Chapter Seventy-Six
Severus clutched the rolled up, extremely hard-to-find copy of Elijah Greengrass' newspaper that he had finally managed to procure that afternoon – the day following the revelation to all at Hogwarts that Malachi was the true writer of the One World articles – and made his way into his office at the Foundation.
Malachi had, as always, refused to discuss any such subject that might bring about a revelation of his inner turmoil – far too much like his father in cases such as these – and had merely insisted there was no issue whatsoever and that Severus' intervention was neither needed, nor, indeed, appreciated.
Well.
Severus walked straight through his own office, pulled open the adjourning door, and headed swiftly into Regulus'.
Regulus' eyes lifted from the parchments he was studying, where he was sat behind his desk.
He raised an eyebrow; "You're going to have to give me a bit a longer than that, Severus."
Severus approached – quicky noticing the boxes of gathered horcrux information still open on the floor, and the various withered books and parchments of information on horcruxes, mind connections and soul bonds that scattered the surface of Regulus' desk – and took the seat opposite.
"This isn't about Harry."
He tossed the newspaper onto the desk.
Regulus lifted it, eyes going to the headline.
"Why Statute Reformists Must Reject the Exploits –" Regulus met Severus' eyes with a frown; "The One World Movement?"
"Indeed. Have you read the articles?"
"No," Regulus put down the quill he'd been making notes with; "I had a chance to skim the first –"
"Read the quillname."
Regulus frowned, eyes going back to the paper in his hands.
"Max E…MacLean…" Regulus paused – obviously realising right away, for Severus knew that Regulus never forgot them; the names of those he considered lost for him – and then he said, more quietly; "Emma MacLean."
"I missed it. The link," Severus said, before going on; "Not the case, I'm afraid, for a certain someone at Hogwarts."
Regulus met his eyes and Severus nodded: confirming the worst.
"Draco. Somehow, he learned the truth and saw fit to reveal it. It is now all over Hogwarts."
Regulus rubbed his forehead with his fingers, as he considered the implications.
Severus went on; "We can expect that the Dark Lord shall hear of it – if Draco has not already informed him – imminently. Within the day."
"Hm," Regulus dropped his hand, raising his eyebrows; "And the Dark Lord – the greatest wizard of our time – is so threatened by the opinion of my fourteen-year-old son, is he?"
Severus' lips twitched; "Apparently so."
Regulus rolled his eyes, lifting the newspaper from the desk, and cleared his throat before he began to read it, aloud.
The offending article.
"The greatest threat of our generation to the necessary Statute of Secrecy reformation…" he hesitated; "…is the Great…"
Regulus trailed off, eyes narrowing as he did.
He carried on reading the rest of it in silence, as Severus went on.
"Indeed, the Dark Lord is, in fact, so threatened by your son's rhetoric, that he has made it an assignment of the highest priority to a number of Death Eaters: that each and every copy of the newspaper you are holding – along with the others that contained the prior, less-offensive two articles – be gathered and destroyed immediately to prevent your son's words spreading any further."
Severus rolled his eyes, before indicating with a nod at the newspaper Regulus was holding.
"Attempting to track down that copy was akin to trying to procure Dragon's Blood during their heat season."
Regulus – still reading – was slowly developing a smile.
"Is that right?"
Severus got a frown, as he noticed the smile forming.
Regulus cleared his throat, as he finished reading the article, putting it back on the desk as he leaned back in his chair.
Severus waited – just waited – for the expected frantic outburst. Those very same moments of panic and inhibitions Regulus always displayed in the past, whenever his son dared to brush far too near to the war, to the politics of the Statute or the Dark Lord.
It was an outburst that did not come.
A smile still played on Regulus' lips, as he touched the pad of his thumb to them, seeming to be thinking on the words written before him.
Regulus met his eyes, looking at Severus for a second, before he got that cheeky little grin of his and leaned forward in his chair, eyes going back to the article.
"Merlin forbid something like this were to actually be read by the Statute Opposers whom he has managed to lure into supporting him."
Severus eyed him. He knew well enough from that look – that twinkle – that something was afoot.
Regulus lifted his wand, flicked it, and the article was neatly cut and extracted from the newspaper.
Regulus got to his feet and plucked it from where it was suspended in the air, before stepping around the desk and heading for the door.
"What are you doing?"
Severus got to his feet and followed.
The two of them made a brisk walk from the room, onwards down the office corridors, Regulus not stopping in his stride until the two of them reached the entrance lobby.
The area was bustling with people coming and going, as busy as it ever was – the protective enchantments and security so effective that it was one of the very few places in the Wizarding World still so populated and considered safe, untouched, by the war beyond the walls – and Regulus headed up to the main wall that any and all going in and out of the Foundation would pass upon entering the building.
Regulus stopped before it and glanced at the leaflet stands that lined it.
Currently, almost all of them were filled with pamphlets and fliers of Ministry information; instructions on how to keep safe and how to conduct oneself during these times of open warfare. The only one not, a row of pamphlets containing the basic information that had always been available; An Introduction to the Foundation booklet.
With a flick of his wand, Regulus emptied two of the rows.
Then, with a quick – "duplici exemplari" – the two of them quickly filled back up, from bottom to top, in an upwards cascade, until they were bursting with copies of the article Malachi had written – the one still held in Regulus' hand – for any and all to take.
Regulus turned his wand upon the one he still held - "Engorgio" – enlarging it beyond the size of Ministry Undesirable Notice Poster, and flicked his wand again, encasing it in glass, before mounting it onto the wall.
The title was bold – ginormous – the first thing anyone coming into the Foundation would see.
Why Statute Reformists Must Reject the Exploits of the Great Lord Voldemort.
Both Severus and Regulus stepped back.
Eyed the newly mounted article – the statement – with admiration and trepidation, respectively.
"And I thought you were unhinged before," Severus finally said.
Regulus smirked.
"He should've killed me when he had the chance."
Regulus turned to Severus then with a determination – a fire in his eyes – that Severus was more than a little surprised to see.
No longer so frightened. No longer so cowed by the threat he had lived under all these years.
"My family will no longer be silenced and bend to the wills of a madman."
Regulus' eyes drifted. To the wall at the opposite side of the lobby where the pictures were mounted. Those of the staff vital in the successful running of the organisation.
Andromeda Tonks' moving picture was still upon it.
And Narcissa's.
Regulus looked back up at the article.
Drew in a breath.
"And this Foundation stands against the wills and the monstrosities of the madman who calls himself Lord Voldemort."
Severus' eyebrows lifted. Unable to contain his own astonishment at Regulus' first use of the name.
Severus was not the only one surprised.
Eyes were turning upon them now, as people passed by, all hearing the name spat forth from the Founder's lips and taking in the newly mounted notice on the wall.
There were nods and smiles and looks of approval, Severus noticed, before his eyes turned back to Regulus, who was still admiring the work of his son.
His pride in what Malachi had written clear as day.
Severus' lips twitched, almost in a smile. A strange sense of pride of his own, coming over him, as he eyed Regulus where he stood.
Julia's chin suddenly rested on Regulus' shoulder from behind him, her eyes upon the article Regulus was still looking at.
"Redecorating?"
Regulus immediately got a smile, recognising the voice, and he and Severus turned to greet her, both quickly noticing that Lily was at her side.
Regulus beamed at them.
"Well, if it isn't the two most enchanting belles of the Foundation!"
Julia and Lily laughed, sharing a look, as Regulus drew his wife to his side with an arm wrapped around her waist before pressing a kiss to her cheek.
"What brings you here?"
"Lunch; bistro," Julia told him, before adding with a little grin and a wink at Severus; "Lily's a fan."
Lily met Severus' eyes at that, getting a small smile, at the nod to the stories she'd obviously told her friend about their lunch dates – from times long passed, now – and Severus was very careful not to smile back.
They were out here, publicly, in the open, after all – the four of them – and people were beginning to crowd them in their attempts to have a look at the newly mounted article on the wall.
"Well, I shall give your compliments to the house elves," Regulus told her, grinning.
"You're causing a bit of a stir out here, Regulus," Lily said, noticing the crowd that were brushing against them; people snatching up copies of the article Regulus had duplicated.
Before Regulus could answer – explain what it was all about – one of the runners appeared.
"Hey, Boss."
Regulus lifted his chin in acknowledgment that he go on.
"There's a Miss Maeson here to see you."
"Ah," Regulus nodded, quickly straightening up, and he pressed his lips back to Julia's cheek; "Excuse me, all."
Regulus headed back in the direction of his office.
"What was that about?" Lily asked, when Regulus had gone, turning her eyes upon Severus.
Severus nodded at the mounted article; "It seems as if Regulus has decided a more aggressive opposing stance to the war is to be had by the Foundation, going forward."
"Max E. MacLean," Julia read the name credited, getting a frown, as if it were familiar to her, as well.
"Otherwise known as your stepson, Mrs. Black," Severus told her, sparing her the need to figure it out.
Julia looked at him, sharply, before sharing a look with Lily, and the two of them stepped in closer to read what Malachi had written.
Within a few seconds, they could barely be seen by Severus who had stepped back as others joined them; a full crowd now gathering around the mounted article, while others passing by continued to snatch up copies of it from the holders to read as they moved.
The damning statement of one Malachi Black against the Great Lord Voldemort – endorsed by the Aurelius Foundation – out there, once more, for the entire Wizarding World to see.
Should anyone have happened to have missed it.
"Miss Maeson," Regulus greeted Ana with a smile, as he reached where she sat in the chair outside his office; "I was beginning to wonder if the challenge was just too much for you."
He flicked his wand, unlocking the enchantments on the door, and headed into his office.
Ana followed while he quickly cast a glamour upon the items on his desk, concealing his new direction of studies – soul bonds and splitting – before he indicated she take a seat.
"I won't lie, Regulus, you almost had me," Ana said, not bothering to sit, as Regulus went around the other side of his desk; "Nice ring. How is the new Mrs. Black, by the way?"
Her eyes were on the moving picture now placed upon his desk; the wedding day shot of himself, Julia and Malachi, laughing and swaying with their arms around one another, the Foundation standing tall in the background; "Looks like my sources weren't wrong."
"My wife is very well, thank you," Regulus said, getting a smile at the mention, wondering if he'd ever not feel giddy at referring to Julia as such; "I did say you were the best."
"And, as such, I was determined I wouldn't disappoint you –" Ana reached into her robes before pulling out an envelope, handing it over.
Regulus took it.
"Careful, Regulus, that could've been poisoned."
"Oh, I trust you, Ana," Regulus eyed her, getting another smile, before he split the top of the envelope, opening it neatly, and pulled out the parchment inside.
The results of the assignment he had requested of her in the Spring.
Regulus read it – eyes lingering upon the address written – before he spoke; "California. Well that is right up Eugene's street."
He met her eyes; "You're certain it's him?"
"Well, I never approached. But –" she indicated with a nod of her head.
Regulus reached into the envelope and pulled out what remained inside – two moving pictures – and, yes, there he was.
Eugene Hopkins.
Older. A little more frail.
But he was smiling and laughing and chattering away – he boisterous old self that Regulus remembered, the warm, friendly older man who had mentored him fresh out of the war, guilt-ridden and traumatised – and Regulus drew in a breath, meeting Ana's eyes.
He gave a nod and tucked the items back into the envelope she had given him, tossing it onto his desk, and then he leaned down, unlocking and pulling open the bottom drawer, before pulling out his lock box.
Regulus flicked it open with the pad of his thumb, pulled out two pouches of galleons, and handed them over.
Ana took them, giving him a wink - "Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Black." – before she turned and headed from the room, their business done.
Regulus lifted the envelope she had given him once she'd left, index finger flicking the edges of the parchments gathered inside.
And then he drew in a breath, dropping them into the lock box he'd pulled out, before closing and securing it once more, placing it into the bottom drawer of his desk.
Regulus took a seat, pushing it shut with his foot, and lifted the glamour he had cast upon their arrival at the office; carried on with what he had been doing before Severus had interrupted him.
Trying to figure out how – on this Earth – the two of them could possibly get this soul fragment of the Dark Lord – Voldemort – out of Harry.
Lily knocked at the door to Severus' office, a roll of parchments – an alibi, if you will – clutched in her hand and – upon hearing the customary 'enter' call out – she pushed open the door, heading inside.
Severus lifted his chin – the only indication of his surprise – when he saw her, and she pushed the door closed and made her way up to where he stood at his desk.
"Dare I ask, what has Healer Heart sent you with today?" Severus said as he turned to her, his lips twitching when he quickly picked up on her ploy, noticing the parchments held in her hand.
Lily raised her eyebrows, giving him a smile.
"Something of vital importance, Professor Snape."
Severus took them from her, not bothering to even open them, and placed them on his desk; "Is something wrong?"
"You tell me," Lily said, tilting her head – still concerned, after what had happened the other night – and when Severus realized what she was referring to, he averted his eyes, giving a nod.
"I felt the need of your company that night. I hope you weren't…alarmed –"
"You're always welcome in your own bed, Severus," Lily told him, smiling warmly, before she stepped in closer and took his hands.
Severus squeezed hers with his own, his eyes upon them, before he lifted them to meet hers.
He looked at her. It was almost searching – a considering look – as if he were weighing up telling her something. And when she lifted her chin, noticing it, he gave the slightest nod, eyes averting.
Severus squeezed her hands again, before letting go and a hand rubbed her arm; "I did have need to speak to you. About Harry."
Lily straightened up, immediately concerned; "Harry? Is he alright?"
Severus hesitated, meeting her eyes in the face of her worry.
"Yes –" he cleared his throat; "For now. But…his connection with the Dark Lord concerns me. Occlumency is not proving to be enough to protect him from the connection the two of them have forged between their minds."
Lily felt uneasy – easily picking up on Severus' own unease as he told her – before she asked; "What can we do?"
"I had hoped to train him in legillimency. While occlumency, on Harry's side, is not appearing to be sufficient in closing the link and preventing it from growing stronger, I suspect if the Dark Lord were to also be resisting the connection, it may prevent it from worsening."
Lily frowned, as she processed the words.
"You...wait. You want Harry to try to…tap into this connection?"
"Not necessarily. If the Dark Lord should become aware that Harry could, that may just be enough to force him back. The last thing he would want is for Harry to be able to access highly sensitive information, simply by slipping into his mind at will."
"So, you want to teach him legillimency – but he's only fifteen. Isn't that –"
"Illegal," Severus' lips twitched; "Yes. Which is why I thought I'd best discuss it with you, before we resume."
"Resume, huh?" Lily got a smile, then; "Should I assume you've already mentioned it to him?"
"I may have acted rashly, I admit," Severus conceded, before he reached up, cupping her cheek; "If you object…"
"No. I know you're doing it to protect him," Lily said, knowing that was the case with certainty – even if she was getting the impression there was something else going on – and she nodded; "If you think it's needed."
"Well, there's another matter other than just your willingness to be complicit in our felony," Severus went on, making Lily chuckle at his choice of words; "In order for Harry to become accomplished in this, it is going to be necessary for him to engage and attempt to utilize this skill. On me."
Lily realized, then, what the issue was.
"You're worried about what he might see."
"I thought you might be," Severus said, leaning back against his desk, and crossing his arms; "Much of what he will be privy to concerns not only myself; and those things that do relate only to my experiences are not particularly pleasant. I will have to occlude him, of course, but the memories which I must conceal…I intend to do so, on matters of a more confidential nature, rather than just those that would make us uncomfortable. If I were to occlude everything, the exercise would be pointless."
"Severus –" Lily glanced away, surprised and unsure if she even had this right; "You're going to be letting someone – you are going to be allowing Harry to look inside your head. Without occluding."
"I will be occluding, as I said. But I cannot occlude everything, or he will never progress."
"It's obviously important then, the reason you want him to learn this."
"Yes," Severus said; "He is going to need it. As the war goes on, we can't expect that all whom Harry encounters are going to have the best of intentions. And Harry is far too trusting, as it is."
Lily held his look, getting a smile; touched that he would do this. That he would be willing to give so much of himself to Harry, in his efforts to shield him from what he would soon have to face.
She nodded; "If you're willing, Severus. Thank you."
Severus lowered his eyes, before drawing in a breath, and then he drew her close – pulled her into his arms – and he pressed a kiss to her hair.
"Don't thank me yet, Lily," he said, the words almost whispered.
Lily frowned – sensing his regret – but he held her, not seeming inclined to let her go – and she realized he still needed it, the comfort, so she stayed, nuzzling into the crook of his neck and his shoulder.
Lily stayed there, in his arms, as long as time would allow. Which wasn't enough, she knew. She could see it, in his eyes – a lingering look of unease and regret – when she drew back and Lily wondered if she should press it.
But she knew better, by now. The life that they led – it demanded secrecy, by nature – and so, she gave him a smile instead, and touched her lips to his.
"I have to head back. I'll see you soon?"
His thumb brushed her chin.
"As soon as we are able."
Lily grinned, touching her forehead to his; "Take care of my son."
Severus met her eyes, giving a nod and a small smile.
"I intend to."
The was far more emphatic promise behind the statement than Lily expected. And she looked at him, searchingly for a moment, but when he just met the look – entirely sincere in his assertion – Lily smiled, and he returned it, before she gave him another kiss and turned, heading from the room.
Harry glanced at the timepiece as he stepped off the last of the stairs down into the dungeons – early, much as he'd tried to make the walk from the dorms a slow, casual stroll – and headed to Snape's office.
It was ten minutes until their agreed time.
Harry's hand immediately went to the knob of the door, in his eagerness. Before he remembered – just in time - and let it go, giving a knock.
He received only silence – aside from the chirps of the morning birds in the windows – in response.
Harry eyed the corridor, knowing he couldn't just stay out here, lingering. Someone might see him. He tried the door, finding it locked.
He wondered if Snape would be cross that he'd turned up so early.
"Mr. Potter."
He jumped at the sound of Snape's voice behind him, meeting the man's eyes when he stepped in beside him.
"Eager to begin –" Snape said, flicking his wand to undo the enchantments that secured the door; " – I am glad to see it." He pushed open the door and indicated with a nod that Harry head inside.
Harry hurried in and waited in the middle of the room, as Snape swept passed him; "How did you find the reading material?"
"Good. Really interesting," Harry said, with a nod.
Snape eyed him, looking amused at Harry's compliance; "No questions? No matters of discussion you wished to bring up?"
"Uh…" Harry hesitated.
He'd devoured the book in a rush, staying up all night on the Sunday – something he'd regretted, enormously, the next day in classes and at the Duel Club – to make sure he'd had it read, done and dusted, for this lesson he'd been anticipating.
"No. I don't think so. Should…should I have been making notes?"
"If you are confident you are aware of purpose of legillimency and the various ways in which it can be utilized, that is all that we will need to proceed."
"Right," Harry nodded, more confident now; "Yeah. I am. It's used to…move through the layers of a person's mind –" he tried his best to make it sound as eloquent as possible, without simply giving a recitation of what he'd read – he knew Snape didn't like that – and went on; " – in order be able to read and…decipher their motivations and their intentions. About…stuff."
Snape lips twitched – the way they did when he was fighting a smile – and he nodded; "Very good."
"And I can use it – well…people can use it. If they're good enough. To…confuse people. Muddle them all up."
"That sounds more like you, Mr. Potter," Snape said, his look warming, almost affectionate now, the way it had the last day they'd seen one another; "Do not feel as if you need to impress me throughout these sessions; you are not being graded. If there are matters that cause confusion, stop me and ask. If there is something you wish to delve into further, we will. This is purely for your benefit, Harry. Not mine."
Harry tried to ignore the little flutter of warmth he felt when Snape referred to him, properly, by his name.
Snape touched his wand and, when he did, two chairs suddenly slid with a screech across the stone floor and stopped at his side.
Snape turned them so that they were facing one another and, with his hand still upon the back of one, indicated with his chin at Harry; "Sit."
Harry did so.
Snape took the seat opposite.
They were close – so close – that their knees were almost touching.
Harry lowered his eyes, feeling more than a little uncomfortable.
"Eye contact is essential, let that be your first tip, Mr. Potter," Snape said, and Harry lifted his eyes to meet his – green meeting black – and Snape raised an eyebrow; "Try it."
"Try – it?"
"You are surely aware of the incantation by now, you have had more than enough opportunities to experience it on the receiving end, these past eighteen months."
Harry – although it was obvious – was very, very unsure about what he was supposed to be doing here.
"Um…you want me to do it … on you?"
"Yes. I need to gauge your current abilities – where to focus our efforts – so that you may learn the basics of how to perform this spell. Needless to say, it will not help matters –" Snape went on; " – if you panic, in the way that you are currently doing."
"I…I'm not panicking," Harry said, even though he suddenly felt extremely nervous; "Just…I don't know. Is it okay for me to even look? What if he sees what I'm looking at? What if…what if I see…" Harry hesitated, glancing away; "Grace."
He'd never seen Snape and Grace together, before.
Not properly.
Harry wasn't sure if he wanted to. Well. The past stuff. The future stuff, he was a bit more open about.
Snape cleared his throat, drawing Harry's attention back to him, and the man raised an eyebrow at him.
"While it is certainly encouraging that you have far more faith in your ability to carry out this undertaking than you did when we first began your training in occlumency –"
Harry rolled his eyes.
" – let us not get ahead of ourselves," Snape's lips twitched, in that almost-smile of his; "Let us first see, whether or not you are even capable of casting the spell, shall we?"
Harry met his eyes and Snape still look amused and warm and this was just – not what Harry expected from Snape, at all. Nope.
Usually he was the one who was amused and affectionate, while Snape would just stand, stoically, entirely unmoved. Which, in itself, made Harry even more amused. Or, in some cases – granted – much more frustrated.
Harry drew in a breath, raising an eyebrow, and shooting him a look – a challenge – of his own, before he lifted his wand – pointed it at Snape's chest; "Legillimens."
Obviously, nothing happened.
His wand simply a dead stick in his hands, mocking his attempts.
"Try to mean it, Harry," Snape said, softly.
Harry met his eyes, drawing in a breath, before he closed them – did his best to do what Snape said, to mean it and want to look – and then he opened his eyes, and tried again; "Legillimens."
He felt a tiny flicker then, of will behind the attempt, but he got nothing.
"It won't work if you're occluding me," Harry pointed out, lifting his chin.
"Excellent point. I am not occluding you, Harry."
"Guess I'm just rubbish?"
"Patience. You felt something, did you not?"
Harry shrugged.
"While legillimency is considered an aggressive act, it is necessary for the person casting it to maintain a sense of control, an awareness of their own minds and emotions, in order to fully utilize the spell and be able to enter into the mind of another. To be devoid of one's own emotions is not by any means essential, nor even warranted as can often help in the case of occlumency – but the ability to focus that energy, that will, into the casting of the spell is required in order to be successful."
Harry considered the words – tried to hone in on all he was feeling – tried to gather it all up to use in his next attempt.
"Now. Focus upon me,Harry. And when you do so, clear any expectations of what you presume to find. It is that, which is currently clouding your ability to see clearly and focus your mind on the spell."
"I don't…I don't think I can do this. How can I clear my mind of what I expect to see in yours?" Harry frowned; "I know I'm gonna see them. Mum and Grace. And him. And…me. I think I know you pretty well now, Sir."
Snape just looked back at him.
"Try."
Harry did try. Tried as hard as he could, to try and not anticipate what he was going to see in Snape's head. Not be clouded by his own expectations and prejudgments and, well, his knowledge about Snape's life and all of his secrets.
It took ages.
They were at it for over an hour – classes would be starting soon, and they'd need to stop – and Harry was beginning to feel pretty disheartened, when it seemed as if they – he – was getting nowhere.
Until, finally, he did.
Just when he was sure Snape was about to suggest they stop, he got it. A flicker.
"Legillimens."
Harry had pretty much given up hope at that point, that he'd find anything. He supposed that meant his mind was clear – no expectations whatsoever – and when he did, as his eyes looked deeply into the black ones opposite, it happened.
He saw his mum.
It was so brief – just a flicker – and it was familiar, Harry realized, when it passed across his line of vision.
His mum sitting opposite him – or, rather, Snape – and she was smiling, widely, on the other side of a table. A table in the Bistro of the Foundation, Harry realized it. And he remembered that –
In his excitement, he lost it. His own memory coming to mind and snuffing out Snape's.
It was from that day, so, so, so long ago, under the Invisibility Cloak with Malachi, when he'd spotted her. Them. His mum with Snape at the Foundation, having lunch, as the two of them had been sneaking out, on their way to find Sirius.
Her smile wide, in a way Harry hadn't seen – back then – so much so, that he'd been mesmerized by it. His mum's happiness with the man sitting opposite her.
"Very good, Harry," Snape's voice drew Harry from his thoughts.
Harry swallowed, realizing he wasn't even looking at Snape anymore – his eyes on his chest – and quickly looked back up at him; "Oh. I…I lost it. My focus."
"It happens. Ones own experiences may be triggered and cause the enchantment to slip away. It was impressive, for a first attempt."
"A first –" Harry shot him a look; " – it was, like, my thousandth attempt. I wasn't even paying attention."
"Indeed. You were out of your own head. This, in actuality, should be quite an easy skill for you to pick up, upon further reflection."
"Um. You're insulting me, right?" Harry narrowed his eyes, getting a smile.
Snape's own lips twitched – another almost-smile – before he got to his feet; "We shall conclude here, lest you miss the opportunity to have breakfast prior to your classes."
Harry glanced at the timepiece that told him – if he ran – he'd have all of ten minutes to scoff something down before double Transfiguration.
Harry got to his feet.
"When should I come back?"
Severus eyed him, looking impressed, Harry realized, at his eagerness.
He inclined his head; "Saturday morning. 9am."
His second not-date with Daphne was on Saturday.
"Oh," Harry immediately felt disappointed.
"Oh?" Snape raised an eyebrow, crossing his arms; "Do I impede on some prior engagement with my suggestion, Mr. Potter?"
Harry glanced away; "Just…I was…I'm helping someone with something. Um…Daphne – she…I'm showing her some defence stuff. She wanted to –"
Harry shook his head. Why was he telling Snape that, of all people? As if he'd care that he had a girl – a date – a thing.
"It doesn't matter."
"Sunday. 9am."
Harry met Snape's eyes, sharply, at the change.
Snape turned away from him, beginning to rearrange the chairs he'd pulled up for them.
"And do try to keep out of trouble in the meantime, Harry."
Harry got a smile.
"Thank you, Sir."
Snape met his eyes over his shoulder. The two of them holding one another's look – Harry smiling, and Snape still looking at him with that look that Harry was still not quite used to yet – and then Snape nodded at timepiece.
"Breakfast, Mr. Potter."
Harry nodded, and hurried from the room.
A letter had come for Malachi in the Owl Post that morning.
He knew from the handwriting that it was from his dad – knew that he must have heard, by now, about the things he'd written – and had tucked it away, to read it in private.
He was glad – extremely glad – that his own dad wasn't the kind of parent who'd actually send a howler or something, and mortify him in the middle of the Great Hall like other kids' parents seemed so apt to do, when their kids disappointed them.
A staunch, furiously written scolding from his dad on his misjudgments and behaviour would, as always, be enough to ruin his week even without the whole bloody school knowing about it.
He stepped into the Common Room, quietly, practically sneaking in – the way he used to, before things had calmed down a little – hoping not to be spotted.
The whole school might not get to hear how furious his dad was about it, but they did all know, now, that he was Max E. MacLean and that, in itself, had some rather weird ripple effects.
Most of the Slytherins just ignored him now – knowing better than to actually make any physical moves against him, after how Severus had intervened at the end of last year – though some offered smiles and nods.
But, mostly, it was the other Houses that were acting strangely around him. Especially the girls.
"Come to the dance with me, then."
Malachi hesitated, eyes going to the side when he heard Draco's voice in the corner of the Common Room.
His cousin was talking to Daphne – asking her to the Halloween dance – and Daphne gave him a little smile, from where she was sitting on the nook near the bookcases.
"I – I'm sorry. I think I'm going with someone else, Draco."
"What, Potter?"
Malachi picked up on the venom in Draco's tone all the way across the room – more prominent, a hatred for his best friend, than his cousin had ever expressed before – and Daphne lifted her chin, noticing as well.
"Is that why you're asking me? Because you know I'd be going with Harry?"
"Couldn't care less, Daph," Draco said, not sounding at all bothered that Daphne was turning him down – making it obvious his intentions in asking her weren't simply to enjoy the night in her company – and he went on; "Not that I don't think you could do better."
"Better, huh?" Daphne didn't sound mad at him – if anything, she sounded disappointed – and she shook her head; "I think what you did to Malachi was really cruel, Draco –"
Malachi glanced away, suddenly feeling awkward for eavesdropping.
" – that wasn't the same boy who saved me on the train."
Malachi frowned, looking back at them, baffled at the new information.
Draco's back was to him, so he couldn't see his face, but he was just looking at Daphne, now, for a second. And then he said; "Go with Potter, then, Daphne. Bad enough being Elijah-Bloody-Greengrass' daughter; what's another mark on your back."
He strode on past her – still not noticing Malachi – and headed on down the tunnel that led to the dorms.
Daphne watched after him, a frown on her face, before turning back to her book.
Malachi waited a minute, still baffled and a bit uncomfortable by what he'd overheard, before he made more noise than necessary as he walked in – making it sound as if he'd just stumbled on down into the room – and Daphne met his eyes, giving him a smile.
Malachi just smiled back, heading on through to the dorms, and went into his own – the fourth-year dormitory – and flung himself onto his bed, drawing the curtains with a flick of his wand.
He pulled the letter his dad had sent out of his pocket, not dwelling on the conversation he'd overheard, but making a mental note to tell Harry about it. Maybe then he'd finally gather his nerves and actually ask Daphne to be his date to the dance, knowing she was turning people down waiting on him.
Malachi broke the wax seal to open the letter.
When he did, the parchment unraveled, and a picture fell onto his chest.
Malachi reached for it, lifting it to look at what had been sent.
It was a picture of the Foundation – one of the entrance lobby – and there were three new posters encased in glass and mounted on the wall.
Malachi frowned, peering at it, recognizing the titles immediately: standing out a mile in the crowded room.
The titles of his own articles.
Malachi quickly lifted the letter up to his eye level, the picture clutched alongside it, reading the words his dad had written.
I am so proud of you.
Love, Dad.
Malachi stared at the words.
At first, he was too stunned at the unexpected response to feel anything other than that.
Stunned.
But then he felt moved beyond measure, a tightening in his gut and a blurring of his vision.
Before he finally smiled – basking in his father's expressed pride – as his eyes went back to the picture of his words, mounted proudly upon his dad's – the Foundation's – walls, for all to see.
Malachi drew in a breath, pushing himself back up to a sitting position on the bed, putting the letter and the picture onto the sheets beside him.
And then he accioed all he needed – a jar of ink, a quill and some parchment – and started to write once more.
And once he'd finished, some hours later, missing dinner and not stopping for a break, he signed off his name – his own name – this time, without hesitating.
Malachi R. Black.