The Confrontation

They did not return from Chudley to Malfoy Manor until midnight, and the beginning of Christmas Day was heralded by all the candles on the Christmas tree glowing and stockings hung from the mantelpiece. Despite it, Servius was ready to go to bed, however when Snape gently shut his bedroom door behind him, he lay wide awake in his bed wondering anew if it could possibly be true that his father and HBP were one and the same. If it was, then presumably his father also had the DM tattooed on his wrist, but that tightly buttoned coat made certain that neither he, nor anyone else, could discover that inadvertently.

He hadn't decided how to process anything through the shock. His instinctive reaction was dismay, and then anger at feeling tricked; fooled into admiring someone he loathed. And he knew this was irrational, there was no conspiracy, in fact he knew that if his father was aware that he had the diaries he'd be furious. But the more he thought about it, the more he decided it must be a mistake. These were little more than simple coincidences – obviously there was more than one name for a girl beginning with L, there would have been dozens of Slytherin boys the same year that his father was at school, and almost certainly more than one of them would have been good at potions and hexing. A lot of coincidences, that couldn't be denied, but that was the whole thing about coincidences…

And then what had his father wanted to tell him about his mother? His mind tried desperately to dwell on it longer, but the endless circuitous questions at last sent him to sleep.

The morning dawned cold but fair and Servius was awake to the sound of the Grandfather clock in the hall chiming seven times. When he sat up, he saw new clothes had been placed on the wingback chair in his room, one a seasonal-style jumper in Slytherin colours which he presumed was meant for the day, and so he dressed and was ready by the time Snape knocked on the door. His father scoffed a little at the sight of him. "No need to shake you awake then. How long have you been up?"

"Thanks for the jumper."

"Thank Mrs Malfoy. No detail too small."

Everyone had gathered by the time they arrived for breakfast and there were ringing, heartfelt exchanges of Christmas cheer and abundant platters of food on the buffet table. Afterward, they moved into the main lounge and Servius' eyes popped when he saw the mass of brightly wrapped presents beneath the tree and inside the bulging stockings. The ornaments on the tree had now all transformed into chocolate and sugary treats, their extra weight drooping the branches, and ambient carols were faintly heard.

The majority of the presents were for the Malfoys, of course, and Scorpius and Teddy Lupin in particular, a handful left under the tree for their lunch guests later. Several minutes were set aside as the young parents opened gift after gift for the baby, and Servius' eyes lingered on a broom handle he could see poking out from among the parcels, having assumed Scorpius would be blessed with his own even though he could barely hold his own head up.

So when the Cerberus Realm, bedecked with a bright, golden, extravagantly tied ribbon (thanks to Narcissa) was handed to Servius by Draco, who nodded approvingly, Servius' jaw dropped in amazement. He immediately looked to Snape, who smiled.

"That," said Draco. "Is a wicked piece of kit. Reminds me of when Potter got that bloody Nimbus, remember that Dad?"

Malfoy laughed and stories were traded but Servius didn't hear them. He had fallen instantly in love with the broom's sleek lines, saddles, stirrups and small compass-bearing panel at the head which, Draco informed him knowledgeably, was for navigation. The Realm could be instructed to locate and travel to a requested destination.

"Read the card," said Narcissa gently, showing him the little tag which was attached to the ribbon. He lifted it but before he even read the words, his head suddenly swam violently.

The handwriting.

It was his - HBP's – cramped and untidy, long crosses on the t's, frequently missed dots on the i's, certain letter combinations running together. He recognised his father's handwriting from the letter he'd sent with Täne, the many marked potions assignments…how on earth had he never made the match before?

The card said standard things and was signed "Dad", but he breezed over the words. It was a coincidence too many, and his heart sped up, thinking back on all the times he'd ferreted out the diaries to read late at night: his vicarious joy when HBP had a rare win, his own frustration and anger when HBP suffered injustice, the comfort he often drew from HBP's frequent rambles about one day finding retribution and satisfaction, of not needing approval, of being stronger in his mind and command of his emotion.

No. It couldn't be. No, no, no. The initials – what did HBP stand for? Still a coincidence…still a coincidence.

He looked up again, aware that people were waiting for him to thank his father, but he struggled to speak. Snape detected something wrong, and his eyes narrowed, the smile disappeared and Servius slightly shook his head. "Um," he croaked. "It's…it's…"

"He's speechless!" declared Malfoy and slapped Servius on the back. "Well done Severus. I expect you'll have to lock that beauty away though or you'll never see your son again!"

The words were oddly premonitory.

The present-giving carried on, but Servius remained dazed in his seat, the Cerberus placed carefully on the floor beside him, and when Snape was given a gift from the Malfoys, Servius used the moment to openly study his distracted father. He was trying to imagine him as a teen, in Slytherin uniform, hexing and jinxing and fighting with that same black wand, arguing with the Headmaster, faking permission slips to study in the Dark Arts section of the library, sneaking increasingly rare moments with the Gryffindor girl known as L.

If that had been his father…what happened?

And across the space of the living room, his stare was met by the black eyes that were his own. With age, with the moulding of time, with a thousand glares, scowls and frowns behind them, with the careworn cynicism of an unfortunate life, of having witnessed too much death, of too rarely beholding joy, Servius discovered, at the tender age of twelve, how eyes became the window to the soul. There first had to be a soul to see. He suddenly saw straight into his father and he couldn't hold it. He glanced away. His father had a giant of a soul, and it was the soul his mother had loved.

"Want to give it a test run?" he heard, and Servius was startled back to the moment. It was Draco, bending to pick up the broom with a disarming grin on his face. Around them, present opening now over, people were moving, elves were magicking the room back to order, Scorpius had commenced wailing and everything was dramatically normal again.

"Uh, sure," said Servius, desperate to be away from Snape, anywhere but where he was.

The broom flew beautifully, and in the pale, limpid mid-morning sunshine, soaring over the glorious landscape of Malfoy Manor, breathing in the frosty air laced with woodsmoke, the turmoil in Servius was too-briefly balmed. Draco was flying with him, leading the way and frequently checking back to make sure everything was sound. And it was. Once or twice Servius applied speed and Draco was unexpectedly forced to race him, and the exhilaration was enough to clear his mind and even bring a rumble of hunger to his stomach.

When they returned to the house, faces pale and pinched with cold, they were greeted with the aromas of a Christmas lunch well underway, and as they hung up their coats and scarves, Narcissa came into the hall and scolded Draco. "Our visitors have arrived! Poor Astoria is all alone with the baby! Into the lounge at once!"

Servius entered the lounge behind Draco to a gathering of adults talking, or at least most of them. Narcissa swept through to take champagne to "Andromeda", a lady whom she so resembled that Servius assumed them to be related. While she had the same elegant, slightly haughty manner as Narcissa, she had light brown hair and softer eyes, and only a flicker of a smile was raised when Narcissa laughed blithely at her own joke.

Snape stood next to the fireplace, one hand behind his back, the other – his right, and to his side – flexed slightly as the fingers closed and relaxed repeatedly. This was a movement that Servius had come to recognise, and signified Snape was within moments of retrieving his wand. His father had his eyes fixed on the men across the room, the men Draco now joined. Malfoy was talking to another man that Servius didn't know, a black-suited man, with dark hair slicked back, who's bearing was much like his father's – straight, commanding and firm-jawed. His arms were folded, and considering he'd just joined the family for Christmas, he wore an expression of severe and flat-eyed antipathy.

When he noticed Servius, he immediately turned his full attention and held his eyes with such intensity that Servius was forced to drop them. It was as if the stranger knew him. When he felt a warm hand on his shoulder, he jumped.

"Servius, you sit with me at dinner, d'you hear?" murmured Snape. "There may be adults talking. If I tell you to go to your room, you do as I say."

And, as if augured, a bell rang and Narcissa announced gaily that it signalled time to go through to the dining hall. But as Servius began to move to follow the others, he felt Snape's hand grip his shoulder a little tighter.

"What?" he said.

Snape simply shook his head. "No. Perhaps…,"

"Severus?" It was Narcissa, looking back, perplexed. "Are you coming through?"

"We're not in the round dining room?"

She smiled. "I'm afraid we're simply too many. Don't worry, the Hall has been warming since this morning."

It was as if Snape had turned to stone. Servius almost felt the heat draining away from the hand that still held him. "Sir? We need to go in."

Then he heard Snape swear under his breath and mutter something about skipping lunch and having something brought to their rooms. Servius glanced up at him, aghast. "But – there's a turkey, and ham and -,"

Narcissa appeared to glide across the small space that separated them. "Severus, I don't understand. I've seated you well away from Rabastan, if that's the concern? Please – poor Servius is virtually salivating, look at him. Everyone's waiting."

The hand on Servius' shoulder at last lifted, and he saw Snape nod stiffly, but the colour had drained from his face. Without speaking, they followed Narcissa into the Hall.

The room was vast. Like the library, it had been bypassed for the great re-decorating, and despite the enormous roaring fire, its mantlepiece dressed with holly and ivy, and magnificent chandelier, it had a grim aspect. Dour-faced, pointy-hatted-wearing portraits hung at great height, wall-to-wall dark panelling was only lifted from gloom in the corners by a suit of armour or a pale, limbless statue. The table itself, at which the guests were now collected down one end, stretched almost the length of the room and must have seated twenty or more. While their places were set upon a tablecloth, the far end showed the exposed wood and it was dark, heavy, almost sinister and polished such that Servius noticed the chandelier was reflected like a mirror.

He and his father sat side by side. Draco was to his left, Malfoy was at the head of the table, and the man Narcissa called Rabastan was at the far end on the opposite side. A bassinet containing a warmly wrapped, sleeping Scorpius was situated in a darkened corner.

At first, everybody's attention was centered on the platters, tureens and bowls of food brought to the table by elves. Malfoy, wearing a wine-red smoking jacket, carved and plated the roasts, making jovial chatter throughout, while the other guests amused themselves pulling Christmas crackers and sharing jokes or small tricks with their wands. Draco pulled a cracker with Servius, who in turn pulled his, but when Servius nudged Snape that it was his turn, he shook his head dismissively. Rabastan noticed and notched a brow.

"Come on, Snape," he said. "Why don't you pull a cracker with the lad? Where's your Christmas spirit?"

Snape didn't respond, his only movement to lift a glass of wine and down the lot in a single draught.

"It's such a pity little Ted couldn't come with you, Dromeda," said Narcissa, passing down plates. "After all, he went to the Potter's last Christmas. They're so excited for St Nick at that age."

"Oh they're having the usual Potter, Weasley affair, cast of thousands, lots of other children," replied Andromeda, across the table from her sister. "Potter was asked to light the Christmas tree candles in Diagon Alley, so we went along and he asked me point-blank for Teddy to attend on Christmas Day. To my face. I couldn't very well say that he would be at Malfoy Manor this year instead."

Malfoy suddenly stabbed the turkey a little sharply causing a wing to go flying, and Narcissa pursed her lips. "We're still family," she replied crisply, and turned to Malfoy. "Darling, did you take -?"

"Yes, I did," said Malfoy, and paused to smile around the room. "Cissy is just asking whether I've had my medicine today. And you'll all be glad to know that I have. I shan't be shaking and crying like last year, don't alarm yourselves."

Servius felt rather than saw his father lean toward the decanter and pour another glass of wine.

Rabastan laughed loudly. "Is that dosage getting larger or smaller, Lucius? I'm just surprised not to see Delphi here. When does she get to join the family Christmas?"

Silence around the table, and Rabastan said: "Oh I see. Should have kept that cupboard shut should I? Did anyone send her a present?"

"In May, Rabastan. We go in May and see Delphi then," said Narcissa, and Andromeda nodded. "Most of the Blacks and Lestranges are there. Draco and Astoria have promised to attend next year."

"Where? Where do you go? To Azkaban?" retorted Rabastan loudly. "Has anyone tried going there?"

"My therapist said I was not to talk about…about that place," said Malfoy, clunking down the knife loudly. "Nor Draco. So please, Rabastan. We go to the Black Mausoleum as well you know."

Rabastan swallowed a large glass of wine himself and smiled fiendishly across the table at Snape. "The best kind of lubricant for these occasions, don't you think? It's just so…awkward, otherwise."

Snape didn't answer and, having a plate of delicious smelling food in front of him, Servius lifted his knife and fork, but Draco lightly placed his hand over his to lower it and shook his head almost imperceptibly. "We say grace," he whispered.

And surely, Malfoy nodded to those at the table, who lowered their heads and Malfoy murmured: "For what we are about to receive, may the Lord make us truly grateful," and then lifted his eyes and beamed. "Tuck in!"

For a solid five or so minutes, barely a word was spoken unless it was to comment on the food, and Servius could hardly get enough in at once. His cheeks bulged. It was truly delicious, and he'd been hungry for an hour but he noticed his father scarcely touched his food. Snape still looked wan and his jaw ticked conspicuously. He shoved the turkey slices and potato about on his plate and when he noticed Servius looking at him, he gave a weak smile.

"This is very tasty," said Rabastan. "Hang on to these elves, Lucius, finally got some talent under your roof."

"They've asked for payment," said Lucius, not looking up. "I'm holding firm. The minute they get pay they get spoiled."

"Have you had any success in finding a nanny-elf?" Andromeda asked Astoria, who shook her head. "I'll ask around. All the good ones are taken. I see that the Weasleys have started looking as well because I don't think that Ginny is coping. My advice is that you do pay – Hermione Granger paid handsomely for help with her little girl, what's her name? Rosie? Didn't elaborate to the Daily Prophet about it though, I notice. Didn't want to appear as though she wasn't a hands-on mother."

Servius had no idea what was being talked about and didn't much care, either. He had passed his plate back up for second helpings.

"Ginny's not coping?" said Astoria with interest. "But she'd always projected an image of being so bloody capable at everything."

"Second one," remarked Narcissa. "She's probably still tired after the first. That's why I stopped with just one – if he's perfect, then why have more?" She simpered at Draco but he maintained focus on his plate.

"Because one day you may lose your only one," said Andromeda with a rather bitter, rueful smile.

There was a kind of scorched-earth silence around the table for a moment, then Narcissa murmured, "I apologise, Dromeda, that was thoughtless of me."

"I would think it would be nice to have a brother or sister," said Draco, attempting lightness. "But Scorpius is it for us at the minute."

Malfoy passed the plate down. "There you go Servius. Eat up, a boy can't live on air."

His plate was mounded with turkey, vegetables and Yorkshire pudding swimming in gravy. He dived in. Snape still hadn't eaten and had even stopped pretending to. He had his elbow on the table and was massaging his brow.

"So, Stan!" said Malfoy, with forced cheer. "Who is on your arm this week?"

Rabastan smiled, but did not answer immediately, instead let the question hang while he finished his mouthful and drank more wine. Clearly wasn't concerned about losing his audience. Then with a self-satisfied smirk he replied, "A lovely young pure-blood vixen from our northern climes. I wouldn't put her past half my age but she shows the experience of someone twice that."

There was a choking, coughing sound from Draco, who hastily sipped some water. Servius was attempting to unravel the sentence in his head but it made no sense. Beside him, Snape sighed.

"Oh, I see," said Malfoy, and chewed reflectively. "Couldn't make it today? Or is she down for her midday nap?"

A small round of chuckles and Rabastan smiled coolly, nodding. "Very good. She's more likely to put me down for a midday nap. And a morning and evening one."

Servius nudged Draco and whispered, "Why does he need so many naps?" But Draco just shook his head and continued eating.

"Well if she's still around this time next year, she'll be entirely welcome. We'll be sure to have a toy under the tree for her," said Malfoy, earning another titter, although this time Rabastan didn't smile.

"Things will be different next year," he said. "You'll need the entire table, you can count on it."

Malfoy stared at him a moment. "I'm not sure I follow."

Rabastan looked pointedly at Snape with half-lidded eyes. "It'll be ten years. The sentence is over. There'll be a lot out of Azkaban looking for a feed."

Servius followed Rabastan's eyes to Snape, who had straightened in his chair. "You seem very certain."

"Good behaviour," replied Rabastan with a sinister smile. "Thanks to those in power, Azkaban now rewards its inmates for being good boys and girls. Three gold stars and you can go for lunch early."

"Must be disappointing to think you'll be going in just when they're all coming out."

Servius nudged Draco again. "What's Azkaban?" And again, Draco just shook his head and kept his eyes forward.

Malfoy tinked his fork on the rim of his glass. "Must I remind you! There are children present. I'll not discuss that here, today. It's Christmas!"

"Merry Christmas," muttered Rabastan, pouring himself another glass, which he then raised. "To those who can't be with us."

Immediately everyone around the table thought of a lost life, literal or otherwise. The room was full of ghosts, but nobody spoke.

Eventually Snape leaned toward Servius and spoke in quiet but non-negotiable tones. "Since you've cleared a second plate, why don't you go for a bit of a walk and settle your stomach. There'll be a while before pudding."

"But –," began Servius, however Draco interrupted. "Hey, Servius, I just remembered something. Come with me, I've got something to show you."

The adults watched silently as Draco and Servius scraped back their chairs and departed the room, a whispering between the portraits barely audible above the crackling and snapping of the fire. On the way out, Narcissa laid her hand on Draco's arm and said, "Be back in fifteen, please." Draco nodded.

"Are we going flying?" Servius asked hopefully, once clear of the suffocating atmosphere. "It's in my room, I'll just get it -,"

"No. No time for flying. Come with me."

Draco marched down the hall and Servius trailed behind. There were a couple of twists and turns and they were in a hallway that Servius hadn't seen before. Then Draco approached a shut door. "This is my old room, when I was at school. My mum and dad never changed it; saving it for Scorpius I expect."

With a quick flick of his wand the door opened and Servius, wide-eyed, was led into the abode of a wealthy, student Draco, who went directly to a cupboard and started searching around inside it. Servius took in his surrounds.

There was an opulent four-poster bed, replete with battered soft-toy, and other typical furnishings such as a bookcase, a big chest like something off a pirate ship, and a large, varnished desk, above which was a pin board fixed with drawings, designs, notes, plans and photographs. Some pictures were of Quidditch players, but most of it was indecipherable to Servius. On a hook, behind the door, hung a black, hooded robe that bore an image on its back: that of a skull with a snake coming out of its jaw.

On a bedside table was a framed photograph. The moving photo was of a girl, but not Astoria, as Servius would have expected. He picked it up and watched the girl in Hogwarts uniform standing on a stage, accepting some kind of prize and smiling widely, then said, "Who's this? Was she your girlfriend?"

Draco was reaching up to the top shelf of the cupboard, rummaging around inside. He glanced over his shoulder and when he saw the photograph Servius was holding up, he instantly turned and snatched it off him, scanned it briefly then ripped the picture free of its frame and shoved it deep in a trouser-pocket. "Balls – where was that?! Fuck that was close. Bloody elves. Thanks, Servius, and no, she wasn't my girlfriend."

Since he was clearly not intending to elaborate, Servius mooched a little while Draco continued his search through the high shelf. He became immersed in the noticeboard until Draco finally said, "A-ha! Got it! I knew it was up here."

Draco absently shut the cupboard door behind him with his foot as he gazed at the item he was now holding, and wandering over to the bed, he sat down, patting the space beside him. Servius joined him, curious. Draco held a hard-cover book with a blue-grey cover, and on the front was an old illustration of a black, smoking cauldron. The title read "Advanced Potion Making". With a wry grin, Draco held it up for Servius to see. "Look what I found."

Servius was crushed. "Oh. Oh, yeah. Thanks. I haven't got that one yet."

"No you don't," said Draco, fully smiling now. "Someone had it. Then I had it. And now it's yours. Which is proper."

"I – I think there's a new edition now -," said Servius, not in the least interested in Draco's mouldering old second-hand textbook. "So who was that girl?"

"No, no – Servius – you don't understand yet. Let me show you." He flipped open to the back cover to show the mottled inside page and then tapped an inscription in black ink at the bottom.

This book is the property of the Half-Blood Prince. It was underlined several times.

The long slash on the t. The trailing dot on the i. "Who's the Half-Blood Prince?" asked Servius, his heart thudding, the answer already known.

"Your dad. He was the Half-Blood Prince. This was his book."

Servius' mouth went suddenly very dry. The blood seemed to bottom out of him, as if a plug had been pulled.

H.B.P. No more coincidences.

"You can have it," said Draco, handing it to Servius. "By the time I got it, I couldn't use it. But there's loads of advice in there, tips and what-not. It could be really useful by the time you get to fifth year."

"How – how do you know the Half-Blood Prince was…was Professor Snape?"

"I asked my father. I don't know why but it was something your Dad liked to call himself when he was a student."

"Where did you get it? Was it given to you by…him?"

"It was hidden in a special room at Hogwarts which has…which has gone now. I was in and out of that room for a bit, waiting. So I searched around for something to do and came across that. I didn't know it was your Dad's until later; I was going to flog it to a sixth-year because it had all the answers in it. But now – now I'm glad I kept it."

Servius thumbed through the pages. Just like the diaries, it was full of his father's scrawling, black handwriting. Derisive exclamation points, whole sections of type-face scratched out, notes drifting up the margins. Just like HBP of the diaries, the words reflected the temperament of a boy, shortly a man, who knew he was clever, knew all the answers, knew better than his teachers – but lacked the wherewithal to package it to his own advantage. He had the intelligence, but not the social skills to execute it. Connecting with others baffled him, exhausted him. They required him to be someone other than himself, but too often he felt them undeserving of the effort. HBP was, like him, rejecting others before they could reject him first.

Servius came back to the present and shut the book, then planted a smile on his face. "Um – thanks. This is pretty cool. Guess I'll find out a lot of, you know, stuff about potions."

"Don't tell your Dad you've got it. Surprise him in sixth year!" Draco took the book and shrank it with his wand so Servius could fit it in his pocket.

"Cheat?"

"It's not cheating if it's the notes from the Potions Master is it? Are you a Slytherin or not?"

Servius laughed at that. "We better go back."

Draco nodded and as they headed for the door, Servius paused and pointed up at the robe. "That picture: the skull and the snake. It's a tattoo right?" He turned to look sharply at Draco, who glanced at the image and then at Servius with a frown.

"Um, not a tattoo as such -,"

"It's on your wrist. I saw it. My father has one too, doesn't he?"

"You saw mine? Um -,"

"What does it mean? What's a DE?"

"DE - where'd you hear that?"

"And what's Azkaban? Is it some kind of prison? Who's in there? Other people with a tattoo? Are they DE's?"

Draco swallowed. "That's a lot of questions, Servius -,"

"Did you know my mother, Draco?"

Draco shook his head. "No."

"But she was at Hogwarts when you were there, in nineteen ninety-three. She was the Muggle Studies teacher."

"Professor Burbage," Draco breathed, his eyes widening.

"Yes. She was my mother. How did she die? Was it because she was a Mudblood?"

Draco cleared his throat, and raked his hair back with his fingers. "You're pretty clever aren't you?"

"Take after my father, I guess. Aren't I lucky?"

"You should talk to him about this stuff."

"Why can't you tell me? After all, I'm a Slytherin and she was just a Muggle Studies teacher. And she's dead now. If your wife died, wouldn't you want Scorpius to know the truth?"

"Only if he was old enough to understand," said Draco, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead. "I – I think we should get back -,"

"You know," said Servius, looking hard into Draco's eyes. "I can tell."

And with that he wrenched the door handle open and fled into the corridor, then ran blindly back the way they had come. He could hear Draco's feet behind him, his name being called. He ran into a corridor but it was the wrong one and swinging round in a panic, he stumbled on an elf exiting a room. "The dining hall – where is it?" he demanded and the alarmed elf pointed.

He set off again, faster this time, determined, absolutely determined to know at last. HBP was his father. HBP had the tattoo, the DM, his father was one of them, one of them, HBP had been proud of it.

"Wait!" he heard Draco call, but the entrance to the dining hall was only metres away. Servius paused, looked back and Draco came to a standstill, chest heaving. "It's all ancient history, Servius. Your dad – he was – none of us knew about you -,"

But Servius shook his head, weary of that answer, unwilling to believe it. His mother hadn't kept him secret. Balling his hands into fists by his side, taking a hitching breath, he stormed through the door of the dining hall.

There had been a tense conversation going on between the adults, but it came to an abrupt halt when Servius entered and they all looked at him. "Ah Servius -," Malfoy had time to say before observing the expression on his face and words died away. Behind him, Servius heard Draco arrive and stand in the doorway, saying: "Wait, wait a damn minute – why don't I -?"

Servius looked at Snape – at HBP – and the delirious anger inside him surged. "Show me!" he shouted.

Snape scowled and pushed back his chair hard enough that it clattered to the floor. "What are-?"

"Show me. Show me your wrist!"

Snape didn't move. Nobody did.

"My mother was Charity Burbage," said Servius, scanning wildly around the room. "My mother was Charity Burbage and you people killed her!"

Narcissa, in utter shock, dropped the knife she was holding and it clattered to her plate. The sound shattered the freeze of time and space. Snape moved toward him and Draco came in behind saying, "I tried to stop him – I didn't know!"

At the clamour, baby Scorpius set up a wailing and Astoria got up as well, hastening to the bassinet.

"How did she die? You know! You know – tell me!" Servius shouted, edging to the side, watching both Snape and Draco. Malfoy cautiously got to his feet as Snape came forward, and Servius saw the look they exchanged. He backed away, putting the table between them.

"You all know! Why won't you tell me?! Who killed her?"

"We all killed her," came a voice, a drawling voice, from the far end. Rabastan. Snape stopped in his tracks, turned to him and whipped out his wand. "Shut up!"

"Is this what you're looking for, lad?" Rabastan said and rose to his feet. He jerked back the left sleeve of his suit and laid out his inner wrist before him. The mark there was as black as the ace of spades.

"I didn't!" declared Andromeda, also now standing and shaking her head. "I didn't get the Dark Mark, I'm not one of you!"

"Dark Mark?" repeated Servius. "What does it mean? How did you kill my mother? Why?"

Snape clenched his jaw and, before Servius could comprehend what was happening, strode quickly across the space between them and grabbed him by the arms. "Out. Now!"

"No!" screamed Servius, wrenching away so hard he thought his shoulders were going to dislocate. He wriggled free of his jumper, leaving it limp in Snape's hands and ran to confront Rabastan. "Tell me! Where did she die? In here? Is that why he didn't want to come in?"

Rabastan's laugh was chilling, and Servius felt like simultaneously crying and striking out. Snape once more was coming towards him. "Do you want to tell him or should I?" said Rabastan to Snape with a pernicious grin. "You're too good at keeping secrets, Snape. Eventually they're going to catch up with you."

"Servius, I'm warning you -," said Snape, his eyes searing into his.

"Was Charity Burbage that woman - ?" said Narcissa to Malfoy, and looked up at the ceiling. "She's his mother?! But – Severus was -,"

"Mother!" said Draco warningly.

Servius saw it all and yelled at Narcissa: "She was here! Where? In the ceiling? Was she a prisoner?"

Then Rabastan suddenly grabbed Servius and arm-locked him around the neck. In a swift, smooth motion he pulled out his wand from inside his jacket and held it up to Servius' jawline. Then he said to Snape: "I think you owe it to the boy to tell him the truth. I think you owe is to the Dark Lord, to Bellatrix, to my brother, to all the loyal and worthy doing time in Azkaban, to be fucking honest for once, Snape. You're fucking fast and loose with what's what, you are. Do us all a favour and tell the fucking truth!"

Snape eyed the situation, and while he didn't put down his wand, he held up one palm. "Calm down Rabastan. Let him go."

"Are you going to do it? Or should I? Because if memory serves, his mother was a Mudblood."

There was a gasp from Andromeda and Astoria hurried out with Scorpius in her arms. Malfoy spoke up. "Stan, this is completely unnecessary, Servius is a child -,"

"Shut up, Lucius. Nobody was a bigger traitor than you, and that's fuckin' saying something. Show the boy your Dark Mark and don't try and pretend you didn't bloody love it."

"I let you here today, Stan!" cried Narcissa. "I felt sorry for you!"

"You were here, Narcissa!" snarled Rabastan. "You sat at this fuckin' table and watched! You were here, so was Lucius, so was Draco and so was Snape. We were all here, and we all watched it happen, and nobody did a damn fucking thing. Because she was a dirty, fucking Mudblood and we -"

Snape raised his wand and in less than a second had aimed at a spot between Rabastan and Servius. He hissed "Stupefy!"

Rabastan easily blocked it, but in so doing, Servius fell free and stumbled to the floor. To the sound of Rabastan's roar of malevolent laughter, he clambered to his feet in moments and ran to the other end of the room. Snape swiftly followed. "Come here. Right now."

Servius watched him coming. It was like watching a monster set its sights with eyes that could carve right through him; he was both terrified and repulsed. "No! Leave me alone! Who ARE you?"

"Servius -,"

"No -," the word tumbled out, half a sob, and finding a suit of armour behind him, he pushed it so that it fell with a giant clatter to the floor in Snape's path. Then he bolted, as fast as his feet could carry him, out of the door.

Snape was starting to follow him, heading for the door, when Draco stepped in front of him and said, "It was me!"

"What?"

"I had no idea she was his mother, anyone's mother. I thought, I thought she was just -,"

"What are you saying Draco?" asked Malfoy sternly.

"I told Aunt Bella. I told Aunt Bella who she was when the newspaper article came out."

Snape narrowed his eyes. "Told Bellatrix what?"

"That you – that you and Professor Burbage -,"

Malfoy turned to Snape. "The Dark Lord knew. Your Dark Mark – it alerted Rabastan -,"

"Did she run her dirty Mudblood fingers over you, Snape?" said Rabastan loudly, still grinning. "At least she was telling the truth. Broadcast it nice and clear." Andromeda covered her ears.

"How did you know Draco?" asked Narcissa.

"At school," he said miserably to Snape. "Aunt Bella suspected you weren't loyal. I wanted in, to prove that I was. I told her what I saw. The Fetherington kid who got expelled, he said Professor Burbage was a, was Muggle-born. Aunt Bella told the Dark Lord what I told her. I didn't think he would kill Professor Burbage, Aunt Bella just said it would be the perfect test. The Dark Lord laughed, she told me. He said he was always having to rescue you from Mudbloods."

"You -!" said Snape furiously and launched at Draco. "The graffiti – it was you!"

Malfoy leapt between them and held Snape by the shoulders.

"I'm sorry!" said Draco. "I had an assignment! I was supposed to kill Dumbledore but you – I had to do something! I had to prove myself - ,"

"I saved your damn life!" spat Snape. "Dumbledore wanted your soul spared, he knew you couldn't do it and I took that risk away and you – you betrayed me."

"I betrayed you? You betrayed us all!"

Snape raised his wand again and Malfoy shoved him back. "Put that away! This is my home and Draco is my son! He's just confessed, he didn't know about Servius!"

"None of us knew about Servius!" Snape shouted. "I didn't know!"

"Why didn't you save her, Severus?" asked Narcissa, holding her head with her hands and shaking it. "If you loved her? How could you let her…how could you…?"

"Where is Servius?" It was Andromeda. The four stopped and looked at her, and just then, Astoria came hurrying down the corridor toward them looking worried.

"Servius – I saw him, he had his new broom – he's gone out -,"

For a split second nobody moved or spoke, then Draco swore and immediately sprinted off in the direction of the back entrance. "I'll follow him," he shouted over his shoulder as he ran. "I'll send a Patronus."

Snape didn't wait. He ran to the front door, closely followed by Malfoy and Narcissa, and outside onto the gravel drive, looking up at the darkening sky. And a moment later, he saw Servius propelling fast upwards over the roof of the Manor, hunkered down low on the Cerberus, wearing gloves and goggles, a Slytherin scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face that flapped behind him in the slipstream. Snape raised his wand to cast his flying spell and follow, but Malfoy put his hand on his arm and gently lowered it.

"Don't Severus – if he sees you up there, sees you flying like that and chasing him - he'll, well, don't risk it. He needs to concentrate. Let Draco find him, he'll send word."

The adrenaline coursing through Servius' system rendered him momentarily oblivious to the freezing temperatures around him now. Having lost his jumper, he'd grabbed his club's puffer jacket at the door, but had no time to find a hat. And he didn't much care. His instruction to his broom was to take him to Trowbridge, and from there, somehow, he'd find his way home.

The broom had oriented itself north-east and all Servius had to do was pick his elevation and speed, and then hold on, because he wanted to travel fast. He was in fact less concerned about his destination as he was about getting away. In the Manor, it had felt like he could no longer breathe, as though he were trapped in one of his father's toxic specimen jars and that his heart would pound right through his chest if he stayed a second longer. Everyone around him had turned to ghouls; their shocked, angry eyes blazed and the hateful laugh of Rabastan seemed to echo off the walls and follow him down the hallways.

But worst of all was Snape. His expression had been unreadable, and it confirmed for Servius that he didn't know who his father was; at the same time he was forced to acknowledge that from the diaries, the textbook, he also knew him better than ever. What would HBP do now? he found himself thinking and laughed caustically. But the answer was, he had to concede: HBP didn't run. Then good, that makes us different, he thought…but in his heart, he was sorry he hadn't realised that first. His father didn't run away and despite himself, he admired that.

Servius had never felt quite so alone.

Through the roaring of the air in his ears, he thought he heard a faint sound and glanced behind him, terrified in case it was a helicopter, but there was Draco, on his own broom, gaining rapidly. Servius pressed the Cerberus forward but knew it to be a pointless exercise – Draco's was a proper racing model, designed for Seekers and other fast sports; the Realm was for long-distance travel and it would never out-run Draco's broom so he waited to be flanked.

But when Draco pulled up alongside, he didn't attempt to catch Servius or even talk to him, he simply shadowed, being careful not to make any sharp moves or get in the way in case Servius lost balance. In some small way, Servius felt comforted, knowing his departure had been noticed and that Draco cared enough to follow him.

The low cloud he'd been travelling over began to break up beneath him, and intermittently he saw the marvellous geography of the countryside below: fields, roads, houses and rivers, streetlights shining, trucks and trains. He imagined all the families indoors, having their Christmas Day, nobody out looking up at the sky - St Nick's sleigh was well and truly gone now. While the view was absorbing, he was soon interrupted by Draco waving for his attention. Draco was pointing to the right, down at the ground. There stood a semi-circle of huge, grey boulders, their arrangement casting long shadows, framed by a belt of clear green - Stonehenge. His Ma and Pa had taken him only the once: too touristy for their taste. "Your mother loved it here," they had said, standing on the path, simply looking as the crowds strolled around them. "Must've been the witch in her."

The witch in her.

At the time he hadn't really understood what that meant. He interpreted it the same as someone who was described as having Viking blood in them, or gypsy in their history – a genetic throwback so distant it hardly warranted mentioning. He thought of witches as being a form of ethnic group rather than having any discernible powers. But now he understood; the connotations in his grandmother's comment gleaned an entirely new meaning. Waypoints like Stonehenge from the position of a broom suddenly stormed into his consciousness as if floodgates had opened.

He was a wizard, born to a witch. And his kind had been here forever.

The broom continued its very direct trajectory and below him came flashes of setting sun reflecting off a river in the Salisbury plains. He thought he might have been flying about twenty minutes, and with the adrenalin wearing off a shivering commenced, so violent it made him wobble slightly. Surely not far to go? Draco stayed close by, but he too seemed to be focussed, no doubt wondering just how far Servius had in mind for his journey. As if to communicate his intention, Servius dipped a little and Draco glanced over, then followed.

Farmland and rural estates gradually gave way to suburbs and then towns, and finally he recognised the bend of the Biss, and the St James spire, a Christmas tree in its courtyard, and realised with a rush of fondness for his comely hometown - he'd made it. Having arrived, the Cerberus suddenly lost momentum, and panicking, Servius dropped height again. Draco drew near and pointed downwards. "Land" he mouthed.

The park. He saw the park, the war memorial, and he pitched south. Tall trees, chestnuts, naked but for strings of fairy lights, brushed past him and the ground was rushing towards him. Draco pulled back away, slowing to land, but Servius forgot his training and stared blankly at a bare patch of mounded soil that was set aside for spring flowers. Within seconds he's ploughed in directly.

Had this been any other day of the year, his calamitous arrival would have been observed by dozens, including, no doubt, several Council workers. As it happened, with dusk approaching and Christmas pudding settling the stomachs of most, the Muggle residents and otherwise were oblivious to a pre-teen in goggles crash-landing a broom in the park's garden bed. Draco landed smoothly on the path nearby.

He came over and helped pull Servius to his feet. "Merlin's hairy balls, Servius – it's freezing. And where the fuck are we?"

"Trowbridge park," said Servius, dusting dirt off himself and shoving up his goggles.

"Why?"

"I panicked. But I can walk home from here. I'm good, thanks Draco, I can walk from here."

"Really?"

"Yeah. This is my…my hood."

Draco glanced about him. "Why didn't you fly to Hogwarts?"

"Nah. I'm done with all that. I'm going home."

Draco shivered and hugged himself. "Actually I'm glad you didn't go to Hogwarts – I'm not sure I'd've followed you all the way to Scotland -,"

"Why did you follow me, Draco?" This was said through chattering teeth.

Unexpectedly, a myriad of emotions passed across Draco's face. He seemed to be processing on an alternate level, at cosmic speed, his own complex path that led to his answer. He shook his head slightly, as if he himself couldn't quite believe it. "I…was worried. You laid down some heavy shit back there. Servius, firstly, you're a wizard, whether you like it or not. Secondly, Professor Snape is your dad, whether you like it or not. And yeah, lastly, your mum died - ,"

"Whether I like it or not."

"Whether you like it or not, Servius," said Draco emphatically. "You can't change it. You can't change any of that stuff. And coming back here," he glanced around again, not bothering to conceal his mild contempt, "won't change that."

Servius sighed heavily and watched sparrows squabbling as they readied to roost for the evening. "Draco, be honest with me, answer me one thing. Did my father kill my mother?"

"No. He didn't."

"But he was there."

"Yes. He was there."

"Who killed her?"

Draco shook his head. "He's gone, Servius. It was the Dark Lord and he's gone. They've all gone. It's ancient history like I said."

"Did the Dark Lord hate my mum because she was a Mudblood?"

Draco swallowed. "Yes…I suppose…it was a confusing time."

"Am I…am I not as good a wizard because my mother was a Mudblood?"

And Draco stared at him. He stopped shivering, he stood still and he stared. Then slowly he shook his head. He seemed surprised. "N-no. No. You're every bit a wizard. I don't know why you want to come back here, but – but I'm proud to know you, Servius. You'd make an outstanding Slytherin. And you can really fly that thing."

Servius felt a smile rise involuntarily. "You're a good teacher."

Draco looked uncertain, but he smiled in return. Then he reached inside his coat and withdrew his wand. "I've got to tell your Dad where you are. They'll all be worried sick back there."

"Please don't," said Servius.

Draco's smile became apologetic before summoning his Patronus. With a swoop of his wand, an ethereal scorpion emerged into the air between them, and it waited with its pincers raised in readiness. "Send to Professor Snape," said Draco. "We're at Trowbridge Park, landed and safe." The scorpion scuttled and then disappeared in a rush.

Draco waited with Servius in the park, watching as street lamps blinked on and buses trundled by, talking quietly and as inconspicuously as possible. Not long later, there was a muffled crack and Snape Apparated within a nearby copse of trees. He was wearing his black wool overcoat and had his carryall slung over one shoulder. He checked quickly about him out of habit, then crossed the ground toward Servius and Draco in brisk, smooth strides. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I'm going home," said Servius bluntly, and turned his attention to the ground in front of him.

Snape considered him a brief moment, taking in his condition and wellbeing, then turned to Draco. "Thank you, I appreciate what you did. But I'd go home now, Astoria is worried, and your parents – they're distressed."

"Is Aunt Dromeda still there?"

"Yes, but I lost Rabastan. I'll deal with that later. Tell your parents I'll be in touch."

Draco nodded, and lifted his broom. "Well…Merry Christmas I guess," and offered a lopsided grin, but Snape didn't return it. With a quick wave at Servius, he Disapparated.

Without further ado, or another word to Snape, Servius picked up his own broom and began the long march in the direction of his grandparent's house on the outskirts, easily fifteen kilometres away. He huddled inside his jacket, his goggles still resting on his forehead, the broom an awkward load by his side.

As he anticipated, the sound of Snape's footfalls were not far behind, but he only kept a steady pace and did not encroach on Servius for several minutes. But when Servius approached an intersection he caught up and, standing beside him said quietly, "Your grandparents are not home."

"What? How do you know?"

"They made plans some time ago."

Servius imagined his grandparents had gone to visit Holly, his half-sister, or his Uncle, and shrugged. "Doesn't matter. I'll just wait outside for them."

"They're not back today. Or tomorrow. It could be some time before they return, Servius," said Snape.

Just then the pedestrian walk signal sounded and Servius jumped. He then hastily crossed, followed by Snape, trying to process what he'd just been told.

"That's bullshit," he finally said once they were on the other side, and glared over his shoulder at Snape. "You're just trying to stop me going home."

"I'm afraid it's the truth."

Servius laughed derisively. "Which I can always get from you, right?"

"I don't know how far you intend to walk, but when you get there the house will be empty."

Servius flared and swung round. "I'm walking the whole way. I'm going home. And you know what? You can keep this." He flung the Cerberus at Snape's feet and felt brief satisfaction at the flicker of consternation on Snape's face, then immediately regretted throwing the broom away. But what could he do with it as a Muggle? He stalked off again, a bit faster now he wasn't loaded down, and ignored a sting of tears.

There was silence behind him and Servius thought his father must have got the message. He wasn't about to turn around and check but his sense of victory was very short-lived indeed. He hadn't been in town himself at night before, and if his grandparents weren't home – something he hadn't stopped to consider - he had no idea what he would do. But he had to finish what he'd started now, and anything, even a winter's night on the front doorstep, was better than going to Hogwarts.

A few minutes later he heard footsteps behind him again, and listening closely, he recognised them as Snape's. The pace, the stride, the sound of his boots had become familiar to him. Relief coursed through him, but he stared grimly ahead, concentrating on his plan, the sole extent of which consisted of finding the most direct route possible and then ringing the doorbell of his Grandparent's house. His house, he reminded himself, even though he'd never owned his own key. Snape had told him the password for his private quarters at Hogwarts, invited him to come and go as he pleased, but he'd never owned a key to his grandparent's house.

He walked steadily for two hours, likely more, and managed easily being a long-distance runner, but he was freezing. Snape stayed silently behind him the whole way, and if they passed rowdy Muggles falling out of pubs, or mean looking dogs in alleyways, then he heard Snape move up a little closer behind him until the threat had passed. But he didn't speak once. Night had fallen and Servius frequently looked to the sky and its peppering of stars, and his mood became maudlin. His thoughts turned to his mother, remembering how she looked in the Pensieve, and wondered if, wherever she was, she'd seen what he'd done today, whether she would approve or not.

He thought it unlikely, but he still privately derived great satisfaction from having deduced more of the truth, and doing it himself. He'd beaten Snape now, the balance of power had been upset and he had everything he needed to end the relationship altogether. His father had been complicit in the death, the murder, of his mother, and though he may not have pulled the trigger himself, his inaction had been equally heinous. Snape had proudly and deliberately joined some dreadful gang or association, the majority of whom were now locked up in prison for their crimes, their race crimes, which apparently hadn't been so awful on the part of his mother that Snape wasn't prepared to have a relationship with her, but which he couldn't or wouldn't defend in front of his violent colleagues. The most unforgivable display of hypocrisy and cowardice, everything his mother despised. Perhaps his mother had discovered this about him, and kept Servius away as a baby to protect him from Snape and his prejudices. Perhaps she'd be appalled that he'd been sent to school with him. Maybe Snape was just waiting until Servius was older and then intended to inculcate him into the same ideology. A shudder went through him, not just from the cold, and he quickened his steps. It didn't matter about HBP anymore, he'd throw the diaries on the fire if he ever saw them again. His task now was to eradicate everything about Severus Snape from his life.

At long last the shadowy dimensions of Briggside came into view, and more wearily now, Servius opened the small gate and went up the path to the front door, observing that the house was in complete darkness. The sensor light on the porch switched on as he mounted the two front steps, but this didn't encourage him – the curtains were all drawn and a rolled-up newspaper lay in the flower bed. There, on the doormat, were the cards he'd sent by owl. He picked them up, dread prickling up his spine, then rang the doorbell.

"They're away, Servius," said Snape, who had followed him through the gate and now stood at the bottom of the steps. Servius ignored him, and pressed the bell again. He could hear it ring inside and it sounded empty and hollow. "They won't be back tonight. I'm not sure when they'll be back."

"Where are they?" muttered Servius, staring at the door. "How do you know?"

There was a lengthy pause, then Snape said, "I'm told they went to Spain, a family gathering. They passed the message to Madam Peacock."

"Why didn't they tell me?" demanded Servius, turning to face him, furious and devastated in equal measure. "Why wasn't I included? I'm part of the family!"

Again Snape hesitated before answering. "I imagine they presumed you'd want to spend the holidays in…our world. Considering…I too am family."

"No! They were wrong!" shouted Servius, his voice ringing out in the quiet street, and a light came on in the house next door. "They should've asked me! Why do I never get to have a say? This is my world! This one!" And he whirled around and started pressing manically on the doorbell and pushing at the door. Snape quickly withdrew his wand, and with a glance at the neighbour's window, unlocked the door. It opened without warning into a hall, and Servius stumbled inside, Snape close behind.

"Get out! You can't come in here!" hollered Servius, collecting himself, and pushed Snape back. "Get out."

"Calm down."

"No! You can't tell me what to do anymore! I'm not going back to Hogwarts, you're not my teacher and you're not…you're not anything. So get out! This is my house not yours!"

Once more Servius pushed Snape, who then grabbed Servius's arms and held them away. Servius responded by kicking out instead, and landed his boot hard into Snape's thigh.

A volley of curses and Snape thrust Servius away, and he stumbled against a hall table with an empty vase on it. The vase crashed to the floor and briefly the pair stared at it, then Servius yelled: "Fuck! That's Ma's favourite. That was your fault! She'll go fuckin' mental!"

"It can be repaired," muttered Snape, but he made no motion to do so. He was watching Servius, frowning heavily. "I'm not leaving. We go together. Back to Hogwarts."

"No way!"

Servius dodged around Snape and pulled open the front door again, then attempted to shove Snape back through it. Snape lifted him clear of the ground, but when Servius once more used this as an opportunity to strike him with his boots, Snape dropped him and instead produced his wand. First he slammed shut the door, then he snapped, "I'll incarcerate you if I have to!"

Servius only had a vague idea of what that meant, but he knew from experience that Snape didn't make threats lightly. The impotent rage surged through him, the helplessness. In his mind, Briggside and all to do with it had been held as a refuge, the place he could come back to and return to normality, and so having Snape here in the house with him felt like the worst kind of invasion. It sickened him that Snape was apparently all he had left. Whether they intended it or not, his grandparents had abandoned him, they'd picked his mother's other child, the one with a Muggle father, the one they knew, the one that looked like them, behaved like them. He – unwanted son of a strange, absent man in black – he was better off gone.

"Leave me alone!" Servius shouted with all the passion he could muster, which was profound enough to crack his voice, and he felt his throat constricting.

The staircase leading to the bedrooms was behind him and he turned and sprinted up, getting away before Snape could see his tears. He ran across the landing to his old bedroom, threw open the door and stood in shock when he turned on the light and discovered his grandparents had converted it into some kind of hobby room. Where his bed used to be was now an ageing treadmill. He saw a clear plastic, lidded box against the far wall, and inside were some of his things. Things he thought he wouldn't need to take to Hogwarts because they'd always be here, when he came back. But when he took off the lid, the first thing he saw was the brown owl he'd had as a baby, a soft toy that hooted when squeezed, although that mechanism had long gone. The owl had become stained and careworn and had once survived overnight in the park – he'd thrown it out of his stroller and his mother had gone back the next day to find it. She thought it was a miracle it had still been there, but really – who was going to steal it? Nobody else could love it. His eleven-year-old self had decided, since there was now Tāne, he didn't need brown owl anymore, he certainly couldn't take it to boarding school. But he'd left it under his pillow on his last day at Briggside, convinced he'd find it in the same place when he came home.

He sank down and sat cross-legged on the floor of his old room, holding brown owl, staring coldly at his plastic box of belongings and the tears welled up and slipped out, one by one, huge, and his throat burned.

"Did your mother give you that?" came a quiet voice from the door. Snape silently approached and slipped brown owl out of Servius's hand, unresisting. "Did she have an owl like this as a student? Is this why you picked Tāne?"

Servius had no intention of answering, and sat sullenly where he was. He knew, from the diaries, that HBP had often felt exactly like this.

"Was this your bedroom?" Into the silence, Snape added, "Are these all your things?"

Servius sniffed loudly, willing the tears to stop but they wouldn't.

Snape issued a deep sigh. "I'm sure they planned to convert it back if you came home."

Servius clambered to his feet, snatched brown owl from Snape and stormed out of the room, further along the landing and pushed open the door to another. His mothers. He turned on the light and found the bed made with a strange, pink bedspread, the room decorated for a girl. Snape followed and glanced about when he entered. "Holly's room?"

"Mum's room!" Servius shouted, then crossed the floor and flung open the wardrobe. It was full of clothes, teenage girl clothes. But on the top shelf was a cardboard box. Servius reached for it and Snape, easily, lifted it out for him. Servius threw it on the bed – it was virtually empty – and after opening it pulled out the meagre contents in a frenzy. Nothing but worthless costume jewellery, some writing paper, a pair of gloves, an old Nokia phone. "There was a picture! A photo!" Servius cried. "It's gone! She took it, that bitch! It was mine!"

Then he hoisted the cardboard box at the wall and it bounced off harmlessly and that made him feel worse.

"Servius -," he heard, and a hand at the back of his neck. He pulled away as though burned.

"Get off me! Don't touch me."

"Look."

He turned just enough to see and Snape was opening the flap of his coat pocket. From within he pulled out a picture, a photo. It was of Charity and Servius, he as a baby, she was kissing him on his round, soft cheek. "I have it with me always," Snape murmured. "If…if you want it, it's yours. I've memorised it."

Eyes fervid and wet, Servius turned fully to stare up at him. "Where did that come from?" he whispered.

"Some of her things were delivered to me. From where she worked."

"That's the same picture."

"She must have had copies made. She kept this with her things, the things I showed you in my room."

Servius reached out and fingered the photo lightly, but he didn't take it. "That's yours," he said. "Like the memories in the Pensieve." He looked up again. "I wish I could remember her."

Snape held his eyes and nodded, barely perceptible.

"I know how that feels," he said. "More than you know."

A/N - 1. many thanks for the wonderful comments and feedback, I can't tell you how much they mean to me. 2. Special thanks to Felix Felicis Writer for the use of Draco's Patronus as headcanon 3. apologies for the length of these last chapters - the end is in sight and I'm trying to cover a bit of ground.