Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Harry Potter was small for his age, his eleventh birthday may be fast approaching, but he looked more like an eight-year-old. He was too skinny, too short, and too quiet. He found that most people avoided him, people like him made them uncomfortable, people who were different. He was a freak, worth little more than what he could do to help around the house. He didn’t need a room like Dudley, he didn’t need meals like the family, all he needed was his cupboard and his string.
Running his finger along the set of knots tired ever couple of centimetres on his string, Harry let his mind calm preparing for a busy day of cooking and chores, a day just like every other day in his life.

“Wake up boy, it’s time for breakfast, full English,” his aunt yells banging her hand against the door to his cupboard the distinct click of the latching being opened tells Harry it’s time to start his day.

While his aunt, uncle, and cousin eat their full English Harry makes his way to the front door to collect the mail and hand it off to his uncle.

“A letter, Harrys got a letter!” his cousin exclaims drawing Harry attention towards his loud whiny voice.

“Who would be stupid enough to write you a letter?” Uncle Vernon scoffs the rasp of paper filling the air as his uncle tears it open. Silence overtakes the room a conversation taking place around Harry that he cannot track, but the air is thick with connotations of every word going unsaid. A decision is clearly made as Harry hears his uncle move from the kitchen table to the living room his chair making a loud screech as the legs are roughly pushed away from the table. Harry can hear his uncle moving towards the fireplace and tossing his letter into the acrid scent of lighter fluid being sprayed fills and the air the burn of sulphur hits Harry’s nose as a match is struck and a whoosh of flames burns the first letter that Harry has ever received.

Burning the letter seems like an overreaction to Harry, it’s not like he could have read it anyway, clearly his uncle could tell what it said so it wasn’t in braille. Harry knew better than to ask what it had said, that was a quick way for him to be punished. Questions were not allowed, ever. Freakishness was another way to be punished, accidents could not happen, no use of his cane, no covering his eyes, he had to be normal, like everyone else. No one should know about his freakishness.

The letter didn’t stop there, every day that week more letters came, more letters he couldn’t read, but he felt the repercussions of them. No meals for almost a week, only a bottle of water and a slice of white bread to keep him alive. Extra chores to keep him busy and out of the way. Finally, things came to a head on Sunday, Uncle Vernon had been so sure there would be no post on Sundays, but he had been wrong. Hundreds of letters shot through the fireplace raining down on the living room. Uncle Vernon was ranting, Aunt Petunia was trying to calm his down, and Dudley was screaming as if the letters were attacking him. Harry couldn’t help but smile at the chaos around him. He could feel the brush of the paper against his skin, he could hear the scratch as the letters glided past each other and landed all over the room covering the carpet, the coffee table, even landing in his own head.

He stifles a chuckle at the crunch of the paper under Vernon’s feet as he crushes them in his now frantic attempts to gather them all together; to hide the abnormality they represented in their lives. Because they were a normal family, who lived normal lives, in a normal neighbourhood, and these letters and Harry represented everything that wasn’t normal.

Harry listened as the sounds of packing rush around the house. Suitcases crashing down the stairs, frantic yelling from Aunt Petunia to hurry up and pack faster. Harry had finished packing well before the rest of his family his backpack slung over his shoulder and sitting on the cool box brimming with food for their ‘vacation’. Harry hadn’t heard the name of the place they were going, not that he would have known where it was anyway. He’d never left Whinging before and despite the reason for their trip Harry couldn’t help but be excited, his Birthday is tomorrow, and it will be the first time he’s celebrated it somewhere that wasn’t this house.

Their trip to an isolated shack in the middle of what Harry assumed is the ocean from the sharp scent of salt in the air took far longer and a lot more effort than Harry had expected. He’d had to row a tiny boat out to the shack taking direction from his uncle on where he was going, his relatives bulk making the task a challenge for a grown man let alone his tiny frame. Harry couldn’t help but become lost in all the new sounds around him to distract from the hard work, birds were squawking above them their loud calls echoing off what Harry guessed were cliffs. The waves created a rhythmic crashing of water, one Harry could imagine becoming completely lost in for hours. Each dip of the oars into the water made a splash and Harry quickly learned that he could tell how deep he’d pushed the oars from the resistance on them and the amount of noise they made while leaving the water.

Exiting the small raft once they’d reached their destination Harry made sure to leave the raft last so he could take his time finding his way to their destination. He made sure to listen carefully to the direction his Uncle lumbered. He could tell they were ascending some stairs from the loud huffs of breath and grunts that Vernon was letting out as he moved farther and father away. Taking a moment to run his string through his fingers Harry counted the knots he’d tied in it as the bumps ran through his forefinger and thumb. Twenty knots along the thirty-centimetre length of string, some were placed next to each other, others were spaced out to create gaps that Harry could roll between his fingers.
He'd started playing with the string when he’d started at school, they’d taught him braille and he’d loved the tactile feeling of the little bumps that made up his alphabet. The ridges moving under his fingers had been soothing so he’d tried the same with a length of string from his craft class, slipping a length in his pocket and later creating the knots in his cupboard late at night, falling asleep with the string between his fingers.

“Boy, get up here and make dinner,” yelled his uncle short of breath from somewhere above him.

Bracing himself for the journey up whatever was a head of him Harry stands catching his balance from the lightly swaying boat and feels for wood of the dock his uncle had tied the boat to with his hand guiding himself cautiously out and onto land. Everything his fingers touch is coated with a sheen of light dampness, probably from the constant spray of water from the ocean around them. Moving forward slowly Harry feels the stone under his feet, it’s slightly slippery worn smooth by the constant kiss of waves. Shuffling slightly Harry feels what is the beginning of stairs and starts moving as quickly up them as he can without slipping on the slick steps or missing any of the uneven ones. Harry is just grateful his uncle carried up the cooler, because there was no way he could have made it up these winding stairs carry something that heavy and feel for his next step.
Harry waited for his watch to beep out the hour - it had to be soon. Harry felt like he’d been lying there forever waiting for midnight. As usual his aunt and uncle had gone to bed right at 10 o’clock leaving Harry and Dudley on the main floor of the shack - Dudley sound asleep on the couch snoring loudly and Harry on the floor in a sleeping bag from their ill-fated and unused camping gear they’d bought years earlier. Harry always lay awake waiting for his birthday, his one tradition for himself waiting for midnight to ring in July 31st

In the thick layer of dust on the floor in front of his sleeping bag, Harry attempts to doodle a cake with eleven candles on it. It’s hard because there are no edges to follow like there is when he draws on paper at home. He usually has scrap paper he can use to build his cake and feel for the edges, but here he does his best. Sure what he’s made is a far cry from a cake with candles and more likely a blob with stick poking out of it, but it’s his and that’s what matters. Finally, his watch beeps 12 times ringing in the stroke of midnight and Harry blows the dust away from him to celebrate surviving another year.

Right as Harry is moving to settle into his sleeping bag the front door of the shack violently bangs causing the whole building to rumble with the force of it. On the third hit a loud crashing echoes across the room and a cloud of dust hits Harry irritating his eyes and causing him to cough.

“S’rry ‘bout that,” a deep voice says another loud thud following and another small plume of dust.

“Who are you? I warn you I’m armed!” Uncle Vernon yells from his sport behind and to Harry left. Dudley is whimpering and scrambling over to his parents leaving Harry alone in the middle of the room with this stranger across from him.

“Ah Harry! The las’ time I saw you, you were a wee babe,” Harry let his eyes settle where he hears the deep rumbling voice coming from.

“You know me?” Harry asks hesitantly.

“Oh,” the man let’s out while shifting slightly so his voice is directed towards Harry, “why course I do, I brought you to your new home after yer parents passed.”

Harry could feel his eyebrows pull together, this man was responsible for leaving him with the Dursleys? He’d have to be careful, he clearly never checked into them or checked in on Harry, he hoped that if he had, he would have taken him away from them, somewhere safe.

“What’s your name sir?” Harry asks politely.

“Oh my, how rude o’ me, I’m Rubius Hagrid Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts,” the man says moving around the room and falling back on to the couch eliciting a groan the piece of furniture. This man must be huge, bigger than Uncle Vernon from the way his steps sent shocks through the rotting floorboards and how hard he fell onto the couch.

“Hogwarts?” Harry asks ignoring the whimpering family in the corner of the room.

“Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, I ‘ave you’r letter right here, gave Professor Dumbledore a right shock when you didn’ reply, so he sent me,” Hagrid says the sounds of shuffling fabric and crinkle of paper filling the space around them.

“Ah, ‘ere it is,” he finally says, “Ya gonna take it lad?”

“I’m sorry sir, but you need to put it into my hand, I can’t see,” Harry tells him reaching his right hand out towards Hagrid voice palm up ready to receive the letter he’s sure he won’t be able to read.

“Wha do you mean you can’t see?” Hagrid asks confusion clear in his voice.

“I’m blind, does the letter happen to be in braille so I can read it?” Harry asks circling his finger over the wax seal of the envelope taking in the coat of arms he can feel in the impression creating a mental image of what it could be, but features are small and hard to discern. But he can make out the general shape in his mind.

“Blind,” Hagrid mumbles failing to answer Harry’s question.

Slipping his finger under the wax Harry pops the letter open feeling the thick paper used to write whatever this letter is. To his disappointment, but not his surprise, the letter is not in braille, so Harry lets his hands drop to his sides still holding the paper.

“He’s not going to that school, it ruined my sister, it made her a freak,” Aunt Petunia exclaims working her way out from behind Uncle Vernon her voice moving closer to Harry and Hagrid.

“Tha’s not up to you, his parents wanted him to go, so he goes,” Hagrid tells her moving from is place on the couch towards his aunt.

“My parents?” Harry asks hesitantly,

“She went there, and it got her and her freak husband killed,” Aunt Petunia nearly screams.

“Killed? I thought they died in a car accident?” Harry asks confused, he’d always been told his parents were drunks killed in a car accident that had caused him to lose his sight and left an oddly shaped scar on his forehead.

“Car accident? You told him James and Lily Potter died in a car accident?” the man yells clearly upset.

“Better than murdered because they were too stupid to mind their own business,” Aunt Petunia spits out.

Hagrid seems to be shocked and engaged at this news which quickly shuts up his aunt and uncle. Hagrid then goes on a long-winded rant about how Harrys parents had been talented Magicals who’d loved him dearly and lost their lives in saving him.

“I’ve heard enough, grab your things Harry, we’ve lots to do,” Hagrid tells him.

Harrys not sure what he should do, he’s never been anywhere with a stranger like this before, but this could also be his chance to get free from his aunt and uncle. Not to mention hey have just talked about magic! Harry had so many questions and almost nothing to lose by following this man. Resigning himself to stepping into the unknown Harry grabs what little if his in the cabin and follows Hagrid’s heavy footsteps out into the storm.

Chapter Text

Harry’s excitement quickly faded when he realized that he was famous- and that people had no respect for personal space. Hagrid had been too loud when saying his name in the pub and Harry had been swarmed by people eager to lay hands on him, asking to see his scar, and generally stepping into his personal space. Everything was loud and packed full of people; everyone jostled Harry and Hagrid hadn’t offered an arm to help guide him, so he’d had to rely heavily on his other senses just to keep pace. He couldn’t help but nervously run his fingers over the knots of his string in his pocket, using the feeling of the bumps to ground himself.

The bank had been frightening - the cart had descended quickly into the unknown at speeds that made Harry clutch the seat in fear, the rushing air flying past his face, filling his ears with the sound of the wind and nothing else. His cheeks almost burned from the sting of the cool wind from cold air around him whipping past his face. Once they arrived at the vault, Hagrid had passed him a bag and directed him towards his family vault. Unsure of what he was supposed to be doing, Harry reached around until his hands made contact with what felt like a pile of coins. He shovelled them into the bag filling it with as much as it could hold, unsure of what everything would cost and afraid of not having enough. Hagrid had told him they were here to do his school shopping, and he had no idea what they were buying or how much he would need. No, Hagrid had not taken the time to read the letter to him, so Harry was dependant on him to know what they needed to buy.

The cart ride hadn’t stopped there either; they’d then had to go to another vault higher up along the tracks where Hagrid made some vague comments about the headmaster and his vault, grabbing something that Harry guessed was in a paper bag - of all things - before they’d finally been allowed to leave.

“I’ll leave yer here for a bit Harry. I have some things I need. This shop here is where you will get your school robes,” Hagrid told him directing him forward and leaving his heavy foot falls fading away.

Harry let out an exhausted sigh. He’s never had to navigate a place like this by himself before. He knew the Dursleys house, his route to school, to the park, and the inside of the school. He’d learned to listen to the way sounds moved in a room, to help him guess their size and how full they were. In every new place, he took the time to walk around and count his steps to learn the floor plan. But he’d never been to so many new places all at once. He was exhausted, and the day had only just begun.

Feeling for the handle to the shop in front of him, Harry opens it gently and steps inside.

“Hello deary, how can I help you today?” A woman asks from his right.

“Hi, ma’am. I was told to come here for my school robes,” Harry tells her hesitantly.

“Of course, of course, just step up on the platform there and I’ll get you measured,” she tells him.

Letting out another sign Harry opens his mouth, “I’m sorry ma’am, but could you please guide me to the platform? I’m unable to see it.”

Harry hears the sharp intake of breath before the woman moves towards him.

“Here, take my arm,” she tells him while guiding his right hand to the crook of her left elbow and starts moving them towards the centre of the room.

“Right in front of you now, lift your foot and step forward,” she tells him, and Harry follows the instructions stepping up onto the platform.

“I’m going to take some measurements now. I’ll make sure to tell you where I’m measuring and if I need to move your arms or legs, is that okay?” she asks him.

“Yes ma’am,” replies Harry, happy he won’t need to think so hard for this.

“I’m going to measure your right arm first. Hold it up straight out to the side of your body please,”

Harry quickly complies, moving in the ways she asks appreciating her constant commentary on what she is doing and why.

“Wonderful, just take a seat on this bench here and I will get those ready for you,” she tells him guiding him to a nearby bench.

Grateful for a moment of silence to rest, Harry lets out a heavy sigh and settles into the seat to wait. After a couple of moments Harry hears someone else nearby that he’d missed earlier in his exhaustion.

“Hello?” Harry asks softly, not sure if they want to speak to him.

“Why was Madam Malkins talking to you like that?” A voice replies - it sounds like another child similar in age to him, a boy maybe.

“I can’t see. She was doing it so I would know what she needed me to do,” Harry replies letting his eyes fall closed as he leans back on the bench.

“You can’t see anything?” the boy asks.

“Only faint lights and darkness,” Harry replies, used to all the questions about his vision. Everyone always wants to know what he can and cannot see, it seems to fascinate people for some reason.

“My name is Draco, Draco Malfoy,” the boy, Draco says.

“Harry Potter,” he replies back, not thinking that maybe he shouldn’t share his name with just anyone when the silence becomes obvious.

“You’re…. You’re Harry Potter?” Draco asks him awe tinging his voice.

“Last I checked,” Harry replies too tired to be polite.

“But you’re blind!” Draco exclaims like this is shocking information.

“Again, last I checked,” Harry then blinks his eyes open turning towards the source of Draco’s voice, “yup, still can’t see you.”

Based on the slight popping sounds Harry imagines that the boy’s mouth has just opened in shock. Harry just turns his head back towards to ceiling and shuts his eyes again.

“Your clothing is atrocious,” Draco tells him after pulling himself together.

“Good thing I just got measured for my school robes then,” Harry snaps back feeling defensive.

“What about the rest of your clothing?” a shocked Draco asks, sounding personally offended by Harry’s lack of care for his appearance.

“This is about all I own. Some more t-shirts and a pair of sweats,” Harry tells him unsure why this boy is so invested in his clothing, it’s not like he can see it.

“That won’t do,” Draco says standing up and moving away from Harry. Harry just shakes his head at the rude boy- apparently his clothing is so bad the other boy doesn’t even want to sit with him anymore. Settling back into his seat. he starts dozing slightly, enjoying the sounds of the shop. There are few other people in the store this early, but he can hear the rustle of fabric as people sift through clothing, the sharp clicking of scissors somewhere far off in the shop, and the clinking of galleons as someone pays for their purchases.

“I know you can’t see the colours, so you’re just going to have to trust me that these will look amazing on you with those green eyes and that dark hair.I thought you might like to feel the fabric options before I start ordering things,” Draco says as a thud hits the bench beside him.

“Excuse me?” Harry asks him shocked that the boy is even back, let alone ordering him clothing.

“I picked blacks, blues, greens, and some light pastels that I think will look great, but you need to pick which fabrics to use. I’m assuming that will be the part that matters most to you,” Draco says grabbing Harry’s hand and placing a square of fabric in it.

Closing his fist around the fabric, Harry feels one of the best things that has ever slipped through his fingers. It’s so warm and plush, soft - the perfect fabric for a sweater. Nothing he owns feels like this, his cousins’ castoffs were all worn and thin. The fabric pilled, course from wear and stains, some even had holes in them.

“Uh,” Harry says not sure how to reply to Draco.

“Yes, or no?” Draco asks him.

“Yes,” Harry says grateful for the easy question.

“That one, or this one?” Draco asks setting another fabric square in his other hand. This square is just as soft, but thinner with less loose fluff and more tightly woven fibers.

“This one,” Harry says holding up the first square.

They go on like that for what feels like hours to the eleven-year-old, so far outside his element picking what seems to be endless soft or textured fabrics for an unknown number of clothes.

“Perfect! We’ve got choices for shirts, pants, sweaters, some formal robes, and sleep wear. Now do you know what style you like?” the other boy asks him, his tone excited.

“Draco, I can’t see it. I don’t really care what it looks like,” Harry tells him trying not to disappoint the boy.

“That’s fine I can pick for you,” Draco says happily bouncing away from him on light feet taking the fabric samples with him.

Harry has no idea how he’s going to pay for all of this, but hopefully the rest of his school supplies won’t take up too much of his coins. Worse case, he can always return to the bank and the scary mine cart for more - the pile of coins he’d taken his money from had felt massive.

“I added the rest to your order; it won’t be done for another two hours. Why don’t we go find my mother and get the rest of your school supplies?” Draco asks Harry, taking his hand pulling Harry up from the bench.

“Umm, okay,” it would be nice to not shop alone Harry thinks and Hagrid has been gone for a really long time already.

“Excellent, here put these on. The changing room is here and I’ll be waiting right outside when you’re done,” Draco tells him shoving a bundle of clothing into his arms and directing him in a small space, “there’s a bench along the far wall.”

It’s like the boy can read Harry’s mind. He’s by far the most considerate person Harry has ever spent time. With his teachers at school, they almost always chose to ignore him and the other students wanted nothing to do with him.

Placing the new soft clothes down, Harry quickly changes pulling on the collared shirt and pants that properly fit his waste. On the bench, there is also a light sweater that he pulls on over top of the shirt. Running his hands down his torso, he admires how soft it is. It might be too warm for today, but Harry would rather have the soft fabric against his skin than worry about being a little too warm.

“You look much better, here give me those,” Draco says grabbing Harry old clothes from his arms, “I’ll be right back.”

Waiting just outside the dressing room, Harry can hear Draco telling someone to burn his old clothes, which Harry thinks is a little dramatic. He then hears the distinct sound of Draco’s shoes on the hard floors approaching him.

“Now I can be seen in public with you, let’s go find mother,” Draco says in a haughty tone grabbing hold of Harry’s hand. Taking the is lead from the taller boy, Harry lets himself be pulled out of the shop and down the street. This time no one bumps into him as they walk, even though the street is definitely busier now that its midmorning. Draco makes sure to gently push and pull Harry around obstacles while they search for his mother.

“Draco, why did Madam Malkins take so long?” A woman asks from in front of them, her tone isn’t upset only mildly curious.

“Mother, this is Harry Potter. I met him at Madam Malkins. He was only going to get new robes, but I helped him pick out a full wardrobe. You should have seen what he was wearing before- it was so muggle and none of it fit. I had it burnt,” Draco tells his mother, his hand still firmly holding Harry’s.

“Is that so? And did you ask Harry if that was what he wanted? I’m sure he’s not here alone, Draco,” She asks, a somewhat tired tone in her voice. Apparently, Draco had a history of being a bossy brat.

“I’m here with Hagrid ma’am, but he left me at Madam Malkins while he went to do his errands,” Harry tells her looking in the direction her voice came from.

“Hagrid?” She asks her tone starting to take on more emotion now.

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry nods his head hoping he hasn’t done anything wrong. She makes a light humming sound though and Harry takes it to mean he hasn’t done anything to upset her.

“Draco, darling, why do you have such a tight grip on Harry’s hand?” She asks clearly curious why they’re still holding hands.

“Harry can’t see so I’ve been helping him get around. You should see how often people try to approach him or walk into him, it frankly quite rude,” her son tells her like it is nothing.

“Harry can’t see?” she asks hesitantly.

“Well, he can see light and dark, but no shapes or details. He let me pick out all the colours for his new clothes. I think you’ll agree that the blue I went with will make his eyes look even brighter,” Draco says beaming with pride.

Harry can hear her take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Alright let’s go get your schoolbooks - they’re the last thing on your list. Your father is there already picking up an order,” she tells Draco who pulls gently on Harry hand leading him to their next stop.

“The next store is Flourish and Blotts. It has all kinds of books about anything you can think of. Maybe we should get you some extras. Who did you grow up with?” Draco asks, his tone is hushed as though he doesn’t want anyone outside their small group to hear them.

“I grew up with my aunt, uncle, and cousin. They hate magic so I don’t really know anything about it. But Draco, I can’t just read books... I need them to be braille, can’t see remember?” Harry reminds his overzealous friend while his mother behind them lets out another slow nearly inaudible breath.

“That’s easy - there’s got to be a charm to make the book read aloud, or maybe we can translate it into this braille for you with a spell,” Draco pauses for a moment, “what do you mean your relatives hate magic? Didn’t you grow up with Magicals?”

“Errr, no they are for sure not magical,” Harry tells him confused why he seems so sure about Harry’s living arrangements. A slight tug on Harry’s arm tells him that Draco has twisted his body to look back at his mother.

“Here we are. Come on, I’ll tell you about some of the books and you can pick out the one’s you want,” Draco pulls Harry along making sure that no one bumps into them. This store is much more crowded compared to Madam Malkins. The smell reminds him of the library at school where teachers had often left him alone to self-study by himself when his class had been learning something that ‘didn’t apply to him’. Scents of paper and ink permeate the air, that smell that’s so uniquely books. Around him he can hear several conversations happening, but the one the draws his attention is between Draco’s parents.

“He said they hate magic, Lucius. They left him with muggles, the boy is blind, and they sent Hagrid to do his school shopping with him. Oh, but he left the boy alone at Madam Malkins by himself. What was he supposed to do by himself, Lucius? He was there long enough already that Draco picked out a full wardrobe for the boy, one we’ll be covering by the way. We can’t send him back there, there’s so much he needs to learn before school starts, we need to take him home with us,” she hisses to the man a couple aisles over.

“We can’t just kidnap the boy, Narcissa,” Lucius tells her in an equally quiet tone.

“I don’t care how you do it, but that boy is leaving this alley with us today if I have to kidnap him or not,” she hisses out as they move farther away so Harry can no longer make out what they are saying.

For an hour, Harry follows Draco around the bookstore, Draco reading out short blurbs and book titles to Harry and prompting him with yes or no questions if he wants to keep it or not. In the end Harry picks out five additional books to take home with him, one on magical creatures, another about Hogwarts itself, a potions book, a history book, and lastly a book on the basics of the magical government.

“Wonderful boys, hand those here please I already have your school text set aside,” Draco’s mother takes the books and hands over what sounds like many gold coins to pay for the books.

“I have coins ma’am, I can pay for my books,” fear fills Harry’s voice, afraid they think he is using them.

“Nonsense, I am more than happy to pay for this. Now how about we get some ice cream before heading to get your wands?” she asks her voice full of the bright smile on her face.

Both boys eagerly follow her for their sweet treat, for Harry it would be his first time having ice cream and he couldn’t wait to try something new. Draco had been kind and read off all the flavours for him adding in his own commentary for his favourites and least favourites, making sure to describe the textures to Harry. Eventually, Harry settled on a double chocolate ice cream with cookie chunks and Draco chooses something called cookies and cream. Sitting down inside the shop, Harry and Draco enjoy their treats. Draco even lets Harry try a small bite of his cookies and cream. Harry can’t help but bask in the sweet scent of the shop a mixture of vanilla and sugar with a slight tang in the undertone probably form a cleaning solution.

“Narcissa, Draco, Mr. Potter, it appears we have business at the bank that needs attending to,” a man with the same voice from the bookstore says standing behind Narcissa’s chair across from Draco and Harry, this must be Draco’s dad, Lucius.

“Did you sort things out, love?” Narcissa asks her tone much more friendly compared to at the bookstore.

“I believe I have a solution. Severus will be meeting us at the bank. The Goblins and I believe we’ve found a loophole,” Lucius tells them as Draco helps guide Harry out of the ice cream shop and into the throng of people shopping once more. Harry barely notices that he hasn’t touched his string once since meeting Draco.

Chapter Text

“I cannot believe you’ve dragged me here for this nonsense, Lucius. I have projects that need my attention and a letter that just says, ‘Need a favour meet me at the bank, now’ is hardly sufficient notice for whatever this is,” a deep voice drawls, irritation clear in his tone as a man enters the room that the Goblins had placed Harry and the Malfoys in when they’d arrived at the bank several minutes ago.

A sharp intake of breath draws Harry attention away from his snack and towards the door.

“What is the meaning of this Lucius?” The man hisses out clearly unhappy with something that he’s seen.

“Take a seat Severus, we have a lot to discuss,” Lucius tells him the faint sound of robes rustling indicating that the man, Severus, has sat down with some flourish. Harry can feel eyes on him though, boring into him from across the room. Whoever this man is, he knows who Harry is and he hasn’t taken his eyes off Harry since he entered the room.
Harry ignores it all and settles further into his seat beside Draco, asking for another small sandwich to eat while they wait for whatever this business is that needs their attention right now. Lucius and Narcissa continue their whispered conversation working out how best to take Harry from here and the remaining supplies they need to buy. They must think he can’t hear them because it sounds like they are trying to ‘kidnap’ him, not that he wouldn’t go willingly. Nothing could be worse than the Dursleys.

“Welcome Lord Malfoy, Lady Malfoy, Lord Prince, and Heirs,” a gravelly voice says as, yet another person enters the office.

“Ironclaw, wonderful to meet you again. We have an urgent matter we’d like to discuss with you regarding Mr. Potters living arrangement. It is our belief his current living situation is unsafe, and we’d like to check the Potter wills and family tree for alternate arrangements for the boy,” Lucius says an air of authority in his tone.

“What do you mean unsafe?” Severus asks his voice full of disbelief, “Who do you live with Mr. Potter?”

“Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia,” Harry replies in a quiet tone his hand seeking out his string to start running his fingers along the knots.

Something across the room cracks.

“Lord Prince, if you would please refrain from damaging the furniture,” Ironclaw says, something tinging the air making it feel heavy.

“I don’t know why you are referring to me as Lord Prince, I was disowned,” the even drawl of Severus fills the silence.

“We will come to that. First the matter of Mr. Potter - I will need you to provide a blood sample so we can investigate your family tree, and we will need to do a brief ritual to assess any damage to your magical core,” the Goblin tells him. Harry can hear Narcissa moving to grab the things Harry will need.

“I just need your hand. I’ll prick your finger and allow some blood to fall on this parchment; the parchment is spelled to connect with the Gringotts family trees and will tell us if you have any living relatives. It will also serve as proof that you are Harry James Potter and allow us to open your parents wills to see if there is anyone else they intended to be your guardian, is that okay?” Narcissa asks him.

“Lily never would have sent him to live with Tuna,” Severus mutters under his breath.

Harry just nods his head and lifts his right hand for Narcissa to take. The needle only hurts for a second before Narcissa heals the small wound and releases Harry hand, the slight tinge of iron in the air from his blood brushes past his awareness.

The silence in the room becomes heavy when the other people in the room read off the results of his lineage likely forgetting that Harry was unable to himself.

“Um, could someone please read it off for me?” Harry asks quietly.

“Yes, of course Harry,” Narcissa says while Lucius whispers something to Severus just quiet enough that he can’t make out their words.

“Blind?” Severus exclaims loudly from his seat on the other side of the room from Harry making him jump slightly.

Ignoring his outburst Narcissa begins reading off results.

Harrison (Harry) James Potter
Father: James Fleamont Potter (deceased)
Mother: Lily Potter nee Evans (deceased)
Godfather: Sirius Orion Black
Godfather: Severus Tobias Prince
Paternal Grandfather: Fleamont Potter (deceased)
Paternal Grandmother: Euphemia Potter nee Avery (deceased)
Maternal Grandfather: Muggle Unknown
Maternal Grandmother: Rose Evans nee Rosier (deceased)
Maternal Aunt: Muggle Unknown

“Who is Sirius Orion Black?” Harry asks not knowing who that is or why he’s never met them.

“He was your father’s best friend. He’s currently incarcerated in Azkaban for their betrayal, the murder of another friend, and deaths twelve muggles,” Lucius tells Harry.

“Did you know that you were my Godfather, sir?” Harry asks quietly, trying to angle himself towards Severus.

“No, I did not. Your mother was my best friend, but we had a falling out in our fifth year and had only just started working on our relationship again when you were born, she never told me she had done this, if I’d known…” Severus voice trails off.

“Here are the wills for you to review. It appears your concern for living arrangements shall not be hard to rectify,” the Ironclaw says. Harry can feel Narcissa moving forward to accept the wills and she beings reading.

“I, James Fleamont Potter, of sound mind create this last will and testament on the 31st of January 1981, before Lily and I enter hiding in an attempt to protect our family from the Dark Lord.

If I pass, I leave all my earthly possessions to Lily Potter excluding the specifications below. If both Lily and I pass at the same time, we leave Harry to be raised by his godparents. I know, I know Siri, but Lily loves Severus like a brother, and she would like his influence in Harry’s life so the two of you will just need to figure it out. Severus, I know this is far too little too late, but I apologize for the way I treated you in school, there is no excuse for what I did, and I hope you can see past it to help raise Lily’s son. Sirius has an irrational fear of dolls if you need to keep him in line.”

Narcissa pauses there as someone sniffles while letting out a dark chuckle.

“Severus you’ve been left permission to view and borrow Potter families potions books as well as 1 million galleons towards the raising of Harry in the event you became his guardian. Harry, everything else is regarding others and I think it would be prudent to move onto your mothers will and we can discuss the rest of this at a later date,” Narcissa tells him.

Harry nods trusting that she’ll share what he needs to know. He hears the shuffle of paper again and Narcissa begins reading again.

“I, Lily Potter nee Evans, of sound mind create this last will and testament on the 31st of January 1981, before James and I enter hiding in an attempt to protect our family from the Dark Lord.

If I pass, I leave all my earthly possessions to James Potter excluding the specifications below. If both James and I pass at the same time, we leave Harry to be raised by his godfathers. Severus, I know I already gave you my forgiveness, but I’m going to remind you, I forgive you, you are my brother, and nothing will ever destroy my love for you. I hope that you and Sirius can work through your differences and raise Harry together. He’ll need someone to be a role model for something other than pranks. If he kicks up too many problems, I’ve left a spell for you to give him fleas,”

Harry can hear Severus chuckling through his tears at the words left to him by his mum. Harry can feel tears staining his own cheeks. His parents had wanted their friends to raise him; they’d wanted him to grow up with people who wanted him. But then, how did he end up with his aunt?

“Severus, Lily has left you a vault and her personal potions books, as well as a home in which Mr. Potter is supposed to be raised,” Narcissa tells him.

Draco places his hand on Harry’s back, rubbing small circles between his shoulders in an attempt to comfort him as they all sit in silence for a moment taking in the information they have been given.

“With that out of the way, Lord Prince as Mr. Potters godfather you have legal right to his guardianship based on the wills of Mr and Mrs Potter. May I suggest a full legal adoption given Mr. Potters… status. You do need to claim the Lordship of your house in order to perform the proper adoption,”

Harry is unsure what Ironclaw means by ‘status’, but he doesn’t even begin to hope that Severus would want to adopt him, no one truly wants him.

“Yes, what is this about being Lord Prince? I was under the impression that my mother and I had been disowned,” Severus asks.

“Your mother was disowned, and you were not acknowledged until your grandfathers passing seven years ago. At that time, his will named you heir and lord to house Prince.

Several attempts were made to inform you as those vaults will be sealed until a time they are claimed again and we would appreciate those funds be active,” Ironclaw says.

“Then I’ll claim the Lordship now and we can move forward with the rest,” Severus states. Harry can hear the movement of paper and the scratch of something on paper. His mind is reeling, did Severus just say he is going to adopt him? That couldn’t be right.

“These documents will be shared with the Ministry. You can claim your Wizengamot seat in the next session,” Ironclaw say.

Around him, Harry hears the rustle of fabric and footsteps moving towards him. The air shifts slightly, indicating a body coming to rest in front of him.

“Harry, may I hold your hands?” Severus asks him from a position that sounds like kneeling with how close the voice is to his level.

Nodding his head Harry raises his hands for Lord Prince to take. Severus hands are much larger than Harry and very warm against the clammy cold skin of his small hands.

Severus has calluses along his fingers making Harry curious about what he does for work to make his hands as rough as Harrys own. His are hard earned from chores he’d had to do at the Dursleys.

“Harry, if you’d like, I’d be happy to adopt you and call you my son. Lily was my sister in every way but blood and if we do this you will be my son in blood. There are a lot of dangers in this world and for me to protect you from them, there needs to be no way for anyone to dispute my right to be your father,” Severus tells him his tone much kinder than it had been earlier. Harry doesn’t really know what he means by in blood, but Severus want’s him, even though he’s a freak, even though he can’t see like everyone else, even though caring for him is a burden.

“Yes please,” Harry lets out fresh tears streaking down his face, because maybe everyone else was wrong, someone does want him.

“We can do that now. Ironclaw can you please provide the paperwork and for us to complete and the potion required?” Harry hears Severus ask from his position on the floor.

Moments later there is the rustle of paper and the sound of a cork leaving a bottle.

“This, Hary, is a blood adoption. It will make it as though you are my child in blood, not just name. If you do a lineage test like the one today, I will also show as your father and that will take precedence over anything else. I’ve placed some of my blood in this potion and you will need to drink it,” Severus tells the small boy.

“Does this make it so James isn’t my dad anymore?” Harry asks, unsure how he feels about that.

“No, James will always be your dad. He loved you so much and nothing will ever change that. I promise this is what they would have wanted,” Severus tells him handing Harry the open vial. Harry holds the small glass between his fingers for a moment, trying to process everything that had happened in the past 24 hours. His whole world had changed, magic was real, his parents had loved him, he was a wizard, and this man in front of him wanted to adopt him. Taking a deep breath Harry lifts the vial to his mouth swallowing the contents as instructed and changing his life forever.

The liquid is warm travelling down his throat. The bitter taste of whatever makes up the potion makes Harry’s stomach turn and his face scrunch up is disgust. Quickly a glass is placed in his hand and trusting his new father Harry takes take a large swallow of the water to clear the flavour in his mouth and settle his stomach.

“Your skin is going to feel a slight tingle all over for a minute or two, it’s the potion adding my blood to yours. It won’t hurt you, I promise,” Severus tells Harry, still in his place in front of him. Harry can feel Severus’s hands resting lightly on his shoulders. He can’t help but pull out his string to run his fingers over the knots to help him focus on the here and now.

True to his word, the tingling starts to spread over Harry. His limbs start warming slightly, but it quickly recedes back into his core - a new feeling a completeness settling over him. Harry let’s out a deep sigh. He’s free, he can feel it. He will never have to go back to that house or see those people again. He has someone who wants him, a father.

“Great job, Harry,” Severus tells him, “Now there is one more decision to make today and then we can go back to the Malfoy Manor, and you can rest. Do you want to keep your last name as Potter, change it to Prince, or hyphenate it to Potter-Prince?”

This decision could help change Harry’s life. When people had heard his name in the Leaky Cauldron, they’d reacted immediately acting like they had a right to him. They’d crowded him and forced themselves into his personal space, making him feel overwhelmed and afraid. He didn’t want to disrespect his parents, but he also wanted to free himself from the expectations of his name and being this so-called Boy-Who-Lived. A war rages inside him, the only thing grounding him is his string and the slight touch of the hands on his shoulders.

Who does he want to be? Does he want to be Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, whose parents died to keep him safe? Does he want to be Harry Prince, the son of Severus Snape, a man who selflessly adopted him not knowing anything about him? Or does he want to be Harry Potter-Prince, and have a foot in both worlds?

“I think, just Prince please,” Harry whispers afraid that this might be the moment that Severus doesn’t want him, maybe he doesn’t want to give Harry his name and the offer was a test.

“How does Harrison James Prince sound?” Severus asks and Harry can’t help but smile at him.

“Like me,” Harry whispers back to him.

“Alright son, I’m going to sign this paper and I’ll help you do the same. Once we do the ritual, we can go back to Malfoy Manor and you can get some rest and we can come back in a few days to finish your shopping?”

Harry nods tears prickling his eyes all over again. Severus has just called him his son. Harry is someone’s son, someone who wants to claim him as much as he wants to claim them.

The rest of the paperwork at the bank is wrapped up quickly and copies of all the documents are filed both with the banks lineage division and sent to the ministry making Harrison James Prince the son and heir of Lord Severus Tobias Prince.

The ritual is uncomfortable. Harry had to wash himself in a tub before putting on a pair of pants and a lose fitting shirt that were scratchy against his skin. The goblins ask him to sit in a specific spot and stay quiet while they chant around him in a language he doesn’t understand. The ritual takes ten minutes to complete, but by then end, Harry is exhausted wanted nothing more than to curl up and take a nap. He was confused about the purpose of the ritual. No one has explained to him what it meant to check his magical core for past damage. Will they see what the Dursleys did? Will it show them when he’s been a freak in the past?

He chose not to think too hard about it and to maybe trust that Severus and the Malfoys had his best interests at heart.

“Remember, this only shows what his core had to heal to prevent permeant damage. You will need a healer to look at him,” Ironclaw tells Severus handing him what sounds like even more papers.

Exiting the office into the midafternoon bustle of the bank Harry remembers all the things he was supposed to do today.

“What about Hagrid and my clothes from Madam Malkins?” Harry asks Severus whose arm he is currently gripping.

“Not to worry, I already sent word to Hagrid to return to the castle and told him that I would finish your shopping with you. I believe the Malfoys have already had your clothes transferred to the Manor where we are heading,” Severus reassures him, and Harry lets out a relieved sigh. Draco comes up to Harrys other side bumping his shoulder lightly to let Harry know he’s there.

“We’re going to have so much fun for the rest of the summer!” Draco lets out excitedly, Harry can feel him vibrating next to him, the taller boy's robes brushing lightly against his pants.

“We are going to take the Floo to the Manor. I’ll go with you this time so you can learn what it feels like to travel this way - we’ll practice Magical traveling with you over the summer. It can be quite… jarring. I am going to take a handful of a special powder and toss it into the flames of a fireplace that’s connected to the Floo Network then clearly state my destination. Today we are heading to Malfoy Manor, entrance hall. It can be a little uncomfortable, so don’t be alarmed you may feel a little nauseous when we arrive,” Severus says trying to explain everything for Harry in a way that doesn’t leave the boy surprised by being dragged from one place to the next.

Severus had been correct, Floo travel was terrible and made Harry’s stomach flip - threatening to make his lunch come up. They stepped out of the fire into a large open space. Harry thinks the Manor must be massive to cause the sounds of their footsteps to echo so much - the size reminds Harry of the sports hall at school. If this was just the entrance how big was this house?

“Here, drink this it will help settle your stomach,” Severus says passing Harry another vial. This one tasted like ginger and lemon which immediately made Harry’s stomach settle from the turbulent ride through the fireplace. The fireplace! They both smelled faintly of soot and burning now. Severus natural herbal scent was replaced by the acidic scent from the Floo travel that’s clinging to their clothes.

“Dobby, could you please guide us to one of the spare rooms near Draco in the family wing for Harry?” Severus asks someone else in the room with them.

“Yes, Potion Master sir,” a voice squeaks out from someone smaller than even him.

For nearly five minutes, they walk through the manor with Severus guiding Harry and warning him of stairs or other obstacles in their path. He described the manor as they pass through what feels like endless hallways. Everything Severus mentions sounds like something out of a fairy tale, had he suddenly become Cinderella? Was he going to wake up at midnight and all of this was going to pop out of existence like the carriage? Was he going to end up being the pumpkin, no longer magical, no longer special?

“Here we are Potion Master, sir. This room be across from little Master Draco,” Dobby says in his squeaky voice. Harry is just grateful to hear the sounds of a door opening, he is so close to being able to lay down and rest from this very long day.

“How do you get to know a new space?” Severus asks Harry, still holding his hand while walking them into the room and guiding him to sit on the bed.

“I usually walk around the room counting steps and feel around for where the obstacles are. It takes a while,” Harry tells him trying to focus on admiring how soft the bed below him is and not how Dudley had liked to move things to make Harry’s life harder. Harry feels himself sinking into the mattress, the blankets are so soft, promising warmth and comfort.

“Alright, we can spend some time doing that once you’ve had a nap. Now, I’ll grab you some pyjamas,” Harry listens as Severus moves and opens a door somewhere to his left, where there is the rustling of clothes. When that door closes, another opens causing confusion for Harry. He can’t think of what that door would lead to, the one they had entered was right in front of him, not behind him.

“I’m going to guide you into the bathroom so you can change and relieve yourself. I will be right outside waiting for you,” Severus tells him, guiding Harry through the room and to the attached bathroom.

“Is this a shared bathroom?” Harry asks, confused why there’s a door in his room that leads to the bathroom.

“No, this is all yours,” Severus says, his tone mildly confused before leaving Harry and closing the door behind him. Harry appreciated that he’s left to explore the space on his own, not wanting to be a burden on his new father.

He can’t help but be in awe of having a bathroom all to himself - no more sharing with Dudley. Harry lets out a faint whistle in the bathroom and listens to how the sound echos around the space. It’s even bigger than Dudley’s second bedroom in here! Reaching his left hand out, he makes contact with the counter where he feels the clothing Severus had left for him. Keeping his hand on the counter he follows until he feels the sink. Walking past the counter and further into the room, he feels the toilet. Using it quickly then rinsing his hands, he smiles to himself. His own bathroom. Shuffling slowly across the space, Harry finds a massive bathtub with accompanying shower beside it. This bathroom alone is larger than anything he ever had at the Dursleys, it’s even larger than any of their bathrooms, maybe all of them combined.

Moving back to the clothing, Harry quickly pulls on the extremely soft sleep shirt and pants, admiring the snug fit of the waistband and the way the shirt isn’t tight but flows lightly against his skin - so different from his cousin’s old clothes that had hung off his much smaller frame. Opening the door, Harry steps out and feels Severus rest his hand on his shoulder, guiding him back to the bed. Not that Harry needs the help, he knows the bed is 10 steps from the door and one to the right - but he lets Severus help him regardless afraid to upset the man.

“Up you go,” Severus says while pulling back the blanket to allow Harry to curl up under the warm duvet.

“I also grabbed this for you,” Severus says placing Harry’s string into his hand.

Harry doesn’t know what to say or what to feel. His string has always been a point of contention with people, no one understands why Harry always had it within reach. But Severus had just given it to him, had noticed that Harry needed it, and he wasn’t sure what to make of that.

“Are you staying with me?” Harry asks quietly expecting a swift rejection.

“I can, at least until you fall asleep,” Severus says moving to sit beside Harry on the side of the bed closest to the door, “When you wake up call for Dobby. He will be able to hear you, and he can grab me or Draco to guide you to the rest of the family. Do not go wandering off on your own. The Manor is large, and you may get lost.”

“Yes, sir” Harry replies resting his head on the pillow.

“You don’t have to call me sir, Harry,”

“Can I call you Dad?” Harry asks boldly finally starting to feel comfortable, like maybe this man does want to be his dad. He’d been kind, he’d adopted Harry. Severus had noticed his string and asked him how he learned about new places. He didn’t treat Harry like a freak, like his disability made him any less capable than others, he made Harry feel like he is normal.

A cold drop of water hits Harry’s forehead, drawing him back from his thoughts, the droplet quickly swiped away by the pad of a calloused thumb.

“Yes, Harry, I’d be so proud to be your Dad,” Severus tells the tiny boy curled up beside him so full of hope but too afraid to let it show.

With a smile on his lips, Harry falls asleep beside his dad.

Chapter Text

Waking up, Harry begins to panic. He’s sleeping on something extremely soft, and he’s surrounded by something warm, tightly wrapped around him. That can’t be right. His cupboard is hard, and it’s hardly warm unless it’s summer. But that warmth is suffocating, this warmth is comforting. Stretching himself out, Harry remembers everything that happened to him today... yesterday? Magic was real, he had a dad, his name had changed, he was safe. Draco was here and so was his dad. What was it his dad said before Harry had fallen asleep?

“Umm, Dobby?” Harry says hesitantly feeling silly talking to no one. A moment later there is a quiet pop before the little voice speaks up again.

“Hello Master Harrison, I be Dobby. Your father says to be waiting for him,” Dobby tells Harry, before another pop can he heard. Harry listens intently to see if this Dobby has left. There’s no more sound in the room to indicate someone else is there, only the light thud of Harry’s own heart. Smiling, Harry stays snuggled into the blankets waiting for his dad to arrive.

It takes only a few minutes until there is a light knock at the door before it opens. The smell of herbs, lavender and something else Harry doesn’t recognize, waft into the room with his dad. Harry listens identifying the long strides he’s come to recognize as those of Severus Prince.

“How was your nap?” he asks Harry settling on to the edge of the bed again.

“Good, I feel much better now. What time is it?” Harry asks.

“Quarter to seven. It’s just about dinner time if you’d like to join us in the dining room?” his dad asks leaving the choice up to Harry.

“Yes please, do I need to change?” Harry asks not really wanting to shed the comfortable clothing.

His dad just chuckles lightly, “no Harry, you don’t need to change. I’m sure the Malfoys can survive a nonformal dinner this once. They can be insufferably formal.”

Harry cheeks tinge pink, he’s doesn’t want to be an imposition in them.

“I can change,” Harry quickly offers.

“Nonsense, you are perfectly dressed for dinner I promise. Let’s go, I hear we’re having chicken,” his dad tells him, letting Harry take his time leaving the bed and offering his arm by gently letting it nudge Harry’s shoulder.

Following his dad through the labyrinth that is the Manor, Harry tries to take everything in while also memorizing the number of steps and the turns leading to the dining room. The flooring is all stone, causing clicks from his dad’s shoes that help Harry hear the long hallways stretching ahead, each footfall echoing down the narrow space. He imagines that the walls are covered in masterpiece paintings, or that they are painted with intricate designs showing off that the Malfoy family has money, lots of money.
Being brave Harry works up the courage to ask his dad some questions.

“Dad,”

“Yes, Harrison?”

“Do you come here often? You seem to know your way around,”

“I do. I usually spend my holidays here with the Malfoys. We’ve been friends for a very long time and Draco is my godson,” his dad tells him.

“Like I was your godson?” Harry asks.

“Much like that, but I got to be a part of Draco’s life from the day he was born,”

“Oh,” Harry lets out, thinking how nice it would have been to have his godfather, now father, since he was baby.

“I’m happy I get to be in your life now though, Harrison, and I will always be here,” he quickly reassures Harry.

“Can you check my watch? I noticed that it stopped indicating the hour since I got here. It’s been hard to tell the time without it,” Harry asks holding up his wrist with the watch his Dad, pulling them to a stop to look at it.

“Ah, an unfortunate fact about magic, it does not blend well with electronics. You may notice a lack of modern technology in the magical world. It would appear the battery has died. Once you’re at school I’ll teach you a spell that will track the time for you,” his dad says letting go of Harry’s wrist and starting their journey towards the dining room again.
Harry just nods his head, a smile on his face. He notices that the smell of food is starting to waft towards them from somewhere to Harrys right.

“Would you like to sit beside me or Draco?” his dad asks.

“Draco, please,” Harry says reaching out his hand and running it along the edge of a wooden table as they move closer towards the other voices in the room. This has to be the biggest table ever from what Harry can feel. He’s taken 10 steps before they come to a stop, the distinct scrape of chair legs against the floor telling him that someone has pulled out an empty chair for him. Feeling for the backing, Harry grabs it using his other hand to gauge the height of the seat and lowering himself down his chair gently scooted into the table before he hears his dad walk around the table to his own seat across from Harry.

“Are you feeling better?” Draco asks Harry from his spot to Harry right.

“Yes, it was just a lot of change really fast,” Harry tells him honestly. His whole world had shifted in a matter of hours. There were people who said they wanted him surrounding him, he could do magic, he has a dad, and his parents didn’t die in a car accident, they died to save him.

“I bet, but now you’re here!” Draco says excitedly tapping Harry arm lightly, “after dinner I can show you my room. Do muggles have quidditch?”

“What’s quidditch?” Harry asks curious about what magical games are like.

“Draco, not at the table. Let Harry eat his dinner,” Narcissa admonishes her son, “Harry dear, your fork and knife are beside your plate already. Dinner tonight is chicken, a dinner roll, and steamed vegetables. Eat what you can okay darling?”

“Yes ma’am,” he says reaching for his utensils.

“You can call me Aunt Cissa and you can call Lucius Uncle Lu or Uncle Lucius, okay?” Aunt Cissa says it like it’s a question and he gets a choice in how he addresses them.

“Yes, Aunt Cissa,” Harry says using his fork and knife to explore his plate locate all the different foods. Uncle Lu let’s out a snort from the head of the table and Harry can practically hear the eye roll he must be giving his wife.

Dinner is delicious, more so because it was something that Harry didn’t have to cook himself. Instead, he got to eat with the family, soaking up their energy, the lively conversation between his dad and Aunt Cissa about the latest potions journal, Draco and Uncle Lu discussing the latest session of something called the Wizengamot. They all leave Harry to enjoy his peace recognizing that he needs some space to himself while still surrounded by all of them.

Harry manages to eat half of what’s on his plate before he becomes painfully full and rests back on his chair, letting his eyes drift closed so he doesn’t need to focus on where he’s ‘looking’. Uncle Vernon always hated it when he let them wander, not thinking about where they are pointed when he was listening to someone talk. He’d always said it made Harry more freakish and being freakish had always meant punishment. Harry didn’t want to take any chances that the Malfoys or his dad would also find it freakish, but he was tired and trying to focus his eyes took a lot of effort.

“Draco, why don’t you take Harry to your room and show him your things?” Aunt Cissa suggests calling an end to their dinner.

Harry can hear Draco excitedly moving off his chair, pushing it loudly away from the table and back in. Draco’s excitement is infections as Harry moves to do the same, granted at a slightly more sedate pace to make sure he doesn’t cause the chair to fall back or bump into the table. Extending his left hand out, Draco quickly takes the invitation, grabbing it and guiding Harry out of the room.

“He does know he could place Harry’s hand on the crook of his arm, right?” Uncle Lu asks.

“Oh, shush you,” Harry hears Aunt Cissa say, a light smacking sound of a hand hitting fabric follows her words.

“Ouch,” Uncle Lu lets out while his dad laughs at his friends’ antics.

Letting Draco guide him back through the Manor, retracing the same steps he had previously taken with his dad earlier, Harry slowly started building his mental map of the manor with its twisting long halls and countless rooms.

“I know you can’t fly a broom on your own, but we could get both of us on my broom, you’ll love it,” an excited Draco goes with his explanation of quidditch as they approach their rooms. The game itself sounded fascinating, flying on brooms of all things to catch a tiny golden ball zipping around like a hummingbird? It sounded so, magical. The scoring system seemed strange to him, but Harry wasn’t exactly well versed in sports so who was he to question it.

“Did you swallow a snitch?” Harry asks Daco a smirk on his face.

“No…” Draco replied confused.

“Hmmm,”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Draco squeaks out sounding offended.

“Nothing,” Harry tells him trying to contain his laughter at Draco’s offended gasp.

“You’re not funny,” Draco tells him sniffing slightly.

“I’m a right laugh,” Draco ignores him dragging Harry into his room.

“My room is just like yours. Come here, you can sit on the bed while I grab some things,” Draco positioned Harry so he could fall back on Draco’s equally plush bed, clearly ignoring Harrys jab at his hyperactive tendencies. Who knew that there could be so much comfort in the world? Soft beds with heavy comforters, pyjamas so soft they didn’t scratch at your skin, and food he didn’t need to cook or grab from the bin. Harry couldn’t help but hope that this was all real, that he wasn’t going to wake up in the morning in his cupboard to the loud banging of feet on stairs above him. He had always been on the outside looking in at a loving family, and now maybe he was going to be on the inside.

“I know you like things that are soft, so I grabbed some of my favourite stuffed animals. This one’s a dragon,” a soft squishy dragon is placed in Harry’s hands by Draco and Harry can’t help but ran his fingers over it. The body is covered in an extremely soft velvet with distinct scales creating ridges he can feel with the pads of his fingers. There are spines along the top of it made from a slightly coarser material, there’s eighteen of those running from its head all the way to the tip of its tail.

“When you touch things like that, does it help you picture them in your head?” Draco asks curiously.

“Yes, I can imagine the shape and what it might look like. It helps me identify things when I might not know what they are. I doubt real dragons are this soft though,” Harry chuckles lightly imagining the snakelike creatures being more rough, almost stone like. He’d read about them in books at school. The librarian had gone out of her way to find as many books in braille as she could with the budget she’d been given. Surprisingly, that was mostly fiction.

“Can you do it with people?” Draco asks him.

“Uh, I’ve never tried,” Harry tells him, no one had ever offered to let Harry touch them before.

“Want to?” Draco asks clearly excited.

“If you’re sure,” Harry tells him afraid of how Draco might react having Harry’s hands on him. His Aunt and Uncle had always hated it when Harry had accidently touched them when he was little and didn’t know any better.

Harry can feel a weight settle on the bed beside him. He places the stuffed dragon off to his left, so his hands are free. Once the dragon is safely set aside, Draco grabs Harry’s hands and guides them to his face. Draco’s skin is warm, smooth, soft against the pads of Harrys fingers. Slowly, hesitantly, Harry runs his fingers over Draco’s face feeling the sharp ridge of his nose, the smooth lines of his jaw, the fringe of his hair falling over his forehead, and his pronounced cheekbones mirrored on either side.

“I have pale skin, it’s a Malfoy trait. My eyes are a slivery blue colour, kind of like metal that’s been heated to just the right temperature. My hair is white blonde and right now I don’t have it styled so it’s falling over my forehead. The top is longer than the sides, I’ve been experimenting with different looks, but I haven’t settled on one yet,” Draco tells him while Harry runs a hand down his jaw again and another into his hair. He can feel where the hair goes from a velvety fuzz on the sides to long soft locks on the top. Harry can’t help but run his fingers through it taking in the feeling of the silky strands slipping through his fingers.

Harry gives Draco an involuntary smile, the image of Draco in his head comes together with a lopsided smirk and on the face. He imagines a prince from a fairy tale. Letting his hands fall back on his lap, Harry smiles giving Draco what he hopes in a grateful look for being allowed explore his face with his hands.

“Do you want me to take you back to your room?” Draco asks after Harry lets out a jaw cracking yawn.

“Yes please. I think after this I’ll be able to get between our rooms without someone to guide me,” a slight blush tinges Harrys cheeks. Maybe he’s wrong to assume that Draco wants to spend more time with him.

“You can come in here whenever you want! Maybe tomorrow we can do some potions with Uncle Sev. He has a whole lab in the house,” Draco tells Harry grabbing his hand and helping pull him up off the bed. Harry makes sure to count his steps across the hall to his room, three steps from one door to the next. Once inside the room Draco lets go of Harry’s hand. Behind him, Harry can hear Draco moving towards the bed instead of towards the door.

“I thought you might like this,” says Draco while lightly tapping something against Harry’s shoulder. It feels like something squishy against him. Harry lifts his hand for Draco to place it there. Harry can feel the soft velvet and course spines of the dragon settling into his hand.

“You don’t have to leave this with me Draco. I don’t want to take something that’s yours,”

“Nonsense, it’s yours now. I have hundreds of them,” Draco tells the smaller boy, moving out of the bedroom and closing the door behind him. Harry can’t help but notice that no lock clicks into place as the other boy leaves. Settling into his bed, Harry wraps his string around his fingers, knots digging slightly into the palm of his hand. Harry lets himself drift off to sleep telling himself that if he’s still here in the morning, if he still has his dad, and his friend that he’s going to embrace his new life.

POV Severus Prince

Settling into his usual chair in Lucius’s private sitting room, Severus takes a deep drink from his glass of fire whiskey watching the flames in the fireplace dance. If only his whole world could be watching the light orange and deep red of the fire flicker away inside the confined space instead of the absolute mess before him.

“Congratulations, it’s a boy,” Lucius raises his glass to Severus in a toast, a shit eating grin on his face. Pay back from Severus many jokes about his friend’s terror of a son.

“Oh, piss off,” Severus snaps back at him taking another deep drink from his glass, questioning how the amber liquid had run so low so quickly.

“Boys let’s not act like children,” Narcissa rolls her eyes at them and their antics used to their bickering.

In the public eye the Malfoys come off as all pureblood families do, cold and stoic. Hiding behind masks of indifference build on centuries of tradition to protect themselves from the scrutiny of others. The magical press being what it is, any sign of weakness is guaranteed to generate scandal. Severus is just waiting with bated breath for the day the likes of Rita Skeeter gets a hold of any information about his new son.

“We need to get a healer here in the morning. My training is far from sufficient to handle what’s on that list from the Goblins,” Severus says, seething as he looks down at the far-too-long parchment resting on his lap. It outlines all the injuries Harry has suffered - severe enough to leave lasting damage -injuries that had forced his magical core to heal him or risk his life. Among them is the injury Harry received at fifteen months old that caused the loss of his sight, something no one had encountered before: surviving the Killing Curse. Was his impairment a result of surviving the curse itself? Or was it due to how close the injury had been to his eyes? They might never know, given that there is no literature on surviving the blasted curse.

“I can have the family healer take a secrecy vow to protect him and us. I suspect you’ll be busy brewing for the boy given his clear lack of nutrition and poor health,” Lucius says absentmindedly while writing out a letter, presumably to the family healer.

“He hardly ate anything at dinner. Did you see him mostly move the food around the plate?” Severus says voice full of sorrow.

“Do you think they know?” Cissa asks in a quiet voice.

“Who?” says Lucius.

“Dumbledore and his ilk,” Severus sneers, “and no I think the old fool hasn’t checked on the boy since the day he left him with those magic hating monsters. He’s blind, the Boy-Who-Lived, Harry bloody Potter cannot see”

“That’s Harry bloody Prince to you,” Lucius reminds him causing Severus to flinch slightly.

Severus can hardly wrap his mind around the absurdity of it. This tiny boy, one he’d taken parental responsibility for with of list of injuries all too familiar to him, who had his mother’s snark, and his father stupid hair was now his son. He couldn’t bring himself to regret the choice, he would have grown up as Severus nephew had Lily survived, he would have loved the boy regardless. But now that boy called him Dad, clearly starved for any kind of affection. The most frightening moment of his life had been when Harry had asked to call him Dad. Dad!

“Dumbledore seems convinced that the Dark Lord will rise again. What are we going to do if he comes for Harry? Not to mention he goes to school in four weeks, he knows nothing of the magical world, let alone how to cope with how he will need to interact with it!” Cissa’s tone changes from worried to seething mad, breaking Severus out of his downward spiral. None of them can truly comprehend the why behind Harry’s situation, let alone the how. How he will keep up, how he will learn, how others will treat him.

“Surely Harry is no longer a threat to him? The boy is going to struggle at Hogwarts. It’s not exactly prepared for a student like him,” Lucius says bringing up a very good point. How was Severus going to make sure Harry would be able to learn in a world where disabilities like his just did not exist? A wave of a wand and injuries like his could be fixed. Mad Eye had a glass eye that replaced the one that he had lost to a dark curse, but that was hardly a solution he wanted to subject Harry to.

“I think our more immediate concern will be the headmaster. There has to have been a reason he kept Harry in a home like that and it cannot be good,” Severus says thinking of ways he can ensure Harry’s safety. The easiest being Harry being sorted into his house, but the boy had to be a damned Potter who were all Gryffindor’s through and through. If Harry was sorted there it would be the most dangerous place for him to be, where Severus would have the least influence. Minerva may be his friend, but she was also a strong supporter of Dumbledore and unlikely to against him.

Hundreds of concerns ran through his mind. How would Harry navigate the castle without him or Draco? Would the other children treat him poorly because of his disability? Reading, so much was dependant on reading, Severus would need to find spells for him so he could at least of the books read aloud to him or maybe a translation spell into braille? He knew very little about it from when he was young living more in the muggle than magical world.

“Potions!” Severus exclaims audibly. How was Harry going to learn potions? So much was dependant on colour and texture, some of the ingredients couldn’t be handled in gloveless hands. Is there a way for him to adapt the class so Harry could learn the basics? As much as he was loath to admit, Harry could survive without the skill, especially with him for a father. A father, the light tendrils of panic start licking at Severus chest.

“Are you serious right now?!” Cissa exclaims tossing a pillow at him.

“No. Yes, I need to adapt the class for him,” Severus defends himself from her while fighting off the pillow.

“Morons, surrounded by morons,” Narcissa says under her breath, not nearly quiet enough to go unheard.

“Divide and conquer?” Lucius asks, getting out another parchment to start another letter, or list, the neurotic git. Every time they have a problem the blonde arse makes them write a damn list and assigns them task. Lucius’s father forces him to take the dark mark? List. Dark Lord is vanquished, and they need to stay out of prison? List. Lucios needs to convince Narcissa not to leave him because he’s an idiot? List. Not that she’d leave him, they’re disgustingly in love.

Letting out a deep sigh, Severus prepares to plan for how he will protect his son while ensuring he lives as normal of a life as possible with the title ‘the Boy-Who-Lived’ and still receives an excellent education. At least this time it shouldn’t end with him having to take the dark mark and cut off his best friend in a humiliating public forum. She’d obviously forgiven him, but the years of regret earned him Lucius and Narcissa loyalty for life.

They work late into the night, devising plans and dividing the work to protect Harrison Prince, the son of Severus Prince, a young boy who lost his sight to the killing curse the night of his parents’ death. Who grew up in a home without love and will be in immeasurable danger until the three of them could find a way to understand and old man’s scheming and prevent the return of a Dark Lord.

“Then it’s settled. Severus will take the children’s education and protection, Cissa will look into the Dark Lord, and I will take looking into Dumbledore,” Lucius concludes, and three friends make their way to the family wing of the Manor to get a couple hours of sleep before their lives well and truly change forever.

Severus can’t sleep though, his mind trapped thinking about the small boy so quick and willing to call him dad, who’d clearly grown up devoid of love and affection that he’d latched onto the first people to show him even an inkling of it. Severus was just grateful it was him and the Malfoys and not some other family without the means to provide for such a wonderful child. His child. The thought sends a shiver down his spine.

“Lily, why did you trust me with him?” Severus asks the darkness of his bedroom wishing his best friend could reply, explain herself. Severus was a bitter bastard of a man, how was he supposed to show this child the love and care he needed?

Wallowing in self-doubt and memories of his own life Severus falls into an unwilling fitful sleep.

Chapter Text

“Wake up, Harry! I have the best outfit picked out for you. It helps that the lights being on doesn’t wake you up - I was able to go through your full closet to pick out everything I needed.” A weight landing heavily on the bed makes Harry move slightly, his mattress dipping forcing him to roll towards the other body on the bed.

“Draco?” Harry murmurs the events of yesterday coming back to him in a rush. This was real. He was in a manor with a father, he’s magic, and in a few weeks, he was going to go to a school to learn how to use it. But most shocking is that he has a… friend?

“Well, I’m not Uncle Sev and I don’t know who else would come in here to wake you up,” Draco drawls, that snobby air entering his voice again.

Reaching out his hand towards the sounds of Draco’s voice, Harry feels him grab his hand and rest it gently on the other boy's face.

“Forget what I look like?” Draco teases as Harry runs his fingers over Draco’s cheeks and down his jaw again.

“Trust me, no one is forgetting that,” Harry says, grabbing his hand back and tossing himself out of bed and towards the bathroom.

“What is that supposed to mean?” Draco yells after him while Harry snickers closing the door to the bathroom behind him refusing to answer.

Navigating the bathroom a second time is much quicker than the first time yesterday. The biggest challenge for Harry is finding a towel so he can take a shower. Oh, but that shower, this shower is amazing. Somehow the water comes out at the perfect temperature from all around him, he isn’t forced to use cold water or shower in under two minutes so the “freak wouldn’t waste water”. Feeling around the shower, Harry finds what feels like shower gel - it reminded him of flowers and the ocean that he’d first smelled only days earlier.

“I thought you’d be ages longer,” Draco says his tone shocked when Harry leaves the bathroom and makes his way back towards the bed.

“Where are these clothes?” Harry asks, resting his hand on the edge of the bed to keep his bearings - he’s still not completely confident in this room.

“Oh, ah yes,” Draco says clearly distracted by something.

“They’re on this side of the bed. I put the underwear on top, then the pants, and then the shirt. I thought it would be easier if they were in the order that you put them on,” Draco tells him from his spot on the bed. Moving quickly, Harry gets dressed. The clothes Draco picked for him feel amazing. The shirt is light for the warm weather of August, not too tight against him but definitely his size. It doesn’t hang off his thin frame or reach down to his mid-thigh like his cousins’ clothes had. The pants are like nothing he’s ever worn before - the fabric wasn’t as soft, but they were almost airy flowing around his legs.

“What fabric are these pants made of?” Harry asks running his hands down the thighs.

“Linen. I thought you might not want to wear anything too tight just yet. They’re a dark grey and your shirt is a pale blue. I think it makes your eyes look extra bright,” Draco says moving off the bed and offering his arm to Harry by nudging him lightly with his elbow. Even though Harry can’t see the clothes Draco’s picked out for him, he still appreciated the time and effort he's taken to make Harry feel and look good.

“Can you grab my string from the bed?” Harry asks, a little embarrassed to be so blatantly asking it.

Draco surprises him grabbing it without asking questions, wrapping it around Harry’s hand. Instead of moving, Harry places his hand back to Draco’s elbow moving down his arm clasps their hands together, the string resting between their closed flingers and against their palms, knots digging in gently where their skin makes contact.

“Need anything else?” Draco asks him, no judgement in his voice.

“Nope,” Harry tells him popping the ‘p’ as the set off for breakfast.

Arriving to the dining room, Harry can hear his father, Uncle Lu and Aunt Cissa talking while the smell of breakfast greets him. Harry can make out the distinct smell of bacon mixed with eggs and something sweet. Maple syrup, maybe? Something he’s never actually eaten but remembers Dudley going through bottles of after drowning his pancakes in it. Harry lets Draco led him to the same seat as yesterday and takes the spot next to him. Apparently, these are their assigned seats for meals.

“What do you want for breakfast?” Draco asks Harry without telling him what’s on the table already.

“Er, eggs and toast?” Harry replies hesitantly. As much as he’d love to try more, he knows it will only upset his stomach, and he doesn’t want to be sick today - there was so much to do! He’d promised himself that today he was going to work on embracing this new life.

“Good morning son,” Severus says from across the table.

“Morning, Dad,” Harry says a bright smile on his face when he speaks to his dad.

“If you are amicable with it, I’d like to have the Malfoy healer come today and look you over and then I’d like to teach you more about magic,” Severus asks Harry, who doesn’t know how to reply.

“I get a choice?” He asks, shocked that someone was asking his opinion on something for once.

“Of course, love. If you’d rather, you can spend the day playing with Draco and we can bring in the healer another day,” Aunt Cissa tells him. So, he has a choice of when he will see this healer, but not whether or not he will see the healer in the end.

“Today is fine,” Harry tells them resigned to his fate. Spending time with this healer was probably not going to go his way and he’d rather just get it over with.
A plate settles in front of him, and Harry can feel the steam coming off the freshly made eggs. He smells something like a light cream or butter, making his mouth water.

“Eggs are on the left of the plate and two slices of toast are on the right. Want anything on the toast?” Draco asks him a smile in his voice.

“Can you pass me some jam please?” Harry hears Draco place the dish of jam to his right, “Thanks.”

Breakfast is quiet affair - everyone focusing on their food aside from Draco, who can’t help but talk about how excited he is for school with his parents, asking Harry small questions from time to time, but mostly leaving the smaller boy to slowly eat his breakfast. Harry can feel his dad’s focus on him while he eats, savouring the delicious strawberry jam on toast and rich scrambled eggs. He made sure to keep his portion size small because of how rich the food is, wanting to avoid a stomach-ache.

“You two boys go off and spend some time outside and we’ll call you back when the healer arrives,” Aunt Cissa tells them once they’ve finished eating. Getting up on his own, Harry slowly follows the map of the space in his mind around the table to nudge his father gently for a hug, hoping that his request won’t be denied, but expecting nothing so he’s not disappointed.

To his surprise, he’s quickly enveloped in a tight embrace, surrounded by strong arms and his father’s signature herbal scent.

“Go have fun with Draco, Harry. I promise the healer will not be as bad as you’re thinking,” His dad reassures him.

“Okay,” Harry lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, trusting that the man that his parents picked to care for him is telling the truth. He lets Draco guide him out of the manor and through the extensive gardens filled with fragrant flowers. Draco tells him about his mother’s rose garden, describing all the things they pass. He encourages Harry to feel the petals of the soft flowers and warning him away from any sharp thorns. Harry had spent a lot of time in the garden at his relatives. They had him weeding every summer, planting every spring, and winterizing every fall.

He'd been punished a lot the first summer when he’d been learning which plants were weeds and which plants were supposed to be there, but not he could tell by leaf shape and texture what each plant was in their garden. This garden is so much larger though, Harry can’t even begin to comprehend the size. He doesn’t think that he’ll ever be able to learn all these plants. Even so, Harry is happy to hold Draco’s hand while they wander through the maze of paths.

Eventually, they are called in and Harry resigns himself to seeing this healer - someone he’s sure will be able to see into his past and tell his newfound family that took him in how broken he is, how he’s not worth keeping. No, he needs to trust that his dad wants him, that this is his life now.

“Hello young, heir Prince,” a woman says when Harry enters an unfamiliar room with his dad.

“Hello,” Harry replies to her, voice quiet head turned down towards the floor.

“Here, Harry, hop on here so healer Abbot can do her exam,” Severus says guiding Harry to a waist height table. Bracing his hands on the flat surface, he pulls himself up and lays down, scooting slightly to make sure his head is on the table. A pillow is gently placed under his head by his dad.

“It will just be myself and your father in the room, Harry. As a healer, I cannot share anything about your health with anyone except yourself and your father. Is that clear?” Healer Abbot asks him. Harry just nods in reply.

“Good, now I am going to run some diagnostic tests on you. Check on your eyes, and then we can have a chat with your father, does that sounds okay?” Healer Abbot asks him.

“Yes,” Harry tells her, waiting for the tests to start so this can be over.

All Harry feels of the tests is a slight tingle against his skin running up and down his body. Occasionally, his father lets out a slight grunt at a result, but the healer only says the names of what Harry guesses are spells. Each one creates a slightly different sensation that runs over his skin - the first was a tingle like when your arm falls asleep, the second made him feel like a bug was walking all over him, and the third felt like water rushing over him.

“Well done, Harry. You can sit up now. I’m going to take a closer look at your eyes,”

Moving forward, Harry sits up dangling his legs off the side of the bed where the healers voice had come from.

“Perfect, now I just need you to look straight ahead and move your eyes when I ask,” she tells him in a gentle tone.

Harry does as she asks, occasionally noticing a brighter than normal light as he shifts his eyes left and right, then up and down. She even asks him to attempt to follow the light, but it’s not bright enough for him to track it anyway.

“Great work, Harry,” she tells him. Harry feels the spot beside him on the bed dip down, his dad’s scent washing over him letting him know who the warmth beside him is. Leaning over slightly, Harry rests the side of his head against his dad’s arm. He’s already tired from the day but determined to stay awake for the rest of the exam - he doesn’t want to have to go through this again tomorrow.

“What are your recommendations?” His dad asks Healer Abbot.

“I’ll start with the most obvious: the damage to Harry’s eyes is irreversible. As the only person to survive the Killing Curse, that alone could be the cause - but I’d guess the proximity of the curse’s light to his eyes was also a contributing factor. There’s just no way to know. With him being the only survivor, it’s possible that if someone else had lived, they’d experience the same thing.” She pauses there to let the news sink in.

Fixing his eyes had never been something that Harry had even considered, he’d been like this for as long as he could remember. He wasn’t like everyone else, but from what he’d learned during his short time in the magical world, he probably wouldn’t be normal even if he could see.

“Harry, are you okay?” His is dad asks him, his hand coming to rest on Harry’s back rubbing slow circles to help keep him calm. Harry sneaks his hand into his pocket grabbing hold of his string.

“Hmm, yes, I never thought fixing them was even an option,” Harry tells him honestly, running the string through his fingers.

“Now on to the less obvious... I can see severe childhood malnutrition, several concussions, broken bones, and scarring. For the malnutrition, I’ll leave a list of potions that you will need to balance your system and restore as much of your missing nutrients as possible. For the bones, there are some extreme measures we can take. I’d rather leave them as is until you’re older, so we don’t disrupt the natural growth of your body by vanishing and regrowing young bones. Once you’re all done growing, we can see what intervention needs to happen.

“There doesn’t appear to be any long-lasting damage from the concussions. Your father can give you a balm to help with the scars, except for the one on your forehead. Unfortunately like your eyes, the damage from a dark curse can never be healed completely,” healer Abbot finally finishes explaining everything and Harry lets out a breath. It wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d thought it would be. He’d expected her to go into excruciating detail for the injuries he’s had and if she did that then he’d been afraid there would be questions, questions he doesn’t want to answer. He knows there will still be questions, but at least they won’t ask about specific incidents.

The sounds of paper rustling draws Harry’s attention when whatever it is, is passed to his dad.

“I’ll be back in a week to check on your progress, Harry. Please let your father know if anything hurts, even it only hurts a little,” she says leaving the room.

Harry feels his dad pull him into a tight hug.

“Are you okay?” He asks Harry again still holding him close.

“I…. I don’t know,” Harry pauses then takes a deep breath, “are you disappointed?”

“Disappointed?” Severus asks him confused.

“That my eyes can’t be fixed?”

“Oh Harry, I’m not disappointed at all. Nothing about you needs to change. I am worried for you; the magical world is even less kind than muggles when it comes to disabilities and I’m worried that you will find a world that cannot adapt to you. But I have every confidence that you can adapt to it,” Severus voice is quiet sharing his fears. Harry is just grateful that someone is taking the time to tell him the truth and include him in decisions about his own life.

“It’s okay, Dad. I’ll be fine. it’s not as hard as you think, so long as the hallways don’t change, I’ll learn my way,” Harry tells him pulling back slightly to give his dad more space.

“Not the hallways, but the staircases do,” his dad chuckles.

“No way!” Harry let’s out unsure if he should be panicking or laughing at the irony of it all.

“We’ll figure it out later. For now, let’s enjoy the summer and get to know each other, okay?” Severus asks Harry, lifting him off the bed and planting him back firmly on the ground moving Harry’s hand to his arm in one swift motion.

Harry smiles letting his dad lead him to their first lesson about magic.

+++

POV Severus Prince

It did not take long for the headmaster to call on Severus to meet with him. It didn’t even take a full day from meeting Harry. Crumpled in his hand lay a note from Dumbledore asking Severus to attend him in his office at Hogwarts. It takes no guessing on his part to know what the headmaster wants to speak to him about. No doubt that the oaf of a ground’s keeper had reported back to the man as soon as he’d returned to Hogwarts from wherever he’d been while his son had been left alone in a strange place.

Despite Severus’s role as a spy, Dumbledore is Lucius’s assignment - not because it would be easier for Lucius, but because, for both Harry’s and Severus’s safety, it is best that Severus does not test the limits of his perceived loyalties.

Thus, at this late hour after dinner, Severus navigates the halls of Hogwarts, several emotions warring within him for dominance:
Rage is the one he is trying to stamp down. Harry’s medical read out still haunts him, even knowing that his son is going to be okay. That there’s unlikely to be lasting damage to him and all of that could have been avoided if the boy hadn’t been left with the Dursleys of all people. Something Severus is positive is a direct result of Dumbledores choices.

The next is apprehension: why was Dumbledore so invested in Harry that he’d reached out to Severus so quickly after learning who had helped the boy? Something about the wills, Harry’s placement, and Dumbledores investment in him lacked a clear motive for Severus.

The last emotion he was feeling - the one he would admit to no one - was fear. All the other emotions came together and became it: fear for Harry, fear for himself, fear for their future.

The Dark Lord was not gone, if their marks were anything to go by, which meant Harry could still be in danger. There was also fear of what the headmaster might do with Harry, if he chose to act. Soon, it would be common knowledge that Harry had changed his name at the Sorting Ceremony. Severus had to tell Dumbledore now and do his best to deflect the man’s attention.

Maybe next year, they could send the boys to Durmstrang or Beauxbatons.

Approaching the gargoyle guarding the stair to the headmaster's office, Severus tells it the headmasters latest inane sugar inspired password so he can access the stairs.

“Severus, my boy, please take a seat,” Dumbledore tells him using his hand to indicate an empty seat.

Settling into the uncomfortable chair, Severus waits silently, a bored expression on his face as he waits for Dumbledore to start the conversation. It doesn’t take long before the old man starts.

“Hagrid informed me that you helped Harry Potter complete his school shopping?” Dumbledore asks him.

“Indeed, I found him alone at Madam Malkins. You’d think Hagrid, having been trusted with a child, would know better than to leave an eleven-year-old alone in a new place. Let alone one who is blind,” Severus says working as much sarcasm into his voice as possible without being outright disrespectful. Dumbledore’s brows furrow, the grandfatherly face looking down at him painted with concern.

“I admit, I was unaware of Harry’s… limitations. If I had known, Hagrid would not have been my choice for his care,” Dumbledore says regret tinging his voice.

“How could you not know? He’s been blind for as long as he can remember, and I distinctly remember you informing the magical public that he was healthy, loved, and safe.”

“It had never been mentioned to me. Perhaps his relatives felt it was nothing of note. As you said the boy has been afflicted most of his life,” Dumbledore says, his tone annoyingly gentle. This was a child they were talking about, one who was supposed to be under Dumbledore’s care.

“Hmm, regardless I am now his legal guardian as per Lily and James Potters wills,” he says making sure he remains disinterested as possible. Hopefully if Dumbledore feels he’s not invested in Harry, he’ll be less likely to hold back on his plans for the boy.

“Severus, are you sure you’re equipped to support a child with Harry’s condition?” Dumbledore asks him, voice laced with concern. Severus seethes inside. Harry does not have a condition. In the short time Severus has known him, Harry has proved to be more than capable of navigating the world around him. Calling it a condition makes it sound like the boy has something wrong with him.

He can’t tell if Dumbledore is sincere or not with his comments. Was this man maliciously trying to keep Harry isolated? Was the man too busy to keep track of Harry’s welfare? Maybe Harry’s welfare was just too low on his priority list to be concerned with.

“More than,” Severus tells him, not letting his true emotions leak through.

He notes Dumbledore’s expression hardening minutely, his watery blue eyes narrowing ever so slightly as he takes in Severus. Severus needs to be careful - not to push too hard or reveal too much about his relationship with Harry, while still ensuring Dumbledore doesn’t suspect him of working against him.

There’s too much they don’t yet understand about the situation, and Severus’s job is to protect Harry - not to pry into the headmaster’s plans, at least not for now.

“I take that to mean that you did not return him to his relatives?” Dumbledore asks him, but Severus already suspects he knows the answer.

“No.”

“There are protections there that keep the boy safe, he should be returned until school starts,” Dumbledore says it like it’s a suggestion, but Severus can tell it’s an order.

“I doubt that anyone will look for the child with me, given my… history with his father. Due to my oath and Lily’s will, I believe returning the boy to his relative may violate the terms,” Severus drawls, letting his left arm twitch ever so slightly. He’s not even sure that what he’s said is a lie. The unbreakable vow he’d taken to protect Harry had not been specific, but magic tended to find a way. And there was almost no interpretation of the word ‘safe’ that applied to Harrys previous dwelling.

Dumbledore looks at him critically. They are both playing a game right now, neither man is showing their cards - holding them close to the chest. Dumbledore can’t push too hard, or it will raise more questions he likely doesn’t want to answer.

“Correct you are. Ensure the boy makes it to the express on the first then,” Dumbledore tells him, dismissing Severus from his office.

Severus takes the opportunity to leave feeling extremely uncomfortable with the information he’s gathered from this conversation. Walking quickly out of the castle and beyond the anti-apparition wards, Severus returns to the Manor to inform Lucius and Narcissa about what he’d learned.

Dumbledore has plans. He knew more than he was sharing, and his interest in Harry is as concerning as they’d feared.

Chapter Text

Over the next couple of weeks, his dad spent several hours each day with Harry, talking about his childhood, his school years with Harry’s parents, and stories about his mom when they were kids. But what truly excited them both was his dad’s passion for potions.

He let Harry ask all the questions he wanted - about anything and everything. Harry loved finally learning about his parents. Even though his dad had sounded like a bully, he had at least apologized in his will, and that meant something. His mom sounded brilliant - top of her class in everything except potions, where his dad, Severus, had been the best.
Potions intrigued Harry. His dad had told him about all the classes he would be taking, and potions felt the most familiar. Like cooking, something he enjoyed doing, not that he ever let the Dursleys know. If they knew he liked doing something they would have found a way to make him hate it. His dad shared that he wasn’t sure how to adapt the class to him, but together he was confident they could figure out something that would work for him.

In turn, Harry told his dad about the things he enjoyed - his love of cooking, including all his favorite recipes, and the dishes he’d never had the chance to try because the Dursleys were so picky, always preferring bland, tasteless food.

He shared a little about how he’d been treated, carefully avoiding mention of the cupboard and the beatings, but telling his dad about the “Harry hunting,” and how meals were used as punishment - sometimes withheld for days when he did something deemed “freakish.”

His dad had made him explain what “freakish” meant. Harry could tell his answer made his dad angry by the sharp intake of breath he heard. Afterward, his dad praised him for his accidental magic and gave him plenty of reassurance - telling him he should never be afraid of his magic.

There were also things his dad said they could talk about later - topics that clearly upset him. They would go over the rest of the information in the wills after Harry started school, as there were people his dad needed to speak with before he felt comfortable involving them in Harry’s life.

When Harry asked why he had been sent to live with the Dursleys when his dad had been alive and could have taken him, his dad admitted he wasn’t sure. Before discussing it further with Harry, he wanted more answers.

Slowly, Harry began to trust that his dad would tell him what he needed to know, when he needed to know it. So far, he hadn’t held back anything important - he had only asked for time to process and figure out the best way to share the truth.

Harry also spent the weeks beginning to learn about his place in the magical world. What it meant to be Heir Prince and what social etiquette he was expected to abide by. His aunt Cissa is a great teacher, patient and understanding always willing to explain the ‘why’ behind things that Harry found so foreign after growing up with muggles. He quickly realized that the magical world was very different from the muggle world, even though they shared space. Aunt Cissa gave him lessons on magical religion that covered the wheel of the year and their connection with nature, how it fueled their magic and they in turn gave thanks to it.

Uncle Lu taught him about magical law - explaining that, as an heir and one day a Lord, he would have a say in how the magical world was governed through his vote in the Wizengamot. He won’t be able to sit in on sessions until he’s fifteen, but that didn’t mean he should ignore the responsibilities that came along with it until then. So, Uncle Lu had talked to him about some current cases and laws being discussed, walking him through the process and asking Harry to share his opinions on each topic. He’d then have Harry explain his thought process and debate the merits of each point. It was fun, if a little frustrating when he didn’t know something.

His favourite part of the summer was spending time with Draco, his first friend. And they were friends; Draco had extended his hand making Harry shake it to prove that they would be friends forever. Draco taught Harry about quidditch and wizards’ chess. He told Harry about his friends that he’d known his whole life and some of the other kids who he saw at functions but didn’t know much about. Draco clearly liked to be in the know about people always keeping track of who is friends with whom, who had done something embarrassing, or said something cruel, and generally being what Harry called an insufferable gossip.

Despite his best efforts, Draco was not able to convince either of their parents to let Harry on a broom.

+++

It was finally nearing the end of August, which means it was time to finish Harry’s school shopping! Finally, he would get a wand of his own so he could start learning magic. His dad had also told him he had a surprise for him, something he thought Harry would enjoy.

Bright and early, they made their way to the Leaky Cauldron via the Floo to start their day before the back-to-school crowds got too big. Their first stop is Ollivander's to get Harry his wand and hopefully help reduce the amount of bouncing the small boy was doing in anticipation.

“Come on, Harry, before you vibrate right out of your skin,” Draco laughs, his hand firmly in Harry’s. No one had told Draco that linking Harry’s arm in his own was the proper way to lead Harry, leaving them to decide what was best for them. Harry enjoyed holding hands. No one had ever held hands with him before, and Draco seemed to like linking their fingers together to help Harry navigate the world when he is unsure about a place.

By the end of his first week at the Manor, Harry no longer needed anyone to help him get to all the common areas they used. Now he knew how many steps and turns he needed to make it from his room to the dining room, the back gardens, the families two favourite sitting rooms, and everyone’s bedrooms.

Occasionally, they would use a new room, and someone would help Harry navigate the new route, but they had all learned that he was quick in the uptake for new routes and didn’t need them to always lead him. It was something he appreciated greatly, before people were always too eager to force their help on him, not waiting for him to ask for what he needed.
Harry felt them coming to a stop, a door opening in front of him - the bell above the door ringing, alerting whoever was inside that a customer had arrived. The shop itself smelled like cedar and wax mixed with the slight char of wood. Like someone had lit a small fire, causing a faint smoky smell to fill the room. It was a combination that Harry had never smelled before. All of it mixed made the atmosphere thick, almost clingy.

“Dad, do you feel that?” Harry asks, turning slightly to better address his dad. The more time he’s been spending around his new family, the more familiar he’s become with where they are when they are all in a room together. It was an odd intuition he’d never felt before when living with his muggle relatives.

“Describe it to me, Harry,” asks his dad.

“It’s like it’s humid. The air feels thick, but I know it’s not humid in here,”

“I’m not sure that I feel that, but there is a lot of magic that clings to a place like this. You may be more sensitive to it than the average person. Something we can explore later, but let me know if you feel uncomfortable okay, son?” His dad tells him, resting his hand on Harry’s shoulder while Harry nods his head. Everyone always tells him he needs to tell them when he’s uncomfortable, when he’s in pain, or when he has questions. His healer had praised him at his last check-up for having told his dad that two of his fingers still hurt and she had decided to vanish a few of the smaller bones to regrow them. He had not enjoyed the sensation of regrowing the bones, nor telling his dad how they were injured. But he'd really liked making everyone proud of him.

“Hello hello, young Draco Malfoy, I’ve already sold you your wand, haven’t broken it already, have we?” A man asks from Harry’s right.

Turning, Harry hears a sharp intake of breath.

“Ah yes,” said the man. “Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing you soon. Harry Potter, but I must say this is not the company I had anticipated I’d be seeing you with.”

“Yes, quite the shock,” his dad drawls in that bored tone he uses with the rest of the world outside their family, “we are here for a wand.”

“Severus Snape, ebony with a phoenix feather core, thirteen and a half inches. Quite the rigid wand, not unlike its owner,” the man, Ollivander, says to his dad.

“It serves it purpose,” dad tells him sounding bored, ignoring the rude comment.

“Now you, Mr. Potter, I have just the wand for you,” Ollivander says disappearing from the counter his steps echoing as he moves deeper into the shop. Harry can hear the creaking of a ladder, the scratchy slide of boxes against each other. Eventually Ollivander’s footsteps draw closer and closer, and several boxes are dropped on the counter.

His dad takes his hand stretching it out this his palm open.

“Harry is unable to see, please place the wand into his hand,” his dad tells the wand maker.

“Thanks, Dad,” Harry says, as his dad removes his hand from Harry’s. He knows his dad is confident that he’ll be able to handle himself from here.

Harry feels the cool wood make contact with his hand and instinctually, he closes his fist around the wand. Taking in the moment, this is the first wand he’s ever held, the first tangible step towards becoming part of his new world.

“Come now, give it a wave.” Ollivander tells him and Harry gives the wand a gentle swish. Somewhere above them, a glass object burst making a sharp cracking noise before the tinkle of glass falling against each other starts to come towards them. Harry can feel the thick air around him shift traveling upwards. The glass Harry is expecting to rain down on them never comes. He finds himself in awe of magic. Clearly someone had stopped it from landing on them, but how? What ever they had done was silent but effective.

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry says quickly.

“No harm done,” Ollivander tells him, no concern in his voice.

Harry is handed so many wands; he loses track of them. Ollivander insists on describing each wants wood and core, giving facts about what they say about the user, which is interesting, but Harry is quickly becoming frustrated. Letting out a heavy sigh, Harry is just about ready to give up and ask if there’s another wand shop they could try.

“Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we’ll find the perfect match here somewhere,” Ollivander wanders off again further into the store, muttering to himself about brothers and cores. Harry starts moving his string between his fingers counting the knots. No one has said that this is taking abnormally long, but Harry can feel it in the atmosphere around him.

Several minutes later, he returns blowing on something before sliding another wand box open. The sound of paper on paper becoming far too familiar after trying so many wands.

“I wonder, now – yes, why not – unusual combination – holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.”

Another wand lands in Harry’s hand, this one is different. This wand grows warm instead of remaining cold when his skin contacts the wood, something inside of him waking up and drawing to the forefront of his consciousness. He feels the world around him, it’s like the way he uses echoes to understand the size and shape of a room, but it’s not the sound that he’s hearing - it’s the magic around him that he feels. It almost echoes in his blood telling him the secrets of the room he’s in. Before Harry can ask questions, he’s cut off.

“Curious … curious …” Ollivander says, a mischievous tone in his voice.

“The theatrics are unnecessary,” his dad tells the man clearly tired of this.

“It just, that wand, that wand is the brother to the one that gave Mr. Potter that scar. Curious that,” Ollivander says unable to contain the information.

“Indeed,” his dad says. Harry can feel the air near him move as his dad hands the man the galleons for the wand, their slight clinking indicating that it was expensive.

“Here Draco, help Harry get this wand holster on comfortably, please,” his dad says.

“Come on, Harry, let’s go see the magical menagerie!” Draco says grabbing hold of his hand again and leading Harry out of the store, pausing outside to affix the holster to Harry’s right forearm.

“If you want your wand in your hand, flick your wrist out and it will drop down into your hand, here give it a try,” Draco tells him, letting go of his hand.

Flicking his wrist, Harry can feel the movement of his wand from his forearm down to his hand. There’s a slight shift in the magic around his hand and a slight vibration throughout the holster.

“Thanks, Draco,” Harry smiles at his friend, letting him drag him along to the magical menagerie, whatever that is, their parents not far behind them.

One of the things that Harry has learned to appreciate about Draco is that he doesn’t see limits on what Harry could do or experience. Flying? Sure, let’s hop on a broom together. Reading?
No problem, Draco will read aloud. Harry can’t see the animals at the menagerie? Harry can pet the safe ones, and Draco can describe the others.

“Let’s start with the Nifflers, you’ll love them,” Draco says, bringing Harry along.

“Draco, you haven’t exactly explained what a menagerie is, let alone a Niffler,” Harry tells the blonde as they enter a shop that assaults Harrys senses. There are so many smells and sounds. Each one unique and yet some are familiar. They remind him of Miss Figg’ss house filled with the smell of litter boxes and many many cats. Harry can make out the squawking of birds, meows of cats, and so many other new sounds. It’s just like the zoo that he’d visited earlier in the summer with the Dursleys.

“It’s a store for animals, or familiars. Except Hogwarts only allows three different kinds of familiars: owls, cats, and toads. Which is outrageous if you ask me, the familiar chooses the magical to bond with, it’s not something that you can control. And honestly who wants a toad?” Draco explains sounded disgusted by the idea of a toad.

“I’d want a snake,” Harry says while Draco guides his hand to the bards of a cage where a small, clawed paw reaches out to touch his hand when Draco moves it towards the bars.

“Don’t let it near your heir ring. Little monsters love to steal anything shiny,” Draco warns him even though Harry’s heir ring is on the opposite hand. The little creature has a thick course fur covering its body. As Harry fingers move along it, he can feel a beak that reminds him of a duck on its small face. Running his fingers over its rounded head, he smiles when the Niffler begins to almost purr from the pets.

“Which animal is your favourite?” Harry asks Draco.

“Dragons, obviously. They don’t have any here of course, but there are reserves all over the world. I think the one in Romania is the best,” Draco tells him a wistful tone entering his voice.
Harry chuckles but follows along letting Draco drag him through the menagerie.

“Here they are,” Draco says drawing them up to a stop.

“Here what are?”

“The snakes, you said they are your favourite. You know that’s not very Gryffindor of you,” Draco teases him.

~Move it’s my turn on the warmth~ a small voice hisses.

~No, it’s not, get out of my way~ another voice hisses back.

~Can you both not fit on the heat?~ Harry asks the bickering snakes.

~Speaker!~ the small voices exclaim both small voices.

~Hello~ Harry smiles at them, he loves snakes. It’s rare he that gets to talk with them, but every time he does, they have such interesting things to say.

“Are you talking to the snakes?” Draco nearly squeaks at him.

“Yes, can’t everyone?” Harry asks confused, wasn’t this something that came with being magical?

“No, that’s a very rare gift,” Draco tells him, “Uncle Sev you should come here.” Draco calls out loudly towards Severus.

“Yes, Draco?” Severus asks, his tone still the one he uses in public.

“Harry’s a parselmouth,” Draco says in a whisper.

There’s a moment of silence while his dad absorbs that information.

“Can you please show me, Harry?” his dad asks in a gentle tone.

~Are you two done arguing? ~ He asks the snakes in the tank in front of him.

~Yes Speaker~ they say together.

“Remarkable,” his dad breathes out.

“Is it something bad?” Harry asks hesitantly unsure if he’s done something wrong.

“Not at all, Harry,” dad says, moving to stand closer to Harry and rest a hand reassuringly in his shoulder, “this is a great gift.”

“We should get Harry a snake!” Draco exclaims, “It can be his familiar and I bet it could tell him about any danger, and no one will ever know because no one can talk to snakes!”

“That’s actually a good idea, but not today,” his dad says.

Harry can’t contain his smile or his excitement, a snake! Of his own, one to talk to and help him if they can.

~It was nice to meet you both, maybe I’ll come and talk to you again. No more arguing you can share, ~ Harry tells the two snakes giving them a small wave.

“Come on boys time for lunch. Draco your mother is across the street at the café,” dad tells them giving them both a light push towards the door.

Draco leads them out of the shop and into the busy alley. Since they’d arrived in the early morning, Harry can tell that the crowds have grown significantly. There is more noise from people chatting and going from store to store - like last time, it’s all still very overwhelming for Harry. His relatives had always left him at home unless they were forced to bring him along, too embarrassed by the freak to be seen in public with him.

“Draco, darling, how was the menagerie?” Aunt Cissa asks when they join her where she was sitting at a café across the street from the menagerie.

Draco leads Harry to a chair, pulling it out for him to sink into. In front of him on the table, he can hear his aunt pouring him some tea, placing two sugars in it, and a light splash of milk.

“Here you go, love,” Aunt Cissa says placing the cup in its usual spot to his right, so he knows where to grab it.

“Thank you,” he tells her grabbing the cup to take a sip of the perfectly made tea.

“Now, Draco,”

“Harry’s a parselmouth!” Draco tells his mother excitedly while keeping his voice down. Before they’d left Aunt Cissa and his dad had tried to explain the way they were expected to act in public because of their standing in society. Harry thought he understood, but it still made him afraid of making mistakes and causing problems for his family.

Theres a small pause while Aunt Cissa processes the information that Draco’s just shot at her rapid fire.

“This sounds like a conversation we will have at home,” Aunt Cissa finally says.

“Yes, mother,” Draco says, a smile clear in his voice.

Harry just hums happily, eating the small sandwiches that had been placed on the plate in front of him by his aunt.

+++

POV Severus Prince

Severus looked over his copious notes on how he could adapt his potions class to better teach his son the art of the craft. He’d added instructions on timing to each step of the first-year curriculum, noting down how long it took on average for a potion to reach the next phase. He’d also taken note of any smells or textures that Harry could use help him identify when a potion would be ready for the next ingredient or stirring. The challenge had presented a learning opportunity for himself too. He’d eventually blindfolded himself to see if he, a potion master, could brew first year potions blindfolded, using his instructions. He’d successfully managed to brew all potions on the list and refined the instructions further. Never before in his life had he brewed so many cures for boils both successfully and unsuccessfully.

He wouldn’t know how successful a first year would be until he tried, but Severus was confident that his son was intelligent enough to manage. Harry had talked about his passion for cooking and the practice of brewing potions was not dissimilar, if a little more precise. Harry’s current favourite pastime was spending time with him and Draco while they brewed learning about the ingredients and steps they were taking. With any luck the headmaster’s insistence on pairing Slytherin and Gryffindor for the class would mean that Draco would be there to help Harry.

“Dad?” Harry’s voice breaks his concentration drawing his eyes to the entrance to his room at Malfoy Manor.

“Yes, Harry?”

“Er, could I ask a favour?”

“Of course, come in,” he says, inviting Harry into the room. He can’t help but admire Harry’s ability to navigate the room he’d only been in twice before, moving with confidence to the spot on the couch beside him. Harry’s capacity to adapt to the world around him would never cease to amaze Severus. He had started reminding himself to make sure he didn’t underestimate Harry and patronize his son.

“Could I touch your face? Draco let me try it a few weeks ago and it really helped me understand what he looks like,” Harry asks him.

The requests shocks Severus, he hadn’t even thought of that. Harry’s main way of interacting with the world was his hands, he saw the world via touch gravitating towards things with intriguing textures and shapes that interested him. Severus yet again chastised himself for not noticing a quirk of his sons.

“Of course, do you need me to sit on the floor?”

“No here is fine,” Harry tells him, reaching his hands up letting Severus guide them to his face.

Slowly, Harry runs his fingers over Severus features while he tries to remain perfectly still, letting Harry take in his face at his own pace. He finds it hard not to flinch while Harry runs his fingers over his nose, a part of his face he’s been self-conscious about since his school mates had viciously bullied him about it. Watching Harry’s expression while he learns his face, he can see the crinkle of concentration between Harry’s brows while he focuses on this task.

They sit there together for several minutes in a comfortable silence, enjoying each other’s company. Severus eventually finds the experience to be soothing, the soft glide Harry’s fingertips along the bridge of his nose, the peaks of his cheekbones, along his forehead and then down over his chin. Harry also runs his hands into Severus hair, running his fingers through the long strands. He hadn’t been brewing today so there was no build-up of potions residue and sweat in his hair, instead it was in its natural silky state.

“Are you feeling ready for school?” Severus asks, breaking their silence.

He can see Harry thinking, his emotions unfolding across his unguarded face. Is this something that he should try and get Harry to stop doing? To better hide his feelings? Or should he encourage the boy to continue expressing himself in the way he feels most comfortable? Does he even know he’s doing it?

He can’t help but question again what Lily was thinking leaving him as Harry’s guardian. How was he supposed to make these decisions for Harry? He has never been under the illusion that parenthood is easy - he’s a teacher at a boarding school, he practically parents seven hundred children at any given time. He knows it’s hard. But it is so much harder to make these decisions for a child he’s solely responsible, for his own child.

“I’m nervous that I won’t be with Draco, and I think it’s going to be hard to study without braille to read. Magic’s really cool, but I’m scared I won’t be any good at it,” Harry tells him, dropping his hands from his face. A smirk that Severus recognizes all too well graces the child’s face.

“Worst of all, I’m worried about I’m going to be the lame kid with their dad for a teacher,” Harry tells him, dramatically sighing and falling back onto the couch.
Severus let’s out a long-suffering sigh rolling his eyes.

“Brat,” Severus chuckles at the boy who looks so much like James Potter, but that smirk was all Lily.

“I have a solution for your reading; I’ll teach you tomorrow and you can always come to me if you need help. Perk of having your lame father as your teacher,”

“Thanks! I’ll be okay Dad. I’m always okay,” Harry tells him, sitting back up making sure to move his face to look at Severus.

“You’re allowed to not be okay, Harry. You can ask me or Draco for help whenever you need it, I am here for you,” Severus say’s it with full sincerity, he is not going to let Lily down again. Even if that means he now has a son, a boy who going to have a hard life disability aside. He is the child of prophecy, of death.

“I’ll try,” Harry tells him with a nod of the head. Severus know this is going to be an ongoing conversation. Harry is too used to only being able to rely on himself.

“Off to bed with you. Time to get used to the school schedule,” Severus tells him, patting his shoulder.

Harry smiles at him, the boy’s emerald eyes closing briefly, taking in the moment before he stands up.

“I really like the shape of your face dad, it’s easy to recognize. Much stronger than Draco’s more… delicate features. Don’t tell him I said that,” Harry laughs before running out of the room.
Something in Severus chest tightens, and a warmth fills him, a slight smile pulling at his lips.

Chapter Text

The platform for the train is chaotic. In Harry’s opinion it’s loud, it smells, ] there are people everywhere, and he hates it. Hundreds of conversations are happening around him - families saying goodbye to each other, some tearful, others excited. One woman in particular sounds like she’s wrangling a herd of unruly children, none of whom are listening to her causing her voice to become increasingly shrill. In addition to the crowd, there is also the train itself. Harry has never heard a steam engine before, but he didn’t expect it to be this loud. It lets out a constant, rhythmic chugging that fills the space around them.

The steam from the engine makes the air thick with acrid scent of coal - the sharp tang of metal mixed with the oily undertones that remind Harry of the time he had to scrub the driveway after the car leaked. The stain was something his aunt couldn’t let the neighbours see, so Harry had been handed an unknown cleaning solution and told to start scrubbing.
Harry stayed close to his family, holding his dad’s arm lightly while he made sure the crowds didn’t jostle them around on the platform.

“How are you doing, Harry?” His dad asks, leaning over to speak into Harry ear quietly.

“People are obnoxious,” He huffs out, raising his hand to rub at his other ear. The noise is going to give him a headache - hopefully the train itself is quieter. If not, his dad had caught onto his tendency to get headaches in crowded places, and he’d given him a pouch filled with different potions - all labeled with braille - so Harry could identify them himself.

Dad chuckles, straightening back up, “Yes, they do tend to be dunderheads.”

“I’ll make sure you can access my rooms in the castle in case you need a break from the chaos,” his dad tells him, giving him hand a light pat.

They stand together for a little longer in silence. Harry isn’t sure why, but he can feel the slight tension running through the family. This is some kind of display to the world, but Harry’s not sure he understands what the message is supposed to convey. While he waits for them to be free to enter the train, he plays with his string in his unoccupied hand.

Uncle Lu had given him this one - he’d noticed how Harry liked to fiddle with knotted string when he was nervous and offered him a length of thin, silky ribbon that he’d charmed to never get dirty, never fray, and to knot and unknot easily, so Harry could change the feel of it whenever he wanted. It wasn’t an extravagant gift, but it was his favourite one yet. Uncle Lu had told him it was the same colour as his eyes. Something about that had made his dad hit him on the back of the head and rant about “lion dens” and “red and gold”. Harry hadn’t cared, though - he was just happy to sit and tie knots in his new string while lying with his head on Draco’s lap, as Draco ran his fingers through Harry’s untameable hair.

A loud whistle startles Harry, making him jump slightly - the piercing screech runs through his whole body, making his ears ache and his teeth hurt with how high pitched it is.

“Next year we can floo into my office, but you should come this way at least once,” his dad says, noting how uncomfortable Harry is with the crowd and the noise. Harry just nods, moving a little closer to his dad who hands him a potion for his headache. He quickly swallows it, then hands the empty vial back.

“You boys should get on the train and get a good seat before the last-minute rush,” Aunt Cissa says, “make sure you write us and let us know how the sorting goes.”

Aunt Cissa gives them both a firm squeeze on their shoulders and Uncle Lu does the same. They’d told the boys before they left the house that they had an image to maintain and that at the station they wouldn’t be able to say goodbye the way they wanted. All morning, they’d spent time together as a family, laughing and telling stories from their time at Hogwarts. Uncle Lu had given him the biggest hug before passing him off to his dad to apparate to the train station.

“You boys stay out of trouble and make sure to ask Severus if you need help with anything,” Uncle Lu tells them.

His dad pulls him in for a tight hug unexpectedly, making Harry melt into the warmth of his strong arms around him.

“I’ll see you at the feast tonight, enjoy the train ride as much as you can,” dad tells him and lets him go while Draco grabs hold of his hand.

“See you later, dad,” Harry tells him, giving a small wave towards his family while Draco drags him by the hand, guiding him onto the train and into the much quieter space.

Harry happily follows him into a compartment, taking a seat beside Draco and settling in for the trip.

“Do you want me to read aloud to you, or do you try some spells?” Draco asks, reminding Harry that now that they are on the train they’re technically allowed to do magic according to Hogwarts a History - the first book that Draco had read aloud for him.

Selfishly, Harry wants Draco to read to him. No one had offered to read to him outside of his special teachers in school and having Draco do it felt nice. Harry also suspected that Draco enjoys it too considering how often he offers.

“Could you read?” Harry asks, proud of himself for getting better at letting people do things for him or voicing when he wants or needs something. During the past month with his dad, he’d had a lot of talks about what is, and is not, okay. It is not okay to be in pain or uncomfortable. He is allowed to ask for things, even small things. He is not allowed to ignore his needs to avoid inconveniencing others. He is supposed to eat three meals a day and not do chores outside keeping his own room clean.

“Of course. Want to keep going with the potions textbook Uncle Sev gave us?” Harry gives him a nod and settles into listen to Draco while he tunes out the sounds from people outside their quit space, ignoring the near constant chatter and slamming of doors.

Draco reads about how the interactions between different potion ingredients can change the smells, colours, and consistency of a potion. His dad had given him several books to study, designed to help him learn how to brew without relying on the visual cues most people used to judge a potion’s stage. Draco, who loved potions, was eager to learn as well, so they had started reviewing the texts together. Harry couldn’t wait to learn the spell his dad created to translate regular text into braille, so he could read on his own, even if Draco reading to him is his favourite.

He was in awe of his dad - it had only taken him three weeks to make a brand-new spell, something that Draco had told him is really difficult to do. Harry had never felt so loved or cared for before, even if not knowing sometimes made him frustrated.

As Draco reads, the train fills with people and the whistle blows again signalling their departure. The train starts moving, pulling away from the platform. Draco explains that out on the platform, people’s families are waving goodbye to their loved ones. It does not take long before the train is moving at speed away from London and towards the Scottish Highlands where Hogwarts is located.

A few hours later, a knock on the door of their compartment pauses Draco’s reading about aconite. Harry would have been okay with just ignoring it, but Draco places the book down on Harry’s lap so he can stand up and open the door.

“Red hair and a hand me down robe, you must be a Weasley,” Draco sneers out.

“Draco, stop being a git,” Harry tells the blonde, letting out a sigh. Always with the attitude with this one, “what can we do for you?”

“I was just looking for a compartment,” the boy at the door says sounding apprehensive.

“Are you going to let him in, Draco?” Harry asks him, chuckling lightly.

Harry can hear the taller boy let out a long sigh before he moves to take the seat beside Harry again. He can hear the other boy dropping himself down onto the bench across from them landing with a heavy thud. Draco picks their book up off Harry’s lap and settles in beside him again, letting Harry lean over into him ever so slightly. Strangers still make him a little uncomfortable - gauging their reaction to who he is, or his disability always makes Harry anxious, especially now that his dads not here to glare at them with what Draco described as a ‘pant passingly scary’ look.

“Draco said that your name is Weasley?” Harry asks breaking the awkward silence.

“Yeah mate, Ron. Ron Weasley,” Ron says happily.

“He can’t see your outstretched hand, here,” Draco says while grabbing Harrys right hand to help guide him to Ron.

“Thanks, Dray. Well met, Ron. I’m Harrison Prince, heir to the house of Prince,” Harry tells him, grasping the boys slightly damp palm and giving it a light shake. This is the first time that Harry has introduced himself to someone using his new name, or well old and new name. His still found it shocking that he’d never known his full name was Harrison, not just Harry.

“Why can’t you see?” Ron asks, beside him Harry can feel Draco stiffen slightly at the question.

“I lost my sight as a baby to a dark curse. Healers say it can never be fixed,” Harry tells him, the barest truth not wanting to deal with more questions if he can avoid it.

“Oh,” Ron breathes out, clearly curious.

There’s a tension in the compartment that Harry doesn’t understand, but he can feel it around them. Draco still hasn’t relaxed fully since Ron entered the compartment and Harry’s not sure that asking what’s going on would solve anything.

“Are you a first year too?” Harry asks Ron, trying to break through the awkwardness surrounding them.

“Yeah, I’m going to be a Gryffindor,” Ron says proudly while Draco scoffs next to him. Harry jabs his elbow into Draco’s causing him to grunt.

“Ouch,” Draco’s whispers.

“I said don’t be a git,” Harry tells him again.

“I’m a Malfoy, I’ll be in Slytherin,” Draco says proudly sitting up a little straighter.

Ron makes a noise that Harry can’t quite make out, but it doesn’t sound particularly positive.

“My parents were in Gryffindor, but my dad was in Slytherin. I think I’d like to be placed there, especially so I can stay with Draco,” Harry smiles, bumping Draco lightly with his shoulder.

Harry can feel that Ron is growing more and more uncomfortable being in the compartment with them fidgeting in his seat and moving the bag he has with him. Harry’s not sure what they’ve said to make him feel that way - well other than Draco’s snide comments.

Unwilling to be the only one driving this conversation, Harry settles in resting his head on Draco’s shoulder - closing his eyes to drift off into a light sleep in the silence of their compartment. The rolling of the train is much more soothing than Harry had anticipated, lulling him into a light sleep with Draco’s shoulder acting as his pillow.

Their compartment door crashing open jolts Harry awake making him jump in his seat. Draco quickly lays a hand on Harry shoulder to help calm him down.

“It’s okay, we’re on the train still it was just someone opening the door,” Draco whispers to him squeezing his shoulder lightly.

“Have any of you seen a toad? Some boy has lost his,” a girl at the door asks them.

“We haven’t seen a toad. Our doors been closed most of the trip, I doubt it could be in here,” Draco tells her in a clipped tone.

“You… you’re Harry Potter!” Ron across from them stutters out. Harry moves his hand to his forehead realizing that in his sleep or in the shock of waking up his hair moved exposing his scar.

“I go by Harry Prince, but my full name is Harrison Prince,” Harry tells them trying to avoid talking about this more than he has to.

“Harry Potter! I’ve read about you,” the girl says in a very excited voice that makes Harry flinch.

What does she mean she’s read about him? Why would anyone read about him?

“Later,” Draco tells him.

“The scar,” Ron breaths from his spot across from Harry.

Harry drops his head back against the back cushion of his seat letting it thud. He didn’t even last the train ride before someone recognized him.

“You’re blind,” Ron exclaims very loudly.

Draco just snickers.

“Shut up you said the same thing,” Harry tells him, hitting him lightly with the back of his hand. He then reached into his pocket for his string, running his fingers over the knots counting them in his head - there are fifteen on the string today.

“Yes, I’m blind. No, I can’t see how many fingers you’re holding up, I can only see faint light and darkness. No, I’ve never been able to see before,” Harry rattles off hoping to avoid more questions.

“Does that mean you know braille?” the girl asks.

“Ah, yes. My dad made a spell for me to translate my school textbooks,” Harry tells her.

“Dad,” whispers Ron again.

“That’s so interesting, you’ll have to tell me all about it once we start classes. You might want to put your robes on, we’ll be arriving soon,” the girl says before leaving them closing the door behind her without ever giving her name.

“You’re Harry Potter,” Ron says again, this time as more of an accusation.

“Please stop stating the obvious,” Draco drawls in his best impression of his godfather. Harry doesn’t even bother trying to contain Draco’s commentary anymore. He might be better off letting Draco snark people into leaving him alone.

Draco places Harry’s school robes on his lap to pull on over the clothes he’d worn onto the train.

“She was right. We’ll be at the Hogsmead Station in about ten minutes,” Draco tells both boys in the compartment.

“Snakes... He wants to be a snake,” Ron mutters again and is categorically ignored by the other two boys in the compartment.

All three of them in their robes sit waiting as the train slows, Harry’s hand resting on Draco’s arm waiting for them to take their first steps into Hogwarts.

+++

POV Severus Prince

Beginning-of-year staff meetings are the bane of Severus’s existence. All the teachers are pulled into an hours-long meeting to discuss the new year, expected changes to the school, and generally reconnect after the summer hols. If the meeting pertained more to the first two points, Severus would find these meetings at the very least productive, but alas, without a doubt this meeting would focus primarily on their summer hols. Severus could be restocking the potions stores; instead, he is sitting here listening to Sybil recount yet another summer spent in a drunken haze, “divining” the future.

His son would not be taking her class, even if he had the gift. The woman was at best a hack and at worst a con artist. Dumbledore had only hired her to keep her close to make sure she never spoke about the prophecy he’d overheard years ago about a child born at the end of July, most likely his child.

“Then I saw a little raven with a snake coiled around it,” Sybil drones on her, voice slightly slurred from her sherry.

“If there’s nothing of importance to discuss, I’d like to return to my preparations,” Severus tells them, moving to stand up from his spot beside Minerva who looked equally as put off by Sybil and her story.

“Actually Severus, there are a few things of note I’d like to inform the staff about,” Dumbledore says, forcing Severus to sit back down in his chair. The man’s robes today are an assault on the eyes. Bright fuchsia with yellow stars dancing across the fabric trimmed in a light pink. Whoever it was that made the man’s robes needed to their sewing spells obliviated.

“Thank you, Sybil, for that most thrilling retelling of a vision you had. Now onto some items of note for this school year. It should be shared that the school will be housing an artefact from my dear friend, Nicholas Flamel. Its last location was not safe, so the decision was made to relocate it here until a more suitable home can be found,” Dumbledore says, eyes scanning the staff.

“You mean to tell us that the Philosopher’s Stone is being kept within Hogwarts? Does that not pose a security risk for the children?” Minerva asks him, sounding offended.

“Not at all. In fact, it will be kept on the right-hand corridor of the third floor which will be made off limits to students,” Dumbledore says, a bright smile on his face.

Severus fights back a scoff. When has making something off limits ever made it safe in a school full of teenagers with blatant disregard for their own survival? This will only end poorly with some student in possession of one of the magical world’s rarest and most dangerous artifacts. Eternal life, a fool errand.

“Best of luck with the twins. Five galleons says they try the door before classes start Monday,” Severus tells Minerva, smirking at her glare. Those two monsters would no doubt put any protections placed around the third-floor corridor to the test within the first week of class.

“I’ll make no such bet,” she scoffs at him, turning her nose up and away before passing him his ten galleons in winnings from last year’s quidditch cup.

“Secondly, I would like to share with the staff that Harry Potter will be joining the school this year,” Dumbledore says, pausing to allow the staff to take that fact in, as if anyone could forget it with the news plastered across the front page of the Prophet for the past week. Lucius was already working to have any further articles censored to protect Harry as a minor and heir to a noble house.

“Harry Potter,” is being whispered around the room causing Severus endless annoyance. His son was going to be less than impressed with the use of that name. He’d already asked Severus to make sure all his documentation, including his name on the scroll of new students, are updated to his new legal name. Holding himself back from snapping, Severus chooses a more diplomatic route.

“Why does the boy’s admittance into the school warrant this much fanfare? Chances are he will be just like his father,” Severus sneers, thankful that his son is, in fact, not just like either of his fathers. He’s neither jaded nor a spoiled brat and that was something Severus was extremely grateful for.

“Now Severus, one would hope you aren’t allowing the past to impact your view of the boy. He’s only a child after all,” Severus remains silent at Dumbledore’s words, keeping his face impassive, “I only mention it because it was recently brought to my attention that the boy is blind and each professor will need to adjust their course work to support his learning.”

“Classes start in two days, how are we supposed to adapt our classes that quickly? How will he be completing his written homework? Can he read? What will be do it he falls behind? We can’t slow the classes down for one student,” Minerva says sounding shocked and panicked.

What wonderful questions she’s asking. Maybe Harry wouldn’t come into issues in her class like he’d thought. As much as he liked Minerva, she was extremely stuck in her ways and taught using the same course structure as when Severus has been in her class nearly fifteen years ago. Severus waited to hear what Dumbledores answer would be.
“I have every confidence that you will all be able to find solutions for your respective subjects,” Dumbledore says, making Severus fight an eye roll.

He doesn’t even want to imagine the chaos this would have been if he hadn’t been brought to the bank a month ago. Harry would be fine in his classes; between his dictation quills and the spell he’d created to translate books into braille. Severus has a stockpile of blank notebooks in his quarters, ready for Harry to use with the spell, which duplicates and translates the text onto the blank pages. That way, the original book would remain unharmed and would avoid degradation from the gemino charm being used in a traditional spell. It was one of his better spells. Unfortunately - or perhaps fortunately - there is not a great need for a spell like this in their world.

But these people didn’t need to know that yet. Better they took the time to think about Harry and his needs before classes even started. Maybe it would help them build some empathy towards the boy. Severus was still thinking about what they could do to help Harry navigate the school when he or Draco aren’t there. Draco’s idea had been a snake, which was a surprisingly good idea for an eleven-year-old. From Severus’s research into the muggle world, people with Harry’s disability used dogs to support them. For Harry, an animal that he could speak to and understand would be a viable option.

Severus had tried suggesting the use of a cane to Harry, but that had been met with a swift no and about an hour of him counting quietly under his breath while running his string between his fingers. Severus didn’t pry, but he took that to mean that Harry had faced sever repercussions for using one in the past. The snake though, that idea had merit, and he was sure that he could get the animal approved by the school board with help from Lucius.

“Students will be arriving soon, time to prepare the castle!” Dumbledore says, clapping his hands together drawing Severus out of his thoughts and back to the room filled with professors attempting to figure out how they would help the boy-who-lived get through his magical schooling.

Chapter Text

Boats were far less exciting when they weren't on the ocean, Harry concluded as he sat beside Draco in one of the tiny boats all the first years had been placed in. Hagrid had spotted him and said hello again, giving Harry a slightly too hard pat on the back in his excitement. Harry just knows Draco sneered at Hagrid, but Harry found the massive man entertaining. Regardless of how oblivious Hagrid might be, he was the first person to tell Harry about magic - something Harry would always be grateful for.

The boat rocks gently, crossing what Draco describes as a very large lake that’s rumoured to have a giant squid in it and Mer people. The girl sitting across from them sounds like the one who had barged into their compartment, but Harry doesn’t want to sound rude and ask if she is the same person. Even though she never introduced herself before, the snorts leaving Draco at each of her ‘facts’ is confirmation enough for Harry.

“Oh wow,” she breathes out once the boats turn slightly around a bend.

“We’ve just come into sight of the school, it’s a very large castle,” Draco tells Harry, awe tinging even his voice.

Harry imagines what the school might look like nestled into the Scottish Highlands - an imposing stone building with tall towers topped with old stone shingles and flags billowing in the wind. Flickering lights from torches making it look like windows are winking at the people looking up at them. The books he’d read talked a lot of about castles and their function as fortifications or as houses for kings. Harry wondered if this castle still had some of those features, like arrow slits or drawbridges. Hogwarts: A History had focused more on the school’s rules, classes, and facts than on the building's history or structure.

Eventually their boat comes to a stop and Draco helps Harry get out, much like he had helped him get in. It was strange to be doing this same action now but with help, when the last time he’d exited a boat, he’d been left alone to find his way. Draco keeps hold of his hand, guiding Harry from the docks up a long staircase and into the castle. With every step Harry feels more and more nervous. He can hear people around him talking, some about how scared they are to be sorted, others in awe of the castle, but a smaller group that Harry can just barely make out is talking about him.

Apparently, everyone knows that Harry Potter is coming to Hogwarts this year, but none of them had expected who he was or who he’d come with. Harry could hear Ron talking to other students about how he’d sat with ‘Harry Potter’ on the train and how he’d been sitting with a ‘slimy snake’. The term made Harry frown - it was rude to say that about Draco, not to mention snakes weren’t slimy at all.

“We might need to stay away from Ron, he seems to have it out for you already,” Harry leans over to tell Draco.

“That might not be easy, every Weasley gets sorted into Gryffindor. You might be roommates,” Draco teases him.

“I don’t know why all of you keep insisting I’ll be a Gryffindor,” Harry pouts at Draco.

Before Draco can retort, a woman addresses the group of first years telling them about the four houses at Hogwarts - how their house will be like their family for the next seven years. Harry can’t imagine spending a full seven years as Ron’s roommate, especially if he was going to be insulting to Draco all the time. Draco is Harry’s first and only friend and he wouldn’t stand for anyone treating him like he was less than because Draco is proud of his family and wants to be in Slytherin.

Once the woman, Professor McGonagall, finished her speech, she leads them into a room called the Great Hall. From the sound echoing out of the room, it’s massive and filled with people.

“Draco,” Harry says, a little worried about how loud it will be.

“Don’t worry. I already have another headache potion in my pocket for you. The Great Hall is massive – there are four long tables, one for each house and all full of students. At the front of the room is a long table, Uncle Sev is sitting there already looking broody,” Draco chuckles a little when Harry smiles at the description of his dad.

“The most spectacular part is the ceiling; it’s charmed to match the night sky so you can see all the stars and clouds, it’s really pretty. There’s also candles floating above us. Maybe mother will let me charm my bedroom ceiling like that. I’d love the fall asleep under the night sky,” Draco says wistfully.

Finally, they come to a stop as Draco describes the scene in front of them. At the top of the stairs leading to the head table, there is a single wooden stool with an old ratty hat sitting on it. Draco says it looks like it smells, and Harry can’t help but agree based on Draco’s colourful description of the old warn hat. Apparently, the old smelly hat is going to be what places them in their house after they wear it, which sounds… magical, but also kind of gross. Maybe he’s been spending too much time with Draco, because he’s starting to sound just as pretentious.

He and Draco stood together as names were called, and the Sorting Hat shouted out house assignments. Each time a house was named, loud applause erupted, welcoming the new student to their new home. The noise wasn’t loud enough to hurt Harry’s ears, but it was overwhelming. He really wished his dad had had a last name starting with an “A,” so he wouldn’t have to stand there so long with all those eyes on him and random students pushing against the side Draco wasn’t protecting. Luckily, he and Draco were close together alphabetically, so Draco stayed beside him until Professor McGonagall reached the “M” names.

“Malfoy, Draco,” she yells out.

Draco gives Harry’s hand a light squeeze before pulling Harry to the front if the group of students still waiting to be sorted.

“When your name is called, the stool is directly in front of you up three steps,” Draco tells him before letting him go to sit on the stool.

Within a second of Draco’s footsteps stopping, the hat calls out Slytherin. Harry smiles for his friend, clapping loudly to celebrate Draco going to the house he wanted so bad.

Harry waits patiently while a boy named Ernie is sorted into Hufflepuff, another named Theodore is sorted into Slytherin, and then a set of twins where one is sorted into Gryffindor and the other is sorted into Ravenclaw. For each of them, Harry claps lightly waiting for his name to be called.

“Prince, Harrison,” the professor calls, and Harry takes the three steps up to the stool reaching his hand out to feel for the wood of the stool. Its surface is worn smooth from generations of students who have sat on it just like him waiting to be sorted. Had his mom and dads sat on this same stool when they were sorted?

“Prince? Isn’t that family extinct?”

“Where’s Harry Potter?”

“What do you mean that’s Potter? Didn’t you hear they called the name Prince,”

“Prince,”

“Potter,”

“Boy who lived,”

The world around him cuts out the moment the hat is dropped onto his head.

My, my, an interesting one. A voice rings out in Harry’s head. So much potential, child of Potter and Prince. Where to put you. Your parents were true Gryffindors, bravery and courage run strong in your veins. But circumstance has made you cunning, determined to prove yourself, and smart enough to do it. Where to put you…

Do I get a say? Harry asks the hat.

Typically, no, but I’m curious, where do you think you belong? The hat asks him.

I want to be in Slytherin- my dad was in that house, my best friend is in that house, and I want to be there, Harry tells the hat confidently.

Hmm, are you sure you don’t want to go to Gryffindor? You could be great there, the hat asks him.

I’m sure, Harry tells it.

Very well, I look forward to hearing about what you accomplish, the hat tells him.

“Slytherin,” the hat yells out into a silent Great Hall.

Nervous, Harry stands from the stool and faces the direction of the table he had heard the clapping come from when others were sorted into Slytherin. It only takes a fraction of a second before loud clapping greets Harry ears and a loud whistle is let out. Harry smiles, and he knows that’s Draco celebrating after the shock wore off.

“I’m so proud of you,” his dad says, coming up beside Harry offering his arm for Harry to grab to guide him to a seat.

“Thank you, dad,” Harry says sincerely, soaking up the praise from his dad. He’d made him proud!

“Harry!” Draco says, grabbing his hand and leading Harry down to the seat beside him.

“I’ll see you boys after the feast,” dad tells them before walking back to the head table for the rest of the feast.

“I can’t believe you got sorted into Slytherin,” a vibrating Draco says, working hard to maintain his public façade.

“I knew,” Harry tells him, a smug grin on his face.

“Yes, yes, you’re always right,” Draco tells him, tapping the back of his hand as they settle in to listen to the rest of the sorting.

Around him Harry hears the whispers from the students around him.

“Harry Potter in Slytherin?”

“Why did Professor Snape help him to the table?”

“Did he just call Professor Snape “dad”?”

“How does he know Draco Malfoy?”

“Do you think they’re going to kill him?”

“The Dark Lord,”

“Blind,”

“He can’t see,”

“Do you think he can even do magic without being able to see?”

Harry tries to ignore all the whispers around him - he’s not going to start doubting himself because these strangers don’t know him. He knows he can do magic; he’s done it accidently plenty of times. When his wand accepted him, he had felt the magic welcome him. The more time he’s spent around magic, the more he’s been able to feel it around him. Soon he’d get to take classes and out everything his dad had taught him to use. To distract himself he pulls out his string and runs the knots through his fingers drowning out the voices around him.

After all the students were sorted, the Headmaster stands up and welcomes the new students before calling out the names of three house-elves. Then, food suddenly appears on the tables in front of them. Harry sits still, listening as Draco fills his plate with food.

“You know I should learn to do that for myself, don’t you?” Harry asks Draco, laughing at the older boy and his weird obsession with making sure Harry eats enough.

“You can do that tomorrow. Plus, this way I can make sure you actually like everything on your plate,” Draco tells him, dropping the plate in front of Harry and moving to fill his own plate.
Harry settles in to eat knowing that Draco and his dad will be keeping an eye on him to make sure he eats enough. Harry had finally stop being harassed constantly to eat snacks throughout the day, now only being pestered to eat during mealtimes.

“You’re Harry Potter, yeah?” A girl asks him from across the table.

“No. My name is Harrison Prince, heir Prince, and if I like you, I might let you call me Harry,” Harry replies, taking a sip of his water. Beside him Draco snickers just quiet enough that only Harry can hear him.

“The Prince family doesn’t have a lord, so you can’t be the heir,” the girls say back - her tone making Harrys hackles raise. Who was she to speak about his family that way?

“Dray?” Harrys asks in a questioning tone.

“Pansy Parkinson, not a noble house, but an influential one due to their shipping business. Neutral family,” Draco tells him with a bored tone. Harry nods to him in thanks before holding up his heir ring.

“I assure you that I am heir Prince,” Harry tells her while several other people around then let out small gasps before returning to their gossip. Pansy doesn’t say anything else, but Harry can feel her glaring at him.

Draco starts talking with Theodore Nott, one of the friends that Draco has mentioned over the summer. He is the heir to the house of Nott, an old influential family. Most of Draco’s friends from before school are in Slytherin. Blaise Zabini, Daphne Greengrass, Vincent Crabb, and Gregory Goyle were all sorted Slytherin, while Susan Bones had been sorted into Hufflepuff.

“Do you think they’ll ever get bored of talking about me?” Harry asks Draco once he’s finished his food and Draco’s conversation with Theo has a lull.

“Don’t worry. They’ll get bored eventually once the novelty wears off,” Draco tells him bumping his shoulder lightly, “there’s treacle tart on the table for dessert. Want some?”
Harry’s mouth began to water at the mention of his favorite dessert—a buttery pastry filled with gooey treacle and a hint of light, lemony flavor. During his time at the Malfoys’, Harry had discovered his love for all things citrus. Lemon bars were another favorite, but the crust on the treacle tart remained his absolute favorite.

“Yes, please,” Harry tells Draco, reaching for his dessert fork preparing for his sweet treat.

Almost immediately after Harry finishes his treat, the Headmaster draws their attention with his speech to go over the school rules. Rules that make no sense to Harry - why would anyone go into a place called the ‘Forbidden Forest’ willingly? He’d have to ask his dad about it. The rule must exist for a reason. The announcement that gives Harry pause though is the warning of a slow death to anyone who venture into the corridor on the right side of the third floor. Harry could feel the Headmasters’ eyes boring into him from the front of the room while he’d said it, making Harry squirm in his seat.

“Is he watching me?” Harry whispers under his breath to Draco.

“Yes, it’s kind of creepy,” Draco whispers back.

Moving his face so it appears like he’s looking down, Harry tries to seem uninterested in what the Headmaster is sharing, hoping that he will move on.

“And finally, some staff announcements. I am happy to announce that Professor Quirrell will be taking over as our Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher now that he has returned from his sabbatical,” the Headmaster pauses there, clapping at his own announcement and drawing some of the students to clap with him.

“Yes, yes, congratulations Professor Quirrell. Lastly, Professor Snape has taken up his Lordship of house Prince and has officially changed his name. Moving forward, he will be addressed as Professor Prince,” the Headmaster’s tone is slightly less accepting with this announcement, almost resentful.

“Dad wasn’t planning in announcing that,” Harry whispers to Draco.

“No, he wasn’t. Dumbledore must have decided to announce it without Uncle Sev’s permission,”
Harry and Draco sit there in silence thinking over how this could impact Harry and his dad. It wasn’t exactly a secret that his dad is Lord Prince now, but they had planned on keeping it quiet to avoid Harry having to answer questions before they could do a press release.

+++

POV Severus Prince

Severus is seething. Why had the old man decided to announce his lordship? What did he have to gain from forcing Harry and Severus to deal with the students, his fellow staff members, and the press before they were ready? Severus didn’t want Harry to have to field questions from his peers about why Severus was now his father. Severus wanted his son to be able to live carefree, or at least as carefree as he could. Not as the tabloid headline, they would no doubt be. He’s going to need to talk to Lucius about keeping the Prophet in line and away from his kid.

Severus flicks his eyes to Harry, checking on his son and godson both of whom look shocked and tired.

“With that I bid you all a good night,” Dumbledore says, clapping his hands and signalling the end of the welcome feast.
Severus lets out a long-suffering sigh, moving from the head table to his prefects who have made their way to him, waiting to be given leave to take the first years to the common room. All six of them were hand-picked by him for both their academic success and their clear commitment to protecting their housemates. Something that he values greatly as head of Slytherin, especially with the other houses penitent to target the members of his house. His prefects act as both enforcers of rules and protectors for their peers.

“Let’s get the first years to the dungeons, and no you cannot ask any questions,” he sneers at the curious looks on their faces, “and I better not hear about any of you harassing my son.”
Their faces pale significantly at his threatening tone, all of them nodding in agreement.

“Excellent, carry on,” he says monotonously, exiting the Great Hall through a door at the back of the room leading to the passages used by the staff to avoid the busy hallways. Severus enjoys the way his expedient arrival to classrooms, and the common room unnerves the students. Taking the narrow stone staircase down into the dungeons, Severus makes his way to the Slytherin common room in the bowels of the castle.

As much as the castle has been Severus prison since he was forced to teach by Dumbledore, it had also been his first home. He’d been safe here, at least for the first few years, before the relentless bullying and some very poor decisions by a hurting young man that had led him down a path to darkness. He’d likely be locked up in Azkaban right now if it wasn’t for Lucius and Narcissa.

“Knotgrass,” Severus speaks to the snake embedded in the stones, watching as the bricks in the wall shift aside – like the entrance to Diagon Alley from The Leaky does, just on a smaller scale. Stepping through the opening, he takes in the immaculately cleaned common room - large bookcases filled with reference materials are freshly dusted, carpets placed perfectly straight with the many study spaces fully stocked with extra ink, quills, and parchment should any student need the materials. The many couches in the common room are stacked with pillows and blankets to make sure the students are comfortable in the constant chill of the dungeons. One of the downsides of the underground and underwater space is the bone deep chill that can follow you if you are without a fire.

The glass holding back the waters of the Black Lake have all been wiped down, allowing as much light to filter through the water as possible. This time of night, it is only the faint glow of the moon outside, but during the day you can watching the light of the sun dance through the water before it filters into the Slytherin common room accentuating all the deep green and shining silver accents throughout the space.

Turning at the sound of the incoming students, Severus stands with his back straight, hands clasped in front of him. He holds his head high, looking down his nose at all the students as they filter into the large space. Older years settling into seats, while the lower years stand before him. This was a lesson he had learned early on as a professor - many of these children come from powerful, wealthy families. He, as a known half-blood and disgraced supporter of the Dark Lord, could not show weakness or leniency to these children and thus to ensure his respect and their safety, Severus presented a mask. A mask designed to instill a fair degree of fear and respect in children taught from a young age that they were above everyone, that their blood gave them supremacy, that their parents could bend the world to their liking. In some cases, that was true - Draco alone could likely cause an endless headache for anyone who crossed him.

“Welcome to the noble house of Slytherin. You will find that this house will be unlike the others in many ways. Slytherins stick together - any disagreements you may have outside these walls will be settled within them. We show the world a united front. When you leave this common room, you will do so in groups of at least two people, you will quickly find that being a Slytherin paints a rather large target on your back,” that last statement garners several groans and snickers from the upper years.
Severus clears his throat immediately silencing them.

“Curfew is strictly enforced for those of you in first through third year. Fourth year and above, don’t get caught or you will be doing an additional detention with me,” Severus scans the crowd, making eye contact with several of the more troublesome upper years. His eyes eventually settle on Harry and Draco standing next to each other just off to his right. He can’t help but soften slightly at the look of pure joy on his son’s face at being in his house and with Draco still.

“Now, I know that you have undoubtedly put together that my son, Harrison Prince, was sorted into Slytherin today and that I have taken up my lordship as Lord Prince. I will not be answering questions about this, and you will not be asking Harrison questions about it. Any further questions about house rules or study groups can be asked of your prefects,” Severus dismisses them, watching while the upper years break off to reconnect with their friends from their summer hols and the younger students start following the prefects to the dorm rooms.

“Dad!” Harry exclaims, wrapping his arms around Severus waist and giving him a tight squeeze.

“Hello, Harry. Did you have a good meal?” Severus asks him, already knowing he’d eaten just enough not to trigger Draco’s mother henning of his eating habits. Ever since Severus has asked Draco to help him ensure that Harry was eating enough, Draco has turned it into his life’s mission to have Harry eat at least three meals a day. Narcissa had thought it was adorable, while Lucius was shocked at then number of snacks his son had managed to subtly hide in his pockets.

“Good, the treacle tart was amazing!” Harry beams at him, still leaning into his side.

“Good, good and the other students haven’t given you trouble?”

“Nope not at all,” Harry tells him, likely leaving out an incident or two.

“And you Draco?” Severus asks his godson, who was patiently waiting for him and Harry. Gods that was a statement he never thought he’d think about his godson - patience is a very new virtue for the young boy who is so used to receiving instant gratification.

“The feast was uneventful, though Parkinson may be an issue,” Draco tells him. That was unsurprising to him - social climbers would not be happy that a new player has joined the field.

“Well then, off to bed with the two of you. Tomorrow is a free day I will have you both brought to my quarters so you can learn where they are and how to access them,” Severus tells them, giving his son another tight hug and Draco a light tap on the shoulder.

This is going to be a long school year.

Chapter Text

So far, Harry loves Hogwarts. He and Draco are roommates, sharing a dorm room; Blaise and Theo share another and Vincent and Greg share a third. Their shared room is similar in size to Harry’s room in Malfoy Manor - with two big beds (though not quite as big as the ones at the manor), a small sitting area and desks for each of them. Before they had gone to bed the night before, Draco had unpacked their schoolbooks, placing them on a shelf in the room for them both and stocked their wardrobes with all their clothes.

Groggily rolling out of bed, Harry rubbed at his face, letting himself wake up a little before moving towards the bathroom where Draco was still getting ready. Unwilling to wait for the prat to finish his obscenely long bathroom routine, Harry opened the door and moves across the room he’d mentally mapped out last night, thick steam filling the air.

Five steps from the door to the toilet at the opposite end of the room. One and a half steps to the opening of the shower to his right. Two steps to the sink on his left. The sink closest to the door is Harry’s, his toiletries already placed around it by him the night before, so he’d know exactly where everything is.

“Ahhh,” Draco lets out when the shower shuts off, “what are you doing in here?”

“I needed the loo,” Harry tells him, moving to wash his hands.

“I’m in here!” Draco squeaks out.

“And?” Harry asks confused.

“It’s indecent?!” Draco tells him.

“I’m blind,” Harry tells him, splashing water over his face, “I don’t see the problem.”

Harry smirks in Draco’s direction.

Letting out a huff Draco moves past Harry to continue getting ready for their first full day at Hogwarts.

+++

“Harrison Prince,” Harry tilted his head up towards the sound of his name from his spot beside Draco at the Slytherin table.

“Hello?” Harry asks to the unfamiliar voice.

“My name is Daphne Greengrass,” she tells him, sitting down across from him.

“Oh, Draco’s mentioned you before, well met,” Harry tells her, giving her a slight smile.

“I’ve decided that we are going to be best friends,” she tells him.

“Hey!” Draco lets out, offended.

Harry just raises an eyebrow.

“Don’t worry Draco. No one is replacing you,” Harry reassures him, patting his arm gently and taking a big bite of his eggs, savoring the delicious fluffy food the heavenly flavours of egg and butter washing over his tongue.

“Of course I’m not replacing Draco! But you need a best friend that’s not him,” Daphne says. A very loaded silence, that Harry doesn’t understand, surrounds them.

“Yeah, okay,” Draco concedes, “more friends can’t hurt.”

Harry just pats him again, knowing that Draco is being a jealous brat. But he can’t help but smile at Daphne.

“So, second best friend, what are we doing today?” Harry asks her.

“Don’t forget we need to go see Uncle Sev at some point,” Draco reminds Harry.

“Well, I was thinking we find a prefect or an upper year and get them to show us the best routes to all the classes. We should know the best ways before class on Monday so we’re not late. Since your dad’s our head of house, they can’t tell us no,” Daphne says, very proud of herself.

Harry hears Draco let out a little grunt, which he takes to mean Draco’s a big fan this plan.

“Let’s do it,” Harry tells her, happy that he’s already made another friend.

Finishing their breakfast, the three of them approached one of the new fifth-year prefects. Harry let Daphne do all the talking, and she managed to convince a fifth-year named Adrian Pucey to spend the morning showing them around the castle. Pucey didn’t sound overly excited about the tour, but he didn’t put up much of a fight either, dragging his friend Marcus Flint along with them. Daphne gives Harry her arm, letting Draco talking with Marcus about Quidditch - apparently Marcus is going to be the team’s captain this year, which is a rare honour for a fifth-year student.

“Where are we starting this tour?” Pucey asks the group of first years.

“We’ll be going to class each day from the Great Hall, so why don’t we start here?” Daphne tells the fifth year.

“Got it, okay then. Prince, do you need anything from us?” Pucey asks him, sounding very unsure of himself.

“Just lead the way,” Harry tells them, getting ready to start memorizing the paths to the different classrooms.

The first class they will have Monday morning is Transfiguration - the class is on the second floor of the castle, up a flight of stairs to the left of the Great Hall and down a long hallway turning left once, then right before they travel thirty-one steps down the next hall and a turn to the right they come to the classroom’s door. Harry takes a moment to get his bearings, running his hand over the wooden door to the classroom, noting the symbol carved into the door - something he can use to double-check he has the right room.

They do these six more times, starting from the Great Hall and navigating their way to each of the classrooms that they will be using in their first year. Harry’s favourite is the Potions classroom in a dungeon. It’s the easiest to get to because it’s near the Slytherin dorms. The worst classroom to get to is the Astronomy room, which is in a tower at the opposite end of the castle from the Great Hall and up a never-ending set of stairs. Harry rarely has issues with stairs once he knows how many there are but counting all two hundred and twenty-three leading up to the top of the tower is annoying, not to mention that the trek up all those stairs is exhausting.

“Why are there so many stairs in this place?” Harry breaths out at the top, dropping to the ground to catch his breath. Physical activity has never been something that Harry had enjoyed. Mostly because physical activity and a lack of sight don’t mix.

“Two hundred and twenty-three,” Harry breathes out, pointing at Draco who is also breathing heavily, just not as heavy as Harry.

“I’ll remember,” Draco tells him, laughing lightly.

“What?” Marcus asks.

“Number of stairs from the bottom to the top,” Harry tells him, waving his hand towards the prefect.

“Ah,” Pucey says, the puzzle piece clicking into space, “well good news is this is the last classroom, saved the best for last. Bad news is we should probably take you to the forbidden corridor, so you know to avoid that place.”

Harry groans, rolling up to standing taking hold of Draco’s arm now and leaning onto him slightly.

Making their way back to the Great Hall, Harry hears other students filling the halls - laughter and conversations bounce around the open space now that students are awake and becoming livelier. Draco, as usual, makes sure that no one bumps into Harry while they navigate the halls back to the Great Hall. Harry is grateful that they chose to return to the Great Hall before making their way to each of the classrooms, so at the very least if he ever needs to, he can find the Great Hall and use it as a central point to always find his way.

One more place to go before they can finally see his dad, maybe they could have lunch in his quarters and spend some time brewing together.

“This staircase here moves every hour and leads to the third-floor corridor, which is forbidden. The route we showed you to all the classes avoid the moving staircase in this tower. Some move on a schedule, but most of them have a mind of their own so avoid them as much as you can unless you want to be late for class,” Pucey tells them.

Harry does not like the way this place feels - the air feels cold against his skin, making him shiver slightly. The space around them feels wrong, almost slick like oil. Something here is wrong, dark, and oppressive. Harry just wants to leave and get away from here and hopefully never come back.

“Do you feel that?” Harry asks Draco, squeezing his hand.

“No, seems like any other corridor to me,” Draco tells him, moving them away from the area that feels so wrong to Harry.

“Can we go see dad now?”

“Yes, let’s go. Daph, we’ll catch up with you later we’re going to see Uncle Sev,” Draco tells her.

“See you later!” She tells them, a smile clear in her voice.

“Thank you again Pucey, Flint. We appreciate the help,” Harry tells them with a wave and a smile.

“Tell your dad we showed you around!” Flint calls after them while Harry and Draco make their way back towards the Great Hall. Harry makes sure to take note of the return route too so he can make sure to avoid this section of the castle at all costs. He never wants to go anywhere near that corridor again.

Draco makes sure Harry avoids bumping into anyone or anything, going as far as describing the corridor they’re walking down so Harry knows that there are suits of armour lining the halls or large tapestries that fall from the ceiling to the floor in the tall hallways. Some of the walls even have talking paintings that call out to them as they walk past. Harry wanted to stop and ask them questions, but Draco insisted that they should avoid them as much as possible. Apparently once they get talking it’s very hard to get them to stop.

“Oi, what did you do to Potter to make him get sorted into your evil house?” a familiar voice yells out behind them.

Draco pulls to an abrupt stop forcing Harry to a halt beside him. Ron Weasley is behind them, from the sound of the footsteps approaching them there’s two other people with him too. Draco turns them to face Ron and his friends. Harry doesn’t like the way Ron is talking to them, it reminds him of his cousin and his gang of friends.

“My name isn’t Potter, it’s Prince. Please use it,” Harry asks them to try and avoid a fight breaking out.

“You’re not supposed to be a snake; you should be in Gryffindor like your parents!” Ron exclaims at him.

“I told you I wanted to be in the same house as my dad,” Harry tells him, saying each world slowly so it can sink into the other boy’s skull.

“Your dad’s a Death Eater - he’s dark. He worked for you know who,” Ron tells them, stomping his foot against the ground. Harry almost wishes he could see the other boys faces right now. Not even Draco, the most spoiled person he knows, stomps his feet like that.

“Don’t spread lies about my Uncle,” Draco hisses out at them.

“It’s not a lie, you slimey snake,” Ron tells him stepping closer to them again.

Harry wants nothing more than to descend the stairs at their back into the dungeons and leave the Gryffindor and his friends in this world above ground.

“Better a snake than an idiot,” Draco drawls out an imitation of Uncle Lu when he’s upset at someone at the Ministry.

“I’ll show you,” Ron says moving forward quickly.

“Ickle Ronnikins, you wouldn’t be able to attack the snakes, would you?” A voice says from their left.

“No Gred, he’d never threaten the little Prince here and his knight,” says a very similar voice.

“Right you are Forge,”

“Because that,”

“would just be,”

“what did the little snake say?”

“oh yes, idiotic,”

“What do you two want?” Ron sneers at the newcomers.

“Who are they?” Harry whispers to Draco, trying to remain unnoticed.

“Look like his brothers, the twins. They’re two years older than us I believe. Notorious pranksters. Uncle Sev can’t stand them,” Draco whispers back.

“We were just passing by and heard some not so nice things being said to the little Prince. You wouldn’t want us writing home to mum about that, would you?” one of the twins says.
Ron lets out a huff before three sets of feet walk away, quickly mumbled curses about ‘filthy snakes’ drifting back to Harrys ears.

“I thought we got along fine on the train?” Harrys asks Draco.

“You couldn’t see his face. He looked ill when you said you wanted to be in Slytherin and even worse when he learned who you are,” Draco tells him.

“Don’t mind our baby brother,” one twin says.

“He’s just been raised on a lot of stories about the great Harry Potter,” the other says.

Harry lets out a pained groan.

“You and dad really need to tell me about these books,” he tells Draco, annoyed at being out of the loop. Draco just gives his hand a squeeze of affirmation.

“Thank you for scaring off your brother,” Harry stretched his free right hand towards the twins, “Harrison Prince.”

“I’m Fred Weasley,” Fred says shaking Harry’s hand.

“And I’m George Weasley,” George says taking Harry’s hand next and giving it a firm shake.

“It’s nice to meet you both,” Harry tells them, giving them a small smile.

“Off you go little Prince. We’ll see you around,” Fred says before the twins also turn to walk away.

“I like them,” Harry tells Draco as the start down the steps to the dungeon.

“Of course you do,” Draco sighs out.

Harry can feel the distinct change around him when they enter the dungeons - the cooling of the air from the slight damp from the water surrounding half of the castle, and the light scent of Potions that escapes his dad’s classroom near the exit of the dungeons. Harry loves the distinct shifts he can feel from one area of the castle to the next. The towers felt full of fresh air, a specific lightness, and a fresh scent from the lake and mountains surrounding the castle. The green houses were humid and warm with that distinct scent of earth that reminded Harry of his aunt’s garden when he’d laid down fresh fertilizer.

The grounds surrounding the castle reminded him of the Malfoy’s manor - open and inviting, some small gardens, but mostly open space and fresh air, something Harry had never smelled before the summer. He’d always been trapped in the city with air full of acrid scents from cars and people.

Draco tapping Harry’s hand breaks him out of his thoughts about the castle bringing him back into the dungeons.

“We’re at the entrance to the common room. Do you need to grab anything before we go to Uncle Sev’s?” Draco asks.

“Nope, I just want to see dad,” Harry tells him, leaning slightly into Draco.

They turn right, following a hallway for twenty steps, then turning right to take another ten steps before stopping and turning to their left. Draco knocks against his dad’s door causing an echo to bounce down the long hallways to either side of them. Harry’s curious how far they go. They sound longer than any hallway in his old school had been. Even in the Manor, the halls turned and twisted too much to echo like they did here.

“Boys,” his dad says in his happy voice, which is only pitched slightly higher than his angry voice.

“Dad!” Harry lets out, throwing himself forward trusting that his dad is going to catch him.

And he does – a strong arm wraps around Harry, holding him slightly off the ground.

“Hello son,” his dad says with a smile, slowly placing him back down on the ground while guiding Harry’s hand to the crook of his elbow. Dad guides him to a large plush couch that Harry sinks into beside him.

“How was your first day in the castle?”

“It was great! Daphne is going to be my best friend. Then she got Adrian Pucey and Marcus Flint to show us to all our classrooms. We started in the Great Hall for all of them too so now I can always find my way around so long as I can find the Great Hall, isn’t that cool!” Harry tells him, the words falling out of his at a rapid pace.

“Ten points to Slytherin for Pucey and Flint for taking the time to show first years around,” His dad says before turning to Draco.

“And what else?” Dad asks Draco.

“Weasley. We ran into him and two other Gryffindors on the way to here. They accused me of doing something to make Harry be sorted Slytherin, then they said you were a Death Eater. Then the terror twins came and dealt with him,” Draco tells him.

“Hmmm,” Harry barely hears his dad say before his eyes drift shut.

+++

POV Severus Prince

“Why don’t you return to the dorms now Draco? We can let Harry sleep. I’ll return him to you at dinner,” Severus asks Draco, his godson clearly bored sitting in his living space.

“See you at dinner,” Draco tells him, hopping off the couch and leaving the private quarters. Severus maneuvers Harry down so his head is resting on a pillow against his leg, summoning his lesson plan for the first week and taking notes on other adaptations he could make.

They sit there together for an hour - Harry napping and Severus reading through his notes. Severus can’t help but hope that when classes start on Monday, he and Harry will still find time to spend together like this - quiet moments where they can spend time as a family. Harry’s recovery is going well, most of the external damage is completely healed - the many scars that had crisscrossed his back, arms, and legs are little more than the faintest of silver lines. He’s likely going to need these little naps for several more months while his body continues to adjust to new levels of activity, proper nutrition, and studying.

“Mmmph, Dad?” Harry mumbles out from his place on the couch, rolling slightly to bury his face in his pillow.

“You should wake up or you’ll never get to sleep tonight,” he tells Harry, giving his shoulder a light shake to try and wake the child up.

“No,” Harry grunts out making Severus smile at his son’s antics.

“Well then, I guess you don’t want learn those new spells,” Severus says, going back to his notes.

“Wait no, spells, magic!” Harry lets out, shooting upright nearly smashing his head against Severus elbow.

“Hmmm, no, no you get your beauty sleep,” Severus tells the excited child.

“Daaaad,” Harry whines out, drawing Severus’ eyes to the face of the pouting eleven-year-old. He can’t help but feel as another small piece of the wall that he’d build so long ago to protect his heart chips away at the sight of the green-eyed boy in front of him. The excitement at everything new painted across his face, his expression unguarded, fully trusting in those around him. Harry’s willingness to act his age is a big step towards his healing.

The mind healers he’d spoken to had told him that Harry’s forced hyper independence may make him act much older than he is, but he’s still a child and to expect and encourage him to act like one - to feel comfortable enough to cry, throw a tantrum, depend on him, and grow. Harry will always rely on himself first, but Severus’ new job is to make sure that Harry knows he can rely on him too.

“I expect you’d like to be able to tell time?” Severus asks Harry, who nods his head up and down rapidly.

“The incantation tempus viva voce, it means ‘time with spoken voice’. It does just what it says. It is a slightly more challenging than the typical tempus, but I have no doubts you’ll master it. Can you repeat the incantation for me?” Severus asks Harry.

“Tempis viva voca,” Harry says slowly.

“Close. It’s a ‘u’ at the end of tempus. You want to make the sounds ‘us’ at the end, not ‘is’,” he tells Harry avoiding his usual stern teaching voice.

“’us’” Harry whispers under his breath a couple of times before trying again.

“Tempus viva voca,” Harry says confidently.

“Perfect, the next step to learning a new spell is the wand movement. For this spell, it will be a slight flick of the wrist. I’m going to have you rest your hand along mine while I make the move,” Severus had spent hours thinking of the best method to teach Harry wand movements for spells. The idea had come to him from his time in muggle school learning cricket. Teachers has adjusted their grip or held the bat through practice swings to teach them the necessary motion. The same principal should apply here.
Placing Harry’s hand over top of his own, he moves his wand in a slow half circle with the turn of his wrist.

“Would you like me to do it a couple more times?”

“Yes please,”

So, he does slowly, increasing the speed of his movement to let Harry feel how quickly he will eventually need to do it on his own.

“Now, take hold of your wand and try the movement on your own,” he tells Harry, watching the downward flick of his wrist to call his wand from the holster on his right forearm. This they had practiced extensively over the summer to ensure Harry would be able to draw his wand quickly for defence.

“Good. Here, adjust your grip slightly and instead of holding your wand in a fist, move your thumb up and hook your forefinger,” he watches as Harry adjust his grip, “there, that way the arc you make with the tip of the wand is much more fluid and wider. Give it a couple more tries before we add in the incantation.”

Severus watches, giving Harry encouragement and corrections as he flicks his wand until he is consistently making the correct movement.

“Great work, Harry. Now let’s add the incantation,” he tells him. Severus has never loved teaching; students are rarely grateful, and Potions is the most dangerous classes the students take. Failure to follow instructions or not paying enough attention to a brew can be deadly, therefore he is strict in his classroom - ruthless if you ask some. Teaching is not what he wanted to do with his life, but two masters set him on this path and there is no turning back now. Teaching Harry though, this is a delight. His son is so eager to learn, so full of wonder.

“Tempus viva voca,” Harry says giving his wand a perfect flick, yet nothing happens causing Harry brows to furrow.

“Don’t worry, there’s more to magic than words and wands. You need to feel it as well. Inside you is your magical core. It’s where you need to pull the magic from to will it to do as you ask. The wand and the incantation act as a focus - they give you time to pull your magic forward and an instruction of what to do. Some truly powerful wizards can do magic without a wand, merely pulling the magic from within themselves and willing it to do their bidding,” he tells Harry, trying his best to explain complex magical theory in a way that his son can understand.

“Will I be able to do magic without a wand one day?” Harry asks, his hand subconsciously making the wand movement.

“I’m sure you will, but for now let’s focus in doing it with the wand first,” Severus tells him, ruffling his hair.

Harry keeps trying, a look of deep focus on his face and his tongue slightly visible at the corner of his mouth while he concentrates.

“Tempus viva voca,” Harry says perfectly.

“Fifteen hundred thirty-six,” an androgynous voice says at a conversational volume.

“I did it!” Harry let’s out excitedly.

“Indeed, you did,” Severus tells him, bringing the small boy into his arms.

Harry pulls away from him, casting the spell three more times in succession until he’s confident he can do it repeatedly.

“I am impressed. You were able to cast that much quicker than I expected,” he tells Harry, making sure this pride is clear in his voice.

“Can you teach me the braille one now?” Harry asks nearly bouncing in his seat with excitement.

“Of course, let me grab one of your blank books and a text we can translate. This is much more complex, so do not be discouraged if you cannot cast this today,” Severus warns his son, moving from the couch to his bookshelf to grab hold of a Potions text and one of Harry’s extra wide blank books - one of the ones they bought for his translations to accommodate the extra space needed for braille.

“The wand movement for this is much simpler. You merely need to tap your wand against the books you want to translate and then against the blank book. The incantation is significantly more complex because it is several spells woven together. One spell to copy the text and another to translate it,” Severus tells Harry, who nods his understanding.

“Geminio scriptum tactus is the incantation. Geminio is a spell to copy, it can be used on a wide variety of objects, though copies will not last for long and will be inferior. Never, and I do mean never, us it on money. The Goblins will not be forgiving. Scriptum tactus is the translation portion. It means ‘writing for touch’. This is where the incantation is most challenging. Magic does not know what braille is, so you’ll need to infuse your intention, will, into the spell for it to understand what ‘writing for touch’ means. When you cast the spell, focus on the braille alphabet. Since braille is a one for one to the Roman alphabet, you should not run into issue,” Severus gives Harry some time to think about the theory behind the spell. Understanding the function of the spell is necessary to casting more complex spells like this one. Severus has no doubts that Harry is intelligent enough to follow his explanation. Based on his hunger to learn during the summer, there was a very real chance he could have landed himself in Ravenclaw.

“Tap the books, say the incantation, think of the braille alphabet,” Harry says while ticking off the three steps on his left hand’s fingers with his wand.

“Correct. And do not be disappointed if you can’t achieve this spell today. It is at least a fifth-year spell,” Severus tells him, making sure that Harry will not feel as though he’s failed if he cannot master this spell right now, “start the incantation while your wand is on the original book, then finish it on the second book with the scriptum tactus,”

Severus guides Harry’s wand towards the two books sitting on the coffee table before them telling him which is the original and which is his blank text. The expression of deep concentration on his face, the furrow between his eyebrows returning and his tongue peeking out of the side of his mouth.

“Geminio scriptum tactus,” Harry says several times without moving his wand before moving forward and starting.

Harry gives the spell several attempts before stopping and settling back into the couch. Severus remains silent letting Harry have the space to think through the spell and what he may need to change in order for him to be successful.

“You said that the wand movement and the incantation make it, so I have a focus to pull on my magic?” Harry asks.

“Yes,”

“If I’m saying the incantation too quickly and not pulling enough from my core and can’t think about the alphabet enough, the spell will fail,” Harry logics out.

“Well done. You are saying it a little too fast, at least for your current skill level. Try slowing down and you might find more success,” Severus tells him, beaming with pride at Harry’s ability to think critically.

Harry smiles at him brightly, returning to his attempts to translate the book. Severus let him continue for another ten minutes before stopping him.

“I think it’s time for a break. Why don’t you explore my quarters and get to know the space? The books will be here before or after dinner,” Severus tells him, watching Harry nod his head before getting up to explore his quarters.

Chapter Text

Harry did not master the translation spell over the weekend, but he got close! He and Draco had spent Sunday following the routes to their classes again and to make sure they had them memorized before classes on Monday. After that, they’d spent rest of the day in the Slytherin common room enjoying the cool temperatures the lake provided them. Draco spent almost a full five minutes describing the space to him - both were in awe of the glass windows that look out into the Black Lake where fish and Merpeople swim by periodically. Draco even said he’d seen large dark shadows in the murky distance just beyond the light that filters through the water.

Slytherin colours are a dark forest green with silver embellishments and that colour scheme is all over the common room and dorms according to Daphne and Draco. Daphne feels like it’s tragic that they are surrounded by such bland monotoned décor, while Draco tells him it makes the space feel welcoming because the dark colours are soothing. Harry just enjoyed the crackling fire, comfy couches, and the fact that most people in the house leave him alone now.

He had spent more time with his dad on Sunday, translating every other letter in the book he’d been practicing with. Harry whooped, jumping around the room until he’d bumped into the coffee table hurting his knee. His dad had healed the bruise with a balm and just chuckled at his antics. No yelling for him to sit down, no ridicule for his excitement, just laughter and comfort. Harry is sure he’s going get it by the end of the week and once he does, he’s going to make copies of all his schoolbooks and then ask his dad which books from the library he should copy.

Today though, today is Monday and Harry cannot wait for his classes to start.

“Tempus viva voca,” Harry says, giving his wand a wave.

“Six thirty-five,” the voice says quietly. Harry had experimented with the spell Sunday learning that he can will the voice to speak at different volumes depending on his intent.

Harry worked his way out of his bed, excited to start his first week of classes! If his teachers are even half as good as his dad, he knew he was going to learn so much at Hogwarts.

+++

Breakfast was quick. His dad gave him his schedule for all his classes written in braille which his dad had painstakingly translated letter by letter, it was worth it though because it made Harry smile, finally having something he can read himself. Daphne and Draco started the day arguing over which class is going to be the best - Daph thinks it’s going to be Charms, while Draco is positive it must be Potions. Harry’s just excited to learn about magic and thinks all their classes are going to be fun. Unfortunately for him, his first class immediately proves him wrong when they start their Monday morning with Herbology.

They’re partnered with Ravenclaw for this class in the Greenhouses. Getting there is easy enough following the route that Pucey and Flint had shown them, but the class itself proved to be challenging for Harry. Draco and Harry had read half of the Herbology textbook over the summer - it covered the magical and non-magical properties of all the plants they would be learning about and handling. Harry had felt confident in his understanding of the theoretical aspect of the class. Draco had spent time describing the plants to him and had even shown him some in the garden so Harry could learn the feel of the plants that were safe to touch.

That confidence slowly crumbled when Professor Sprout began describing what they would be doing for their first class. Today they would be learning to draw plants and label their parts in their notes, then they would write a six-inch essay on that plant describing it’s magical and non-magical properties.

“Mr. Prince, please do not touch the plants, they can be delicate,” Professor Sprout snaps at him when Harry runs his fingers down the leaf of his plant after Draco had confirmed it was safe to touch. Where his fingers touched the leaves, he could feel a slight tingle from the magic of the plant. Leaning forward he gives the plant a sniff picking up the scent of lavender.

“I won’t be able to draw the plant professor, but I can identify them by touch and smell,” Harry tells her.

“Be that as it may Mr. Prince, I can’t have you handling the plant,” Professor Sprout says, clearly exasperated with him already.

“How do you suggest I complete this assignment then?” Harry asks her, trying not to snap at his professor on the first day. Beside him Harry can feel Draco tensing.

“Watch your tone Mr. Prince,” she tells him now clearly upset with him, “you may write a twelve-inch essay on the properties of lavender instead.”

Harry can’t help but scoff at that. An essay twice the length of everyone else just because he can’t touch the plant? That wasn’t fair. He could do what everyone else is if she’d just let him feel the plants. He may not be able to draw the plant, but he could describe the plant to his note taking quill, which if he did it right, would be just as good, especially since this is for his own personal notes.

“I absolutely can’t touch the plants?” Harry asks her again, just to make sure.

“No, you cannot. If you touch them others will touch them and I refuse to have first years handling my plants in such a way,” she tells him before moving away.

Harry feels Draco’s hand squeeze his arm, “are you okay, Harry?”

“Yes,” Harry says sinking into his stool and taking out his quill to start dictating his essay on lavender. In his hands he holds his string untying the knots and retying them as he whispers out his essay to the quill to avoid disrupting the class.

By the time their two-and-a-half-hour class ends, Harry’s essay is completed, and Draco promises to read it over in their free block before Transfiguration.

“Harry Potter?” Someone calls out in front of them as they work their way from the greenhouses to the library.

“Harry Potter?” the voice says again, but Harry categorically ignores them.

“HARRY POTTER!” They yell from right behind him.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” Harry says not turning around.

“Can’t believe someone would take that greasy git’s name,” the person mumbles under their breath, not nearly quiet enough to go unnoticed by Harry.

“Excuse me?” Harry asks, his voice dripping with distain not unlike his dad's teaching voice.

“The Headmaster would like to see you after dinner,” the student says. Harry can feel the light brush of their arm as they thrust out their hand to him clearly trying to deposit something in his bag.

“Did you just hand him a note?” Daphne asks, her tone belittling.

“The Headmaster gave it to me,” they say before footsteps move away from them rapidly.

Harry doesn’t start moving again too shocked by the interaction with the unknown student. Why had they insulted his dad? Who sends a note to someone who can’t read? How could no one get his name right?

“It says that Dumbledore would like to see you after dinner today. Nothing else,” Draco tells him, his voice skeptical.

“I’ll take dad with me. He told me that I should tell him about things like this anyway,” Harry says, letting out a sigh.

Even though the adults thought they were being sneaky, Harry is a Slytherin too and he knows that there’s something going on. The will had more information in them that they hadn’t shared with him yet - he had walked in on more than one conversation that was quickly silenced at the Manor while he was wandering around, learning the layout of the hallways. Harry knows he has another godfather who is currently in prison for betraying his parents and killing those Muggles. He knows that Dumbledore has something to do with why he was at the Dursleys instead of with his dad. He knows that there is something more going on around him – he just doesn’t know what.

“Woah look at this,” Blaise Zabini says from his spot across from them at the library table, the crinkle of a newspaper being passed around the table.

“There’s been a break in at Gringotts on July 31st. The goblins are saying nothing was taken since the vault has been emptied earlier that day - they are not taking it well,” Daphne says, summarizing the article for Harry.

“Say Harry, isn’t that your birthday?” Blaise asks.

“Yeh, I must have been at the bank at the same time as that,” Harry says, thinking about his two trips to the bank that day and the mystery vault they had stopped at with Hagrid to get the ‘you know what’ for ‘you know who’. That seemed much more suspicious now that Harry was looking back on it.

“What do you think it could be?” Draco speculates, ignoring his Herbology essay completely.

“When I was there in the morning, Hagrid and I stopped at another vault for him to grab something. The whole thing seemed all secretive,” Harry tells them, the sense of mystery pulling him in with the rest of them.

“What was it?” Draco asks, his voice an excited whisper.

“No clue, he didn’t tell me. Honestly, sounded like it was something in a paper bag,” Harry tells his captive audience.

Their study group devolves from there, speculating over what treasure could possibly be worth breaking into Gringotts for and risking the wrath of the goblins. Blaise is positive it’s a priceless artefact to let people read minds. Theo thinks it’s a book with the secrets to alchemy. Daphne thinks it’s a giant jewel, ideally a diamond because according to her that’s ‘a girl's best friend’.

“I thought I was your best friend?” Harry gasps, clutching his heart.

“You my darling, will just need to get me one,” Daphne laughs at him, giving him a peck on the cheek.

Harry just lets out a laugh, while Draco swats her away, his arm brushing past Harry’s back to get at Daphne on his other side. She just laughs a little more before ignoring Draco.

“Quiet down or you will be asked to leave,” Madam Pince whisper yells at them as she walks by, letting them know they’ve been too loud.

Settling into their studies, Harry pulls out the blank notebook and his Potions textbook to try practicing his spell some more. He knows he’s close to getting it - he can feel the magic settling over the blank book, he just needs to focus his intent better. He’s positive the issue is how hard he finds it to clear his mind and focus his intent on the two alphabets. Harry wonders if the spell would be easier if he knew the roman alphabet too. It’s not like he’s ever seen it before.

“Geminio scriptum tactus,” Harry says, tapping his first on the Potions textbook then on the blank book. Again, he can feel the magic pull from his core and through his wand - he feels the warm rush as it flows over the Potions book and then follows his wand to empty notebook. He feels the magic leave him and become one with the notebook. He can sense it wrap around the book settling into the pages. Running his fingers over the cover, he can feel the bumps of the braille that reads ‘Potions: A Beginners Guide to the Art of Brewing’. Harry smiles quickly, flipping the book open to a random page and running his fingers over the bumps.

‘The Wiggenweld Potion is used to help revive a patient from a magical slumber such as one induced by the Draught of Living Death. Preparation includes the following ingredients…’

“Dray!” Harry excitedly whispers, lightly hitting the back of his hand against Draco’s arm.

“What?” Draco asks, setting his quill down with a light brush of the feathers against the library table.

“I did it!” Harry smiles at him, handing over the book now full of braille.

Draco takes it from him; Harry can hear him flipping through the pages pausing on occasion to run his fingers over pages and feel what Harry feels when he reads.

“This is amazing, Harry!” Draco hand him back his book.

“Do you think dad’s in the Great Hall yet?” Harry asks Draco, nearly bouncing in his seat with excitement. All he wants to do is show his dad.

“Let’s go see,” Draco tells him, grabbing his things and packing his bag. Harry does the same but keeps the translated Potions book out held tightly in his right hand, Draco grabbing his right.

“Do you want to take the lead and get us to the Great Hall?” Draco asks Harry, falling slightly behind him and letting Harry guide their way.

It doesn’t take long for them to arrive at their destination as lunch is starting to be served right at twelve thirty. The place smells wonderful - filled with the scent of beef stew and freshly bakes bread. As much as Harry appreciates not having to cook, he still misses having the option to cook. The Malfoy’s kitchen was run by their house elves who didn’t want a human in their kitchen, especially one the same age as their little master. Hogwarts didn’t have classes like Home Economics where Harry could learn to cook in a class.

“Uncle Sev’s at the table, do you want me to wave him over?” Draco asks.

“Yes please,” Harry tells Draco, holding his book tightly smiling.

“Draco, Harry. How has your first day of classes been?” His dad asks them.

“Herbology was… difficult. Professor Sprout doesn’t want me to touch the plants so I can’t really identify them on my own. She gave me a twelve-inch essay on lavender instead,” Harry tells him, trying to put on a brave face for how disappointed he was that he wouldn’t be able to participate in the class like the other students.

“Hmm, I’ll talk to her. There must be a way to adapt so you can participate,” his dad says, a thoughtful tone to his voice. Harry smiles at him happy that he has such an amazing dad who’s willing to try and make things better for him.

“But that’s not the important part! Look!” Harry thrusts the book towards his dad who swiftly takes it in hand opening the pages and flicking through a couple.

“Well done, Harry. I’m most impressed that you were able to cast this spell so quickly. I’m proud of you,” Harry nearly melts at the praise. His dad was proud of him! Harry resists to urge to wrap his arms around his dad, knowing that they need to keep a degree of separation, so people don’t think that they are too familiar. Harry doesn’t fully understand it, but his dad had made it clear that they could talk in public. Hugs, however, needed to be kept private because there were people at Hogwarts that might use their familiarity against them.

Harry didn’t like it. He wanted to be able to spend time with his dad and learn from him outside of just his offices. But most of all, he wanted a hug right now.

“Thanks, Dad,” Harry says taking the book back and running his index finger along the cover until he can feel the title of the book, proud of himself too.

“You boys make sure to eat your lunch and enjoy your Transfiguration class. Perhaps you should try translating that book next, Harry,” his dad says, giving his shoulder a light squeeze before leaving them.

Transfiguration is a much better class than Herbology. Professor McGonagall started class off while sitting on the desk as a cat, of all things, transforming when Ron and Neville entered the room late for class. She explained that she is an Animagus - someone who can transfigure themselves into an animal. The animal isn’t a choice, but a part of who you are so it’s unique to everyone. The class is split into two parts: one where they read from their books learning the theory and then the second half is practical where they try to do the magic.

“Geminio scriptum tactus,” Harry casts quietly, translating his Transfiguration textbook into one of the many blank books in his backpack.

“Mr. Prince, I do not believe that I gave the class permission to do magic,” the Professor says in a chastising tone.

“I was just translating my text into something I can read Professor,” Harrys tells her, holding up the translated book for her to see. He’s shocked he was able to do the spell perfectly again, but it feels like the text is all there.

“Explain,” the Professor tells him taking the book and thumbing through several pages.

“I read in braille. It’s raised dots on the page so I can feel the words instead of looking at them. My dad created a spell for me that would translate books,” Harry says, hoping she will give his freshly translated textbook back.

“Impressive magic for a first year. Five points to Slytherin,” she says, placing his book back down in front of him and moving down the rows of desks away from him and Draco and towards the Gryffindors.

Harry smiles, feeling warmth suffuse this body at the joy of earning house points on his first day! Draco give him a light encouraging nudge before they both return to their reading for the class.

Holding his hands over the first page, Harry trails the middle three fingers of his right hand along first sentence, his left hand poised on the second ready to start moving. Moving on instinct, Harry’s hands move down the page rapidly absorbing the text. Draco had read this entire book aloud to him over the summer, but Harry always felt like he remembered the information better when he read it himself.

‘Transfiguration is a branch of magic that deals in the transformation and transmutation of one object or creature into another. The art of Transfiguration opens the door to endless possibility, confined only by your own imagination and magical prowess. For the first year of study, students will learn the basic laws and theories behind Transfiguration and gain a fundamental knowledge of which will be built upon further in proceeding years.

Lessons will cover the arts of transformation - changing one object into another. Switching, replacing one object with another. Vanishing, removing an object or objects from one space and sending them to another. And a brief study of conjuration - making an item appear from somewhere else. Each of these will be explored further as you advance your studies, but the fundamental knowledge you gain now will set the precedent for your future success.’

Harry can’t help but find the writing in all their textbooks exceedingly dry. All of them are packed full of information, but all of it is presented in the most boring way possible. He much preferred the way his dad had explained things to him while teaching him the spells for telling time and translations.

Finishing the reading assigned to them well before his peers, Harry rummages around in his school bag for his already translated Potions text to review the first potion they’d be brewing, again making sure he has all the steps memorized so he can follow them and hopefully make his dad proud of him. Not everything could be adapted for him safely, he knows that. He’d been told in school that he couldn’t do so many things the other students did like field trips, P.E., science experiments, even his breaks were spent sitting inside or on a bench outside for his own ‘safety’. But his dad had spent all of August finding ways for Harry to participate in his class and Harry knows that his dad is brilliant, so he needs to make sure that he won’t let him down.

“You can read so fast!” Draco whispers to him, leaning in close to Harry to avoid disturbing the silent classroom, “how do you read with both hands at once?”

“I’m not. Well not at the same time. When my right hand reaches the end of the sentence, I start moving my left on the next, then bring my right hand down to meet it to finish the sentence. I just repeat that over and over again,” Harry shrugs - this is how he learned to read, he’s not really sure if it’s actually quicker than the average person.

“You have to teach me! I want to learn to read that fast,” Theo says from behind Harry. Harry just shakes his head, how Theo is in Slytherin and not in Ravenclaw is lost on him.

“It would appear we are done with our reading,” Professor McGonagall says, her voice directed at their group. Harry can hear others in the room groaning clearly not finished their reading yet.

“Please close your book and take out your wands,” she says, the room filling with the rustle of pages and robes as students closing their books, stowing them away and taking out their wands.

“In front of you, you will find a match. Today your task is to transfigure that match into a needle. There is no specific want movement for this type of spell, you need only tap your wand against the match while saying the incantation ‘Acus’. Those of you who can successfully transfigure your needle will not have to write a six-inch essay defining mass,” the Professor then starts moving amongst them, her velvet robes making a coarse sound as they swish around her. Harry imagines her movements must be very graceful to produce that type of sound.

Placing his hand on the table in front of him feeling for a small match, Harry picks it up, rolling the wood between the fingers of his left hand, his wand held the way his dad had told him in right. Around him, the room is filled with many voices saying ‘Acus’ repeatedly. Some he can even tell are wildly swinging their arms, causing a slight breeze to creep away from them, their robes making the distinct woosh through the air.

Harry let his magic stretch through him, feeling the match with it. The wood of the match felt different from the flammable tip. Harry could almost picture the short stick with the bulb on the end in his mind from the way his magic interacted with the different materials. Setting the match down on the table, he places his wand against it, imagining instead of the coarse grain of wood the match is instead the smooth feel of metal.

“Acus,” Harry says, while tapping his wand against the match.

Lifting his wand away, he runs his hand over the match feeling it - the wood has given way to metal, cool to the touch. The shape was also all wrong. Harry had only changed the wood to metal, he hadn’t changed the shape, and the tip of the match was still the rough material that caught fire.

Putting the match back down, Harry moves his wand against it again. He works harder to focus on his intent imagining the feel of a needle - the way they come to a sharp point, the loophole that you thread the string through. Holding his memory in his mind of the needles he’d used to mend the Dursleys clothes, Harry moves his wand again saying the incantation. His magic flows through him again traveling from his core to his wand and into the partially transfigured match.

Moving his hand again, he feels that the match has taken on the narrowed shape of a needle. The wood is all metal, but the bulb of material is still at the end behind the small hole for string to be threaded through. Sighing heavily, Harry rolls the bulb between his fingers thinking about how it should smooth out and become metal too just like the wood.

“Wow, Harry you did it!” Daphne lets out beside him, brushing against his side to look at his needle.

“Not yet, I still haven’t transfigured the striking end,” Harry tells her, placing the match back down before him and moving his wand so it’s touching.

“That still much better than anyone else in the class has managed yet,” Daphne says, giving Harry’s arm a light bump.

“Mines still a match but needle shaped,” Draco lets out, frustrated with his progress.

“I don’t know if it will help, but I imagine what the needle will feel like when I’m trying to transfigure it. The feel of the metal and the ridge of the loop. That might help you too?” Harry offers, knowing that Draco is relying on his visual memory of the needle and not the feel of it.

“Thanks, Harry. I’ll give that a try,” Draco says, also giving him a light bump.

Repositioning the match-needle and his wand, Harry focuses on his goal. He imagines the match as a whole, not focusing on just the wood but also the bulb at the end. He thinks of the smooth feel of metal, the taper of the needle and the loophole.

“Acus,” he says clearly, voice full of confidence.

Moving his hand back to the needle, he lets out a slight yelp when he pricks his finger on the sharp end. He quickly moves his hand to his mouth to check for any blood. The tang of iron fills his mouth when the small drop of blood is sucked away.

“Mr. Prince, are you okay?” Professor McGonagall asks him, moving to the Slytherin desks to check on him.

“Yes Professor. I just nicked myself on my needle when I was checking to see if the Transfiguration was completed,” Harry tells her, moving his hand away from his mouth where it is quickly grabbed by Draco who moves it around.

“Well done Mr. Prince. I see you’re the first one to successfully transfigure your match. To reverse the Transfiguration, you will need the incantation ‘Reverto’. Try reversing the change and then doing it again. Practice is essential to magical proficiency,” she tells them before moving away again to check on other students.

In the end, Harry manages to revert the transfiguration and change the match into a needle three more times before class is called to an end. Draco, after Harry’s help, managed to complete their assignment and so does a Gryffindor girl name Granger. They luckily avoid the essay on mass but still take their matches like everyone else to practice on. Harry wants to show his dad what they learned and tell him how they both managed to transfigure their matches.

+++

After dinner, Harry joins his dad outside the Great Hall, taking his arm and letting him guide Harry down the unfamiliar route to the Headmaster’s office.

“How was Transfiguration?” Dad asks him while leading Harry up a staircase.

“Great! I translated my textbook, and I transfigured the match into a needle!” Harry tells him excitedly. He also tells him about helping Draco with his and earning the house points on his first day. Harry’s excited rambling takes them all the way to the office where they stop after going up seven flights of stairs and down a winding hallway that Harry had never been down before.

“Acid pop,” Dad says, causing a strange sound to come from in front of them and a slight rumble vibrates from under their feet. Harry’s grip on his dad’s arm tightens slightly.

“The Headmaster’s office is located at the top of these steps. A stone gargoyle guards the entrance and requires a password like the common room to enter,” Dad explains, putting Harry at ease guiding him up the stairs. At the top, Harry can hear a large door swing open on smooth hinges as they approach it, like the automatic doors at a shopping centre.

The room they enter is filled with noise, not loud noise, but faint whorls of air moving from something spinning - the scratch of items rubbing against each other, the rhythmic tick of a clock set faster than a second. The average person might not notice it, but to Harry it’s an overwhelming amount of noise to take in. From the way sound moves in the room, Harry can tell it’s crowded, cluttered even. The ceiling might be high which makes the echo of noise even worse.

“Welcome my boys,” the Headmaster says, his tone light and inviting.

“Albus,” his dad greets in a neutral tone.

“Headmaster,” Harry says inclining his head in respect the way Aunt Cissa taught him before his dad guides him to a chair. The chair is horribly uncomfortable - the arms are carved wood that swoops at in the middle then back up at the end making it impossible to rest your arms on them, the seat is only lightly padded making Harry immediately want to wiggle to get comfortable.

“Harry, I wanted to ask how your first day of class was?” the old man says to him, his tone inquisitive and kind. Harry immediately doesn’t trust it, why does the headmaster care about his first day of school so much. Something isn’t right, but no one has told him what that is.

“It’s been okay. Transfiguration was brilliant! I changed my match into a needle by the end of class. Herbology was challenging since Professor Sprout asked me not to touch the plants we were working with. I wrote an essay instead,” Harry recounts to the Headmaster.

“And how did you write that essay?” he asks Harry.

“I have a dictation quill,” Harry tells him. Never before while at school had he been the one finding ways to adapt to classes like this, his teachers always told him what they would be doing with little to no input for Harry’s preferences. He finds it odd how thrown off they are by him.

“Hmm,” the Headmaster hums out.

“Is there a point to this conversation? I have potions that need my attention,” his dad says in his bored ‘you’re wasting my time’ tone usually reserved for Uncle Lu.

“I just wish to know how Harry’s education is progressing. I know his parents would only want the best for him after all,”

“My parents?” Harry asks, always curious about anything he can learn about his parents after learning they’d been heroes.

“Yes. They were students here and friends after their graduation,” the Headmaster tells him.

To Harry’s left his dad scoffs lightly making Harry pause before asking his next question about his parents.

“I’m happy your studies are proceeding well in any case. I look forward to hearing about what you accomplish, my boy,” the Headmaster says cheerily.

“As riveting as this conversation has been, Harry needs to be in his common room before eight to get ready for bed,” his dad says, the chair under him creaking with his movement.

“Of course, of course. Sleep, so important for a young mind,” the old man says, not leaving his place across from them.

“Goodnight, Headmaster,” Harry says, taking the arm his dad offers to help him up from the horrid chair.

After they’ve moved away from the seventh floor and back into the dungeons, Harry finally breaks their silence.

“That was strange right?” Harry asks his dad.

“Indeed. The Headmaster clearly has a vested interest in you. Something we will keep an eye on. If he asks to see you again tell me, I will accompany you. Trust your instincts Harry,” his dad says, coming to a stop outside the common room.

“Go see your friends. I’ll see you in the morning,” dad tells him, leaning forward giving Harry a light kiss on the forehead before leaving him to enjoy the rest of his night.

“Knotgrass,” Harry says stepping through the wall once the grind of stone stops.

Chapter Text

Today is going to be a good day. Today Harry and Draco have Potions with his Dad, and he can’t wait to get to brew again. The two boys have fallen into a morning routine: Draco wakes up first to use the shower, then Harry intrudes on the bathroom with no care for Draco’s privacy. While Harry showers, Draco gets Harry’s clothes for the day out and places then on his bed in the order that Harry will put them on. Once they’re both dressed, they head down to the Great Hall for breakfast with all their schoolbooks for the day. Draco still views Harry’s diet as his solemn duty - piling a large variety of food onto Harry’s plate every meal, snagging things that Harry can eat as snack between classes and hoarding muffins and fruit away in his bag.

“Are you ready for Charms?” Daph asks them.

“Yes! When Dad taught me how to do my time telling spell, he had me rest my hand on his to learn the wand movements. Hopefully someone can help me with that today. What kind of charms do you think we’ll cover on the first day?” Harry rattles off, excited for another set of new classes.

“My mom says that Charms is one of the more difficult classes. We’ll probably learn theory mostly,” Daph says, reminding Harry that he still needs to translate the textbook for this class. He’d been distracted by one of his history books the night before and had completely forgotten to translate his Charms and Defence textbooks.

“Prince, what magic are you doing?” Adrian Pucey asks him, coming up behind the first years at the table.

“Translation spell to braille so I can read my textbooks,” Harry tells him, taping his wand and whispering his incantation while moving it to the next book.

“May I see?” Pucey asks him clearly curious.

Harry hands the translated book over his shoulder to Pucey.

“This is brilliant, Prince. The raised text is fascinating. How do you read it?”

“I run my fingers along it; each letter is made up a combination of six dots. It was hard to learn when I was in primary, but now I can read faster than Draco. My Dad made the spell that translates the usual textbook into braille for me,” Harry tells him, noticing that the general area around them had quieted down so others can listen to what he’s telling Pucey.

“Impressive spell work for a firstie, I look forward to seeing what else you can do. You can call me Adrain,” Pucey tells him, nudging his shoulder gently with the book to let Harry know he can take it back.

Harry beams up at the older boy, “you can call me Harry, or Harrison.”

“Well met, Harrison,” Pucey tells him before leaving their section of the table.

“Come on. We should try and get good seats for Charms,” Daph tells them, grabbing Harry’s hand to guide to her elbow.

The Charms classroom is not set up the same as the Transfiguration class they’d had yesterday. Draco describes the room to Harry - a circular room with a space for the professor in the middle and tiered rows with seating. The shape explains the strange way that sound is moving in the room - the echo of it seems to come from every direction surrounding Harry, making it difficult to tell where anyone is in the room.

Daph settles them into a spot on the right side of the room, in the middle set of seats so that she and Draco will have the best view possible of their professor. As usual, the Ravenclaw students file into the room in a timely fashion, already talking about study groups and homework they've been assigned. Harry can’t help but be grateful he didn’t end up in that house. He probably would have been very overwhelmed by the amount of reading they do and lack of fun. They seem like an okay house, and all of them are friendly with each other unlike Slytherin where there are clear divides. Draco, Daph, and Harry are great friends spending most of their days together.

Blaise and Theo join them to study; their company is tolerable - both having been friends with Draco before Hogwarts. Crabbe and Goyle are another story. Harry’s unsure how either of them are going to make it through school with how much time they spend in the Great Hall and how little time they spend talking to the other students or studying. Draco assures him both will be fine, but Harry is skeptical.

The girls in the house, aside from Daph, are a bit of a mystery to Harry. Millicent Bulstrode has spent time with Daph already and some time with them, but the others seem to have distanced themselves from the Harry and his friends. Pansy hasn’t spoken to them since the first night at the castle, where she’d been so rude. Tracy Davis spends all her time with Pansy avoiding talking to Harry as well. Harry’s not sure if they’re avoiding him because of his disability, his dad, his parents, or something else. But he doesn’t care that much either - he's got perfect friends already; he doesn’t need people that remind him of his cousin around.

“Welcome class, I am Professor Flitwick” a voice lets out from the centre of the room, “I am excited to welcome you all to your first Charms class. This class will be taught twice a week as Charms will be one of the most important skills you learn during your early magical education. The things you learn in this class will be brought forward to your future classes and electives.”

Harry listens, completely engrossed in every word that leaves Professor Flitwick’s mouth, making sure to memorize as much as he can from the lecture noting anything he hasn’t read or been read from his textbooks. The first half of the lecture covers the same things his dad had already taught him about his core and pulling his magic forward. But this professor leaves out things his dad taught him; he doesn’t talk about how wands and words are for focusing. Harry does learn that magic surrounds them, seeping into the very stones of Hogwarts. The Professor encourages them to try expanding their senses, to feel for the magic around them.

Harry closes his eyes, trying to reach out with his senses and feel for the magic of the castle. The air around Harry feels heavy, thick with something - it reminds him of the feeling he had at Ollivander's when he’d been surrounded by the magic of the wand shop. The magic smells like ozone, clean and fresh, like the air after a spring thunderstorm. Harry’s skin tingles as the magic caresses his skin, brushing against his consciousness.

“Well done everyone. Some of you may have been able to feel the ambient magic around us. Don’t be discouraged if you didn’t - it’s not a skill that all Magical beings can learn,” the Professor tells them reassuring the discouraged students.

“Did you feel anything?” Draco whispers to him.

“I did. It was like the wand shop - made the air feel thick,” Harry tells him.

“I could feel it too, but it was more like something sliding along my skin,” Daph says from Harry’s other side.

“Now, you may have used magic in your classes already - that will not be the same here in Charms. Our first class of the week will cover the theory and wand movements necessary for each charm you will be learning. Our second class of the week will focus on the practical application of the charm. You are discouraged from attempting the charms on your own between classes,” the Professor pauses there, Harry’s not sure if it’s for dramatic effect or because there’s something going on he can’t see.

“This is important because the wrong wand movement can cause a spell to become dangerous. Something is innocuous as Lumos can become as dangerous as Bombarda if you aren’t careful,” Harry knows what Lumos is, but Bombarda is a new spell to him. He tucks that name away to ask his dad about later, he wants to know what makes it so dangerous.

“The first spell we will be learning in charms just so happens to be Lumos. This spell is intended to provide you with a light in the dark - something to see by when there is nothing else to light your way. With this second half of the class, we are going to focus on your wand movements. Do not let the simplicity of the movement deceive you. The most basic of movements often leave the most opportunities for error. For Lumos, you are going to give your wand flick, draw it back, then flick it again. Now you have an hour to practice that movement,” the Professor left them with that, letting then work through the movements.

“Draco,” Harry asks him.

“Yes?”

“Can I hold my hand over yours to feel how the wand movement is supposed to be done?” Harry asks him, reaching out his right hand to Draco.

“Of course,” Draco tells him, grabbing hold of his offered hand and placing it on top of his own.

“Flick, draw back, flick,” Draco says, moving his hand in on sharp flick before drawing back slightly then flicking forward again. Draco does the movement three more times with Harry’s hand on top of his.

“I think I’ve got it,” Harry tells him, flicking his wrist to drop his wand into his hand.

Holding his wand the way his dad had shown him, Harry starts flicking his wand forward, drawing it back, and flicking it forward again. He can feel his magic trying to pull from his core, but without the focus and intention of the incantation, the magic has nowhere to go instead settling back into him leaving a slight tingle across his skin.

“Well done, Mr. Prince. Try making your flicks a little more controlled. Right now, if you were to try casting, you’d likely create a fire ball,” the Professor tells him, praising his adjustments and telling him to continue his practice.

“I saw how Mr. Malfoy here helped you by resting your hand over his for the wand movement. Now that might be helpful for something like Lumos, but as we move on to more complex wand movements, you will likely need my help for those first couple attempts. Please know that I will happily help you with this. Just wait for me to make my way over after once the class has their instructions and I can walk you through the movements. Not that Mr. Malfoy here has not been a wonderful teacher,” Professor Flitwick tells Harry.

“Thank you, Professor,” Harry tells him, grateful to know that his teacher is willing to work with him to make sure he can learn like everyone else in his class.

“Mr. Malfoy, draw your wand back slightly further. Yes, there you go. Wouldn’t want to accidentally turn your light into a whip now would you,” the Professor chuckles, moving on from their group to the Ravenclaws on Draco’s other side - one of then failing flick the wand on their upswing.

Harry thinks Charms might end up as his second favourite class, after Potions by the time they leave. Professor Flitwick explains things in a way that Harry finds easy to follow and his offer to help Harry learn his wand movements the same way his dad’s been showing him makes Harry feel much more confident than he’d felt yesterday in Herbology.

+++

“You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making,’ dad begins. He spoke in barely more than a whisper, but they caught every word – like Professor McGonagall, Dad had the gift of keeping a class silent without effort. ‘As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don’t expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses … I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death – if you aren’t as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach.”*

Dad says as he walks into the room after the class has settled down and seated themselves. He’d thrown the door open causing it to bang against its hinges, making Harry jump slightly in his seat. He’d been nervous about his Dad’s class - his string already out between his fingers, its knots providing him with their subtle comfort as they slide through his fingers. Harry can’t help but worry about what his Dad will think if he’s terrible at Potions.

“Mr. Weasley, what would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?” Ron is asked.

“I dunno,” Ron mumbles out.

“How disappointing for a Weasley,” his dad says, his tone bored, “five points from Gryffindor for failing to even open your textbook.”

“Ms. Parkinson, where would you look if I asked you to locate a bezoar?” dad asks next.

“I am not sure professor,” she says voice quiet.

“Shame,” his dad says tone dripping with disappointment.

“Mr. Prince, do you know the answer?”

“I would look in the stomach of a goat. The bezoar could then be used to cure most poisonings,” Harry says, proud of himself for remembering that from one of the books Draco had read to him.

“Well done, five points to Slytherin,”

“That’s not fair you didn’t take points from Pansy when she didn’t know the answer,” exclaims Ron.

“I didn’t take points from you for not knowing the answer, Mr. Weasley,” his dad replies, before moving to the front of the classroom to being his lecture.

Draco is giggling slightly beside him, making sure that no one will notice more than the slight shake of his shoulders. Harry can’t help but smile a little at Ron’s misfortune. Today’s class is all theory again - the first potion they are going to be brewing is a cure for boils, one of the simplest potions to brew, but offers a strong foundation to build on for future potions allowing students to practice their ingredient prep and timing. It’s also a difficult potion to get wrong since there’s no need to count stirs or be mindful of the direction.

Apparently, the first month of theory will be dedicated to the preparation of potion ingredients. Harry and Draco had read a lot about the many ingredients used in potions, but the way his dad lectured about them added so much more life to those books. The more he learned about potions, the more the thought it was like cooking, but with much stricter rules. At least with cooking Harry could change things - add and take away flavours until he got things just the way he wanted. It was going to be a long time before he can do something like that with potions. But maybe one day he can after his dad teaches him more.

“I expect you all to provide me with a twelve-inch parchment describing the difference between the core three cutting methods for potions ingredients and what the importance of each is by the time class resumes on Thursday. For those of you who failed to take notes, that would be, chopping, dicing, and mincing. Failure to properly prepare a potion ingredient can be detrimental to the crafting of your brew and therefore we will be covering these basics first,” dad tells the class, signalling that it’s time for them that their class is over.

Harry, Draco, and Daph hang back, waiting for the other students to leave before Harry moves through the desks towards the front of the room where he can hear his dad wiping down the chalk board from today’s lesson.

“Harry,” his dad says a smile in his voice, “here are the notes for today. I trust you’ll be able to translate them for yourself?”

“Yes, Dad. That class was brilliant! I can’t wait until Thursday when we can start brewing,” Harry tells him excitedly.

“I’m sure you will do wonderfully. Now go study with your friends. You have an essay to turn in. I’m going to be busy this evening, but how about we do dinner together tomorrow night?” dad asks him.

“Yes please!” Harry says, giving his dad a firm hug and moving back through the desks to where Draco and Daph are waiting.

+++

POV Severus Prince

Herbology. Herbology of all classes was the one Harry was having the most trouble with so far. He’d thought it would be Transfiguration where Harry would need to be able to picture things he’d never seen before. But no, it was the blasted class about something that Harry actually likes and could thrive in by using all his other senses.

And that is how Severus found himself at the Greenhouses after the second day of classes. Not for potions ingredients, but to talk with a coworker about his son. His son, the only chid in this school with a disability. This son who had never had someone advocate for him before just like Severus himself.

“Severus, what can I do for you?” Pomona asks him.

“I wanted to talk to you about Harry. How have you found adapting the class for him?” Severus asks her attempting, despite his first instinct to berate the woman.

“I don’t know how I’m expected to adapt a class like this to a child that cannot see, Severus. What if the plant is dangerous? Not to mention, he needs to touch them. I don’t want to risk the other children seeing him do it and think that they can too, it could damage the plants,” Pomona says indignant.

It takes everything in Severus to not roll his eyes at the woman’s near panic at the idea of children touching her plants. As much as he can understand the annoyance the little demons illicit, Severus still thinks accommodations can be made.

“Pomona, your class can’t be that unruly that the students would turn to fondling the plants at the slightest provocation,” Severus drawls out, watching the woman’s eye twitch.

“No, Severus. They are not fondling the plants, but they’re also children and don’t respect the plants either,” Pomona tells him her tone full of distaste.

Few of the other professors like him. He never wanted to be a professor - he wanted to own an apothecary brewing for the hospital and researching new potions. Instead, he’s here held in place by two masters, neither of which hold sway over him anymore.

“Have you spoken to Harry about this at all? He’s quite the gardener at home. I can’t imagine he’d harm the plants,” he tells her, hoping to nudge her to a solution on her own rather than force one.

“Gardner?” Pomona asks.

“Yes, he maintained his pervious guardians flower gardens and spends time at Malfoy Manor wandering their grounds,” Severus tells her. He’d caught Harry in the gardens on his own on more than one occasion running his hand over plants, bringing his nose to some to experience their smell.

“I guess we can make some exceptions for the boy, if he promises to respect the plants. The second he damages them though, I will revoke the privilege,” she says softening slightly.

“I have no doubts that he will be respectful,” he tells her, turning on the spot and leaving the humid greenhouses behind him.

After hearing about Harry's experience in Herbology, Severus began thinking about all the other classes in which Harry might struggle to adapt - foremost among them, Astronomy. In his view, Aurora is only one small step ahead of Sybil. While Astronomy may play a role in nearly all branches of magic, it has always made more sense to learn it within the context of the classes it applies to - not in a disjointed 10 PM class for first-years that creates monsters who then stumble into his Potions lecture in the afternoon. Hell, you don’t even need to learn the aspects of astronomy that apply it to Potions at night – it’s all moon phases and a handful of celestial events.

Ancient Runes also has, at best, a handful of potential ritual applications for Astronomy - rituals that are rare and barely legal in the UK. The most common use of Astronomy is in Divination, a subject Harry will not be taking.

Thanking old gods that Aurora doesn’t reside at the top of the Astronomy Tower, Severus knocks on her door on the fifth floor for her office.

“Come in,”

“Aurora, I wanted to speak to you about Harry and your class. Have you come up with any options to adapt it to him?” Severus asks her.

“I’m having a wonderful day, thank you Severus,” she says coldly to him, ignoring his question. Severus rolls his eyes; small talk is useless especially since he quite frankly does not care what Aurora’s opinion of him is. He just takes the seat across from her desk and waits.

Sighing heavily, she finally starts talking, “I have not found a way to adapt the class for Harry. Frankly, I don’t think it’s possible with the telescopes and need to draw out and label the star charts. His time may be better spent elsewhere.”

Severus appreciates her bluntness on the topic, he’d also worried that this might be the case.

“I will have the class removed from his schedule and find an alternate solution for the course work,” Severus tells her, getting up and leaving the office.

How is he going to find a solution for Harry’s OWLs? As much he doesn’t think the class is important, the Magical world still does, and Harry’s career prospects will severely decline without a core OWL.

Tactile, he needs to make the stars tactile. Wandering through the castle back to his rooms, Severus sets out to find a way to teach Harry about the universe.

Chapter Text

“Harry, I have an update to your schedule,” his dad says, approaching Harry and Draco’s spot at the Slytherin table.

Harry freezes, his heart racing. Why had his classes change? Were they trying to switch his house? Had one of his professors decided he was too much of a bother and decided to kick him out of their class?

Harry’s panic must have shown on his face because his dad was quick to reassure him.

“Harry, it’s okay. Professor Sinistra and I spoke, and we both feel it would be best if you did a form of self-study for Astronomy. She’s unable to adapt the class in its current state to match your needs, so I think on Wednesday nights you and I will work on the theory for Astronomy and see if we can’t get creative for the practical portions,” dad tells him, giving placing the new schedule into his hand for him to translate.

“So, I am getting kicked out of a class?” Harry asks, his eyes burning slightly with tears. Around him Harry feels the tingle of magic brush over his skin a spell being cast over their small group.

“Oh, Harrison. No that’s not what’s happening,” his dads voice is much closer to his level now, it sounds like he’s kneeling down to speak to Harry face to face, “I want you to have the best chance at learning everything your peers learn and for this subject I think it’s best if you learn it with me instead.”

Harry wipes the tears away from his eyes and nods his head.

“Okay, dad, if you say so,” Harry tells him, sniffling slightly.

“Come to my quarters after dinner while your peers are trying to nap and we’ll work together and make something that will work for you, okay?” His dad asks, wiping away the last couple of tears that escape Harry’s eyes.

Harry just nods his head leaning into his dad’s hand slightly for comfort. After a couple of seconds, Harry can hear his dad stand back up, his knees cracking slightly at the movement. Whatever magic his dad had casts slips off them, Harry makes a mental note to ask about it later.

“Enjoy your classes today boys,” his dad tells them.

Harry leans over slightly into Draco, “you’ll help me study too, right?”

“Of course! With Uncle Sev as your teacher, I’m sure you’ll be leagues ahead of us after the first month,” Draco tells him, running his hand soothingly over Harry’s back.
“Daph, do you have piece of parchment I can have to translate my schedule? I don’t have one this size in my bag,” Harry asks his friend across the table from him.
“How did you know I was here?” She lets out in shock having assumed she’d arrived silently while Harry was talking to his dad.

Harry just shrugs, “I just do?”

“Hmm. Here’s the parchment,” she hands over the scrap piece from her bag, letting Harry translate his schedule.

Their first class of the day is Defence Against the Dark Arts, a class Harry is nervous about. His dad had told him their first year is mostly theory and minor jinxes and hexes, but Harry had read about how dueling is big part of the course in third year onward – something Harry is very nervous about. How will he be able to adapt to having spells thrown at him with no warning and no way to see them coming? At least none of his peers will know how to cast wordlessly until they are in sixth year.

Draco leads Harry to a set of desks near the middle of the room, surrounding him with the other Slytherin students. The classroom feels oppressive; the air is thick with the nauseating mixture of garlic and incense. Draco tells Harry that the room is dark, lit only by a few faintly flickering torches. The walls are lined with taxidermy and live animals in cages and tanks. The room is also uncomfortably hot, making the air feel humid. Harry maneuvers to remove his outer robe and school vest, leaving him in the soft shirt and tie Draco had chosen for him that morning.

“You really should leave your uniform on,” Draco whispers to him.

“Draco, I will actually melt before class even starts if I leave that blasted uniform on for another second. You cannot tell me you are comfortable right now!” Harry tells him, folding his clothes to place them over the back of his chair. Even in his collared shirt he feels overwhelmingly warm.

“Well, no, but it’s unseemly to take off your uniform,” Draco tells him, and Harry can just tell Draco has a haughtily look on his face.

“Did you just use unseemly in a sentence? What are you thirty?” Harry teases him.

“No, but I am civilized,” Draco tells him, voice dripping with his aristocratic superiority that leaks out from time to time.

“Draco, just take the outer robe off, it will be so freeing, break the rules. What’s the worst that can happen?” Harry taunts him, trying to convince the uptight boy to take the little risk.

“You should have been in Gryffindor,” Draco complains, but Harry can hear Draco start to remove his outer layer. Harry just smiles at him smugly.

“Does it feel better? Can you feel the cool air at the back of your neck?” Harry asks him, blowing lightly in Draco’s direction.

“You two are awful, shut up and get your schoolwork out,” Daph snaps at them.

“Yes, mother,” Harry says turning his smirk to her.

“W-w-welc-come cl-a-a-as,” Professor Quirrell stutters out, “this cla-a-a-as will end-d-denvor to teach y-y-ou about t-t-he darkness of the m-m-agi-c-cal world.”

Harry closes his eyes - a pain stabbing through his head distracting him from the professor’s disjointed lecture, the pain radiating out from his scar. Lowering his head, Harry takes some deep breaths where his sense of smell is assaulted by sharp tang of garlic that’s somehow become more prevalent in the room since the Professor walked in. Feeling another wave of nausea overtake him, Harry plunges hand into his schoolbag rummaging around for his potions - running his finger over the labels hunting for the one labeled as ‘headache’ reliver. Moving quickly, Harry pops out the cork and downs the potion feeling the immediate relief from at least one of his symptoms.

“Mr. P-p-prince, what was that?” Professor Quirrell asks him, pausing his lecture to single Harry out.

“It was a headache reliver Professor,” Harry says, dropping the empty vial back into his bag.

“Y-y-you are aw-w-ware that potions are o-o-only to b-b-b-be given by the school mediwitch,” the Professor says. Harry finds it hard to follow his sentences the disjointed speech.
“My dad gave them to me to take for the headaches. I get from strong smells,” Harry says, attempting to remove the snarky tone from his voice.

He clearly doesn’t remove it enough though, because he can hear several snickers from the students around him.

“You can ask my dad about it if there’s a problem, but my healer and my potions master insist I have them,” Harry tells the man, purposefully keeping his eyes slightly off centre from where he knows the Professor is standing at the front of the class.

“V-v-very well, Mr.P-p-prince,” the Professor says, returning to his lecture.

From what Harry can gather, the professor isn’t following the textbook. He’s simply naming random Dark creatures and facts about them, rather than using the book’s descriptions, which focus more on their magic, habitats, and survival methods. Harry lets his thoughts wander, trying not to think about the smell in the room in an effort to stave off the nausea. At least the headache from earlier hasn’t returned. Instead, he pulls out his string, untying all the knots and creating new patterns to run through his fingers, using the familiar sensation to drown out his other senses.

Finally, the class lets out freeing Harry from the smell and the humidity surrounding him. Moving quickly to shove his things back in his bag, Harry escapes the room before even Draco can catch up to him, navigating the space between desks and people in a frantic bid to leave the room. Dumping into desks and students, Harry gives them brief apologies before fleeing then room.

Finally in fresh untainted air, Harry sucks in several deep breaths of fresh air trying to clear his nose and mouth of the acrid stench of garlic and incense. Did the professor think that the incense would cover the smell of the garlic?

“Harry, are you okay?” Draco asks, coming up beside Harry where his back is leaning against the cool stone of corridor.

“Hm?” Harry let’s out, shifting his face towards Draco.

“Should I take you to the Hospital Wing?” Draco asks Harry, grabbing hold of his hand and interlacing their finger.

Harry just nods. There are no more stomach soothers in his bag - he and his dad had thought it was safe to go without them now that he could eat the rich foods served at meals. Clearly, neither of them had expected him to end up with the worst headache of his life in a room filled with such a horrid smell.

“Hello?” Draco calls into the Hospital Wing when the two boys arrive. The place smells sterile, the exact opposite of the classroom they just left – the smell of disinfectant stinging Harry’s nose, making him sneeze lightly as he angles his head away from Draco and forcing him to hold back another gag.

“Oh dear, not a cold already,” a woman’s voice says from somewhere off to Harrys right.

“No ma’am. I was wondering if you have any stomach soothers that my dad made? I’ve run out,” Harry tells her, leaning heavily on Draco.

“Mr. Malfoy, please have Mr. Prince take a seat on that bed over there and I’ll run a few tests,” the mediwitch tells them.

“Oh, you really don’t have to ma’am - I just need the stomach soother. I’m not sick at all. It was just the strong smell in the class made me feel off,” Harry tells her while Draco leads him to the bed that she wants him on. The bed itself is hard, noticeably uncomfortable with a thin mattress and scratchy sheets. It’s high up making Harry jump slightly to before he can sit down securely on the bed. Draco moves to sit beside him, offering his shoulder for Harry to rest his head against again.

Draco’s distinctly clean scent fills his nose now, lightly vanilla with an undertone of a citrusy bergamot. It’s some combination of the many products he uses in the morning, probably his hair oil and moisturizer.

“Nonsense, a smell shouldn’t cause you to be this ill Mr. Prince. Now stay still while I cast couple of spells,” she tells Harry from in front of him.

Harry feels the all too familiar sensation of the diagnostic spell rush over his skin. He’s familiar with the way the magic of this spell washes over his skin after having it cast on him once a week all summer to monitor his progress. Harry can’t help but fidget under the scrutiny of the spell. Things are better, he knows things are better, his healer cleared him to come to school and wait until winter break to see her again. Harry can feel the shift in the air when the spell is finished. The atmosphere around him tightens making his stomach roll again a fresh wave of nausea washing over him.

“Please, may I have the stomach soother now? One that dad brewed,” Harry asks again. He only trusts potions that his dad makes because they are always the best.

“Mr. Prince, I will not just be handing out potions to students because they demand it,” she tells him, her tone harsh for reasons that Harry doesn’t understand.

“If you won’t give him the potion we will just go see Professor Prince,” Draco tells her, “I’ll be telling my father about this.”

“No need to come to me, Draco. I have your potion here, Harry,” his dad’s deep tone fills the room filling him with relief.

“Dad,” Harry whispers out near tears from how uncomfortable he is.

“Here you are,” dad says, uncorking the vial with a small pop and placing it in Harry hand. He wastes no time drinking it down sighing in relief that the nausea is finally gone.

“Severus, you can’t just give student potions!” the mediwitch lets out, scolding his dad.

“I most certainly can, I am his father,” dad says using his annoyed voice.

“Let’s not pretend that, that is anything but a ploy. You are hardly fit to raise a child,” the woman scoffs making Harry tense. His dad loves him; how dare she say he doesn’t.

Harry can feel his dads magic wrap around him - not lashing out, but a now familiar warmth wraps around him comforting him. He doesn’t even think his dad knows he’s doing it, but it’s reassuring to feel the warmth surround him.

“I would recommend you refrain from commenting on my love for my child,” dad says, taking Harry’s hand in his to guide him off the bed, “I expect that scan you conducted to remain confidential, unless you would like to no longer be employed.”

Keeping hold of Harry’s hand, his dad leads him out of the Hospital Wing.

“Thank you, Miss. Greengrass for informing me that Harry was feeling unwell. You and Draco may carry on with your day. Harry and I are going to have a conversation,”

“See you later, Harry,” Daph say.

“I’ll share my defence notes with you to translate later,” Draco tells Harry while giving his arm a light squeeze.

The two other Slytherins make their way down the stairs ahead of them.

“Harry, are you okay?” His dad asks him, quietly leading him to the stairs, “step in front of you.”

“I think so. I don’t understand why she wouldn’t give me the stomach soother,” Harry tells him, much more annoyed now that he’s feeling better.

“We’ll talk about this in my quarters,” Dad tells him, guiding them at a quick pace to the dungeons.

Once the door shuts behind them, Harry let’s go of his Dad's hand navigating on his own to couch and falling onto the soft cushion - a stark contrast from the beds in the Hospital Wing.

“What happened?” Dad asks from his spot in his favourite armchair across from Harry.

Harry recounts to his dad what happened during his defence class. How he’d managed to take the headache potion for the pain that radiated out from his scar. That the smell and the heat in the room had been unbearable, making it impossible for him to follow the already disjointed lecture.

“I’ll handle the professors and make sure you have ample potions in case you have any more issues. I can’t get you out of Defence, despite being perfectly qualified to teach it,” dad says bitterly.

“Thanks, Dad. I’ll be okay. At least I don’t have to go up all the stairs for astronomy,” Harry tells him with a smile.

“And here you thought you’d be the lame child with the Professor for a dad,” his dad teases.

“I am,” Harry deadpans, “I’m just taking advantage of the perks.”

“Brat,” his dad says, tossing a pillow at Harry.

“That was so rude, I’m blind,” Harry says aghast holding his hands to his chest.

“Get your Defence text out. I’ll walk you through the first lectures worth of material,” Dad tells him, settling onto the couch beside him to start asking questions about magical creatures.

+++

POV Severus Prince

Sitting alone in his quarters, Severus is enjoying the blissful silence only broken by the crackle of the perpetual fine in his fireplace and the scrape of parchment against parchment of student’s essays. Few things provide the joy that Severus gets from running his red inked quill across the poorly scribbled essays of dunderheads. First and most notable mastery may be in potions, his passion. But his second that many people choose to forget is in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and his last that very few know about is in the Dark Arts themselves. He’d much rather be teaching Defence, potions have the highest rate of accidents, injuries, and even deaths of all classes. The stress alone will drive him into an early grave.

He and Harry had a peaceful afternoon and early evening together - first with Severus teaching Harry about DADA, then a light dinner together in his quarters delivered by a house elf. Draco has stopped by briefly before attempting to take a nap in preparation for his midnight astronomy class. Then finally they had ended off the night with Severus explaining the moon phases to Harry and their application in potions and ancient runes. He’d conjured a ball that he could remove slices from it, allowing Harry to feel the difference in the phases. Harry had gone on to ask intelligent questions about some of the potions he’d mentioned, even drawing some rudimentary conclusions of his own.

As the hour grew later, he’d returned Harry to his dorm with an assignment to describe at least one potion and one runic ritual or conjuration that relied on each phase of the moon for next week.

A knock on his door breaks the peace of his sanctuary. Sighing heavily, Severus sets aside the essays moving to open the heavy wooden door that separates his space from that of the general population of the school.

“Poppy, how can I help you?” He asks her, surprised that the mediwitch took the time to come to his quarters.

“I want to discuss Harry’s diagnostic results with you,”

Severus internally cringes, knowing exactly what the diagnostic showed after having to look at the horrific document weekly for the past month.

“What about it?” He asks her, moving aside to let her into the room to prevent others from overhearing their conversation.

“Severus, these results are concerning to say the least. Child abuse like this is unheard of,” she tells him, as she pushes the parchment into his hand. Looking down at the words written across the page, Severus can’t help but feel a little joy at how much shorter it is now compared to that first healers’ appointment in August. Now the most concerning pieces remaining are his malnutrition and the broken bones they’ve chosen to leave until he’s fully grown.

“I’m well aware of what his medical scans say,” Severus tells her, keeping his tone neutral.

“Severus, this can’t stand. The child needs extensive medical care. Whoever did this needs to be reported to Dumbledore and the Ministry. Abusing a magical child, they’ll be sent to Azkaban for sure,” she rambles on.

“Stop saying my name like some accusation,” he sneers at the witch, “I will not be providing you with details about my son's life, but no one is going to Azkaban because the vermin that did that are muggles. The Ministry is aware of what they need to be aware or, that Harry is my son now. Dumbledore isn’t involved in my child’s life beyond that of being the headmaster of the school Harrison attends and my employer.”

Poppy looks at him stricken.

“And if any of this very confidential information that only myself and Harry’s personal healer are aware of is leaked or whispered in the ear others, just know that I will spend every penny in the Prince fortune to make sure the person sharing that information is locked in the high security wing of Azkaban with no hope of seeing daylight again,” Severus warns her, his voice cold, unfeeling, but filled with the certainty that he will do exactly as he said.

“He is going to be blind for the rest of his life; there’s no way to reverse that damage. If Albus is correct, there’s no way Harry could defeat You Know Who again,” she nearly whispers out.
“Why would the defeat of the Dark Lord fall on the shoulders of my child for a second time?” Severus asks her, fighting his urge to throw the woman out of his quarters.

“He’s the Chosen One,” she says, eyes glassy with tears, selfish, frightened tears.

“He’s not even Harry Potter anymore,” Severus tells her.

Chapter Text

“Today you will be brewing a Cure for Boils, where you’ll be putting your cutting skills to good use,” dad says from the front of the class. The instructions for the potion are apparently written out behind him on the chalkboard. All of the Slytherin first-years seem to be very tired after returning to the dorm at one a.m. following their Astronomy class last night. Harry made sure to partner with Draco for the class, knowing Draco understands how much Harry wants to do well so Draco will support him in learning how to adapt to Potions - without assuming that just because Harry can’t see, he can’t do this.

“You’ll find all the ingredients you need in the potions storage room at the front of the classroom,” Dad tells them. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Everyone quickly starts moving, racing toward the storage room.

“I’ll grab everything we need; you set up the cauldron and the potion base,” Draco says, running his hand from Harry’s left shoulder to right, letting Harry know he’s walking behind him.

Focusing in on his task, Harry feels around their table mapping out where everything should go before grabbing out his cauldron, knives, ceramic bowls, mortar and pestle, and cutting boards. Placing the cauldron over the burner, Harry fills it with the water already set out on the table placing his finger over the rim of the cauldron to make sure he pours the correct amount to leave space for their ingredients and stirring. Next, he places the cutting board on his side of the desk and the bowls on Draco’s side. Of the two of them, Harry is better at prepping ingredients and Draco will be adding them and stirring.

“Here is everything; from left to right I have dried nettles, snake fangs, stewed horned slugs, porcupine quills, and root of asphodel. Want me to start the burner?” Draco asks while placing their ingredients down on the table.

“Yes please,” Harry tells him, grabbing hold of the snake fangs and measuring out the five they will need to crush and deposits them in the mortar listening to the ‘ting’ that each fang makes as it hits the bowl. Grabbing hold of the pestle, he begins the work to crush the fangs reminding himself that there is a difference between powdering and crushing. He only needs to break the fangs into smaller pieces in the mortar, not grind them down to a dust. Pressing down to break the fangs apart, Harry feels for them to give before moving onto the next one. Harry runs his fingers over the crushed fangs to make sure they’re the right size before emptying them out into one of Draco’s empty bowls.

Next, he grabs a few of the nettles, being careful to avoid any of the thorns in case the nettle was collected too late are in the spring. He brings the three that Draco brought to their table to his nose, trying to follow the instructions in the book they’d read on the train to tell if any of them still have an earthy scent indicating they haven’t been dried completely yet.

“I take offence that you think I would have improperly dried ingredients in my potions stores,” his dad drawls out beside him, his deep voice filled with amusement.

Harry nearly jumps out of his skin at his dad’s voice right next to him. He’d missed the sound of his dad approaching too focused on the nettle.

“You can never be too careful. You could be slipping at your age,” Harry tells him quietly. Next to him, Harry can hear Draco choking on laughter attempting to hide behind Harry.

“You brat. You get to write a six-inch essay on the proper drying techniques for the two types of nettles found in the UK,” his dad tells him. Dad’s tone far from biting clearly amused by Harry’s antics.

“Yes, dad,” Harry tells him still attempting to sound chastised while smirking.

“Carry on,” dad tells him, wandering off to check in with other students.

“Finnigan the instructions say cush not pulverise. Snake fang that finely ground will create a volatile substance,” dad snaps at someone on the Gryffindor side of the room.

Harry takes the nettle he’s holding and juliennes it as best he can with the fibrous stem. Moving on, he grabs a glove and takes hold of the horn slug dicing it into centimetre cubes like he would with an onion for a sauce. The last ingredient they will need is the porcupine quills; those go in whole at the end so Harry deposits them into the last bowl.

He can hear that their cauldron has reached a rapid boil from the sound of the rolling bubbles and steam wafting towards him clinging to his skin.

“Do you want to put the snake fangs in?” Draco asks Harry.

“Yes!” Harry exclaims, reaching for where he’d placed the snake fangs giving the dish a light shake to make sure he had the right bowl. Inside, he can hear the fang chunks knocking against each other. Moving his other hand out to feel for the source of the steam, Harry pours the fangs out in the area that feels like the middle of the boiling cauldron. Draco moves in front of the cauldron next giving it a couple of stirs before adding in the nettle and the stewed slugs.

“Here, we’re stirring to the left until the potion turns green. See if maybe you can feel the shift happen?” Draco asks him, handing over the stir rod. Harry gently takes it, stirring the potion to the left at a slow steady pace to prevent it from burning. After a couple of stirs, Harry can feel the liquid thicken creating more resistance with each stir.

“I think I can feel the change. The potion is thicker now,” Harry tells Draco.

“You’re close. It’s a minty colour right now, but the board says to wait until the green matches the nettle so keep stirring,” Draco tells him.

Suddenly after a handful more stirs the potion suddenly becomes thin again like water, the steam taking on a new scent like fresh cut grass.

“That’s it right there. You can stop stirring,” Draco instructs him and Harry immediately stops.

“That leaves turning off the heat and adding the quills, right?” Harry asks trying to remember the instructions he’d read before class.

“Yes, here let me do this part,” Draco tells him, gently moving Harry back to the right side of their shared desk.

Listening carefully, Harry can hear Draco tapping his wand against the burner to stop the flames giving the potion a few moments to cool down before they add the final ingredients. A delicate plopping noise tells Harry that Draco has added the quills which leaves the last step of allowing the potion to cool.

“Well done Harry and Draco. Five points to Slytherin for brewing an acceptable potion,” Dad tells them from Harry’s right. He can’t help but smile under his dad’s praises.

Behind them, a loud bang lets out across the classroom. Boiling hot liquid raining down with the distinct sound raindrops pattering across desks and people. Harry notices though that none of it makes contact with his skin.

“Idiot boy!” Dad snarls out, moving across the room towards a Gryffindor, “you added the quills before removing the potion from the heat? That instruction is clearly underlined and larger than all the rest on the board?”

“I-I-I’m sorry, sir,” the boy stutters out, whimpering while other students in the class gasp at something.

“Take him to the Hospital Wing, Finnigan,” Dad tells someone else.

“Yes, sir,” he says, two sets of feet heading out the door before it slams shut behind them.

“And you, Weasley. Why didn’t you stop him from adding the quills? Five points from Gryffindor for your house’s inability to follow instructions,”

“But sir…”

“Do not talk back to me, Mr. Weasley or you will find yourself in detention,” Dad tells him before Harry can hear the sound of his robes swish past their desk back to the front of class.

Harry moves back to his potion wafting some of the steam towards his nose to smell the finished product. It now smells like… vanilla? What a strange scent for something filled with nettle and slugs. Harry just shrugs his shoulders - if something is wrong with it, he’s sure his dad will let them know. Draco and Harry take turns bottling the potion. Draco bottling the one that will be handed in to be reviewed by his Dad and Harry bottling the one that they get to keep. It’s not an easy task since Harry can’t place his finger in potion to and feel the fill line, that’s asking for trouble. So instead, he tries to use sound to guide him, listening for the classic ‘full sound’.

The rest of their day is spent in Transfiguration - a much less exciting class than the first one, focusing entirely on the theory of Transfiguration. It was all rather dull, and Harry hoped Draco took really good notes so he could review them later. It’s not that the Professor isn’t good at teaching, it’s just that she is referring to things written on the board that Harry can’t see and showing examples, that Harry can’t follow. He can feel the magic in the room shift as she does it, and he makes sure to remember each of those feelings and what the Professor tells them she is doing. Harry instead spends the class reading ahead in his textbook more than he did paying attention to the lecture or running his string though is fingers in an attempt to focus on what he could gleam from the Professor's lecture.

+++

Harry is so happy that it’s finally Friday. He’s exhausted. His dad had warned him that he’d find a world ill equipped to adapt to his disability. And he was right. Every class had its own new challenges, even Potions where his dad had tried so hard to adapt it to Harry’s needs. Harry’s no stranger to the challenges of being blind, of not being able to do what others are doing, how others experience the world. But he’d forgotten a lot of those early struggles he’d had when he’d started primary - starting at Hogwarts is bring it all back. But that’s also how he knows that he will be fine, he’ll figure it out. This time he has his dad and Draco to help him.

Potions is by far his favourite class, followed by Charms where he’s currently sitting learning the Nox incantation to cancel a Lumos instead of waiting for the light to fade on its own. The professor even told them it could be used to turn off lights in a room. It’s not something that he’s necessarily going to use for himself, but it would be helpful to make sure the lights are out in their room in case Draco falls asleep with them on. The wand movement is simple - a downward flick, almost like doing another forward flick in the Lumos.

The professor again speaks about the intent and will behind each spell, the importance of holding each in your mind when casting one. Harry, like with Lumos, can only tell if he’s successful at first if Draco tells him that the light is out. Once he learns what the magic felts like, he could then tell on his own if it was successful or not. Nox almost feels like a slight suction on his magic. Where a Lumos feels like a faint rush of magic flowing out of him and into the world - a Nox feels like sucking it back in and capping it off.

“Well done Mr. Prince, Mr. Malfoy. You two and Mr. Boots are doing wonderfully with charms,” Professor Flitwick tells them.

“You need to flick your wrist a little more,” a boy’s voice rings through the room from the Ravenclaw side of the room.

“I don’t need your help!” the distinct voice of a girl let’s out.

Around them, Harry can hear people other students working on practicing their Lumos and Nox spells. From the frustrated tones and increased volume of some of the other students, Harry can tell that some students are struggling more than others. Harry feels the beginning of a headache come on from the noise around him. He follows his usual ritual rummaging around his bag to find his potion.

“You okay, Harry?” Draco asks concerned that he’s pulled out a potion.

“Yeah, it’s just getting loud in here,” Harry tells him, sinking back into his seat.

“At least the next class should be quiet,” Draco tells him giving his shoulder a light squeeze.

“That would be nice,” Harry tells him.

It was in fact not nice. The Professor is droning on the room is quiet, yes, but the lecture is so painfully boring.

“This is the worst lecture we’ve sat through,” Harry whispers to Draco and Daph.

“Do you think Professor Bins even knows we’re here?” Draph asks.

“Why wouldn’t he know we’re here?” Harry asks confused.

“Oh,” Daph breathes out.

“What?” Harry asks again getting frustrated.

“Professor Bins is a ghost,” Draco says like it’s a normal occurrence.

“What do you mean he’s a ghost?!” Harry hisses out.

“The school is littered with them,” Daph says unhelpfully.

“I know they’re here in theory, Hogwarts a History talks about them, but no one’s mentioned them to me at all!” Harry lets out remembering the ghost’s brief mention in the book. They are supposed to be benevolent spirits trapped in the realm of the living because of their tragic deaths and will to stay. It’s apparently a type of accidental magic. But why was one of them teaching History of Magic?

“Oh, well, um there are ghosts all over the castle. I always make sure you don’t walk through any of them - it feels horrid like walking through cobwebs,” Draco tells him. Harry can tell this also gives him a little shiver from the way his should bumps against Harry.

“You all need to explain things to me more,” Harry huffs, sitting forward in his seat to read his textbook since there was no way he would be able to pay attention to Professor Bins droning voice. He wasn’t even talking about things from the textbook, just describing the Goblin Wars from chapter twenty-one in excruciating detail.

+++

POV Severus Prince

Blissfully the weekend has arrived, and Severus is on his way to his weekly visit to Malfoy Manor for Friday night dinner. He’d made sure Harry had eaten dinner in the Great Hall before he’d left for the gates of the school to apparate. The air in the Highlands is starting to cool at night, the need for a thicker cloak fast approaching.

The light from the looming castle fades behind him fallowing the winding path to the gates of the school. Tall towers still have the odd flickering light dancing through an open curtain, students up and about past curfew no doubt. This is a new walk for Severus, it’s rare that he leaves the school grounds at night during the school year, preferring to remain in the comfort of his rooms rather than spending his nights surrounded by the masses. Since accepting this position he’d accepted his fate, stuck in a job he never wanted, teaching children he despises. Well, mostly despises.

Walking in through the Manor’s ostentatious front door, Severus immediately goes to the family dining room to settle in for their meal.

“Severus!” Narcissa says, happily greeting him as he enters the extravagant room. The dining table is made of a deep brown wood with hand carved vines are flowers decorating the lets and perimeter. Each chair is high backed with deep green upholstery damask designs threaded in a dark silver. The ceilings are vaulted with skylights creating an illusion of being outside.

“Good evening,” Severus tells her, taking his seat across from Narcissa on Lucius left.

“How has the boys first week of school been?” Lucius asks.

“Generally good. They seem to be having issues with the Weasley’s youngest boy, but the twins appear to have an odd fascination with Harry and have been keeping then away from him for my own sanity. Draco’s adapting well to the classes, I imagine he will be near the top of all his classes given his performance so far. They’ve become close with Daphnie Greengrass - the three of them are nearly inseparable,” Severus tells them.

“How is Harry adapting to the class work?” Narcissa asks.

“Well for the most part, the only class I’ve made the call to withhold him from is Astronomy. I see no way to adapt Aurora’s teaching style to Harry’s needs. I’ve been teaching him the parts that apply to actual magic Wednesday evenings instead. Pomona seemed to be struggling with allowing Harry to touch the plants, but I think I’ve resolved that. Unsurprisingly, Minerva and Filius have done the best work adapting to Harry’s needs, even if in Minerva’s case that’s just letting him work through the problems on his own,” Severus recounts to them.

“Draco still insisting on holding hands?” Lucius asks, his voice slightly pained.

“Lucius,” Narcissa hisses at him.

“We need an heir,” Lucius says quietly after being chastised by his wife.

“Think of it this way Lucius, you can probably choose the surrogate and egg donor of their children. Pick whatever bloodline you want,” Severus tells him, rolling his eyes at his best friends’ idiocy.

Damn Purebloods and their bloodlines. Lucius doesn’t care that Draco and Harry are clearly smitten with each other, he cares that Draco is the last Malfoy and will need his own heir to carry on the family legacy.

Lucius’s eyes light up with the prospect of choosing the next generation of Malfoy’s bloodline without needing to negotiate full marriage contracts.

“I’ve read recently that muggles have developed the ability to choose the gender of embryos. You could utilize some of their technology,” Severus tells him in a teasing tone.

Lucius looks painfully torn, “you’re lying, that’s impossible.”

“I promise you, by the time either of those boys are ready to have children, that will be an option,” Severus reassures him holding back his laughter. The thought of Lucius Malfoy allowing the next heir to the Malfoy family to be conceived through muggle technology is hysterical.

“See darling, problem solved. Not that I would have let you break up my babies. Just think, one with Harry’s green eyes and one with Draco’s silver,” Narcissa nearly sighs out.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We have a lot to deal with before you can start planning out their children,” Severus says keen to move away from the one topic that he and Lucius have truly fought over, muggles.

The Pureblood prejudice runs deep, something Severus has found endlessly frustrating within the Magical world. The Purebloods fail to understand the size of the world outside themselves. Their world is small, filled with prestige, where everyone knows everyone. It’s hard for them to comprehend what millions, or billions mean. Magic is not might, like the Ministry would have their community believe. Magic is a target on their back. One that needs to be appropriately appreciated and the potential for leaks swiftly plugged.

“Yes, yes, I do have something of note actually,” Lucius teases them with his usually drama.

Both Narcissa and Severus sit silently waiting for him to finish his sentence knowing Lucius antics well by now.

“You two do not appreciate the art of facilitation,” Lucius pouts at his not so captive audience, “fine. Sirius Black has never received a trial.”

Severus nearly chokes on his wine, the alcohol burning inside his nose making him cough.

“What do you mean he never received a trial?” Narcissa asks brows furrowed.

“As I was looking into Dumbledore, I thought researching his little vigilante group might bare some interesting information, and it did. Sirius Black was arrested at the scene of the muggle massacre, where he allegedly confessed to ‘killing them’, and was then swiftly relocated directly to Azkaban in a bundled order with the Lestrange’s, Crouch Jr, and Dolohov. They used the excuse of ‘war time’ to avoid full trials, which is illegal regardless of time. None of them have actually been convicted,” Lucius recounts to them.

“That would mean he’s now Lord Black since he’s never been convicted or a crime, merely detained for one,” Narcissa says, shock clear in her typically stoic face.

“I’m looking into ways to shine a light on this, but the current political leaning of the Wizengamot and having Dumbledore as Chief Warlock means it will take time. A lot of it. But I do think we should talk to Harry about Black, so he doesn’t feel like his godfather betrayed him,” Lucius says, ever the family centric man.

“This doesn’t mean Sirius didn’t betray them, just that it’s not proven,” Severus says, thinking about who else could have betrayed the Potters.

“He left his family for James Potter. He was the absolute worst Gryffindor in school with his brotherly attachment to their little club. There is no world in which he betrayed them. What we need to focus on is figuring out who actually did and why Dumbledore has allowed Sirius to remain in Azkaban this long,” Lucius says summoning his notebook, likely full of his inane lists.
“Dumbledore has taken an odd interest in Harry; he asked us to his office this week already to probe about how Harry is doing in his classes. It could have been curiosity due to his disability,” Severus tells them, mind racing at the implications of Sirius Black being innocent.

“I’ve found reports of a dark wraith roaming the forests of Albania. I suspect it might be the Dark Lord. He spent time there studying magic in his youth and the wild magic in the area could help sustain him,” Narcissa tells them.

Severus idly runs his hand over his dark mark - the colour has faded slightly, but he can still feel the magic emanating out of the mark. As much as he’s hoped that the Dark Lord is gone, he knows that it’s a false hope. The magic still alive in his arm tells him that, plus Dumbledore’s vehemence that the Dark Lord will return unfortunately points to one conclusion.
“Is there anyone we can send to investigate it?” He asks trying to think of who they can trust.

“I have an idea,” Lucius says, sounding less than sure of himself.

Severus raises an eyebrow at the blonde, waving his hand for the man to continue.

“We need to figure out who betrayed the Potters so we can free Sirius... What if we approach Lupin? He’s the last free member of their little club. If anyone knows who else their secret keeper could be, it’s him,” Lucius proposes to them.

Severus immediate reaction is a strong and instant no.

“He has a mastery in Defence Against the Dark Arts and no one will care if he happens to travel for a couple of months in Albania. We can keep him close and see what he’s willing to tell us and use him for things like this Albania trip without raising anyone suspicions,” Lucius finishes.

They all sit in silence for a moment weighing their options. There are no other people they trust enough to send off to Albania to look into the Dark Lord. Lupin had been the least vicious of his school yard bullies, typically fading into the background of their ‘pranks’ if he needs to trust someone who might have answers, it may as well be lupin.

“Let’s do it. Do you have any way of locating him?” Severus asks.

“No, but I’ll find one,” Lucius says.

“I’m telling you this because I think it may help you find him, but I suggest keeping the information to yourself - he’s a werewolf,” Severus tells his friend knowing he will need all the information he can get to find the illusive man.

Narcissa sucks in air through her teeth, clearly shocked by the information.

“Well, that could make finding him somewhat easier if I can get a look at the registry, assuming he’s registered,” Lucius says mulling over his options.

Severus sits back in his chair with far more questions than answers swirling around his family.

Chapter Text

Harry and Draco settled into their lives at Hogwarts, learning magic as September faded into October. Harry and his dad made sure to spend every Wednesday together learning about Astronomy and each other. Harry now knows his dad’s favourite food - Chinese, preferably from a hole in the wall with a dodgy looking front end and at least one man smoking in the back. Harry doesn’t really understand it, but his dad promises to take him out once they’re on break for the winter hols.

His dad now knows that Harry loves music, because it’s something he experiences the same way everyone else does. At the Dursley’s he didn’t get many opportunities to listen to songs outside of what his aunt played, so he doesn’t really know what his favourite songs are or his go to genre, but his dad promises that when they’re on break and able to they’ll try a little bit of everything. Apparently, his dad is partial to rock music.

Draco started teaching him how to play Wizard’s Chess. It’s challenging for Harry to keep track of where not only all his pieces are but Draco’s too, but they’re having fun and that’s all that matters. Daph and Harry spend time outside together - she has a knack for Herbology and now that Professor Sprout is actually letting him touch the plants that are safe to touch, smell the plants that are safe to smell, and actually learn in a way that works for him he feels better in the class, but far from confident. So Daph and Harry had started going out to grounds to help better his identification skill. The care portion he’s confident in from reading, but the practical portions keep giving him issues. Not to mention that in later classes apparently there will be dangerous plants he’ll need to learn about.

More often than not, Harry would find himself, Draco, and Daph sitting on a blanket by the Black Lake, basking in the last warmth of summer and the cool transition into fall while enjoying each other’s company. Draco and Daph would skip rocks on the water and have Harry count each splash it made to see who could skip their rock the most number of times. Harry just loved being surrounded by his friends and having the chance to bask in the sun with no expectations.

Today, though, is Saturday and Harry is working on his knowledge of the castle by wandering the halls while Draco and Daph study in the library. They’d been worried letting Harry out on his own, but he’d assured them that’s he’d survived ten years being blind, he wasn’t about to die while wandering around their school. Draco had sounded skeptical, telling Harry if he wasn’t back by lunch, he’d come looking for him. Harry was perfectly fine with that - it’s nice to know someone cares enough to come looking for him.

That’s how Harry finds himself on the fourth floor, wandering down a hallway he’s never been in before. It’s slightly cooler than the other halls on this floor of the castle and the air seems a little musty, likely because it’s not used as often. Harry noticed in his wandering that large areas of the castle are unused - maybe in the past more students used to attend? Maybe the castle wasn’t originally intended to be a school but something else that needed significantly more space?

On his solo excursions like this one, it’s more challenging for Harry to avoid bumping into the suits of armour or random statues that line the halls. Some he’s noticed are steeped in magic - those ones he can just barely feel as he approaches them, a slight buzz in the air that tingles against Harry’s skin that gives off the smell of a thunderstorm. He hasn’t told anyone about the way he’s started feeling magic around him, he’s not sure if it’s normal or not and he doesn’t want to be more of a freak in this world.

Behind him, Harry hears footsteps. They’re clumsy as if they’re trying to be quiet, stealthy. Instead, they sound to Harry like a heard of elephants lumbering down the hallway. There’s three of them, their voices hushed - they’re far enough away right now that Harry can’t quite hear what they’re saying and the closer they get the quieter they are until their conversation ends abruptly.

“Hello, are you exploring the caste too?” Harry asks them.

“It’s rude to ignore someone when they ask you a question,” Harry says, turning his back to whoever is there deciding to move down the hallway that will lead him back to the Great Hall.
The footsteps behind him pick up their pace, giving Harry a gut feeling that he’s not safe right now with how quickly they are approaching him. Before Harry can attempt to run something hits him over the back of the head and he’s lifted off the ground. Dazed, head pounding, Harry can barely struggle against the hands holding him up.

“What, where,” Harry lets out having a hard time focusing on the world around him the pain in his head overwhelming.

“Here, leave him here,” Ron Weasley says to the other two people with them.

They drop him on the ground then quickly run-away leaving him alone. Harry curls into a ball, regretting leaving his bag containing all his potions with Draco. Taking a deep breath of the stale air in this… room? Harry moves his hand to the back of his head checking to see if he’s bleeding. Luckily, he’s not, but a large lump is forming on the back of his head. It’s tender to his touch, making him flinch when he applies any pressure to it.

“Ahhhhhh,” a scream somewhere down the corridor echoes around him causing a chill to travel down Harry spine.

The scream bounces around the large room; Harry can’t tell if it’s a large hallway or another room like the Great Hall, but he can tell it’s at least a long open space. It’s an area he’s unfamiliar with, the air is even cooler here than it was in the old corridor he’d been wandering down. This place is frigid - the air stale around him smelling like mildew, dust thick on the floor under him and floating in the air. Unsure what could have caused the yell, Harry doesn’t cling to the thought.

Slowly uncurling himself, Harry tries to push himself up, only managing to get to a seated positing before the world feels like it’s spinning around him again, nausea climbing up his throat. It’s like he’s sitting on a in a chair while someone spins him around and around. He’d had head injuries like this before - Dudley getting mad and hitting him with a cricket bat when he was eight. Harry idly wonders how wizards got a hold of a cricket bat to hit him with, wait no, not a cricket bat, why would a Magical have a cricket bat? Where’s his string, he needs his string.
Deciding sitting is too hard, Harry lays back down resting his head on his arm as a nice pillow. He really needs to spend more time exploring so he doesn’t find himself trapped in places he doesn’t recognize. This room feel pretty memorable, with its cold atmosphere and dust. Didn’t his Dad say there were house elves that kept the school clean? Odd of them to leave this area such a mess.

“Harry!” Draco lets out footsteps quickly approaching Harry.

“Oh, thank the gods. Harry are you okay? What happened?” Draco asks his hands coming down to pat over Harrys arms.

“Got hit over the head and carried here,” Harry says leaning into Draco’s touch.

“Come on I’ll get you to the Hospital Wing. You’ve been missing for nearly four hours. I was about to get Uncle Sev, but then I thought maybe you accidently wandered here so I checked on my way back to the dungeons,” Draco rambles rubbing his hand up and down Harry’s back where he’s lying on the floor.

“Where am I?” Harry asks, curious about where Weasley and his gang dumped him.

“The forbidden third floor corridor,” Draco tells him, “Come one let’s get out of here.”

“Yes, please. My head hurts, again,” Harry sighs out, tired of the headaches he keeps getting.

Draco grabs hold of Harry’s hand and his elbow gently helping Harry stand taking on most of his weight helping him move.

“There’s someone coming,” Harry whispers to Draco, giving his arm a squeeze.

Draco stops them moving to his right and opening a door gently pushing Harry into the room. There’s something off in the room though, something is… breathing? Something very big is breathing, maybe more than one thing.

“Oh fuck,” Draco says in pure shock, his voice barely above a whisper making Harry tense up beside him.

“Harry, I need you to stay still. Do. Not. Move,” Draco says holding onto his arm so tightly it’s painful.

Harry stays still while a growling sound begins to fill the room. Whatever is in here with them might be worse than getting caught in the forbidden corridor.

Harry can hear Draco pulling the door behind them open and quickly pushing Harry out of the room right as loud barks begin behind them, chains rattling, and something scrapes along the stone floor.

“What was that?!” Harry nearly yells in shock. That was not a normal dog.

“Cerberus,” Draco breaths out slamming the door behind him and moving to pull Harry to him arms wrapped tightly around him in a tight hug.

“Cerberus? As in a hell hound? Three headed, poisonous, fifteen-foot-tall dog?” Harry squeaks out.

“Yes,” Draco says into his hair.

“Draco, I really need to get to the Hospital Wing. I think I’m going to be sick,” Harry says overwhelmed by being assaulted, abandoned, and nearly eaten by one of the most dangerous animals on this planet second only to Dragons and the extinct Basilisk.

Draco just nods into Harry’s hair and guides him to the Hospital Wing, handing Harry off to Madam Pomfrey and quickly running to grab his dad.

“Mr. Prince, I cannot say that I am happy to see you yet again this year,” Madam Pomfrey tells him, casting several diagnostics at him tutting when she reads the results.
“Harrison,” Harry hears his dad say the signature sound of his robes sweeping into the Hospital Wing.

“Dad,” Harry lets out feeling his dad’s arms wrap around him in a tight hung surrounding him with his distinct scent of potions fumes and herbs, it makes Harry feel safe.
“Draco let me know what happened. Keep the Cerberus portion a secret, but share the rest,” his dad whispers into his ear.

Harry gives a small nod to let him know he’s heard and moves out of the embrace back onto his bed. Madam Pomfrey begins giving Harry potions not naming any of them, but with his dad there he feels confident they’re safe. One in particular taste horrific, but Harry swallows it down and his dad quickly hands him a glass of water and a sweet to suck on to help with the lingering taste.

“What happened, Harry?” His dad asks.

“I was exploring the castle while Draco and Daph studied when a group of students, three I think, came up behind me and hit met with something. Then they lifted me up and carried me to the forbidden corridor on the third floor. I think I was really dizzy because when I tried to get up, I fell back down, and Draco found me eventually. Apparently, hours had passed?” Harry recounts to his dad and Madam Pomfrey.

Harry can feel the tension in his dad at his bedside.

“Do you know who it was?” Dad asks him.

“I’m certain that one of them was Ron Weasley,” Harry tells his dad, confident that he knows that voice at least from the snide remarks about Slytherins he likes to throw around. Harry had thought he was past the viciousness towards him in particular though.

“The headmaster will need to be informed,” Madam Pomfrey says.

“I’ll handle it,” Dad tells her.

“Harry, stay here with Draco for the night,” Dad tells him, planting a kiss on his forehead and moving away, presumably to speak to the headmaster.

+++

POV Severus Prince

“Albus, I need to speak to you. Several students attacked Harry today,” Severus says pushing his way into the headmaster’s office.

The man is seated on his throne like chair behind his desk, fingers steepled under his chin, his icy blue eyes tracking Severus as he advances across the office over his halfmoon glasses.
“I am sure there is an explanation,” the old man says his look appraising.

“Harry is currently in the Hospital Wing being treated for a skull fracture, hypothermia, and several severe bruises from being dropped on the ground while barely conscious. There is no explanation that excuses that,” Severus nearly spits out at the headmaster, despite how he wishes he could, he delivers the news as calmly as he can.

“Oh dear, does young Harry know who did this?” Albus asks him.

“Ron Weasley and two of his friends. If I had to guess, Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas. Maybe Longbottom,” Severus tells him, thinking of the Gryffindors friends that would help him with something like this.

“I shall speak with them, but it will be hard to prove since Harry can’t say he saw who was there,” Albus says and Severus can feel something off about the man’s intentions, “where was Harry found?”

“The forbidden third floor corridor,” Severus says, watching the man’s reaction. A slight crinkle at his eyes tells Severus that Albus has expected that answer, or that he’s happy about the results.

“Speaking of that corridor, I was hoping to enlist your help with a project I’m working on,” Albus shifts the conversation.

Severus only raises an eyebrow waiting for the Headmaster to continue on with his clearly very important request if he’s changing the topic from the assault of his child.

“Nicolas Flamel has asked me to watch over the Philosopher’s Stone for him while new arrangements are made for it. Would you be willing to devise a potions-based protection for the stone?” Albus has the audacity to ask him.

“The Philosopher’s Stone is still being held at Hogwarts?” Severus asks dumbfounded.

One of the Magical world’s most precious and rare items is currently being kept in a school filled with children and, at most, twenty adults? It’s lunacy. Absolutely barmy. Was that what someone tried to steal from Gringotts? It’s the only thing he can think of worth risking the Goblin’s wrath - eternal life. Severus had thought it was only going to be here a few weeks at the beginning of the school year, not months.

“Yes, right now Hagrid has offered me Fluffy to protect to door leading to the Stone’s resting place, but I’d like to make it a little more challenging to get to. Pomona has a delightful Devil’s Snare I’d like to borrow and Quirrell is currently procuring a mountain troll,” the batty old fool tells Severus.

There are children that live here and this man wants to keep a Cerberus and a mountain troll in the school? Maybe four months ago he wouldn’t have batted an eye at the through of these ‘protections’, but his child is here, the human he’s responsible for is in this school.

Taking a deep breath Severus replies, “I can look into providing something, but do you think it’s best to keep such dangerous creatures in the school with nosey children running about?” Severus asks him, hoping the question will make the man see some kind of reason.

“Yes. Hogwarts is the most secure place in Britain to protect the Stone. Voldemort’s rise nears and we must ensure he cannot reach the stone. The results would be catastrophic if he were to get hold of it. I’m sure you read about the break in at Gringotts, they were after the Stone, and I suspect a follower of his,” Severus narrows his eyes at Dumbledores proclamations. He needs to tell Lucius about this conversation, something about this does not sit right with him.

“Most concerning that someone would be considering stealing the stone for the Dark Lord. I’ll begin work on a potions defence for it immediately. Now what will be the repercussions for Weasley and his band of miscreants?” Severus asks.

“I will have a conversation with the first year Gryffindor boys. Again, Severus, we cannot punish them without proof of their actions and Harry cannot see them, so he cannot identify them,” Albus says again, discounting Harry’s abilities. It makes Severus seethe, but he can’t force the headmaster to punish the brats without damaging their relationship and Severus ability to spy on the man for his family.

“Very well,” Severus says getting up from his chair, anxious to check on the boys.

“Have a goodnight, my boy,” Albus says as the door to the office shuts behind Severus.

Back in the Hospital Wing, he finds Harry and Draco intertwined on the bed - Draco’s head resting on Harry’s shoulder and Harry hand resting over Draco’s arm that’s tossed across his middle, both of them asleep. Dirty dishes from their early dinner sit on a tray on the bedside table waiting to be cleaned by a house elf. Severus can’t help but smile at the scene in front of him. The boys are still young, but he has no doubts that he and the Malfoys are in for a very dramatic couple of years.

“They are quite adorable,” Poppy says coming up beside him to watch the boy’s sleep.

“Narcissa is already planning the wedding and Lucius is plotting the best surrogates for bloodlines,” he tells her chuckling.

Poppy just lets out a scoff.

“That boy doesn’t need more pain in his life. What is Albus going to do about the Gryffindor boys?” Poppy asks him, eyes not leaving the two sleeping children.

“Nothing. Apparently, Harry’s inability to visually identify his attackers means that he can’t ‘be sure’ of who attacked him,” Severus tells her. After their talk last month, he’s found Poppy to be somewhat of an ally now, and hopefully someone who can help with his protection in the future.

“That’s absolute shite. The boy can identify most people by smell alone, and he says Mr. Weasley spoke. That’s as good as seeing them,” she says, offended on Harry’s behalf.

“I am aware,” Severus tells her moving to sit in the chair beside the bed, summoning parchment and a quill to let the Malfoys know what’s happened.

Chapter Text

As October creeps to a close, the air outside grows colder, making the warming charms they learned in Charms class at the beginning of the month a necessity. Harry has applied them to everything he can, loving the comforting warmth they provide. His blankets now radiate a gentle heat, as do his socks, cloak, and several of the sweaters Draco often lends him. With the amount of warmth he gives off, Draco compares him to a furnace. Not that it stops Draco from always sitting beside him - or Harry from falling asleep on Draco’s shoulder or with his head resting on Draco’s legs.

The days of October are slipping away getting closer and closer to Samhain - or Halloween as Harry had called it before his lessons with Aunt Cissa. Harry can feel the excitement in the school from the students. Daph and Harry spent their time walking around the castle arm in arm while she described the many decorations that had popped up over the past few days. Some of them Harry could even touch - fake bats that fluttered around the Great Hall, pumpkins carved with faces like back at his relatives. Harry can’t help but feel a little excited himself.
The worst thing in his life is DADA. Professor Quirrell still stutters constantly, which Harry finds extremely distracting. The smell in the class is overbearing mixture of smoky incense and garlic is nauseating and even with headache relivers on hand, Harry struggles to get through without puking or passing out. None of the classes have been as bad as that first one thankfully, but he’s still struggling and he’s afraid to ask his dad for more help with yet another class. Instead, he’d been relying on his textbook and Draco’s help with the practical bits.

Charms’ is where Harry excels. He doesn’t need to see to practice that magic, all he needs to do is feel the magic and focus his intent. He’s been looking forward to today’s class the most - the first day of learning levitation charms. Harry can’t help but imagine what it will be like to be able to put something on a shelf using magic, to levitate things around a space a leave his hands free to feel the world around him. So today, as usual, Professor Flitwick has all of Harry’s attention as he walks them through wand movement.

“Swish and flick,” the Professor says again.

Harry rests his hand over Draco’s one more time to feel how he’s doing the movement before the Professor makes his way over to observe Harry’s solo attempts.

“Well done Mr. Prince, little wider on your swish and you’ll have no issues with the spell,” Flitwick says, before moving off to help other students.

“Wonderful! Now class it’s time to start adding in the incantation. Wingardium Leviosa,”

Around him, Harry can hear a chorus of voices repeating the charm. Draco sounds mildly bored, while Daph is still quiet as her wand swishes through the air.

Focusing in on his own work again, Harry begins trying to make his feather float. By the end of class half of them can get their feathers in the air. Harry’s excitement at the charm definitely distracted him from his magic making it hard to focus, but he did it, he even managed to guide the feather down into his hand so he didn’t lose it.

+++

“Harry,”

“Yes, Dad?” Harry says from his spot in front of the fire in his Dad’s private quarters.

“Are you feeling up for the feast today?”

“Why?” Harry asks confused, turning towards his dad to make sure he’s not being rude.

He can feel the atmosphere of the room change; something feels ominous, heavy.

“Harry, can you come here please,” Dad asks him.

Without hesitation, Harry gets up off the ground leaving his homework and moving to the couch where his dad is sitting, taking the spot beside him. Since his attack earlier in the month, he’d become better at navigating not only the places he knows, but new places too. He and Draco had spent every free moment they weren’t studying exploring, making sure Harry wouldn’t get lost again even if he was disoriented. It’s still a work in progress, but Harry is slowly learning to use his magic in new ways to help him.

“I’m sorry I haven’t told you this before, Harrison,” his dad starts, taking hold of one of Harry’s hands, “on October 31st, 1981, The Dark Lord entered your family home and killed your parents and gave you that scar.”

Harry stills. Some of this he knows - he knew that The Dark Lord had killed his parents and given him his scar. He didn’t know that today was the anniversary of that day. He’d never really thought about what day it all had happened. He doesn’t know how to feel - he’s sad of course, for the parents he’s never known, confused why he’d never been told what day he’d been orphaned, conflicted about whether or not he can enjoy today.

“Harry, are you okay?” Dad asks him.

“I don’t know. I’m confused,” Harry tells him honestly trying to sort out his feelings.

“What are you finding confusing?”

“Today is the first time I get to celebrate Halloween. I was really excited for that, but I also want to do something for my parents. No one ever told me when they died. Hagrid only told me how,” Harry tells him, leaning more into his dad for comfort.

“How about we do something special for them now, and then you can enjoy the feast this evening?” Dad suggests to him.

“I like that. What can we do?” Harry asks, settling in beside his dad.

“How about I tell you about them? Maybe a story?” he offers.

Harry nods vigorously, excited to hear more about his parents.

“I will be honest with you... Your father and I did not get along while at school, but as you heard in his will, things got better when we were older after you were born. Your mother wanted nothing more than for you to grow up surrounded by people that love you,” Dad tells him.

“Gods that first meeting when she sent me a letter asking to see me was the second most frightening day of my life. I was sure it was a trap to capture me and hand me over to the Aurors for some crime or another. But instead, when I arrived, a fire-haired spitfire of a woman threw herself into my arms and sobbed out an apology, one I frankly didn’t deserve, but Lily being Lily couldn’t help but say sorry for something that was not her fault. I’d been the one to call her something terrible. I’d lashed out in pain at her, but that’s a story for another time.

“I promised her that I would always be on her side and that she would be my sister no matter what happened. We went back to a hotel room your parents had rented so they could see me before they went under the fidelius. James was there waiting with you. You were so small, but you looked at the world with your bright green eyes, Lily’s eyes. The second those eyes landed on me, you demanded to be passed to me and cried every time I tried to hand you back to your parents. So, there I was in a room with my sister, her husband who quite frankly probably would have rather hexed me, and this tiny little monster in my arms who refused to be let down.

“They told me about how afraid they were that something would happen to me, and in hindsight, hinted heavily that they had a backup plan for your care in play. The way they looked at each other almost made me envious of their relationship - they truly loved each other, you could see it in the small things. The way your father’s eyes would always track her to see if she needed anything, the reassuring hand your mother would place on his shoulder or knee when he said something moderately nice to me. Their eyes too - you could see the love in their eyes, and when they looked at you in my arms, it was like nothing else existed in the world to them.

“Your father even managed to eke out a small apology for always antagonizing me in school. That apology I deserved, and he knew it. They told me about you - about how happy they’d made you and their hope that the war would be over soon, or that they could at least remain hidden long enough to escape Britian and move you somewhere beyond the reach of the Dark Lord. James told me about the work he’d done before they’d gone into hiding to try and protect you, make a world that was better for you. That was the day I decided to approach Dumbledore to become a spy for him against the Dark Lord. I wanted to help them make that world for you.

“I, of course, did not tell Lily or James my plans. I didn’t want that prat to know he’d influenced me in anyway, but I did have information I could share to help The Order. When you’re older, Lucius and I will tell you more about why we joined the Dark Lord but suffice to say we’ve never been his staunch supporters like so many assumed we were.

“We had dinner together, and then you insisted I feed you a bottle - because, once again, when I tried to hand you back to your mother, you cried as if someone were stealing all your toys. It was a wonderful evening; one I’ll cherish forever. It was the last time I saw them before they went into hiding. Your mother and I exchanged a few sparse letters when she was able, but I’ll never forget that day - when we became a family again.

Harry sniffled into his dad’s shoulder. His parents, all of them, loved him so much. Even his dad here beside him had done so much to protect him even before he’d adopted him.
“What was the first scariest day of your life?” Harry asks, curious what was more frightening than facing his parents.

“It’s also the best day of my life,” dad says emotion clear in his voice, “it was the day I adopted you. I was, still am, so afraid of failing you, Harrison. I never planned to be a parent, I never plan on having a partner, it doesn’t interest me. I thought I would spend my life inventing potions and refining my craft, and that felt like it would be a full life for me. But then I walked into that bank and saw those green eyes again and I knew my life would change forever. It’s been the best change, I wouldn’t give this up for anything, but that doesn’t mean it is not scary.”
Harry took a few minutes to absorb that information leaning into the strong warmth that is the man he’s come to know and trust, grateful that he’d faced his fears and taken the chance to adopt him and become his dad. Harry had felt so safe with him so quickly and now he knows why - he’s always loved his dad, even when they’d first met and he’d only been his uncle. It was like magic, or the universe had always known they’d need each other.

“I love you, Dad,”

“I love you too, Son,”

+++

“Harry, come on wake up, we’re already late for the feast,” Draco says giving Harry’s shoulder a light shake.

“Mmm just a couple more minutes,” Harry says trying to roll away from Draco’s pushing still exhausted from his talk with his dad after class.

“Harrison Prince, the feast has been going for thirty minutes. It’s Halloween I don’t want to miss it,” Draco says in a tone that reminds Harry of Aunt Cissa.

“Okay, okay, I’m getting up,” Harry rolls off the bed, grabbing his school robes from the hook on his bedpost and pulling them back on.

Harry’s still tired from time with his dad earlier, but he is excited for the Halloween feast. It’s supposed to be one of the best feasts of the year for students and teachers. Harry’s just hoping it can compare to the amazing things to got to eat at Malfoy Manor. Taking hold of Draco’s hand, Harry lets him take the lead out of the dungeons.

“I found a shortcut to the Great Hall through here; there’s a staircase the blends into the wall beside this portrait and then it comes out behind another one on the first floor much closer to the hall. I haven’t seen anyone else using it though so we should keep it a secret,” Draco tells him, pulling Harry along to his new discovery.

“That’s wicked, Draco!” Harry tells him, adding their secret route to his mental map of the castle. They’d found several shortcuts during their explorations, some of them even with hints from his Dad. Some Harry had found when he’d noticed the magic in a place felt weird or different.

The stairs Draco leads him up are narrow, his shoulders bump against the walls on either side if he sways slightly. Unlike a lot of the passages they’ve found, this one doesn’t have that stale smell - maybe someone else uses it to get around? Exiting the portrait, Draco describes the area they exit - it’s near the bathrooms on the first floor only a short walk to the Great Hall from there so they can finally get to the feast.

“Do you smell that?” Harry asks, a rotten foul stench permeates the air around them the closer they get to the bathroom the stronger the smell gets making Harry nearly gag.

“Ahhh!” someone screams from one of the bathrooms.

“Quick Draco! We need to help them,” Harry says pulling them closer to the source of the sound.

“Harry that’s the girl’s bathroom,” Draco says hesitantly, but still keeping hold of his hand.

“rrrrggghhhh,” a deep voice lets out from the same room.

“Doesn’t matter someone needs help,” Harry tells him pushing the door open.

“Not again,” Draco whines out.

“Help me,” a slightly familiar girls voice lets out.

“Troll,” Draco breaths out, gripping Harry’s hand so tight he can feel the bones rubbing together.

“How do we help her?” Harry asks Draco, the heavy breathing of the troll surrounding them. Loud crashes are filling the air, something is crashing, smashing, making debris start to fly around them. Harry can’t help but flinch at the violence.

“It’s holding a club. If we can get that away and distract it, she could run away,” Draco says taking in the scene.

“Tell me when it’s on the upswing” Harry tells Draco, flicking the wrist of his wand hand to drop it down into his palm. He points his wand towards the source of all the sounds, waiting for Draco’s word.

“Now,” Draco says letting go of his hand.

Harry wastes no time giving his wand a swish and flick, “Wingardium Leviosa.”

Magic washes out of Harry, his intent clear - lift the club, stop it from crashing down against the bathroom. And it works! Harry can hear the troll try and move the club, its arm flying through the air causing a ‘woosh’ as it falls down with no club to throw at stall or sinks.

“Quick Granger, run towards us,” Draco yells at her, having moved further into the bathroom. Harry can hear the frantic click of her school shoes against the tile floor.

“Thank you, thank you,” she sobs out when she reaches them, throwing her arms around Harry breaking his concentration and stopping the spell. The club drops as the three of them run for it down the hall towards the Great Hall away from the frustrated troll and its stench.

“Harrison,” he hears his dad yell moments before strong arms take hold of him lifting him off the ground and pulling him into his dads’ chest. The smell of rot is quickly chased away by the smell of herbs and potions from his Dad’s robes. Tears start streaking down Harry’s cheeks as everything hits him, his body shaking like he’s cold in his dad’s arms.

“You’re okay I’ve got you,” Dad whispers into his ear, while Harry clings to him even harder, “come here Draco.”

One of Dad’s arms leaves Harry, and he feels one of Draco’s arms comes around his middle squeezing him tightly. Draco’s not crying like Harry, but he is shaking.

“There’s a troll in the girl’s bathroom. It looks like it’s been knocked out by its own club. Ms. Granger, can you please share what happened?” Professor McGonagall asks her.

“I was in the w-w-washroom, er, avoiding the feast when… when that t-t-troll came in and started smashing everything. Draco and Harry came in and, uh, Harry cast a levitation charm on the troll’s club and Draco helped pull me out. I-I-I don’t know how it was knocked out though,” Hermione recounts to the professor.

“And you two why were you here? Thought you could take on a troll?” Professor McGonagall asks them.

“No ma’am,” Harry starts to tell her, moving his head to speak towards where she is standing to his dad’s left, “we were late for the feast because I had taken a nap after spending some time with my dad. Draco and I took a short cut out of the dungeons, and I smelled the troll. That’s when we heard the screaming, so we checked to see what was happening.”

“Harry is correct. He and Draco were not at the feast. I had noticed before the interruption,” headmaster Dumbledore says from somewhere behind his dad.

Harry notices a tinge of blood in the air around them, his Dad feels a little unsteady favouring one leg.

“Are you okay?” Harry asks him quietly, tucking his face into his dad’s shoulder.

“I will tell you later,” dad whispers back.

“Ten points to Slytherin for quick thinking and another 10 for helping a fellow student in need,” Professor McGonagall awards them.

“Thank you, Minerva. I’m going to take the boys back to my quarters,” dad tells them.

“My boy, should we not have them taken to the hospital wing with Ms. Granger?” Albus asks him.

“I will make that call if there’s anything wrong with the boys, but for now I think the best thing is to take them back to our family space. I trust you can handle your lion, Minerva?” Dad says placing Harry back fully on the ground but keeps hold of his arm.

On his right, Draco takes hold of his hand his body still sharking slightly from the shock.

“I’m sorry we missed the feast, Draco,” Harry tells him squeezing his hand.

“Don’t be,” Draco tells him as they make their way back to the dungeons.

“Mr. Weasley, Longbottom, Finnegan, should you not be in your dorms?” Dad says as the descend into the dungeons.

Harry instinctively tightens his hold on his dad’s hand at the mention of Weasley.

“We… we got lost,” Weasley says sounding less than sure of himself.

“Is that so?” Dad says in that teacher tone he uses.

“Er, yes,” Finnegan says.

“Then why does Longbottom look like he’s about to be ill?” Dad asks, a little disgust seeping into his tone.

Not a moment after it’s said, Harry hears then smells Longbottom vomit on the floor in front of them. The acrid stench of bile fills the air burning Harry’s nose.

“Delightful. Ten points from Gryffindor each and do take Longbottom to the infirmary for his… illness,” Dad says pulling Harry and Draco pass the Gryffindor’s.

“But w-w-what about the t-t-troll,” Longbottom stutters out in his usual scared tone.

“It’s been dealt with,” Dad tells them, moving them further down the hall towards his personal quarters.

Harry can hear the Gryffindors skitter off out of the dungeons, talking animatedly about the troll.

Harry’s dad deposits him and Draco down on a couch in his quarters and calls an elf to bring them some hot chocolate. Holding the warm mug in his hands, Harry patiently waits while his dad fires off diagnostic spells at him and Draco checking each one twice before calling another elf to send word to Uncle Lu and Aunt Cissa to come to the castle immediately. Harry grabs hold of his string, untying the knots currently in it and tying new ones before running his fingers along its length, he’s made sixteen knots this time.

“Dad we’re okay I swear,” Harry tells him after he feels his dad start patting him down to check for injuries.

“Are you sure? Nothing is sore, no cuts from debris?” Dad asks them with his hands still on Harrys shoulders.

“Well… there is one thing,” Harry says hesitantly.

“What?”

“I can’t seem to see anything,” Harry says blinking his eyes at his dad.

He’s met with a moment of pure silence before his dad stars laughing uncontrollably. Harry can feel the shake of his laughter running through the contact with his shoulders, Harry smiles at him. Draco beside him is chuckling lightly at Harry antics.

“Brat,” his dad breathes out, once his laughing slows down his hands leaving Harry’s shoulders.

“Love you too,” Harry tells him, happy he’s able to break his dad’s panic attack.

‘BANG, BANG, BANG’ the door rattle against its hinges as someone pounds against the door to the quarters.

“That’s probably your parents,” Dad says moving to the door to let the Malfoys in.

“I CAN’T BELIEVE YOU TWO, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?!” Daph yells before throwing herself at Harry and Draco, hugging them both tightly. Harry squeezes her back breathing in the scent of vanilla and orange that clings to her hair and robes.

“We were late for the feast, so we took a shortcut and didn’t know there was a troll on the loose,” Draco tells her leaning more into Harry while Daph detaches herself from them and settles onto the couch on Harrys right side.

Draco slowly sinks more and more into Harry until his head is resting on Harry’s shoulder, and his arm is wrapped around his front.

“Draco!” Aunt Cissa lets out, two new sets of footsteps entering the room.

“What happened?” Uncle Lu asks, his tone filled with concern and not a small amount of anger.

“There was a mountain troll loose in the school. It’s supposed to be part of Dumbledore’s little project he’s had me assisting with,” Dad tells Uncle Lu, disgust clear in his voice.
Aunt Cissa is kneeling in front of Draco now whispering to him asking if he is okay and how brave he was.

“The boys were running late for the feast and stumbled across it. They saved a young Gryffindor girl from the beast. If I wasn’t furious about the circumstances, I’d be quite impressed with the feat,” Dad tells them.

“What exactly happened boys?” Aunt Cissa asks.

Harry let’s Draco tell them from his spot on his shoulder.

“We took a shortcut from the dungeons that lead past the bathrooms near the Great Hall. Harry had a nap before the feast, and I was letting him sleep as long as possible. When we got to the hall with the bathrooms, there was a terrible smell and we didn’t know what it was, then we heard the scream. Granger was in the girl’s bathroom and Mr. Should-Have-Been-A-Gryffindor over here insisted we go see what was wrong. There was a lot of crashing and smashing behind the door and when I opened it, I saw the troll smashing the bathroom to bits and Granger hiding under a sink.

“Harry came up with the plan to make the levitate the club so the troll couldn’t use it to smash anything else, and I helped Granger reach the door. After that Uncle Sev, Professor McGonagall, and Headmaster Dumbledore found us when we were running away.”

Aunt Cissa lets out a shaky breath before pulling both boys into her arms and giving them a tight hug.

“I am so proud of both of you for helping someone in need, but you both need to be more careful. Finding a teacher would have been a safer option,” she tells them, stepping back from the couch.

“You fought a troll?” Daph says voice quivering before she throws her arms around Harry again who is now trapped between both of his best friends who are clinging to him.

“I need a drink,” Uncle Lu says, “and then I need to go have a discussion with the headmaster about how my son encountered a troll in the gods forsaken school.”

Harry hears glasses begin to clink together, the scent of alcohol filling the air around him, clearly more than one drink is being poured.

“Um, Dad?” Harry asks.

“Yes, Harry?”

“Could we get some dinner? I’m hungry,” Harry asks.

“Of course,” Dad tells him before calling a house elf to bring them all food.

“Miss. Greengrass, it is time for you to return to the dorms. You will keep the conversations we had here today to yourself. I do not want to hear rumors,” dad tells her guiding Daph out of the room.

“I’ll see you two tomorrow,” she tells Harry and Draco.

“Goodnight Daph,” they both say to her as she exits the room.

Uncle Lu leaves shorty after Daph to go talk to the headmaster while those left pick at some food brought by a house elf. Harry happily eats the food in front of him, enjoying all the new things that at the feast he didn’t get the chance to try. Draco beside him is eating far less than normal, making Harry worried. Their encounter with the troll clearly scared him. Harry moves his fork to his left hand and grabs Draco’s left hand with his right giving it a squeeze, Draco squeezes back.

“Harry, Draco we need to tell you some things, but if you’re not feeling up to it, or would like to return to your dorms rather than spending the night here you can,” dad tells them.

Harry gives Draco’s hand another squeeze, Draco taps his thumb against Harry’s hand twice.

“We’d like to hear it now please,” Harry tells them.

“A few weeks ago, when you encountered that Cerberus, it was guarding a door. Beyond that door is a set in inane ‘obstacles’ that Dumbledore has set up to protect a valuable object - an object that many would try and steal if they knew it was here. That troll is supposed to be one of the obstacles that guards the stone. How it got lose today, I’m unsure, but I did check on the trap door beneath Fluffy, the Cerberus, and found it open. Someone in this castle is trying to get to it,” Dad tells them.

“Is that why you were bleeding?” Harry asks his dad, remembering the blood from earlier and the night.

“Yes, one of the beasts’ heads bit me before I could enter the passage to check who was attempting to locate the object, which is not even placed there yet. I went back to the Great Hall for the feast to check on you two before Quirrell ran in screaming about the troll and passed out like a dunderhead. I’m telling you two all of this because I trust you to keep it to yourselves and because you keep finding your way to into the path of these ridiculous obstacles. You two need to stick together and find an adult when these things happen,” Dad tells them his tone serious.

Both boys nod their heads settling in to just be around their parents for the night before Uncle Lu heads out to speak to the Headmaster and Aunt Cissa returns home before she’s noticed in the castle.

Chapter Text

All Severus Snape wanted the moment he exited the grounds of Hogwarts for the last time was to sleep for a week, contact his potions master to arrange his final exams, and start finding potions contracts to earn funds to build his life in the Magical world. Stepping through the wrought iron gates of Hogwarts, Severus turns around to look at the looming castle one more time. The castle that was supposed to be his safe haven - a home, a place away from his alcoholic father and apathetic mother. Instead, it had been anything but a sanctuary.

He'd been bullied and harassed, other students finding him odd. He wasn’t handsome, he didn’t have new robes, he’d been raised in the muggle world, and had a muggle last name. Prince could have been his legacy, instead he was Snape - a half-blood with no inheritance, no title, and nothing to his name but a house in Cokeworth. He’d asked to stay at the school over summers, willing to be anywhere but his parent’s home, and all he’d be met with was a stoic ‘no’.

Turning on the ball of his feet, gravel crunching beneath his shoes, Severus drags his eyes away from castle, looking down the path to his future. He steps forward, apparating away from his home of seven years. His foot lets down on another gravel path in front of a new gate - one much more ornate than the one he’d just left behind - leading to a less ominous, but no less auspicious building ahead of him. Malfoy Manor, the home of his best friends.

“Severus!” Narcissa calls, the front door of the manor opening to her smiling face. Severus can’t help but smile back at her. Narcissa and Lucius are disgustingly in love, married the moment Narcissa graduated from Hogwarts last year. A rare case of a pureblood marriage contract resulting in love and not thinly veiled tolerance. They are exceptionally, disgustingly perfect for each other. Lucius, the savvy solicitor and wealthy heir and Narcissa a tried-and-true socialite born and trained to run an ancient and noble house. Both equally ruthless and cunning, Severus has no doubts that in a matter of years they’ll be ruling over the upper echelons of Magical Britian, that is if the war ever ends.

“I’ve had a guest room made up for you. You have to stay for the Solstice ball this weekend, there’s going to be the most… delightful of company,” Narcissa tells him, pulling Severus into a hug.

“Follow me, and don’t say anything,” she whispers into his ear, drawing Severus into the house and guiding him down a hall towards her and Lucius’s wing of the house.

The halls are lined with portraits of Malfoys of the past - many blonde heads look down on Severus, sneering at him muttering things like ‘half-blood’, ‘vermin’, and any number of slurs about his blood status. Severus categorically ignores them all, keeping his eyes focused forward making sure he doesn’t fall behind Narcissa. The Malfoy home is like many other magical homes, riddled with charms, ambient magic, and in some cases a personality of its own. Malfoy Manor confuses anyone who isn’t considered family, changing the layout of the manor on a whim - hallways changing location leading in circles, rooms moving and disappearing from one moment to the next.

“Severus, congratulations on graduating. How much time is left in your mastery?” Lucius asks as they enter the sitting room. The room is comfortable - plush chairs in the middle of the room with a large fireplace, currently cold in the summer heat, and walls lined with books. Their titles show they are all fiction. Unlike many pureblood manors, Malfoy Manor doesn’t have a central library, but books scattered among themed offices and similar sitting rooms to this one. Yet another way for the Manor to protect its secrets.

“I should be finished the final testing at the end of the summer, along with my proposal and presentation of the wolfsbane potion by the end of the month. The trick is finding someone who I can thoroughly test the potion with. It’s exceedingly difficult to find willing werewolves,” he tells Lucius, almost regretting his choice of potion to create to fulfill the requirements of his mastery.

He'd chosen to create a potion that would help werewolves on the full moon maintain a level of control of their beasts, allowing them to spend the night in control of their animal half. Not that he would ever admit this to anyone, but he’d design the potion out of a deep fear of the creatures after a close call during his fifth year at Hogwarts.

“Excellent. I have a contract for you once you’re certified with one of my clients,” Lucius tells him while Narcissa is creating additional wards around the room they are in. Severus merely raises a questioning eyebrow about the added security.

“Done,” Narcissa tells them.

The couple would never let it be known publicly, but Narcissa is the more magically powerful of the two, especially after being raised in the Black family. She’s their best kept secret if they ever need to catch someone off-guard in a duel or attack. Given the war swirling around them, it’s likely something that will offer them a strategic advantage.

“Father has informed me that I will be made to take the Dark Mark during the Solstice,” Lucius tells him, looking grave and pale.

“He’s not giving you a choice?” Severus asks, shocked, “Since when does the Dark Lord take coerced followers?”

“Apparently the Dark Lord is making a push to win the war and adding in the heirs of his existing followers is now a requirement of all his pureblood followers. Nott, Crabbe, Goyal, even Flint are being marked in a few days. Father would rather I bow to that man, prostrate myself at the feet of another, me a pureblood heir to the House of Malloy forced to his knees before someone else?” Lucius spits out, fear clear in his eyes behind the venom in his voice.

As much as Lucius is a pureblooded prat, happy to hold family and duty above anything else, he is not a fighter. He’s not someone who will go out on raids to murder muggles or fight Aurors in the streets to sow chaos. Lucius is a planner - a strategist, someone capable of destroying those around them from the shadows. Whatever the Dark Lord has planned for him is not going to be good.

“What do you need?” Severus finally asks him the news sinking in.

“I need this war to end,” Lucius sighs out, Narcissa resting her elegant hand on his knee and squeezing.

“I would, as much as it pains me to say, I prefer the Ministry survive, being a half-blood and all,” Severus tells them knowing the impact to their lives regardless of winner will be minimal.

“Then that’s what we can work towards,” Narcissa says giving Severus a look full of compassion, while sending her husband a small glare, reminding him who would be making this decision.

“And how, Lady Malfoy, do you suggest we do that? I’m eighteen and don’t even have my own flat. Lucius is the son of the Dark Lord’s right hand man and loyal follower, and you are barely considered human to him as a ‘Lady of the Manor’ unlike your psychotic sister,” Severus says in disbelief. Why would these two even consider taking on a task as dangerous as opposing the Dark Lord based on an off handed comment by him?

“From within of course,” Lucius says a spark in his eyes that only appears when he’s planning.

+++

“My Lord, Welcome to my home. I am so grateful that my family could host this celebration,” Abraxas Malfoy tells a chestnut-haired man with blood red eyes and aristocratic features - balancing a fine line of handsome and pretty. Severus can barely contain a shiver at the thought of the atrocities the man in front of him has been responsible for over the years of war.

“Abraxas, Lucius, Narcissa, and you, I don’t know you,” the Dark Lord says his eyes scanning over the Malfoy family before reaching Severus.

“Severus Snape, my lord. Soon to be youngest potion master in Britian and humble initiate to your cause,” Severus tells the man bending at the waist in a bow he’d seen other give the Dark Lord.

“Most intriguing. Youngest potions master you say? You must be quite talented to achieve such a title. I hear old Slughorn is still the professor,” the Dark Lord says, his eyes scanning over Severus thin frame again.

“I will complete my final testing by the end of summer, My Lord, pending test subjects for my potion,” Severus tells him leaning into the plan that Lucius had devised.

The Dark Lord is unlikely to take on a half-blood that can’t offer him something, which in Severus’s case- his own personal potions master. In return, Severus will appear (though he actually is) desperate for a connection to werewolves to test his potion, a connection the Dark Lord can easily offer due to his close association with the werewolves of Britian through their alpha, Fenrir Greyback.

“And what is this potion you need to test?” The Dark Lord asks.

“I am calling it Wolfsbane. It allows werewolves that drink it to have… pliable minds while under the influence of the full moon. I have seen the mindless beasts before and thought should they remain in control of their faculties to a degree they could be… aimed more successfully,” Severus tells him, twisting his invention to better suit the needs of this monster. In reality, the potion should allow a wolf to remain docile and reduce the baser needs of the wolf to hunt and spread its infection to others. The wolf likely, unless very powerful, wouldn’t remember the change but they would be unlikely to harm others unless provoked.

“Severus is the most talented potions student Hogwarts has seen in decades. At the end of the summer, he will be the youngest potions master ever in Britian,” Lucius says, following their plan to make Severus someone worth collecting.

“Quite impressive. Please allow me to offer you a place amongst my followers, young man. Someone of your talent would be most welcome to join us,” the deceptively handsome man says.
“I would be most honoured,” Severus tells him bowing again, watching the Dark Lord walk into the ballroom to greet his many followers.

To his left, Severus can feel Lucius’s hand brush past his in encouragement. Slowly, more high-profile pureblood guests arrive - entering the party mingling amongst the highest echelons of Britian Magical society. Abraxas looking proud of his son, smug that he’s condemned him to a life of servitude to the psychopath. Why his friends from school chose to follow the Dark Lord is beyond him. Yes, muggles are without a doubt dangerous, but there is no feasible way to ‘exterminate’ them as the Dark Lord likes to preach to his sycophants. His words are like fuel to a fire of those who do not understand what the oppose nor take the time to learn.

Lucius and Narcissa don’t understand, but they also want nothing to do with the muggle world, happy to live blissfully unaware and isolated. Severus though, he grew up in that world, felt the pain it can inflict on the vulnerable - growing up at the whims of a drunk, abusive man. And yet, extermination is not the answer, laws, regulations, things that Lucius has been striving for, those have a chance at saving them.

“Welcome my friends and honoured guests,” Abraxas Malfoy calls out from the front of the ball room, “today I welcome you to a most prestigious event. Our Lord will be marking the next generation of his followers - those of us most trusted, most valuable to his cause. Magic is might, and our might will clear the world of the weak, cleanse it of impure, and allow magic to rise and rule.”

Behind Abraxas, Severus can see the Dark Lord giving the slightest of sneers at that back of his follower. Curious that, was that monologue not to his liking?

“Thank you, Abraxas, for that most apt introduction. Today I welcome into my ranks the next generation of you, the true power behind Magical Britian. The next generation of great leaders in our Ministry. Today, you have the utmost honour of kneeling before me and taking my mark. A mark that will bind us together as allies, as friends. By taking my mark, you pledge your allegiance to me, to our cause.

“Together we will restore Britian to its previous glory - a strong hold of magic, a land steeped in power. Power that each of us will yield against those that seek to oppress us, to dictate the magic we can use. To hold us back from achieving greatness. No more will we be idle; no more will we cower in the shadow of the so-called light. Tonight, we step forward, tonight we declare war,” the Dark Lords voice sends shivers down Severus spine.

The man didn’t raise his voice once, but it carried across the room seeping into everything and everyone. It’s oppressive, but it also carries grains of logic. The man is not wrong. Magic is highly regulated in Britian, many branches of magic considered dark and outlawed. Even potions that use certain ingredients are illegal, procuring the necessary animal or creature parts considered abhorrent. But wasn’t that the natural order of things? Magicals using what magic gives them to create, to heal, to learn. All Severus has ever wanted to do is learn about and invent new potions, to discover new uses of common ingredients. But instead, he was here, pledging his allegiance to this man he finds detestable in order to protect his friend and finally find test subjects for his master’s thesis.

“Abraxas, please call forward our newest members of the Death Eaters,” the Dark Lord says while Abraxas pulls out a piece of parchment to read off the names of Severus’ friends and classmates.

“Bartemius Crouch Jr., Evan Rosier, Lucius Malfoy, Geoff Goyal, Harrik Crabbe, Igor Krakoff, Rodolfus Lestrange, Rabastian Lestrange,…” the names go on naming off most Slytherins who have graduated in the past five years, plus some Ravenclaws and the odd Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Many names are familiar, while others are new to him. But what Severus notices is the sheer number. The Dark Lord was not misleading them when he said he was declaring war. This wasn’t an initiation into a group of politicians or an advocacy group. This was the creation of an army.

“Regulus Black, and Severus Snape,” Abraxas says before finally finishing. Severus’s gut twists at the sound of his name. There is no turning back now. They are doing this. He is doing this. He’ll be marked as an enemy to his childhood best friend, the brightest witch who just happened to be a muggle born. Someone whom he’d hurt beyond measure with his words and now will never forgive him.

Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy, and Narcissa Malfoy are about to embark on an idiotic quest to save themselves and by happenstance, everyone else.

Looking to his right Severus takes in another friend, Regulus. He’s likely been forced here much like Lucius, forced to uphold the name of a family willing to hand him over as a soldier in a war he probably doesn’t want to fight. All because Sirius Black was too weak to take on burden of being heir to a noble house. Too preoccupied with bullying his fellow students and hanging off Potter’s robes like a lost babe.

“Step forward please and kneel,” the Dark Lord asks as over half of the room steps forward dropping to their knees in front of this man. Some shaking with fear, others with anticipation. Some faces are blank masks, while some, like the Lestrange family, are filled with glee. Severus settles in beside Lucius, copying his blank mask.

“Roll up the sleeve of your left arm, to the elbow,” the Dark Lord instructs, moving to the first person on the right side of the room grabbing hold of their left wrist and stabbing his bone white wand into their skin.

“Morsmordre,” he hisses out and the screaming begins. Ear splitting screaming from pain, excruciating pain.

When the Dark Lord drops the man’s hand, he falls to the ground sobbing from the pain and curling himself into a ball.

Severus focuses on maintaining his blank face, averting his eyes forward and waiting. Waiting as the screams grow closer and closer to him. Men, women, they all scream. Some try and hold it in, but eventually they all scream in pain, in agony at the marking of their skin with the infamous skull and snake.

Finally, after what feels like hours, a dark robe stops before him. Not looking up, Severus presents his left arm to the Dark Lord, his eye taking in for the last time the pale, unblemished skin of his forearm. A twisted bleach white wand presses into the space between bones a steady pressure against his skin.

“Morsmordre,” the Dark Lord hisses out.

Severus’ world narrows becoming only pain, excruciating pain. His mind is blinded by it - there is nothing, he is nothing, there is only this pain. But he doesn’t let the scream pass through his lips. He survived Tobias Snape, where screaming and crying earned you more pain. He can’t take more of this pain, so he remains silent clenching his jaw to the point he feels a pop. He can’t see anything - the pain has taken his vision. There is only white, blinding white around him.

Eternities later, the pressure leaves his arm and the pain recedes. Slowly, Severus can feel the world around him again, he can feel the sweat trickling down his face, rolling over his large nose dripping down towards his lips.

“Most impressive Severus. You show much promise amongst my ranks,” the Dark Lord tells him, moving on to Lucius.

The wand only rests on Lucius forearm for seconds after the spell is uttered, but those seconds feel like eternities with the pain. Moving slightly, Severus allows Lucius to slump against him once his screaming is complete. Taking his friends weight and providing comfort for him.

Flicking his eyes down, Severus takes in the mark on his once pristine forearm. A skull sits there now with a snake twisting through it, the lines are crisp like a muggle tattoo, but Severus can see a slight movement to the snake like it’s alive. Slowly he becomes aware of the magic seeping into him from the mark, a darkness taking root in him that is not his own.

Chapter Text

Daph, Draco, and Harry were sitting in the library studying for their midterms which were fast approaching with the winter hols. Harry’s confident that he has the theory for all his classes, his dad even made him his own Astronomy exam, tailored to the more practical take in the class. The only class that he’s unsure of is Herbology – they just started learning about progressively more dangerous plants and Harry had been unable to interact with them in the way he usually would. Some had poisonous pollen, other had sharp thorns too dangerous for Harry to risk touching.

His dad tells him to do his best, that they’ll find a solution for Herbology just like they did for Astronomy, it’s just going to take time. Harry feels impatient though. He doesn’t want to take time, he wants to learn with everyone else. Potions and Charms are his favourite classes because he’s been able to keep up with all the other students. Being able to use a charm in a practical setting had given Harry a big boost in confidence, even if his dad had been less than impressed with his and Draco’s ‘ill thought out and unseemly Gryffindor actions’.

“Oh good. You two are here, and studying,” a familiar voice says, dropping down a heavy stack of books on the table beside Harry causing a loud thud and the table to shake violently.

“Granger,” Daph says towards the new addition to their group.

“Harry, I have something for you,” Granger says taking the seat on his right, the side Draco is not currently plastered to.

“Oh?” Harry asks turning towards her.

“I noticed you were having issues with Herbology, so I made these,” Granger says with the rustle of a bag and another thud hits the desk in front of Harry. Reaching out hesitantly, Harry runs his fingers over delicate paper shaped in to leaves, flowers, tightly coiled thorns, and thin vines. One is Venomous Tentacula, with the vines and the thorns, another is belladonna, and the last one is fluxweed. The plants more slightly mimicking the real plants activity.

“I included all the features used to identify them and check them with Professor Sprout. She thinks it’s brilliant and will use similar reconstructions in class for you and for exams,” Granger says, the pages of books flipping methodically beside him, she’s barely paying attention moving onto her own homework.

“Thank you,” Harry whispers to her, tears in his eyes at the kindness shown to him by a stranger.

“Thank you for saving my life. No one knew I was in the bathroom that night, I was… upset about something that Ron said, and I just wanted to be alone,” Granger says, her tone quiet, but firm, “you too Draco, thank you for helping me.”

“Of course, Granger, we couldn’t just leave you there to die,” Draco tells her. Harry elbows him in the ribs. Draco probably would have left her there, he would have grabbed a teacher no doubt, but he wouldn’t have run in like Harry had made him.

“Why do you call me by my last name?” Granger asks, the pages of her book settling into silence.

“Because it’s polite,” Draco tells her from Harry other side.

“That’s strange,” Granger says.

“Hardly, it’s etiquette. It’s something important to respect that you can only use someone given name when you have permission. Especially for those of us that are heirs to families,” Daph tells her, her tone is polite, which for Daph is impressive given her usual tolerance for anyone outside of Slytherin.

“Heirs? Like to titles?” Granger asks, her homework long forgotten.

“Exactly,” Draco says, “I’m heir Malfoy, Harry is heir Prince, and Daph is heir Greengrass. When we all get older and our parents decide to retire, we’ll take over the titles and the responsibilities that come with them.”

“Are there any book that I can read about this?” she asks her voice filled with wonder and curiosity.

“Yes, let me make you a list,” Daph says, her quill scratching across a sheet of parchment.

“You can call me Harry,” he tells her extending out his hand towards her to shake.

“You can call me Hermione,” she tells him taking his hand and giving it a firm shake.

Beside him Harry can hear Draco scoff making Harry throw an elbow back into his ribs.

“Draco,” the brat says eventually, his arm brushing past Harry for Hermione to take.

Daph does the same, telling Hermione that she can either call her Daphne, or if Harry insists on keeping a Lion, Daph. Together, the three Slytherins and the lone Gryffindor settled into study together asking the occasional question or comparing answers to their many assignments. Draco and Hermione spend time debating the finer points of magical theory for the levitation charms they’ve learned. Daph helps Harry with Herbology, walking him through each part of the plants like they had in class guiding him through the identification of each plant.

“Well,”

“If it isn’t.”

“A little lion,”

“Surrounded by little snakes,” the twins say, even their steps are in sync.

“Gred! Forge!” Harry exclaims turning around in his seat to face them smiling.

“Hello little Prince,” they say together, two hands coming up to ruffle Harry’s hair.

“Hey, don’t touch that! You have no idea how much time it takes me to tame that mop,” Draco exclaims, pushing the twins’ hands away from Harry and running his hands over Harry’s now ruffled hair.

“We came to make sure you’re okay,” one twin says.

“We know our brother has been a problem,”

“And we heard about your Halloween adventure,”

“Truly Gryffindor that one,”

“I’m okay. Ron’s been leaving me alone since the whole forbidden corridor incident. Halloween was scary, but I’m happy we were able to help Hermione,” Harry tells them, hearing the twins move to sit on either side of Daph across from him.

“We have been testing some new… projects on brother dearest,” Fred says, although he isn’t sure - Harry thinks he can hear a slight difference in their voices.

“Is that why his hair has been green all week?” Hermione asks them.

“Why yes,”

“Thank you for noticing,”

“We’re thinking purple next,”

“So, you’re running through all the house colours he’s not naturally?” Daph asks them.

“Precisely,” they say together.

“Astute little Greengrass,” George tells her, a light slapping sounds coming from the other side of the table.

“I will bury you six feet under if you touch my hair,” she seethes at them.

“Thank goodness uncle Sev got me that purple shampoo. I’d hate to match the prat,” Draco says with a dramatic shudder, reminding Harry that Draco has a very light hair colour in contrast to his supposably dark hair, dark enough that it even matches his dad.

“Explains the weird smell clinging to you two. Is that spinach?” Harry asks screwing up his nose.

“Indeed,” they say in a tone reminiscent of his dad making Harry chuckle.

“That’s what we used for the colour,” George says chuckling.

“What are you using for the purple?” Hermione asks, too curious not to.

“Beets we think,” Fred says.

“No no, that colour will be all wrong. Pinker than purple. Red cabbage should get you closer to the Ravenclaw purple,” Draco tells them almost offended at their lack of colour theory.

“Don’t argue colours with him, it’s a lost cause. You will lose,” Harry tells them.

“No, you lose, because you can’t see them,” Draco tells him, and Harry can hear Draco’s eyes rolling.

+++

POV Severus Prince

Severus tosses the note from Dumbledore into the fire in his rooms. The overbearing bastard wants to speak to him yet again about his son, likely to confront him about how close he’s become with Harry over the term. Something Severus realized is that he was unwilling to force the child to hide from the world. Harry had already grown up without affection, without a parent to be proud of him, without someone to claim him in front of the world as theirs. Despite everything going on around them, Severus is not going to take that away from Harry now, not when the boy smiles and laughs every day. Not when he feels safe enough to throw himself into Severus’s arms, trusting that he would catch him.
Sighing deeply, Severus steels himself for the conversation with Dumbledore and makes his way to the Headmaster’s office.

“Ah, Severus, my boy. Lemon drop?” Dumbledore asks, offering him the bowl.

“No, thank you,” Severus tells him, keeping his face impassive.

The office is its usual level of chaos with a multitude of devices whirling and beeping on shelves, spanning from the Floor up to the vaulted ceilings. Fawkes, Dumbledore’s Phoenix, is perched behind the man preening its long tail feathers, paying little attention to the goings on in the room.

“I’ve observed that you and young Harry have become quite close with your new guardianship. How is the boy doing?” Dumbledore asks him.

“He’s adjusting as well as can be expected. Some classes are better than others,” Severus tells the man, refusing to give more information that what is directly asked of him.

“Good, good. And your relationship with him, he seems to be very comfortable with you if the incident over Halloween is any indication,” the man asks, blue eyes twinkling in that knowing way.

“It seems his previous guardians failed to provide the boy with comfort, he’s become attached,” Severus drawls out.

Dumbledore moves his hand over his long white beard pursing his lips slightly. Severus remains silent in his seat, waiting for the man to get to the point of this conversation.

“Such a shame that Lily’s family had such a hard time with his disability,” Dumbledore says regret tinging his voice.

“Yes, a shame,” Severus says containing his anger. Harry’s disability does not create a ‘hard time’ for those around him. Adapting life to make Harry’s life better takes next to no work beyond simple consideration and small adaptations to day-to-day life. None of which has felt hard for the people around him.

“Is there a purpose to this conversation aside from checking in on Harry?” Severus asks, annoyed at this inane conversation with no purpose in sight.

“Yes, yes. I was hoping to understand your plans for the holidays. You see, I think it best if Harry were to spend his time here at the castle where he can be best protected,” the old man tells Severus causing the hairs on Severus neck to rise.

“I can assure you that Harry will be more than safe at my home over the holidays,” Severus tells the man, on edge as to why the Headmaster would be so invested in his son’s holiday plans.

“Be that as it may, you are a former Death Eater and it would be best that Harry is kept somewhere far from potential influence from your old friends and… colleagues,” Dumbledore tells him, attempting to play on Severus immense guilt from his past. Things he’s yet to tell his eleven-year-old son about his role in the young boy’s parents deaths.

“That is a decision that Harry and I will be making. I do not see how your opinion comes into where my child spends his holidays, nor your need to check in on him this often. His grades are well above average; his professors have nothing but positive feedback for him, and he is well adjusted to his house with friends. I will not be indulging another one of these useless conversations about my child,” Severus tells him calmly, getting out of his uncomfortable seat to exit the office.

Chapter Text

Hermione became a permanent fixture amongst the trio of first year Slytherins, joining them for study sessions in the library and exploring corridors with Harry when she could be dragged away from her books. More often than not, if you needed to find Harry Prince, you could look for the platinum blonde boy and the bushy dark-haired girl and find a small boy with vibrant green eyes and a head covered in rarely tamed raven black hair.

“I’m going to need to revise more for our final exams. It’s clear they are testing on far more than I anticipated,” Hermione says, books clutched in her arms, a look of intense concentration already on her face.

“No, not another colour coded study guide,” Draco groans out, dropping his head down to the desk causing a distinct thud to rock their table.

Harry ignores their near constant banter instead pulling out his string and thinking of how annoying the school had been about his midterms. Before the tests had started, his dad had asked him how he usually did them in his primary school. Harry had usually done verbal exams where a proctor would join him in his own room and would read out the question. Harry would then verbally answer each question since his school didn’t have the ‘budget’ for a braille writer. Here, Harry thought maybe he could translate the tests himself and use his dictation quill to answer each question while a teacher is present to make sure he’s not cheating.

All of his professor had been okay with the idea, that was until Dumbledore had asked the school board to approve the accommodation. Certain members had raised concerns with the prospect of cheating.

+++

Flashback Severus Prince POV

Severus is one wrong word away from cursing every last member of the school board. He might even include Lucius in there just to complete the set. The idiocy, the absolute dunderheads, forcing him to come and justify reasonable accommodations for his child. Accommodations all the professors had approved of before Dumbledore had gotten wind of the plans and then proceeded to inform Severus that all testing changes had to be approved of by the schoolboard and a representative from the Ministry’s Department of Magical Education.

Severus’ eyes travel over the group of people gathered in the meeting room of the castle, all of them elected by the other parents to hold a seat to represent the parent’s interest in the school. A farce if you ask Severus. If this board held any power or common sense, they wouldn’t be cycling through Defence teachers like the position is cursed - each new professor chosen by Dumbledore less competent than the last. Case in point: Quirrell. The stutter he developed over the summer hols is impossible to follow and not suited to teach students one of their most valuable subjects. Severus shudders to think how Dumbledore will find someone even less competent than him for next year when Quirrell meets his inevitable end to employment.

Maybe with Lucius on the board this year, they will finally be able to do something productive for their students.

“It appears everyone is present for today’s meeting. Thank you all for taking time out of your busy schedules to discuss the matter at hand,” Dumbledore beings the meeting.

“As some of you may know Harry Potter joined Hogwarts this year,”

“Prince,” Severus cuts in correcting Dumbledore, “I know it’s a challenging habit to break for our more… aged members but do remember that Harry’s name is Prince as per his adoption and his own preference.”

Dumbledore only gives Severus a slight nod before carrying on, “Harry Prince, has joined us and has some unfortunate… challenges with his learning. We are here today to discuss the best way to move forward with his testing as he is unable to take his midterms and eventually final exams, with the other students.”

“Why is that?” A woman with the most ostentatious hat Severus has ever seen asks.

“Young Mr. Prince is blind,” Dumbledore tells her.

“Why hasn’t that been healed? Why have you allowed him into the school?” The vile woman asks.

“My son’s medical history and right to an education is not up for debate by board,” Severus sneers out at the woman.

“Now, Severus, my boy. We cannot deny people their curiosity. Lady Longbottom, I assure you that young Mr. Prince’s condition is permanent and does not impact his ability to do magic,” Dumbledore tells her.

Longbottom, no surprise there – Neville's quiet, fear filled personality makes much more sense now. Severus had informed Minerva that the boy’s homelife was likely less than stellar and that she’d immediately informed Dumbledore of the issue.

“So, accommodate the boy. I fail to see why we were dragged here on a Saturday afternoon to have this inane conversation,” Lucius says waving a hand in dismissal.

“What type of accommodation are you proposing?” Another member asks looking at Severus.

“For Harrison’s examinations we would like to propose a similar system to what he’s experienced in his previous school. He will take his examinations at the same time as his peers in a separate room with an exam proctor, one of the professors. He will be provided his exam which he can translate to braille, and he will use his dictation quill to answer each question. We would also recommend allowing an extra thirty minutes per examination to compensate for the dictation quills writing speed,” Severus tells them keeping his voice neutral.

“How do we know he won’t be cheating with the translation? None of us can read this… braille,” Lady Longbottom asks.

“The spell Harry uses is of my own creation and will only translate the words on the page. He cannot add or remove any content from the page. Harry has mastered the spell, there is no concern that he’d fail to translate his questions correctly,” Severus tells them exasperated by this conversation.

“Again, why are we having this conversation? This all seems very reasonable,” Lucius says.

“I’m inclined to agree,” the Ministry representative says, inclining her head to Severus.

Lady Longbottom still looks put out that she’s not receiving any further information about Harry while the other parents, like Lucius, seem mildly confused by why they are discussing this topic on a Saturday afternoon.

“Very well. if there are no further objections, we will move forward with the accommodation for Mr. Prince,” Dumbledore says, getting Harry’s name correct.

“Professor Prince, before you leave, I have a question,” the Ministry representative says approaching Severus. She looks like a no-nonsense type of person, her hair pulled back in a tight bun, blue ministry robes well-tailored, not a wrinkle in sight.

“My name is Sarah Cods, I hear that you’ve been creating a practical version of the Astronomy course and I’m curious if you’d be willing to share it with me when it’s completed?” Ms. Cods asks him, shocking Severus.

“I have been. It is tailored specifically to Harry,” Severus says hesitant to hand over his work to a ministry lacky.

“It presents an opportunity to move away from those pesky midnight classes, especially for our young children. If you’d allow the Department of Magical Education review the course, we may be able to allow it to be considered for OWL and NEWT accreditation if it meets certain criteria. I’ll send along a document if you and Harry are so inclined,” Miss. Cods tells him. Severus let’s lose a small smile; OWL and NEWT scores would help Harry so much with this core course.

“Thank you I’d appreciate that, and so will Harry,” Severus tells her, shaking her hand before leaving the room to find Lucius.

In the hallway, most people who had been in the meeting are still milling about chatting amongst themselves or strategically eaves dropping. That’s what Severus finds Lucius doing, standing just close enough to Dumbledore and Lady Longbottom to hear them, but far enough away to go unnoticed. He stands with Lady Zabini and Mrs. Patil, both talking while Lucius appears to be paying attention nodding along with their conversation. Approaching the small group, Severus catches whisps of conversations taking place around him.

“…Boy Who Lived, blind,”

“Safe with that man?”

“Wonderful father,”

“What would the Potters have thought...”

Severus can’t help but cringe a little knowing that as more people learn about Harry, the more he’s likely to appear in the Magical media - fodder for the sensational rage.

“Severus, brilliant adaptations you’ve made for Heir Prince,” Lucius says making sure to use Harry’s title.

“I am just trying to ensure he receives the education he deserves,” he tells Lucius, inclining his head.

“From what Blaise has told me, you’re doing an excellent job Lord Prince,” Lady Zabini tells him offering a small smile and nod of the head.

Behind them there is a scoff.

“Something in your throat Lady Longbottom,” Mrs. Patil asks over Severus shoulder.

“You think that Death Eater deserves to be a parent? Raise that poor child, hasn’t even had him healed properly,” Lady Longbottom sneers.

Beside him Lucius stiffens ever so slightly at the venom in the woman voice. Her accusations are nothing new to them, every so often someone likes to throw their dark marks back at them, despite the fact that both had be acquitted of their crimes. In Lucius’s case, they had used the Imperius as his defence, and a large sum of money in the right hands. Impossible to disprove by the Ministry and in the confusion of the war ending, he’d managed to slip through the cracks barely noticed by the common people.

Severus had avoided Azkaban through the unfortunate grace of Dumbledore claiming Severus as a spy for him within the Death Eaters. Instead, Hogwarts became his prison - his sentence to spend a decade trapped in this castle teaching children the art of Potions while being the youngest Potion Master in history, gifted beyond measure in the art, but hobbled as a professor instead and doomed to follow in the footsteps of Horace Slughorn.

“I think that you don’t get a say, nor an opinion on how my son is raised, as per the will of his parents,” Severus tells her, noting the look of shock that brushes past Dumbledore’s face. Ah yes, the will. An unfortunate slip of the tongue for Severus having planned to keep that rather interesting document to their small group a little longer.

Lady Longbottom turns sharply away from him moving down the corridor and away from the meeting followed by several other parents of Gryffindor children.

“How she raised that sweet boy Neville is beyond me,” Mrs. Patil says watching the woman walk away with sadness in her eyes. The boy’s story is a mystery to no one - raised by his paternal grandmother after his parents were tortured into insanity by Narcissa’s mad sister.

Shaking his head and giving Severus’s arm a light squeeze, Lucius bids their group goodbye with Severus quickly taking his leave back to his rooms in the dungeons.

+++

POV Harrison Prince

“Dad!” Harry yells, throwing open his dad’s office door stepping into the room and heading to the couch.

“What?” Dad yells back from his room.

“I’m packed and ready to go,” Harry says, dropping his backpack on the ground with his homework for the winter hols in it.

“And where is your shadow?” Dad asks, walking into the room placing his own bag down on the ground beside Harry’s.

“If the lecture I got before I left was true, his hair required some form of conditioning,” Harry tells him waving a dismissive hand in the air, “gives you time to tell me what the plan is for our hols!”

Harry can hear his dad chuckling at his enthusiasm. Harry knows he’s nearly vibrating in his seat too excited for first Christmas with his family.

“Well, if I remember correctly, we have a Chinese food date, at least one record store stop, and I think you could do with a shopping trip to Diagon so we can collect any Yule gifts you’d like to give,” Dad tells him, dropping onto the couch beside Harry and letting him settle in beside him to cuddle.

“Sounds very busy,” Harry tells him, resting his head against his Dad’s chest and listening to his heartbeat. They wait for Draco to arrive so they can head to Malfoy Manor and avoid the Hogwarts Express.

Finally stepping through the front doors of the manor, Harry feels at home again - the clean scent of the meticulously cleaned home, the fresh flowers Aunt Cissa has somewhere in the grand entry.

“Boys!” Aunt Cissa lets out wrapping Harry and Draco in a tight hug.

“Hello, mum,”

“Hi Aunt Cissa,” Harry says hugging her back just as tightly.

“Come on let’s get you boys settled and then we can have lunch,” she tells them, leading them through the halls of the Manor and to their rooms asking about their term and how they liked their classes, who their friends were and how they’d met.

Harry and Draco told her all about Daph and Hermione, how the twins sometimes hung out with them in the library. The other Slytherins they’d met and sometimes spent time playing games in the common room. Draco even mentioned Marcus and Adrian, which lead to a long rant about quidditch while they he unpacked first his things then Harry’s and Aunt Cissa sat on the bed listening. Draco had gone to the games without Harry, letting him avoid the large crowds and loud cheering. Apparently the two games he had attended had been quite exciting with Slytherin winning both by a landslide. The game does sound intriguing, if a little violent, with the Bludgers being hit at other players and the midair fights to get this Quaffle.

Harry listens, soaking up the warmth of his family enjoying the small laughs that Aunt Cissa gives at some of Draco’s stories about the twins and their antics going as far to as to tell her about some of the ideas they’d had for pranks. Some the twins may, or may not, have been tested on one Ronald Weasley. Harry had asked Draco why he never did the pranks himself, and Draco had scoffed at him, telling Harry “he’s a Slytherin and not about to get caught doing ‘minion’ work”. The twins had just bowed, proclaimed themselves as the Little Prince’s knights and run off to try making Rons front teeth grow until they were the size of a horse’s.

Harry and Draco easily slipped into their usual routine at the Manor, even if they missed sharing a room like they did at school. Harry’s dad was home with them working on his Potions projects and spending time with Harry reading or testing out his new chess skills from Draco and Daph’s attempts to teach him.

“Harry,” Dad yells at him from somewhere nearby.

“Over here!” Harry yells back, letting his dad come to him.

Hearing his footsteps enter the study, Harry turned back to his books about runes. They had been challenging to translate until Harry had figured out that he could focus his intent to have the rune become raised in this translation instead of the spell skipping over them leaving bank spaces.

“Hi, Dad,” Harry says brightly smiling towards his dad.

“Could I interest you in some holiday shopping?” His dad asks, approaching Harry’s spot on the comfortable overstuffed chair that he’d burrowed into with blankets and his book.

“Is it just going to be us?” Harry asks hesitantly.

“Yes, just you and me,” dad tells him laughing lightly.

It’s not that Harry doesn’t want to spend time with Draco, but shopping with the menace is always exhausting, plus Harry needs to get him a gift still.

“I’m ready let’s go!” Harry tells him calling Dobby to grab Harry’s purse and cloak so they can leave.

His dad leads him to a Floo and quickly they are off to Diagon Alley to get gifts for their friends and family.

“Let’s start with the obvious, what do you want to get Draco?” Dad asks.

“I was thinking something dragon themed, but unique. Not plush or anything like that,” Harry says trying to think of the best possible gift for Draco.

“We can look for that while we grab the other gifts. What about your other friends?”

“I think sweets for the other Slytherins. We’re friends, but not close. Hermione, book for sure she loves to read. Daph, jewelry or something that sparkles, ideally something nature themed she really likes Herbology. The twins need potions ingredients,”

“Absolutely not. I am not funding those menaces,” dad says.

Harry pouts a little, but doesn’t push his luck.

“What about, if we did some potions books?” Harry asks.

“Fine, brat. I get to pick the potions ingredients,” Dad tells him muttering ‘manipulative little Slytherins’ under his breath with far more pride in his voice than he probably intended.
“Deal,” Harry beams, taking hold of his Dad’s hand letting him guide him through the stores.

For Hermione, he gets two books - one on Magical bloodlines and heirships since she’d shown interest in that and another on more advanced magical theory that his dad suggested. For Daph - Harry had found a bracelet with vines intertwined made of silver. The leave felt delicate to Harry’s fingers, each leaf carved with fine details. His Dad said it was beautiful, and Harry thought that it was just the right thing for Daph. His Dad picks out the twin’s potions ingredients telling Harry that he’s purchasing nothing poisonous, nothing that can be used for ‘pyro techniques’, and absolutely nothing that could be used against him. Harry did not fail to notice he did not mention him in his rant about pranking.

His dad handled Aunt Cissa and Uncle Lu’s gifts leaving just Draco for them to find something for. So far, they hadn’t found what Harry is looking for, but they had one more store for to check out.

The area they’ve moved into has magic that feels different from where they’d been - sharper, slightly thicker, more present in the air around him. Before long, his dad guides him into a store, a small bell dinging above him indicates their entrance into the store to the people inside.

“Hello, Professor Snape. How can I help you today?” A woman asks from across the store. She sounds pleasantly surprised to see his dad, which mean she’s probably a Slytherin and previous student of his.

“My son is looking for a gift for a friend that is dragon themed, and I thought you might be able to help with that,” Dad tells the woman.

“I have something special in right now. Freshly enchanted by a master and it was recently delivered,” she says brightly, rustling around in what sounds like boxes for the item she’s looking for, “yes here we are,”

A wooden box is placed on the counter in front of them. It sounds almost hollow from the way sound echoes within it.

“This is an enchanted dragon model, very rare bit of enchanting something only a master can do. I will admit, it’s an expensive piece but if you have someone who is obsessed with dragons there’s not a better gift,” as she explains, Harry can hear the rustling of something coming from the box and a small screech.

“Impressive,” Dad says voice only slightly tinged with awe, “it’s a Chinese Fireball - long elegant dragon reflective of the mountainous region they inhabit where they must maneuver through tall peaks typically shrouded in clouds. It’s a brilliant crimson colour with bright yellow eyes. It looks like it can even breath out small puffs of flame.”

“Correct you are professor. It also reflects the temperament of its larger brethren, very loyal to those that it views as its family. They can be quite temperamental though so do avoid offending her,” she tells them.

Dad takes Harry’s hand turning it palm up to let the little enchanted dragon crawl onto his palm. He can feel small puffs of air pass over his fingers as the little dragon sniffs him before she curls up and lays down in his hand, her tail lazily dangling off too long to fit in his small hands.

“Can we get her?” Harry asks his dad, running his fingers along her length feeling each scale and ridge along her body, it’s gives off a light warmth from her internal fire.

“Yes, we can get her,” Dad tells him then starts negotiating the price with the woman behind the counter.

Finally, they settle on a sum that Harry’s is pretty sure is very large amount of money.

“Here are the care instructions. The enchantment is permanent, but if there are any problems you can bring her back and we can check for any issues with the magic,” she tells them, placing a piece of paper in the bag with the box the little dragon came in.

“Thank you, Dad. Draco is going to love it,” Harry says taking hold of his dad’s arm again to be led out of the shop and back out into the alley.

“Of course, Harry. Draco will love it, and I’m sure you’ll also enjoy having the little enchantment around,” Dad says, patting Harry’s hand lightly in the crook of his elbow.

“We have one more stop, I hope you are hungry,”

Together they walk through the alley with the sharp magic and back into the light buzz of Diagon Alley, then finally out of the magical area all together. The absence of magic makes Harry feel weird - like he’s missing something important, like he can’t hear the world around him anymore. Harry feels his clothing changing from his robes into more muggle clothing.

“Where are we going?” Harrys asks curious why they’re now in the muggle world.

“I promised you Chinese over the break. What better opportunity than now?” Dad excitedly tells him.

Harry smiles ready to try new food, something the Dursleys would have never ordered or shared with him. Harry can barely contain his excitement when Dad opens the door to a restaurant - a wall of new smells and sounds wash over his senses. Spice mixed with sweetness, there’s something fried in hot oils, and many many more scents that Harry has never encountered before. The sounds are also new and exciting. Muted yelling in a language he doesn’t understand, multiple excited conversations spread across the room, some in another language, others in English, the room has a buzz of excitement throughout it.

“Table for two please,” Dad asks someone before leading Harry further into the room. His dad settles him into a chair with a warn cushion and wooden slated back. It’s not exactly comfortable, but Harry couldn’t be happier.

“Any requests?” Dad asks him.

“What are my options?” Harry asks unsure of what food is even offered in a place like this.

His dad begins rattling off a long list of appetizers before Harry interrupts him.

“Can we just order your favourites?” Harry asks overwhelmed by all the options before them.

His dad orders them five dishes, teasing that the leftovers will be even better the next day for breakfast. Waiting for their food, he and Dad talk about the gifts they got for everyone and Harry’s excitement for his first Christmas with gifts and a family to share it with. His dad tells him about some of his Christmases at Hogwarts with his mom, how she’s always themed his gifts after potions ingredients, getting progressively rarer and more extravagant gifts as the years at school went on. His dad had always given her something themed after her name - dried lilies, glass lilies, a note nook with lilies embossed on the cover, each of the gifts sounded beautiful.

Their food arrives quickly starting with egg fried rice and prawn crackers, followed quickly by crispy shredded beef, sweet and sour chicken, and stir-fried veg all smothered in a curry. Dad tells him that crisps are also popular, but since they will have so many leftovers already that more food probably wasn’t a good idea.

All of it is amazing and every bite is filled with new flavours. The sourness of the chicken, the sharp spice of crispy beef with the salty crackers that stick to your tongue if you let them rest there too long. Harry can’t help letting out happy hums with each bite.

“I take it you like the food?” his dad asks him.

“Yes!” Harry exclaims shoveling another bite full of flavour into his mouth.

Swallowing down his latest bite Harry asks, “what other kinds of food can we try?”

“You seem to be enjoying spice. We could try Indian next, maybe some Thia food? It can have quite the kick to it,” Dad tells him.

Smiling, Harry takes another bite of his food, excited for whatever comes next.

Chapter Text

“Get up, get up, get up!” An excited Draco sing songs while jumping on Harry’s bed, narrowly avoiding landing on Harry before Harry catches him in his arms and pulls him down on the bed.

“Shhh, sleep,” Harry whispers into his ear still holding onto Draco.

“No sleep. Presents,” Draco whispers back flicking Harry’s ear.

Harry laughs lightly giving Draco an actual hug, “Happy Yule.”

“Happy Yule. Now get up! I got you the best gift,” Draco says pushing Harry off his own bed and towards his bathroom.

Harry quickly makes his way to the bathroom, “I definitely got you the best gift.”

Before gifts can be exchanged, the overly excited boys are forced to sit down and eat their breakfast. Draco fills Harry’s plate with eggs, toast, sausage, and fruits making sure Harry got a wide variety of things to choose from. Ever since their shopping day, Harry noticed more spices used in his food, new flavours creeping into the Malfoy kitchen. Some he loved, some he found interesting, and a few he’d ask to never touch his plate again. He’s finally able to eat more after all the potions and constant snacks handed to him by Draco all day long.

“Gifts!” Draco exclaims as soon as Harry pushes his plate away from himself, signaling he’s done eating.

“Hmm, I still have some tea I’d like to finish,” dad tells them, chuckling lightly at the little growl that Draco lets out.

“Come on you little gift monster, it’s time for gifts,” Uncle Lu says, letting Draco grab hold of Harry to lead him into family room where all their gifts have been deposited before one of the large fireplaces.

Draco leads Harry to a love seat, pulling him down so they can start opening gifts.

~Filthy two legs locking me in a box,~ a small feminine voice hisses from Harry’s left.

Cocking his head slightly, Harry listens trying to catch the voice again.

~Should be free and warm in the sun, not in a dark box,~ she hisses again.

“Is there a snake in one of those boxes?” Harry asks.

“No! She was supposed to stay quiet,” Draco whines, taking a box from someone and placing it in Harry’s lap.

The box is light; the snake inside must be small because the box itself isn’t very big either. Running his hands over it, he feels the lid tied shut with a neat little bow. Pulling lightly on one of the loops Harry removes the ribbon from the box handing it to Draco and lifts the lid.

~Hello pretty girl, my name is Harry,~ he tells the snake making sure to speak in Parseltongue.

~Speaker! You’ve freed me from my prison,~ she exclaims, bumping her nose against his hand at the rim of the box.

Harry can’t help but chuckle at the dramatics of snakes. They remind him of Draco sometimes, always sure that they deserve the best, and they do.

~Prison? It feels like a nice box to me. How long were you in there?~ he asks.

~I don’t know, but it was dark, and small with no sun or warmth,~ she tells him her tone just shy of a wail.

~I promise you’ll never have to be in a box like that again,~ Harry tells her encouraging her to climb onto his hand.

“Do you like her?” Draco asks him voice full of uncertainty.

“I love her. She reminds me of you,” Harry tells him, reaching out his snake free arm to hug Draco.

“Is that a good thing?” Draco asks.

“Yes,” Harry tells him letting the little snake make her way up his arm to rest around his neck.

“I thought she could help you. She can see and tell you things to help keep you out of trouble. Uncle Sev told me about how muggles use dogs to help them when they need it, but you can talk to snakes! So, I thought one would be even better for you, and she’s young so you can teach her,” Draco rambles on excitedly to Harry.

“She’s perfect thank you,” Harry tells Draco running his fingers along the smooth scales of his new snake.

~Do you have a name pretty girl?~ Harry asks her.

~No, will you be giving me one?~ she asks him her tongue flicking out to brush against his cheek. She feels about twenty centimetres long, small but likely to grow since Draco says she’s young.

~How does Iris sound?~

~Fitting,~ she says settling back down around Harry’s neck.

“She’s a non-venomous corn snake. A rare variety - white with orange and red speckles. She will grow to be about three feet long, small enough for you to keep her with you when you need her,” his dad tells him.

“I’ve already spoken with the school board and a majority of its members are fine with the snake given she’s not dangerous and I assured them that you would have full control of her,” Uncle Lucius tells him.

“Thank you. This is the best thing anyone has ever given me,” Harry says tears stinging his eyes as he takes in his family’s presence around him.

Even now, months later, Harry can’t believe how lucky he is to have these people as his family. He’s surrounded by people who love him, who don’t expect him to conform to the world, but help him navigate it just the way he is. His dad’s constant attempts to help him excel in his schoolwork and make Harry feel like he’s capable of everything his peers are makes Harry love him more every day. Draco always including him activities, teaching him things like chess and reading books aloud to him when he’s too tired to use braille.

Even the Malfoys have been supportive of him – always including him and his dad in their family, advocating for him at school. Making sure he was adopted by his dad when they found him alone and lost in the Alley. No one had ever seen him, seen past his disability to the boy who just wanted a family.

“Well, it’s a good thing we aren’t even close to done with opening gifts!” Uncle Lu let’s out excitedly before another gift lands in his hands and Harry starts excitedly opening them, Draco or his dad narrating what he’s receive.

Slowly a pile of new belongings surrounds Harry - new robes, books, several muggle books written in braille, his own chess set so when he plays, he’ll have his own pieces. Harry runs his hands over the soft silk of his new pjs admiring the glide of his fingers over the fabric, it reminds him of water the way it flows over his fingers. The books are ones he’s never read before: The Chronicles of Narnia, The Lord of the Rings, Charlotte’s Web, and Pride and Prejudice. Harry can’t wait to read them; he even promised that this time he’d read the books aloud for Draco.

“I have one last gift for you,” Dad tells him placing one heavy box on his lap and one smaller box against his leg.

“I’m pretty sure this is two gifts,” Harry says running his hands over the tightly wrapped boxes.

“It’s technically eight gifts if you’re going to argue semantics,” Dad chuckles at him.

Smiling, Harry starts unwrapping the gifts from his dad. His first ever Christmas couldn’t get any better, Harry can’t even imagine what else his Dad could have given him.

~When can we hunt? I am hungry,~ Iris complains from around Harry’s neck.

~Soon pretty girl,~ Harry reassures her, opening the larger box and feeling the curved edges of the thing inside. There are two sections on either side of it with porous openings in small honeycomb shapes. Along the top there are six buttons with raised symbols on them. Between the two porous sections are more buttons with a smooth glass like rectangle separating them.

“What is this?” Harry asks lifting it out of the box with both hands.

“It’s a CD player. The smaller box is a portable one that you can plug headphones into and listen by anywhere you want,” Dad tells him, moving the empty box off his lap, “I got you a variety of CDs including my current favourite AC/DC. I also got you Nirvana, which is brand new, Whitney Houston, Prince, Cindy Lauper, as well as your mother’s favourites Queen and David Bowie.”

Harry clutches the CD player close to his body tears prickling at the back of his eyes, his Dad had given him another connection to his mother, something else to hold onto of hers.

“Thank you, Dad,” Harry gets out, voice quivering as tears break past eye lashes streaking hot lazy lines down his face.

“Oh Harrison, you’re very welcome,” Dad tells him, pulling Harry into his arms and giving him a tight hug.

Harry had given the Malfoys gifts his dad had recommended, Aunt Cissa received emerald earrings while he got Uncle Lu a set of quills. His dad’s gift was his second favourite after Draco’s. On one of his walks near the forest with Daph, Harry had found some unicorn hair hanging off a low branch of a tree. The hair had pulsed with magic drawing Harry’s attention to it. He’d grabbed hold of the five hairs hanging from the branch and letting the bright magic they carried wash over him, something he’d never felt before. Daph had given him a phial to place the hair to keep them, telling him something about fate. Harry remembered that unicorn hairs ‘freely given’ were considered one of the most powerful healing ingredients for potions similar to even phoenix tears from the book Draco had read to him on the train. He’d known this would be a perfect gift for his dad.

“Ah, Harry?” Dad asks him hesitantly.

“Hmm?” Harry mumbles running his hand over the box in his lap with Draco’s gift in it.

“Is this unicorn hair?”

“Yes!” Harry says brightly diving into the story of finding the hairs and thanking his dad for the book that had helped him learn more about the precious ingredient.

“We should have him place bets,” Uncle Lu whispers under his breath before letting out small yelp.

“I… thank you, Harry, this is the best gift anyone has ever given me,” his dad tells him voice cracking slightly while pulling Harry into his lap for a tight hug. Harry can’t help but smile into his dad's happy that he likes his gift.

“You still have one more gift to give,” his dad tells him tapping the little box with the dragon enchantment inside.

Wiggling off of his Dad’s lap, Harry extends his free hand towards Draco who grabs hold of it pulling Harry towards him.

“I still have your gift,” Harry tells Draco, handing him the box he’d picked out for the dragon. The box has a texture that feels like scales just like the dragon. His dad assured him the box is the perfect shade of green for a Slytherins gift. Dad hadn’t even tried to help Harry when he’d tied the ribbon around the box creating a big bow. Harry thought that it felt like a perfect bow and his dad assured him that it was.

Listening as Draco unties the bow, the rough scratch of fabric against the scaled box tells Harrys he’s moved on to opening the lid.

“Oh,” Draco breathes out when he removed the lid from the box the little dragon chirping at him.

Harry giggles softly at Draco’s sharp intake of breath.

“It’s a Chinese Fireball. Apparently, the enchantment that makes it is very rare because it’s permanent. She’ll even blow fire for you,” Harry tells Draco excited by how speechless the other boy is, “do you like her?”

“Like her? I love her, she’s adorable. She’s the prettiest colour of red and her little spikes are so cute,” Draco gushes over the little dragon in his hand.

“I have the care instructions for her when you’re ready. She doesn’t need to eat, but you do need to feed a little magic into her to sustain the charms that keep her functioning,” Dad tells Draco.

“Thank you, Harry, Uncle Sev. She’s perfect,” Draco says wrapping his arms around Harry, a small chirp tells Harry the dragon has settled on Draco’s shoulder.

~Snack?~ Iris asks wiggling slightly around Harry’s neck.

~No not snack. You will not eat the little dragon,~ Harry tells her giving her a slight tap with his finger.

“What is your snake on about?” Draco asks.

“Uhh, she’s hungry…” Harry says moving his hand from Iris to the back of his neck.

Uncle Lu and aunt Cissa both laugh while his dad moves from his chair.

“Keep her away from Elizabeth,” Draco says aghast, pulling away with his little dragon screeching from his shoulder.

“I promise she won’t. We had a little chat,” Harry reassures Draco.

“Elizabeth?” Uncle Lu asks before giving another sharp yelp.

This is the best Christmas that Harry has ever had, surrounded by his family, his first time getting gifts. As wonderful as getting all is gifts was though, Harry’s favourite part was listening to the music from this CD player. Harry and Draco had a dance party learning the words to a few songs to sing to each other while bouncing around Harry’s room when they should have been sleeping. The adults in the house knew the young boys were up long past their bedtime, but it was winter hols, and Christmas, so there was no harm in letting them enjoy their night.
Harry’s favourite so far is Queen, one of his mom’s favourites. His dad’s favourite is a close second - the fast-paced catchy music from AC/DC was so easy for them to learn and sing together. Harry loves it all, because not only can he hear the music, but he can feel it too. He can feel the base thrumming through his body like little waves of magic. Finally, after exhausting themselves Harry and Draco fall asleep on Harry's bed, Iris curled up on Harry's pillow with a warming charm on the case, Elizabeth nestled into her coils, and Harry and Draco wrapped around each other wearing their new silk pjs that unbeknownst to Harry, match.

+++

POV Severus Prince

“I found him!” Lucius lets out, dropping down into his favourite seat in the family sitting room.

“Who?” Severus asks taking a sip of his whisky.

“Lupin. Slippery bugger that one. I found him in the muggle world working at a grocery store. Man’s a little… pathetic. But he should meet our needs. No one has had contact with him is years from the Magical community. Unlikely that someone like Dumbledore has influenced his views in the recent past,” Lucius says making Severus rolls his eyes.

Yes, Lupin historically is rather pathetic. His failure as a prefect in their school days highlighted the man’s lack of backbone, unable to stand up to his friends bullying other students even while in a position to help them. It’s one of the reasons that Slytherin’s prefects tend to be a balance of academically inclined, as well as strong protectors. Adrian Pucey being a prime example, more than willing to throw a needed curse while also showing a first year around the school on their first day.

“It’s disheartening to hear that he hasn’t changed much in the past decade,” Severus says letting his best friends fill in the blanks.

“Is he pathetic enough to help us?” Narcissa asks.

“I’d say so, especially if we offer to pay him. With those creature laws in place there are not many opportunities for someone in his condition to provide or themselves,” Lucius tells her while checking off something on one of the lists in his notebook.

“When are you going to contact him?” Severus asks, noting that his time is rather limited with the winter holiday coming to an end tomorrow.

“He’ll be here in five minutes,” Lucius says off handedly like he hasn’t just dropped a dung bomb in the middle of the sitting room.

“Excuse me?” Severus asks in shock.

“I did not think there was any point in waiting. The sooner we can send him off to Romania to do research the better,” Lucius says shrugging.

“How you are a political genius and an absolute dunderhead in everything else is beyond me,” Severus hisses out.

“Trust me. It’s a mystery no one can solve,” Narcissa says sharing in Severus misery.

“Well I,”

“Hello? Sorry, am I early?” A man asks from the doorway to the sitting room escorted by one of the house elves.

“No, you’re perfectly on time,” Lucius says sweeping forward to grasp Lupins hand and guide him to a seat.

Severus takes a moment to appraise Lupin. The tall man is wearing worn out clothing, areas are patched or worn thin from use. There are no stains or signs of dirt, so he must take good care of his belongings ensuring that they survive as long as possible which corroborates Lucius finding that the man is barely making it. Lupin’s clothing is well fitted to him despite its state, a beige over coat covering a light grey sweater and dark slacks.

Across his face, Severus notes the many silver scars from the man’s transformations - something he shouldn’t have given the Wolfsbane potion being available. He looks much older than their thirty-one years of age, the hard life of a werewolf clearly taking a toll in him.

“I must confess, I’m rather confused why you’ve asked me here?” Lupin asks his eyes scanning the room they’ve settled into.

“What would you do to ensure the safety of Lily and Potter’s son?” Severus question clearly shocks the man. His face draining of colour, his brows becoming furrowed as if lost in a thought.

“Anything, but I hardly see what that has to do with Lord and Lady Malfoy and a potions master,” Remus says clearly confused.

“We need your help with protecting Harry, Harrison,” Narcissa says her voice steeped in motherly concern. Real or a manipulation tactic, it’s impossible to tell.

“Why would you be protecting Harry? No offence, but your family, your friends, are the very thing he needs protection from. Tell me your arms no longer marked,” Lupin says jutting his chin out slightly while his eyes rove over Lucius then Severus.

“I adopted Harrison Potter over the summer, so yes, we will be protecting Harry, despite our marks,” Severus tells Lupin bracing for the man’s reaction.

It does not take long before the wolfs eyes flicker to amber.

“YOU WHAT?”

Chapter Text

“Harry is now legally, Harrison James Prince, heir to the houses of Potter and Prince,” Severus tells the agitated werewolf who’s now pacing the study, giving off a frantic air.

“What gave you the right to adopt him? You weren’t even friends with James and Lily by the end,” Lupin nearly spits at him while taking long strides from one side of the sitting room to the other.

Severus can’t help but sympathize with man. It’s not like he thought he would end up as Harry’s father, he didn’t even expect Lily to forgive him the way she did. But apparently the Potters were full of surprises and endlessly forgiving - or stupid depending on how you look at it.

“Lily and James left Harry’s guardianship to Black and me. Given Black’s current living situation, that fell to me. Lily insisted that James and I reconciled before they went into hiding. Apparently, they saw fit to update their will,” Severus tells the agitated man.

“But you haven’t had him since they died. Where was he?” Lupin asks him, pausing in his pacing as things slowly start to click.

“With Petunia,” Severus tells him fighting not to grit his teeth as he says it.

Lupins whole body stills becoming rigid at the name.

“No, he shouldn’t have been there. They hate magic. She didn’t even come to their wedding... James said they’d had a screaming match over how ‘freakish’ they were and allowing them to marry and procreate should be illegal since they were abominations,” Lupin says, sitting back down in his chair.

Everyone remains silent letting Lupin come to terms with what he’d learned so far before they add more information to the mix.

“Can I see him?” The man asks in a quiet voice.

“No, not yet,” Severus tells him, “We don’t fully trust you. If you can prove to us that you won’t bring him any harm, that you won’t abandon him again, then yes you can meet him. But first we have something to ask of you.”

“Slytherins,” Lupin whispers under his breath exasperated, “what do you want me to do to prove myself?”

“We need you to go investigate something in Albania for us. There’s no one else we can trust to send,” Lucius finally chimes in.

“What do you mean there’s no one else you can trust?” Lupin asks.

“Something is… wrong with more than just Harry’s living situation. We are fairly certain Black is innocent. Not to mention Dumbledore has been acting strange about Harry’s disability, and the Dark Lord has been suspiciously silent,” Lucius informs him.

“Harry’s disability?” Lupin asks his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Have you not seen a paper in the past six months?” Narcissa asks him somewhat shocked.

“No, I’ve been on the continent and isolated. It’s frankly astonishing that Lord Malfoy was able to find me,”

“Harry is blind,” Severus tells him watching for how Lupin will take the news.

“Blind as in he needs a strong prescription or…”

“Harry can see faint traces of light. Not enough to be woken up if his bedroom light is turned on. He reads using a muggle method called Braille where he uses his fingers to feel the letters. He’s quite accomplished at Charms, and I’ve adapted the Potions curriculum to him. Herbology was a challenge early on, but he’s found some very creative friends to help him with that class. He’s learning an adapted version of Astronomy. Heir Malfoy gifted him a snake for Yule that we are hoping will assist him in navigating the world,” Severus tells the concerned Lupin.

“And before you ask - no he cannot be healed, this is damage from the killing curse and cannot be reversed,” Severus says before the man can ask the question that everyone asks.

“I was going ask about the snake first actually,” Lupin says looking somewhat sheepish.

“Harry is a Parselmouth. Something we’re not exactly sure how he inherited, but the Potters are an old family with any number of ancestors,” Lucius tells him looking to Severus to see if there’s anything he’d add.

Lupin seems to be puzzled by the news, but willing to take it at face value for the time being.

“What do you need from me? How do I earn your trust?” Lupin finally asks them.

Narcissa speaks up now since this pertains to her portion of their plan.

“There have been reports of a wraith in an enchanted forest in Albania. We know that the Dark Lord spent time there in his youth learning about magic and we suspect it might be where he’s been hiding for the past decade. None of us can go investigate without raising suspicion and there is no one else that we trust that can go,” she tells him.

“But I’m someone no one is watching or cares about their whereabouts,” Lupin says nodding his head in a way that makes his shaggy hair fall over his eyes.

“Precisely. You also love Harry, and this is all for him. We need to know if the Dark Lord is close to returning, if he knows what is happening, and what his plans could be for Harry. But the three of us are too closely watched by both sides,” Narcissa tells him maintaining eye contact with the man, “and as a werewolf, you can go places we cannot.”

The look Lupin gives Severus could kill a man; his glare is dark amber eyes flashing slightly with the wolf beneath the man’s skin.

“That was not your secret to share Severus,” Lupin grinds out, his first time being truly angry during their conversation.

“I’m not going to defend my choices to you, Lupin, nor will I be letting you into our lives without Harry’s family knowing the inherent risks. Just take your potion. It is not as though you’re a danger to others,” Severus tells him waving his hand in dismissal.

Lupin gives him a strange look, “What potion?”

“The Wolfsbane of course. Your clear refusal to use it is somewhat insulting,” Severus tells him, annoyed that the person who’d inspired the potions creation has clearly refused to use said potion.

“That potion costs a fortune. I can’t afford to take it,” Lupin tells them sounding mildly self-conscious.

“I’ll prep six months’ worth for you to take with you,” Severus tells the man, mentally tallying all the ingredients that he will need to prepare such a large batch.

“I… thank you,” Lupin tells him.

“The stipulations for this arrangement are: you investigate what is going on in Albania, you cannot trust Dumbledore, he cannot know where you’ve been or what you are doing, and in exchange I will provide you with Wolfsbane monthly and you can meet Harry so long as you hold up your end of the bargain,” Severus tells the werewolf.

“We’ll owl you the funds and all the documentation we have about the forest. There’s something there, we just don’t know what,” Narcissa tells the man.

Lupin just nods his head in confirmation before a house elf ushers him out of the room and the house.

+++

Severus looked down at the collection of Prophet articles strewn across his desk that Lucius had meticulously collected that even whispered of Harry Potter. Anything that dared whisper about the weight of the Magical world resting on the shoulders of an eleven-year-old. Nothing made Severus more grateful than the Slytherins unspoken agreement to not tell Harry about his mentions in the British Magical world’s most popular rag dubbed a paper.

Scanning through the most popular articles, Severus’s scowl deepened with each headline.

‘Harry Potter – Saviour or Fraud?’

Rita Skeeter

September 2^nd 1991

Traveling on the Hogwarts Express, accompanied by a young Heir Malfoy, was a young raven-haired boy with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. Who was this young man?  None other than Harry Potter, the supposed saviour of the Magicalworld, alleged vanquisher of He Who Must Not Be Named, and the only survivor of the killing curse. According to well-placed sources, the boy’s legendary lightning bolt scar was on full display and easily spotted on his forehead when he arrived at Platform 9 ¾ flanked by both Lord and Lady Malfoy. In a surprising twist, he was also seen holding the arm of one Professor Severus Snape, youngest Potions Master and current Professor at Hogwarts school of witchcraft and Wizardry.

Now dear reader you may ask, why was the young man holding the arm of a Professor? Well according to the same well-placed source, our saviour, “The Boy Who Lived” is blind. You read that right, blind. Fully unable to see. Reportedly this is a side-effect of surviving the killing curse, whether it be due to the proximity to his eyes or that the curse would render one blind regardless of location is unknown at this time. Young Mr. Potter has been unavailable for comment on the matter, but rest assured this intrepid reporter will be investigating further why this young man has gone so long without having the affliction healed.

One would question the motivation of maintaining such a… disability until a formative age when so many potions and healing options exist to restore one’s sight.

One may also ask what the future of our saviour looks like given such a disability should he never have it corrected?

We have been forewarned to remain vigilant against the return of He Who Must Not Be Named. Prominent figures such as Albus Dumbledore, who was responsible for the downfall of Gellert Grindelwald - the last great Dark Lord - have warned that signs point to the return of dark times should you choose to believe such predictions.

Until next time.

‘Boy Who Descended into Darkness?’

Rita Skeeter

September 5^th 1991

It seems dear reader that I have further news regarding our young Boy Who Lived. Harry Potter has now become known as Harry Prince, adoptive son of one Severus Prince, Lord of the Prince Family and Potions professor at Hogwarts. This news comes as a shock to many when the name was called at the sorting ceremony on September 1^st. Not only was the boy’s name a shock, but so too was his house - a Potter sorted into Slytherin! You read that correctly, Slytherin. I searched many records and could not find mention of a single Potter ever being sorted into the house of serpents.

Is it possible that such influences as the known (exonerated) Death Eater’s Lucius Malfoy and Severus Prince (Snape) could have swayed the boy in their time caring for the young child? Does the dark call so loudly to a boy who’s survived the darkest of curses that he was so easily swayed from his parents Gryffindor courage to a Slytherin’s cunning?

These questions cause this reporter many a sleepless night in woah of our future. Can a boy so clearly aligned with the dark save us from its leader should he rise again? Can the killing curse leave behind more than just a scar and blindness?

Lord Prince chose not to provide a comment at the time of publishing this article, but rest assured I will continue my quest to understand out boy saviour and his role in our future.

‘The Boy Who Lived, a decoy, a deceit?’

November 1^st 1991

Rita Skeeter

Whispers have been spreading, and my attuned ears have been listening. What do they whisper? They whisper of a boy born at the end of July fated to save the Magical world from the likes of a Dark Lord bent on destroying the light and causing a descent into darkness for all those living. And I know dear reader that you are thinking of a well known boy,born at the end of July - Harry Prince (aka Harry Potter) who we have all assumed from his parent’s great sacrifice ten years ago, was in fact this boy. But let me remind you of another young heir born at the end of July whose parents made a similar sacrifice.

Frank and Alice Longbottom were tortured into insanity using the curciatus curse on the night of October 31^st 1982, the same night that Lily and James Potter were killed using the killing curse. Two families, two unforgivable curses, two young boys left orphaned. But one was left permanently disabled while another, the son of two decorated young Aurors, remains unharmed by the experience.

A source close to both families has shared with me that we, the public, may have been wrong in assuming the boy with the lightning bolt scar and lost vision is the survivor of He Who Must Not Be Named and instead the unharmed boy, hidden by his parents who withstood hours of torture is the true vanquisher. A boy who had the power to withstand such hardship may well be our true hope in this world.

Only time will tell, and of course, me.

Severus nearly burned the blasted articles. The speculation, the source, the person sharing Harry’s medical information. Whatever Albus Dumbledore was playing at trying to paint the quiet stuttering Gryffindor as saviour of the Magical world is dangerous. Not that having the focus and pressure off Harry isn’t a good thing, but Severus is not naive enough to believe this drivel. But the Magical world, they are like Poppy, who was grasping at a hope that doesn’t require them do the dirty work, to change, to save themselves. They can’t fathom a world in which someone has a disability, let alone that they could function and thrive with it.

“She really did us a favour with that last one. Shedding any doubt on the events of that night creates a case for us to have Sirius case looked at before the Wizengamont,” Lucius says from the entry to Severus room.

“It’s concerning how willing they are to rewrite history to meet their needs,” Severus tells his friend.

“Alleviating some of the pressure from Harry might be for the best, even if it does diminish the sacrifice his parents made,” Lucius tells him before leaving.

+++

POV Harrison Prince

Harry can’t help but smile as they get ready to Floo back to the school. This had been the best Yule/Christmas/New Years of his life. First, they’d celebrated Yule where Harry got gifts and gave them for the first time ever. They’d burned a log offering to the fire, dried fruits and fur boughs, had a light dinner, and sat as a family listening to Harry’s new CD player while drinking hot chocolate. Then they’d celebrated Christmas, kind of. It wasn’t something the Malfoys had done in the past, but his dad wanted to make sure that Harry had at least one Christmas memory that was fun.

So, for Christmas they had gone to a magical snow show, where living sculptures of ice and snow had wandered among the crowds - some made noise like animals, others were so big that Harry could feel the ground shake with their footsteps. Harry had been allowed to run his hands over some of the sculptures to feel what they were. He’d felt a phoenix made of ice, the cool water making his fingertips numb. When they’d returned home there had been a grand dinner filled with all the things he’d made for the Dursleys in the past but never tried.

Then they’d celebrated the New Year with the Malfoy’s yearly ball, which according to Draco was the social event of the year. Everyone and anyone from the Magical world wants an invite. Harry had lasted two hours gripping Draco or his dad and nervously running his string through his fingers trying to calm himself down in the large crowd. It was worse than the Great Hall on their first day at Hogwarts because people were constantly moving and bumping into him.

Iris had tried her best, warning Harry to step to the right or left whenever she could, but there were just so many people and his head had started pounding from the noise and the stress. Eventually, Iris has guided Draco, Daph, and Susan Bones from Hufflepuff had ended up hiding in a sitting room away from the festivities while Dobby brought the snacks and butterbeer to ring in the new year. Harry had just barely stayed awake until midnight before his dad had carried him to bed, praising Iris for her good work. He’d gone to bed taking a headache potion to alleviate the pounding in his head from all the noise.

“You have all your homework? I see Iris. Draco do you have Elizabeth, darling?” Aunt Cissa asks them while running her hands over their arms and checking their bags.

“She’s napping in my pocket,” Draco tells his mum.

“You make sure she stays in your room during class time Draco,” Aunt Cissa reminds him after a long lecture about the difference between Harry’s assist snake and his ‘toy’ dragon.

“I know, I know,” Draco tells her, and Harry can hear his eyes rolling into the back of his head.

“Okay off you go. Be good, get good grades, and have fun,” Aunt Cissa tells them, giving them each a tight hug before passing them off to Uncle Lu to say goodbye.

Stepping out of the fireplace in his dad’s office, Harry smiles and drops one of his bags on the couch with the things he plans to leave here for them to use during their lessons before heading back to his room in the dorms.

~The room we just left is dad’s. It’s in the dungeons just like the common room,~ Harry narrates to Iris in Parseltongue as he makes his way from his dad’s office to the Slytherin common room walking her through the names of everything. The room itself is empty, the rest of the students haven’t returned yet since the train doesn’t arrive until right before dinner so Harry and Draco how Iris and Elizabath around common room before heading to their bedroom.

~There is an odd lump on the bed,~ Iris tells him.

“Draco what’s on my bed?”

“Looks like a gift wrapped in silver paper. There’s a card, want me to read it?” Draco asks him.

“Yes, please,” Harry says dropping down on the bed beside the gift.

"Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well. A very Merry Christmas to you. Odd, no name on the card. Do you think we should have Uncle Sev look at this before we touch it anymore?”

“Probably. You know if we don’t and he finds out he’ll use that voice where he sounds like somethings stuck in his nose,” Harry laughs tapping Draco’s leg with the toe if his shoe.

“Right you are. I’ll go grab him,” Draco says, shooting out of their room to get his dad.

“What am I looking at?” Dad asks pushing his way through the door.

Harry just points towards the gift on the bed beside him. Harry can feel his dad casting spells at the gift, none that he recognizes based on the way the magic around them ripples.

After several minutes of spell casting Harry hears the tearing of paper.

“Oh, those bastards,” Dad breaths out quietly.

“Language,” Harry teases.

“You are not using this,” Dad tells him while vanishing the wrapped paper.

“What is ‘this’?” Harry prompts his dad.

“That’s bloody amazing,” Draco nearly squeals out at something his dad has done.

“WHAT IS IT?!” Harry yells out feeling left out of the conversation.

“It’s an invisibility cloak,” Draco tells him finally sounding sheepish.

~The tall one has half disappeared~ Iris chimes in finally.

An invisibility cloak? What was Harry supposed to do with that? Not to mention why had his dad given it to someone before he’d died, that seemed like something useful to have while in hiding.

“Seven years of Hogwarts with those dunderheads and this is how they did it, Menaces. Will not be letting  my child run around with a Merlin forsaken invisibility cloak,” Dad keeps muttering under his breath.

“You know I can hear you right?” Harry tells him, trying to break his dad out of whatever weird state he’s in.

“If you want to go unseen, I expect you to master a disillusionment charm. This is coming with me,” Dad tells him.

“No, Uncle Sev, can’t we use it just a little?” Draco begs his excitement about the thing clear in his voice.

“Absolutely not. Where is that card again?” Dad asks and Harry hands him the thick rectangle of cardstock.

“Hmph,” Dad snorts out before Harry can hear him dropping the card into pocket.

“I appreciate both of you letting me know this was here, I will be taking it with me. Draco be patient,” Dad snaps at him and here hears a jaw snap shut, “I promise next year I will in turn teach you both the disillusionment charm which you would normally not learn until sixth year. And Harry, even though I am taking this, it is yours and always will be, but you do not need an invisibility cloak at school, especially while you are eleven.”  

“What about when I’m twelve? Fourteen? Oh, sixteen?” Harry asks smiling cheekily at his dad.

“Brat, you’ll get it when you prove mature enough not to give me grey hairs with it,” Dad tells him ruffling Harry’s hair unruly.

“So never,” Draco whispers under his breath making Harry laugh swatting at him.

Chapter Text

A few days after the term begins again an owl drops a note in front of Harry at the Slytherin table. Reaching into his bag he fishes out a blank parchment and quickly mutters his translation spell.

Harry,

How’d yeh fancy poppin’ down ter my hut fer tea tomorrow afternoon? Got summat for yeh Christmas present. Bring a friend along if yeh like, always room fer more.

See yeh then,

Hagrid

Harry runs his fingers over the translated letter again, brow furrowing after deciphering the words. He hasn’t heard from Hagrid since he’d taken him shopping for his school supplies in August when he’d found Draco and his dad. What Hagrid could have for him Harry’s not sure, but it would be nice to see him again with Draco and Iris there to help him navigate the conversation.

“What’s that?” Draco asks tapping Harrys left hand.

“A letter, here you can read it, do you want to come with me?” Harry asks passing the original letter off to Draco to read.

“Do you really want to go have tea with the groundskeeper?” Draco asks his voice full of apprehension.

“Sure, why not, I think he’s nice enough if a little… unsure,” Harry tells him.

“Fine, but I want to study astronomy today with you and you have to show me the things Uncle Sev teaches you,”

“Sure, that’s easy enough. Let’s get Daph to come too!” Harry tells Draco smiling happily at the prospect of seeing Hagrid again. As disastrous as their first meeting was Hagrid was the first person to tell him he was a Wizard and told him the real story about his parents.

Their classes go by quickly with little actual magic and lots of book work and essay writing, it seems to Harry like they did lots of interesting things in the first term and in the second term they are learning the theory behind it all, which to Harry seems backwards, but maybe he’s missing something.

“There you are!” Hermione says dropping her book bag, which seems to only grow in weight every time the bag makes its decent from her shoulder down on the library table in front of her.

“Here we are,” Draco drawls out in an imitation of Harry’s dad.

“Hi Hermione, how was your hols?” Harry asks her turning to where she’s seated giving Draco his back.

“They were great, I’m sorry I wasn’t able to send your gift in time for Christmas, or Yule, but I have it here. Thank you for the books by the way they are great!” Hermione rambles on in that way of hers when thoughts run faster than her words can.

“Ah, here it is,” she exclaims placing something in front of Harry on top of his transfiguration textbook. Reaching forward Harry runs his hands over a large round plastic disk with raised semicircles spaced out over it. Harry’s brows furrow until his hand runs over the braille.

‘Jupiter’ reads one of the words, running his finger along the groove he finds one of the raised, planets? At the touch of his fingers it moves slightly, pushing harder Jupiter moves along the grooved track he follows with his fingers moving all the way back around to where he’d found the braille before.

“What is that?” Daph asks from her spot across from them

“This is brilliant!” Harry let’s out realizing it’s a modal of the solar system that he can interact with to better understand the planets and their positions for his astronomy class.

“I saw the one you use for moon cycles so I asked my parents to help me find this, I hope it helps, I noticed you don’t take that class with everyone else,” Hermione tells him, “I’m going to talk to Professor Prince, I think we could make something similar for the stars and constellations. I doubt Muggles have something like that, far less important to them. But Professor Prince seems like someone who could figure it out.”

Harry contains his laughter at the thought of his dad contending with his least favourite know it all student to help Harry better learn his most challenging subject.

Another package moves past Harry to Draco his gift falling to the table in front of him.

+++

“I can’t believe you’re making me go through this mud for tea with the groundskeeper,” Draco says exasperated but still holding firm to Harry’s right hand to keep him steady while Harry has his left arm linked with Daphs right.

~Why is it so cold?~ Iris complains from around Harry’s neck.

~You have the best spot in this weather stop complaining, the scarf even has a warming charm on it,~ Harrys tells the little snake.

“Both of you are the worst,” Harrys mutters.

“I heard that,” Draco tells him tugging him slightly.

“You really are though,” Daph tells Draco, the air filled with Draco’s sneer from one side of Harry to the other.

The walk down to Hagrids hut takes them almost ten minutes. Draco tells him that their final destination is located along the Forbidden Forest right on the edge of where they are allowed before the very dark and very creepy, as Draco puts it, trees begin. Harry can feel the magic around him tinged with a something similar to what he feels while in professor Quirrell class. It’s like the magic has an oily sheen over it. It feels like there’s something there that doesn’t belong coating the naturally soft tactile magic with something slick, something that would slide right through your fingers instead of pooling.

Harry hasn’t been brave enough to explore the grounds of the school on his own like he has with the many corridors. The areas he’s most familiar with are the ones that Daph took him through when they’d tried to teach him herbology before Hermione’s brilliant idea of using the paper plants. Something he’d learned is called origami, an art where you fold paper into shapes of plants and animals. Draco promised to learn how to fold them with Harry over the summer.

“Watch out there’s a patch of ice in front of us,” Daph tells them tightening her grip on Harry.

“Next time you and Daph are coming here without me, this is horrid,” Draco complains as they slow down.

Harry can smell smoke on the air now breaking through the fresh scent of snow and winter that had surrounded them since they’d stepped out of the warm castle.

~We’re approaching a hovel,~ Iris tells Harry, her voice muffled from where she’s nestled into the scarf around Harry’s neck.

~You need to stop picking up words from Draco, pretty girl,~ Harry tells her shaking his head at his snake’s increasingly posh accent. How does a snake even get an accent?

~The light one has pride. The humans can guide you if you don’t appreciate me,~ she huffs at Harry who thinks it’s more like spoiled, but whatever.

“’Arry!” A loud voice booms out as a door slams open.

“Glad to ‘ave yer and yer friends, come ‘n come ‘n ‘ve got tea an rock cakes fer ya,” Hagrid callout out

“Three steps,” Draco tells Harry, “tall ones.”

Draco was not exaggerating, Harry nearly falling into Hargid’s home the steps are so tall he nearly has to climb up them hand over foot to get the height needed to ascend them. Once Harry’s finally managed to overcome the hurdle that is the stairs Daph releases his arm while Draco leads Harry to a bench to sit on, in front of him is a table where he can smell the tea and whatever these rock cakes are that Hagrid mentioned.

“’ere you are, sorry I avn’t smaller mugs,” Hagrid says as he places what sounds like three very large mugs of tea in front of the three of them.

“Oh, who is this?” Daph asks.

“That would be Fang, big softie if I do say so,” Hagrid tells her.

~There is a large creature who’s face is melting off,~ Iris says as Harry removes his scarf. From what he can smell, it’s probably a dog. Hopefully, Hagrid’s assessment is true because Harry only experience with dogs is from his Aunt Margs dog named Ripper who used to chase him and bite at his ankles.

Hagrid’s home is warm with a fire crackling away in a nearby hearth giving it a slight woody smell mixed with the dog scent, steeping tea, and other animals. Harry can hear the other animals in room too, something is skittering, maybe a bird? And another creature is faintly crying out across from where they’re seated.

“I read about a creature in a book recently, something called a Cerberus. It said they are like dogs except really big and with three heads. They sound really cool,” Harry says trying to sound naive to the fact there’s one on the third floor. His dad hasn’t told them more about what’s happening on the third floor, but Hagrid clearly has a love of animals and Harry’s curious if Hagrid knows anything about the creature.

“Gentle giants those, bit o song and they right ter sleep,” Hagrid says, “I’ve got one of ‘em, name’s Fluffy. Each ‘ead has its own personality ya know. Middle one’s a right grump, but the left is a sweet ‘art he is. Right’s a little shy.”

Hagrid goes on a little longer about the Cerberus clearly passionate about the creature. Harry nods a long while Daph asks questions about its care and how he keeps such a large animal near the school. She smartly leaves off the ‘dangerous’ when she asks. According to Hagrid there’s a lot of creatures contained within the Forbidden Forest that would shock the students. But right now, Fluffy is out helping the headmaster look after something.

“I see yer snake there ‘arry. Corn snake she is?”

“Yes, Draco gave her to me for Christmas to help me get around,” Harry tells him while running a hand along Iris back.

“Pretty girl she is, very unique look. Good gift young Malfoy,” Hagrid says, and Harry can feel Draco preen beside him nearly wiggling in his seat.

~Would you like to go say hello to Hagrid?~ Harry asks Iris.

~mmm he does smell odd, I hear an odd whisper near him,~ Iris says moving from Harry’s neck and down his arm to the table.

“ello pretty girl,” Harry hears Hagrid say while Harry lean slightly into Draco, tired from a long day of class.

Beside them Harry can hear Daph struggling to eat the rock cake Hagrid gave them, named after its consistency, apparently if Daph’s small whine of pain is anything to go by.

“Try soaking it in the tea,” Draco suggests quietly over Harry’s head.

“Now ‘arry, I asked you down because I ‘ave a gift fer ya. Something from when I dropped you off at yer Aunt and Uncles,” Hagrid says giving Harry a lot of information to process in two short sentences.

“Ah, ‘ere it is,” Hagrid says before something moves towards Harry, dangling in front of him making the air brush past his face.

Reaching up Harry takes hold of a piece of soft knit fabric. It feels had made with uneven edges and not all the stiches are the same size; some are larger while others are tight knit and leave no gaps. The texture reminds Harry of his string, the yarn a similar thickness to the string he uses.

“It’s a blue knit blanket with your name on it, doesn’t look magical,” Draco says.

“Lily made it fer you when she was pregnant, had it wrapped around ya when I picked ya up. Dumbledore gave it back to me when he put you in that basket, so I kept it,” Hagrid says.

Harry can’t believe he’s holding something that’s his, something that his mum made just for him. She’d spent time creating a blanket for him, stitching his name into it, and wrapping it around him before putting him to bed. He can’t help but run his fingers over the uneven surface taking in the feel of her love against his hand. Tears prickle his eyes while he sniffles lightly.

“Th-thank you,” he says holding the blanket close to his chest catching a light scent of burning overlaying the smell of home. Harry sits there soaking in the feeling of the blanket while Daph chats with Hagrid and Draco keeps a grounding hand on Harry’s back.

“Now you should all be going before curfew it’s almost here,” Hagrid tells them draping Iris over Harrys shoulders before ushering them out of his house.

“Careful in the dark,” Hagrid warns them before Draco take hold of Harrys hand and Daph his arm to lead him to the castle, his blanket safely in Draco’s possession for their walk to castle.

Harry can feel the cool air against his cheeks; his breath is fogging in the air leaving a slight sheen against his face when the moisture blows back at him. He’s never experienced a Scottish winter before, but he could live without all the cold, and the slippery. He’s nearly fallen a dozen times on slick paths that Iris couldn’t see to warn him away. He’d started spending a lot more time with the other Slytherins whenever he’s needed to navigate through the outside portions of the castle.

“What time is it?” Harry asks when they enter a suspiciously quiet castle.

“Tempus,” Daph says beside him.

“Oh, it’s nine thirty,” Daph says quietly like now she’ll be able to hide the fact they’re out after curfew.

“How were we gone that long?” Draco nearly squeaks out in fear of being caught out past curfew.

“I don’t know,” Daph nearly whine out, quite undignified for an heiress.

“Come on, let’s just get back to the common room before someone catches us,” Harry says with anxiety running through his veins at the thought of ending up with detention.

Quickly the three of them work their way towards the dungeons through long empty corridors, each echo of their footsteps making Harry flinch. The magic in the castle feels different at night, a little wilder, a little more ominous. Like the stillness without students gives it permission to be free. Harry likes the feeling; it makes it easier for him to feel the way the magic around him interacts with his own without the extra noise of countless budding Magical’s around him. Draco’s calm well controlled magic stays firmly within the confines of himself rarely adding noise to Harry’s world. While Daph’s soft magic caresses him gently without being imposing.

The more time that Harry’s spent surrounded by magic then more he’s been able to feel it around him. It still confuses him sometimes, like loud noises and strong smells do. It’s like a new sense he needs to learn about. But he rarely has time between classes and studying and spending time with his friends. Not to mention that he knows this makes him different, more different than he already is.

“Meow,”

“Oh no,” Harry breathes out hearing Mrs. Noris approaching, her light meows at hearing them echoing down the empty corridor.

“Quick we need to hide, Mrs. Noris is coming this way, and you know that means that Filch is going to be here any minute,” Harry tells his companions in case they can’t hear her like he can.

“Over here, this rooms open,” whispers Draco pulling Harry and Daph into an empty classroom.

It smells like dust and rotting ink, the sounds of their footsteps echo’s around the room like it’s empty, but Harry can feel the hum of magic to their left. Tilting his head slightly he pulls away from Draco and Daph moving towards the pulsing magic. It doesn’t feel hostile or evil, but it has a pull to it, like it’s demanding his attention.

~You are walking towards a mirror, careful there’s a step two paces in front of you,~ Iris tells him.

Harry heeds her warning slowing to feel out the step ahead of him but still following the pull of the mirror. Behind him he can hear Daph and Draco following behind him keeping their questions to themselves for now.

Harry brings himself up, right in front of the mirror unable to stop himself from placing his hand against the cool surface of the mirror. It’s feels like the mirror is covered in a layer of ice instead of glass its surface feels slick like a layer of water exists between his fingers and the hard surface beneath them.

The magic around him feels like it’s trying to pull him in, like it’s seeking something but can’t find it.

“That’s impossible,” Daph whispers out coming up directly behind Harry.

Forcing himself away Harry turns towards her turning his back to the mirror.

“What’s impossible?” He whispers back.

“This is the Mirror of Erised, or desire, one of the seven paths to ascension. Seven paths guided by seven mirrors that show you your deepest weakness. This one shows you what you value most, what you desire, if you look into the mirror and see only yourself you are free one of the seven chains of mortality. They’re supposably myths though, no one’s actually seen one of these in centuries,” Daph says in awe.

“What happens if you only see yourself in all seven?” Harry asks her curious about what ascension is.

“No one really knows, but the most popular theory is that you would become one of the deities of magic,” Daph tells him.

“Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi,” Draco says slowly.

“What gibberish is that?” Harry asks Draco.

“Show not your face, but your heart’s desire,” he says.

“What do you two see?” Harry asks them curious what their hearts desire could be.

There is a long pause, and Harry has the feeling that a conversation is happening around him silently. He hates when people do this, convey all their thoughts and feelings in looks alone.

“I see you and me, our parents, we’re all older and sitting around the table in the family dining room, there’s small children around us, hanging off of everyone. Everyone looks happy, they’re laughing,” Draco tells them, his tone is full of embarrassment.

“I see myself in Unspeakable robes, there’s books and odd magical artefacts surrounding me. It looks like I’m researching something and deeply in thought. The mirror version of myself is barely looking up to see me,” Daph says, clearly proud of herself.

“I think we should work really hard to make both those desires true, they sound wonderful,” Harrys says reaching out his hands to let them take hold of so they can start to leave. Neither of them take his hands though.

“Err, we can probably leave now you two,” he says giving his hands a little shake.

“Just another minute,” Draco says his voice a little dreamy now.

~Iris, what do they look like?~

~Like they see prey they cannot look away from, boring prey since it’s themselves, ~ she tells him.

The mirror must have them trapped somehow, that strange pull he can feel must be worse for them since they can see what they desire most. He can still feel the pull, but he doesn’t feel the need to give into it.

“Come on you two we need to leave, its way past curfew now,” Harry tells them grabbing for their arms and trying to pull them with him.

“No,” Draco say yanking his arm free.

“Unhand me,” Daph says pulling against Harry.

How can he get them away from this mirror if they won’t talk to him or let him touch them?

~What is making the light in this room?~ He asks Iris.

~Candles that made fire when we entered the room,~ she tells him.

“Perfect,” Harry pulls his wand out.

“Nox,” he says firmly giving his wand a firm flick.

“No,”

“Where did it go?”

His friends let out sharp loud protests.

“Shh, come on, we need to get out of here,” Harry tells them grabbing hold of their arms and dragging them out of the room.

“What was that?!” Draco lets out voice still too loud for their current situation.

“The mirror, it had both of you obsessed with it, you could barely speak the longer you looked at it,” Harry tells them relieved they’re both finally free of the thing.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here, student out of bed? Past curfew even, detention! Friday night I expect to see you in the entrance hall eight PM sharp,” Filch tells them cackling in glee at catching them.

“Come now, time to go to bed,” Filch tells them while whispering under his breath about stringing student up in the dungeons by their thumbs.

Chapter Text

“How, pray tell did you get detention?” Dad asks them clearly exasperated.

Before breakfast the next day they’d gone to his dads’ rooms to tell him about what happened, but mostly to make sure they told him about the detention before he heard about it from someone else, like Filch.

“Errr, well we went to see Hagrid because he said he had a gift for me,” Harry starts.

“We’re taking gifts from strange men now, are we?” his dad asks tone sarcastic.

“He’s not really a stranger, he told me I’m a wizard,” Harry defends feeling like this conversation is already going the wrong way.

His dad lets out a light huff and Harry takes that as permission to continue on with his story.

“Anyway… we lost track of time talking with him and then we ended up back in the castle past curfew. We tried to make it back to the dungeons without anyone noticing but we heard Mrs Noris, so we hid in a classroom and there was this mirror,” Harry tells him nudging Draco to continue.

“Daph and I are pretty sure it was the Mirror of Erised, which was bloody awesome,” Draco exclaims.

The room falls silent as Draco’s out; Harry can hear a faint dripping noise somewhere in the dungeons and the slight echoes of students making their way to breakfast as the castle wakes up. The silence long and heavy as his dad absorbs what they’ve told him.

“How did you get away from the mirror?” Dad asks them hesitantly his voice sounding very similar to the time they’d told him about the Cerberus.

“It didn’t have the same pull on me so I cast a nox to make it so they couldn’t see the mirror anymore and then I pulled them out, but that was when we were caught by Filch,” Harry says his own annoyance seeping into his voice at the inconvenience of their situation. It’s not like they meant to be out of bed that late. His dad give him a slight grunt of approval which makes Harry smile knowing he’s at least proud of his quick thinking.

“Do you think we can get out of the detention?” Draco asks hopefully making Harry chuckle.

“No, you cannot. You should manage your time better, this will teach you not to dilly daddle,” dad tells them shooing them out of his rooms and into the loud hall filling with students on their way to the Great Hall for breakfast.

+++

Their detention loomed over their heads, the first time any of them had been punished while at the school. Harry, for all he was trying not to, felt guilty deep in his stomach. He knows Draco has noticed his string with its many knots in his hand more than usual these days the knots a comfort as they dragged against his skin each bump passing through his fingers in tune with the beat of his heart.

Draco, for all his pompous attitude, is also a little nervous. Upset that they will need to do some form of menial labour to atone of something that wasn’t even their fault. His exact word had been something about servant’s work, which Harry promptly reminded him had been his whole life before he’d met Draco. To which Draco had told him he was welcome.

Daph just rolled her eyes at both of them, told them to stop acting like children, as if she isn’t one herself. She told them they’d probably end up dusting the trophies in the trophy room or mopping a bathroom if they were really unlucky before she’d gone back to reading her book the pages flipping loudly while ignoring them both.

Now they were all here at the entrance to the school waiting for Filch to come.

“What are you lot doing here?” A familiar red heads voice rings out over their small group.

“Weasley,” Draco nearly spits out at their fellow first year. Harry can just imagine the venomous look his best friend is giving Ron, “we have detention, why else would be loitering by the doors at this hour?”

Harry is impressed with Draco’s ability to make it sound like Ron is an utter imbecilI while admitting they’re here to be punished.

“W-what did you do?” A voice that takes Harry a few minutes to place stutters out. Neville Longbottom, another Gryffindor first year that is dragged about by Ron. Draco or Iris always has to tell Harry when he’s around because he rarely speaks.

“Out after curfew,” Daph tells them nonchalantly.

~Do you know who is here, Iris~ Harry asks his snake, curious about who else has detention with them tonight.

~The small fired haired one and the one with the delicious looking toad,~ she tells him the shift of her smooth scales against his neck grounding him.

“What the bloody hell was that?” Ron Weasley nearly screams out at them.

“A snake,” Draco tells him in a supremely bored tone.

“Did you just talk to it? Are you a parselmouth?” Ron asks his voice laced with fear now.

“Yes,” Harry tells him, tilting his head to the side slightly. His abilities are hardly a secret with him chatting away with Iris most days and asking for her advice or indulging her colourful descriptions of people and places. The world through a snake’s eyes is fascinating filled with prey, not prey, and things much taller than they have any right to be.

After several moments of silence, the tall tell sound Filches limping gait approaches the group of first years, the sound of metal on metal cuts through the air as something Filch is holding sways.

“Right,” says Filch, “I suppose you think you’ll be enjoying yourself with that oaf? Well, think again, boy — it’s into the forest you’re going and I’m much mistaken if you’ll all come out in one piece.”*

Draco’s firm tug on Harry’s hand tells him they’re on the move now exiting the warmth of the castle and moving into the cold crisp air of winter. Luckily for Harry the snow has melted since their trip to Hagrid’s hut earlier in the week leaving him less likely to fall on his arse.

“What do you mean it’s in the forest?” Draco says with an undignified squeak that Harry will definitely be bring up later.

“You lot all got detention for your late-night activities with the oaf, only fair that your detention be something similar. The giants got a right dreadful chore for you,” Filch tells them chuckling.

Harry can feel his gut clench slightly. He’s indifferent to Hagrid as a person, if a little curious about how he knew his parents and why he was dropped off like the trash at his aunts when he was a baby. But Harry doesn’t trust that the man to know what a safe detention is for kids was, let alone for him. He gives Draco’s hand a firm squeeze shaking slightly in fear of where they are going and what they’ll have to do.

“’Ello you lot, peaky evening ‘ve got ‘ere,” Hagrid booms out towards then from what Harry assumes is his hut.

~I cannot see in this darkness,~ Iris hisses out to him burring her face deeper in his scarf and getting as far away from the damp cold as she can.

~Sorry pretty girl, I should have thought of that and left you in our room,~ Harry apologizes to his put-out snake as she huffs at him before giving the skin of his neck a light lick.

“Gather round, gather round. Thank you, Filius I have the lil’ ones from here,” Hagrid tells the cantankerous caretaker.

“I should be surprised if you lasted ten minutes in there. People have been known to vanish in the forest — remember that. Good luck to you all. I’ll be off with you, now,”** Filch lets out before cackling away from them, presumably back to the castle.

“Well then, listen here. We’ll be going into the forest, somethin’s been killing the unicorns, draining ‘em and leaving ‘em about. We’re going to look for any signs of what’s doin’ ‘em in,” Hagrid tells them sending shivers down Harrys spine.

“You want us to go into the Forbidden Forest and look for something deranged enough to kill a unicorn? That’s mad,” Daph says the pitch of her voice steadily climbing.

Harry can’t help but agree, why is the blind kid being forced to ‘look’ for clues? In the Forbidden Forest, at night?

“Er, Hagrid, I’m blind I don’t know how much help I’m going to be,” Harry says in confusion.

“Bunch of whiny snakes, too afraid to go into the dark scary forest?” Ron teases them.

“Intelligent enough not to be reckless,” Draco tells him in a haughty voice.

“Listen here, this is the detention that been assigned you lot, it’s what we’ll be doing. Now Prince, Malfoy, and Weasley you go down that path, hollar if you see anything. Greengrass and Longbottom yer with me,” Hargid tell them.

Harry lets Draco guide him into the forest, the already frigid temperature dropping further as they pass through the trees. Harry can feel a thick fog brushing against his exposed cheeks leaving behind a slight dampness behind. His eyelashes feel heavy with the clinging damp, he can only imagine how ominous this place looks to his friends. The magic is the worst part. It feels dark, like thick oil clinging to him, trying to pull him under. It clings to him like vines trying to pull at him, drag him down. Harry tries to pull his magic back to himself, so used to letting to wander and brush against the world to help him navigate it, but now he feels like the forest is trying to suck it away from him if he lets it wander too far.

“What did you and Longbottom do to get detention?” Draco asks breaking the unnatural silence of the forest.

“Helped Hagrid get a dragon to Romania with my brother, he hatched it in his hut and Neville thought it was mad to keep a dragon in a wooden hut,” Ron tells them and Harry can’t tell if he’s being serious or not.

“Who’s daft enough to give that oaf a dragon?” Draco asks, shock clear in his voice.

“He said some traveling guy had one is his pocket, apparently anything can be tamed if you know it well enough. Hagrid said his dog fluffy just needs music and he falls right to sleep,” Ron tells them sounding smug.

“I thought his dogs name was Fang?” Harry asks joining the conversation now that it’s not as hostile as before.

“Er, maybe he meant Fang,” Ron says back tracking quickly.

Silence surrounds them again, their mildly pleasant conversation ending abruptly. Harry feels uneasy, the further into the forest they walk the darker it feels, the thicker the magic around them feels.

“How far do you think we need to walk?” Harry asks voice shaking slightly his nerves fraying in darkness surrounding them.

“I reckon we can turn back soon,” Ron says.

“Would have been too much to ask for the grounds keeper to tell us when what we’re actually supposed to be doing,” Draco mutters under his breath for only Harry to hear.

Suddenly Harry’s scar begins to burn pain piercing through his skull nearly dropping him to his knees. Beside him Draco comes to an abrupt stop his hand tightening painfully around Harrys.

“Wha…” Draco begins before being abruptly cut off by Rons scream of terror.

Frantic footsteps flee from them, feet slipping over the thick roots and before catching the ground again creating loud scrapes. Ron’s whimpers can he heard moving further and further away, his footing becoming surer.

Ahead of them Harry can hear the heavy breathing of a large animal, breathing too heavy to be normal. Robes rustle in front of them each time the move closer Draco pulls Harry back a step, his hand sweating in Harry’s. Harry can feel the fear radiating off of him as their steps backwards become more frantic until Harry’s foot catches on one of the many raised roots throwing him down to the ground and pulling Dracon down alongside him. The rustle of the robe’s grows closer rapidly coming towards them horrifying sound, a whiny inhale scream.

Harry can only think to scramble backwards, his connection to Draco lost when they fell in a vain attempt to try and brace his descent onto the hard root covered ground. Beside him Harry can hear Draco, a slight whimper, feet scrambling for purchase on the cold ground.

Thunder fills Harry senses driving he pain in his head down as the ground shakes beneath him.

“Be gone,” a male voice booms across the forest the thunder becoming earth shattering shaking the ground beneath them.

The screaming moves away from them fleeing the thunder as the earth settles.

“Harry Potter, you must leave. This forest is a dangerous place, especially for someone like you,” a voice says from high above him.

“Draco?” Harry calls out letting his magic seep out just a little further trying to connect with the bright light that is Draco.

“I’m here,” Draco says from a spot just outside where Harry’s magic has spread. It takes a moment, but Draco moves to his side quickly running his hands over Harry checking for injuries.

~Iris, are you okay?~ Harry asks his snake moving his hand to his neck to check on her.

~Ye,~ she huffs out clearly unimpressed.

“Who are you?” Harry asks the stranger while Draco continues his check.

“Firenze youngling,” the creature tells Harry.

“What was that thing?” Harry asks him finally getting tired of Draco’s fretting and grabbing hold of his hand.

“Do you know what unicorn blood does to you? … It will keep you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price. You have slain something pure and defenceless to save yourself, and you will have but a half-life, a cursed life, from the moment the blood touches your lips,”*** Firenze tells them, Draco stiffens beside him.

~Why is that man a horse?~ Iris lets out her head poking out from her spot of protection under his scarf.

“A what?” Harry lets out in English shocked by the question.

“Apologies youngling, I am a centaur, one of the protectors of this forest and it’s inhabitants,” the man says, Harry still doesn’t know what that means, but he doesn’t want to ask when it could keep them in this forest longer than needed.

Draco whispers something under his breath that Harry can’t quite catch but unsubtly was unkind.

“Come little wizards, I will guide you back to Hagrid. Two of you are unlikely to enjoy the ride on my back,” the centaur tells them moving back the way they’d come the earth shaking slightly with each step. This centaur must be as big, or bigger, than Hagrid to make the earth shake like this.

Harry and Draco follow Firenze in silence while their minds race after what had just happened. Who would want to live a life cursed like that? Who would risk a half-life? What even was a ‘half-life’? He needs Draco to tell him what he saw, because Harry had only felt pain, skull piercing pain radiating out of his scar. He didn’t even get the chance to feel the things magic he’d been so consumed by everything else happening around him.

The sound it had made was awful, like nails against a chalkboard, screams like the ones in the scary movies Dudley had snuck when his parents weren’t pay attention. Whatever that was it was not good, it had wanted to attack them. Hurt them. And Ron had run leaving them there and Harry couldn’t even blame him, he wished he could have run away too.

“’Arry, there you are, found Ron a while back, shaken up he is,” Hagrid’s booming voice lets out startling Harry from his thoughts.  

“Careful with the younglings Hagrid, the forest is no place for them,” Firenze tells the half-giant.

Firenze shifts slightly his voice much closet to Harry now, “Harry Potter, this is where I leave you, you’re safe now.” ***

Harry didn’t feel very safe, not to mention his name isn’t Potter, it’s Prince. He feels anything but safe out here, away from his dad and his warmth.

“Harry! Draco!” Daph lets out grabbing them up in a tight hug squeezing both boys tightly.

“Let’s get you lot back to the castle,” Hagrid says leading them out of the cloying darkness of the forest and back to the warmth of their school.

Every noise make Harry jump slightly, his senses on alert for danger again. As large and intimidating as Hagrid is, he’s not a Wizard and it makes Harry nervous that he can’t protect them like their other professors can.

When they finally re-enter the school Harry can hear his dad’s signature gate and rustle of robes rapidly approaching them.

“Dad!” Harry nearly yells dropping Draco’s hand and throwing himself towards where he can hear his dad, trusting that he will catch him. Just as he knew strong arms wrapped around him in a protective embrace. Finally, Harry could breathe, safe, now he is safe, here with his dad. Tears streaked down his face, small hiccups leaving his mouth all his pent-up fear and anxiety letting lose into his dads neck.

“Harrison, what’s wrong?” dad asks him his voice soft.

“T-t-there was a a a mons-s-ster in t-t-he f-forest,” Harry stutters out between rapid inhales of air.

“Draco do you have his portion pouch?” Dad asks, “thank you. Harrison I need you to drink this okay, it will help calm you down.”

“Headache,” Harry tells him after drinking back the lavender flavoured liquid.

As Harry drinks the next potion, he feels Draco come and join their hug, squeezing both Harry and his dad in his small eleven-year-old arms.

“Boys, what happened? What monster?”

“We had to go into the forbidden forest for our detention, and Harry, Ron, I were in a group and while we were looking for clue about the thing killing the unicorns we can into a monster, it was drinking blood from a unicorn’s neck and when it saw us it flew at us, screaming. It was terrible, and then a centaur came and chased it off,” Draco recounts quickly.

Harry can feel his dad tensing more and more as Draco tells the story. Harry already knows that his dad is going to go yell at the headmaster again.

“Miss Greengrass, are you okay?” Dad asks the other member of Harry little trio.

“I wasn’t with them, but the forest it’s… so dark and cold,” she says in a small voice moving closer to them. His dads arm that’s around him lifts off shortly before he feels Daph join their hug.

“I’m so happy you’re both okay,” she whispers to Harry and Draco.

“Come in my little snakes, you can spend the night in my quarters. I think some hot chocolate and biscuits will help you all plenty,” dad tells them lifting himself up off the ground and grabbing hold of Harrys hand.

“And copious amounts of calming draft,” is muttered under his breath.

Chapter Text

Severus Prince is seething, the Forbidden Forest of all places. Who would send students into that blasted place for detention of all things. For him to venture in for potions ingredients he has to be accompanied by another member of staff at the very least. But last night his son, his godson, and their friend were taken out there for a detention of all things, a detention they’d earned for the slightest of infractions. Severus had, wrongly, assumed that since Filius was the one who’d assigned the detention, he’d be the one overseeing it. He’d though his son was going to be dusting trophies or mopping floors the muggle way. Not that he’d be risking his life in the Merlin forsaken Forbidden Forest.

Bursting past the Hogwarts gates Severus quickly strides outside the anti-apparition wards of Hogwarts and throws himself towards Malfoy Manor not even pausing in his stride from the Hogwarts path to the one leading to the manor. With a flick of his wrist the ominous dark doors of the manor open allowing him entry to the Malfoy home. Since he and Harry had started living here over the summer Severus has been added into the wards to allow him to best protect the children and to convince the house that he is ‘family’.

“Dobby,” Severus barks out into the entrance hall pausing to allow the elf to pop into existence beside him.

“Master Severus sir, what can Dobby be doing for you?” The elf asks, wringing his hands with a concerned look in his eyes.

“Get Narcissa and Lucius to the blue sitting room, immediately,”

“Yes Master Severus, sir,” Dobby squeaks out before popping away.

Moving through the manors halls towards the blue sitting room Severus attempts to order his thoughts. The children are okay, if a little shaken. Severus will not be allowing anyone but himself to supervise any future detentions. The more immediate problem right now is what Draco has described to him last night, the figure in all black who’d attacked them.

“Severus? Why are you here this early?” Lucius asks entering the sitting room with his wife taking the two seats across from him.

“We have several things to discuss, the boys are safe, but there was an incident last night,” Severus tells them keeping his voice calm and even to alleviate their fear.

Both Malfoys settle in giving him looks to continue on before their patience ends.

“The boys, along with Miss Greengrass received detention earlier this week for being out after curfew. The reason for being out was not entirely their fault, but I though a detention was fair given they could learn some time management. While out past curfew they encountered the Mirror of Erised,” at that name Narcissa takes a sharp intake of breath.

“Who saved them from it?” She asks him, voice shaking slightly.

“Harry, the magic of the mirror was ineffective against him, and he was able to darken the room which allowed him to pull the other two away from the mirror. There is something about Harry’s magic that seems… unique to him. But that is something we can discuss at a later date,” Narcissa nods to Severus letting the topic drop for now.

“Last night they served,” Severus sneers out the last word with venom in his voice, “their detention with Hagrid in the Forbidden Forest.”

There is a long quiet pause amongst the adults as the Malfoys before Narcissa’s eyes shut while she inhales a long breath. When they open again Severus can see hints of the infamous Black madness sparking in her eyes. A chill runs down his spine, never before has she reminded Severus more of her sister, Bellatrix. The mad sister locked away in Azkaban for her crimes driven by her own insanity.

“In the forest they were tasked with looking for clues as to what has been killing unicorns and draining their blood,” Severus pauses here again allowing them to process the information.

“Is unicorn blood not cursed? Long life in exchange for a life of dependency? Loss of magic with long term use?” Lucius asks his blonde brows furrowed.

“Indeed, it takes an especially desperate individual to risk the repercussion of that particular farce at immortality,” Severus nods.

“As our children’s luck would have it, they encountered the creature in the act, and it attempted to attack them. All of them are okay, if a little more prone to nightmares. I dosed all three of them last night with calming drafts and dreamless sleep which I hope will help alleviate the strain on their minds,” Severus says before realizing Narcissa has likely not heard anything he’s said since mentioning the attack.

“My love, you cannot kill the headmaster,” Lucius says as he leans slightly away from his wife’s crackling magic. The power of it creating a miasma around the witch causing the air to become heavy with it.

“Watch me,” she hisses out, more of her Black madness wrapping around her.

“We cannot harm the headmaster, they would have you thrown in Azkaban before the end of the day. You’d never see Draco again,” Lucius attempts to negotiate with his irate wife.

That seems to calm her down some, the threat of potentially losing her son.

“I promise the boys are safe, they’re in my quarters right now with their friends doing their homework. They’re glued together per usual, and I promised Draco I would bring his broom with me so he can go flying this afternoon. Draco is okay, he’s healthy, happy, and we can handle whatever repercussion there are from this,” Severus attempts to sooth Narcissa.

“Severus, we need to keep a closer eye on the boys, they are clearly in danger and I will not sacrifice our children for whatever game Dumbledore is playing against the Dark Lord,” Narcissa tells him, her voice leaving no room for debate.

“Understood, I apologize for how lax I have been with the boys. I will admit that since the Yule break things have been quiet and I allowed myself to forget just how precarious our position is right now,” he apologises because Narcissa is right, he should have paid more attention to that detention, questioned the boys more on the timing. He’d been so distracted by the mirror and Dumbledores requests for a potions-based task for his project he’d let his responsibility as their protector slip.

“I suspect the headmaster may be the least of our problems beyond his meddling. Harry told me that his scar causes him immense pain when they encountered the creature, it sounds very similar to the pain he feels when around Quirrell. There is something with that man that is bothering me, he’s attempted to gain access to Dumbledores little obstacle course several times this year, once thwarted by me, another by the Weasley twins of all people. But that pain Harry feels is from his scar of all places, it must be linked to the Dark Lord,” Severus tells them happy to finally have someone to talk through this with.

“Do you think Quirrell is working with the Dark Lord?” Narcissa asks tilting her head slightly to the side thinking.

“It’s possible, he returned from the summer hols… changed. Very skittish, the new infuriating stutter, his sudden affinity for head coverings,” Severus tells them.

“Where was he for his sabbatical?” Lucius asks curious.

“The mainland for several months, rumours about vampires and researching dark arts to better understand defence. Odd for the muggle studies professor of all people,” Severus says holding back an eye roll.

“We’ll have to wait to hear from Remus about what he finds in Albania. So far, he’s only shared rumours and speculation from the locals around the forest,” Lucius tells them settling into his seat again and ordering them all some tea and breakfast to share while they plan.

+++

POV Harrison Prince

“I swear Draco, someone threw a tripping hex at me I was just walking and suddenly I was on the ground. Even Iris thinks it was a tripping hex,” Harry tells an annoyed Draco after accidently dragging him to the ground for the second time this week.

“We need to figure out who it is,” Draco says his voice full of conviction.

“Could it be the Gryffindor’s?” Harry asks thinking back to all the times he’s stumbled over the past week.

Someone has been tripping him at least once a day at random times. It started on Tuesday morning on the way to the Great Hall for breakfast, then again that afternoon when he’d been on his way to potions after lunch, he’d luckily caught himself against the wall, but he’d started to suspect something was wrong. He’s always been careful when he walks, it’s second nature at this point. His balance is good otherwise he’d have tripped down a set of stairs or lived with constantly rolled ankles. So, he knows, he knows that someone is tripping him. Once in a day he’d ignore as a fluke, him being distracted, but twice, twice is impossible.

“Maybe? But Weasel and his shadows have been quiet for months after the detention in the forest. He’s also not exactly subtle,” Draco’s says making some good points, shocking points considering they defend Ron Weasley of all people.  

Ron has been less annoying lately spending most of his time far away from Harry and Draco after their detention in the forest. A detention that Harry wishes he could forget, nightmares are something he’s had for as long as he can remember. In the past, they have always been about being trapped, the feeling of walls closing in against him driving him into smaller and smaller spaces where sounds would go from echoing in a chamber to being muffled by his own clothing. Yelling and insults always played a prominent role in those nightmares too, his uncle’s rage, his cousins’ insults, his aunts’ disappointment.

But now, now those nightmares also include the cold closing in around him, the feeling of pain radiating out from his scar, Draco’s stuttering breaths beside him. Some nights he wishes he could go back to the small places, at least there it was only him, now his nightmares include someone important to him too.

“We could ask some of our friends for help,” Harry says, a small smirk on his face.

“Who would we ask?”

“The twins,”

Draco pauses for a moment thinking that over, “that’s a surprisingly brilliant idea from you.”

“Prat,” Harry lets out pushing at Draco’s shoulder.

~Iris, we’re looking for the fire haired twins can you please let me know if you see them,~ Harry tells Iris hoping her set of eyes will help them find the Weasley twins.

~Yes,~ she says peaking her head further out from his collar to add her eyes to Draco’s.

“Come on, sometimes they’re on the fourth floor,” Draco tugs at Harry’s hand pulling him towards the stairs.

~I smell the fire twins,~ Iris hisses to Harry.

“Iris says they’re here somewhere,” Harry relays to Draco.

“Well,”

“Hello there,”

“Little Prince,”

“How can we,”

“Your humble servants,”

“Help you?”

The twins say in their odd twin speak. Harrys actually grateful he can’t see them when they talk like this, he can’t even imagine how hard it would be to follow looking between the two of them.

“Someone keeps sending tripping hexes at me,” Harry tells them pouting slightly.

“Ah, that is concerning,” one twin says.

“Step into our office,” the other says prompting Draco to guide Harry into one of the abandoned classrooms.

Inside the room smells a lot like his dad’s potions lab, the distinct scent of brewing herbs and magic permeate the air. Their lab has a slightly sour smell to it, Harry can’t identify what is causing the scent, but he’s not sure that he wants to. The air is also a little thicker, their ventilation probably isn’t set up properly, his dads always told him how important ventilation is to potion brewing to maintain a sterile environment where even droplets of the wrong vapor can cause a potion to lose efficiency.

“Now who do you think is throwing tripping hexes at you little Prince?” the twin with the slightly deeper voice asks.

“I don’t know, but they keep getting me between classes, I’ve dragged Draco down to the ground twice. I thought you two might like to help?” Harry asks them, hoping that they’re up for the challenge.

“Oh, little Prince, we’d be happy to,”

“As your humble servants,”

“We will happily deal with.”

“Your little tripping problem,”

“We thought it might be your brother at first , but honestly I don’t think he can manage a tripping hex,” Draco tells them.

“And he’s been mostly ignoring us since that detention,” Harry tells the twins.

They relayed the detention to all their friends the next day after spending the night with Harry’s dad. Harry is pretty sure he only kept them overnight so he could slip calming draughts into their hot chocolates.

“Brother dearest is not sneaky enough, not like you little snakes,” a twin says before ruffling Harry’s hair.

“Hey, stop that,” Draco let’s out moving quickly to Harry’s side to fix Harry’s now messy black locks, “why do people keep doing this?”

Harry just smiles while Draco laments the tragedy that is everyone blatant disregard for Harry’s aesthetic.

“You two leave your tripping problem with us, we’ll figure it out for you,”

“We’ll avenge you little Prince,”

“Thanks, you two I knew you’d help,” Harry tells them with a smile.

“You’ll owe us a favour though little snake,” a twin says.

“You stop my tripping, and I’ll tell you why your potions keep failing,” Harry tells them before skipping out of the room Draco following him.

+++

A loud shriek breaks through the Great Hall during dinner causing Harry to jump slightly his fingers nervously working their way down his string. He’s been on high alert all day after their meeting with the twins the day before worried that he might get tripped again. But today was a good day and he and Daph had stuck together going for a walk around the grounds and through the castle without a single tripping happening.

“Who was that?” Harry asks Daph beside him.

“Oh, my Salazar,” Daph breathes out before giggling.

“Daph!” Harry lets out trying to get a clear answer out of her.

“Pansy Parkinson, she h-h-has bright red and gold hair,” Daph laughs barely getting the sentence out.

“Oh, that’s dreadful,” Zabini says from down the table.

“Gryffindor colours too,” someone else says.

“Who do you think she upset?” a girl says.

Harry takes in a sharp intake of breath.

“What do you know,” Daph whispers at him immediately.

“She might be the one that was tripping me,” Harry tells her linking the dots between his tripping, the Gryffindor twins, and Pansy’s new style.

“Brilliant,” Daph lets out before devolving into giggles again.

Harry smiles, Draco is going to love this.

It doesn’t take long before Draco enters the hall for dinner settling down on Harrys other side. Daph descends into an animated explanation about what happened to Pansy. Draco quickly agrees with Harry that it was likely the twins handywork. Pansy has always been rude to him ever since that first day at the school. She’s mostly kept her hostility to muttered remarks. Harry suspect she also glares at him; he’d felt the stares on the back of his head in the common room and in classes.

“Harry, Draco, and Daphnie please come with me,” his dad says from behind them.

“Sure dad, what’s this about?” Harry asks pulling himself off the bench and grabbing hold of the arm that brushes against his side.

“Miss. Parkinson has made some… accusations,” dad tells them guiding them out of the Great Halls and into a nearby classroom.

“I’m sorry dear, but you will need to wait for the potion to wear off,” Harrys hears Professor McGonigal telling someone.

“YOU, YOU DID THIS TO ME,” Pansy screams out at them. Harry can hear her feet hitting the ground rapidly moving towards them before abruptly stopping.

“Miss Parkinson, please calm down and tell us why you think Harry, Daphnie, and Draco did this?”

“Who else would do this to me?” Pansy nearly wails.

“Miss Parkinson that is not a reason,” dad lets out his voice inching closer to his scary tone.

“Because they hate me,” she says.

“We don’t even talk to you,” Draco sneers out.

“You’re jealous of me,” Pansy says taking Harry by surprise.

“Jealous of what?” Daph asks.

“I have more friend than you,” Pansy says in a smug tone.

“Dad I’m really confused,” Harry says towards his dad.

“Shut up, mudblood, I know you did this,” Pansy nearly yells at Harry causing him to flinch slightly.

“Twenty points from Slytherin and detention with me for the use of a slur,” his dad says quickly his tone now fully in scary teacher mode.

“That’s not fair, they did this to me,” Pansy yells.

“That is a second detention for you Miss Parkinson, keep up this behaviour and it will be another,” dad tells her.

“I should have tripped you down the stairs,” Pansy spits towards Harry, the hatred in her voice making Harry step back into his dad.

“You were the one tripping Harry?” Daph gasps making her voice sound shocked and aghast.

“I knew something was wrong, I’m never that clumsy,” Harrys says furrowing his brow in what he’s learned is a ‘confused’ facial expression.

“Miss Parkinson, have you been tripping Mr Prince?” McGonigal asks her.

“No,” she says a little too quickly.

“That will be another week of detention with me in addition to your time with Professor Prince,” the professor tells her.

“This is all your fault. Some half-blood freak shouldn’t be able to speak to snakes like the great Salazar Slytherin. Flaunting it around the castle with that familiar like you are better than the rest of us,” Pansy says her voice filled with hatred.

“That is enough, Severus take your son and his friends. I will handle Miss Parkinson,” McGonigal says his dad quickly guiding him out of the classroom and back down towards the dungeons taking them yet again to his sitting room.

“Explain,” dad drawls out in his bored tone.

“Was I convincing?” Harry asks turning towards Draco.

“Very,”

“Brilliantly,” Daph adds.

Harry smiles while his dad lets out a heavy sigh.

“I don’t know if it’s better or worse that he’s in Slytherin and not Gryffindor,” Harry hears him muttering to himself.

Chapter Text

Remus Lupin has lived in awful places, halfway houses, cheap motels, that one time he’d tried his hand at a relationship that had promptly blown up in his face. None of that compare to how awful this little camping trip has been. Three months and he’s found nothing but ghost stories and rumours from the local muggles. The tent might be nicer than any flat he’s ever lived in, but nothing is worse than the knowledge that he’s failing, and quite miserably.

Thus far he’d wandered over hundreds if kilometers of the Albanian dark forest in search if this unknow wraith with no signs of it. Finally, he’s given in and moved towards the last local village in the area one following the old ways mixing muggle and magical inhabitants in a blended population not unlike Godric’s Hollow where the Potters had settled before he’d lost them.

This village is very isolated, located deep in the Albanian wilderness with a single dirt road leading onto the main street. Most residence don’t even appear to have vehicles relying on neighbours or the local store to provide for all their needs. Remus had avoided coming here as long as possible afraid that if anyone realised what he is they may run him off in fear despite his liberal use of the wolfsbane potion that Severus has been sending him every month to ensure his sanity and calm demeanor during shifts. And what a wonder that has been, no fresh scars had joined the hundreds of silver lines littering his body from the wolfs self-directed frustrations.

But now he’s out of options and ideas, so he’s here to ask questions, see what the locals know and hopefully find some answers before he’s chased out of town.

Spotting a local pub Remus quickly settles himself down to into a seat at the well-worn bar top. The wood is heavily stained by decades, if not centuries, of spilled drinks. The atmosphere is cozy, light low with a roaring fire in the hearth providing warmth to the small space.

“Hello, do you happen to have some stew or other food available?” Remus asks the heavy-set man behind the bar. His only reply is a brief grunt, a nod of the head, and a large pint deposited in front of him. Inclining his head in thanks Remus takes a deep drink from the pint and scans the room around him. There are several other people in the place, two older men sitting at table chatting away in a language Remus is unfamiliar with, one solo man further down the small bar, and an elderly woman hunched over in a corner table knitting her gnarled fingers moving with decades of practiced efficiency.

“5 sickles,” the barman tells him a thick accent coating each word.

Remus easily pulls out the requested sum and a little extra, thanks to having the Malfoy’s of all people as patrons he has plenty of funds.

“Here you are,” Remus tells him placing the request 5 sickles down, “if you happen to know anything about those wraith rumours in the forest around here I’d be very curious to hear more.”

Remus also places down a galleon on the counter keeping it near his bowl of stew.

“You Brits coming here and asking your stupid questions about things best left alone. Dark wraiths in the forest should remain where they are not hunted down by foolish wizards,” the man tells him.

“So, there is a wraith in the forest?” Remus prods feeling that there is more to learn.

“Fool,” the man tells him before turning his back and walking down the bar to the solo man grabbing him another pint.

“I can tell you more about the mysteries of the forest young wolf,” the old woman croaks out at him, he aged face watching him intently. Remus feels a shiver run down his spine; how can she tell? Did anyone else hear her? Should he run?

“Come, come, no one here shares your countries hatred for magic they cannot understand,” she tells him moving a wrinkled hand away from her knitting and tapping the table in front of her.

“That would be much appreciated ma’am,” Remus grabs his stew and his pint, leaving the galleon behind and moves to settle in across from the woman.

“Funny how there have only ever been four from your isle who’ve visited here, all chasing rumours, none leave the same though,” she tells him her voice enthralling even with her accent making some of the words challenging to understand, “would you like to hear about them all?”

Remus isn’t sure if this is helpful, he’s not chasing after people he’s hunting a wraith of a Dark Lord. But maybe he was one of these visitors, Severus and the Malfoy’s did mention they thought he’d spent time here in his youth, and this woman looks like she would have been alive for that.

“Yes please, I would appreciate you sharing their stories,”

“Drita, na sill çajin,” she calls over to the barman before bringing her attention back to Remus. (Drita, bring us tea)

“My name is Remus Lupin,” he tells her only to be met with a small smile before she dives into her stories.

“The first to visit was a woman many many years ago, she was young and distraught full of guilt and envy. She had with her a crown I believe you would call it. She said it was her mothers. She’d stolen it a fit of anger and jealousy and run away to escape the repercussions of her actions. According to the young woman the crown gave the wearer wisdom, and she’d been jealous that everyone knew her mother’s name, but she was forced to live in her shadow.

“She fled into the forest, followed the call of something only she could hear. Following her was our second visitor, he had been sent by her mother to bring her wayward daughter home. He was her lover, and he was frantic to find her, the people of the village told him that chasing her was futile, but he didn’t listen and followed her into the forest. Neither of them ever left. Their bodies were found days later; he’d stabbed her before turning the knife on himself. The crown was never found,” she pauses smiling as their tea arrives, large dark mugs placed in font of each of them. Grabbing hold of the steaming cup she takes a deep drink before continuing on with her story.

“Much later, only 30 years ago maybe, they all blend together eventually you know, a young man came here. He was seeking knowledge, chasing dark shadows and darker knowledge. Charming he was, could talk like no one else I have ever met, so compelling in his requests handsome too. Chocolate down hair, sharp feature, a healthy pink to his cheeks, most deep brown eyes I’ve ever seen. I told him the story I shared with you.

“He’d been asking about the crown, he’d heard about it from the ghosts at school. Whispers from the dead of their lives spent full of regrets leading him here to ask his questions. There was a glint in his eyes, a hunger, they boy was beautiful, but he was missing something. Something essential. He went into the forest, spent several weeks looking for that crown positive he knew right where it would be. And he did, he came about with it in hand, but he like those before him didn’t leave unscathed.

“Those brown eyes were gone and in their place was blood. Blood red eyes filled with hatred and triumph. He’d lost something in that forest, something he can never get back. But he seemed happy with his trade because he had that crown in his hands and promptly left with his prize. Not long after that one of the villages hunters was found dead in the forest. The visitors name escapes me, so many years ago, something plain and muggle. Ridge or Right something with an R, I have no doubt that he went on to do terrible things,” she pauses there again resettling in her seat and taking another deep drink of her rapidly cooling tea.

Remus can’t help the thoughts racing through his mind, the stories pull at threads of memories in his mind. Ghost from school had to be Hogwarts and someone traveling here that long ago, sometime in the 50’s or 60’s who could it have been? It was well before the war started in the late 70s.

“There is still one more visitor?” Remus asks, remembering that there had been four, not including him.

“Yes, the fourth was only last year during the summer months. He was a kind man, a little timid, but very dedicated to his hunt. The forest had become a much darker place ten years ago, something dark and broken had taken up residence chasing away the wildlife. He came asking questions, much like you. He was also looking for a wraith, for that darkness in our forest. He asks his questions, got his answers and set out into the forest. He told us he was going to vanquish it, that he was a master in defensive magics. He was gone for weeks and when he came back, he was different.

“More than one soul left the forest that day, but maybe less than two. Once he left, the darkness went with him, there are no more wraiths in the forest now,” she tells him settling back in her seat, tea long finished. Remus’ stew is cold now, congealed, and unappetizing. More than one soul, but less than two. What breaks a soul? How can you have less than a full soul? Dementors maybe? He needs to get back to the UK and access the Malfoy’s library, maybe even find his way into the Black library. Soul magic is dark and knowledge about it heavily restricted.

“Thank you for sharing their stories with me, I hope that I am not added to the tragic stories of Brits who’ve stepped foot into your village,” Remus says chuckling lightly but still very apprehensive. His odds did not sound good and he does not want to be another story this woman adds to her tragic tales.

“Don’t worry wolf, your stories already tragic enough, there’s nothing this forest can do that will make it worse,” she tells him with a toothless smile.

Remus can’t help but shiver at her words, hopefully she’s correct, but he can’t help but feel like his chances of being left in peace are slim, it not non-existent given the plans that Severus and the Malfoy’s had just started to let him in on.

 Nodding to the woman Remus moves to the bar placing down another galleon and exiting out into the village again the sun now firmly set giving the village and the forest it abuts an ominous feel. Wandering through the quiet streets back towards his camp in the forest Remus can stop the spiral his thoughts are taking. There are many men from that era that did terrible things, yes. But one stands out as the most egregious, He Who Must Not Be Names, the Dark Lord. The very man they’re working to find and prevent his return.

But who could the first two have been? What crown had he hunted down? And what type of magic turns someone’s eyes red? Too many questions that’s answers he’s not going to find here.

Settling back into his tent Remus pens a letter to the Malfoys letting them know that what he needs can’t be found here and that he’s made his presence known to the locals. Their best options for further research lay within their own library. He makes sure to keep it vague but clear. He needs to come home, and coincidently it will be right as Harrys school year ends.