Chapter Seventy-Three

Regulus hesitated when his hand gripped the door handle.

He had done so every time – the few times – that he had come back to the house, since the week before when he'd taken Julia as his wife. Overcome, for a moment, by flashes from years before – of opening the door and finding Evelyn and Malachi – that would halt him in his steps.

He whispered the incantations to release the additional wards he'd placed upon the house each time he left – useless, should Death Eaters actually, somehow, break the Fidelius – before he drew in a breath, bracing himself for something that – logically – he knew he wasn't going to find and pushed the door open.

Everything looked fine.

Exactly as he'd left it two days before. Returning and leaving again in the middle of the night.

Regulus walked down the hallway, going into the living room – where he knew Julia would be waiting – and he saw her, there, on the couch.

Unconscious.

Asleep. His mind quickly reassured him when the initial jolt came under control and he noticed her breathing steady, the blanket pulled up over her waist.

Regulus glanced at the timepiece.

It wasn't late.

He'd made sure of that; made sure he didn't put this off so long, that it would surely only anger – and hurt – her more than he already had.

He wondered if he should wait and let her sleep – if she'd rather that – for if she had drifted off, so early, she was surely not sleeping right at night. The thought made the shame swell up once more within him – the reason she wouldn't be sleeping right, obvious – and he approached, sitting next to where she lay on the couch.

For a moment, he could fool himself that this was entirely normal – coming home from work, finding his wife dozing on the couch, looking entirely peaceful in slumber – something to strive for, for the two of them, in the much-dreamed-for future.

Regulus pushed thoughts of the future aside - there was nothing to be found, there – and he reached up, gently brushing the hair back from her forehead – a feather touch, the first he'd touched her since their wedding night – and Julia stirred.

Her eyes opened – meeting his – and, for a moment, she looked at him through a bleary haze. But her look was warm, welcoming.

For a second.

That quickly changed, as it all came back to her.

"Wow –" she said, her voice husky with sleep, which corrected itself with what came next; "Almost didn't recognize you for a minute."

She pushed herself up so swiftly that Regulus had to lean back, only just managing to get out of her way, as she got to her feet and stumbled away from him, stopping just in front of the fireplace and putting some distance between them.

Regulus slowly got to his feet behind her.

Julia drew in a breath, her eyes closed where she stood turned away from him, and her fingers came up to press to her temples, in an obvious attempt to calm herself.

It was entirely endearing and unfamiliar; Regulus had never seen her do that before.

He and Julia never fought.

In fact, in all the eight years that they'd known one another, Regulus was certain that Julia had never even been angry with him before; much less livid, as she clearly was, now.

He stepped towards her – a little uncertain; "Can we talk?"

"Damn right, we're gonna talk," Julia rounded on him, then, the attempts at calming herself doing little to take the edge off her fury; "I have been trying to find you all week! This is the most that you and I have spoken since our wedding day."

Regulus nodded, lowering his eyes.

When he didn't answer – unable to say anything to either explain or defend himself – Julia's eyes closed in frustration and she reached up, pressing a hand to her forehead before running it through her hair, and Regulus could feel it – the pain he was putting her through, already – and he said the only thing he possibly could.

"I'm sorry."

Her hand dropped from her hair and she met his eyes, unyieldingly.

"I'm sorry, Julia."

Her jaw set, and her eyes remained upon him – as if daring him to look away – before she answered.

"For marrying me?"

Regulus shook his head. He was too selfish to be sorry for that.

"For not being able to give you what you deserve."

If anything, Julia looked more struck – more exasperated – by that response than she would have been, had he said he'd wished they'd never gone through with the wedding, before she bit out.

"What do you think I deserve?"

Everything.

"A life…a future. To not have to be scared every time you walk out the door –"

"Okay, stop," Julia sighed, shaking her head, before she met his eyes and there was that fire and a conviction in hers that immediately had him mesmerized, unable to look away.

"I chose this life. I chose you. I married you, Regulus. And what I deserve is a husband who is present in that marriage."

Regulus drew in a breath in the face of her certitude – despite what she had seen and endured immediately in the days that had followed their nuptials – eyes lowering, unable to stop them, and she went on.

"I have never thought that this was going to be a fairytale," Julia said, a little more quietly, but no less sure; "I'm here because I know that what you and I have is real –"

Regulus eyes lifted at that.

"So be real with me, Regulus."

For a moment, he just stared at her.

He knew what she was asking of him. Asking him to give her everything – to go all in for her as she had for him – and let her see him, all of him, and that was something he had never done.

Not with anyone.

He never could.

Even with Evelyn, he couldn't do it.

They had fought – Regulus and Evelyn – the first five or so times he'd done this; that first year after the Dark Lord's fall. Left for weeks and weeks at a time, unable to bear the remorse and the shame and the grief that would take hold; flashes of what he'd seen triggered by the slightest of things.

Evelyn's touch. Malachi's smile.

Until, eventually, the fighting had stopped. And they had just carried on and on. She wouldn't leave, and neither would he. And so, they had become trapped in the cycle. Unable to live with one another. Unable to live without.

But Julia wouldn't do that.

She would leave.

She would die before she'd allow herself to live like that.

And so, if Regulus was unable to live without her; he'd have to do it. Make the leap.

Maybe he'd always known that.

Maybe he'd always known, since that first day they'd met – when she'd looked him in the eye and told him 'no regrets' – and he'd kept coming back.

That Julia Bradbury was going to be the one.

Regulus drew in a breath, his heart hammering; "Alright."

Julia met his eyes. Her fury seemed to have died away at the sincerity in that single word. As if she knew – as he did – that there would be no going back.

"Alright," the breath he released quivered.

"I am afraid that I have…ruined your life. Every time that I come to that door…I can't open it, because I'm afraid that you are going to be dead."

His hand shook as he lifted it, fingertips pressed to his eyelids, and he willed himself to hold it back – at least a little – when he thought of all those who were dead – of Evelyn in his arms, found first, and then of Malachi, lifeless on the floor in the basement – all because of him, and then he dropped his hand and met her eyes once more.

And Julia was looking at him with so much understanding and so much love, so there with him, behind him,that he just…

"And I'm afraid that one day…you're going to stop looking at me the way that you do. And soon, you're going to see everything. You're going to see me. The real me. The person that I see, when I look in the mirror."

She looked back at him and there was still so much compassion and so much sadness and so much love; all for him.

"I'm afraid, Julia. I'm afraid."

His eyes drifted down, then, because he couldn't.

He drew in a breath, his eyes on the floor, and his voice was no longer steady; becoming quieter, smaller, barely more than a murmur when he finally said it.

"So…I keep people away…But…"

He drew in a ragged breath, while his eyes squeezed shut.

His voice a whisper.

"I don't want to be alone."

His voice broke on his last word spoken.

And he hung his head, his hands pressed to his face, as if that might stop the tears that sheer will could no longer stop from falling – not anymore – and his sobs were quiet, muffled against his palms.

But he wasn't alone.

He felt Julia's hands on the sides of his face, felt her draw him down, holding him close, and her lips pressed to his hair, his name a murmur against it – touched and spoken to with so much tenderness – and she held him tight until he was able to pull it together.

He drew back, slightly, meeting her eyes.

And her eyes glimmered with tears, as he knew his must, also. And her voice was still filled with it – all of her compassion and all of her admiration and all of her love – when she told him, quietly, surely.

"I see you, Regulus."

Her fingers trailed his cheek, the track of his tears, her eyes all for him.

"I've always seen you."

She drew his forehead to hers and he went – knowing, that wherever she led, he would follow – and she told him, in a murmur; "You don't have to hide from me. I'm never going anywhere."

Regulus released a breath, crumbling once more under her unwavering certainty in them and in him, and he reached for her.

And she went – just as she always did when he asked – and they held one another tight, as, for the first time in his life, Regulus finally – unable to hold it all back, any longer – allowed himself to break.

With the only person who had ever shown him how.

Daphne rolled her eyes, crumpling up the letter that she had been reading, and tossed it into her bag.

"Something wrong?" Malachi asked, over the top of the book he'd been reading.

"Just a letter from my father, gently reminding Max E. MacLean that if his next article is to feature in the next paper, it needs to reach him by the end of the week."

Malachi said nothing, eyes going back to the book in front of him.

"Hey –" Harry kicked his foot from where he sat opposite, the three of them huddled together in the further side of the library – which had seemed to have become 'their' spot this past week – as far from Mrs. Pince's eyes and ears as possible; " – did you see the Notice that went up this morning?"

"What Notice?"

"The One World Movement."

"Oh. The poster?"

Malachi didn't sound all that enthused, which Harry – and Daphne – thought was crazy. How unmoved Malachi seemed to be, now, by the way his words had managed to move so many people – much too burned by the experience of seeing Astoria kidnapped for his silence – and no amount of coaxing from either of them could get him to pick up the quill again. Even to send to other newspapers. Malachi insisting it would just happen again.

"Not the poster; the Student Organization. It's a Club, I guess; one of the Sixth years set it up, a Ravenclaw. There's already been a ton of interest."

"Oh."

Malachi looked a little bit interested, himself – but he quickly hid it – and his eyes went back to his book.

"Um, you should go Malachi!" Daphne piped up, sharing an exasperated look with Harry; "The whole thing is about you. You should meet them; the people – they're your people."

"They're not my people," Malachi whispered, blushing now; "I don't have people. And I'm not talking and giving speeches to sixth years; forget it."

Harry and Daphne shared an amused glance between them, at that – at Malachi's shyness – but their eyes lingered upon one another, a little bit longer than they really should, and Harry felt himself blush as well. He ducked his head, his smile turning a little shy – and Daphne's turned mischievous, obviously noticing – and he got to his feet.

"I – uh – there's this book –"

There was no book but Harry scampered around the corner, trying to find one – any would do just to give him a second to get his flutters sorted out – and he was so caught up in thoughts of Daphne that he didn't even notice Draco Malfoy standing in the next aisle until he'd almost run into him.

"Watch it, Potter."

Malfoy practically spat at him as he shot him a look, before he carried on the way Harry had come, and headed left in the direction of the exit.

Harry rolled his eyes.

Sure, he felt sorry for him, but that guy was a prick.

He grabbed a book from the nearest shelf – one that revealed Daphne and Malachi on the other side so, obviously, he could have just grabbed it from where he'd been sitting – so he put it back and took one from the other side – it was about Transfiguration, a decent enough cover for his escape – and headed back.

"Well, I think you could do it," Daphne was saying, when Harry returned; "The things you write. You're a born leader, Malachi. You shouldn't be so shy about it; people are already impressed with you – even Harry's friends, right?"

"Um…yeah," Harry nodded, sitting down; "It was Hermione who pointed out the group. She wants to go."

Malachi closed the book he was reading, getting to his feet; "I just remembered, I've got a meeting with Professor Snape."

"A meeting?" Daphne asked, in puzzlement at the statement; "About what?"

"How can you have a meeting with Snape?" Harry piped up, glancing at the nearest timepiece; he'd been trying to catch Snape all week; "It's three; he won't even be in school. He'll be at the Foundation."

Daphne looked at Harry at that, in even more puzzlement that he knew the schedule of the Slytherin Head of House, and Harry quickly corrected himself; "I mean, you told me that –" he said, to Malachi, who was staring back in him in annoyance; " – remember."

Malachi rolled his eyes.

"Later."

He left, without bothering to save him – from either his slip up or from spending more time, alone, with Daphne – and Harry looked nervously in Daphne's direction.

Daphne gave him a smile when he met her eyes.

Harry took that as a good sign – a win – and smiled back; "Um…"

Apparently promising smiles weren't enough to snuff out his nerves and his heart started beating a little too fast, his face reddening, right away, and Daphne glanced down at the parchment she had been writing on, carrying on.

"Did you want to learn more?" Harry blurted out.

Daphne looked back at him; "More?"

"More – defence," Harry clarified; "I…I could show you more. If you want."

Daphne got another smile – it was coy, almost, that time – and she lowered her eyes. But she didn't say no – as Harry was half-expecting – instead, lifting her head and nodding at him.

"Yeah. More would be good."

Harry smiled – his little heart soaring at her acceptance of his not-date – and he nodded; "Okay. Okay. Great!"

Daphne's smile widened.

Perhaps his response was a bit over-enthusiastic. For a tutoring session.

"Um…where? Where should we do it?" he said, glancing around the small space they were in.

They couldn't do it in the library, definitely. And the Great Hall, there'd be other students there; same problem by the lake.

Not that he cared about being seen with her – lots of people had seen him with her, by now – but…it'd be nicer if they were…alone.

"I dunno; the lake?" Daphne suggested a place he'd already discounted.

"How about the Astronomy Tower?" Harry suggested, as casually as he could; "There's no one…I mean…you might get put off. You know, if there was an audience."

Daphne's lips twitched; "Oh, I might be put off?"

"Well. Yeah. I mean…there's no reason for me to be," Harry shrugged, not really sure what the twinkle in her eye meant.

Daphne just nodded; "Alright. Astronomy tower. Have to be careful, though. It's a make-out spot, right? Don't want to get in other kids' way."

Harry was blushing, furiously, now – although, obviously, he'd known it was someplace that kids did go to get…close – and he told himself that was not why he'd picked it. He'd never even held a girl's hand, much less kissed them, especially not the way he'd heard other boys talk about it in the Common Room.

"Well. I…I don't think they do that until later. We could go early. After Duel Club. I…"

Harry realized, despondently, that he had an occlumency session that night – maybe he could feign illness or something?

He quashed the idea, immediately; Snape would gut him if he found out.

"Tomorrow's Saturday; how about in the morning? About 10? After breakfast?"

"Yeah," Daphne agreed, before lifting her quill and going back to her writing; "Sure. It's a date."

A date?

Was it?

Had he just missed himself asking a girl to go out with him for the first time? Was he really that bad at this?

Harry didn't realise he was mulling and staring until Daphne's eyes lifted from the parchment, meeting his once more. And she gave him a smile – shy-like – and Harry smiled back.

Realised he didn't care if he'd missed it – if this was a date – and he suddenly felt giddy; like he had to run after Malachi and tell him, immediately, of his great success.

But he didn't.

He just sat there, his eyes lingering upon her where she sat across from him a little longer and basked in the delight of it.

That, maybe, Daphne Greengrass had just agreed to go out with him.

And then he panicked, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do when they were actually there.

"You're not going into the Foundation?"

Julia allowed Regulus to lead her down the hallway, his hands over her eyes, and he touched his nose to her temple when he answered, cheekily.

"The Foundation? Never heard of the place –" Julia chuckled as they carried on, reaching the threshold to the bedroom; "No. Today, I plan to do nothing – nothing at all – other than spend the entire day loving my incredible wife."

He dropped his hands from her eyes, down to her shoulders, standing behind her as the newly-decorated bedroom was revealed to her; with silks and candles and strawberries and chocolates and rose petals – everything, really that he thought would be suitable for a wedding night – and he gave her a grin when she turned her eyes upon him over her shoulder.

"Let's try this again, shall we?" he gave his eyebrows a wiggle, before he touched his lips to her temple; "You deserve the very best and so you shall have the very best."

"Oh, this is all for my benefit, is it? Nothing to do with the fact you're obviously gagging for it by now."

"Oh. Touché, my love!" Regulus laughed while Julia shot a cheeky grin his way; "Now you mention it, it has been a while, hasn't it?" he wrapped his arms around her from behind, pressing his lips to her cheek; "In fact, I believe our last predates our wedding. And I'm sure you know what that means."

"Do enlighten me."

Regulus turned her to face him, lifting her chin with his thumb and forefinger, and gave her a smile.

"Well, as you are surely aware marriage contracts are considered invalid, so long as a consummation has not taken place," he tapped her nose with his finger, making her chuckle; "I feel it is imperative that we rectify this at once."

Julia laughed.

"So that's to be the business of the day, is it? 'Validating' –" she raised an eyebrow, making quotations as she said it; " – our marriage contract."

"You know, Miss Bradbury –" Julia lifted her chin, her lips pursed but still twitching in amusement and he grinned; "Mrs Black. I'm starting to get the impression that my efforts are not being appreciated."

"Is that right?"

"Indeed. Come," he took her by the hand, drawing her into the room.

"As you see, we have candles – floating candles, in fact!"

With a tilt of his head, the candles quickly levitated and started floating in an orbit around them, and Julia rolled her eyes, but she was smiling, widely now, at his antics as he continued to draw her round the room.

"And we, of course, have your favourite fruit –" he stopped at the bowl of strawberries, alongside the grapes and chocolates, lifting one of them and holding it to her lips; she took it, teasing his fingers with her tongue, and he chuckled, delighted by her playing along, before he tugged her towards the bed.

" – and we have silk sheets –" he ran his hand across them, wiggling his eyebrows in exaggerated-seductiveness, making her laugh again.

" – And we even have music!" he gave another tilt of his head, and music filled the room; not too slow, but not too fast, certainly not so much so that he couldn't hold her close for it and he drew her into his arms; "I do know how you love to dance."

Julia smiled, allowing him to draw her close, and the two of them swayed in time to the melody that played, their eyes all for one another as they danced.

It was, obviously, not enough to make up for what he'd put her through – Regulus knew that – nor did it come close to – what Regulus believed – she deserved.

But he was done with all of that, now. Languishing in regrets and ruminating on the past and the future; no more.

As he'd told his son, they don't live in the future. And, thank Merlin, neither did they live in the past.

They had now, this moment – these moments – and Regulus was determined, now, that his new wife's faith in him and in them would not be proven wrong; that this marriage would never, not ever, become a regret, not for either of them. And with her decision to stay, he was determined that she would have the very best; of this life, and of him, and that their time together – no matter how long or how brief – was going to be remarkable.

In fact, with each passing minute, Regulus became more and more convinced that it already was. That he should have found her, at all.

He touched his forehead to Julia's.

"How 'm I doing?"

Julia gave him a small smile, as they still swayed in time to the music; "Gotta say, I like your chances."

Regulus raised an eyebrow: "As much as you do my moves?"

He dipped her and she laughed, as he swung her back up in a spin.

"Maybe, even, a little more than that," she said, her smile adoring now, and he smiled in turn as he drew her closer. Cursing his own idiocy that he'd ever tried to keep her away.

He reached up a hand, caressing her cheek, almost reverently – for she certainly deserved reverence – before he pressed his lips to hers.

And she yielded.

The two of them slowly swaying in a dance back towards the bed.

Harry was so high he could have been walking on clouds, as he made his way down the corridor to the dungeons.

He had a date – an actual date the next morning – with Daphne.

Daphne.

He wasn't even pretending, anymore, that he didn't like her.

He did like her.

A lot.

Even more so since he'd seen her eyes shining bright and heard her laugh and seen her really, properly, smile. At him.

And he was delighted and nervous, in equal measure, and Malachi had congratulated his success, when Harry had caught up with him at dinner – sitting at the Slytherin table for it that night – and Harry had noticed some curious glances from the nosey first years they'd been sitting amongst when he'd told him.

That Harry Potter was going out with Daphne Greengrass.

Harry was grinning widely at the thought, as he pushed open the door to Snape's office, practically bursting in – not even bothering to knock, he was so wrapped up in his own delighted thoughts – and strode across the threshold, bold as brass, only coming to a halt when he noticed Draco Malfoy standing opposite Snape, where the latter was sitting at the other side of his desk.

Snape looked momentarily alarmed, and then exasperated, and then composed all in the space of a single second.

"Here for your detention, Mr. Potter. And promptly, too. Wonders never cease."

He jerked his head in the direction of the cauldron cupboard – as if the punishment had already been agreed – and Harry immediately heeded his lead, heading into the cupboard and beginning to gather up the dirtiest cauldrons he could find under the guise of a night of cleaning.

Harry could hear the voices of Snape and Malfoy getting closer, as they drew nearer to the cupboard, heading towards the door to the office.

" – should you need it, Draco."

"I don't, Sir."

"Very well. Return to your dorm room."

The door to the office closed, just as Harry stepped out of the cupboard with an arm full of cauldrons.

Snape crossed his arms where he stood a few feet away, eyeing him with all the exasperation in the world; "I have half a mind to order you to clean all of those, Mr. Potter."

Harry raised his shoulders in an apologetic shrug; "Sorry. I was…thinking about something else."

"Your mind is to be on the here and now, always. Put those away."

Snape strode to the front of the room.

Harry chucked the cauldrons back into the cupboard – Snape stopping in his steps and tensing for a second at the clatter – and hurried after him.

"You have – I hope – been maintaining the defences that you and I built over the summer?"

"Yeah," Harry nodded, still in such a good mood he couldn't help smiling as he said it; "I – uh – there was a bit of an incident. The other day. Well – the beginning of the week. It hasn't happened again, though."

"An incident?" Snape turned to face him, then, with a furrow upon his brow.

Upon his turning, Harry realised that Snape looked better than Harry had seen him in weeks. His usual self. It was a sight that – last year – Harry had never thought could give him so much…well…joy.

"You look better, Sir," Harry told him, glad to see it; "You're not having to see him, anymore?"

Snape lifted his chin; "Mr. Potter. That is something that is not up for discussion."

"Well. No. I know," Harry shrugged, giving him a smile; "Just…I'm glad. It's good. That you're good."

Snape's look softened – marginally – under Harry's warm statement, and Harry's smile widened.

Snape's lips twitched – the threat of a smile – that the man snuffed out by averting his eyes; "Elaborate on your incident, Mr. Potter, if you will."

"Another dream," Harry shrugged; "I lost control again. I got Ron, this time; same as Malachi."

"I see. And had you –"

"No," Harry lowered his eyes; "I…I don't even remember falling asleep, I just –"

"Mr. Potter."

"I know, it's not an excuse," Harry said, his mood dampened, somewhat, by Snape's obvious disappointment; "But…well. We could look on the positive side. At least we know he can still do it."

"Under what possible scenario would that be considered a positive?"

"Well. Because – now we know he can still do it. Even at Hogwarts. He can get me anywhere."

"Fantastic."

"I mean, we can learn more from it –" Harry rolled his eyes; "And it was…different, this time."

"Different. In what respect?"

"Well. In my old nightmares, I was always the snake. And with Malachi – I was him. But…this time. I was both of them. Him and the snake. It was like…I was inside both of them, jumping about. And inside me, too. Jumping between the three of us. Kind of like I was…"

Harry broke off, unable to find the right word to describe it.

"Untethered?" Snape offered.

Harry looked up at him at the tone – one Harry couldn't quite decipher – and Snape had his eyes upon him, regarding him closely.

Harry nodded; "Yeah. Untethered. Like…I wasn't in my own body for a bit. I was jumping between three of us. Like we were all connected. And…I think he noticed it too. He stopped doing what he was doing. When he felt me."

Snape's eyes were upon him, regarding him so closely, now, that Harry was almost unnerved by the scrutiny.

After a moment, Snape cleared his throat; "May I?"

Harry nodded, immediately.

Snape lifted his wand.

"Legillimens."

Just as before, there were no memories of it. Nothing of the dream there at all.

Just the moment before he fell asleep and then Ron on the floor beneath him, as all the Gryffindors in the room shouted around him or tried to pull him from on top of him.

The memory of what he'd seen in the in-between not his memory to find.

Snape turned away from Harry when he withdrew. Stood with his back to him and his arms crossed, and Harry was bewildered at his reaction.

At his lack of questions.

"Um…" Harry began, uncertainly – extremely unnerved, now, in light of Snape's response – and he asked; "- do you know what's happening to me, Sir?"

Snape's head turned, slightly, in his direction – no other part of him did at first – and then he cleared his throat and turned to face Harry, entirely composed.

"It is something that will require further investigation. For now, our focus shall be as it has always been: to maintain your barriers, protect your mind from attack, and to – always – ensure that these methods are exercised prior to every sleep cycle."

Harry nodded, not disagreeing with the instruction, and then Snape lifted his chin.

"With that said, we shall begin. Pull them up, Harry."

Harry hesitated, meeting Snape's eyes at the rare use of his name.

If it had been a slip up Snape didn't acknowledge it. The professor just kept his eyes upon him, waiting, and there was something different.

Something was wrong.

Harry knew Snape well enough, now – a statement he thought he'd never be able to make – to know that something wasn't right.

And he also knew him well enough to know that he wasn't going to get anywhere with that, by asking him questions, the walls very clearly up now.

So, Harry nodded and did as Snape said; pulling up his barriers as the lesson began.

Severus sat at his desk, entirely still, once Harry had left.

His body may have been still, but his mind and his heart were racing. And they had been ever since Harry had related the details of his most recent nightmare – not a nightmare – to him. So much so, that Severus had barely managed to muster up the composure necessary to begin and finish the lesson.

Severus didn't know much about it. But he knew enough. Enough of Regulus' task that it left little room for doubt.

The very task that Dumbledore had insisted that he and Regulus never confer upon; Severus' position too precarious for such information to be known by him.

Severus reached down, pulling open the drawer of his desk, and he tugged out the thick roll of parchments Regulus had given to him almost two weeks before.

He unrolled them, tossing aside all the rubbish on Blood Magic, and gripped the parchments he had put to the back of the pile.

A Sharing of Vessels: The Nature of Sentient Horcruxes.

Severus' hands shook so much that he had to place the parchments down upon his desk and lean his palms upon it, so that he could actually read it.

Every sign and indication to look for in order to identify a living horcrux.

Certain – as much as he pleaded with the deities that it could not be so – that he no longer needed these parchments to do so.

He pleaded, with each word his eyes took in, moving rapidly across the parchment, that it couldn't be.

That Harry – one of his own children – could not possibly be one of the Dark Lord's horcruxes.