St Andrews Day was a Thursday, and though there were plans for a feast and festivities in the evening, it was an otherwise ordinary school day. The full complement of students were gathered for breakfast as normal in the Great Hall, already eating proper salty porridge designed to stick to their bones, and it was a slightly late Snape that made his way across the flags from the dungeons still doing up the buttons on his sleeve. However, he paused when he encountered McGonagall coming down the marble staircase dressed in her standard green velvet cloak and black witch's gown, and he greeted her carefully. "Ma'am. Just normal then?"

"I beg your pardon?" she responded, bewildered.

"You said you were going to wear your tartan today."

"Did I? Why ever would I do that?"

"It's St Andrews Day, Ma'am. Have you forgotten?"

She blinked at him; clearly the matter had fled her mind entirely. "Oh. Is it today?"

This was increasingly the way of their communications. Small things, inconsequential. Every time it happened, Snape's heart constricted a little, he was astonished at how strongly he felt for her. "Yes Ma'am," he said gently. "It's November thirtieth. We're having a feast tonight."

"I know about the feast," she snapped, but she flinched at the same time and half turned back to the stairs. "I'll go and change. Wearing my tartan today is a fine notion. Start the breakfast please Severus."

"Indeed Ma'am. Your tea will be waiting for you."

As she hastened back up the staircase for the Gargoyle Tower, Snape went to the nearest portrait and murmured: "Get a message to Dumbledore. The Headmistress is returning to change into her tartan." Between them, he and Dumbledore discreetly filled the gaps for her, making her passage through each day as smooth as possible, but the back of his mind was quietly cogitating on ways to improve on the St Mungo's potion.

The day continued in typical form, and being a Thursday, the Duelling Club had its weekly meeting after classes on the sixth floor. Servius and Wait for William were walking along the corridor towards the room a few minutes early to discover Amelie hovering outside the door, and when she saw Servius she stared at him.

William elbowed him and said in an undertone, "Why does Amelie Hellmann keep looking at you?"

Servius met her eyes and blood flushed up his neck and into his cheeks. "I don't know," he muttered.

"She's been weird ever since that duel you had."

"More weird, you mean."

"Different weird. You know that she hangs out at school on the weekends?"

"What?"

"Yeah. Even though she's a day student. Haven't you seen her lurking about in the Forest?"

"Nuh."

"Proper little witch, that one. All toil and trouble."

As they got closer, she stood hugging a few textbooks to her chest, scowling and evidently waiting. "I've been trying to talk to you," she said to Servius. There was a conspiratorial note to her tone.

"Why?"

But she glanced at William who was frowning darkly at her. "No way!" said William. "You're trying to get him in trouble again."

She dragged baleful eyes from William to Servius. "Alone."

William turned pink and frowned furiously but had no comeback. Servius nodded; Amelie knew too much to be ignored now, and besides, he rather welcomed private time with her. "I'll just talk to her for a minute, Will. Keep me a seat."

William stormed off, and once out of earshot, Servius said, "What do you want?"

Amelie trailed her eyes up and down him, then she smiled secretly. "Where did you hide? After Herbology? Your plan worked perfectly."

There had been no plan. "I'm not telling."

"Fine. I don't care, but I'm cross because you should have included me. How are they going to punish you? Did they say you will be expelled?"

"No," said Servius. "Detention. I have to meet with Madame Cropper three times."

"Madame Cropper!" said Amelie, looking suddenly alarmed. "She'll get you to talk. Don't tell her anything. She'll tell everyone you're fixed up and you'll have to stay."

"The Headmistress is making me see her."

"You don't have to talk. She can't force you to say anything."

When Servius didn't reply, she asked, "What did Longbottom do about the fighting?"

"He blamed me. And then…" Servius stopped, wary, but in some way that he couldn't with William, he felt he could tell Amelie things. "He said Prof…my father…he said…my father didn't save my mother and so he wouldn't save me either."

Amelie glanced at him. "Did your father kill your mother?" she asked with a practical sort of interest.

"No!" blurted Servius, realising that he had somehow intuited this. He still had no idea how his mother had died, but he knew his father had loved her. "No…but he should have saved her from whoever did kill her."

"So you think Longbottom knows what happened?"

"Yeah. I think he does. But how, I don't know. Maybe that's why he and my father hate each other so much."

Reflective silence from Amelie, but when he looked at her again, she was smiling. It made his heart do a little jump.

"Guess what else about Professor Longbottom," she said, and her eyes took on a mischievous glint.

Servius shook his head. "I don't know. What?"

With a quick check of the corridor to make sure they were alone, she swung off her rucksack from her shoulder to her feet and opened the flap, then brought out a feathered stick. Servius recognised the Centaur arrow – the same chiselled stone broadhead, the same fletching - as the one that had stuck in his trainer, and which he now kept in the bottom of his trunk. "Where'd you get that?"

"Longbottom threw it away into the Forbidden Forest. I was watching him. That's why he was late for that Herbology lesson; I think this is what made his arm bleed."

Servius took it from her and examined the point closely. "Yeah, look, is that blood?"

"Ja. I think Longbottom has been in Centaur territory," said Amelie, and then tilted her head and frowned quizzically. "Why would he do that?"

"Please, in your pairs, find a duelling lane," Hellmann called out above the hub of excited warlocks as they entered the Shoot house, which had been cleared of baffles to make room. "Stand on one of the crosses marked at the ends. Both ends are the same, it doesn't matter which one you have. Left-handeds might be better to work with another left-handed…"

Snape pulled up at the rear of the group of Duelling Club members, hands hitched on the lapels of his gown, unable to suppress an arched brow of approval at Benedict Hellmann's set up as he surveyed the room. He watched as Servius and Wait for William took up their designated positions in a lane. Since Snape's surprise arrival at the meeting, Servius had communicated his intense displeasure by slumping in his chair, folding his arms and glaring at the floor. He now shot withering glances at Snape and Snape scowled in return. Servius undoubtedly assumed Snape was here to keep an eye on him, and while that wasn't in fact the case, he saw no harm in showing a fatherly interest in his duelling skill since he was here.

"Professor Snape!" declared Hellmann. "And now I reveal the reason for my invitation. I understand you've done some duelling in the past – would you be so kind to act as my adversary in a demonstration of true duelling for the novices?"

At first, with uncomfortable memories of Gilderoy Lockhart's similar suggestion so many years ago, Snape demurred. But there was something about Hellmann's youthful grin that constantly appealed to his competitive side. While Lockhart had wanted to duel as a means of promoting himself, Hellmann clearly loved the sport for its own sake, and that was hard for Snape to resist.

"Very well," he finally said, and retrieved his wand as Hellmann clapped loudly and led the way up to the teacher's dais.

"Everyone – watching closely please. The Duellists take their position. Bow to each other. Walk towards each other into the centre and then stop. Raise your wands – yes, see Professor Snape, that is forty-five degrees, he is challenging me to a duel. I say yes, by meeting my wand to his. Boah! What is your wand, Professor? Is it ebony? We are the same! Professor Snape – do you remember the words before the duel?"

"Semper fidelis, ut magus, et deus," said Snape, holding Hellmann's slightly challenging gaze. "I honour my Warlock Oath."

"Semper fidelis, ut magus, et deus," repeated Hellmann, and he grinned again. He appeared to be enjoying himself immensely. "And then we return to our positions and raise your wand like…so…"

Snape raised his wand.

"Ah, everyone – see Professor Snape's left hand he holds back in that way is called the basic stance, like fencing, and we say en garde! You can hold that stance if you want, but in modern duelling it is a personal choice. En garde Professor!"

Snape nodded, and Hellmann called: "Duel!"

Two streams of twisting, gnarled green light flashed forth and met at the tip of an arc in the air between the wands. Snape felt a hard jolt of energy immediately shoot down his wand and through his hand, up to his elbow. It was only then he realised he hadn't done any true duelling in years. It felt as though an iron band had gripped his upper arm and wrist and was slowly twisting it. He applied force and inched it back but the muscles immediately began to tremble.

"Ha ha!" laughed Hellmann. "I feel that Professor!"

There was excited chatter across the room as the students watched wide-eyed, those closest faintly green in appearance as their faces reflected the light.

Snape was dimly aware of them, of Servius watching, and he clenched his jaw but on the surface his features remained steady. His wellspring was the same passionate energy he drew on for casting an incorporeal Patronus, and he'd been doing the same with this very wand for decades. He dug in.

"Oof!" said Hellmann, and his smile wavered. "I see it is coming back to you."

Snape felt a flicker in the stream, and, like a boa constrictor, he squeezed during the exhalation. Hellmann frowned.

Snape thought of Servius in the Pensieve, trying to talk to Charity, and his heart swelled a little. He thought of their walk to the owlery. He thought of Sinistra looking up at him with her great, dark eyes. He thought of the ghostly kiss on his lips in the archive.

There was a string of vitriolic German from Hellmann, finished with a spat "Mist!" and the DADA Professor staggered backwards. The green arc broke, and there was a clatter as Hellmann's wand fell to the floor.

Silence from the students and Snape slowly lowered his own wand, surprised but determined not to show it.

Hellmann quickly smoothed back his hair and picked up his wand. His jaw was set and the smile had gone, but he said, "Vell done, Professor Snape. Warlocks – see – that is how a duel is won. Professor Snape has used his age and experience to overpower me. Right! Stop your staring, take your positions – Schnell! Quickly!"

The students scurried away and Hellmann approached Snape with his hand extended. The faint praise hadn't been lost of Snape, but he shook hands anyway, aware that Hellmann was exquisitely sensitive to any form of humiliation. "So you are the worthy opponent I assumed, Professor. Allow me to congratulate you. I have not lost a duel in many years."

"In that case, I am flattered you considered me, Professor."

Hellmann cocked his head, the smile light. "Call me Ben?"

Snape was flummoxed. But he said, "Ben. I see…alright."

Hellmann laughed. "It is my name! Friends usually call me by my name." He paused and waited.

Snape said, "Uh. Severus."

"Super!" said Hellmann. "Severus, help me with these Hexenmeisters and we can have a schnapps."

After the Warlocks had finished their practice and trooped out of the room, Hellmann locked the door and led the way briskly to the third floor with Snape following. Hellmann's expression had become rather stiff and severe and he hadn't spoken for over ten minutes, so Snape felt compelled to enquire. "You appear…unsatisfied…?"

They had reached classroom 3C and Hellmann fished out his wand to open it. His attention slightly preoccupied, he cursed under his breath, then said in a flat, irritated voice, "Amelie. She is not doing her best. I think she is pretending to be useless. I think she is wanting a boyfriend, so she is being a – a -," he waved his hand about his head, "- silly girl."

He was, Snape knew, referring to the earlier duel between Servius and Amelie in which his daughter had capitulated within a minute. Snape had witnessed a nod exchanged between the pair and also noticed Servius's slightly fixated stare and the dent between his brows, the glance in his own direction, the exaggerated frustration from Amelie when she all but threw down her wand.

"Boyfriend?" repeated Snape. "You mean Servius?" The last Snape had heard, Servius and Amelie hated each other. His son must have made a spectacular apology.

Hellmann looked at him sidelong and pushed open the oak door. "Ja. Servius. You haven't noticed?"

"No! Aren't they a bit…young?"

They entered the room and Snape had a brief, distracted thought that he'd never known a classroom to change in décor as often as DADA. Hellmann's theme was heavy with beeswaxed dark wood, candlesticks, pagan art and black magic symbolism. The ink and woodcut illustrations of Celtic druids he approved of enormously.

"In my opinion, yes. But Amelie's mother is descended from a long line of malevolent witches and I believe they are – how do you say? – precocious." Hellmann cast him a quick wink. "Her mother had me snared like a rabbit. Servius is an…attractive boy, ja? But Amelie must think that she has to be silly for him to like her."

Snape set his jaw. "I'll talk to him."

"Nein, nein," said Hellmann, waving a dismissive hand. "Don't get involved." He was up at his desk now, and pulling open the bottom drawer. A smile warmed his face. "Ah, perfect." He lifted a bottle to show Snape. "Kirsch. I know we are coming into winter, but this is my favourite." With his left hand, he gathered two small ceramic cups together and then brought them down to where Snape was leaning against one of the student desks. "To your victory, I think," he declared, having filled the cups and handing one to Snape. "Or young love? Prost!"

Following the feast in the Great Hall that evening, McGonagall gathered all around her before the roaring fire, where she sat on her throne-like chair, a tumbler of neat Lagavulin in hand, and told old Scottish folklore stories (the Nuckelavee in particular earning a collective shiver).

The children sat on cushions on the floor at her feet, but in the shadows of the outer-circle, the teachers sat on chairs and enjoyed a discreet dram of their own. Snape had been somewhat concerned that Hellmann might choose to take the empty seat next to his, but it was Sinistra that slipped in, and fleetingly, as his insides plummeted, he thought this might be worse.

They sat side by side without speaking for several minutes as McGonagall began her tales, and then as the Headmistress began to pick up the pace and garnered oohs and aahs from her audience, Sinistra leaned sideways towards him and whispered, "Severus. Are you avoiding me?"

His heart skipped a beat. "Uh, no, of course not."

She was quiet and still again for several more minutes and Snape's mind raced, trying to predict what she might ask and how he could answer. He kept his eyes trained on Servius sitting among the other Slytherins, the emerald lining of his robe seeming to gleam in the firelight.

Eventually she leaned towards him again and said, "I'm not trying to put any pressure on you. I – I know this is a…complicated time."

"I've just been detained, I've been busy," he said shortly, keeping his voice low.

She was quiet, her only movement was one hand massaging the other, and then he felt her glance at him and she murmured: "The Staff Christmas Party is in a couple of weeks. Shall we, uh, shall we…go?"

Snape swallowed. That had been on his mind. Those memories of Charity, the prophesy, the kiss – they were too powerful. "I can't…I'm sorry…Servius and I -,"

Beside him, in the gloom, Sinistra became completely still, and then he saw her head lower, like a wilting flower, her hands clasped in her lap.

His heart thumped. "We've accepted an invitation – in England – I can't leave him with the hosts alone -,"

"Of course," she murmured. She raised her chin again.

"Otherwise I would have been honoured -,"

"I quite understand," she whispered, slightly strangled. "Of course. It's alright."

He felt terrible. "Aurora, do you -,"

"I understand, Severus, of course I do. It will be good for you and Servius to spend time together." The words were strained, uneven. "I mean, I was hoping to see Servius at Christmas. But -,"

"We'll be back for New Year -,"

There was hasty nodding, then a period of silence as she wrapped her arms around herself. "I think I might just go home. See my mum and dad."

She was desolate and he felt empty inside. He too stared at his hands, completely devoid of what to say to make it better.

The pots of cotton-thistles that the first-years had brought into flower were placed all around the hall, their striking, taffy-coloured pompoms sometimes as tall as six-foot. Sinistra reached towards one placed nearby and caressed a prickly leaf. "Aren't they impressive?" she said, barely loud enough for Snape to hear. "With thistles, it's less about how they look, and more about what they do. Do you know the expression: to grasp the nettle? If you want to avoid getting hurt, you must seize it. 'Tender-handed stroke a nettle, And it stings you, for your pains: Grasp it like a man of mettle, And it soft as silk remains.'" She closed her hand around the prickly stem, and in the flickering light of the fire he saw her smile softly at him, tears glinting. "Sometimes you just have to be brave…and seize it."

His nightmare tolled in the back of his mind when Snape pushed open the heavy archive door, but once inside, and having lit every sconce and gaslamp in the room, he found all to be normal and his wariness subsided a little. Cold, but normal. He placed his parchment down on the mahogany table.

"Charity?" he spoke to the room, his heart beating hard. "Are you here?"

Soon her warmth embraced him, and in contrast to the chill space around him, he found the heat soothing. He closed his eyes and awaited her invisible touch which, before long, he felt feather-light along his brow, cheek and jawline, the trace of it lingering on his skin. This was followed by her tender kiss on his lips. It felt so real, so palpable, and yet he no longer attempted to touch her in return. He knew he'd find nothing but air. "My love," he said, "I want to speak the truth to you."

There were no words of reply on the parchment but instead a pulse of warmth in his chest, which he interpreted to be positive. So he pulled out a chair and sat, resting his elbows on the table-top and lacing his fingers together.

"The night you died," he began. "You deserve to know what happened. How. I shall try to be as accurate as possible. And then I will explain…myself."

He told her everything, everything he knew, from the afternoon he watched her outside her home and walked away on a terrible presumption, to the moment Voldemort cast the killing curse and Nagini claimed her body. And then the aftermath.

But there was no change, no response from her, so he went on. "There were so many deaths in the end that when my time came, I was quite resigned to it. Not glad of it, but I …I didn't fight it. As it happened, against all odds, even against my will, I was saved. After many years, the news of you, of us, and of Servius, was revealed to me. I found the memories and I returned them; I have them now, all of them, safe. But the realisation of what happened to you, and my part in it, and the mistakes I made, I haven't – I haven't -,"

He paused, rolled his lips together. "And now Servius."

Finally there was a reaction. The warmth withdrew from him and he expected the cold to replace it, but instead he saw the air before him start to shimmer and become silvery in hue, and then he realised a shape was forming, he saw the contours of a face, all in shades of white and grey. Transfixed, he saw the familiar lines and conformation of Charity materialise, although insubstantial, almost as if she were made of mist. He breathed her name, a realisation out loud.

"Severus?" she asked. Her voice sounded echoey, a hundred miles distant, and yet clear.

"I can see you. A version of you." When he reached out, however, there was still nothing to touch.

"Servius – I have…it is like a chain, a weight, it drags on me and I can't leave."

He tried to decipher what she meant. "Servius is chaining you…?"

She ebbed and then returned. "Can you hear them?"

"Hear…? Hear what?"

"The shrieking? They wail and they…cry, they weep constantly…"

"Who? Who is crying?"

"The black light. It's closer than before."

"I don't know the black light," said Snape, fear trickling down his spine.

"In the black light…they – they're screaming."

Her form drifted apart and evaporated. To the empty room, Snape cried: "Charity? Charity come back, who are they?"

But he thought he knew. He thought he knew what was coming for Charity.

Servius was the chain? Servius held her, trapped? Had his confession made no difference at all? And what of the prophesy?

"What should I do?" he said, his voice raised and frustrated. "The Ouroboros – what does it mean? Where is it?"

But the archive was silent, silent and cold. It wasn't until he picked up the parchment, ready to leave, that he saw the message:

Severus

Please

Help me.

Speak the truth.

December, and the last two weeks of term. Attention turned to exams before Christmas holidays broke up the school, and, caught unawares, the teachers suddenly concentrated on revision and review. But the demands on their students were sorely tested by an unrelenting Quidditch schedule that had players practicing three or four times a week, rain or shine. If there was cloud then sleet would surely follow; if it was clear skies, there was an overnight freeze that turned toes black within minutes and at dawn, the window-panes were needle-laced with frost. To keep the castle warm, elves were on constant rotation to supplement firewood from the wood stacks in the basement stores.

In Quidditch, the Slytherin Senior team beat Gryffindor, and then the Junior team beat Ravenclaw and this bounty of House points, along with those earned for their bonfire, boosted them from last place to third and occasioned much celebration in the Common Room, and the members of the SHC brainstormed other ways in which the serpents might apply their cunning and ingenuity to the challenge of beating Gryffindor to second place. The way the Hufflepuffs had performed in both Quidditch and Hogwarts Values Opportunities (or HVOs as they were known) placed them in first place by such order of magnitude that the Slytherins had sensibly made their aims achievable for the time they had left.

Snape was kept busy during the last few days, wanting things tidied away before he departed for Malfoy Manor. While many teachers would be staying, just as many were returning home, including the Hellmanns – stories of their superior Christmas traditions having stifled the flow of numerous staffroom conversations for several evenings before – and Sinistra left soon after. She went without warning, a quick memo from her sent winging its way to Snape one afternoon as he locked up the dungeon classroom for the last time. When he opened it, his heart clenched at the simple words: "Merry Christmas to you and Servius. See you in the New Year. Aurora." He hadn't expected it, but part of him missed her already.

Longbottom had declared his intention to say, loftily claiming his unwavering support to the Headmistress. Snape didn't believe it for a second but cursed inwardly knowing that Longbottom would use the long stretches of relative privacy to pursue his iniquitous objectives. So far, all Snape's spying and discreet watching, scant as it was, had uncovered precisely nothing. And then the day arrived when he and Servius had to leave.

When Snape told Servius to pack his things for a trip of around five days, Servius had later turned up at Snape's quarters with his rucksack containing a toothbrush, some books and one change of underwear. Snape sighed deeply and went with him to his dorm, pulled out the trunk beneath his bed and dropped everything Servius owned into it, then Reducio'd it with a wave of his wand. Then he picked up the trunk and handed it to Servius. "It's easier this way."

"Täne?" Servius asked.

"No. It's only a few days," said Snape, his voice leaden. More for his own benefit, he added: "You never know, you might have fun."

"I don't care," said Servius, shrugging. "William's gone to America cause of his Dad and… loads of people have gone."

"You mean Miss Hellmann?"

Servius stared at him aghast as if he'd suggested conducting foul experiments on flies. "What? No!"

You protest too much, thought Snape, pushing down a smile and remembering his own desolation when Lily had – with rather callous joy, he reflected now – decamped for some extended family Christmas gathering in the Cotswolds. "We leave in half an hour."

At the appointed time on turn of the winter solstice, the Snape's trudged down the hill to the Hogwarts Gates, the horizon so bleak and niveous it was indistinguishable where it met the rising mist from land. Like gunshots in the oppressive quiet came the sound of ice cracking, dead branches snapping and some creature in the Forbidden Forest scurrying from sight. "Shortest day of the year," remarked Snape, his words creating a thick vapour. "My feet are frozen." Servius glanced at him but didn't answer. When they got to the gate, he felt eyes on him and turned around. Fisk was standing there, a few feet away and regarding him, slowly wagging his tail. Servius gave him a fond pat on the head before putting his hand on Snape's arm and shutting his eyes tight. "To Malfoy Manor," Snape sighed aloud, and they vanished with a crack.

No expense, predictably, had been spared when it came to creating a Christmassy ambience at the Manor, and if Narcissa's objective was to show Servius how the season was done in the Wizarding world, then she could consider her efforts well worthwhile. The boy had to remember to shut his mouth more than once as his saucer-like eyes tried to absorb the opulence, the grandeur, the whole spectacle. She somehow managed to achieve extravagance without becoming excessive, Snape had to credit her, she never allowed her pageantry to run to gaudy.

They were welcomed by Malfoy and Narcissa, both wearing cream, fur-lined cashmere, who had elves vanish their cases, coats and other belongings to a destination somewhere within the extensions of the manor. While another elf brandished a tray of warming hot toddies and flutes of champagne, Draco, Astoria and baby Scorpius made an appearance, and for the next hour or so - having walked through from the entrance hall to the rich, white interior of the formal lounge - they stood before the enormous fireplace and made the kind of conversation that has to be at once cheerful and friendly, but tactfully avoid the yawning tar-pits that oozed just below the surface. And they were everywhere. But Servius didn't know about them, he had no idea about the conversational gymnastics going on around him, and finding the discussion rather adult and dreary, he plonked his empty mug down hard on the glass-topped coffee table and wandered away to closer inspect the breathtakingly dressed twelve-foot Christmas tree before the bay window.

Narcissa watched him and then she turned to Draco. "Darling – we have an hour of light left - why don't you show Servius the Quidditch pitch?"

Snape's brows raised but he made no comment as Draco nodded, knocked back his champagne and said to Astoria with his hand at her back, "Will you and munchkin be alright if I spend some time with our rather bored-looking guest?"

Astoria nodded and used the interval to make her own murmured apology before disappearing with the baby.

When the three were alone, Malfoy gestured to the white living room set and took his favoured sofa corner. Snape took an opposite armchair.

"Severus, are you going to tell us now? Who is the mother of Servius? Cissy hasn't stopped guessing since the Christening."

Narcissa, next to him, looked flustered and said quickly: "It's just he takes after you so, Severus! It's as though his poor mother had no influence whatsoever!"

Snape slowly shook his head. "Untrue. I see her in him all the time."

"She must have been very pretty," said Narcissa coyly. "I can't imagine how you kept her secret."

Snape didn't respond and looked at the fire, and after a moment of silence, Malfoy placed a hand on Narcissa's thigh. "There, my darling, is your answer. Severus won't divulge and you are just going to have to consider yourself foiled. I expect the subject is a sore one with Servius?"

"It is…sensitive," said Snape.

Narcissa contemplated him for a moment and then stood and extended her hand to him. "Come. Let's see if the boys have found their way to the Quidditch pitch. You can see them from the window in the South Room."

Snape accepted her hand and rose, and he and Malfoy followed Narcissa across the hall and into another grand, ground-floor room that was becoming dark as dusk fell. A panoramic window faced the beautiful, winter-stark, grounds to the rear of the property, comprised of lightly wooded, softly rolling hills in the distance. Visible to the east, and bordered by tall, stately poplars, were the oval dimensions and hooped goalposts of a private Quidditch pitch, and Snape could just make out the twin tracks of Draco and Servius in the smooth, freshly laid sand. The moisture-heavy air rendered the scene almost opaque, as though peering through a fine cloud, and as they waited for signs of life, Malfoy squinted up at the drab sky. "Supposed to snow later," he remarked.

"Oh look! There they are," said Narcissa, pointing, and sure enough, Servius walked into the view in the centre of the pitch watching Draco, who was airborne, and, judging by his dangling legs and cruising speed when he swung into view, was providing instruction. "I think they're going to get on famously," she added, and offered Snape a wide smile.

Snape nodded although didn't comment, still uncertain about Draco's feelings towards him. "Relax, Severus," said Narcissa. "You're among friends here. Servius will have a wonderful time. Let me show you where you'll be sleeping."

The evening carried through easily into dinner at the round table, and then chocolates in the lounge. Astoria and the baby disappeared again, and as grown-up conversation droned on, Servius appeared to set himself a challenge to pilfer every chocolate in the tray, as if the adults wouldn't notice the rapidly diminishing contents, and eventually dozed off on the corner lounge chair. When he began to snore softly, Snape conceded it was time for bed.

He roused Servius sufficiently to propel him along the hallways to their adjoined rooms in the east wing, and, with hushed murmurs, helped the boy find his pyjamas and make a token effort to brush his very sugar-laden teeth in their shared bathroom. When it was time to leave him, Servius was more awake and Snape felt his eyes on him from the deep feather pillow.

"Want me to leave a candle?" Snape asked.

"Yes. Just in case I need to get up."

"I'll knock on the door when it's time to get dressed in the morning, alright?"

"Sir - ,"

"Dad."

"Sir, Draco said you were his teacher."

"Yes, that's true."

"Was he in any gangs? Like bad gangs?"

Snape gave a tired sigh but sat on the edge of Servius' bed. He hesitated to answer, not knowing what the pair had talked about, but it might simply allude back to the Dark Mark Servius had seen.

"The Malfoys know lots of people…lots of them. And like people everywhere, some are good and some are bad. But most people can be both. Draco, in his heart of hearts, tries to do what's right. He tries to please…he found that way for himself, which is better than most people who just do what they're told. He was prepared to explore when he was growing up, he ventured into territory that would scare many people. He wanted to learn for himself the difference between right and wrong, and I believe he is a stronger man today because of it."

Servius listened closely, then said, "I do that too."

Snape grunted laughter. "Yes. That's a good point. It is an affliction of many Slytherins." He patted the bedcover above Servius' leg and then rose again to leave.

"Sir?"

"Yes Servius?" Spoken with a hint of impatience.

"Do you think I've got talent?"

Snape frowned. "Where did that come from? Draco?"

"No, sir. From Madam Cropper. She said I've got a lot of talent, but I don't feel like it."

Snape looked at his son, buried under layers of sumptuous linen and duck-down covers, and wondered how on earth Servius could come to believe he lacked talent. Was he fishing for compliments? But his eyes, though sleepy, seemed genuine.

"Servius, believe me when I tell you this, your potential is profound. All the teachers have said that to me – that's not just my partial opinion as your father. You have the makings of a very fine wizard indeed, and not just of magic, you have a clever brain. You simply need to learn how to channel it."

"Professor Longbottom said I have talent?

"I can't believe you wouldn't be able to manage Herbology," replied Snape, then muttered, "It was his only talent." Then he extinguished two candles, just leaving the one glowing sconce by the door through to his room. "Good night, now. Where's your wand? Under your pillow?"

Servius nodded. "Night."

Snape went through to his own room, gently shutting the door, his mind reflecting on their conversation all the while he readied for bed. And when finally he lay down on the most comfortable mattress he thought he'd ever been on, his thoughts turned to Sinistra, and wondered where she was. It felt like she should be here.

"There. A winter wonderland," pronounced Narcissa at breakfast the following morning, pulling back the carefully arranged curtains in the dining room to display in full the view over the expansive entrance grounds. It was dazzling. The snow, though not deep, was still pristine, and blanketed everything like icing. In comparison, Snape thought, the snow in Scotland was somehow too wild, it had a vaguely dangerous way about it, whereas at Malfoy Manor the scene was storybook, down to the icicles suspended below the tiers of the ornate fountain.

"You'll have to go sledding!" Narcissa continued, smiling at Servius as he gaped out the window. Draco was at the buffet and piling his plate. "Dray-dray, do we still have the sled?"

"I'll send the elves to find it," Malfoy said, dismissively. "Now, today." He leaned back in his seat and poured himself and Snape a large, steaming coffee. "Narcissa is taking Astoria and the baby to Diagon for some last-minute shopping. So the question is, what do we lads want to do to keep ourselves out of trouble?"

"Of course there's sledding while the snow's fresh," said Draco, sitting at the table. "But I also have plans for Servius in flying. I think you'll find us outdoors for most of the day," he said, and winked at Servius, who winked back, somewhat clumsily around a mouthful of pancakes.

"Lucius," said Snape. "I wondered if I might have some unfettered access to your library. I am researching a subject, and I know your collection is unparalleled."

"By all means," said Malfoy, smiling. "It will be nice to see the dust blown off some of those tomes. I'll keep you company, and I might even be able to help – a few of the priceless books are in vaults and locked display cases. What are we researching? I'm all ears."

Snape hadn't counted on the question. "Oh, uh, a bit of Greek mythology -,"

"Did you say Greek mythology!" responded Malfoy, astounded. "Merlin's beard, my all-time favourite. I thought it was going to be about mouldy old potions. Did you know, I brought some fabulous Mycenaean antiques back. I daresay we shall be having quite the time of it. Don't hurry back, dear."

And so, after breakfast while elves scurried to and fro, cleaning, lighting fires, unearthing long-abandoned sleds, the members of the household disbanded on their various endeavours. Snape and Malfoy headed for the library - a room untouched by the re-decorating spree which had fated the rest of Malfoy Manor, probably because the room was already magnificent. It featured vaulted ceilings and boasted a gallery level, attained by a spiral staircase. Engraved oak and mahogany bookcases lined the entire length of wall on either side, only interrupted by a tall, stone fireplace which currently roared and spat, and in glass cabinets and on plinths were antiques and statues. A free-standing globe beside a leather-topped desk were placed at one end of the room, and at the other, a pair of facing chesterfield sofas. When Snape stopped admiring it, his head swam with envy, but Malfoy seemed utterly indifferent, appearing more interested in ensuring Snape was warm enough or had enough light. He was animated about the prospect of researching a subject, chatting away about his catalogue and indexing system, and Snape became aware that Malfoy had everything, everything a man could want – except purpose.

Snape lapsed, from habit, into teacher mode, talking to Malfoy as if he were a seventh-year, sending him on short errands and having him arrange his collection on the desk in chronological order. Snape didn't realise how much he underestimated the man until Malfoy said, as he hastened down the spiral staircase with a large volume, "Dragons balls – I didn't realise this one is only in Greek. Do you read?"

"Uh, no," said Snape, disappointed. The text Malfoy was holding seemed particularly promising. "I believe there is a charm that can -,"

"Oh I can read for you," said Malfoy. "I read Greek. And Latin. A smattering of Hebrew."

Snape paused and too late realised he'd been staring. "I – I didn't know that."

"I had very fine tutors. Father insisted. My attendance at Hogwarts was more for socialisation than education. Not that I have any doubts about the quality of the educators there, of course. Except perhaps for Hagrid, and even in his case, none can question his passion for the subject."

"Quite," murmured Snape, blinking.

"Now. What is it in here you wanted translated?"

Snape studied him a moment, wondering if he had more of an ally than he'd first appreciated. "Lucius, have you come across the Ouroboros?"

Malfoy's eyes widened.

Servius pointed the broom down, aiming for the centre of the pitch where Draco stood. "Lean back – lean back!" called Draco, waving his arms about. Against the white snow, Draco was dark and distinct, wearing a fur-lined grey overcoat and bomber hat. Servius' beanie was hardly any protection from the cold, but the flying goggles at least kept the sting out of his eyes.

"Slow! Slow! Slow!" Draco now yelled as Servius came careening in, and started jogging backwards, crossing his arms. "Lift! Lift! Like I showed you -,"

Too late. Servius piled headlong into the drifts of snow mounded against the barricade. He'd had enough wherewithal to put his heels down for a skid, then launched free of the broom before bouncing forward and landing on his back in the snow.

"Are you alright?" Draco asked breathlessly, and grasped Servius' hand to pull him up. Concern was etched across his features, but he relaxed when he saw Servius was grinning.

"That was my best landing yet!" Servius said, shoving up his goggles. "Did you see that?!"

"Of course," said Draco. "It was hard to miss. Merlin, look at your fingers, they're white."

"They're okay."

"Your father will string me if you get frostbite."

"No he won't. Can I go again?"

Draco took a deep breath. "One more, eh? Sun's gone in."

After another lesson, Draco's enthusiasm had waned significantly, and he was jumping up and down on the spot with his hands shoved deep in his pockets to keep warm. As Servius achieved a slightly less breakneck crash landing, and came towards Draco carrying the broom, his eyes were like black coals against the bloodless skin of his face. And still he smiled. "It's alright, innit?" said Servius. "Riding a broom? It's fun."

"Innit? Isn't it."

"Shut up, you're worse than Professor Snape."

"What do you call him that for?"

Servius shrugged, and they made briskly for the path that led back to the house. "Why don't you call him Dad?"

"He wasn't my Dad for eleven years, so why should I start calling him that now?"

Draco raised thoughtful brows. "I suppose that's a point…a little extreme though. If Scorpius did that I would be mortified."

"Not if you hated him," Servius retorted. They had reached the summer house that also served as the storage room for the Quidditch equipment. Draco deftly levitated the broom onto its placeholder hooks and then faced Servius.

"I don't think your father hates you, if that's what you're implying."

"He does. He told me he didn't want me to come to Hogwarts. He said he wouldn't fight a duel for me. He didn't even remember my birthday." There was no disputing the anger and defiance in Servius' words, even though he uttered them through chattering teeth, but Draco was not convinced.

"He's just not the cuddly type," he said. "Some Dads are like Hagrid, and some are like…yours. They're all different. But I know Professor Snape even better than you do and…and I can tell that he cares. I owe a lot to your father, maybe even my life."

"How?"

"I had some -," Draco made some sweeping finger marks down his front. "Cuts. I was bleeding. He healed me."

They exited the summer-house and trotted up the steps to the conservatory. "My point is – just because he doesn't buy you brooms for your birthday doesn't mean he wouldn't do anything for you."

Once they were inside, Draco took Servius' jacket, gloves, scarf and boots and handed them to an elf who hurried to greet them. "Then why," said Servius, "didn't he come to see me even once when I was little. Not even once?"

And Draco frowned, perturbed. "I don't know."

Malfoy's face transformed into the image of pent up enthusiasm. "Forget the books, Severus – follow me." And he turned and headed directly to a bookcase next to the fireplace.

Snape followed, and was momentarily startled when Malfoy pushed the bookcase to reveal a hidden door, but then, of course Malfoy had hidden rooms. He probably had dozens. It was more of a surprise that it was as mundane as an old-fashioned hinged door and not magical.

"Down here," called Malfoy, lighting his wand and highlighting a small landing that preceded a short flight of wooden steps. Snape lumos-ed his own wand as he tagged after, but Malfoy soon had candelabras alight and amongst the deep shadows, Snape was able to quickly ascertain the nature of the room.

"My Gringotts away from Gringotts," explained Malfoy, as Snape observed bank upon bank of safes, iron plated chests and strongboxes. Snape was reminded of the archive at Hogwarts by the similar accumulation of peculiar and unusual treasures, some stored with care under glass, others stashed on the floor or on shelves. "The Lestrange Vault may as well have been a pick 'n' mix store for all the security those bastard Goblins afforded it. Dragons. Useless."

"Indeed," said Snape, frowning. "What's this got to do with the Ouroboros, Lucius?"

"Ah hah – this!" said Malfoy, his face slightly eerie as it was under-lit. He searched the stacks, muttering to himself, then brought forth an antique strongbox and with his wand, set in motion a series of complicated, grinding, interconnected mechanisms that served to keep it locked. When he opened the lid, a folded sheaf of very aged, delicate parchment was revealed.

"Ugh – I loathe to manhandle it" murmured Malfoy, straightening the document against its dark felt casing. The image on it was faint, and Malfoy was unwilling to hold a candle directly over it, so once again Snape lit his wand and Malfoy handed him a magnified eye-piece. "That is either the original design, or a depiction of, the Ouroboros above the temple of the dead, its founding place, around 900 BC. A snake guards it because the ancients believed a snake could never sleep, and so long as the Ouroboros remained in place, the dead were peaceful and rested. Can you see anything interesting about it?"

It was the same figure-eight serpent eating its own tail with scales and markings in exquisite detail. Through some magical trickery the snake seemed to flow, like a reptilian river, in a continuous rhythm of being consumed and regenerated. "Well…it's moving," replied Snape. "Wait – its eye. That's the -,"

"Resurrection Stone. Watch -,"

The eye, on closer inspection, had the planes and angles of a finely sculpted gem and at intervals would rotate counter-clockwise three times then stop.

"Why is it doing that?"

"My belief is that's how the Resurrection Stone works. To bring back their dead, the ancients would rotate the stone and a resident of the tomb would be, well, resurrected."

Snape's brows arched. "That is quite an artifact, Lucius."

Malfoy smiled widely, but secretly. "I know I can trust you, Severus." He carefully restored the document and re-locked its box. "Some of these things I trade at Auction every now and then, but some – some are too precious."

Snape wondered what Malfoy would think if he learned the stone was somewhere on the grounds of Hogwarts. "What happens if the stone is removed from the Ourobros?"

"It already has been removed. It's lost. All three of the Stones are. Supposedly are. But in answer to your question: devastation. A pestilence across the land sort of thing."

"Who are the ancients you keep mentioning?"

"Ah. Those who followed Psyche, the immortal, and she who stole the stone for herself. Assorted deities, satyrs and centaurs."

He moved across the room and attended to the workings of a different, bigger case, again with magical locks. The opened lid this time revealed a large fragment of a stone carving. "Severus, soak this up. Look at it. Magnificence. Have you ever beheld anything quite so…incredible?"

Snape held his wand forth to examine the carving which, while elegantly and finely rendered, depicted the rather grotesque facial features of some form of being, snarling, part reptile, part man, and embroiled around the head, twisting and twining in every direction, were snakes.

"Makes you proud to be a Slytherin, doesn't it?"

"I'm sorry Lucius – he's hideous. Typhoeus?"

"The same. I never could warm to Zeus – but this chap: he took some imagination." Malfoy regarded the carving fondly for a few more minutes. "All three stones were his. If the Triad can be reunited, so the legend goes, Typhon will rise again."

"You'd like that, would you?" Snape said drily.

"I took this," continued Malfoy, absorbed, "from the excavation on Eriopsis. I believe the wizard who was buried there was one of the Mages of Alexon. If he had this carving in his tomb, then he would have been a Typhonite, possibly a leader."

"Typhonite?"

"The followers. They live now, they still worship Typhoeus. Their stronghold is in Romania, and they appear as monks, wearing a habit and cowl to hide their heads. They have dark magic, blood magic, and are believed to practice sacrifice and all sorts of rumours abound. They have many reptilian characteristics – I believe they speak Parseltongue."

"Cold blooded?" Snape asked, only half serious.

Malfoy smiled at him. "I don't know, Severus, I've never had the pleasure of their acquaintance. I do apologise, I have distracted you from your research. I hope some of this has helped?"

Snape nox-ed his wand and slipped it away. "Exceedingly, Lucius."

There was sleet in the morning of Christmas Eve, and it washed the fine snow away. Servius had dressed for more flying practice, and ate his breakfast with hopeful speed, but an unshaven Draco, in his velvet dressing gown, barely looked out the dining room window before saying to those assembled: "Maybe later, Sev – if nobody minds, I'll take some breakfast up to Astie and come down later. Scorpius had one of his…better nights."

As he departed the dining room with some tea and toast, Narcissa smiled apologetically to Snape and Servius. "Scorpius is a bit colicky. It's very hard on Astoria and Draco does a lot of the cuddling and night feeding."

"He's a good father to the child," commented Malfoy, who had not paused from his vegetarian kedgeree (eggs were permitted).

Servius looked crestfallen and so Snape said, "If the sleet clears, I'll take you out."

"You don't know how to fly!" snapped Servius, frowning furiously.

Malfoy chuckled. "Well in fact he does. But if you'd rather wait for Draco I'll see if I can't talk him into a bit of coaching later. You know what this weather calls for? Games. Finish your breakfast and we'll convene in the games room."

"At four we need to come together to Floo to Chudley," said Narcissa, who, Snape noticed, consumed nothing for breakfast but coffee. "There are carols in the Church, and we give our donation to the parish."

The morning was whiled away teaching Servius chess, billiards (the magical variant involved using wands instead of cues and the white balls were enchanted), darts and table Quidditch. The sky cleared and the slush began to melt and Malfoy, a keen amateur meteorologist, said: "Oooh, big frost in the morning."

At the enormous sigh emitted by Servius, Malfoy glanced at the window. "Shall we get some fresh air? You can still practice flying, Servius. Your father and I will stand by and shout advice. I wasn't bad on a broom in my day."

Bundled up in coats, cloaks, hats, scarves, gloves and boots, the three went out to the Quidditch pitch and Servius was soon up and about, following hollered instructions from Malfoy to go left, right, up or down. Snape stood beside him, his mind wandering to Charity and then Sinistra, when Malfoy took a more conspiratorial tone. "Severus, I just want to give you advance warning that Cissy and I heard from…family last night and, well we have an extra guest for lunch tomorrow."

Snape raised semi-interested brows, the only other guest he was aware of being Andromeda. "Oh yes? Anyone I know?"

"Indeed," Malfoy looked uncomfortable, shoving his hands deep in his pockets and keeping his eyes trained on Servius. "You'll remember Rabastan? Roddy's brother?"

Snape's eyes widened and he turned to stare at Malfoy. "Rabastan? He's one of the -,"

"Escaped. I know. Cissy and I have known for some time. He's alone, Severus, I couldn't very well say no."

"He's a war criminal, Lucius. The Auror Office -,"

"I'm quite aware of all that, dear boy."

"You're asking me to be complicit in his evasion?"

Malfoy at last met his eyes. "Yes. That is precisely what I'm asking. It's Christmas, Severus. And furthermore, I'm asking that we have an armistice because of it."

Snape clenched his jaw. Rabastan Lestrange. The Wanted posters in the MoM were starting to droop and fade they had been hanging so long. The Ministry speculated he'd left the country permanently, but Snape had known, had instinctively known, that Rabastan had gone into hiding when Snape's allegiances were published. He was number one on Snape's personal hit list.

"You do remember, Lucius, he was one of those involved in the Longbottom trial."

"Of course. I'm not defending him -,"

"He attempted to kill the Granger girl. He boasted – Bellatrix did."

"These are in the past, Severus, all in the past. As is your…conversion."

Snape scuffed the ground then added heatedly, "He coordinated quite a few of the tortures at Hogwarts. Scrimgeour?"

For the first time since having arrived at the Manor, Malfoy revealed his razor edge. "He is also family, Snape. And a Slytherin brother. I do not turn those away at Christmas, and…and I won't do it to Cissy. He is a Death Eater no more – only a man. Same as you or I."

Snape breathed out heavily. "And after Christmas Day?"

"As you say - he's wanted, Severus, I've told him he's on his own. Do what you need to do."

In the late afternoon, a barefoot elf emerged carrying a tray of three tall mugs that steamed. Servius was brought to ground and given his containing warm eggnog, but Malfoy and Snape had strongly laced hot toddies.

The elf bowed slightly to Malfoy. "Master, Madam requests your company if you can be spared."

"Thank you," said Malfoy, and sought to be excused from Snape and Servius, who stood awkwardly as they watched their host leave. It was one of those moments during a prolonged stay when guests become conscious of their presence, that they were unintentionally disrupting family proceedings, that difficulties were being concealed. Without discussing it, Snape and Servius knew better than to go inside.

"Your, um, flying has improved dramatically," Snape said to his son, who was already draining his mug. Servius ran his sleeve over his mouth and said, "Yeah. Wish I could practice more at school."

"Unless you go back to a Muggle school."

"Yep. I'd probably miss it at first," he glanced up keenly at Snape. "Thought I wasn't allowed to go."

"Well given recent events, the decision may be taken out of my hands. I have heard from the Headmistress that your meetings with Madam Cropper achieved little."

A short silence, then Servius said, "I didn't know how to answer her questions. It was dumb."

They wandered to the Summer House so that Servius could return his broom, and then, for want of anywhere else to go, they each took seats on the cushioned iron chairs stored inside. There was no heating, and they hugged their coats about them.

Snape's mind turned reflexively to the issue of Lestrange and he presumed they would each wait in silence until they were retrieved, but he was surprised by Servius stating: "I miss my mates."

"The Mathias boy?"

"No. William. And Tāne. And…some of the other kids."

"Oh I see. At Hogwarts. Well, we'll be back soon." He considered Servius a moment, then added, "Did you also mean Miss Hellmann?"

"No! Geez, why do you keep bringing her up? I told you – I hate her guts."

"Of course."

After another moment of quiet, Servius said: "I haven't ever had Christmas away from home before."

Snape nodded. "I'm sure you'll be so busy tomorrow you'll scarcely notice."

"I sent cards to Ma and Pa but I haven't heard back from them. Draco let me use their owl."

"They're probably just not sure how to send something by owl."

Servius didn't look mollified. He stared at his boots and then once more piped up. "Did you send a card to Professor Sinistra?'

"Ah…I regret I did not."

"I thought she was your friend?"

"Well, she is, she is a friend -,"

"Bit more than a friend I reckon," said Servius, with mischief in his eyes.

"Servius! Mind!" said Snape, but there was no real vitriol in it.

It had amused the boy. He snickered. Then he said, "Did you ever love anyone that wasn't mum? Did you have a girlfriend before her? You know...when you were my age?"

Snape frowned. "What made you ask that?"

"I just…you know…wasn't sure if you, you know, if you like a girl what -,"

"Merlin's beard – someone has taught you about the birds and the bees?"

"You mean sexing?"

Snape choked a little. "Uh, yes I suppose -,"

"Yeah! God, you're not going to have that talk to me! Muggles have the internet you know."

"Good," breathed Snape. "So you know all about that then? Because you're not to do it."

"Ergh, no way, I'm not doing that with anyone. It looks disgusting!" They lapsed in a reverie during which Snape thought about Sinistra and Servius presumably thought about Amelie, because he then asked, "But just say…just say you did like a girl…should you tell her?"

Snape looked at him levelly, but his mind was flung back, vaults in his head swinging open, Lily pouring out. "Does she like you?" he asked eventually.

Servius shrugged. "I don't know…I guess…"

"There's no rush, Servius. You have years and years to…fall in love. Sometimes, at your age, it can feel like love but -," he paused, he thought for a long time how to phrase it, his gaze turned inward. "Unless they love you back it could…it could be an infatuation. And I'm not discounting that, infatuation is real, it can be very real. It can break your heart as profoundly as love."

"How do you know the difference?"

Snape raised his eyes, but they were unseeing. "I loved your mother and she completed me. She made me a better man. I thought I knew what love was, but I didn't until her."

"Because of another girl you were infatuated with?"

Snape nodded slowly. "When I was your age, in fact. She was beautiful and clever, and very talented. I loved her but it was unrequited. I coveted her, I couldn't - ,"

Snape suddenly realised he'd been talking out loud and clamped his mouth shut.

"You couldn't what?" demanded Servius.

"Don't be nosy," Snape retorted. "Be happy with knowing you were the result of true love."

"Was she at Hogwarts? What was her name?"

"Her name? Why do you need to know that?"

And as Snape watched, an expression of dawning realisation was cast over Servius' face like a shadow, and then in his black eyes as he re-focussed on his father. "Then…just tell me the first letter."

"What's going on, Servius?"

"Was it – did her name begin with L?

No words were exchanged. Snape gave the merest, surprised frown and Servius' eyes widened in shocked response. He blinked. Then he stared hard at the floor.

"Who've you been talking to? Was it Draco? He thinks he knows things -,"

"No. It wasn't Draco, it was – it was nothing. Lucky guess."

"It doesn't matter now. It was long ago. Long, long ago."

"When you were a student."

"Yes. When I was a student."

Servius seemed to be breathing rather rapidly, his breath cloudy before him, but all the vitality had dissipated. They were alone, and confiding, and talking about love. Snape stared hard for a few minutes at his son, then out the small, sash window of the summerhouse at the bedraggled garden bed outside, at some drooping nettles amongst the bare roses.

He took a deep breath, it quavered at its peak, his heart suddenly pounding. "Servius, there's some questions you've asked…about your mother -,"

Servius glanced up quickly and he seemed rather wild about the eyes. Snape swallowed.

"– about what happened to her -,"

Servius stared, unmoving, utterly silent but his chest visibly rose and fell.

"Severus?!" An abrupt shout rent the air outside. "SERVIUS?"

It was Malfoy, in his winter cloak and a felt fedora. A tap came on the summer house door, presumably from his walking stick. "Are you in there? Hello?"

"Lucius," returned Snape, and immediately stood and opened the door. "We were – we were just chatting."

"Oh! So sorry to interrupt. We searched the entire house – I was getting worried!"

"We thought – never mind, we've had a pleasant discourse."

He glanced back at Servius to discover him staring, as if he'd quite forgotten the use of his eyelids.

"We're preparing to leave; for Chudley. Carols?" said Lucius.

"Yes. Of course. We'll be with you directly."

Snape looked back at Servius, who was now standing in a kind of dismayed panic. "Now is – not the time, Servius. We'll finish this chat…soon. I promise."