Iuga Sortis II

Twenty

The month passed by uneventfully, a feat that worried Snape. He hadn't been called to the Dark Lord since the New Year, yet he couldn't shake the feeling something was going to happen soon. Draco had been keeping him abreast of his correspondences with his father, yet those owls held nothing more than orders to "best that Mudblood" or to "beat Potter smart." Snape rolled his eyes. Lucius Malfoy had always been a pain in the arse, but to see him treat his own child as nothing more than a house-elf was beyond callous--even for him.

He sighed as he stared into the fire. He was grateful it was the Easter holiday; he didn't need to hear explosions and the idiotic mutterings of his students at the moment. He was well aware of his reputation--Potter, Weasley, and Granger informed him of it every time they met--and he never bothered to discount it, either. Children got on his nerves, and very much so, but it was more from the lack of ambition and strive than from the fact they were there. Even most of his Slytherins lacked that ambition when it came to school, but with the rest of the Hogwarts staff giving them a hard time, it was left up to him to provide them with a modicum of confidence--confidence that if given by the wrong person would lead to destruction.

His hand went to his Mark, and he sighed again. The Mark brought him nothing but pain from the moment he got it, but at least now his pain was not in vain. Severus quickly grew bored listening to the Dark Lord spout his rhetoric of purity, power, and persecution. The initial allure of what the Dark Lord offered paled as soon as he was branded; it was as if the Mark opened his eyes to see what hell he'd secured for himself.

He had wanted out.

To think all of this was because of a girl--of Malika. Black's taunts had reached disproportionate levels towards the end of his seventh year, and even though Snape knew in his heart Malika loved only him, his mind found new ways to plant seeds of doubt.

Severus had always been led by a practical mind.

He didn't think he could compete with Black for her affections, regardless that she was with him from the beginning of his sixth year. Black was handsome, charismatic, a Gryffindor and clever, if lazy. Snape was barely cordial, pale, hooked-nosed, Slytherin and insecure, yet brilliant. Malika often told him it was attitude that first drew her to him. He'd often laughed at her when she said that. He knew he was a surly wanker, but it was that surly wanker who rescued her from Nott during her first year.

He felt his lips form a smile. There was rarely a time he thought of Malika and didn't smile. She had a laugh that made all of his worries disappear and his guard go down. The very fact he could be himself around her liberated him and scared him at the same time. He'd been afraid she wouldn't love him if he weren't sure of himself all the time. He didn't realize she would be there for him through any of his issues and his happy times. More importantly, he didn't recognize he should've been there for hers.

His ignorance cost him his life, his love, and his soul.

She went to Black and, in doing so, all but sealed his fate. What was the point in returning if she'd moved on to the very person he was trying to be?

Why take an imitator when you could have the real thing was what he thought of her move.

He didn't think at the time that maybe the 'imitator' was Black and not himself.

He'd known from the beginning Malika wouldn't be like the other girls--girls who measured the worth of a bloke by his looks or how large his father's purse was. Sirius Black matched on both accounts, but he was an arrogant son-of-a-bitch, and it was his arrogance that initially turned Malika away from him. Also, true to a Gryffindor, she saw Severus as someone who could be saved, and he knew Gryffindors never turned down an opportunity to play hero.

Or heroine, in her case.

Why else would Lily continue to defend him, despite his calling her a Mudblood? Even Potter would risk his life to save Snape's if the opportunity presented itself; heroism was part of the job description.

Severus sneered. He was never one for flashing heroics; in fact, the turn to the Order wasn't entirely out of benevolence. He overheard Pettigrew talking to the Dark Lord about plans to raid the Potters then capture Malika afterwards. There was no way in the world he would let them take her. Malika was good, these Death Eaters were not, and he did not want them putting their dirty hands on her. He went to Dumbledore a few days afterwards and told him of their plans. Dumbledore put a Fidelius Charm on the Potters as well as Malika--Sirius the original Secret-Keeper and Snape as Malika's.

Two very bad decisions were made after that.

The first was Black's asinine decision to make Pettigrew the Secret-Keeper instead; they thought he'd be a less likely target than the known best friend of James Potter. Had Severus known about the switch, he would've have warned the family. He doubted if they would have listened to them anyway for, Death Eater in the Order or no, he was still a Death Eater, and Potter was too sainted to sully his family with the likes of him.

Like father, like son, apparently.

The second was to listen to Dumbledore in the first place as he claimed betraying Malika would be for the overall good. "Sacrifices must be made in a war, Severus."

He snorted. Dumbledore wasn't the one making the sacrifice.

It damn near killed him to suggest the Dark Revel to the rest of the free Death Eaters. His position in the group was precarious at best, and Dumbledore insisted it was imperative he made a move to reclaim their trust.

But now he wondered why that mattered in the first place.

Oh yes . . . living had a certain appeal to it I couldn't pass up . . .

And now, here he was, trying to convince Draco of possibly doing the same thing to the Weasley girl. It was surreal and strangely tragic. If for no other reason, he was still at Hogwarts and Head of his House to sway these kids away from the Dark Side. No doubt they'd been force-fed the same crap since birth, and many of the older students were choking on it now. However, he paid particularly close watch on Mr. Malfoy. If he could entice Draco to the side of good, many other students would follow or, at the very least, not join Voldemort. Malfoy was a bright student, if spoiled and bratty, but his mother's influence prevented him from turning into the sadistic monster of his father.

Severus scowled. Lucius Malfoy was a waste of human space, but not so much as Peter Pettigrew.

He sighed--Set. Severus wondered what would make the evil god choose Pettigrew as a host body. Voldemort made sense, but Pettigrew was a bumbling idiot if he ever saw one. Pettigrew almost rivaled Longbottom--almost. Longbottom had surprisingly grown a backbone over the summer, a feat that secretly pleased him. Longbottom wasn't nearly as jumpy around him and managed to melt far fewer cauldrons this year than in years past. That was a good thing, considering it was N.E.W.T. Potions--Level One.

Severus nodded. Likening Longbottom to that rat was an insult of the worst kind.

Even still, Pettigrew was anything but bumbling now. Set created a monster in the balding stout man, and he now realized the genius of choosing him. Like Sirius anticipated seventeen years ago--who would suspect Pettigrew of anything? People thought he was dead, a coward (which he was) and a pushover. No one would take him seriously, and that would be a person's downfall.

Three people knew better than anyone else, and those were just the people who physically died.

That was the saddest part of all--nothing that had happened was an isolated event. Everyone was connected in some way or another, and in ways they didn't want or could even conceive. Who knew Caleb Johnson would gain a child, merely because Pettigrew used his Polyjuice form? Who knew four people from different walks of life would be brought together because gods of old decided to use them as vessels?

Who knew the love of his life would be an American Mudblood Gryffindor?

"Things would've been easier if she was from an old pureblood family of the right social and racial class . . . but then she wouldn't be my Malika . . . my Queen . . "

Damn his father! Damn his yearn to please him! He didn't blame Malika for leaving him when she had the chance. If he'd been met with such hostility and hatred, he would've left as well. He remembered all the stories of sit-ins and marches and hoses from where she came from. She often talked of a Muggle named Martin Luther King, Jr., and how sad she was when he was killed when she was six. Malika said with his death died the hopes of a better nation, or so it seemed. The entire allure of moving to Britain was because things were different here; there was no racism and bigotry, according to her cousin.

Severus remembered her sardonic laugh when Malika found out that was not the case.

He tried to keep his eyes trained on the scarlet robes before him, but they kept jumping in and out of his line of vision. He shoved people out of his way, ignorant of their cries of indignation. He looked past her to see where she was headed.

The Shrieking Shack.

He shuddered. The girl knew him too well, had it in her mind he wouldn't dare follow her inside that god-forsaken place.

He chanced a glance at the sky, just to be on the safe side. Though it was day, the moon still appeared in the sky--it was not full.

Thank the gods.

It didn't occur to him Lupin no longer attended Hogwarts nor that it was the middle of the day. The thoughts of going into the Shrieking Shack always went to that night Black almost got him killed.

His lip curled. Sirius Black could go to hell for all he cared. Good riddance to him and Potter. He only wished Lily had a modicum of sense and married someone better . . . like Filch . . .

He snorted. He might have disliked Potter, but even he knew that match wouldn't work. Lily would drive Filch nutters.

Just the way the girl before him was doing. They'd just reached the outskirts of Hogsmeade, and he propelled his long legs to her. She looked over her shoulder, and her eyes widened as she saw how close he was to her.

Those eyes which now looked at him in fear, disappointment, and hurt.

He had to fix things and quickly, before they became empty.

"Leka--"

"Go away, Snape! Go back to your bigot father and your bigot friends!"

His steps faltered only slightly, but he would not turn away . . . not like he did minutes before.

"But I need to explain--"

"Explain what?" she demanded as she whirled to face him. Her cheeks glistened from her tears, and his throat tightened. He'd promised her the only tears he'd make her cry were happy ones. Another broken Slytherin promise.

"I didn't mean--"

"You never meant to take me--to take us seriously, did you, Snape? I was just some exotic thing with a weird accent and dark skin. I was just here to tickle your fancy, wasn't I?"

"It's not like that--"

"No?" she asked, her tone condescending. "What's it like, Snape? Let me know 'cause you know how all us 'darkies' are as dumb as doornails!"

He winced at her language. It was so caustic to his ears, so negative. That was her entire point.

"I love you, Malika; you must believe that."

She crossed her arms before her and let out a mirthless chuckle. "You know, I did up until fifteen minutes ago, when I walked over to you and you said nothing as your father and friends called me out by name and insulted me and my people. If I meant something to you, if you loved me as you say you do, you would've never let that happen."

"I was afraid! I couldn't very well go against my father in public like that! What would his friends think--my friends--?"

"How very Slytherin of you. So concerned with what ignorant jackasses have to think about you. Who gives a crap about them? If you were so scared with what they thought of me, why enter in a relationship with me in the first damn place?"

Malika rarely cursed, and only did so when she was upset.

She was beyond upset at the moment--she was hurt.

"I love you," he repeated lamely.

"But not enough. My mama warned me about this, but I didn't listen to her. She warned me not to listen to Elle's words of equality and no racism. But you know what, the same bullshit that's going on in the States is happening right here in Britain! But silly me, I thought it would be different in the wizarding world--but it's worse! People hate me because I'm a Mudblood, and I'm black. Gives the term added meaning, don't you think?"

"I've never--"

"That's not what that guy Malfoy said."

Lucius Malfoy--an 'older brother' he never wanted. Their fathers were old classmates and forced their sons to be friends.

Snape hated the bastard with a passion, especially calling her a poor man's Venus--sprung from mud to go with her mudblood--instead of the ocean as the Roman goddess did.

Malfoy dubbed her as the goddess of a good fuck instead of love.

She'd looked to him then, to defend her honor, and all he did was lower his eyes to the table.

I'm such an arsehole.

So now here he was, trying to make it better . . but he couldn't.

He'd royally fucked things up.

"I'm sorry . . ."

She looked at him for a long moment. "I'm sorry, too. I'm sorry I ever met you. I'm sorry I opened my heart to you. I'm sorry I didn't listen to people who warned me about you."

"That's not fair."

"Life's not fair, hon. If you lived the life I lived for the first eleven years of my life, you'd especially learn that. You weren't rejected from a school merely based on the color of your skin. You weren't taunted and spat upon as you walked down the street. You've never had to give up your seat for someone because they were born with the 'right' skin tone and you weren't. So don't you dare talk to me about 'fair.'"

He wanted nothing more than to take her in his arms and whisper assurances he could never grant.

But he had to know . . .

"Are you sorry for loving me?"

The question clearly caught her off guard for she jerked a little.

It was a while before she answered. "No, but I'm sorry you can't love me in return."

The words stung more than a slap. "I do love you!"

"So why are you pulling away from me?"

"I am not!"

"Hello! Were you there when your friends and family treated me like shit? This is the real world, baby! You're not in Hogwarts anymore, where everything magical is contained and protected. You turned away from me! You treated me as if I didn't exist! How in God's name can you say you love me when you treated me like that!?"

He felt his shame even as he said the words. "It's not proper in my social circle to love someone like you."

The silence stretched indefinitely and tensely.

"Well maybe it is time to get out of that social circle."

"But that is my family . . . my friends . . "

"Family is more than bloodlines, Severus. And your friends are shit."

He shook his head in sorrow, unable to look at her. "I--I can't . . . I'm sorry . ."

She laughed sardonically. "That's the one mutual feeling we have at the moment, Severus--sorry. There's nothing more I can do for you now. It's all in your hands . . . just don't expect me to wait for you to make your decision."

He rarely saw her the four years afterward.

He couldn't. When she left, he became a shell of himself, finding false solace in the Death Eaters' circle. He learned quickly Voldemort was a raving lunatic who cared for naught but power. Bugger purity of blood and all that codswallop. He was gaining power through those weak enough to believe his crock.

He had been a weakling.

Snape wondered if that statement was applicable now, but he knew it was unfair to claim so.

After all he'd done, all he'd been through against the Order, for the Order, with the Order, he knew he was stronger than he credited to himself.

Dumbledore had told him constantly, but he waved the older man's words away. Dumbledore wasn't the person from whom he needed to hear approval or, more importantly, forgiveness.

He needed to hear it from her.

"She doesn't want to see you."

He shrank from the poison in the voice. She looked like an older version of Malika--stunningly beautiful and a force to reckon with.

Severus tread lightly.

"Did she tell you that, or did you make the decision for her?"

He knew he didn't tread lightly enough when the door slammed in his face.

"Blasted women! Why must they frustrate me so?"

He knew he had some bollocks to appear on her front steps after The Incident. He wouldn't blame her if the woman's decision echoed Malika's; it was nothing less than he deserved.

However, his superior had a different opinion.

Severus should've never allowed Dumbledore to convince him to come here. He'd never fit well in the Muggle world; as it was, he felt decidedly out of place wearing the khaki slacks and jumper. He missed the comfort of his robes--even if it was rather warm in the Southern heat.

He groaned and turned away from the door. He wouldn't leave, not until he saw her . . . explained to her . . . what? How he betrayed her? How he left her there again to the mercy of folks of his "circle," regardless that he'd defected from them two years before?

He sat on the porch steps and sighed. Severus was thankful the house was a good ways away from the road. Truth be told, the metal boxes with wheels scared, if not baffled, him. He was immensely grateful he was a wizard.

His hand went to his left forearm almost habitually. It no longer burned physically, but mentally it seared him. This Mark was a representation of all the pain he'd ever felt in his life--his father, his social circle, the lack of Malika in his life--it really wasn't worth it.

Especially Malika's heart.

It had been easy to hate her when she walked away from him that day in Hogsmeade. It made him a powerful Death Eater, numb to the screams of innocent Muggles. He felt pain, and he wanted others to feel it as well. He loved the feeling of power, of the knowledge he held someone's life in his hands, to do whatever he pleased with it. He'd killed people because he could, tortured them because it let out his personal anguish.

But one thing he could not do was rape.

Rape was too intimate an act; something he knew would break him as well as his victim.

The entire point of joining the Death Eaters was to detach himself from anything reminding him of her. Killing was not Malika; torture was not Malika. Both acts allowed the victim to be faceless entities, like a glass or a wall.

A rape would bring her to the fore, for whoever his victim was Malika's face would be all he saw.

And he couldn't bear it.

So much for that plan, huh?

But it had to be done. Dumbledore revealed the prophecies of his late wife to him, knowing he would have a key role in bringing it to fruition.

It was possibly the one moment he regretted loving Malika.

He'd known all along a great part of the reason for joining the Death Eaters was to keep them away from her; suggesting families and people who would keep the Dark Lord's interest from her while getting what he wanted.

Too bad the bastard wanted an heir.

When Pettigrew suggested Malika, he never felt anger so powerful. His fingers itched to grab his wand and kill the sneaky rat. But that was before he knew Pettigrew was already possessed, already knowledgeable of whom Malika was.

His immediate thought was why not Lily, though he'd rather not her either. But the Potters had been on the Death Eaters' hit list for months, Malika not ever until then.

It was then he went to Dumbledore with the news and, in turn, received some of his own.

His love was a goddess.

Snape snorted in disbelief when the older man told him. But when Dumbledore showed him through the Pensieve, it ceased to be funny. It was a dangerous plan to all involved, but he tried to prolong the actual deed.

Secret-Keepers turned Secret Betrayers.

It put a kink in the Death Eaters' plans certainly, but not the ones Dumbledore was secretly forming.

The New Year's Eve of 1981, Dumbledore put the scheme in action.

From January to October, they worked meticulously and carefully, making sure no stone was left unturned or leak seeped out.

October 31--the Dark Revel--the conception.

July 31--the Divine Birth--the heir.

Severus only hoped it worked.

Suddenly, something soft draped around his shoulders, and he started. He leaned forward and stood on step before turning around.

How he missed those amber eyes.

"Malika."

She said nothing, only stared at him. He took the opportunity to do the same as well. She was shorter than he remembered her and looked at her feet.

She was barefoot.

Severus grinned as his eyes went to Malika's face again. It was calm, almost content, even in its unsmiling state. Her hair was cornrowed in medium-sized plaits, with multi-colored barrettes at different places. A crocheted shawl was around her own shoulders, hiding the pink nightdress she wore.

But it did not hide the bulge of her belly.

All the emotions he felt at that moment came out in a rush, and he collapsed to his knees before her.

"Malika . . ." he wept, his body wracked with sobs.

The scheme was working, and it was a surreal discovery. The knowledge that the sacrifice might not be in vain overwhelmed and humbled him at the same time.

Severus felt a light pressure in his hair,and it served to calm him. Hands traveled down his face to cup his cheeks, and his face was lifted.

"I forgive you."

Severus shook his head, denying the words she spoke. Malika continued to nod hers.

"I forgive you, Severus."

He cried harder and shook his head vigorously as his hand rested on her rounded belly.

"She's yours, Severus. She's your child."

"No . . ." he croaked.

Tears began to stream down her face as well, but she still had an aura of contentment surrounding her. "She is. I want her to have you as a father."

He laughed hollowly. "I'm not fit to be anyone's father."

"Yes, you are. You have so much love to give, Severus. You've shown me you do."

"By raping you?!" he whispered bitterly, even as his hands ran reverently across her abdomen.

Malika tensed at his question but continued to stroke his cheeks. "Grandpa Albus told me what you did. He explained everything. I understand now. I understand why you did what you did."

"He blackmailed me."

"He appealed to your darker sensibilities."

"And you say I'm fit to be a father?"

"Yes. The Ritual would not have worked if you didn't love me enough."

He frowned at the seemingly conflicting stipulations.

She grinned. "Why else would he threaten to send you to Azkaban? He knew if he said it was for love you'd shy away."

He was torn between feeling indignant and feeling shame.

"Besides, I think you knew deep down he'd never send you to Azkaban even if you'd said no and that you loved me enough to do this for me."

He frowned. "I suggested the Dark Revel."

"Because that was the only way it would work, right?"

He nodded.

"I fear Grandpa hasn't told you the most important condition of the Ritual."

He rolled his eyes and rested his cheek against her stomach. "He hasn't told me a lot of things, apparently."

She giggled and began to run her fingers through his hair. It was still a bit greasy, but he knew she didn't care.

"We've gotta wash this hair during your stay, honey."

Apparently she did!

"Sorry."

She laughed again. "I'm teasing."

He rolled his eyes and pulled away from her. "Would you like to sit down? I think you should."

She smiled and nodded, helping him stand. There was a swinging bench on the porch they sat upon, and Severus pushed it with his legs. Despite the embrace they just shared, he was afraid to touch her.

She solved that problem for him when she laid her head on his shoulder.

He allowed the silence to stretch for a bit, but he really wanted to know what the important condition was.

"Malika?"

"Hmm?"

He moved his arm behind her shoulders and caressed her right one. "What was the condition?"

"While it is true my child had to be conceived in chaos and despair, true love had to be present."

He closed his eyes and placed a lingering kiss to the top of her head. "We don't know if it worked."

He felt her smile rather than saw it, and she moved his hand to touch her stomach.

"It did. I can feel it. Feel the magic within this child. Feel the love surrounding it. She may have been conceived in chaos and despair, but your love shields her from it. You rubbed myrrh on me for a reason, love. It needed you to protect her. You will protect her. She is your daughter."

His hand trembled as he rubbed her tummy. How could he--a man who'd done such terrible things--possibly protect this child from the very evils that resided within him?

"As long as you love her, Severus, she has nothing to fear. She'll be surrounded by men and women who love her--you included. Can't you accept this?"

He opened his eyes, and they locked on hers. In them, Severus saw all she had to offer.

And finally, after all the pain he'd endured, he was ready for happiness.

He was ready to accept it all.

Severus narrowed his eyes. "How do you know the baby's a she?"

Malika's eyes squinted with mirth. "A mama always knows, honey. Besides, the last time I checked, Aset was female . . ."

He smiled softly and placed his palm on her cheek. "Marry me."

She didn't look the least bit surprised at his proposal, and she kissed his lips softly. He'd missed her lips so much, but he didn't give into his urge to deepen it.

"Yes."

Never had the word meant so much to him than at that moment.

"We'll do it the Muggle way; that way they can't trace this baby or me back to you. I'm dangerous--"

"You're perfect for me."

His smile widened. "I want to do this right."

A sly grin formed on her face. "Dumbledore is here."

Severus sighed and lifted his eyes to the heavens. "No wonder he was so adamant I come here during Easter holiday."

"He wants you to be happy."

He nodded. "I know. But must he be so meddlesome to accomplish it?"

She giggled and began to stand. Severus stood and helped her, wrapping his arms around her waist once she got to her feet.

"He's going to marry us in the same ceremony he married my great-grandmother. They couldn't legally marry, so they married in the tradition of her village."

"I don't need a piece of paper to promise myself to you, love."

She looked away from him shyly, and he kissed her forehead.

"I was thinking tomorrow . . . on Easter Sunday . . ."

"But why then?"

"The resurrection of Jesus and the resurrection of your new life. Also, in Egyptian practices, the Paschal moon represents the rabbit--the symbol of fertility of the springtime--and," she said, replacing his hand on her belly, "I want to give my baby girl all the help she can get."

He chuckled. "That explains the phenomenon of the bunny rabbit, then, doesn't it?"

She giggled again and leaned into him. "I'm sorry about my mother earlier. Grandpa told her the circumstances as well, but since she very well can't hit a prophecy, she's taking her frustration out on you instead."

"Joy."

"She really appreciates what you've done, though."

"Just not the method. I understand."

The next few moments passed by in silence, interrupted by crickets chirping, when a piercing cry echoed from the house.

"Malika Javier Roberts! You get inside! It's still early April, yet! It ain't that warm!"

They laughed at her mother's worried plea, knowing it was more out of habit than anything.

"Are you coming?"

He nodded. "I'll be inside in a minute, love."

She smiled, and they shared a final kiss before she went inside.

He turned and walked down the porch steps. He lifted his head and stared at the sky. For the first time in four years, Severus felt an inner peace.

He finally found what he'd been missing.

A pair of arms went around his shoulders, and he started much like he did fourteen years ago.

"Daddy."

He leaned into her embrace, glad she had opened to him again. The first semester of this year had been among the loneliest of his life because she was not there.

"Enjoying your holiday, love?"

She snorted. "Would you enjoy it if Grandma was running you ragged every other night?"

He chuckled. "Believe me, I feel your pain."

"I think you've felt enough of that to last a lifetime," she said seriously.

Her words humbled him, and he turned his face to her. A hand cupped her cheek. "Better me than you, love. I'm supposed to protect you . . . seems I've done a less than stellar job of that in recent memory."

"You've done the best you could."

"And, as before, it's not good enough."

She shook her head and grasped his face between her palms. "Don't talk like that, Daddy. It has been. I'm here, ain't I?"

He smiled softly. "Yes, Little One, you are."

She sighed. "I guess I haven't been helpin' your self-esteem, calling you what I did and being mean to you--"

"It's not as if you weren't telling the truth."

She had no reply except to walk before him and sit in his lap. Severus cradled her to him, thinking of a time when she was much smaller but just as precious.

"I may not know the entire story, Daddy, but I know enough. Mama trusted you, Dumbledore trusts you, and I think Grandma trusts you, even though she'd eat her own hand before admitting it."

Severus chuckled at her assessment of Jamilah.

"I trust you. I love you. How can I not? For the past thirteen years, you've done nothing but love me and protect me. I know something had to happen to make you do what you did, something that I'm not supposed to know yet but which means everything to who I am today. Why am I who I am . . ."

He squeezed her to him. "You dreamed, didn't you?"

She nodded. "Yes, I did."

"Does it have something to do with me?"

She shrugged. "It could. But it has more to do with Draco and Ginny."

His heart sped in his chest. "No, Nia . . ."

She looked sad but not dejected--a good sign if he ever saw one. "In order to save her from a fate like my mother's, one of you will have to be revealed."

He froze. For one, the jig was up . . .

"Have you talked with the headmaster?"

She shook her head. "But I have spoken with Draco. He said he wanted to be revealed."

Snape shook his head. "That's a fool's errand, if I ever heard one. It's better if I'm the one who gives myself up."

Her arms tightened around his neck, and she burrowed her face to his shoulder. "I was afraid you'd say that."

"I've wanted out for a long time, love. Perhaps now I can finally achieve that goal."

"Not if it ends with you dying! Don't you know I need you here?"

Snape's mind drifted to Malika telling him what his role would be in Nia's life, and he swallowed past a lump in his throat.

"I'll always love you, Little One. I'll always protect you."

She scrambled off his lap and began stomping wildly. "Dammit! Mama said the same thing almost five years ago, and where is she? She's not here! And here you are, trying to do the same thing? You're gonna get yourself killed! And then where will I be?"

"You'll have Draco . . ."

"Draco . . . is not . . . my father! I need you! You've always been there for me--before I even knew who Caleb was, it was always you! Now you think to pawn me off like some stereo?" She stood her ground and crossed her arms in front her. "I won't let you."

Snape didn't know whether to laugh or cry at her outburst, so he raised an eyebrow. "And just how do you plan to do that, Little One?"

She faltered a bit but didn't sway. "I don't know right yet, but when I do you'll be the first to know."

He chuckled. "Excellent."

She sucked her teeth. "Don't mock me!"

"Never, Little One."

She sighed and began to pace. "Maybe this won't happen for a ways off yet. It could give us time to think of something . . . anything . . ."

As she muttered, the door to his chambers hissed open.

"Professor?"

Draco was somber, his hands holding a piece of parchment.

He dreaded what the contents of it held.

Severus heard Nia's breathing grow heavy, but he did not take his eyes away from the younger man.

"Mr. Malfoy."

Draco glanced at the parchment, what little color he had leaving him as he did.

"I've got a summons from my father."

Severus closed his eyes and allowed the full impact of the words hit him.

"When does he want an audience with you?"

"Easter Sunday."

Dread made itself comfortable in the pit of his stomach. Easter Sunday was a week away.

It would have been his and Malika's fourteenth wedding anniversary this year.

"Do you know what he wants?"

Draco shook his head. "All the parchment says is, 'It's time.'"

Severus looked from Draco to Nia. Her eyes widened and filled with tears, but she nodded in resignation.

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy," he said with determination. "It is most definitely time."