Chapter Text
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Mr. Snape of Number 715, Wrensbury Lane, Iveyworth, was very pleased to say that by far, he was having a rather uneventful summer, despite housing the one and only boy-who-lived .
“Harry,” Severus cleared his throat, pretending to make a displeased noise when Hedwig, who had just landed through the open window, nuzzled into his neck, nipping the tip of his ear. “Mail for you. I’m leaving it on the coffee table. When you’re done with the dishes, don’t forget to feed Hedwig.”
“Yes, sir!” chirped Harry from the kitchen, where he was merrily scrubbing away at the plates they had used for lunch.
While her owner was washing away, Hedwig settled herself comfortably onto the perch Severus had set up for her in the living room, with the perfect window view of the garden, now blossoming with various types of medicinal herbs and berries. By night, she would roam around the plotted patches, preying on the mice that would otherwise tear away at the roots of Severus’s precious plants.
“Hullo, girl,” whispered Harry softly, gently stroking through her feathers, undoing any knots the wind may have ruffled into her thick white coat. “Hungry?”
Hedwig preened happily in response, chirping and nipping while Harry poured a pack of healthy, nourishing protein pellets to add onto the owl’s self-caught rodent diet.
“Eat up,” said Harry, giving her one last pet. With a happy hum, he proceeded to look through the stack of letters he had, shuffling through the senders— one from Hermione, the letter packed so full it was half an inch thick— one from Draco, in fancy paper and with an even fancier luxurious, dark green wax seal— a scrimply one packed in a recycled letter from Ron, and a concrete white letter with a Norse sigil stamped in the center.
Hermione’s ended up being a 10-page letter detailing on the books she was reading over the summer, and asking about the books he was reading, insisting that he must make notes and share all of his newly acquired knowledge as soon as they met again.
Draco’s letter was a blatant show-off of his elegant, cursive handwriting, and possibly the most expensive ink Harry had ever seen before. His letters were long and flowy, as if they were dancing across the paper in the shiny emerald that the blonde boy had chosen.
Ron’s letter consisted of his continuous complaint about his brothers, and also the fact his sister, Ginny, couldn’t stop fawning over the fact her brother was friends with the one and only Harry Potter. There was also a paragraph or so yapping about how he had to fight his brothers for food at the dining table— especially Charlie, who had returned home and was absolutely famished for his mother’s food.
Harry’s face fell as he got to Theodore’s letter. In between the lines of his Norse experiments, the extensive access to his mother’s library (half of which would be confiscated by the ministry if they knew about it), it was clear that Theo absolutely despised being home. Everius Nott— Theodore’s father— had unfortunately invited his sister, a wicked old hag to stay in their manor over the summer, and of course Theo got along super well with his beloved Aunt Elodie.
“What is it, Harry?” asked Severus absent-mindedly, noticing Harry’s dismay over the top of his newspaper— finance minister Presley cheating on his wife, again .
“Theo’s Aunt Elodie’s over at his place,” said Harry glumly, as if that explained everything. Thankfully, Severus, quite acquainted with Elodius Nott, a seven-times divorcee who had, unfortunately, been the guardian of Theo’s he had met when he went through his routine letter-presenting visits to prominent Slytherin families (Draco’s was one, quite unfortunately), understood very well the subject of Harry (and Theo’s) dismay.
“Ah.” Severus sipped his tea carefully, wheels in his brain snapping into place, whirling.
“Poor Theo,” said Harry, “If only he had somewhere else to go to.”
As Harry put away the letter, the same lightbulb lit over both their heads, and the moment Severus processed the idea was the same moment Harry yelled:
“Oh, Professor Snape, Professor Snape, can’t Theo come and stay—”
“Harry,” reminded Severus, “No yelling in the house.”
Looking sheepish in his excitement, Harry clamored down, “Sorry,” the boy said, “Do you think— perhaps— Theo could come stay here instead?”
Severus considered for a moment. Everius Nott, while inactive in the years of the Dark Lord’s absence, was not a confirmed defect. As far as he knew, the man still lurked within their dark circles. While the potions master had reason to suspect that Everius, like him, stood in the gray, there was no hard evidence, and with the boy-who-lived under his roof, was the risk worth taking to find out?
“It is,” hesitated Severus, “A tricky matter, Mr. Nott’s family situation.”
With only one sentence, Harry drooped, his excited composure disappearing into the wind. “Oh,” said the boy forlornly. “Okay.”
“I will not promise,” said Severus with a sigh, ignoring how Harry instantly perked. “But I will look into the matter. I believe,” the corners of the potion master’s mouth upturned, “It would be a much more enjoyable summer for the both of you should you live under the same roof.”
Harry’s smile widened exponentially.
“Unfortunately, a much bigger headache for me, but when does my health ever matter.” grumbled Severus.
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With no news or updates from the professor over the next few days, Harry’s hope was beginning to wane— but when Severus looked up from his morning paper with a glint in his eye, and the following words tumbled out of his thin-lipped mouth, everything in Harry’s world began to align and right itself again.
“Why don’t you busy yourself with clearing that new room next to you for Theodore’s arrival, Harry,” said Severus, just the trace of a smile behind his coffee cup. “I’ve got work to do today, and it would be good for you to stay out of my way for the day.”
Without a second word, Harry swallowed his breakfast and darted back up the stairs to find that the corridor on the second floor had been elongated, and a door not previously there had suddenly appeared. With no moment to lose, the boy got to work instantly, making replicates of his green covers and blanket, arranging them neatly onto Theo’s new bed, picking out books from his room to place in Theo’s bookshelf—
The next day couldn’t come any faster.
“Harry,” said Severus, exasperated as he picked up his coat from the hanger. Beside him, Harry was quite literally jumping with excitement. “Theodore is not going to arrive any faster if you don’t calm down and let me gather my belongings.”
“Oops.” Harry smiled, knowing no bite rested in the professor’s words.
“Why don’t you go find a book and read on the couch for a while? It’ll be a while before I return.” suggested Severus, tucking his wand into the hidden pocket in his sleeve. “Or go clean Theodore’s room for the tenth time, as you’ve done this morning.”
“Okay!” agreed the boy readily.
Severus sighed, resisting the urge to face-palm. “Merlin, I was being sarcastic, Harry. Just sit, be patient, and wait for us to return. I’ll be departing now. You know the rules— no leaving, no opening the door for no one—”
“Be good and wait,” recited Harry. “Yes, professor.”
“Good.” nodded Severus. “Goodbye, Harry.”
And with that, Severus apparated out of Wrensbury Lane.
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He reappeared on the front lawn of the Nott Manor, a secretive property to which he had been sworn into. The gray mansion towered before him, accents of Mrs. Nott’s Norse preferences sparking out in the dragon-like statues, replacing the traditional gargoyles. Intricate designs, interwoven with protective sigils, decorated the stone walls, carved into each slab with attention.
“Severus, it’s good to see you again.”
The professor bowed at Everius Nott’s clipped greeting, replying with one of his own: “Everius. I see you are still in good health.”
“Indeed.” Everius nodded his head ever so stiffly. “Theodore.”
Theodore’s hazel eyes, though sharp, usually contained a warm touch. However, when Severus gazed into the first year’s eyes, he was met with a steeled gaze, a tight line of forest trees packed so close that it resembled a fortress. By the looks of the packed trunk by his side, the boy didn’t intend to return to the Nott Manor for another year.
“Yes, Father.” replied Theodore, his voice monotone.
There seemed to be something else Everius wanted to say, but the words were left unspoken. “... Have a good year.”
“Thank you, Father.” said Theodore, drawing his wand out of his coat pocket. Without a word, his trunk was levitated, hovering at his side as he stared at his professor expectantly, practically imploring the man to remove him from the premises.
Severus nodded, drawing his own wand, the exchange having gone for much shorter than he had thought. In one of the sleek windows above, he glimpsed the cold glare of Elodius Nott, a long smoking pipe in between her fingers as she looked cruelly down on them.
“Come, Mr. Nott.” the potions master said, offering his arm for Theodore to hold. “Farewell, Everius.”
Everius stared into Severus’s soul, as if he were offering his mind up to the legilimens. Not one to turn down an open invitation, the potions master dipped his hand in the water— words sprung at him, like arrows flying past in a battlefield. “Farewell.”
Severus nodded. With a flash, he apparated away, pulling Theodore with him, and the Nott Manor was no more.
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Not to Severus’s surprise, Theodore settled in nicely in Wrensbury, right alongside Harry. As he sipped his morning coffee once more, and read his morning paper, a part of him felt satisfied— the two first years with the worst family situations were now under his care, poking jokes at each other each day, sharing tidbits they liked or found interesting in his books, toiling in his garden on the afternoons and sharing cookies in the evening.
All was well.
Much to his exasperation, however, this meant introducing yet another boy to the overly curious grandmothers on his street. “You remember Harry, yes? Yes, yes, Harris Evans— the son of my sister, and this is Theodore—”
“Theodoric Sterling,” said Theodore smoothly, bowing to the women, much to their delight, “I’m another one of Uncle Severus’s nephews.”
“Oh, what polite boys!” cooed the grandmothers. “Severus, do send them for tea whenever you tire of them!”
“Yes, of course.” sighed Severus. “Unfortunately, we must get going.”
And indeed they needed to, for it was the time of the year once more— when parents and students crammed into the tight alleyways of Diagon Alley, clamoring over each other to bargain for new year supplies. It was time to shop for the new school year. Now, typically, Severus was smart enough to stay out of the Alley, not wanting to get caught up in pushy crowds, but now with two boys of his own— not of his own, what was he saying — two boys under his care , school shopping was now, unfortunately, one of the duties he had to take on.
“Hold on tight now.” warned Severus, with Harry on his right and Theodore on his left. With a whisk, they appeared in a designated apparating spot by the Leaky Cauldron— because Merlin forbid people apparated randomly wherever they wanted— that would be absolutely terrifying, to have someone apparate into you where you stood.
As expected, Harry was looking all around in wonder— Severus swore to bring the boy out more.
“Hurry along, and don’t get lost in the crowd,” lectured Severus, “Even if you get separated from me, do not separate from each other, and stay in the same place, I will come find you—”
“Yes, professor, you’ve told us fifty times, we know.” grumbled Theodore.
“Now,” Severus sighed, craning over the rowdy crowd at the Leaky Cauldron. While he himself fancied a glass of wine— or on one of those days, a large mug of beer— he simply couldn’t tolerate the day drinkers clunking around drunkenly within the pub. Squinting over a mass of heads, the professor searched the audience, almost giving up when—
Very faintly, amidst all the clamor, there was the dismayed yell of: “Trevor!”
“I hear him, professor!” announced Harry happily.
“Yes, we all have functioning eardrums, Mr. Potter,” grumbled Severus. “If only I could see Mr. Longbottom instead of just hearing him—”
After a long minute of struggle to separate themselves from the crowd, the trio settled themselves by the entrance of the Leaky Cauldron, and with much luck, finally met up with Augusta and Neville Longbottom.
“Good morning, Professor Snape,” greeted Augusta in a semi-wary air. She eyed him up, wrapping her lilac shawl tighter around her bony little body as a chill blew through the alley. “... Harry Potter, and…?”
“This is Theodore, gran.” said Neville helpfully.
Even though they were almost the same height, Augusta scrutinized him through her glasses, clicking her tongue. “From the Nott family, I presume?”
“I prefer to align my alliances with my mother’s ancestral Norse line,” Theodore replied, meeting Augusta’s strict gaze with a steely one of his own. “The Sterling family, actually.”
While she clearly disapproved of Theodore’s paternal heritage, she begrudgingly acknowledged his assertiveness.
And while the Neville of a year ago would’ve tried to run for the hills at the mere thought of doing his school shopping with infamous dungeon bat, Severus Snape, the past year had taught him that the Slytherin professor— and that Slytherins— weren’t as evil or scary as the rumors exaggerated them out to be. The potions master, while menacing at first glance, wasn’t a bad man, and if Harry and Theodore trusted him— well, Neville did too.
“I’ll see you, gran,” said Neville, Trevor safely accio ’ed back into his arms, courtesy of Professor Snape.
Augusta looked at him pointedly. “Behave.”
Without further ado, the now-quartet journeyed their way through the crowd, Severus’s plastered scowl enough to give them some moving room and slight-apologetic looks from pushy individuals. Harry, still a little small for his age (Neville was a centimeter or two taller than him now), was especially prone to the rough barging of the packed alley— although, when a bypasser shoved past him so hard he almost fell, Severus snarled so fiercely at the man that he took off running, and from then on, the small boy was squished between Theodore and the older Slytherin, safe from inconsiderate shoppers.
“Ah, Hermione.” pointed out Theodore, and when the group looked over, sure enough, the bushy-haired girl was standing in front of a bookstore with her amazed and bewildered Muggle parents, who were deciding whether to look at the book with a teethed mouth in the showcase window— or the cauldron across the street with pink substance boiling and growling— yes , growling .
“Good morning, Mr. and Mrs. Granger,” Seeing the opportunity, Severus seized the chance to introduce himself formally, “I am Ms. Granger’s head of house and potions professor. It’s nice to meet you.”
Slightly flustered and completely out of their comfort zone, the two dentists shared a glance— as if deciding who was going to shake Severus’s hand, before Hermione’s father gave in and took the professor’s outstretched hand. “It’s nice to meet you too, ah, Professor Snape— William Granger, my name— and of course, Jeannette, my wife.”
Severus offered them both a polite head nod. “Ms. Granger has done way above standards in her academic performance last year— I greatly look forward to what she will achieve this year.”
“Ah, yes!” said Mr. Granger, puffing out his chest proudly. “Our Hermione’s always been excellent—” after a jab from his wife, the man cleared his throat, “Of course, she could’ve only achieved so much under your guidance, I’m sure. Now, uh… says here on your list that you need new textbooks— potion ingredients…”
Mr. Granger gulped, horrified at the thought of having to go towards any cauldron, especially with the pink growling one right across the street.
“Not to worry,” interjected Severus smoothly. “Why don’t you join us, Mr. and Mrs. Granger— as I’m accompanying these three boys for their school year shopping, as well?”
With general consensus, the group began moving along Diagon Alley (away from the growling cauldron and the chomping book, to Mr. Granger’s great relief), with their first destination clearly in sight, the name lit up in blazing gold: “Auric Archivum: A Library of Treasures”.
“Will we find textbooks here?” asked Mrs. Granger in amazement. The outside of the shop was done decoratively, with exquisite gold ornaments framing the front showcase windows. Delicate self-writing equipment was on display, a beautiful, peacock-feather quill dancing on sparkly white parchment, as well as paper-thin bookmarks carved from gold, which, when placed in a book, would learn all of its contents and could recite any paragraph back.
“Not textbooks,” said Severus, admittedly, “But extensive, extra reading material that contributes to the syllabus. Mr. Potter, Mr. Nott, Mr. Longbottom— look around, but don’t exit the shop and don’t leave my sight. Am I clear?”
“Yes, sir!” the boys chorused, and with Severus’s satisfied nod, they all darted off into the shop, Harry into a section filled with potion journals, pages and pages of potioneers’ experiments, procedures and methods that could be used to recreate their inventions; Theodore into the mystical, folklore section, speaking of ancient sigils and symbols that the shamans used expertly, and Neville into the herbology section, pages of plant figures and illustrations, the best environment for raising the various flora, and what fertilizers they thrived under.
Seeing her friends delve into the shelves full of knowledge, Hermione looked pleadingly at her parents, grinning widely when they gave her the greenlight to go ahead.
“You can get that if you’d like,” said Severus quietly to Harry as he passed the boy, who was nose-deep in a two-inch thick copy of The Magic of Potion-Making, July 1992 Edition . The young Slytherin lit up instantly, his wordless thanks hanging in the air as the potions master proceeded to circle around the bookstore, looking questioningly at the book in Theodore’s hand— Encyclopedia of Sigils , the boy’s eyes trailing over each curve and stroke of the symbols, as if etching them into his mind for later use.
“Hello, professor.” said Theodore innocently upon noticing Severus.
After a second, Severus decided not to note the sigil Theodore’s finger rested upon. Wordlessly, he moved on, and unsurprisingly, found Neville already with a stack of four books beside him, each thicker than the one below it.
“Hermione!” exclaimed Mrs. Granger, a shelf down. Sensing the commotion, the professor hurried over, finding Hermione tightly grasping a red-bound book to her chest, a pout on her face. “What on Earth’s name are you reading! Oh, professor, thank goodness you’re here—”
“Ms. Granger,” Severus raised an eyebrow at the girl, who smiled sheepishly. Noticing the title of the book— The Great Book of Hexes and Jinxes — he immediately understood the Grangers’ concern.
“What could you possibly need that for, Hermione?” fussed Mrs. Granger, “Oh, what are they teaching you at school…”
Sighing internally at the sight of Hermione’s pleading gaze, Severus spoke: “Self-defense is an important core of our syllabus, and especially of our house of Slytherin. Ms. Granger’s vast knowledge in… ahem, defensive spells, while incredibly deep for her age— has proved useful in many situations, and I believe, will continue to serve her well for the coming years.”
At the man’s words, Mrs. Granger calmed down, rethinking. “I… I do suppose that defense is very important.” she nodded, becoming more convinced the more she mulled about it. “Yes. It’s best to be prepared, Hermione— you never know what evils are lurking in the shadows.”
“All the monsters are in the Forbidden Forest, mum,” said Hermione, “I’m safe in Hogwarts!”
Mrs. Granger smiled wryly, and that was when Severus realized what the woman had meant when she said “evils”— not the dark creatures and monsters that lurked behind the forest line, but the ones that often walked the same corridors as the children did. The existence of Quirrel had proven that.
“Rest assured, Mrs. Granger,” said Severus, “While I can’t say that such evils don’t exist within the walls of Hogwarts, I can promise you that I have implemented every precaution I can to ensure the safety of my students.”
The woman smiled softly, knowing that he had understood what she was insinuating. “Thank you, professor. Now, Hermione, gather the things you want— we don’t have all day, and we haven’t even bought your textbooks yet!”
Following the two Granger women to the paying counter, Severus found his boys— Harry and Theodore (Neville too) already waiting, each with a thick book in hand. Shaking his head in faked exasperation, he plucked (with slight difficulty— the books were heavy) the practically encyclopedias from each boys’ arm, plopping them onto the counter.
“I haven’t read the June edition yet,” said Severus to Harry, and to Theodore, “It’s about time I developed my knowledge on sigils— Merlin knows if I didn’t, you’d use them to break into my office again .” And with his excuses, the professor purchased the books, handing them back to the respective boy once the cashier had taken his sickles and galleons.
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“Now… ah. Textbooks.” Severus browsed through the list, his lip curling at the six— no, seven books that Gilderoy Lockhart had made compulsory to buy— and all authored by him, of course. Irritatedly, he snapped the scroll shut. “Flourish and Blotts next. Come along.”
The boys (and the Granger family) trotted after him, although there were many wandering eyes— Neville looked for so long at Botanical Blooms: Enchanted Floristry, that his head was craning at a 180 degrees to stare at it even when they were too far away.
“Professor Snape!”
“Ah,” Severus stopped in his footsteps, “Here come the herd of Weasleys.”
And he was right: marching through the crowd like a giant herd of red-coloured sheep were the Weasleys, led at the front by Molly Weasley, holding Ginny at her side. Behind her flocked the boys: Fred and George (Severus sighed internally— the day they graduated was the day he would stop finding new white hair every day), Percy and Ron, followed by their father— Arthur.
“Molly,” greeted Severus amicably. Before he could say any more, the hair on his skin stood as straight as lampposts, and he looked around, alert— and to his horror, found three heads of blonde.
The Malfoys had arrived.
“Good Merlin,” he muttered under his breath. “Here we go.”
“Ah, a live rendition of the Malfoy-Weasley feud.” said Theodore, as if noting the weather. “Lovely.”
“Lucius Malfoy,” said Arthur coldly. Standing across the entrance to Flourish and Blotts was the man himself, a sneer already creeping across his face. Behind him, a beautiful blonde woman— none other than Narcissa Malfoy, couldn’t look any more disinterested in the fight unfolding in front of her eyes. Instead, she stood prim and proper, head held high, the type of class Petunia Dursley dreamed of achieving.
The potions master grumbled under his breath. “This is about the Muggle Protection Act, isn’t it.”
“Arthur,” said Lucius cordially, although he couldn’t look more displeased. “Surprised you have time for some casual, ah… second-hand shopping… don’t you have, ah, unpaid overtimes to fulfill? Busy times at the ministry— but all in the name of your respectful Muggle Protection Act, yes?” spat the man disdainfully.
Before the patriarch of the Weasleys could answer, Lucius went at it again. Behind him, Draco was squirming uncomfortably, knowing that across the battlefield stood the majority of his friends.
“Tsk, tsk… really, surprised you could even afford to stand here,” laughed Lucius, “Will you have to live off rations for the rest of the year after buying your children’s rotten, second-hand books? Quite cruel that they’re having you work so much overtime when you’re barely paid for it, yes?” In saying so, he peered into Ginny’s cauldron, half-filled with second-hand textbooks that Molly had procured from a cheaper, “preloved” bookshop. The youngest Weasley shied away from him, and with a laugh, he gave the cauldron a mocking pat, turning back to face a furious, red-faced Arthur.
As the seconds passed, Arthur’s body tightened, like a spring— almost as if he was going to pounce on the other any moment—
“Why don’t,” interjected Severus smoothly, before the situation escalated further, “We let Mrs. Malfoy and Mrs. Weasley handle the shopping? I believe, Lucius,” said the potions master with a cool expression, “You have got some business to get to? What with the, ah… antiques housed in Malfoy manor?”
To Harry’s confused expression, Theodore whispered: “The ministry’s been doing routine searches of manors for dark artifacts— Malfoy Manor hasn’t been searched, but they’re no doubt on the list to be.”
“And, Mr. Weasley,” said Severus with a false smile, “Why don’t you take Mr. Granger and show him the Leaky Cauldron— introduce him to some butterbeer, perhaps?”
Lucius, looking slightly white at the insinuation of the “antiques” in his house, raised his head haughtily, harrumphing. “How right you are, Severus— I simply can’t waste my entire day brawling with…” he gave a distasteful look to Arthur, but said no more.
Mr. and Mrs. Granger, astonished from the whole debacle, quickly recovered. As the potions master had suggested, Mr. Weasley coldly turned his back to his feud, happily chatting up William Granger. By the next minute, the near fist-fight had been dispersed, and peace was restored.
“Draco,” said Ron neutrally.
“Weas— Ron,” corrected Draco as the two nodded, acknowledging each other, much to their respective mothers’ shock.
Very quickly, the tension— and shock— was broken, by none other than Harry, who joined in excitedly: “Theodore!”
Grinning, the boy returned the greeting: “Harry,”
“Hermione,” said Neville, continuing the chain.
With a bright, wide smile, Hermione finished it off: “Neville!”
“Well,” Severus said, amused, “Now that we are finished with the reunion, shall we proceed—”
Before he could finish, he was interrupted very rudely by a group of middle-aged women, all squealing and rushing into Flourish and Blotts’, gossiping like teenage girls: “Oh, do you think he’s still there— I sure do hope so, he’s ever-so-charming—”
“Good Merlin,” grumbled Severus, like his day just kept getting worse. As they looked up, they found the source of the squealing— a giant banner stretched across the front of the shop:
GILDEROY LOCKHART— will be signing copies of his autobiography, “Magical Me”.
“Oh, it’s him—” exclaimed Hermione excitedly, her face flushing as red as the Weasley’s hair, “It’s him, oh, Harry, he’s the one who wrote half of our book list—”
“Unfortunately,” snarled Severus, making his opinion of Lockhart instantly clear. “I cannot believe Dumbledore allowed this.”
“Oh, what could you possibly mean, Professor Snape?” said Molly, looking uncomfortable at the man’s clear display of dislike. “Gilderoy Lockhart— my, it’s an honor to have him teaching the children, he’s such a wonderful—”
“Wonderfully idiotic baboon, you mean,” interjected Narcissa smoothly, her eyes coloured in silver disdain. Still, she maintained her prim posture, and gestured to her son. “Come, Draco. Unfortunately , we have to spend our money on this… rubbish, as mandated by that fool, Dumbledore. Can’t help but have to agree with your father on this…”
Molly opened her mouth to defend the headmaster, but was washed out by a loud chorus of squeals, just as the clock chimed further down the street. Deep inside Flourish and Blotts, the crowd began cheering— Gilderoy Lockhart had made his appearance.
Looking between Molly and Narcissa, poor Mrs. Granger simply had no idea who to agree with.
“I have to get going, Harry, Theodore—” said Severus, glancing at his watch. “The apothecary in Knockturn closes in half an hour, and we took longer in the Archivum. Mrs. Weasley, Mrs. Malfoy— may I leave them in your care?”
“Oh, certainly!” agreed Molly immediately with a smile. Narcissa acknowledged his request with a curt nod, and with his boys— Merlin , he had to stop calling them his — in safe hands, Severus took off, his black cloak billowing behind him as the great big, black bat wooshed his way into Knockturn Alley.
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Much to Theodore’s dismay, they were shoved into the line— for Lockhart’s autograph— curtesy of Mrs. Weasley, and despite the looks he threw in Mrs. Malfoy’s direction, the woman shook her head with a thin smile, as if she was looking forward to his squirming.
“Mrs. Weasley— I think I’ll go grab some of our other textbooks—” grunted Theodore as he was shoved by an overly-eager ( married ) woman, squealing for Lockhart to sign her arm— “While you line up—”
With great difficulty, the two boys (Neville was thankfully spared) squished their way out of the line, breathing in clear air once more. However— one diverted catastrophe brought another.
“Is that— Harry Potter?” exclaimed Gilderoy excitedly from the stage, causing the whole crowd to turn and look at his direction. “My, my— the Boy-Who-Lived himself, come to buy my books— of course, as he, and the rest of his peers will be gifted with Magical Me in the coming school year— as in, the actual , ethereal , magical version of me — as their new defense against dark arts professor!”
The crowd squealed and thundered in applause, as hands and arms reached out to push and pull Harry towards the stage. Theodore yelled in protest, fingers ever-so-tempted to pull out his wand and curse a witch or two. Behind him, Ron, Hermione, and Neville winced in pity— Merlin knew the small, emerald-eyed boy loathed being the center of attention.
“Ah, you must be mistaken,” said Harry uncomfortably, squirming away from the gazes of at least twenty women— “I’m not Harry— how could I be?” he laughed nervously, “I’m Harry Evans, sir— Sir Lockhart.”
The man frowned, squinting closely at Harry, a centimeter between their noses. “Are you sure?”
“If he were Harry Potter, sir, surely he would have a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead?” proposed Hermione with a smile. Sure enough, there was no scar on Harry’s head— thanks to Professor Snape’s foresight of a glamouring charm.
"In addition," Theodore said thoughtfully. "The great Mr. Potter simply has more urgent matters to attend to, such as studying the fifth-year potions syllabus, of course— he's quite the potions genius, haven't you heard? Last year, he invented a sleeping potion strong enough for a dragon ."
Lockhart pouted disappointedly. “I suppose— excuse my mistake.”
Crisis averted, Harry jumped off the platform, snaking through the crowd to high-five his friends, who grinned in success.
“I have to agree with Mrs. Malfoy now,” said Hermione, rolling her eyes. “What an absolute buffoon— he couldn’t even see through a simple glamor charm! What use is he— what in Merlin’s name is he going to teach us when he’s that easily fooled?”
Theodore snorted. “Nothing.”
The children giggled among themselves, elated with their victory. Behind them, Narcissa Malfoy smiled ever-the-slightest— amused. She could see now, the potential Severus saw in the ragtag group of twelve-year-olds, and while she wasn’t going to admit aloud that she approved of her son’s friends, something told her that once they became fully-fledged Wixens, they would be quite unstoppable.
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