The atmosphere of the castle was tense over the next few days. The Death Eaters that had crashed Sirius’ Reinstatement Ceremony had all gotten away, save one. Dolohov was awaiting trail, and according to The Prophet, as ungracefully as possible. He had attempted to escape some seventeen times, leaving the head of Magical Law Enforcement to order him Stunned until his trial. Sirius returned to the castle ridiculously pleased, on day, after having had the chance to Stun the man himself. 
But things weren’t nearly as free and bubbly in the Black quarters. Immediately after walking through the wide portrait of a baby dragon sitting among the remains of his egg in the nest of a pair of griffins, Draco had locked himself in his room. Sirius, had, in a moment of clarity, left the teen alone, only sending a house elf in to him every so often, to make sure he was eating.
For three days Draco’s self-imposed imprisonment lasted, and on the fourth day, a bright, sunny Wednesday, he emerged from his room. Sirius was unaware of the change, however, since he was sleeping on the couch, a long, long length of parchment rolling off his knees and onto the floor. 
Draco stood, vision blurring and stomach a mass of knots, in the doorway to the living room, unsure whether or not he should wake the man or not. Yes, he was terrified, his head and chest felt funny and he was sure that despite what his stomach was telling him there really wasn’t anything left in it for him to throw up, but the man was asleep. Lessons learned long ago dictated that he crawl back into the space he’d occupied for the last few days and leave his new guardian to it. 
As his luck would have it, the decision was taken out of his hands. The Floo flared green, and before Draco could jump at the sudden development, Severus’ voice came crashing through, demanding Sirius to get up and over to his quarters immediately as he was not about to endure dinner with the entire contingent of Weasley’s by himself. 
The sudden influx of noise assailed his already frazzled nerves, and Draco found himself on the floor, stomach heaving but bringing up nothing. There was murmuring going on somewhere around him, but he could not for the life of him understand what it meant as he was a bit preoccupied. But then there was a strong, warm arm across his chest, and then a spell that calmed his stomach but not the pounding in his head and then he was being lifted up, up, up, so high it made him dizzy and then he was moving, the sensation making him groan and press his face to the warm firmness closest to it. 
Draco had spent the last three days worrying himself sick, as his current condition indicated. A series of panic attacks had taken up most of his days, while his nights were plagued by nightmares, vivid, detailed nightmares that sometimes did not let him up. Other times he’d find himself falling to the floor, just in time for his stomach to rebel, sicking up a mess he would be too weak to move away from. It was a testament to his state of mind that Draco never balked at having to deal with his own vomit, something the pureblood had never had to do in his entire life. 
Very briefly he had entertained the notion, on that first night, that Sirius didn’t care what was wrong with him, only to have Effie, the houseelf assigned to their rooms, pop in wringing her little hands, saying that the elder Black refused to go to bed without making sure Draco was alright.  Whatever his answer to her had been was less than satisfactory, it seemed, because seconds after the little elf left Sirius was outside his door, wanting to hear for himself how he was. 
He’d somehow managed to convince the Lord Black that he was fine, and the next few days  passed in a whirl of blurred vision and frantically suppressed panic. Now, with his head pressed against what he was sure was Sirius’ chest as he half lay half sat in the man’s lap, Draco couldn’t for the life of him understand why he had let it get this far, why he hadn’t just gone to Sirius that first night and just be done with it. 
But Sirius was humming something only vaguely tuneless and there was a sweet, delicious-feel heat coming from his hands where they were pressed against his side and his chest, and Draco felt himself melting. The heavy fog in his head receded, taking the high pitched, evil voice chanting ‘traitortraitorgoingtodiebetrayedyourfatherbloodscumtraitortraitor’ with it, and for a moment Draco just basked in the silence, the breathtakingly beautiful symphony of being alone with his thoughts, and having no thoughts at all. That lasted for all of ten seconds, at which time his ears fully registered the nonsense falling out of Sirius’ mouth, and the horrible sounds accompanying it. 
“Moo-o-o-ba, nyunjy-pu-u-mba. Sigo-wigo-wigo-ligo iggy-biggy yuck - “
“What on earth is that?” Sirius’ eyes popped open, falling to the bewildered face of his rather unpredictable ward. He grinned, and Draco found he wasn’t reassured at all. “Don’t tell me that was some kind of language!”
The man had the nerve to bark out a laugh, throwing his head back even as the arm around him tightened, drawing him closer. Draco found he didn’t mind, even if that man was probably out of his mind. That song was utter nonsense. 
“’S’song James made up one night.” Draco looked askance at his guardian, idly wondering if all adults were clinically insane. “When he was teething, Harry’d kep he and Lily up for days, just crying his eyes out. No amount of cooling charms or those special baby potions made the slightest difference. James was at the end of his rope one night, pacing back and forth across the living room with Harry screaming into his ear, and he just started singing. After about a minute Harry shut up, giving James the same look you just gave me.“ The man laughed. “James stopped, thinking he’d somehow made it better, then Harry burst into tears again. Lily almost hexed him.”
“Clearly Potter has always been strange,” Draco said with a dismissive sniff. 
Sirius chuckled. “I’d agree with you, but Lily might raise herself from the dead long enough to hex me. In the end, James ended up singing for a good hour before Lily came up with a solution.”
“Which was?” Draco asked impatiently when it seemed Black was off somewhere getting lost in his memories. 
Sirius shot the boy a look and smiled. “A muggle teething ring. Round, soft and made of plastic with some kind of liquid inside that freezes so the kid can attack it with their drooly gums. The silence after Lily gave it to him was beautiful.”
Draco smirked, suddenly realizing what he had been given. He gave Sirius an innocently curious look, ignoring the way the man positively shook with amusement.  “Do you have any other stories about Harry? I doubt he remembers these events, you see, and maybe we could put them together, like in book form? For the sake of good memories, a heritage, you understand.”
Sirius gave him a knowing look. “And your interest has absolutely nothing to do with potential blackmail material?”
Draco tried to look offended. “Why, Sirius! What kind of young man do you take me for?” He was severely put out when the man only laughed at him. 
“Do you feel better now?”
Draco shifted, deciding that he was very comfortable where he was, with the fire blazing behind him and the muffled ‘thump-thump’ of Sirius’ heart close to his ear. His feet were sort of cold, but it was a discomfort that got lost in the other small wonderous feelings the present situation gave him. Thinking the answer to Sirius’ question rather obvious, Draco forged ahead with the apology he suddenly remembered he’d come to make. 
“’M sorry, Sirius.”
The look the man gave him was nothing but fond, which, paired with the soft pat to his chest made Draco feel rather rotten about hiding in his room all this time. 
“I am not going to pretend that I understand what you are apologizing for, though I do believe I could guess with a little effort. But I will say there is nothing you need to apologize for, Draco. Nothing at all.”
He opened his mouth to say something, probably to explain just what had been racing through his mind and his reasoning for staying away, but nothing came out, his throat was suddenly dry and tight and his ears were burning and why the bloody hell was he crying, for Merlin’s sake? And then those arms pulled him flush against the man’s chest and Draco had one flitting thought that this was why he left the name Malfoy behind, before he was sobbing and holding on to his father, a true father, like nothing else in the world mattered. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Dinner with the Weasleys’ was a noisy, noisy affair. Severus stood near the fireplace in his living room, watching the red-haired devils wreak havoc on his home as he seethed. Sirius had brushed him off rather abruptly, shooting glances over his shoulder in the ten second conversation, and though Severus knew, intellectually, that the man’s attitude had something to do with Draco, he could not help but feel a bit peeved at the man, and the people currently giving him a headache.  
When he had invited them, Severus had, for one misbegotten moment, thought that they, as a whole, would behave themselves. He had been sadly mistaken. That Ginevra girl (her permanent title in his head) and her brother Ronald Billius were fighting for their mother’s attention while the woman screamed at the top of her lungs at those identical nuisances. Gred and Forge, as he liked to call them, had somehow managed to spill some sort of noxious liquid onto their robes, and didn’t look repentant in the least. William Arthur, the eldest, quietly tried to calm his mother down while Charles Mollifred tried to get the youngest two to shut up. Percival Augustus stood off to the side, yelling at them all for being deplorable houseguests and Arthur sat calmly in an armchair, eyes twinkling as he took in the scene. 
Severus stared at the man blankly for a minute, before he had a bit of an epiphany. He had always thought of Arthur as a rather weak-willed individual who let his wife and family run wild. That the man enjoyed the insane level of chaos had never before occurred to him. 
Still, they were guests, and this was an unseeming way to behave. He stalked forward and grabbed the youngest male by the arm. 
“Quiet your family,” he hissed, piercing the teen with intense eyes, “or there will be no dinner.”
Ron stared up at him in abject horror for a full minute, before he turned to his family. “Oi! Professor Snape says to shut up or he’s kicking you lot out!”
They all froze. Severus dearly wanted to close his eyes and bask in the utter silence, but did not get the chance. 
“What do you mean ‘you lot’, eh?” Fred asked, giving his younger brother a look full of suspicion. “What about you?”
“Nope, I’m speci - “
“If he’s not going then neither - “
“Hush, Ginny - “
“That’s just not fa - “
“Mum, get out of my poc - “
“You are all horrible, horrible representatives of - “
Severus sighed, and pinched the bridge of his nose. So much for that plan. He sank into his place at the elongated table and stared at his guests in resignation. 
“Winky.”
The little elf popped into being beside his chair, arms crossed and a scowl firmly planted on her round face as she too stared at their guests. 
“Master Professor Potions Master called Winky?”
Severus sighed again. “Bring out the food, please.”
With a snap of her fingers, the table was laden with enough food to feed a small army. At first, Severus was appalled at the amount of what he perceived to be wastage, before Three stepped into his thought processes. 
‘Oh honestly, Severus. One would think you haven’t the slightest idea about magical metabolism. The energy used to cast a spell is four times that used to take a breath. Consider that there are five magical teenagers here, four of which are enrolled at a school where they expend magical energy daily, and the other who is recovering from magical trauma, recovery which requires a great deal of energy. Then consider you have four adults who use a great deal of magic in their everyday lives, and the amount of food here hardly seems enough.’
‘And Percival? What of him?’
Three gave a mental huff. ‘I don’t know what he does as Junior Assistant to the Minister, but if he doesn’t need to restock his magical reserves, the others will more than make up for him.’
Meanwhile, the sudden appearance of food had calmed down the masses, so to speak. Ron quickly found himself a seat, and gifted Severus with an expression so angelic Severus wondered to himself if the boy was part cherub. As it was, he gave the boy a pointed glare, before turning back to his house-elf. 
“That will be all for now, Winky. Thank you.”
“Master Potions Master Professor is all welcome.” Winky popped out then, leaving behind a small vial of potion by his place setting. 
He was going to give that elf a raise. 
He picked up the thing carefully, studying the cool glass as the flickering flames from around the room reflected off its glass. A headache draught, for his head, that he had not asked for. Winky was surely competent. Even moreso, it seemed, since this particular draft was an experimental recipe, from the secret  vault beneath the floor of his heavily warded personal potions lab. It was not commonly known that he had developed an immunity to regular and extra-strength headache potions, and Severus highly doubted that Winky could wheedle that information from the mediwitch. 
Mediwitch. 
Ah, yes. 
He set the vial down nearer the center of the table, and refocused his attention to his guests. They had, miraculously, found it within themselves to be quiet, though Molly continued to send the twins a truly ferocious glare. And, even more startling, no one had served themselves. Not that he would have minded, much, if they had while he was off with his thoughts, but that they hadn’t…Maybe the Weasley’s were not as bad as he thought. 
Maybe.
However, he doubted it. 
Ignoring the contest of glares going on between mother and children, Severus moved to serve himself, noticing that Ronald followed quickly after. The boy amused him, for some odd reason. However unlikely, given the boy’s age, Severus did not think he would be too upset if - 
But no, that was a thought not worth thinking.
“I believe you are all wondering why I asked you to come here tonight.” He sent Ronald a glare, causing the boy to pause mid-gnaw. In the less than two minutes since the meal officially begun the boy had managed to somehow clear half his plate. Severus treated the boy’s improperly gripped fork wihth the utmost amount of venom, before forcefully turning himself away lest he say something to permanently injure the boy.
“As I was saying, I do not find your company agreeable in even the vaguest sense, and your presence her tonight actually does have a purpose.” He took a small sip of his drink, feeling his bad mood ebb. Winky truly was a remarkable elf. How the devil did she get into his wine store? Did she not know the meaning of  the wards he’d spent precious minutes erecting them?
It took Percy’s gentle clearing of the throat to pull him from his surprisingly pnly slightly annoyed thoughts. “Ah, yes.  As you know, I spent a certain amount of time with your truly delightful matriarch. I am ever so pleased to inform you that the woman is an absolute dear, and I only barely refrained from holding her in a tender grip that would surely have wrenched the breath from her disgusting lungs. As it was, I abstained.” He looked up to see the entire family gazing at him in open-mouthed shock. “Do eat your dinner,” he said mildly. 
Ronald, unsurprisingly, was the first to heed his instructions. He watched the boy devour a cauldron sized mound of mashed potatoes before ruthlessly gripping his wrist, exerting enough pressure that the teen’s fork dropped from his limp hand. Almost-familiar dark blue eyes looked up at him with a mixture of fear and confusion, and Severus scowled. “You will watch.”
What followed was a re-enactment of a similar scene played out only days before, Snape carefully and properly handling his utensils and the Ronald child doing his best to mimick him. Inwardly, Severus was impressed, though he refused to let his severe expression waver. The boy would surely have had a convulsive fit had this been last year. He wondered what had changed.
When he was satisfied he would no longer be tempted to disconnect the boy’s head from his neck with his steak knife, Severus continued, amazed beyond all previous levels that the Weasley’s were all still silent. “Before I left your darling Aunt’s presence, Arthur, I managed to secure a contract.” The silence suddenly became rife with tension. Severus smirked, giving a flick of his wrist, magicking the contract into being a foot above the center of the table. “Would you like to see it, Patriarch of the house of Weasley?”
Arthur, much to Severus’ pleasure, had turned a rather alarming shade of pale, gazing at the steadily approaching with an expression of alarm that would not have been out of place on an imminent vampire victim. As it were, he grasped the rolled parchment firmly, and taking a minute to gather his wits, Severus assumed, flicked it open with a floppy flourish. 
The next thing Severus knew, was that Arthur was trying to rip off his arm and was babbling something he hadn‘t the slightest chance of deciphering, Molly had the contract and was making noises that made the human side of him very concerned, Bill, Charlie and Percy were reading over their mother’s shaking shoulders and the remaining four children were dancing like savages throughout his living room.  
“Alright, alright!” When his severe tone (which sounded remarkably like Madame Pomphrey’s coddling) didn’t work, Severus snapped. “Arthur, I need this arm. Ginevra’s potion regime is not complete.” The attempted arm-removal stopped immediately, and Severus had a split second to celebrate before he was hoisted out of his chair, and caught in a crushing grip from the normally mild man. 
The alarming sound of blubbering came from the general direction of his chest, and Severus began to reconsider the wisdom of his rash decision of revenge. “Arthur! Get a hold of yourself, man!” The father of seven released him, holding onto his arms and babbling something Severus didn’t have the chance to hear or understand over the ruckus going on behind him, and that was before an openly sobbing Molly Weasley attacked him from behind. Once again Severus was wrapped in a crushing grip, and he had no chance of getting out of this one. Soon the woman started patting his chest and rocking of all things, taking his reluctant form through the motions and calling him “Dear Severus, dear, dear Severus”. Said Severus bristled, trying to throw a glare over his shoulder. How dare she. He had not given them, any of them, permission to use his given name. The gall!
But then there was a friendly clap on one shoulder, and he looked up to see Bill beaming down at him, tears in his clear blue eyes, and there was another jostle, and there was Charlie on his other side, grinning like a loon and Severus could not understand just why everyone was so happy. Really, it was only money.
“I fail to understand why the sum of money has made you all so teary eyed. Molly, for the love of all things magical would you please release me.” His pleas were ignored, and Arthur took a minute to explain. 
“It’s not just money, Severus. Muriel has been holding back the entire Weasley inheritance, magic included.” 
In the sudden quiet, Severus was shocked. “Family magic? You let her withhold your magic?” 
“What was I to do, Severus. She was the head of the family.”
“The Pureblood Council, the Wizenmagot - ” 
“Both overrun with witches and wizards raised to believe and uphold the strictest of pureblood ideals. They wanted nothing to do with what they was as an inter-family act of discipline, Severus.” Severus angrily shoved out of Molly’s grip, pacing the small area of room the red haired family had cornered him in. “Then you sneak into her house in the middle of the night and slit her flabby throat -”
“The house is warded against us, by Floo and apparition.” Bill stood next to a somber looking Ginny, and Severus vividly remembered the burns he’d healed from her hands. “We always had to use the front gates, and then she warded those, too.” Severus didn’t question why Bill was the Weasley that answered him, nor the eerily familiar look in those eyes. Out of all the irritatingly pleasant people around him, Bill was the one he knew would have done it had he the chance. And as that familiar light in his eyes brightened, Severus wondered if Bill was considering the very true probability that Severus had torn down the Floo wards. 
And Bill was a curse breaker. Severus turned this nugget of information over and over in his head, holding it up against the half-formed plan he had for his son. There was potential there, yes. Yes, most definitely. 
And then another, completely frightening thought came to him out of the ether. 
“None of you have reached your true magical majority.” The slightly stunned sentence elicited dangerous smiles from the two eldest and the twins. Severus suddenly felt faint, and looked around for a chair to settle his suddenly slightly trembling for into. There was one there, and he was being lowered into it, but his mind was barely aware of it, traveling at a mile a second over the new slant of perspective this information gave him. 
Bill had been doing advanced charms and transfiguration work since his second year. Severus himself had been forced to listen to the various teachers gush about the first Weasley spawn in his early years of teaching. And the second Weasley child was no better. His first week at Hogwarts Professor Sprout had found him wrestling a Man-Eating Manticore Rose in the restricted greenhouse. How the child had gotten inside had been a mystery until Charlie had casually stated, from his restrained position on a hospital bed (foolish child had tried to reason with Madame Pomphrey) that he’d been breaking into places he shouldn’t since he was barely six years old.  Their extracurricular activities had only escalated from there, to the point where the castle herself gave a giant sigh of relief when they both left. But then there had been the twins, which wasn’t better in the least. 
Both had breezed through their chosen career training and was making quite a bit of money, to Severus’ method of thinking. But then, where was that money? Ah yes. With five siblings left to go through school and their father working in the lowest paid department in the Ministry, there was little wonder why they both weren’t rich beyond measure. 
Severus swore, causing a smattering of giggles and a reproving “Severus!” from Molly. He ignored them all, intent on the possible ramifications of his actions. “I do not know how this will manifest itself. Normally reaching magical majority feels like nothing more than a slight lifting feeling for parents, and a rather intense rushing sensation, for most.” Fred and George burst into hastily stifled giggles. “Do control yourselves,” he snapped. “William, Charles, with your already above average magical ability, perhaps you should take time from work till the end of the month.” As a seeming afterthought he added, “And when this has all blown over I have a proposition for you both.”
The four Eldest Weasleys all gave him questioning looks, but before he could elaborate, or rather not, someone else answered. “He wants you both to help train Harry.”
Nine heads all swung to face one Ronald Weasly, who had returned to the dinner table and was working on an entire half quail by himself. Feeling all their gazes on him, Ron looked up, perplexed. “What? It’s what I’d do.”
“Indeed, Mr. Weasley.” Severus moved to take his seat at the table, missing the fearful-hopeful looks passed between mother and father as he tried to get his stubborn brain to stop thinking that ‘maybe the boy wasn’t a Weasley after all’.
And while the Weasley family ate dinner with their officially minted “Uncle Severus” down below the castle’s floor, Harry Potter was getting himself into a mound of trouble up above.