Chapter Seventy-Five

"We need to extract this thing and destroy it," Severus said, as he paced the floor behind where Regulus stood at his desk – books and parchments strewn out before him – growing more and more impatient by the second at their lack of progress.

Following the initial revelation that afternoon – and Regulus' immediate refusal to believe it could possibly be the case – Severus and Regulus had begun and continued to look through all of Regulus' gathered information on horcruxes that they had available to them. Fifteen years worth of research at their fingertips and, yet, still no real answers to their current predicament had been found.

Long into the evening until it was, now, almost midnight.

"The soul fragment –" Regulus said, as Severus continued to pace; "- it needs to be imbedded within a horcrux to be destroyed, it can't be done without a vessel."

"Then we shall provide a vessel."

"We can't."

"Why not?" Severus snapped, stopping in his pace and crossing his arms.

"Because it's not our soul," Regulus explained, glancing over his shoulder at him; "There's a procedure instrumental in readying the desired object to act as host to the fragment. A procedure that can only be enacted by the person from whom the soul originates."

"Well, it needs to come out of him, Regulus!" Severus could feel his resolve wavering, as the hopelessness of the situation became more and more apparent; "What if we were to just pull it? Would Harry survive?"

"I don't know," Regulus said, tossing down the parchments he held, as he turned to face him; "But what I do know, is that if we were to attempt to remove it without a vessel ready to contain it within a horcrux and succeeded – it cannot survive without a host – and it would immediately bind to the strongest living being within the room. You."

Severus lifted his chin.

Contemplated the words.

"Well. That would be a solution, then, wouldn't it?"

Regulus held his look for a moment – looking duly unimpressed with Severus' suggestion – before he turned his back to him, returning to the parchments he was going through.

Suddenly, things no longer seemed so hopeless.

"I shall remove this fragment," Severus said, as the plan formulated within his mind, stepping in beside Regulus; "It will then bind to me, at which point, you will finally be able to complete your own task of eliminating the last remaining horcruxes and the Dark Lord will be mortal once more. Can it be done?"

"I don't know," Regulus ground out, not meeting Severus' eyes as he carried on looking through the parchments – his movements jerky, now, when he reached into the box – as he went on, shortly; "I've been hunting horcruxes, Severus. I am by no means a guru in the art of splitting souls."

Severus watched as Regulus continued to pull out various parchments of research he'd accumulated throughout the past fifteen years – sketches of the Lost Diadem of Ravenclaw, a torn textbook page on Inferi, a map of Little Hangleton – not looking at any of them, or at Severus, as he did so.

Severus reached up, stopping his movements with a hand to his wrist.

Regulus hesitated, before meeting his eyes.

Severus drew in a breath, before speaking quietly; "If it were your son. If it were Malachi…"

Regulus swallowed, lowering his eyes. Both knew it were true. Regulus would do it for his son, just as Severus had to for his, now. And the other – no matter how much it pained them to do so – would assist in whatever manner they could. It was a simple, unspoken truth.

If it were possible.

"We –" Regulus began, stopping to clear his throat when it came out unsteady; "- We need time. If both Dumbledore and yourself have managed to figure it out, it won't be long until the Dark Lord does so, as well."

Severus felt his blood run cold at the implications.

"In which case, the preferred scenario –" Severus said; "- would be that the Dark Lord simply leave Harry where he is. Allow the Order to unknowingly protect one of his own horcruxes; guaranteeing his unending survival."

"There's a certain irony in that, that the Dark Lord would appreciate," Regulus conceded, before going on to voice what were exactly Severus' own thoughts on what the worst case scenario would be; "Or, he would decide the Order is far too feeble a force to protect a piece of himself – for he'd surely know Dumbledore would figure it out soon enough – and he'd attempt to retrieve Harry into his own custody."

"To no end; Harry will remain as protected as ever."

"And if the Dark Lord were to reveal the reason he were hunting him?" Regulus pointed out; "Severus, if this gets out at a time when the war is escalating further – and after what happened in Old Whigan's Way yesterday, we know the Dark Lord already has enough dead to build an army of Inferi as it is – then people are going to be coming at Harry from all sides. We'll be running not just from Death Eaters."

Severus nodded, slowly, conceding the fact.

It was flawless.

It would play perfectly into the Dark Lord's hands. A piece of his own soul hidden within the world's prophesised saviour; the people of which would quickly divide when their own loved ones continued to fall casualty to the never-ending war. Turning in against themselves and away from one another, serving only to strengthen the Dark Lord's stronghold.

Regulus rubbed a hand over his face; "You need to maintain your place within his Circle – as high up as you can possibly get – and come up with some…fabrication that will satisfy any curiosity and questions he may have as to why he and Harry share this mind link you've been telling me about."

"Albus threw me off this summer by suggesting it had something to do with the night your brother gave his life to protect him. The loving sacrifice. It is Old Magic the Dark Lord knows very little about. I shall come up with something based upon that, along with the implication that it came from Dumbledore."

"You said Harry is occluding him?"

Severus nodded; "Yes. As best as can be done. But the connection between them appears to supersede the defences occlumency provides."

"It's better than nothing. Better, if the Dark Lord were to be occluding him as well. Their connection, if the two of them resist one another, it may be prevented from growing further."

Severus nodded; "I will see to both counts. And you…"

Regulus nodded, as he gathered up the parchments he had been preparing, rolling up two separate rolls and handing one to Severus.

"Leave it with me."

He rolled up the other, tucking it into his own robes, not meeting Severus' eyes.

"Thank you, Regulus."

When Regulus just nodded, turning back to tidy up his desk, Severus made to leave.

But he hesitated at the door when he remembered it – what Dumbledore has been so insistent on when he had spoken to him the night before – and turned back.

"Regulus."

His friend turned to look at him, at the change in tone.

"When Albus was informing me of this, he told me that it was essential that the Dark Lord kill Harry himself."

Regulus frowned.

Severus raised an eyebrow; "Do you have any idea why that would be the case?"

Regulus shook his head; "No." He indicated some parchments before him; "- I've not long finished locating the information needed to eliminate Nagini. With a simple Killing Curse…anyone can kill a sentient horcrux. That's why the inanimate ones are preferable; they can be protected by means of curses and entrapments."

"Then why would Dumbledore be so adamant it must be the Dark Lord?"

Regulus only held Severus' look, with the same bewilderment at the fact as Severus felt.

When the silence – the bewilderment – stretched, Severus just gave him a nod, acknowledging there were no answers on the matter to be had now, and headed from the office.

"Smooth," Malachi laughed, wickedly, as he and Harry made their way down the corridor; "Should I be worried you just couldn't stop thinking about me when you were about to kiss a girl for the first time?"

Harry shoved him, the two of them laughing as they stumbled into the Great Hall, Harry having finished relating to him what had happened with Daphne the day before.

Despite the lack of kissing, it hadn't been a disaster, by any means; in fact, it had been fantastic!

Daphne Greengrass fancied him – and he fancied her – and she had, even, agreed to meet him again the following Saturday for another Defence session – or, rather, a second date – and Harry couldn't wait.

"Hey!"

The girl Harry had been thinking about suddenly appeared at their side.

"Hey, Daphne," Malachi greeted her with an easy smile – Harry's was still, somewhat, shy – and they made their way to the benches that had been set up, lining the sides of the Great Hall.

"Any idea what this is all about?" she asked them, as they sat down – Harry between them – and he and Malachi grumbled, no.

No, neither had any idea why all year groups of all the Houses had been summoned to the Great Hall that Sunday afternoon, for an important announcement, and the place was abuzz with a nervous sort of excitement.

Most expected it was some sort of statement about the war.

A huge defeat – or, in some people's eyes, victory – on the outside. Something that might affect the school as a whole – for the students, themselves, many had already been receiving the letters, the summons to the Headmaster's Office, that told them of their losses beyond the safety of Hogwarts – and they hadn't even done a big meeting like this for the Hogwarts Express attack a few weeks before.

"Did you hear about what happened down Old Whigan's Way?" Harry could hear someone – a seventh year Hufflepuff boy – saying to the person he was sitting next to, behind them; "Inferi. You-Know-Who had them attack the village – hundreds of 'em – almost wiped the whole place out."

Harry met Malachi's eyes, with a frown, no idea what Inferi were, but it certainly didn't sound like something he ever wanted to face.

Harry shifted, hearing a crumpling beneath him as he did, and he frowned, looking down when he realised, he was sitting on something. A piece of parchment – poster-sized – stuck out at the side of his thigh and he shifted, to free and pull it out, and when he did, he realised others throughout the Hall where doing the same.

The parchments seemed to have appeared from nowhere – he definitely hadn't seen any on the benches upon their arrival.

Harry glanced down at it – at the words scrawled across the surface – curiously.

Malachi Black is Max E. MacLean.

There was a stir throughout the Hall.

Harry looked sharply at Malachi, who was frowning, staring at the parchment held in Harry's hands.

Malachi shook his head; "Wha –"

Harry glanced throughout the Hall, at all the faces that were beginning to turn their way, identical parchments held in a huge number of hands, revealing exactly who had written the articles that had sparked the One World Movement – the very movement that was still going strong and had, even, taken grip within the school, itself – and excited chatter quickly began to break out.

Malachi, at Harry's side, was suddenly shaken by the shoulder; "Hey, Black, is this true?"

"Obviously, it's a joke."

"Turncoat, just like his father."

"Good on you, Black!"

"Knew he was a Blood-Traitor."

Malachi sat completely still, eyes on the ground, reddening more and more by the second, and Harry shuffled in a little bit closer – as if that would possibly help him deal with his obvious mortification – and his eyes scanned the Hall.

They found Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy, sitting opposite, was the only person who didn't look at all surprised by what had just been revealed to the entire – the entire – school and caused such a big commotion. And, when Malfoy met his eyes, he gave him a slow smirk.

The person behind this great revelation obvious.

At that moment, Harry suddenly realised it: that when he'd run into him in the other aisle of the library a few days before – too wrapped up in thoughts of Daphne to think twice about it at the time – Malfoy had been spying on them.

Harry looked at Daphne, who had followed his gaze, and she was looking at Malfoy with a frown – looking completely bewildered as to why he would do so, when she realised who was behind this – before she turned her glance Malachi's way, in concern.

Malachi's mortification seemed to be multiplying in direct time with Malfoy's unmistakable satisfaction, and Harry felt his blood boil, his hand going to his wand, gripping it instinctively, as the voices around them carried.

Some were impressed – "have you read it, it's really good!" – some were disbelieving – "he's a fourth year!" – and some were disgusted; mutters of blood traitor and mudpies and muggle-banger, sounding behind them.

Snape strode into the Hall.

Every Slytherin – both for and against this new information - immediately shut up.

Eyes nervously glanced in the direction of the House point Hourglasses behind the door through which he'd entered, which, already this year, had a respectable number of emeralds shining within it. Clearly, none were keen to have it emptied, once more, by their Head of House for their lack of solidarity.

Snape was followed closely by Professor McGonagall, and the two other Heads of Houses.

Professor Dumbledore walked in last.

Snape carried on walking, not stopping until he had made it to the furthest corner of the room, away from where the other professors stood, crossing his arms and lifting his chin, as he eyed the students to his left.

The excitement within the Hall was quickly picked up on by Professor Dumbledore – by all the professors who had entered in fact – when the whispers and chatter continued – for it was only the Slytherins who had immediately fallen silent upon the appearance of their Head of House.

The Headmaster made his way to the nearest bench from where he stood, addressing one of those who held one of the – many – parchments.

"Miss Davis; may I?" his voice was quiet from where Harry was sitting, barely heard over the murmurs and whispers that still carried on.

Tracey Davis handed it over and Dumbledore lifted it, adjusting his spectacles as he read the words before him, before he got one of his serene smiles – seeming entirely aware of what the statement meant – before his eyes lifted and found Malachi at the other side of the Hall.

Malachi didn't look at him.

He didn't look at anyone.

Just continued to stare at the floor – no doubt, wishing it would swallow him whole – and Dumbledore gave a small nod, catching Harry's eyes when he did, and he gave him a smile – which Harry returned – before he turned and walked in Snape's direction.

Snape didn't look at Dumbledore as he approached; instead, he just continued to stare straight ahead though he, undoubtedly, knew the Headmaster was coming; the click of his shoes on the floor unmistakable.

Dumbledore stopped at his side. And it was only when he did that – saying nothing and just standing there – that Snape's eyes slowly met Dumbledore's where he stood beside him.

Harry frowned, watching the odd exchange between them.

No words were spoken. Just a look.

And not a particularly warm one at that.

If anything, it looked like more of a challenge. It was – almost – as if they were in a fight or something. Which was more than a bit weird.

After a moment, Dumbledore just held out the parchment to Snape – who took it – before the Headmaster walked on by – without a word spoken between them – and he turned, clearing his throat, before addressing the room.

Severus glanced down at the parchment Dumbledore had handed over, not even listening to the announcement he was making to those present in the Great Hall.

Malachi Black is Max E. MacLean.

It took a moment for Severus to even comprehend the significance of it.

Max E. MacLean.

But then it came back to him.

There had been animated – extremely animated, in fact – conversation about this person – this writer – at Regulus and Julia's wedding.

This new opponent of the Dark Lord who had written a most scathing – a damning – denunciation of the Dark Lord and his followers.

Apparently condemning his methods and his ideality, insisting that all Statute Reformists unite against him. For – rather than assisting in their aspirations for Statute abolishment or reformation – his violent measures and suppression of muggles and muggleborns, instead, only strengthened the arguments for secrecy and segregation.

This Max E. MacLean – Malachi – asserted that peace could never be had in either world, should either of them attempt to subjugate the other. And, without peace, the veil between worlds could never come down. So, to support The Great Lord Voldemort's war, was entirely foolish, misguided and counterproductive.

To say the Dark Lord was livid would be an understatement – the arguments proving rather popular, as it so happened, with many influential Statute Opposers – and to learn that the true identity just so happened to be Malachi Black – the fourteen year old son of his most despised adversary – well.

This wasn't something the Dark Lord was going to be letting slide any time soon.

" – and I hope you shall all take this opportunity – at this Halloween Ball – to allow yourselves to forget, even for a little while, the darkness that we all know lingers beyond these walls –"

Severus' lifted his eyes to the ceiling at Dumbledore's address, as the students began to stir, speaking excitedly at his announcement.

His announcement that a Dance was going to be held this Halloween, following the Feast – the first in years, as far as Severus could recall – as a means of lifting the spirits of the students. Many – if not all – of whom were currently living in fear that – each morning when the Owl Post arrived – they were going to be reading about a loss or a loved one wounded.

" – and with that, I shall hand you over to Professor McGonagall and Professor Sprout, who shall be giving all of you a much needed refresher in how to…well…Minerva –"

Minerva stepped forward, addressing the excited students, who were now talking even more animatedly amongst themselves at the news than they had been upon their arrival and Dumbledore stepped away, coming back to stand at Severus' side.

The two of them stood there, silently, for a moment, as Minerva began to explain the steps of the opening dance that was to take place the following month.

"I must admit I was surprised – pleasantly so – to hear of your return to the Castle, Severus," Albus finally said, quietly, at his side; "I was uncertain as to whether or not our conversation meant that you would be vacating the premises entirely."

Severus glanced at him out the corner of his eye; "Should I have, Headmaster?"

"That is up to you, my boy," Albus said, but his tone was warm rather than challenging, which was somewhat unexpected.

But then, Severus had thought that Dumbledore may just try and convince him. Attempt to win him round to his case and get him back on board – his position in the Circle was enviable, after all – and so he simply said.

"No, Headmaster. You know very well I cannot leave."

It was not Dumbledore that was holding him here.

It was Harry.

Both their eyes went to him – to his boy – where he was sitting on the benches alongside Malachi Black and Daphne Greengrass.

And while Severus had wondered – even considered – whether or not he ought to come back to the Castle – if Dumbledore should have considered that conversation as an immediate tendering of his resignation and called his bluff – he knew – realised – in light of his conversation with Regulus that to do so would be foolish.

Incredibly so.

His currently position was enviable. Crucial, in fact.

And Harry was at Hogwarts.

With Dumbledore, no less. One of the very few who knew this dreadful secret. One who had actually accepted that – in order to end this war – Harry would have to walk to his death.

That would not do.

And Severus needed to maintain his position within the Circle – he needed the Dark Lord to heed and swallow everything he told him, whether truth or fabrication – and his value within that Circle depended almost entirely upon his placement within the school where two of the three of the Dark Lord's most significant adversaries dwelled.

It was simple.

Harry needed Severus to be at Hogwarts, by Dumbledore's side, ensuring his child was not being groomed to willingly walk to his death by the Headmaster, while at the same time feeding nonsense to the Dark Lord – under the guise it was coming from Dumbledore, himself – in order to keep Harry protected until he and Regulus found a way to get this horcrux out of him.

And, so, Severus returned.

"Now, everyone –" Minerva was saying, bringing Severus from his thoughts; " – find yourselves a partner. And do be quick about it, all of you, this is not a marriage proposal, merely a dance lesson."

Severus watched with – admitted – surprise when Harry immediately turned to the girl at his side, a Slytherin – Daphne Greengrass – and quickly secured her hand for the lesson.

Coy smiles were exchanged between them – with obvious familiarity and affection – as she nodded, taking his hand and getting to her feet, and Harry tugged her to the middle of the room.

One of the first couples to take their place.

Severus was not the only one surprised; whispers quickly breaking out at the partnership.

A Slytherin and a Gryffindor.

Well.

That was familiar.

Severus felt his lips twitch, almost in a smile.

Before Severus' eyes could linger much longer on the two of them – who appeared entirely too wrapped up in one another, to recognise the stir they had caused amongst their schoolmates – his gaze was drawn to Malachi. The young Mr. Black who was, suddenly, surrounded by a flock of young ladies, from various different Houses, all seeming keen to be chosen by him as his dancing partner.

"Hmm," Dumbledore spoke up, and Severus glanced at him out the corner of his eye, noticing the twinkle in the Headmaster's eyes as he – too – noticed Malachi's sudden appeal in light of this new information as to the identity of the One World instigator; "It seems the young Mr. Black's talents for the written word are having an effect."

Malachi emerged from the group of girls, blushing furiously, and headed down the row of the benches he'd just vacated.

Severus wondered if Malachi was going to simply leave the room – if he was going to have to follow and retrieve him to take part in this compulsory, ridiculous, assembly - but his Godson stopped before a girl who was sitting reading a tabloid – the Quibbler – which was, incidentally, upside down.

Luna Lovegood, Severus realised, when she lowered it and met Malachi's eyes.

And, after a moment, she put the newspaper aside and got to her feet, following Malachi over to where Harry stood with Daphne and the two took their place for the lesson.

"Obviously, dancing isn't one of your strengths," Malachi heard Daphne saying to Harry, teasingly; "I'd of thought your defence classes might have made you a bit lighter on your feet."

"Can't say I've had much opportunities for dancing," Harry said, grinning like an idiot; "Guess you'll just have to teach me. Call it a trade-off."

"What, a dance, a spell?"

Malachi rolled his eyes at the flirty exchange, drawing Luna a little bit closer when he realised how far apart they were standing.

"Is it true what those posters say?" Luna asked him, as they awkwardly attempted to follow the steps of the dance; "That it was you who wrote the One World articles?"

"Um…yeah."

Malachi just admitted it, figuring there was no point in denying it now.

"You've hidden that rather well, you know. How much you care about muggles. Everyone was quite surprised, I noticed."

"I…well…" Malachi shrugged. He found it a lot harder talking about it, than writing. Writing came so easily.

But talking about muggles, the things he'd written about them, and dancing with Luna was making him think about Emma. And it still made his heart sink, a little, whenever she came to mind.

He stumbled, missing a step, and quickly apologised when he accidentally trod on one of Luna's feet.

"I've read them. The articles you wrote," Luna told him, as he spun her under his arm – pretty badly and twisted both their wrists as he did – before she went on; "You made some very good points. Dad was quite impressed, actually. He said we could do with more writers like you in the world."

"Oh," Malachi didn't really know what to say; "Um…thanks."

The two of them carried on, following the steps, not saying much for another few minutes, the flirting between Harry and Daphne at their side still going on.

"I think there's a Hogsmeade visit coming up," Harry was saying, not at all as casually as he was obviously going for.

"Yeah, there always is, this time of year," Daphne said, and Malachi noticed she was fighting a smile, not making it easy for him.

"Well, are you…" Harry cleared his throat; "…has someone asked you to go?"

"I'm expecting someone to. But he tends to beat around the bush a bit," Daphne said, innocently; "I kind of expect he'll wait until next year, at this rate."

"Oh. Well. Is he…do you want this guy to ask you?"

"Yes," Daphne said, before rolling her eyes.

Harry looked a little confused and Malachi could have facepalmed at his obliviousness, if he didn't have his arms around Luna, but before anything further could be said, Luna piped up.

"I think Daphne is trying to tell you that she wants you to ask her, Harry," she said it, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world – which it was – and Daphne glanced away, getting a smile; "I mean, I've never had a boy ask me to go to Hogsmeade before. But I do think in this case it is rather obvious what you're both trying to say."

Malachi snickered.

Harry blushed, looking first at Luna and then at Daphne, who gave him a smile – basically confirming what the first had said – and then Harry smiled, through his blush, finally getting it.

"Well. Great! I mean. Yes. Let's go together."

The next steps of the dance took Malachi and Luna further away from them and, when it did, Luna went back to what they'd been talking about before.

"I'd never really thought much about it before, really. The Statute of Secrecy and how removing it might actually help with muggle relations," Luna said, thinkingly; "I always thought the abolishment of it was more in line with the people who follow You-Know-Who."

Malachi shrugged; "A lot of people think that. I don't follow him."

"I know," Luna smiled, nodding; "Well. You made people think. There's a movement, now, of all the people you inspired to do so."

Malachi didn't point out that he also made people get kidnapped and be held to ransom for his silence, but he thought it. And he felt more than a little bit uncomfortable, talking about this with Daphne so close, even though Daphne had been entirely supportive of him continuing with what he was saying through the movement's Club that had been set up here at Hogwarts.

"I heard you've had to stop writing for the newspaper you were featuring in, before. If you wanted to; Dad, he'd print you," Luna went on; "If you were to write anything else. You might not have heard of it, but he's the editor of the Quibbler."

Malachi met Luna's eyes, for the first time since he'd asked her to dance.

That she'd end up like Astoria – taken and Merlin-knows what else – as retribution for what he'd written sickened him and he shook his head.

"No."

"Oh. Well. It's not that I was asking just to promote Dad's publication – I just thought –"

"No, it's not that," Malachi shook his head as he interrupted her, before spinning her under his arm again as the dance demanded, and when she was back in his arms he told her; "I don't want people getting hurt because of what I believe in."

Luna met his eyes once more. And then she smiled; "That's why you're different, Malachi."

Malachi held her look for a second, before lowering his eyes. And then he spun her once more, the rest of the lesson passing, mostly, without conversation – other than the overhead poor attempts at flirting between Harry and Daphne a few feet away.

A little while later – once the assembly was over and Daphne and Luna had already left – Malachi snickered as he and Harry prepared to leave; "I bet you a million galleons that Daphne kisses you first."

Harry rolled his eyes, grinning; "Is that your way of saying you'll pay me to just get on with it?"

"Doubt even that would get you moving."

Before they could make their way from the room, Severus stepped in front of them.

"Oh. Hello, Professor," Malachi greeted him, reluctantly, noticing the parchment he held.

"Mr. Black; wait a moment, if you will," Severus said to him, before he turned his eyes upon Harry; "Mr. Potter. I trust I will see you at our agreed time – 7pm – for your detention tonight."

"My – wait – what?" Harry looked outraged; "Detention for what?"

Severus simply stared back at him.

Harry quickly got a look of understanding.

"Oh. Detention. Yeah. Yeah, I remember. Sorry, Sir."

"I am glad the recollection has come back to you," Severus said, before swiftly turning back to Malachi; "Mr. Black, my office."

Malachi gave a reluctant nod – knowing this was obviously about his extra-curricular writing activities – and followed Severus from the Hall.

Harry spent the rest of the afternoon eagerly anticipating the impromptu seven o' clock 'detention' Snape had issued him with.

He knew – of course – that something was up. And the fact that Snape hadn't seem at all unimpressed or cross with him when he'd approached was reassuring enough that Harry was more than keen to go to Snape's office that evening and find out the real reason for his summons.

Harry bounded down the last few steps into the dungeons.

He stopped just short from bursting into Snape's office, however – the way he had some days before – with his hand on the doorknob, and he gave a quick knock.

"Enter."

Harry opened the door and, upon seeing that Snape was alone at his desk, closed it behind him and hurried in.

"Hey!" he went up to the desk, giving him a smile; "What's up?"

Snape looked at him from where he sat behind the desk. Just looked at him. Saying nothing. And Harry could tell he'd been sitting there – waiting for him – for a while, even though he was the one who'd stipulated seven o' clock.

But that wasn't the only thing that was weird.

Snape's gaze was different, somehow – warmer, Harry realised, than it had been in the past – and Harry raised his eyebrows, expectantly, feeling oddly comforted by the look in his eyes.

"You – uh – you wanted to see me?"

"Have a seat, Mr. Potter."

Harry did as he was told.

Snape cleared his throat, gathering up some parchments that were before him, and then handed them over to Harry where he sat.

"In light of your recent improvements in occlumency, I believe now may be the opportune time for you and I to embark on a more…ambitious training schedule."

"Um…training schedule?" Harry frowned, eyes lowering as he fingered, hesitantly, through the parchments Snape had given him; "I didn't realise I was being…trained, Sir."

Snape drew in a breath, glancing away.

And then he looked back at him, his voice softer when he spoke again.

"Harry."

Harry met his eyes, sharply, at the use of his name.

"You are aware of what is ahead," Snape said, almost regretfully, speaking far more frankly than Harry was used to; "You have been privy to the contents of the prophecy. You have seen first-hand what the Dark Lord is capable of. And you know that we are at war. You need to be prepared for what is to come."

Harry didn't know what to say. If Snape was expecting him to say anything at all. The man's behaviour behaviour – his words – even his voice were so different to what Harry was accustomed to.

Snape indicated the parchments.

"It is my intention to do everything that I possibly can to ensure that you are. Should you be willing."

Harry was so confused he could barely even muster up a sentence. It was almost like Snape was asking him – Harry – to be allowed to teach him – to mentor him, or something – which made so little sense.

Usually, Snape would just give Harry orders and – whether he liked it or not – he would just have to follow them.

Harry's eyes were drawn to the middle of the parchments, the title at the top of the page; "Legillimency."

He frowned, lifting his eyes to meet Snape's; "You want to teach me how to become a Legillimens?"

"In order for you to be ready, it is not going to be enough for you to simply know basic defence," Snape explained, before going on more assertively; "You are going to have to be able to duel. And the best duellists are those who are able to anticipate and read their opponent's next moves and intentions; legillimency will give you the edge that you'll need."

"Kinda sounds like cheating."

"I call it using your skills to your advantage. Particularly considering that many of those whom you will be facing may have had many years of experience under their own belts," Snape said, dismissing the charge; "And it would do you good, to be able to read the intentions of those whom you may come across in the future. In order to discern their sincerity when dealing with you."

"Um…why…wait, you think people are going to be…trying to trick me or something? There's going to be people coming after me?"

"I thought we had already established that a number already are."

"Oh. Well, right," Harry nodded; "Yeah. I guess."

He fingered through the parchments, the others that Snape had handed over, at the various different branches of magic Snape was proposing he teach him. There was more defence, the Dark Arts, legillimency, advanced potions…

There was so much that Harry didn't even know how he'd ever be able to learn all of it. Snape – although Harry supposed he might have just been acting at the time – had never been all that complimentary towards his schoolwork, after all, in the past. And all of that was so elementary in comparison to the things Snape wanted to show him, now.

"I am aware that this may all seem somewhat overwhelming," Snape said, as if reading his thoughts; "Let me assure you, that everything that I wish to teach you is entirely within your capabilities."

Harry met his eyes.

Snape lifted his chin; "But only if you are entirely committed and willing. Do not agree to this out of an obligation to me, Harry. But know, that if you want my assistance, you shall have it. And this – " he indicated the parchments; " – is the very best that I can teach you."

Harry found himself nodding before he could help himself.

"Anything you want to show me, Sir. Yeah. I'll do it."

Snape smiled – actually smiled at him – though extremely briefly, and then he reached for the parchments.

Harry handed them over.

Snape lifted a quill and marked down on the parchment Harry had first mentioned, before reaching for a thin book; "Have this read by Wednesday morning – we'll begin with legillimency. Seven am."

Snape rolled up the parchments, before pushing the roll and the book on Legillimency in his direction.

"I ought to advise you, that it is strictly forbidden for underage wizards to be educated in this field –"

Harry met his eyes sharply at that.

" – and so I must ask that you treat this assigned task with due…discretion."

Harry held his look. And then he got a slow smile, glancing down at the book on legillimency, before he nodded. Suddenly feeling delighted at this shared secret between them. This forbidden knowledge that Snape was willing to share with him.

Harry lifted the items from the desk, giving Snape a nod – not, really, knowing why he felt so good about this – and he smiled; "Guess I better get reading then. I can keep a secret, Sir. I promise."

Snape inclined his chin in Harry's direction – a dismissal – and, even though he wasn't smiling, now, his look was still warm. Still way, way more than he'd ever given Harry before.

Harry smiled to himself.

An odd sense of … belonging … coming over him, as he made his way from the office, eager to get started on his newly assigned task.