Disclaimer: I do not, nor ever will, own any rights to Harry Potter. They belong solely to J. K. Rowling and whoever may genuinely own any rights. I am not making any money from this, this work only has the sole purpose to satisfy myself and other Potter fans.
Now on with the story!
Prologue!
He wasn't happy. At all. Not one single bit. How is it fair for her to sit there and display her abilities so easily in front of others, while he has to keep his hidden? This isn't the first time she's used her abilities to entertain the people sat around her at the table. At the table that is now legally his. One he doesn't want her at. He doesn't want most of these people currently sat at the table with him here right now, not today of all days. He doesn't want them to be here ever really, but sacrifices have to be made in the end, don't they? Especially when there's a plan to be laid into action. The clatter of sliver food platters hitting the oak table arouses him from his inner turmoil. He grits his teeth to stop the words that want to flow out. He wants to shout at her to be more careful, the oak and silver were expensive, unlike her cheap wooden table and cheap dishes.
He looks up just as Mrs. Weasley places, more like throws, the last food platter down. She turned to smile at him sadly, before asking after his wellbeing. "Are you okay, Harry dear? You look a bit distracted, and a little peaky."
"I'm fine, Mrs. Weasley, thank you for asking. And cooking." He replied, ignoring the comment of his distraction. He mentally shakes his head. Do they even remember what today is? No, why would they? Today is just like any ordinary day to them.
He sits and watches them as they and move, while adding the bare minimal amount of food to his plate. His grey mood darkens that little bit more at the sight of his two best friends laughing away. his grip on his knife and fork tightens, as he takes deep breaths, and counts to ten mentally. How can they laugh so freely? He forces his face muscles to relax as not to give off how wound up he is. he yearns to just stand and scream. scream how much he hates them all, and escape to the three people he knows he can fully trust. He notices his two 'best friends' bent with their heads together whispering, while glancing at him every so often. He rolls his eyes at them, knowing they were trying to figure out why he was in this mood.
He rises his fork towards his mouth, gravy soaked chicken speared upon the prongs. Just as he takes a bite, the door opens, catching everyone's attention. Stood in the doorway, staring back at everyone, was Professor Severus Snape. He lifts his goblet of wine to his lip to hide a smirk, loving the surprise at the 'unexpected' guest.
Mrs. Weasley rises from her seat, flushed with embarrassment. "Severus! You didn't floo to say you was coming for dinner! I haven't set you out a place!"
"No need to worry Mrs. Weasley, I knew Professor Snape was coming and laid a place for him." Harry spoke, smirk still hid behind his goblet. A miniscule tick at the corner of Professor Snape's mouth showed he was amused, but you could only tell if you knew him on a personal level. Harry knew he was amused, because he knew Snape, knew that he revelled in other's embarrassment and humility. And he loved how he was when he was amused and openly showing it, the way his face relaxes as the tension from maintaining his masks falls away. It shows him that he's human, and that he's approachable if you go about it the right way.
When he looked away from Professor Snape, he saw that Fred and George were exchanging looks, silently communicating. They had little smirks on their faces, and turned to face Harry, nodding ever so slightly. George placed his utensils down, and rested his arms onto the edge of the table, crossing them over. "Right, so Fred and I shall be going out tonight, and will be taking little Harry along with us. Anyone else up for coming?" He asked.
"I should think not, mister! He is not older enough, he shall be staying home tonight, finishing his summer assignments for school." Mrs. Weasley argued. Did he mention that he hated her? No? Oops, must have gotten lost in translation then. Time to take her down a peg or two.
"Mrs. Weasley, I'm eighteen, according to British law, I am quite old enough to drink. Also, I have already finished my summer assignments, so I have nothing left to do as it is, and getting out might just be what I need. A break from all this Voldemort stuff, you know?" Harry spoke, enjoying the automatic flinch that came along with him daring to utter the unofficially sacredly banned word. Well, my house, my rules, bitch. Mrs. Weasley's face was pinched, not happy at being rebuffed by an eighteen-year-old.
Harry relaxed back against the back of the chair, and hid one hand under the table. He continued to observe everyone while he finished his meal. A knee bumped against his as the quiet atmosphere stretched out, making everyone uncomfortable. His hand snatched hold of the knee and slid upwards to the thigh, holding it against him, using it to ground his magic.
He couldn't wait until they all went home, then he could finally let down his glamours. He hated wearing this face. It made him feel as if he wasn't himself. He's proud of his parents, that he takes after them both, and wants to people to see that.
And they will, very soon. He promised himself.