[TW: Disciplinary spanking and non-consensual consent] This is not a slash fic, but it does have spanking as the main focal point. I strongly advise that you read the disclaimer in my bio prior to reading this fiction to see if this story might be a good read for you.

Chapter 39: The Burden of Forgiveness

The grass pressing into Harry's back where his shirt had ridden up offered a cold kiss to the fierce burn plaguing his side. Sweat dampened his skin, and his breath hit the night air in frustrated puffs. A swollen line marred his thighs, pulsing with a scorching beat beneath his butterbeer-stained jeans. The delicate cotton of his worn t-shirt offered no relief to the spell-lashed welts across his ribs either.

Staring up into the holes of starlight, the day's heat long absent, might have been steadying. It might have been, had Severus Snape not stepped in place above him. Not even the cover of inky darkness could conceal the glare of disapproval as he peered down his crooked nose at Harry.

"Get up."

"Who disarmed us?" Harry huffed, tilting his head to the left and right, in search of his wand.

He hissed as the fabric of his clothing dragged against his fresh burns when Snape bent down, snatched his arm in a less than forgiving grip, and hauled him to his feet.

They were in a triangle, the six of them. Hermione's wand trailed through the air above Ron, healing his duel wounds as he lay sprawled in the grass. Harry's temper simmered. She always had to 'fix' situations, didn't she? Always intervening. Always fixing Ron, or fixing him, or fixing something. Snape, as if sensing his anger, squeezed his arm in firm warning before letting go. Across from them, Narcissa adjusted Draco's blazer, her voice a low, scolding murmur. His face remained shadowed, unreadable without the bright flashes of their earlier spellfire. Draco had to be humiliated. Bloody hell, Harry was humiliated. What was Ron thinking? How could Hermione? Anger readied his adrenaline for the front lines, nearly marching him into another outburst of temper before Snape spoke.

"Now." His low voice seeped through the yard, halting everyone's movements. "You four shall walk silently into my home." He tilted his wand in a half-circle at the breathless teenagers, reiterating, "Silently. I would not advise allowing a single syllable to slip past your lips. Go."

And with slow steps, they did.

Harry pushed past the burning sensation across his body without the slightest break in his stoic expression. Draco walked behind him, uncharacteristically silent. Ron swayed beside Hermione who wore a pensive look as she held his arm, attempting to keep him straight against his sloppy steps smooshing the grass.

No one uttered a sound.

"Take them." Snape motioned to the vials sloshing with dark liquid. "I will not endure another slurred word tonight."

Four porous corks squeaked, struggling to stay snug in place against the fumbling fingers of drunken teenagers. Three untimed pops followed, the final echoing last when Hermione snatched Ron's bottle and yanked the cork free herself.

Chilled glass rims met each set of warm lips and low sipping sounded over the whispering fire. The earthy scent of sober-up potions blended with hints of dried lavender and an open bottle of Cabernet. Snape's dark eyes drifted across the row of unsteady teens. How unacceptable. Un… acceptable. Had his life really come to this? Surviving two wars only to stand glaring at the same group of dunderheads that would, apparently, give him a headache until the foreseeable end of time?

Narcissa clicked across from her place beside him, collecting the empty potion vials and observing the elixir take effect. Ron's balance returned and his noodle-like arms came to rest in a cross over his chest. Draco's gaze sharpened, his throat constricting with each swallow of lingering shame. Standing beside him, Harry relived the last time Snape made him take a sober-up potion. He glanced at the dowels on the staircase, his face pinkening, a needle of shame piercing through his mask of indifference.

And Hermione, oh… Hermione felt a heat trace against the back of her eyes. This was simply dreadful. She never should have gotten involved with all this. Harry didn't want to chat about it. He didn't want her involved in his life anymore. She swallowed and looked over at the disheveled living room. The bunched rug from where her boyfriend had stumbled in from the floo. Ron— Ron could be such a senseless prick. Why couldn't he have just calmed down and listened to her? She didn't want to come after Harry. He could have handled Draco fine on his own. Just fine.

"When I said enjoy your evening," Snape studied Harry with stern disapproval, "I did not intend for you to bring a duel back with you."

"Please don't be cross with him." Hermione looked back at Snape desperately, "He didn't—"

"Stop it," Harry cut her off. "Stop intervening on my behalf, Hermione. Alright?"

"Yeah, shut it." Draco sneered, taking a step closer to him. "Potter has a brain between his ears, doesn't he? He hardly needs you to play mummy."

"Sod off, Malfoy!"

"You keep out of this too."

"Me?" Ron gestured to his chest. "Have you gone mad, Harry!? Fine with him insulting her now, are you?"

"I can defend myself. I'm not some helpless heroine."

"Certainly not," Draco spat. "You are no heroine in any situation."

Chaos ensued like a tempest in a teapot, with Draco and Harry to one side and Ron and Hermione to the other, everyone snapping over each other in a renewed spat.

"All right, enough," Snape's voice rose above its usual drawl. A headache thumped behind his eyes. He had indulged in a glass too much wine and got too little sleep last night for this. Narcissa stepped forward, catching the gaze of each silenced teen.

"This is utterly undignified behavior," she scowled, meeting Draco's eyes first before sweeping across the others. "There is no excuse to regress to such lowly levels, especially in public," her voice turned frigid. "I raised you with far more class than that, Draco."

Tightening his arms across his chest, Ron snorted. Narcissa was playing an actual mum now, was she? Scolding, Malfoy. As if she'd ever done that before. How in the bloody hell was Harry defending these people? Telling him, not Malfoy, to keep out of this?! This information that apparently, he wasn't good enough or trustworthy enough, to be told about. The Slytherins got smacked and Harry didn't tell him? Snotty Draco Malfoy took a switching beside him and Harry didn't say a bloody word about it? Yeah, right. Because that made good fucking sense. Malfoy was all 'class' wasn't he? Course Harry wanted to pal around with that arsehole. Classy Malfoy. Classy as his awful father— classy as his mad aunt who carved into— Hermione's arm bumped his ribs, the tops of her cheeks growing warm.

"Weasley, Granger, go home," said Snape. "This discussion is over for now."

"Fine," Ron turned for the floo, snatching Hermione's wrist. "Come on."

"Wait," she pleaded, resisting his pull, "this is all my fault. I didn't mean—"

"For Godric's sake," Draco tossed his hands up. "Can you not find it within yourself to ever shut that gaping hole you call a mouth? Just get out."

Ron whirled around, his furious glare locking onto Draco then shifting to Harry. He lifted his brow at him and waited; but when silence persisted and no defense came, his expression hardened with betrayal. So this was it, eh? After all they'd been through together, Harry was taking the antagonistic prick's side? Had he bloody well forgotten who Draco Malfoy was? What he'd done? How Ron's family was torn apart now thanks to fucking Death Eaters like Malfoy and Snape?! Well Ron hadn't forgotten. He couldn't. He wouldn't. And he'd be damned if he was going to stand there and let Malfoy talk down to Hermione like that. The Malfoy's had done enough to her.

"Be quiet, Draco." Narcissa chided as Ron let go of Hermione and advanced on him, going toe to toe.

"You listen to me, you fucking prat," he hissed through tight teeth, only to have Snape step in between them.

"No," his low whisper drifted through the room like a poison, "you listen to me, young man,"

The controlled tongue-lashing that followed only made the anger in Ron's freckles burn hotter.

Hermione chewed her lip and glanced at Harry, watching him sink into the velvet couch with a hidden grimace. Then at Draco, who stood with a pained sneer beside Snape. In the glow of the firelight, she could make out a path of reddening welts charging down his neck, beating with a pulse of their own. Beneath his flare of pride, she watched his rigid shoulders drop. His fists unclenched and his once proud disposition disappeared. He looked ashamed, as if he was hoping to vanish behind Snape. He looked hurt. Hurt like Harry had when they first stepped through the doorway. The corners of her lips turned down.

"Now then," Snape's voice carried a cold edge as he finished the admonishment. "I told you to leave and leave you shall."

"Yeah, go on." Draco added, snapping himself back with a small puff in his chest.

Ron rolled his tongue across the bottom row of his teeth and gave Harry a sideways glare. "Still like it here, do you? Defending him, defending Malfoy," he spat the name out like it burned his tongue. "Bloody hell, Harry. I never imagined I'd see the day 'forgiveness' split your loyalty in two."

"Split my loyalty?" Harry snapped his head around to meet Ron's furious gaze with a boiling look of his own. "What are you on about?"

Narcissa glanced between them, her brows knitting together, while Snape's last ounce of patience vaporized. He was a heartbeat away from fire-calling Arthur. Or escorting Weasley through the floo himself, at this point.

"Stop it," Hermione tugged Ron's hand, "we have to leave."

He pulled away from her— pushed past Draco and Narcissa— side-stepped Snape. His calf brushed against the side of the couch and his feet met Harry's.

"You know what I'm on about." Ron glared down at him. "They 'changed' in the end, yeah?" he motioned back to the others, "well fine, good. But it doesn't wipe away what they did at the beginning. My brother is dead, remember?" The words broke, spilling out with a burst of buried grief and anger. "In case you bloody well forgot, Fred can never come back to us. Never, Harry. All thanks to people like them who gave Voldemort their support at the beginning, when it counted. Lupin is gone. Tonks is gone. Sirius is gone. And here you are, defending—"

"Defending?!" Harry shot to his feet, fuming. "What are you implying? That living here means I'm not loyal to them anymore? You think I'm fine with them all being gone, do you?"

"You're fine letting Malfoy—"

"Tell Hermione to shut it for sticking her nose where it didn't belong? Sorry, let me fix that," Harry spun around to Draco. "Sod off! She is entitled to any and every little detail in my personal life. It doesn't matter that it involved you. Doesn't matter that I wanted to keep it private."

Pivoting back around just as Draco opened his mouth, Harry spat, "There, is that better? Am I less of a bloody traitor to everyone now?"

"Harry, I," Hermione took a breath, "I am so sorry. Ron, stop it, both of—"

"Your personal life," Ron scoffed. "Right, yeah, speaking of that, I reckon you wouldn't have kept this from me if it was Sirius doing the smacking, would you?"

A bubble of anger and anguish enveloped the words in Harry's mouth. His face heated. He pressed his lips in a tight line and his back teeth clenched.

Snape's boots fell in thuds against the wooden floor as he headed for Ron. He'd heard all he would. Enough was enough. "Weasley, come here."

"You could be living with him right now, you know," said Ron, yanking away from Snape's reach. "If it weren't for Malfoy's mad auntie blowing him through the bloody veil. Maybe you could be living with your parents if the prophecy hadn't been whispered to Voldemort first by hi—"

Harry grabbed Ron by the shirt collar before Snape could. His knuckles turned white as he tightened his fists. They glared, nose to nose, breaths coming in angry huffs.

"What?" Ron whispered, his jaw jutted and eyes narrowing. "Am I ruining your pretending? Remembering how you actually felt about them now, are you?"

"Get out," Harry shoved him, hard as he could. "Get out!"

"Fine!" Ron staggered back, catching his balance as Hermione reached out. Swinging around to the fireplace, he yelled over his shoulder, "I won't spend my time with people who marked their arms for the bastard who got my brother killed. But I guess that's too much to ask from you, isn't it?"

The room lost its breath. The words cut deep, tearing through the stitches on wounds Harry thought had finally begun to heal. The sutures fragile hold on his grief from the war ripped. It was back. His guilt, his anguish, the inescapable feeling that he could have, and should have, prevented all this, was back. Prevented deaths like Sirius's, Fred's and Cedric's.

As Ron's words settled over them, Draco's bravado vanished. He glanced at his mother, watching a snowstorm befall her features, then to Snape, whose steely expression had vanished and now somehow mirrored Potter's.

In four stomps Ron was at the bowl on the mantle, shoving his hand into a heaping pile of floo powder. He did his best to choke out the emotion coursing through him, making his hand tremble in the bowl. Emerald grains flashed like shards of metal in the heat of the firelight as he yanked out a drizzling scoop.

Hermione released a shaky breath and discretely swished her wand over Draco. He flinched, but an instinctive look of relief eased the defense from his eyes. Her delicate sweep of magic was a cool whisper, soothing the welts burning his skin. She turned to Harry next, ignoring the scolding glare from Ron and repeating the spell with the same care. His tense posture eased but he refused to look back. Narcissa's eyes met Hermione's briefly, filled with unspoken thanks.

"Come on," Ron muttered. "Open your hand."

With Floo powder pouring into her palm, Hermione flicked her gaze up to his face, which was nearly as red as his hair now. This was dreadful. Dreadful.

The flicker of the orange flames touched the tension etched into everyone's expressions. With a final glance back at the group— Harry settling back down onto the couch; Draco sliding into a cushion next to him; Snape studying Ron with an unreadable look and Ron glaring back; Narcissa watching them as she tapped her red nail against her collarbone— Hermione whispered a soft, "I'm so sorry," shouted for the Burrow, and pitched the powder into the Floo.

When the last of the whooshing green flames vanished, taking Ron and Hermione with them, Snape and Narcissa turned to the boys on the couch. The crackle of the departure hung in the air, leaving the room in a heavy silence.

Narcissa clasped her hands together, her gaze lingering on the empty fireplace. Snape stood beside her, his expression one of quiet contemplation.

"Harry," she turned, approaching him with the gentle click of her heels. Snape shifted his attention from them to Draco, who stared down at his hands, pinching the scarred tissue of his knuckles. Narcissa hesitated for a moment, then gently placed her palm on Harry's shoulder.

"I'm so sorry, darling."

He shook his head and looked down at the floor.

Resting a hand on the hearth of the fireplace Snape turned to study the soot-stained bricks. It would be a falsehood to claim he had lost hours of sleep over the death of 'beloved' tyrant, Sirius Black, but the overarching implication of Weasley's message stuck like a blade. It rattled the rusty chains securing him in the lake of eternal guilt.

Narcissa gave Harry a gentle, reassuring rub across his back before turning to Draco.

"Come," she said, her voice adopting a firm edge. "It is late."

He stiffened at the change in her tone. Rising from the couch, Draco looked back down at Harry, who sat motionless, his attention still fixed on the floor. Narcissa's hand slid off his back, leaving a fleeting warmth behind. Potter didn't recoil from her touch, Draco noticed, if anything, it seemed he'd leaned into it. Which was… unexpected. Especially after what Weasley had said… what he'd reminded them all of. Draco tugged the long sleeve on his left arm, smothering the cuff down.

"Thank you for the company," Narcissa said with a weary smile, then flicked her wand decisively for Draco to follow. Snape inclined his head in response and moved to show them out.

Her steps stabbed the wooden floorboards with renewed maternal disappointment. Draco's hesitant footfalls sounded behind, quiet against the pop of coals blinking in the hearth.

As Snape waved his wand to open the door, a summer wind swept inside, its whisper a welcome chill. Draco chanced a glance at Snape, his stomach a collapsing hole when he caught the familiar disapproval in those dark eyes. Shit, the duel. He had forgotten.

"Well," said Snape with deliberate slowness. "Will you be sending him to me tomorrow, or are you intending to take care of this show yourself?"

"I will take care of it," Narcissa said without hesitation. "Though you're most welcome to have a conversation with him as well."

"Wait," Draco gaped, turning to look at her in horrified disbelief. "You'll, what? You'll take care of what?" But he knew exactly what by her expression. The warmth in her eyes had long vanished, replaced by a sternness that strangled his next protest.

He looked from her resolute expression to Snape's, silently pleading for an objection. But he, of course, said nothing. Typical. Bastard. Heat rushed to his face and chest. She cannot be serious. She wouldn't smack him— she couldn't. She never had, not properly. The thought flipped his stomach. He glanced back at Potter, who sat with his heel tapping against the floor in restless thumps. Thankfully, he didn't seem to be listening. Shame sparked beneath his pale skin regardless. Fuck Blaise, the pub would have never recognized him if he hadn't taken off his glamour! And Granger— thatlittle nosy—

"Very well," Snape said, motioning him out the door. "Be good for your mother."

"He will be." Narcissa clicked down the porch steps, briefly tugging Draco's hand before releasing it.

"Good night, Severus."

"Narcissa," he nodded.

An owl hooted in the darkness, its low call gliding between oak trees swaying in the breeze. Crickets chirped, unworried for their future. "Snape," Draco pleaded, terribly concerned for his own. "Can't you tell her that you'll—"

"No, go."

"But—"

"Now."

"Uh," with a frustrated huff, Draco shoved past him and trudged after Narcissa, his footsteps smacking down the stone steps in renewed frustration.

"Mother," he whispered when they had distanced themselves from the house. "We need to talk about this."

"Yes, we do," she stopped, turning to level him with an icy glare. "The nerve you have to draw your wand and blast spells in public. You had better pray to Merlin that no one of importance witnessed such uncivilized behavior. I'm furious with you. Furious, Draco."

She pivoted, her heels skewering the loose gravel with each step forward. His hope that she couldn't be serious about disciplining him vanished like breath in cold air. His thoughts returned to half the pub's wands pointed down at him and he swallowed. This was not good. It was terrible. What is she decided to… oh bloody fuck.

"Mother, wait a minute." Draco hurried after her.

Snape leaned against the smooth frame of the doorway, watching as the pair disappeared down his drive. A deep sigh fell from his lips. What a tumultuous evening this had been.

Back in the living room, Harry listened to the whistle of wind slipping through the front door. The chirp of crickets brought him no comfort. He slid onto his back, the fluffy couch absorbing the weight of his slack body. An ache settled in his stomach, spreading suppressed grief through his chest. Watery heat filled his eyes. He kicked off his trainers, letting them hit the floor with two dull thuds. Pulling off his glasses, he tossed them down with a sharp clink on the coffee table and tucked his face in the crook of his arm.

Snape closed the door, cast a locking spell, and turned back to the living room. He paused, taking in Harry's state. "All right?"

"Yeah," Harry forced out, his eyes pinched shut. "Er, about the duel,"

"Are you injured?"

"No."

"We will discuss it tomorrow then," said Snape, he interlaced his fingers and tapped his thumb to the back of his hand. Harry nodded into his elbow and shifted on the couch.

The coals in the fire glowed with a flashing red, popping in the hush that followed.

"Regarding Weasley's remarks, however," he hesitated.

"Don't," said Harry, turning from his back to his side. "I don't want to talk about it."

It was just as well; the right words wouldn't have found Snape in the silence that followed. He nodded to himself and looked back to the fireplace.

"I understand," he said distantly, attention trained on the hot coals.

"Thanks..." Harry traced his thumb along the button tufting on the back of the couch, pressing the tip of his nail in as deep as it would go, focusing on the pressure.

Snape glanced back at him; concern crossed his usually stoic face. The boy looked like he'd been kicked, and he felt a pang of guilt, wondering if he should say something more. But what? Comforting words did not come all that naturally, especially when his own emotions were a tangled mess. After a stretch of silence, he decided it would be for the best to retire for the night. He was tired. Damn tired. Heavy steps took him up the creaky staircase moments later.

"Do not stay down there too late," his deep voice drifted through the bottom floor of the house. He waited at the top of the stairs, one hand on the sturdy railing, listening for the hushed, "I won't," that followed. "Night, Snape."

"Sleep well," he muttered, stopping three steps from his bedroom door, wishing that he knew what more to say.

Early morning tiptoed through the living room, a deep blue coloring the floorboards in its wake. An accompanying breeze pushed in from the open window, nuzzling the potted herbs along the kitchen sill. Snape glanced at the transfigured quilt hanging off the leg of the sprawled boy on his couch, his lanky form a flattened frog on a muggle highway.

Black slippers closed the distance in soft, padded thumps. Tucking the blanket back in its rightful place across Harry's shoulders, Snape paused to look at the sleeping boy. A rare sense of ease washed over him at the sight. Harry's rhythmic snores rose softly beneath Snape's habitual scold for dozing off on the couch, but today, there was an unmistakable gentleness in his eyes. His hand smoothed through the wild hair that refused to be kept. If he would simply grow it out, then it would cease to stand on end like a hexed verm— he paused and pulled back. What was he doing? Fretting over a boy's hair like his great Aunt Prince now? What nonsense. Turning to set about his typical morning routine, Snape shook his head at himself.

Magic swept from the tip of his languidly flicked wand, bringing a boil to the kettle on the stove. The window latched shut with a second flick. His teacup chimed against the countertop. Wintergreen mint trailed up from the black tea leaves swirling in their pouch.

Padding back down the hall to the front door, he cleared the sleep from his eyes. The warmth of his brew pressed through the cup, bringing comfort to his cold fingertips. With a taxing day on the horizon, he pulled the front door open, expecting to collect the morning—

"Narcissa?"

"Ah, you're awake," she exhaled with relief. Her hair lay down, unpinned and windswept. A midnight blue held the quiet yard behind her, the porch lamp a solitary light to her make-up-free face.

"Look."

Snape squinted down at the folded paper thrust between them.

"Yes, as it so happens, it arrives every morning." A delicate layer of steam drifted up from his tea. "Mine resides beneath your very slippers, if you can believe it."

Handing him her wrinkled copy of The Daily Prophet, Narcissa bent forward to pick up his.

"Charming," she muttered, "and here I had hoped your biting remarks might still be tucked in bed with the dawn."

"Hardly, when you arrive on my doorstep beforeit."

Her olive gown fell gracefully, cupping the few rounded curves of her frame. The silky neckline parted to reveal her winter-kissed skin, leaving Snape momentarily lost for words when she rose and began fretting over the headline on the paper.

"Ruined," she said bitterly, stabbing the front page with her nail, "his reputation is ruined after this!"

Dark eyes fell to the open paper slapped in his hand, scanning the headline:

EXONERATED DEATH EATER ATTACKS HARRY POTTER IN POSTWAR DUEL: OUTRAGE ERUPTS AT MALFOY HEIR.

Beneath the bold print, an animated photo flickered incessantly. Draco hurled a jinx at Harry in a dimly lit alleyway, the spell's white blast and his furious expression flashed in a haunting loop. Oh good god.

"Everything I've done to secure a thread of faith in his character this summer," Narcissa pulled up the loose rope of her gown and tossed it aside, "destroyed in one senseless minute!"

She ran a hand through her unbrushed hair, bringing the other over her tightly pressed lips. The low hum that followed offered her no solace. Taking a step back, Snape motioned her through the door, the papers clutched tight in hand.

They sat in their dressing gowns at the kitchen table, Snape clad in dark blue, Narcissa in olive green. A silencing charm rested over them. Morning's touch lingered, sweeping the countertops and frosting the floors. The worn bark of Narcissa's wand clinked the rim of her cup, reheating her tea for a second time. Though the brew would remain unsipped, going cold for a third.

"It must be Lucius," she said, her gaze falling to the lit candle in the center of the table. "Draco has been unstrung ever since the arrest."

Snape glanced up, briefly pausing on her before returning to the end of the article. It grew only darker beneath the headline, casting the Malfoy family in a sinister light. Their affiliation with Voldemort permeated the pages, detailing Lucius's reluctant incarceration down to his final shout of despair when the Aurors dragged him from his study. The trial— the battle at Hogwarts— everything was finely penned to the last claim declaring Draco's 'lust' for 'vengeance' and his day and night mourning for the fallen Dark Lord.

"Cissy, given your son's pride," Snape folded the paper and set it down, "I suspect this display was more about defending his own dignity than anything else."

"His dignity?" She repeated, her face growing stern. "His dignity over something as trivial as school discipline?"

"Many of my students are protective over it," Snape said, picking up his steaming teacup and taking a sip. "Draco especially."

"Yes, he's prideful, I know." She let out a sharp breath. "But ego aside, my son knows how to maintain his composure, Severus. He had to survive through careful composure for years. It was the mention of his father that became a massive point of contention last night."

"Really?" the word came out with a knowing inflection.

"Oh, well, I," she paused and pinched the delicate ridge of her nose, closing her eyes. "Hoping to ease his distress over Weasley's remarks, I told him that his father was caned last at twenty-three, in my presence in fact." Snape nodded, but there was a slight crease forming on his brow. "Draco lost his composure completely again."

He would have to revisit that detail later. Why Lucius had ever endured such a thing in front of Narcissa was curious to him. Yet, it was no surprise that Draco hadn't taken kindly to it. "Lost his composure, how?"

"He… exploded," she said with a heavy sigh. "He told me, quite clearly, that such humiliating correction was of no benefit to Lucius. Then launched into a tirade about the downsides of physical discipline, citing the opinions of 'sane' witches and wizards, making sure I knew I was not among them."

"And who are these sane sources?"

"Every head of house except for you, dear."

Snape's scoff sent ripples over his remaining tea. He sipped it down.

"It was an exhausting night. The things he said," she tucked her red-stained lips inward and briefly closed her eyes. "He was adamant about refusing punishment."

"How astonishing given Draco's history of humility when I fetch a paddle."

She wanted to offer her complimentary chuckle but there was no point in faking pleasantries today.

"He said he won't be retaking seventh year because of this," she said, moving to reheat her tea but pausing, noticing the wisps of steam still drifting up. "And if I try to enforce discipline with him going forward, he will move out."

He will not. Snape looked up and searched the ceiling for his patience to endure the melodrama of this, but Narcissa pressed on.

"But where would he even go? The connections I secured for him are shattered." She closed her eyes and swallowed back incoming tears. "He will never be able to purchase a property of his own, much less find a career to occupy his mind."

"Never?" Snape drawled. "Might you be catastrophizing a touch?"

"No," Narcissa's voice cracked. "He has solidified his reputation as a criminal beyond redemption." A quiet, dry sob escaped her lips, and Snape's expression darkened.

"Listen to me, he will—"

"Become a depressed recluse," her voice carried over his.

"You are blowing this out of proportion, he—"

"Will have nowhere to turn if he tires of the lonely existence." She bit her lips, tears threatening to fall like raindrops into her cooling tea, "Nowhere to turn except, except…"

"All right," Snape held up his hand. "Before you spin a tale where the boy forsakes reason, dives into a life of crime, and ends up in Azkaban with his father, may I offer the insight you came here for?"

With unsteady hands and a small nod, Narcissa collected her tea and took a minuscule sip.

"Draco was humiliated last night," Snape interlaced his fingers on the table. "That alone sparked the explosive confrontation, not resentment for Lucius, nor grief, nor any other half-cocked excuse he spouted at you."

"But to destroy his reputation over childish teasing," an exasperated scoff fell from her lips, "I cannot understand it."

"Humiliation can drive a person to act irrationally," Snape tapped the lifelike picture on the paper, directing her attention to Hermione running out of frame. A memory of his own threatened to resurface but he stomped it down with another thump to the page. "While his reaction was undoubtedly wrong,"

"His reaction?" Narcissa interrupted, flashing him a scolding expression. "His reaction ruined his life!"

"It did not." Snape took a tongue scorching sip of tea. Draco had no financial need for a career, and public opinion would turn to other matters in time. This was not going to ruin his entire life. Make it more challenging? Yes. Destroy it? No.

"Anyone with a shred of sense knows this paper is drivel," he picked it up and gave it a small wave before tossing it back to the table. "Draco cast stinging jinxes at Harry, not the cruciatus curse. You are as dramatic as he, Narcissa."

Offense crept through her gaze, but Snape did not let it deter him. "You will discipline him; he will learn, and life will carry on."

"But the public—"

"Will move on from this."

Narcissa ran a hand through her unbrushed hair. "But he will not—"

"Let you spank him?" Snape intoned, raising a brow in a way that pierced her momentary coolness. "I find that hard to believe, given your disarming charm blasted a wand from his clenched fist and two others last night. Your magic put the three of them on their backs, Narcissa. He knows you are no weak witch."

"Yes, but last night was different. Now…" she looked away. "Now I feel differently."

"You feel differently," Snape paused and flicked his wand. The kettle tipped forward, steaming water poured out, and the scent of winter mint drifted up. "You feel differently because Draco knew full well that mentioning Lucius would strike a nerve and weaken your resolve to discipline him."

Narcissa tapped her collarbone, thinking back through the passionate outburst that accompanied their arrival home. "You think he was being manipulative?"

"I know he was," Snape's cup clinked back to his saucer. "Slip some veritaserum in that imported coffee of his if you wish to be certain."

She tapped her nail to the side of her cup with a clink, clink, clink. As much as it bristled her to admit it, Severus made a point. She knew Draco could be machiavellian. It was a trait that made her wink with him at times and grow suspicious at others. But with this…with this he was distressed. He must be. Wasn't he? Oh, but what he did. How could she excuse it? Angry with her and Lucius or not, he had no right fighting in public. How senseless! How damaging to his hope of a future.

"I suppose he was a touch… calculated with his words," Narcissa ran her fingers across her lips, tears clouding her eyes. "Oh, Severus," her gaze fell back to the clip looping on the paper. "I don't know how to untangle him from this mess."

"You must give it time," said Snape, his voice gentler.

Tears fell then, speckling the paper in wet drops.

Her crying had once seemed indecent to him. Back when war was raging and his life was an unsteady walk along the blade of a knife. This summer, his perspective had shifted some. While his scoffs were directed at Draco's familiar antics, his understanding of her concern was real. He hesitated a moment, then placed his hand over hers.

"He has a lifetime to redeem his reputation," said Snape. "He is still a boy, after all. A senseless teenager that will grow into a fine man one day."

She nodded, the chill in her hand warmed in the cover of his palm but tears continued their descent to the paper, splattering with each heavy plop.

"Oh, forgive me," she pressed the back of her free hand to her wet cheekbones. Snape summoned a folded patch of paper towel and extended it out.

"Thank you," she said, the rough surface melting into a pliable mess beneath her distress. "I don't mean to lean on you so much," she muttered, "it's… I just…"

"It is no matter," said Snape softly. "If you would like me to deal with him instead, I shall."

Narcissa sniffed, dragging the paper towel across her wet eyelids. Snape thought back to Harry then, to the pang he felt the last time he listened to the boy cry over his lap. This was understandable, was it not? "I do not fault you for not wishing to cause your son pain."

"I know," dabbing the folded paper towel to her leaky eyes, she gave him a hurt smile. "Thank you," she cleared away the rest of her tears. "But I've decided my days of passing off the responsibility have come to a close," a shaky breath filled her chest. "I suppose I needed to talk it through to reaffirm my resolve."

She placed her other hand over his, patting it, and added, more to herself than to him, "I will manage fine."

"You will," Snape gave her palm a gentle squeeze and pulled away. "If you need my assistance getting him to comply,"

"No, that won't be necessary," she said, adjusting her gown with a graceful tug. "He will listen to me; he always does when it truly matters."

Snape nodded and hush fell between them while she took a moment to steady her composure.

"You know," Narcissa set the make-shift handkerchief down. "I was the reason Lucius asked you to handle Draco's punishments during the meetings all those years ago."

A contemplative look fell over Snape's face. "Is that so?"

"Mmhm," she glanced away, her gaze drifting past him to the bundles of lavender in the pantry. "He was adamantly opposed at first, but I managed to convince him."

"I suppose that should not come as a surprise," their eyes met and Snape returned her small smile. "I wondered why you never intervened each time I plucked Draco from the pond and hauled him kicking and screaming up that obscenely long staircase."

Two needed chuckles echoed off the kitchen walls, easing the heaviness.

"Well, Lucius was incredibly harsh… after waiting an hour to handle him," Narcissa admitted, rubbing the damp paper towel between her fingertips. "You, on the other hand, were rumored to be gentler with your younger students despite such a frosty exterior."

Hazel eyes warmed the black and Snape glanced back down at his tea.

"I spied on you the first time," she added, smoothing out the bunch in her silk gown. "To ensure the rumors were true, of course."

"Of course." He tapped the table. A rare tease infused his next words when he said, with a low chuckle, "Flattened under his bed like a proper lady, were you?"

"Oh please."

Her airy laugh drifted through the kitchen.

"I was in his bathroom. I had slipped in from the hall's entrance."

"Ah, I see," said Snape with a reserved smile.

The exhaustion of that day was still vivid. He had nearly asked Pomfrey to check his hearing upon return to the school. How Narcissa had restrained herself from intervening remained a mystery. Equally puzzling was how he hadn't noticed her presence. Though, seeing as how Draco had been the most combative child he'd ever corrected, perhaps it wasn't all that confounding. It would have taken a god to focus on that boy and be equally observant.

"I was comforted by your approach," she continued, swirling her tea thoughtfully. "Not surprised Draco grew so close to you in the years that followed."

"No?"

"No. How could he not after you gave him a cuddle and told him he was a good boy afterwards?" She smiled fondly. "He wasn't used to that from Lucius. You became a favorite quite quickly."

"Indeed." Snape let out a light-hearted scoff. "He made my life a bleeding hell when I so much as complimented my other students his first few years."

"Oh yes, I remember. He was so," Narcissa's words cracked, morphing into a hardly audible sob, "cute." She dropped her head into her hands, shoulders shaking.

"Narcissa…" Snape sighed, dimming at the renewed tears. "You must not trouble yourself to this extent."

"I wish… I wish to have those years back," heartache rolled down her face, her words muffled by her hands. "I miss my little boy. I miss his… his innocence. I hate myself for what I allowed his life to become."

The rising sun was obscured by gray clouds in the morning sky, casting a muted ray through the kitchen window that found the distress in her hunched shoulders.

Summoning another paper towel, Snape pressed it to her palm. "Draco's life has hardly begun," he countered in a hush. "He had a senseless spat with Harry. One he must face the consequences for, yes, but there is no need to weep as though he struck down a helpless muggle running for their life in the street. Merlin, Narcissa."

Her wet scoff echoed off the kitchen walls but his words helped ease her distress. She exhaled a rickety sigh, and Snape leaned in closer. He rested his hand on her back in quiet support.

"Draco has your care behind him as well," he paused, thinking back to how powerful a mother's love truly was. Draco was fortunate to have such support from her. He suppressed the unexpected pang that threatened to surface. "And should you need a reminder of what a mother's selflessness can do, go have another look at the boy drooling on the cushions of my once impeccably kept couch."

Her small, tear-filled smile found his steady gaze once more. Leaning her head on his shoulder, she drew a soft breath. Harry Potter… she glanced down the hall, thinking of his low snores drifting through the living room. What an extraordinary person he had turned out to be. He looked disheveled but at home sprawled on that couch. Like he belonged there. It was a shame, really, that his mother could not stand in the doorway and take in the scene she had not long ago. Wiping away her remaining tears, Narcissa set the dampened paper towel aside.

"Harry seems to be doing well these days," she said, clasping Snape's hand and sitting up. He slid his thumb across the smoothness of her pale skin.

"I should think so," he said, eyes wandering down the hall. "That is, when he isn't dueling your son in the street or hurling swift-sprout cherry pits off my roof." He scoffed, his black hair shook with his head. "My extensive lecture on the properties of magically enhanced fruit fell on deaf ears last week,"

An affectionate look warmed Narcissa's eyes as Snape recounted his outing with Harry to a magical produce market that he was apparently 'dragged' along to in the heart of Salisbury. His rehashed exasperation with Harry's cheek and subsequent scolding soon had her smiling.

"His mother would be grateful for this," she said when he finished. "For all you have done for him over the last seventeen years."

All I have done?

The words sank down, meeting him in the self-blame he had suffocated in long ago. Snape's brow drew into an unforgiving line. He stiffened and glanced away, unable to fathom such a thing. All I have done? All he had done was rob Harry of the best woman he'd ever known— the best mother a child could ask for. All he had done was the bare minimum after the fact. If Lily were here, she wouldn't be thanking him. No, she would whip out her wand and berate him for treating her son so miserably in classes, in the halls, in every spare moment he could find until the war ended. If she knew… if she understood what he now did about Harry's suffering in Petunia's home, combined with his own mistreatment, she would never forgive him. She would hate him, and rightfully so. She would—

"Listen to me," Narcissa closed the small space between them, her palm brushing against his cheek. The touch was a gentle barrier to the downpour of grief and self-reproach. Warily, he met her gaze, his stoic facade dissolving in sorrow he rarely let show.

"I am a mother," she murmured, stroking his face with the pad of her thumb. "I once feared for my child's life and experienced the relief of knowing he was protected by you. Believe me, this is from her as much as I." Leaning in, she tenderly pressed her lips to his cheek. The kiss was warm, tinged with a whisper of black tea and genuine affection. She drew back, her eyes meeting his, capturing a glimmer of unspoken emotion welling there. "Thank you, Severus."

He worked to relax the rigidness that befell him at such an unexpected gesture. For nearly twenty years he'd been haunted— isolated in self loathing and bitterness, never thinking he'd hear such a thing from anyone. Never thinking for a second that he deserved it either. Yet, the simple, sincere thanks in her eyes somehow unfastened the chains holding him in inescapable grief. Briefly, adrift in both heartache and relief, he let himself consider her sentiment. His usual restraint faltered, leaving him at a loss for words.

"I used to think you would have made a remarkable father in another life," Narcissa continued, entwining her fingers with his. "But now, after all you did for Draco, for Harry, when none of us were the wiser," her eyes sparkled with a hint of amusement. "As I was intending to say last night, Harry will place you in that role, darling, but you needn't feel unnerved by it. It suits you so well."

It does not, but a brief, bitter smile crossed his lips anyway. The irony not lost on him. He swallowed hard, battling a swell of emotions he rarely allowed himself to feel.

"Your tea has gone cold, Cissy," he finally muttered, his voice softer than usual. Yet, despite the deflection, she felt his fingers tightened gently around hers.