It was the Saturday two weeks before September 1st that Harry finally had his plan together. The night before he'd casually caught his aunt alone and said he'd be gone all of the next day—she thankfully remembered their deal and gave him a sharp look but said absolutely nothing to him as she hurried to the next room to escape him. Figuring that was practically a 'have fun' in her terms, he'd set about drafting his list of items after his evening chores and preparing for the trip.
Draco and he had found a rhythm of letter writing, Harry mentioned he only had time at night and very early in the morning, so he'd usually get back to the shed to see a Hedwig drinking from her water bowl in the corner with a letter around her leg. He'd read it and respond before continuing to read from his textbooks and take detailed notes— at Draco's instruction since apparently the spoiled jerk had had private tutors since birth and was now more than willing to boss him around in good-studying practices. Sometime in the night Draco must get his letter and draft his own response since apparently the boy didn't need to sleep and was fine sleeping in until any hour during the summer (a foreign concept to Harry but he'd already known Draco's parents spoiled him rotten so it wasn't a shock) so Harry usually had another letter waiting for him when he woke. He'd started waking up even earlier these days to be able to respond to Draco, and also get in the house to freshen up for the day before having to cook breakfast and start his chores.
Two letters a day and Harry decided it was entirely worth taking the risk on Draco—he seemed entirely unwilling to talk about his family's history or his parents in general, and Harry was content to avoid those topics too. Instead they kept to light topics, Draco explaining about the wizarding world and Harry explaining about the muggle one, talking school and hobbies (of which Harry had almost none and Draco's was simply 'quidditch) and a plethora of other small-talk-like topics. In letter form he noticed it was a lot easier to plan what you wanted to say and carefully direct where a conversation was going; it was easier to avoid certain things but also allowed a level of freedom with what you said that sometimes people were not brave enough to say to someone to their face, somehow writing it in a letter being easier, safer.
For example, Draco's and subsequently Harry's own letters were getting longer and longer as they found more and more to say to each other, but about three days ago Draco had sent one that was easily five pages, front and back. It was a novella even by their standards and Harry quickly realized he was using most of the parchment real estate to build up to say something.
…father once said there was nothing more interesting than a niffler who couldn't niff, if that makes sense. Anyway, the point I'm trying to get across is that it's not weird at all, and I think you're fine the way you were regardless of what anyone says. I don't understand who in their right mind would say such mindless things, especially about your hair. Honestly your are hair is beautiful and it was what caught my eye that day in Diagon Alley, even when everything these is a catastrophe of color, you stood out about them. In a good way! Well that's a little weird of me to say but you should know I meant it, and if anyone would like to comment on it again I've included a list of a few new spells that Mother taught me that would be really useful for you I think if you…
Harry had re-read that page of the letter about twelve times to the point where he had Draco's elegant, yet ambling way of writing memorized. He almost didn't remember what he'd said in his last letter to prompt such a response but vaguely recalled talking about how he always wore a beanie aside from that one day in the Alley because he'd been told his hair was too bright. Not that anyone had seen his hair outside of the Alley at this point in order to tell him it was too bright, but he hadn't wanted to get into detail about why he'd hidden his hair for years now over letter.
He'd saved every letter Draco had sent him so far, but that one had left him feeling light and… happy in a way he could never remember being. He had told himself he didn't need others' validation to be happy to be himself, but that was before when he'd had none and was just making it by on the strength of his own self-worth. Now that someone had actually complimented him… him, not his mother's hair, but his hair…
He had been positively cheerful to walk into the house for chores that day, and it was a real struggle not to grin like a maniac while doing so less the Dursleys throw a fit about him being 'weird'.
His baby cactus-like friend had complimented him, and he's taken five pages to say it because clearly Draco wasn't brave enough to come right out and say it, much less ever say it to his face. Which meant he truly meant it because he's mustered up enough courage to say it at all.
Over the last month he'd only grown more excited that this new world he was entering would be different than the one he was leaving behind. That he could be free to be himself and that maybe no one would care or call him a freak if he were just a bit off--after walking down Diagon Alley and seeing all those strange people and items, he thought just being himself would actually be tame comparatively. But anticipating and actually having proof that someone liked him for who he was… that they'd be going off into this magical world together in two short weeks…
It was very hard to sit down and think logically through what he needed to do with his one free day, because he was so excited he also felt like jumping up and down and running around his tiny shed/room to burn off the energy he hadn't spent doing chores that day.
List made, he attempted to sleep and found that it was pretty much a waste of time—he was far too excited, and tomorrow promised to be yet another great one.
000
That same night, at an undisclosed location much father north in a vast and sprawling Manor with a heard of peacocks chirping to one another as the moon rose higher in the sky, dinner was wrapping up.
A white owl was delivering that night's letter to a third story window the same moment Lucius and his old friend were retiring to the parlor for a drink after a simply divine dinner fit for a guest that the hosts wanted something from. Severus wasn't a fool and he was only ever invited over when something was afoot—most of the times it was because Draco had demanded it, wanting to see his godfather more often because of their not-so-secret potions lessons. Draco had a lot to learn if he thought he was successful in hiding those lessons from his parents, but Lucius and Narcissa were content to let him believe he'd gotten away with it for now. It'd be a valuable lesson later, he was sure they were planning something.
Tonight was not about Draco then, as his godson had bid him a good night and retreated instead of inviting him to the library or some other excuse to get away from his parents and talk potions. Lucius invited him for a night cap and as his glass was filled with 500 year scotch, Severus knew this was going to be a pivotal conversation—his old friend didn't break out the good stuff for less than world dignitaries he was trying to win over, and Severus knew he himself did not make the cut. Which meant whatever he wanted from him, it was going to be bad.
They sat it relative silence for a time, Lucius asking after the latest potion he was developing, and while Severus would love to speak in depth about it he also knew not to spill proprietary potion research to someone who would sell it to the highest bidder without a second thought if presented the chance. Lucius was his friend, but Severus wasn't stupid either.
Eventually, he had enough of the beating around the bush.
"What is it you've really called me for, Lucius?"
The blond man sighed as if put out that their delicate conversation was broken but such a blunt question. Still, he relented. "You will not find it a pleasant topic Severus, but bear with me." Severus just gave him a curious look; Lucius was one of the few people who understood his position as a spy—for neither the dark lord nor Dumbledore, but purely for whatever side ensured survival since Lily had died. He'd been devoted to Dumbledore for all of three weeks when Voldemort had been going after the Potters and Dumbledore promised to protect them (to protect Lily) but when Albus had failed and the dark lord killed her… he'd abandoned both of them in his heart of hearts.
Severus had very little left to be truly loyal to. The most he enjoyed another person was Draco, who was oblivious to his dark past and continued internal struggles and looked up to his godfather for his potion making skills alone. Potions had always been his fail safe—he'd been the youngest potions master in history and his genius at this art was one of the only things he had left, so the fact his godson looked at him and didn't see a weak death eater, a Dumbledore pawn, a terrible teacher… but simply a good potions master… that was enough.
But first and foremost Snape was a spy, between two of the most powerful chess masters and Legilimens in the world. He had had his fair share of unpleasant topics discussed at length and so for Lucius to say that was either an insult to his credit as a spy, or he truly meant it. Which meant…
"Harry Potter." Lucius finally gave.
Instantly Snape felt his shoulder hunch and a scowl sear across his expression.
"And what of the welp." He snapped bluntly. Lucius hated his unrefined temper, but Severus would not—could not— be calm when thinking of that blasted offspring of James bloody Potter.
Lucius seemed to expect this reaction and didn't even blink, simply taking a delicate sip of his drink and slowly rolling it around is glass thoughtfully for a long couple seconds.
"The Malfoys have decided to go Grey, Severus."
Snape froze.
"…what?"
"Draco met a young Harry Potter in Diagon Alley while we were school shopping… and was immediately smitten. And unfortunately, it reminded me of a young friend I once had, far too much."
Oh hellno.
"You use me as an example for your son?" He spat, ire rolling off his frame and a cluster of feelings making it hard to think straight clogging up his chest. Draco—Lily—Potter—!?
"You're his godfather." Lucius pointed out calmly. He sighed once more, audibly. "I will be blunt in saying yes, I intend for Draco to learn from your mistakes, Severus. As he is now, and pursuing Darker paths, he'll never win the love of this boy. I refuse to see my son suffer this way, so Narcissa and I are taking steps to move towards the Grey. You of all people should know there is nothing I will not do for my son, and his happiness."
Severus felt his fists clench in his lap, his drink forgotten by the side table. Oh yes, he knew—he was made Draco's godfather purely because he had both Voldemort and Dumbledore's ear. Lucius knew he was in a position of power and wanted to ensure he'd use that for Draco's benefit, in the end. Severus and Narcissa were closer friends than the two men were due to a love of potions in school, but after years of knowing each other, he and Lucius were established "friends" both because it benefited them in the public eye and also because it was hard to spend years working alongside someone for your own gains and not be intimately aware of how they worked—the fact they got out of each other's way on the most part was essentially a ringing endorsement for their friendship.
Making Severus his son's godfather was a tactical move worthy of Slytherin, nothing more—Severus had always been aware of this, and of what Draco meant to his father.
"But Potter?" He spat scathingly. He was consciously aware there was nothing Lucius wouldn't do for his son but this was insane, even for him.
"I admit I did not recognize him at first, he simply introduced himself as Harry. He could be Evans' clone, really."
Severus jaw ground together, fists clenching so hard he felt cuts open up in his palm.
"Severus."
After a long silence, where Snape could not…
He grabbed his drink and took a long draw from it, setting it back down with a click against the polished wood.
"What would you have me do."
"Your position at Hogwarts means you must play the part and 'hate' the child. I don't need to be a spy to know you're going to protect him while simultaneously treating him like the Gryffindor that James Potter always deserved to be treated. I am saying do not do that."
"And why would I listen to you."
"You could spin it easily for both the Dark and Light Lords—you wanted to give Draco a chance at 'coercing' Potter over to our side. Meanwhile, that old coot of a Headmaster would gladly buy that you're simply looking after Lily's son."
"A good cover but you still have not given me incentive to actually do any of it."
"If you cannot be civil then simply ignore his presence entirely, is all I'm asking." Lucius' tone was reasonable and calm—there was little wonder how he charmed his way into high ranking positions, he was worse than a politician and his grey eyes were sharp like a snake. "And you will do it because you too love my son, and you will be dooming him to either hate you for ruining his chances, or suffer through your own failure. Are you truly so petty? If you are then we've no more reason to speak, as I cannot abide those who would purposefully injure my son so." His voice had ice sliding down it, only just so slightly threatening to be cold if Severus did not answer correctly right now.
He wants me to ignore that—that brat!? Potter was the bane of my existence, his spawn will be no different! Like I'd let him strut around Hogwarts as his father did and wreck havoc on my students… never again!
He was all set to tell Lucius to go to straight to hell via the floo… when he remembered Draco, who was probably sitting upstairs oblivious to what was happening down here. Young, too-naïve Draco who had such promise to be a remarkable Slytherin one day, who was so eager and ecstatic to be going to Hogwarts in just a couple weeks… just like Severus remembered his own fresh start coming and arriving with a whirl of youthful exuberance and hope.
Hope was not something he'd had since he was a child. Not since before Lily had been sorted into Gryffindor.
He shouldn't have gotten attached, he shouldn't have empathized with that small blond boy who came up to him asking questions about potions, it seemed like only yesterday but it'd been four years already. He didn't know how Draco had gone from being his godson only in name for appearances sake to a child he legitimately wanted to protect—he didn't know how Lucius was to blame but the man was good so Severus was going to blame him anyway on the belief it was his fault somehow.
Either way it was too late, and before he could get his mouth to say 'fuck off Lucius', he found himself wondering how Draco would react when his excitement for the coming school year and his… attachment, to brat-who-lived was crushed into dust. He shouldn't be concerned with the feelings of an eleven-year-old, but here he was. Considering it.
Shit.
Against all his better judgement and common sense, he found himself relating to Draco's position. His excitement to start Hogwarts, to see Lily… to have it come crashing down on him when she went to Gryffindor instead. That weak, desperate hope that they could still be friends even in different houses, that year of sneaking around and hiding behind bookshelves so no one would see them—particularly Potter and his obnoxious friends who always butted in to ridicule Severus and hound Lily like the pigs they were. And then he remembered the day second year when she canceled on him for the first time to study with her Gryffindor friends. The sinking feeling when she canceled more and more, and the sick feeling in his stomach when he canceled on her in angry retribution at being left behind. The itching of his skin at the feeling of suspicious eyes on him when he began to study with other Slytherins—and of course the crowd he picked in desperate attempt to look like he belonged here even when Lily was ignoring him was the ones who looked down on half-bloods with no family name or wealth and were willing to welcome him into their circle because they needed more recruits for what they were planning.
And then it got worse… and worse… and worse. And then it spiraled out of control and ended with Lily dead on a nursery floor, the first time he'd seen her in three years and all his apologies and his begging for forgiveness were wasted on a corpse who never heard him.
But Draco wasn't at the end, he was at the beginning of it all. He was still excited, hopeful… in love.
He was only eleven, he had no idea what he truly felt of course, but neither had Severus… and then it was too late. It was shocking how fast the time went, how Draco went from that tiny curious child to a first year at Hogwarts in what felt like no time at all, how many years had passed without Lily in this world and he hadn't even realized how long he'd been dwelling in old wounds and unhealing scars. It felt like a rush of memories all at once—having Lily to losing Lily had taken years, pretty much his entire time at Hogwarts as a student, and yet looking back it felt like he woke up one day and shew as just gone.
His entire memory of being at Hogwarts—what should've been the happiest years of his life like it was for so many others—was washed in James Potter's taunting, derisive voice, and Lily's wide, sad green eyes.
He hated, hated… more than he could ever hate something, more than his body was physically capable of holding, he hated the fact that those two people who haunted his entire childhood like a vicious demon and the cruelest angel had had a child together. That child was essentially the embodiment of everything he could not move past—how he could not forgive James Potter and how he could not let go of his failure with Lily.
He hated, and he raged.
He grieved.
And the most painful part of this whole situation was that he still hoped—he hoped that Draco would not be like Lucius, not like him… he hoped his godson who he so empathized with, would end up more like someone who came out of all those dark nights scot free. Like how happy Lily had been when she'd left Severus in the dust, and had a husband she loved and a child she adored—right before it all went away. Some people actually got happy endings, he observed, and he hoped Draco would be one of them.
If he hoped because he empathized and it was a reflection of the wish he still held for himself, or because he truly wished his godson happiness, he didn't know. But he had hoped… that Draco wouldn't be the cold-hearted bastard his father was, or a pawn to either dark lord or Dumbledore. Draco was a lot of things, but he'd never been cruel… and Severus had known since the boy asked how to brew a pain reducer for his mother who'd come down with the flu at nine years old that he'd never be truly cut out for work in the Dark.
He would be successful, just like his father and just like Severus himself. But while Lucius didn't mind doing what needed to be done in order to make it far in life, Severus had had to learn to squash down who he'd once been and learn to be cruel. They were both successful, but only one of them was actually happy.
Severus knew Draco would be successful… but happy?
Happy like so few got when they were in a position like theirs. Really it seemed the only truly happy people were the ones who fled society altogether—like Andromeda marrying a muggleborn. Narcissa had complained about her sister at length, but of all the people he knew, Severus always first thought of Andromeda and her worthless husband she loved so much when considering happy people.
It seemed to him, in the end… that the only truly happy people were the ones who didn't let the world control them.
As a spy whose leash was held by not one, but two sides of an ongoing war no one realized they were still fighting, Severus felt his entire soul despair.
This world… this world was cruel. And he never had a chance, he decided.
If there's no hope for me, then fuck it. You win, Lucius.
He downed his drink in one go and stood, launching the glass in his hand at full force, where it shattered against the mantlepiece into a thousands shards. It was probably part of some priceless set worth hundreds of galleons, and that made it all the more vindictive and satisfying.
Lucius didn't even blink although he did flick his hand and a basic wandless shield flickered up to deflect the shards from getting in his hair.
Severus seethed, but seethed as man who knew he'd been beaten. As if he were anything else than a beaten man.
"I do not promise not to treat him like the little arrogant celebrity he is." He snapped, striding to the fireplace and grabbing a pinch of floo powder—vanishing in a whirl of green before Lucius could say any more of his stupid, slippery words.
One glass of scotch was not enough for a night like tonight.
In the parlor Severus had left behind, Lucius leaned back in his chair and sipped his own drink far more slowly, enjoying the 500-year scotch for all it was worth because this was one of the priciest drinks in his reservoir. Not just because of the year but because a side effect of old alcohol stored in cherrywood barrels—so rumor would have it, old liquor in barrels of softwood would invoke a strong sense of nostalgia in whoever drank it. It wasn't a poison or a spell, as it was the inherit magical nature of the liquor-making practice, so it'd never show up on a quick scan to check that your food or drink wasn't tampered with.
Lucius drank it himself to subtly ensure Severus it wasn't poisoned, and now he sat here reminiscing over the young Slytherin he'd seen chasing after Gryffindor girl like he wasn't the most obvious child in Slytherin house at one point. He'd gotten better of course, but Lucius knew a memory or two combined with his attachment to Draco and Severus' resolve to hate James Potter's son would begin to crack.
All he had to do was meet the child now and Lucius was sure any delusions his younger friend would have about Harry being James' clone would dissolve in a puff of smoke. Perhaps Lucius' waring, the scotch, and the bright scarlet hair would be just enough to stop Severus from single handedly breaking Draco and his new friend apart.
Perhaps he'd even grow to accept the Potter child, though it would take time. The sooner it happened though, the sooner the next part of the plan could commence.
He was annoyed the dragon in his garden had uprooted everything, but a new garden had been planned around the now sleeping beast and Lucius was satisfied to see everything start to come together.