Chapter Text
Remembering how his first trip to Diagon Alley had gone, Harry suggested they get his wand first, hoping to be home before midnight with how long he was sure it would take.
The bell over the door rang as all three of them entered, and Harry was glad to have them at his back. Ollivander was fully capable of being creepy, and if he was going to do the same speech about Terrible Greatness again, Harry wanted someone else to know about it.
He took some time to breathe, looking at the room and grounding himself in the now. It wasn't his birthday yet, the store was whole and not smashed in, Ollivander would be here . Voldemort hadn't risen yet to kidnap him. It hadn't happened yet, and it wouldn't, if he had any say in it.
Harry put his back to what appeared to be a genuine Tiffany lamp. He hadn't smashed it last time, and he wasn't going to smash it this time, and the Death Eaters wouldn't either.
He didn't jump when Ollivander appeared out of nowhere, but only because he was facing the door to the back of the shop, this time. Even though he remembered Ollivander's habit of surprising his customers, remembering alone wouldn't have helped.
"Harry Potter," the man stated, and Harry still didn't know how he knew. "I was wondering when I'd see you in here. I remember when your parents came here for their first wands."
Ollivander bustled around behind the counter looking for his tape measure and somehow avoiding looking at any of them. Was it just Harry or was Ollivander twitchier than usual?
Ollivander turned with the tape measure, mouth opening to continue his speech about James Potter and Lily Evans's wands, his gaze met Harry's sharply and he paled suddenly.
"Oh bugger," the wand maker swore, completely off the script Harry had been expecting. "I know which wand is yours. Wait here."
Harry shared confused looks with Severus and Kingsley as Ollivander disappeared out the back again.
Last time, Ollivander had returned with a giant pile of wands in boxes. This time, he returned with just two. One box was a light wood with black streaks in it, the other wood seemed to be made up of optical illusions, shapes in the wood that looked lumpy but were perfectly flat.
"If it's not one of these two, I'll eat my shoes," Ollivander grumbled. " Don't touch them," he ordered, again completely different from last time. "Just hold your hand over the boxes, see if one calls to you."
Once again, Harry shared an utterly baffled look with his—with Severus, before he did as he was told. He closed his eyes and held out his hand, hovering over the boxes.
The first box felt familiar, like he knew it but couldn't name it. Like a song from early childhood, not heard in years. It wasn't his, but he knew it, somehow.
The second box though…the second box felt like mischief and fire, like solid ground and flying on his broom. It felt like tiny Steve Rogers in Dudley's comic books fighting and fighting and getting knocked down, but saying "I can do this all day," and "No, you move" while you plant your feet like the Tree by the river of Truth. It felt like walking down to the Chamber of Secrets and like standing up to Umbridge, with "I must not tell lies" on his hand and uncomfortable truths in his mouth.
It felt like home.
It felt like him.
He licked his lips and opened the box. The wand inside was beautiful, wood the same as the box made up the hilt and lower shaft, inlays of the black wood from the tip of the wand wove down into the lighter wood in a pattern that reminded him of marbled cake. The marbling effect was broken only by several golden-red jagged pieces in the shape of Sowilo. He breathed deep and picked it up, suddenly feeling like he'd been dropped into the ocean.
He couldn't hear Ollivander over the rushing of blood in his ears, sounding rather like the roaring of the waves the only time he'd been to the ocean himself, when Grumblebore took him out to find the locket horcrux. Ollivander, though, didn't seem to care how out of it he was, just shoved the box, a holster and a small, handwritten leaflet into his hands, refused payment and damned near shoved them out the door.
***
The rest of the shopping trip passed uneventfully, aside from an unexpected detour to Gideon Godet's shop.
Gideon wasn't with a client at the moment, unfortunately, so Henry's sketchbook got thrust at the fashion designer by Severus while Kingsley related the entire argument (including the bit about shades of blue) from lunch.
Gideon obligingly paged through the sketchbook, making all manner of faces at each page. Henry struggled not to snatch the book back in embarrassment.
"I am glad hyu put my gifts to such good use, Young Henry," Gideon said, finally. "But why do you say you are not good?"
"Because I'm not!" burst from Henry's mouth. "No matter how hard I try, nothing comes out right! Or it comes out without any feeling to it, or it's just bad. Unless it's a doodle, but even then, I can't take the doodle and make it into art without ruining it."
Gideon nodded sagely, "ah, yez, the woes of artistry. Nozzing will ever look quite right to you, but to others… well, none of the flaws hyu perceive are visible to the eyes of anyone else. In fact, I vould like to buy one from hyu."
While Harry's brain stuttered to a halt and attempted to reboot, Gideon turned to Severus.
"Und hyu, vat iz dis about making hyu look passably decent taking a miracle?" He demanded sharply, accent becoming harsher in his anger. "Passably decent hyu manage every morning hyu roll out of bed and trow on whatever clothes hyu hev zat are clean. Hyu are no miracle worker. I do not make you look passably decent, I make hyu look gorgeous, and I am no miracle worker either. I might forgive hyu the insult to my craft if this is some ploy to get me to make hyu more clothes."
Severus's eyes widened and he nearly hid behind Kingsley, who sidestepped him entirely. "Oh no you don't," Kingsley said, shoving Severus back in front. "I'm on his side in this. Idiot Gryffindor boys have determined how you view yourself for far too long."
"Somevun lied to hyu," Gideon snarled, "and I will know who so zhat I cin have zheir heads." He turned back to a much confused Henry, still holding Henry's sketchbook open to a page where Henry had drawn Severus reading in one of the old wingback chairs by their fireplace, a cup of tea in his other hand. "I vant zhis vun," he announced, "I will pay hyu sixty galleons for it." He got a look in his eye as both Harry and Severus tried to protest the price or the chosen subject. "And anozher seventy for the vun with these two arguing."
***
By the time they’d gotten home, well into the evening, Henry was exhausted and his pockets were 210 galleons heavier. It had taken a third sketch at 80 galleons, this one of Severus’ face when brewing, before they’d stopped trying to argue how Gideon spends his money. Gideon had already picked his fourth one, a colored drawing of Severus in one of the outfits Lady-Aunt Cissa had bought for him, this one a rich, deep ocean blue with silver accents, before they’d backed down and let him pay exorbitant sums for three of a ten year old’s doodles of Severus.
Harry stopped suddenly, causing both men behind him to stumble into him. There was a pair of aurors sitting on the front step. They were in plain clothes, but they clearly should never attempt undercover work. They sat like aurors, which Harry would have thought wasn’t actually possible, and yet, it was a very distinctive seat.
Henry was so exhausted he almost didn’t want to know. Almost. Curiosity had always been, and probably always would be, his personal bane.
“Um, why are there aurors here? Also, please tell me they don’t work undercover, they can’t pass as not aurors.”
Kingsley chucked, a warm rumble behind Henry. “They don’t. Though I’ll be sure to point out at their next review how quickly you made them, to keep it that way. They’re here because they were keeping an eye on the contractors for us while we were shopping. Shall we go see how it looks?”
Henry started walking again, lugging his trunk of books, tools and school robes up the front step and into the living room as Kingsley stopped to chat with his coworkers.
He left the trunk in front of the bookcases. There was no point in lugging it upstairs when he’d have to lug it back down again when they painted his room, probably tomorrow given how exhausted he was.
When he turned around, Severus, Kingsley and the aurors were waiting for him by the stairs. Severus gestured for him to lead them up and kept a warm hand on his back the whole way, soothing Harry’s sudden bout of nerves. Nothing looked different on the landing at the top of the stairs. Maybe the doors hung a little straighter in their frames? Harry didn’t know, but it felt different, for all it looked the same.
He wiped suddenly sweaty palms on his trousers and reached for the knob of his door.
Oh. they wouldn’t need to paint anything after all. The glow of the Aurora Borealis already rippled and flashed across his ceiling, and stars twinkled behind the flows of color. The beds were painted a soft, matte charcoal with slightly shiny silver trim on the edges of the cupboard doors and drawers and already made up with his new sheets and bedspreads and pillows. His mother’s pile of cushions sat neatly arranged across the length of the study bed’s wall, turning the twin-sized bed into a couch. His new desk, a heather grey behemoth with all sorts of drawers and a section that raised and lowered like an easel, sat beneath his window. His silver-grey rug reflected the light from the ceiling in soft pink and green shimmers. A camera flashed and he didn’t even care as his cheeks felt suddenly damp. A rich black wingback chair with faint charcoal grey accents in its brocade and white ashwood feet and ends on the arms sat next to the head of his bed, angled away from the newly-made closet space behind it, a tiny matching white ash lampstand table between it and the bed, perfect for holding a book and a cup of tea with the black and silver oil lamp beside.
He turned away from the chair, lest he sink into it and never again get up and headed down the other hall. A tributary of the river of light in the main room lit the way to the watercloset, and a soft runner rug in charcoal ran down the way. Shelves had been installed, ready for knickknacks and space left for paintings or posters.
In the bathroom, they hadn’t continued the same theme, but had clearly drawn inspiration from it. Black granite tiled the floor and made up the counter and sink, the cupboards below which were a soft silver-grey. The tub, a behemoth of a thing with jacuzzi jets and three shower heads, was jet black with silver faucets and pristine glass doors. The walls though were a plain, featureless white, out of step with the luxury of the rest of the room. The reason became obvious as he turned on the lights, causing rainbows to spill through strategically placed crystals and cascade across the white expanse. It was perfect. Too much. He didn't even want to know how bloody much money had been dropped making it, when it looked like it belonged in Malfoy manor or some other obscenely rich person's house.
He turned back and almost ran to hug Kingsley, ignoring another flash of a camera. "Thank you," he whispered.
Severus excused himself to go visit his own bathroom. He'd been gone barely seconds when he shouted in surprise and the three aurors snickered. Raising an eyebrow at the snickering agents, Henry went to see what the fuss was about.
Severus was standing in the old bathroom. Except that it looked nothing like the old bathroom. Gone were the cracked, beige painted plaster, the old, cracked mint green tile floors, and the old claw foot tub.
In their place, smooth walls and ceiling had been painted the blue of the night sky just after sunset. The floors and walls up to about Severus's waist were covered in white and grey marble, as were the counter above the black sink cabinet, and the walls of the new stand-alone shower with far too many silver shower heads and knobs, and the bathtub even bigger than the one in his bathroom. The floor rugs and towels, though, were a deep green like the Forbidden Forest after dark. The old, bare lightbulb affixed to the ceiling had been replaced with a light charmed to look like the moon, and the ceiling was dotted by those first few, brightest stars.
"We may have had some funds leftover after doing Henry's rooms," said Kingsley's dry voice behind them. "And no one was particularly interested in money being returned to them."
Severus looked at the door to his room for a moment, then shook his head and shooed the lot of them out of the bathroom.
Henry had a feeling Severus's bedroom wouldn't be exactly the way he'd left it either.
***