with Voldemort, now, without the excuse to remain around here.

Not that Snape would have used this as his reasons for his absence, obviously.

Snape met his eyes when he noticed Harry hadn't moved.

"Mr. Potter. Do not keep your friend waiting."

"Is it really bad? Wherever you have to go?"

"It is as one would expect. And you know better than to ask as such."

When Harry didn't make any more to leave, Snape sighed, almost – but not quite – rolling his eyes.

"As you see, I am entirely fit and well, Mr. Potter, which I concede was perhaps not the case upon my first visit. Let me assure you, that such instances are not a frequent occurrence."

"They're not?"

"Certainly not."

Harry wasn't sure if that was the truth. He doubted it. But, then, Snape had never turned up to any lessons at school looking like that before. And, as far as Harry could remember, he'd never been absent from any classes during term time, either.

So, Harry guessed it must – might – be true.

Or, maybe, outside of the watchful eye of Dumbledore, Snape was just more vulnerable to interrogation during the holidays than he was during the school sessions. The much more likely explanation.

Harry found himself, unwittingly, wishing the summer were close to over upon the realisation.

"Mr. Potter."

Harry met his eyes.

"Mr. Black is waiting."

Harry nodded, finally accepting the dismissal, and he turned and headed on up the stairs.

They'd cast a silencing charm this time, when his mum had been detained from taking Grace out for the afternoon upon Julia's unexpected arrival at the door, less than ten minutes before they'd been about to leave, and the three of them were still in the kitchen when Harry made his way out the door.

"I still need to head down to the airport, get a ticket," Julia was saying.

"The airport?" Grace perked up, excitedly; "You're gonna fly, like, in one of those metal machines?"

"A plane. Yep. It's easier, believe it or not, going by muggle."

Grace immediately started drawing a picture of a plane on the parchment she had been doodling on; as best she could from memory of the picture books their mum had shown them.

Harry hurried on by, with another glance at the timepiece; "Mum, I've gotta get to the Foundation, alright?"

His mum gave him a smile and nodded, already knowing the arrangement, as Harry went to get the floo power from the cupboard next to where Julia was standing.

"When do you leave, Julia?" he asked her.

"Whenever there's a spot on the plane. The program starts on the 3rd. So, probably in the next couple of days."

"You should stick around for the 31st – aw, the jar's almost empty, Mum," he put the empty jar down on the counter, trying not to act as impatiently as he felt, as his mum got up and headed back down to the basement where the rest of the batch was locked up.

"I've got people coming," Harry went on, to Julia, with a shrug; "Y'know, for my birthday."

"Your mum doing a party?"

"Well. Not a party. It'll just be Uncle Remus and Ron and Hermione. I think Uncle Remus might be bringing someone, actually – "

"Remus is seeing someone?"

"Yeah," Harry grinned at her surprise; "You don't wanna miss that. And obviously Malachi's gonna be there."

Julia lifted the mug of coffee she was holding to her lips, taking a sip and not really meeting his eyes.

"So. Yeah. I guess it's a party," Harry conceded, before he grinned; "And a party's not a party without you, Julia."

Julia met his eyes, then, getting a little grin of her own in turn.

"How can I say no to that, hm?"

"Great," Harry's smiled widened, and he straightened, eagerly, when his mum returned with the power. He tried not to dwell - or even think at all - on the fact that his mum's cheeks were, now, a little flushed, and her lips pinker and fuller than they had been before she'd left.

"Well. I'll see you next week then," he said to Julia as he held out the jar, helping his mum fill it; "It'll be, like, a goodbye kind of thing for you, as well."

Julia gave him a fond little smile; "See you then, Kid."

Harry hurried on through to the living room, to the fireplace.

"He let you drink beer?"

Harry was astounded, both by all the things Malachi was telling him he and his dad had been up to for the past three weeks and, also, how happy Malachi seemed to be. A massive difference from the friend that had been with him at Hogwarts the past few months.

"It's disgusting, Harry," Malachi shook his head, screwing up his face; "Wine's better. But even that's still gross."

"Better than firewhiskey?"

"Nah. Firewhiskey's better than both of them."

Harry found that hard to believe, remembering the burn of the glass they'd nabbed and shared at Christmas, and he asked, eagerly; "You think I could come next time?"

"Nah. Dad thinks your mum would gut him for it. He said you could come and stay, though, whenever you want. Just we'd have to stick to fishing or maybe a Quidditch game, if he thinks it's safe enough."

Both options sounded awfully dull in comparison to all the cool things Malachi and his dad had been doing. Still. Even those beat the mundane everyday monotony of the house, waiting for his – relatively infrequent -occlumency lessons and waiting for his – even more infrequent – meet ups with Malachi at the Foundation.

"Yeah. I'll come stay a few nights. Just let me know when you're not doing anything. If the two of you are ever not doing anything."

"I think he thinks he's gonna get caught," Malachi said, looking a bit less thrilled, now, by the whole experience as he said it; "It's kind of like…he's trying to say goodbye. Give me something to remember him by or something. I…I'm worried about him. He's taken risks before but not like this."

"It's the muggle world, right? He probably just wants to cheer you up. After…"

"Yeah, I guess," Malachi shrugged, but he still looked thoughtful.

"Hey!" Daphne suddenly appeared round the corner, finding them where they were sitting at the table in the Research Centre, and she pulled up a chair, sitting down next to them, looking excited.

Harry had barely managed to conceal his approval, when Malachi had revealed on Harry's late arrival that he'd just sent a message to invite Daphne along, instead when - thirty minutes into the forty minutes that Harry was late to appear - Harry hadn't turned up. And Malachi had barely managed to conceal his amusement at Harry's approval.

"Hey, Daphne," Malachi smiled at her.

Harry gave her a nod and a smile, when she met his eyes, before she quickly thrust a small leather pouch filled to bursting into Malachi's hands.

"What's this?" Malachi frowned, tugging at the string, and when he did it several galleons fell out onto the table and, even then, the pouch was still packed full.

Harry's eyes widened at all the money.

"What is this?" Malachi looked at Daphne with a frown, holding the pouch back in her direction.

"Payment. My father loved your article – the sales are through the roof! – He wants you to write more for him. Could you do it? He'll pay you whatever you want."

"Um, he…he doesn't need to pay me," Malachi stared down at the pouch of galleons in bewilderment, as if he'd never seen money before in his life – though, obviously, he had plenty of it – and he shook his head, making to hand it back to her.

"Don't be silly. It's work, and good work that's worth being paid for, at that," Daphne insisted; "But what do you think? Could you write something else? Something like what you said before?"

"I…uh. I dunno. I kinda thought I'd already said everything."

"Really? There's nothing else you can think about? What about more muggle stuff; how they're not so different. You've been around them a bit, haven't you?"

Malachi was hesitant.

Harry grinned.

Malachi and his dad had been around muggles a lot the past few weeks.

"Um. Yeah. Yeah, I guess I could think of something," Malachi said, with a shrug, eyeing the money again, uncertainly.

"Great," Daphne beamed at him – and Harry liked her like this, smiling and not so stuffed up – and she went on; "He'd need it the beginning of next week though. Is that too soon?"

"Oh. Yeah. Probably. I could write it but I'll be away with my dad this weekend. And I've got…something on Monday," Malachi looked apologetic, not elaborating on the fact the thing on Monday was Harry's birthday.

"Oh. It's fine," Harry shrugged; "You can come."

"Come where?" Daphne frowned, looking confused.

"My mum's doing a thing," Harry said; "It's my birthday on Monday."

"Oh," Daphne looked surprised at the invitation; "Really? I thought you were, y'know, underground or something. Like Mac."

"It's fine. Your dad could bring her, couldn't he?" Harry said, looking in Malachi direction.

Malachi was looking back at him with the same 'what?' look that Daphne was giving him. But he obviously wouldn't point out right in front of Daphne that only their most trusted got to know where they lived – and Harry had, basically, just blurted out that Regulus Black was their Secret Keeper – and he realized, then, that he had stupidly, impulsively, just issued an invitation to his home for his birthday to Daphne Greengrass –

Why again?

"Sure. Meet us here at twelve," Malachi said to her, with a smile, not willing to be the one to plunge them into awkwardness and suggest that she couldn't be trusted in Harry's home; "My dad will take us. I'll have something written for you."

Daphne met Harry's eyes and he smiled, rather than withdrawing the invitation and coming up with an excuse – as he should – and she gave him a little smile back.

"Sure. Okay. It's gonna be filled with Gryffindors, right?"

"Just Hermione and Ron," he said. The only other two of his friends who knew. Harry felt more reassured, remembering that; it wasn't that big a deal. His mum had allowed him to have friends over before.

"Sounds fun," she said, casting a smile Malachi's way.

Harry wasn't sure if she meant it.

Still, he couldn't help that treacherous little flutter in his stomach, telling him that, actually, he wasn't really all that sorry he'd accidentally invited her.

And he ignored Malachi's little smirks for the rest of the afternoon.