Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

At seven, Harry still reached for Severus’s hand in crowds.
At eight, he stopped.
At nine, he apologized when he did it by mistake.

When Harry first saw his house
at age seven,
gripping his few
belongings as Severus
finished unloading
the shopping
from the old hatchback,
he loved it.

17 Spinner’s End, L78 4DR was two
houses down from the corner.
Harry always knew he was home from
the peek of the neighbor’s dilapidated
wooden back garden fence
as he turned the corner onto Chancery Lane.
From the power lines he could follow
from their house all the way
to the bus stop.

When Severus was 15 he still
went into town with his mum.
Between the boarded-up shops,
they made for the charity shop that,
when this street was full,
used to be a tailor.

A brand new Oxfam where Severus found
the navy blue Chicago Bears jumper that
his mother purchased for him for a quid with
the money she had
earned
from babysitting that week.

He didn’t know the team,
but he liked that it was orange
and that it had a bear.
Sometimes,
he liked to imagine who would have owned
it before him and why
they didn’t want it anymore.

Harry took to wearing it when he moved in.
One particularly cold winter when he was seven, Severus
placed it on the heater for an hour before giving it to Harry. It was worn now,
with holes in the sleeves. He swam in it; hem hitting just below his knees and the sleeves constantly needing to be bunched up.

The jumper moved more than any item in the house. Migrating from Severus’ room to Harry’s, from couch to laundry pile and back again. On warmer mornings, it was draped over the back of the couch, covered in small stains it had acquired over the past week. In the chilly northern English spring, it reeked of outside.

And then, one winter evening, Severus looked up from his book.
Harry was standing in the doorway — taller than he remembered. Unruly hair still wet from the shower. Sleeves no longer too long. Hem sitting just below the waist.

It fit.

And something in Severus' chest clenched.
And the boy who once clung to his hand at every crossing
now walked half a step ahead.

Still close. Still his.

But already becoming someone else.

Chapter Text

This routine is practiced.

He remembers being afraid his first year.
Sweaty hands fumbling with the money Severus
tucked into his palm.
It was an abnormally warm September.
Are you sure you can’t ride with me, Severus?
It was always Severus when he was scared.
Like dad was a privilege made for
more deserving boys.
Harry asks and it's a question and a prayer
that Severus declines to answer—
though not for lack of trying.
It was alright though.
That year he met
Hermione, whose bookish quiet
made him feel at home.
Severus walked
Harry to the door and
pulled him in for a long hug.
He feels embarrassed now,
thinking about how his eyes watered
and the meagre handful of coins slipped out of
his fist as he held Severus tight.
How Severus bent down,
retrieved them,
tied his shoe.
As the train pulled away Severus stood
and watched until Harry disappeared from
view.

His second year was easier.
Money, crisps, and an egg butty in a plastic bag.
A hug goodbye.
A last look that disappeared in
the train’s smoke.

This year, after Severus
wrestles with his trunk
and hands him a Galleon
and a plastic bag packed lunch,
and reminds him to
find Remus on the train,
Harry is aware of
Ron and Seamus and Dean
saying goodbye to their families
nearby. This year,
when Severus goes to
hug him, he pulls away.

Instead of looking at Severus, he
eyes the boys.
Making sure no one saw.
His hot face spots
Hermione waving and starts to
head towards her. Severus reaches
out
and smooths
Harry’s hair
as he turns to walk away.
He ducks away again with a whispered
Stop, dad!
And Severus lowers his hand.
Okay. Okay, I’m sorry.
Harry walks away.
On his way to Hermione,
Seamus Finnegan,
who stands with Ron and Dean,
waves to Harry.
Hey! Cool shoes, Harry!
Oh, um thanks.
Seamus turns then, excitedly talking
to Ron and Dean.
Harry stands quietly and listens,
laughing at the jokes he doesn’t understand
as a conversation he is a spectator in
plays out in front of him.
He pointedly doesn’t look back at Severus.

Later,
on the train,
he can’t help but look back at Severus.
These days, he feels confused more often than not—
big emotions he has no idea what to do with.
Something loosens in his chest
as he raises a hand to wave
and Severus answers it.
A sentinel stood watching
until Harry disappears from his view.

Remus Lupin existed in the margins of his life.
The troubled friend of his father's that began popping in
for occasional birthdays and holidays when he turned nine.
The version of Remus Lupin that sits in front of him
in the classroom now feels different from that man somehow.
More confident? Harry isn’t sure he knows.
It's the first week of term and Remus has invited Harry for tea.
Harry likes the way the other kids regard him when he tells them this.
Remus is popular, cool, and that seems to make Harry cool too.
When he looks back on this evening now, Harry can remember
the smell of books and the breeze from the open window
that made him feel like he was being pulled backwards through time.
Of course, Remus had told him about the Marauders before,
but for some reason the idea of it—the idea of them—
suddenly seemed so brilliant.

He was insatiable—
Was James tall? Yes
Was he strong and did he have muscles?
Well, he liked to think he was… well no, I suppose he was quite strong. He was always out flying or jogging.
Was he popular with girls?
Most definitely, it drove your mum mad.
Did he have a lot of friends?
He was really charming; definitely the most popular in our year.

That evening when Ron Weasley and
his friends invited Harry to play Exploding Snap, he
comes along.
When the first explosion singes off his eyebrows,
he barely feels it over the cheers
of the boys in the common room.

He feels like a massive nob
reading in the library
while everyone is in town.

He received the permission slip by owl post
this summer.
It is addressed to him.
Grabbing the first pen he could find,
he signed it and
brought it to Severus,
who took one look
and said:
No.
What? Why not!?
Don’t shout at me, Harry.
Well why can’t I go!?

But Severus doesn’t keep things from him,
and Harry isn’t stupid.
He knows why he can’t go.
But he’s tired of his life being dictated
by people who are not him.
So he pushes
when he knows
he should back off.
You know what, whatever, I’ll just get Remus to sign it.
HEY!

And from there it escalates.
Voices continue to rise. Doors are slammed.
Neither win.
Harry gets grounded.
He still doesn’t go to Hogsmeade.
And the pit that’s been growing
in Severus’ stomach
gets just a little bit bigger.
He is failing, he thinks—
at keeping him safe,
and at keeping him happy.

When Vernon Dursley came stalking
towards him,
hand swinging back
like his fifth birthday when
he earned his blacked eye
from his hands caught deep in
his cousin's stash of candy,
Harry didn’t know what to do.
He just watched his
Uncle’s hand
come rushing toward
him—until Remus banishes him,
the boggart, with a word.
Harry is thirteen and he wonders
if he will ever feel brave.

When Harry met Sirius in his dad’s office,
he wondered what it must be like
to have others envy you.

Sirius Black was apprehended
one week before Christmas.
He suspects Severus had something to do with it.
And then, inexplicably, he was cleared of all charges
not soon after.
He knows Severus had something to do with that.
He saw Lupin and Severus
in his office at Christmas,
talking through the floo
to someone at the Ministry.

Scabbers—well, Peter—escaped sometime before
Ron came back from Christmas.
Severus is nervous about this development.
Harry
is nervous that
telling Ron about Scabbers/Peter
will make him
not want to be Harry’s
friend anymore.

When Harry met Sirius in his dad’s office,
Sirius was funny and charming
and everything he imagines
his father to be.
When Sirius accidentally
calls him
James,
Harry preens.
Shortly after the start of the new year,
he sends Harry
a brand new broom,
a Firebolt.
Harry doesn’t know a lot about Quidditch,
but he knows something expensive,
something desirable,
when he sees it.

All the boys in his year gather around.
And when they take it out to the pitch,
they all shove and cheer
when he takes off.

He joins the Quidditch team at the start of next year.

Chapter Text

Severs hated his parent’s kitchen.

He was proud of the fridge-
his one big purchase
when Harry moved in,
because the old one
often just stopped working.
The kitchen was just
too small,
with faded wallpaper,
sticking drawers,
a broken cabinet
from when
his father
in a drunken rage
slammed it so hard
it knocked it off its hinges,
and second hand appliances.
But what he hated the most
was that it wasn’t his
parents kitchen anymore.
The miserable kitchen,
was his.

After dinner,
Harry was picking at
something on the old formica table
in the dining room.
Severus can tell something is wrong.
Since Harry turned 8,
Severus thinks he has gotten better at reading
his moods.
But before he can ask, Harry gets up
and walks into the kitchen.
He hands him a
sheet of unfolded printer paper.
A children's birthday party invite.
It is Harry’s first.
When he looks up
though,
he doesn’t look excited.
Do I have to go?
Severus narrows his eyes, confused,
Not if you don’t want to. Why don’t you want to go?
Harry hesitates before
looking away and shrugging.
Well, it’s not till Sunday, so you have time to decide.
Harry nods and walks away
leaving Severus in the kitchen
holding the invitation.

That evening,
Harry tried on all
of the clothes in his closet
getting increasingly frustrated
as he discarded
old shirt after old shirt
so that
by the time bedtime rolls around
Harry is so anxious
he tears up as he is brushing his teeth.
On Saturday, we’ll go to the shop.
He says it casually,
unsure that this is the right thing to say.
But Harry relaxes
and smiles back like
Severus did when
his mother noticed
his fraying
too small trousers
the day before school
and said casually
Let’s go to the shop.

Severus thinks back
on this moment now
with envy.
He didn’t think so at the time but
it used to be so easy,
to know how to help him.

The hatchback won’t start.
So Harry and Severus walk
down to the bus stop.
He watches as Harry looks up
as he walks beside him
eyes seeming to follow the powerlines that
line the street.

Look, Severus! Did you see that dog chasing the rat?!
On the bus
Harry swings around the yellow pole
in the center of the bus
as John Farnham’s “You’re The Voice”.
plays over the bus speaker.
Harry jumps and spins around it
until Severus tells him to sit down.
He does.
For about a minute.
Severus rolls his eyes as
Harry does not listen
when he tells him again
Sit down while the bus is moving, Harry.
He hides his smile
when Harry ignores him,
singing the chorus quietly
as he continues to swing.
He doesn’t jump again through,
so Severus takes the win.

The Oxfam is not new anymore.
Far from it.
Most of the shops
on the high street
are closed now too.
In front of him Harry dances
down the musty aisle to
a song with too much synth
that Severus thinks is annoying.
Alright lad come on, we’re here to shop, not dance.
But when Harry deflates a little he says,
Well, maybe we can shop and dance.
And when he does a little robot move,
his stiff limbs tracing
a dance he hasn’t done in years,
the bright laugh Harry lets out
makes him forget to be
self-conscious.

Just for a second.

Which one do you think they’ll like?
Harry asks the question stops him, shocks him.
Who bleedin’ cares what those boys think?
It’s his father that says it to him
during the summer of his
seventh year. He was
getting ready to go to
The Rosier estate; Evan had invited him
to his mother’s garden party.
His whole Slytherin year
was going to be there.
Severus had asked the question to his mother
But his father responded,
beer in hand,
from the armchair in the living room.
Severus ignored him.
Before he left for the party, he got out his wand
and charmed the clothes:
magically tailoring them and
removing impossible stains.
After the party, the clothes fell apart.
The magic cutting the
already fragile clothes
to shreds.
His mother didn’t say anything.
Well, which one do you like?
Harry was deciding between two pairs of trainers:
nearly new Nike’s a size too big or
Lightly worn Ninja Turtle themed trainers.
Aren’t these a little baby-ish?
He held up the Ninja Turtle pair.
Don’t you love these rude, talking turtles?
Well yeah but…
Severus waits but Harry doesn’t finish talking.
Eventually, Harry puts the Nike’s back and Severus
buys the silly
turtle shoes
without blinking.

How do I look?
Harry stands in front of the mirror in his room,
the room that used to be Severus’.
You look like you.

Connor Davies lived a town over.
A whole different postal code
another universe entirely.
Harry hung out the passenger window
of the hatchback,
now fixed by an old friend of his fathers,
staring at the disconnected houses
so much nicer than their own.
Severus has only ever been over here
twice
to pick his mum up
from babysitting on the days
he needed the car.
Severus glanced over at Harry
shifting in his booster seat
to check his pocket again
for the folded up printer paper.
Harry’s nervous energy
puts Severus on edge,
so he turns up the radio
and forces a smile onto his face.
Harry notices
and does the same,
forcing a tentative smile onto his face.

At the gate, Harry hesitates, handmade card in his hands.
The house is manicured, nice, middle class.
Severus puts his hand on his back and he relaxes a bit.
I’ll be back at half two.
He pauses before continuing,
They’re your friends Harry. And Conner is loud but…kind. It’s going to be fun.
Harry nods then,
And I can ask Connor’s mom to call you if I want to go home early?
Of course.
Severus watches as Harry walks up to the porch
and Connor’s mum, Angela Davies - an old
school friend of Petunia’s,
and someone Severus
had never liked - opens the door.
She ushers Harry in and he is swallowed by a crowd of kids.
He politely waves to Angela,
who he hasn’t seen in years,
and walks to his car
before she can come talk
to him.

That night, Harry falls asleep on the couch, his head resting on Severus’ leg while the telly plays some rerun quietly in the background.
His new Ninja Turtle shoes laying by the door,
the party horn that
Severus plans to
make disappear
before tomorrow morning
sits on the arm of the couch.
When Severus tries to move, Harry stirs and protests,
Don’t go.
They spend the night on the couch like that.
Severus’ hand resting on Harry’s shoulder.
He wakes in the morning
stiff-backed and sore, staring
at the cracks
on his parents
on his
ceiling.