Disclaimer: JK Rowling's characters.
The Leaky Cauldron, London, July 1997 (21)
"Merlin…" Draco murmured as they stepped onto Diagon Alley.
At breakfast, McGonagall had spoken so confidently about shoppers crowding the narrow, crooked street to stock up on supplies for the new school year. Seeing it now, Harry wondered if her optimism wasn't misguided—or worse. Did she truly know what was going on?
Diagon Alley was a mess.
In its current state, it couldn't possibly be back to normal in time for school. Magic would certainly speed repairs along, but so little time had passed since the Final Battle. Folks were still grieving, and that grief affected everything, including the rebuilding. While having dinner with Snape, Harry, Draco, and Aberforth in Snape's quarters two weeks ago, Kingsley had revealed how difficult things had been at the Ministry.
"More than three-quarters of the Floos were gutted—a tactic the Death Eaters used to prevent escape and rescue," he had said.
Auror headquarters, Wizengamot administration services, and the Department of International Magical Cooperation had been nearly wiped out as well. The only levels free from damage were nine, which housed the Department of Mysteries, and ten, home of the infamous Courtroom Ten.
Harry hated that the devastation at the Ministry made Kingsley's job harder, but he couldn't have cared less. The place was a black hole of bad memories, particularly levels nine and ten. But Diagon Alley was different.
During Harry's last trip to the street, he and Snape had been Poly-juiced as Edmund and James Brockman; Draco had been a hollow-eyed wreck at Lucius's side. Harry found it hard to believe that not even a year had passed since then.
As dusk crept over the street, the street lights flared to life, their ghostly-glow illuminating the destruction. The stationery shop was an empty husk; Eeylops Owl Emporium had been razed; Ollivander's was missing half of its pitched roof. The apothecary was still in decent shape, as was Quality Quidditch Supplies, but blackened craters occupied the spaces where Madam Malkin's and Florean Fortescue's shops had lived.
That last one hit Harry the hardest. Fortescue had been a good man, kind. Harry recalled the dimples deeply set into the old wizard's cheeks and how they had deepened even more when Fortescue smiled—which had been often that summer of Harry's third year as he served the boy free sundaes every half hour. According to the official record, Fortescue was one of nearly a hundred still missing or unaccounted for. After seeing what was left of the ice cream shop, Harry wondered if there had simply been nothing left of the shopkeeper to find.
"Can we go?" he said quietly.
Noting the ashen tone of Harry's skin, Snape said, "Yes. Draco, come."
The trip to London had taken hours longer than normal. Just like at breakfast, in addition to the usual crowd of students, the Hogwarts Express had been packed with families. Some got off before London, which had been strange. The train had never made stops before, let alone multiple stops, but the closer they got to London, the emptier the train became, which made Harry happy. He had tired quickly of people stopping to say "Hello", or to feed Fang treats from the trolley, or to just stare into the car, ogling them like they were zoo animals.
Now that they had arrived at the Leaky Cauldron, exhaustion hit him like a punch. Snape had tried to convince him to sleep on the train, but Harry had chosen to lean against the Potions master and gaze out the window. The pastoral lushness of the landscape was a welcome change from Hogwarts's battle-scarred grounds. But, when he grew bored of the countryside zipping past, he shot tiny electrical pulses at Draco's hair, making strands of it stand on end as the Slytherin napped on a silk pillow he had transfigured from his tie. Harry stopped when Snape, who had been engrossed in a book, made a noise that might have been a laugh.
Snape pulled open the door to the pub, allowing the boys and Fang to pass through.
"Ah!" Tom said, grinning widely as he shuffled from behind the bar to greet them. "You made it!"
"Our rooms, are they ready?" Snape spoke quietly, inwardly cringing at Tom's enthusiastic greeting, but relieved that the innkeeper hadn't used their names.
A man and a woman, too deeply involved in conversation to notice new arrivals, and a man sitting alone in a shadowy corner—his face dipped so low over his flagon of ale that Harry wondered if he had fallen asleep—were the only patrons in the pub.
Regardless, Snape peered about, ever vigilant. While waiting at the castle's steps to board the carriages, Mr. Creevey had said to him, "Now that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is, well, you know, dead and gone, it's a blessing to be able to rest easier, isn't it?"
"I couldn't say," Snape had replied.
"Ah, surely you can let go of your paranoia now, Professor?" said a Hufflepuff parent, who had been standing nearby. "Relax it a bit, at least?"
Snape had crooked an eyebrow and said, "I can relax when I'm dead."
Harry, having overheard the exchange, sighed at Snape's tone, but the man was right. Voldemort's death didn't exempt the wizarding world from peril. Several Death Eaters had not been accounted for, dead or alive. It pained Harry to admit it, but vigilance was still a necessary evil.
"Aye, Professor, aye," Tom said, his toothless smile animating his long, wrinkled face. "Everything's done up for you. My grand-niece, Thomasin'll show you about. Will you be wantin' some nibbles? Since the train took longer than usual, I figgered you'd be done in."
"No, thank you. Perhaps later. We have the entire floor to ourselves, yes?"
Tom nodded, motioning Thomasin over from the table she was wiping down. "Won't be nobody botherin' you, no worries there. In fact, the minister sent an Auror to look after you, fella called Savage. I only know 'cause he introduced hisself to me. But, like I said, there won't be nobody bein' a bother to you, I'll see to that."
"Thank you."
"Now you follow Thomasin there, she'll tell you what's what. She's got your keys as well."
A petite, lithe girl with almond-colored skin and a bushy crown of black ringlets tiptoed up to Snape. "This way." She smiled brightly and started away, curls bouncing with each step, her feet positioned as if she planned to jeté across the room.
"Slowly, please," said Snape. "My son can't move very fast."
Thomasin spun back around to look at Draco, then Harry. After running her eyes up and down his body and spotting his walking-stick, she shot him a brilliant smile. Despite how tired he was, Harry smiled back goofily. She was pretty. She reminded him of Hermione with her short stature and wild hair.
"Of course," Thomasin said. She stepped over to take Harry's left hand and slowly led him to the stairs.
Once they reached the top of the staircase, Thomasin chatting the entire time, Brân Savage appeared on the landing. He smiled, noticing the way Harry was staring at Thomasin, who was fussing over him, making sure he cleared each step without trouble.
"Harry, how are you?" Brân said.
"Fine, thanks." Harry grinned at the Auror after tearing his gaze away from Thomasin. "Sorry you got stuck looking after us."
Brân shook his head. "'S my pleasure. Draco."
"Auror Savage," said Draco, as he stepped past Harry, eyeing the hallway suspiciously, a hand on Fang's head.
"Severus…"
Snape shot Brân a curt nod.
"This is your and your brother's room," Thomasin said to Harry, pointing to room number eleven, the same room he had stayed in after blowing up his Aunt Marge. "Professor, this one is yours." Thomasin pointed to room number ten, which sat to the left of the boys', then she handed them their keys. "Please don't hesitate to ring if you need anything—fresh towels, change of bedding, bite to eat. Uncle Tee usually bunks down round eleven or so, but if you need anything after that, the night maid, Jenny, will be up."
"Thank you, Thomasin," Snape said. "That shall be all for now." He pressed a coin into her hand.
"As you wish, sir," Thomasin said, dipping into a graceful curtsey. Before bounding down the stairs, she winked at Harry, who grinned and gave her a shy wave before she disappeared.
"I'm in two," Brân said, indicating the room directly across from Snape's.
"I want to check your room," Snape said to Harry and Draco.
"I've been through this entire building, Severus. Shacklebolt…" Brân said before Snape turned his back on him.
Harry frowned. Why was Snape being so rude? He knew from Draco that Brân had been a near constant presence when Harry had been on the hospital ward, and that he had never stopped trying to engage Snape in conversation.
"He obviously can't take a hint," Draco had told Harry.
"'Bout what?" Harry had asked. Draco had rolled his eyes.
Snape seemed to be the only one Brân rubbed the wrong way. Hermione had gushed unendingly about the Auror after the battle; Harry understood why. Brân was commanding, heroic—unsurprising given his job—but he was also kind. He reminded Harry of Sirius, or how he imagined his godfather might have looked if not for Azkaban. Sirius and Brân had gray eyes, black hair, and a roguish smile. But that didn't explain Snape's chilly attitude. Unlike Snape and Sirius, Snape and Brân didn't have a history. In fact, since the night of the battle, Brân had gone out of his way to be decent to Snape, despite being coldly rebuffed each time.
Regardless of Snape's feelings, Harry sensed Brân was a good man.
"Thanks, Auror Savage," he said, wanting to ease the sting of Snape's behavior.
Brân looked away from Snape to smile at Harry. "Brân's fine, Harry. It's a lot less conspicuous than being called, 'Auror', eh? There's no need to stand on ceremony with me, yeah?"
"Yes, sir," Harry said, suddenly remembering that Brân was some kind of Welsh nobleman, an earl or something. Hermione had mentioned it during one of her long-winded spiels about how "incredibly fascinating" Brân was. Harry might hate Brân if he didn't like him so much.
"See you in the morning, then?" Brân said.
Harry nodded and followed Snape into his and Draco's room.
*SP
The Leaky Cauldron, Harry and Draco's Room, London, July 1997 (21)
Instead of the single bed the room had held when Harry stayed there before, it now had two. Fang leapt up to settle at the foot of the bed nearest the door, his forelegs and paws hanging over the edge. Harry joined him, curling up next to the boarhound and resting his head on Fang's shoulder to watch Snape direct his wand around the room as Draco restored their things from their shrunken form.
Despite defeating Voldemort, Harry couldn't legally use magic outside of Hogwarts because he wasn't of age yet. Under normal circumstances, it would have irked him that Draco could use magic away from school while he couldn't, but circumstances had hardly been normal of late, and the next few days would be no exception.
Antonin Dolohov's trial for war crimes was scheduled for Monday; Billy Loyd would be tried on Tuesday. Initially, Snape rejected the idea of Harry and Draco attending any of the hearings because of the circus they would attract, but Kingsley had said that they might be called to testify, something each of them dreaded. But, if they had to be there, Harry preferred the trials being back to back. It would be exhausting, but it also meant they wouldn't have to worry about being called back to London while at Soth-ince.
When Draco asked why the trials were being held so quickly, Kingsley had said that the thought of sitting through countless hearings, forcing witnesses and their families to relive the horror of the battle for weeks, possibly months, made many uneasy. To allay concerns, the Ministry asked the Wizengamot to fast-track certain trials—Dolohov's and Loyd's among them.
When the Wizengamot agreed, the defendants' solicitors railed against the decision, calling it a "contemptible excuse to circumvent the law." They argued that such "reckless expeditiousness encouraged a rush to judgment", exposing their clients to "prejudicial harm" as the trials were occurring so soon after the battle when "emotions were still far too raw" from the "incident."
The Wizengamot considered their arguments, then dismissed them as unfounded. The Chief Warlock noted that the ravages of the battle would not fade with the passage of time, nor would the emotions of those affected by the alleged actions of the defendants. The Wizengamot then questioned how if the solicitors' defense could not withstand the scrutiny now, why they felt that in a few more weeks, or months, it would do any better?
The solicitors reiterated their claim that speedy trials would hobble their defense as they needed time to gather supporting witnesses for their clients. When the Chief Warlock mentioned that if their clients didn't mind an extended stay in Azkaban, perhaps the Wizengamot would reconsider. Despite fiercely working to slow the process, the solicitors despised spending time at the prison, especially as many of their clients were less than helpful when encouraged to strategize for their defense.
Once the solicitors conceded to the timeline, in an effort to appease their demands for fairness, Kingsley requested that Chiefs and members of governments from allied nations preside over the more infamous defendants. He also asked that some cases be conducted in courtrooms outside of Britain.
Kingsley told Snape that Antonin Dolohov and Billy Loyd would be judged in London by members of the Magical Congress of the United States of America.
"Tomorrow's gonna be fun," Harry said, quietly.
Snape looked away from the wardrobe he was inspecting; Draco stopped arranging his things on the bureau. He turned to look at Harry.
"At least it'll be over," Draco said. "Once they're convicted, we needn't concern ourselves with them anymore. They'll be in Azkaban… if they're not sentenced to something worse."
"I guess," Harry mumbled while rubbing his chest. "Think they'll call us to testify?"
Draco shook his head and shrugged. "If they do… We've survived worse, Potter."
With those words, the tightness in Harry's chest eased a bit.
*SP
The Leaky Cauldron, Harry and Draco's Room, London, July 1997 (22)
Just after midnight, Harry lay in bed, restless. Lately, when he dreamed, he dreamed of Soth-ince. The bowl-shaped land and cottage with the red door were never far from his mind. Before the Final Battle, he had been counting the days until they would leave Hogwarts for the trip south, but as usual, nothing went to plan. A simple Quidditch scrimmage had turned into a real battle and he had ended the night in a coma.
After waking in the Great Hall, the desire to be at Soth-ince had weighed on him like the threat of another showdown with Voldemort. He missed his bed; the compactness of his room; the smell of the sea wafting in through the mullioned window. He longed to be there so badly his bones ached, even deeper than the ache caused by his healing.
A little before 1:00 a.m. he left his room for Snape's. After one quiet knock, Snape opened the door.
"Are you all right?" Snape stepped out into the hall, looking left, then right, his black eyes sharp with suspicion. Harry noted that he was still wearing the robes he'd worn on the train.
"Fine. Can I come in?"
"Of course."
Once inside, Harry saw that Snape's bed was still made; it hadn't even been sat on, but his trunk was halfway open, and the room's desk was littered with parchment, a bottle of ink, and several quills. Candles sat on both ends of the desk, casting bright yellow halos on everything, including a thick book that lay open near the desk's edge.
"I don't want to interrupt your work," Harry said.
"It can wait." Snape pointed at the bed, a silent demand for Harry to sit. "What's on your mind?"
"I just want to go home." Harry slowly settled on the side of the bed facing Snape.
Snape sighed as he leaned back into his chair. "I know."
Harry yawned then reached for the bedspread, pulling it up around his shoulders. "I hope they don't call us to testify."
"If they do, we'll manage."
"Yeah…" Harry yawned again. "'Spose so," he said, then lay down, curling up on his side. "Can't wait to sleep in my own bed, sit next to my rowan…visit…oaks..."
Once he was certain Harry was asleep, Snape got up to arrange him on the bed properly. He hadn't anticipated getting to sleep anyway. After covering Harry up, he removed the boy's glasses and set them on the side table before lightly running his fingers over the stubble atop Harry's head, lingering over the raised scar at the back of his skull. He blew out the candle on the bedside table, then stepped out into the hall, heading for the boys' room. The moment he reached for the knob, the door flew open.
"Merlin!" Draco said, stopping himself from plowing into Snape. "Potter… I woke up… He's gone! We have to –"
"He's in my room. He couldn't sleep."
"…Oh."
"I was coming to check that you were all right."
"I'm fine," Draco said. Snape hitched a brow. The clammy, paleness of the boy's skin told Snape otherwise. "I… I had a dream… a nightmare," Draco admitted, "but I'm all right, now."
Snape said, "Come."
Draco didn't argue. Snape snapped his finger and Fang joined them in the hallway. Just as he closed the door, Brân's opened. The Auror stepped out into the hall wearing only a pair of indigo sleep pants. His hair was a messy black nimbus atop his head.
"Severus? Everything all right?"
"Yes," Snape said, following Draco and Fang to his room before shutting the door in Brân's face. As Draco climbed onto the bed to lie alongside Harry, Snape returned to his seat at the desk and picked up a quill; Fang settled at the man's feet.
"Severus?"
"Yes, Draco?"
Harry and Draco mostly called Snape 'sir' or 'Professor', but he had also become used to them calling him 'Dad', so much so that it startled him when Draco called him by his given name. Snape surmised that when Draco did that, it was because he was feeling apart from the Potions master and Harry. The young Slytherin would never admit it, but Snape always sensed when it happened.
"I don't… I don't…"
Snape stopped writing to look around as Draco began snoring softly. The boy had the habit of falling asleep mid-sentence, something Harry took great delight in because he believed that Draco believed, as with most things, that he was perfect at sleeping.
Snape watched them. They were as different asleep as when they were awake. Draco lay still and mostly quiet throughout the night, a hoarse gasp and blinking, frightened gray eyes the only sign of a nightmare. Harry's body and mind seemed perpetually restless. His legs, arms, fingers, and head twitched as he mumbled softly, incoherently, unless he really was in the throes of a nightmare. Then his words came out disturbingly clear, piercing Snape's heart like a dagger.
Now, the boy lay curled up in a ball, his typical sleeping position with the bedspread pulled up over his face, leaving only the top of his head visible. Conversely, Draco lay flat on his back, head turned to the side. Snape got up to spread the rest of the bedspread over Draco's body.
It hadn't escaped his attention that neither of them had reacted when Thomasin referred to them as brothers. He didn't know if they considered the other as such or not. He supposed it didn't matter. So much had changed. His life now would have seemed impossible, even ridiculous a year ago. Perhaps it should feel strange raising Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy. But it didn't.
They were his sons, undeniably different, but his.
*SP