Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
Cross-posted at AO3
Chapter 4: Pret-a-Porter versus Couture
Back in muggle London, the noise and fumes of the traffic on Charing Cross Road are an assault on the senses.
"Come along, boy," barks Severus. "It gets worse before it gets better."
He sets a brisk pace, catching at Harry's hand or shoulder as they cross streets and slip between the stationary cars. They walk for a few minutes and at every turn Severus peels away a bit more of the glamour Harry is wearing. They pass a large building with white façade on the left. "That's 'The British Museum'. Worth a visit in the winter. Too crowded today." Snape tells him.
A couple of junctions later they step into a small park. There is a café on one side and a fountain in the centre. It couldn't be called peaceful but it does cushion them from the bustle of London. The glamour is completely gone and Harry is Harry Potter once more.
"What would you like to eat?"
"Could I have the ploughman's, please?"
Snape choses a chicken salad and orders himself a coffee while setting orange juice in front of Harry.
"Well, we just about survived the first round. Well done, Harry."
"Thank you, sir." It comes out rather muffled by the sandwich and Severus finds himself biting back a snort.
But Severus now finds himself at a loss. Flummoxed and discombobulated. He brought Harry here, away from the shops because he wanted to talk and talk about difficult, personal things but now they're here, he'd rather face a cruciatus or two. So, he takes the coward's way out and puts the ball in Harry's court. "Do you have any questions, so far?"
Harry has hundreds of questions but they are tumbling around his brain so fast he can't actually catch any of them and get them out of his mouth. He nods frantically.
Severus waits…
"Why do wizards write with quills? It looks really awkward."
"It takes practice, Harry, and that is something you should do every day between now and September. The reasons for it are quite complex, although most wizards and witches will tell you it is traditional and leave it at that, but it all comes down to the nature of magic."
He pauses, trying to work out how to explain this piece of magical theory. "Those people who have magic, it permeates every corner of their lives. When you keyed your trunk to you, you used a tiny bit of your magic. When you write, your words are infused with a really miniscule amount of magic. It is not something you run out of – if you cast a very powerful spell you would feel drained for a while – but over time your magic replenishes itself."
"Magic reacts differently to different materials. Parchment, vellum and papyrus all handle magic well. Specially made magical paper – it has to be done by hand – is also good. Muggle-made paper, you can write on it but it does not take magic well. Even if you are careful, it will tear or disintegrate in a few months. I believe it is due to all the chemicals they use in the manufacturing process."
"Quills are the same. They are a fully natural material and handle magic well. Steel nibs for quills or steel pens work if your magic is compatible with the metal. Some wizards can only use gold or silver. They are only made into nibs because a completely gold or silver pen would be so expensive. Muggle pens are made of lots of different materials, including plastics, and magic and plastics are rarely happy bedfellows. Again, it is believed it is the processing that goes into their manufacture that is to blame. Although," he is actually speculating magical theory at an eleven-year-old, "I wonder if it is not their composite nature that is the problem."
"There are a wide variety of magical inks," Severus was warming to his subject. "Some are spelled to write in different colours depending on your mood, or to be visible at certain times of the month or in a specific light, others are spelled against cheating and you have to use them for exams. Very occasionally you will have to sign in blood for legal documents. The point is that from your hand to the paper there needs to be an unbroken chain of materials that are conducive to magic. Quill, ink and parchment are the best affordable combination."
Harry loves the complexity the professor is describing and the way his eyes light up when he talks about magic. "What about drawing things?"
Severus had noticed the journal with unlined pages. Lily had loved to draw, although she rarely bothered with magical drawings. "You can get brushes and paints along the same lines as the quills and ink. If you're interested we can brave Scribbulus' again later and pick you up some basic art supplies. If you want to make your pictures move, you need to speak to Professor Flitwick, he teaches charms. That was one of your mother's favourite subjects." He hopes the boy will take the opening. They need to get some of the difficult discussions out of the way. Putting things off will only cause a sense of betrayal.
"What were they like, my Mum and Dad?"
He prevaricates, "Mr. Potter, we will not have time to discuss everything today. I will visit approximately once a week throughout August which will give us more opportunity to discuss both personal and general topics. I will make a deal with you. You talk honestly about your childhood and do the reading I set and I will answer questions." He paused. "There are some things I cannot tell you and others that I will irritate you with by asking you to wait until you are older. Anything I tell you will be the truth to the best of my knowledge. Is that acceptable?"
Harry considered. "You know every kid hates being told, 'we'll tell you when you're older'?"
"Yes, but your parents grew up during and fought in a war. There are things that happened that I will not tell an eleven-year-old about. Things that give me nightmares a decade later."
That makes Harry stop and think. There are things out there that are so bad that this man dreams about them? From what he's seen so far, Professor Snape dominates every room he's in and backs down from no-one. What could scare him?
Severus returns to the original question with a touch of reticence. "To satisfy your curiosity for now, your mother was my best friend growing up. We fell out later. Typical teenagers, I suppose, but I miss her every day."
"What did you fall out over?"
"The morality of relativism."
"Huh?"
"The correct response, Mr. Potter, would be 'What's that Professor Snape?'."
Harry isn't sure yet, but he's good a reading people and the uptick at the corner of Snape's mouth suggests he's at least partly joking. Better safe than sorry. "Sorry, sir."
"Harry, I suspect there have been times in your life when you have been hungry?" The boy's face is flushed, the nod imperceptible. "And times when you have helped yourself to food, in that situation?" Another nod. Even more tentative. "My childhood was not dissimilar." The relief at the lack of condemnation is blatant.
"Lily was a kind and generous person but she never wanted for anything. As a teenager, she had no concept of a hunger so sharp it would drive a person to steal. To her, theft was always wrong; there had to be a better solution. She matured, as did I. As an adult she would've understood the need to eat and I have accepted there are some things that can never be justified; principles you have to be prepared to die for rather than compromise."
Severus Snape took a deep breath finding the past still hurt more than he had anticipated. The boy is still listening attentively. Now for the difficult bit. "I am not the right person to tell you about your father, Harry. We were not close. The only thing we had in common was your mother. We were rivals and it was not a friendly rivalry." Inspiration hit. "I will contact some of his old friends and ask if they will visit you but you must understand that he died young and was not the only casualty of the war." Harry nodded but looked disappointed.
The sandwiches were gone. There was no excuse to delay further. "Once more unto the breach, Mr. Potter…"
Harry looked confused. "It's Shakespeare – you're probably a bit young for it at the moment. In this context, it means 'back to the shops'!" Harry groaned.
The optician was on Tottenham Court Road, heading back in the direction of The Leaky Cauldron. Harry's prescription had changed so two pairs of glasses were duly bought and delivery via the decidedly muggle Royal Mail arranged.
He queried the need for a second pair of glasses and Snape looked at him for a moment, weighing up how much to say. "You should always have a replacement on hand for anything that is important to you. I will be buying you two of some other items today as well. Besides, if you are as short-sighted as your father, if you lose your glasses, you will need glasses in order to find them!"
Clothes shopping meant an excursion up Oxford Street, which Harry would be quite happy never to repeat. Professor Snape moved through the crowds swiftly and elegantly. They parted in front of him and closed behind him like, well, magic. Harry was left ducking and diving trying to keep the tall figure in black in sight. Finally, they stopped outside Marks and Spencer.
"Test three, Harry!" Snape said with obvious amusement. "You kept up well."
"Mr. Potter, I will issue a not-apology now. I am going to buy you a functional, basic, muggle wardrobe. It will be decent quality but not particularly fashionable. We do not have a lot of time, so if I offer you a choice, make it or I will. You will also hear the dreaded phrase 'room to grow into it'. I know how loathsome this is, but you are too small for your age and you WILL grow this year if I have to give you potions every single day to achieve it. I recommend you spend this year learning what you do and don't like in wizarding and muggle fashion. Remember it is possible to do the catalogue shopping you mentioned earlier in both worlds."
By the time they were finished, Marks and Spencer's children's department may have looked normal but it had survived a tornado. Harry had never had new clothes like this in his life and was thrilled. The contrast between the two wizards became obvious in their choices of garment. All of Harry's school clothes were neat, functional and monochrome. The choices he had been allowed for himself, pyjamas and weekend wear, were all bold and colourful. Severus had found himself conducting all the rituals he had been subjected to as a child – turning up the legs of trousers, checking the space between toe and shoe – things that he hadn't thought about in twenty years. It felt uncomfortably paternal.
Severus looked at his watch again as they once more faced the crowds and the trek back to The Leaky Cauldron. "We don't have time, Mr. Potter. Down here, please!" He indicated a narrow alley. Away from prying eyes he decanted all their purchases into Harry's messenger bag. Running a hand through the boy's hair proved useless in taming it, so he gave up as a bad job, it wasn't as if he had an extensive repertoire of haircare charms.
"Mr. Potter. Are you ready for your return to the wizarding world?"
Harry gulped.
"You will be fine. Madam Malkin for you school robes, Gringotts to sort out the money and Ollivander's to get your wand. In that order. Remember people will be watching what you do. Be careful and be polite."
"Yes, sir."
Harry feels the squeeze of apparition once more.
Harry hasn't taken a dozen steps down Diagon Alley when he feels the eyes on him and the pool of silence that is spreading outwards with himself and the professor at its centre. He hesitates only to find the professor's hand on his shoulder, reassuring him and keeping him moving. He doesn't need to look back to know that Severus Snape has his most condescending sneer in place, daring anyone to approach them. It feels like an eternity but is less than a minute before they reach the purple door of Madam Malkin's shop.
As they step inside, Harry exhales noisily. Only to be reminded that this is still 'public' by another gentle squeeze on the shoulder. "Am I really that recognizable, sir?"
"Your father's face and your mother's eyes. I wouldn't be surprised if there hasn't been something in the Daily Prophet about your starting Hogwarts this year, too. Don't let them get to you, Mr. Potter."
"Potter!? Uncle Sev?!" The sharp exclamation has come from a boy his own age, perched on a low stool at the back of the shop. He is being fitted for robes and looks extremely frustrated that he cannot step forward and greet the newcomers properly.
"Professor Snape, please Draco. It is only a month until term starts and you don't want me taking house points if you slip up at school?"
Draco looks appropriately horrified. "No, sir."
Severus encourages Harry to move further into the shop with him. Harry looks Draco up and down. The severely slicked back blonde hair, the pointed chin and the delicate bone structure make him look even younger than Harry. "Mr. Potter, please may I introduce my godson, Mr. Draco Malfoy, Heir to House Malfoy. Draco, this is Mr. Harry Potter, Head-in-Waiting of House Potter." Draco is now looking Harry up and down, eyes searching out the scar on his forehead.
"Mr. Potter has grown up with his mother's family." Harry is sure that conveys all kinds of meanings from godfather to godson but will worry about it later. "He is just now coming into our world for the first time."
Draco looks horrified. It takes Harry a moment to realise that the other boy is not being condescending or insulting. He is genuinely shocked.
"Mr. Malfoy," he's sure to get this wrong but he wants to try. "Pleased to meet you."
"Likewise, Mr. Potter."
So far, so good. Strangely, it is Draco who totally fails to contain himself. "You grew up with muggles? What was Dumbledore thinking?"
"Headmaster Dumbledore, Mr. Malfoy." The correction is gentle but nonetheless real.
"Sorry, Professor. But really."
"Who knows what the Headmaster was thinking, Mr. Malfoy? However, I would caution against asking." Snape doubts anyone will ever get sense out of Dumbledore on the topic but it would be a political mis-step even to be heard asking. Then again, he cannot remember any time in recent years that any Slytherin has spoken to the Headmaster aside from disciplinary issues.
"So, Potter, what House do you think you'll be in? I'm Slytherin for sure." Draco is barely containing his enthusiasm.
Harry looks helplessly at the professor.
"Mr. Malfoy. So far, I have covered Mr. Potter's immediate family history, wizarding dress and the more mundane items on the Hogwarts' supply list. By the end of the day, I will have added wizarding currency, Gringotts and basics of wand-lore to Mr. Potter's store of knowledge. At which point both he and I will require a headache potion and a day off to recover. I am yet to explain Hogwarts' house system, points system or classes, wizarding history, custom and politics or how to actually get to the school. We are both aware how much he has to master by the start of the year."
The blonde's eyes are threatening to pop out of his head.
"The Professor is right, Mr. Malfoy. I would love the chance to talk with you but I honestly won't be able to answer your questions. Perhaps we can talk once term has started?"
Draco nods grandly, accepting the offer as his due, and Madam Malkin, with the expert timing of many years of customer service, chooses that moment to interject: "You're all done, Mr. Malfoy. I will owl everything to the manor as usual."
"Yes, thank you, Madam Malkin." He removes the robe and replaces it with a full length formal robe in grey velvet. His eyes are never far from Harry.
"Professor Snape, Mr. Potter." Draco Malfoy gives a small, formal bow and glides away. The shop bell clangs as he closes the door behind him.
Harry looks wide-eyed at Professor Snape. "You did well, Harry. He is my godson and I love him but he is spoilt and no mistake. You have managed not to offend him and kept a door open for friendship. Does the advice I gave you earlier make better sense now?"
"Yes, Professor, but am I always going to feel this out of my depth?"
"You will know enough to survive by September the first. With luck and hard work, you will have caught up with your peers by the end of second year." He will need to too, Severus reflects. Summer after second year he will be turning thirteen and as Head-in-Waiting he will have responsibilities.
Madam Malkin invites Harry to step up onto the stool and she sets about measuring and tailoring the robes for him. It is a peaceful, static way of shopping that comes as a relief. Harry will deny it with his last breath but he is getting tired. Today has been, what was that word Professor Snape had used? 'Strenuous', and it isn't over yet. All too soon, Madam Malkin has completed her work. The Professor calmly arranges for his wizarding wardrobe to be owled to himself at Hogwarts, to avoid another confrontation with Petunia Dursley.
"Come along, Mr. Potter. Time for you to meet the Goblins. Every word I have said about politeness and manners counts double where Gringotts is concerned."
Harry looks up at him. Thank you, Professor Snape. Like he wasn't already nervous.