It took only a few months for the reformed Black household to establish a new routine, it seemed to Severus. Kreacher was looking healthy and animated, cooking and cleaning and sometimes even humming to himself, a skip in his completely silent steps.

He didn't apparate or disapparate like other elves though.

He walked to and from each and every room, cleaning supplies floating behind him as he opens doors manually and always made sure to announce his presence whenever he entered a room with soft whispered words of reassurance.

Severus had cornered the elf as soon as he had noticed - the kitchen, of course it was the kitchen, there always seemed to be sweets and tarts and jams available whenever he visited, carefully cut in small, bite sized pieces - demanding to know if Kreacher was ill at his old age and if he was dangerous to his best friend and godson.

Kreacher had quacked in outrage - having Regulus back was making wonders for the old elf's health - but did not raise his voice as he explained, quite in detail, Master Regulus and himself had noticed that sudden, loud noises frightened little Master Draconis, that once Kreacher had popped into the library, unaware that the Young Master had been there colouring while Master Regulus worked on some papers and the Young Master had scrambled to hide under the desk, eyes wide, knees shaking, tears streaming down his chubby cheeks.

"He was breathing so fast," Kreacher explained sadly, tugging lightly on his left ear to contain his distress. "So fast and so ragged he made himself lose consciousness, Professor Snape sir, Kreacher has never seen a little boy so hurt."

Severus had gone to his best friend and had found the man furiously writing document after document - property reports, insurances, debts to collect and causes to donate to, scatting replies to marriage offers and snipping comments that the newspapers requested on certain topics regarding new laws Severus would later find out - all piling taller and taller besides a framed ministry letter engraved in gold and silver.

'Dear Lord Regulus Black - House of Black,

It is our honor to inform you of the final results of the investigation regarding any misconduct of the Department of Children and Family during the two month stay of your ward and son Heir Apparent Draconis Lucien Malfoy in our facilities.

After a long investigation the DMLE has decided that no misconduct or wrongdoing was committed while Young Heir Malfoy was in our care and that he received the same privileges and loving care as all of our children.

We hope this missive brings you relief and that Young Heir Malfoy is adjusting well to his new home.

Sincerely,

Callixta Romwood.
Head of Department.
Ministry for Magic.
London.'

Ah, that made a lot of sense.

Regulus was pissed.

"Are you here to stop me?" Regulus asked after the silence between them became prolonged.

Severus blinked.

"Excuse me?" he asked.

"I said: are you here to stop me?" Regulus hissed like a snake, eyes glued to his work, hands never stopping their furious writing. "Did the esteemed Headmaster ask you to come stop the wayward Slytherin set on revenge you are acquainted to?"

At Severus' incredulous look, Regulus simply pushed forward another piece of parchment, this one neatly displaying Dumbledore's handwriting, inviting Regulus for tea and maybe a chance to discuss his ' understandable and yet too impulsive actions against the Ministry and maybe work together to find a satisfactory resolution to both their concerns '.

What?

Regulus stared at him for a moment, eyes wide.

"He honestly didn't send you?"

Severus' sighed.

"He did send some letters but I've been on my lab most of the week," he admitted, shrugging his shoulders. "I tend to lose track of time."

Regulus lips curled, making him look boyish and mischievous.

"Have a seat then," he said, waving a hand.

"How gracious," Severus sighed, resting on a comfortable sofa Regulus had apparently installed in his office.

"What has been keeping you so busy that not even Dumbledore's letter have distracted you?" The younger man asked, twirling his quill against his letter.

Severus' shrugged lightly.

"I'm developing a child compatible version of dreamless sleep, if you must know," he admitted, ignoring how Regulus' eyes softened and his smile lost some of its malice. "If all goes according to plan I should be delivering a bottle next week."

"You are taking your godfather role quite seriously," Regulus remarked fondly.

"... I am not comfortable around children, but that does not mean I hate them. Regardless what rumours about me say."

"Public opinion has been quite hard on you, huh?" Regulus sighed.

"Everyone with a part to play on the last war has been subjected to the same," his friend confirmed, his sarcasm thick in his cold voice.

The other man nodded.

"That has to stop," he said, steel heavy in his voice. "We are going to split even further apart if the world does not start mending this wound the Dark Lord created. Wizarding Society must Ally once more."

"How idealistic," Severus mock sneered.

"Or maybe being around so many Gryffindors has thinned out your Slytherin cunning," Regulus smiled back.

Severus' sighed, confused, until there was a soft knock on the door, so silent and so incredibly faint Severus was sure he had not heard anything at first.

And then Kreacher was entering the room holding Draconis' small hand in his own, both walking on silent footsteps on the fluffy carpet Regulus had insisted this room required, neither was wearing shoes and Severus could see how the soft bristles of the carpet seemed to envelop Draconis' sock clad feet gently.

"Are you gone in the garden, Draconis?" Regulus asked gently, voice soft, smile small. The care with which he treated the little boy was unmistakable.

The blond little boy nodded, hands cradling little flowers and leaves carefully.

Kreacher cleared his throat, eyes set towards Severus.

"Young Master Draconis has been spending sometime in the gardens, Professor Snape Sir," he explained simply. "He has been helping Kreacher with the clean up, he has, and has many questions Kreacher cannot respond to."

Severus blinked.

Ok…?

The man watched as Regulus calmly sat the child on his desk, not minding how most of his paperwork would crinkle and stain, slowly, but surely naming most of the flowers in the boy's hands, comparing their colors for the child to see and spinning tales of the fairies and other sprite that had brought them to his garden.

Draconis listened to it all with rapture, eyes wide, cupid bow of a mouth parted, pink dusting his cheeks. From time to time, Regulus would take a flower from the bunch, and Draconis's lips would move silently and the other man would simply smile and launch into another fantastical tale of faes and magic and goddesses riding on moonbeams.

Idly, Severus wondered where Regulus had learnt how to deal with little children, because the months spent with Draconis had helped and so had the bond the late Narcissa had weaved between them, making them, for all intents and purposes, father and child, but that confidence with which he talked the moment he had locked eyes with the child was born out of practice of a robust model of compassion, playfulness and adjustability he had not thought his best friend capable before now.

Had the late Lord and Lady Black being this ways behind closed doors?

Was this the way the purebloods interacted under their ice-cold masks?

Draconis grasped a flower then, staring at it with great intensity, before pointing to one of the same shape on the newly-installed wallpaper that now adorned the room they were in, lips moving, and Regulus nodded, praising the boy for noticing the similarities.

Severus felt himself shake his head, the new splash of colors and life from the walls reminding him of the other change in the household that had sent half of the pureblood community into a frenzy when the newly appointed Lord Black had announced for all to hear that he was going looking for curse breakers and experts to remove some portraits from his ancient home and needed the best and most accomplished.

He hadn't being sure himself, not growing in a magical household like his best friend, but Minerva and the other Professors had told him that taking a portrait from a household usually meant that the Lord or Lady of the house was removing the influence of an ancestor from their line, erasing their legacy.

It was one of the great taboos of their community, they told him, to negate the history the portraits contained, to banish them from the tradition of the family.

"They were too loud," Regulus had replied simply, the moment the portrait of his own mother was torn from the walls, her shrieks of outrage silenced with a powerful bind. His eyes were devoid of sympathy for the old woman as she was banished to the attic until she learnt manners and accepted the new rules that would govern her - no, not hers, Regulus was the Lord now, this house would never be hers again - household.

Regulus had then sent a silent, warning look to the portrait of the late Lord Black, nodding with satisfaction as the older man simply nodded at him in deference, completely silent, eyes downcast.

He had been allowed to stay that day, but his position in the walls was not a sure deal, Severus guessed.

It was, therefore, quite clear for Severus to see, that whatever inspired Regulus in his parenting of Draconis had very little, if anything, to do with the way Lord and Lady Black had raised him as a child.

The way he carefully held the boy against him, always mindful of small limbs and even smaller fingers clinging to his clothing, how Severus would sometimes find his best friend sprawled over the carpet, eyes closed, enjoying a patch of sunlight that streamed from the open window, his child gently cradled against his chest as the two of them napped, fingers entwined against eachother, spoke of a childhood of stolen moments that seemed so infinitely precious to the man in a house that, until today, was more a mausoleum to the dead, than a sanctuary to the living.

Severus felt a headache begin as he realized there was only one person in young Regulus Black's life that could have taught him how to be gentle, how to be cherished, how to find the comfort and warmth that Lord and Lady Black did not provide.

No wonder.

Severus would not admit he had startled when Draconis small hands had grasped his own, so lost he was in his thoughts, those mercury like eyes focused on him with trepidation, cold hands curling around his fingers in askance.

"Yes?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

The boy lowered his face, lower lip trembling, fingers curling and uncurling against Severus' own.

Severus looked at Regulus, who was watching them with a fond smile on his pale face, a hand supporting his chin.

That cocky little shit.

"Godfather…" Draconis whispered suddenly, and Severus realized, much to his shock, that this was the first time he had even heard the boy's voice. "Can Godfather… teach… Draco?"

Draconis turned then towards his now-father, eyes wide, uncertain.

Regulus simply extended both hands, head tilting to the side childishly.

The child gasped silently, once more turning towards Severus.

"...please?" he said, hesitantly.

Regulus nodded in approval.

"You want me to teach you…" Severus said, uncomfortable under the scrutiny of identical pairs of silver eyes. "About your flowers?"

The blond boy nodded slowly.

"Godfather is… a genius," he said, cheeks flushing. "Daddy said so."

How was he supposed to say no to that earnest little face and bright grey eyes? Had his best friend really invited him to the house today for a playdate with his ward? The other man was not talking, not even breathing with his expectation and Severus had a crystalizing moment of realization that this whole afternoon had been nothing but a set-up.

Merlin's fucking beard, Severus cursed internally, Regulus Black was weaponizing the incredibly silent, yet absolute cuteness of his child.

The bastard.

Severus had survived a civil war, yes, and had come out the other end with a stable living and a respectable place in society, not because he was stronger than many, but because he knew how to pick his battles, so it was no surprise when he carefully picked the boy in his arms, cradling his still too skinny frame against his side and walked out of the study, towards the gardens.

Regulus's smug satisfaction at his back easily ignored for his own wounded pride.