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congratulations, it's a boy wonder!
[ A boy of almost eleven lays on the floor of a drafty, creaking shack. He is small for his age, and very skinny, which is only exaggerated by the oversized castoffs that make up his wardrobe; he is pale and dark haired, with brilliant green eyes that peer out above a prominent nose. To those who don't know him, he appears exactly as normal as his aunt and uncle would insist he is.
In fact, the only thing that appears odd about Harry Potter is the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead. It aches a little tonight. He runs his fingers through his own messy fringe, rubbing over the raised mark idly as he waits.
His cousin Dudley's watch face is bright in the lightless room. While Harry isn’t exactly eager for the time to tick over to midnight, he has nothing better to do than to count down the minutes until his birthday.
He shivers as another strong gust from the storm outside creeps in through the gaps in the boarded walls.
11:54. 11:55.
If only he had one of those letters to read. Perhaps they were filled with birthday wishes. It seems unlikely, but it was nice to imagine.
11:56. 11:57.
Across the room, the cold, empty rectangle of the fireplace begins to glow. Harry, unsure if it’s simply a trick of his tired eyes, squints from where he is huddled at the foot of Dudley’s sagging couch.
11:58. 11:59.
The light, steadily growing, becomes a hearth filled with flickering flames. Harry knows this is impossible; he knows this is weird. Experience tells him that such strangeness can only be his fault. Logically, that means to call for help from his aunt or uncle would be to call down his own punishment, so he bites down harshly on his own tongue.
Watching, waiting. Hoping the strangeness will just end on its own, as it so rarely did.
Harry actually isn’t scared until the fire abruptly flares emerald, the same shade as his wide eyes.
Scrambling on all fours, he skitters away as a very tall figure takes shape through the flames. His back hits the wall the same moment it steps into the room.
On the couch, Dudley’s snoring stutters, but does not stop. Harry cannot find his voice to shout a warning. He croaks instead. ]
W-who – ?
In fact, the only thing that appears odd about Harry Potter is the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead. It aches a little tonight. He runs his fingers through his own messy fringe, rubbing over the raised mark idly as he waits.
His cousin Dudley's watch face is bright in the lightless room. While Harry isn’t exactly eager for the time to tick over to midnight, he has nothing better to do than to count down the minutes until his birthday.
He shivers as another strong gust from the storm outside creeps in through the gaps in the boarded walls.
11:54. 11:55.
If only he had one of those letters to read. Perhaps they were filled with birthday wishes. It seems unlikely, but it was nice to imagine.
11:56. 11:57.
Across the room, the cold, empty rectangle of the fireplace begins to glow. Harry, unsure if it’s simply a trick of his tired eyes, squints from where he is huddled at the foot of Dudley’s sagging couch.
11:58. 11:59.
The light, steadily growing, becomes a hearth filled with flickering flames. Harry knows this is impossible; he knows this is weird. Experience tells him that such strangeness can only be his fault. Logically, that means to call for help from his aunt or uncle would be to call down his own punishment, so he bites down harshly on his own tongue.
Watching, waiting. Hoping the strangeness will just end on its own, as it so rarely did.
Harry actually isn’t scared until the fire abruptly flares emerald, the same shade as his wide eyes.
Scrambling on all fours, he skitters away as a very tall figure takes shape through the flames. His back hits the wall the same moment it steps into the room.
On the couch, Dudley’s snoring stutters, but does not stop. Harry cannot find his voice to shout a warning. He croaks instead. ]
W-who – ?
no subject
( He begins, faintly bemused — until his struggling brain manages to begin spinning properly again, and it dawns on him what the boy means. Understanding flashes acrsos his features. The paternity test, the proof in concrete. Perhaps it shouldn't be surprising that he'd ask for it. )
I don't have access to the one that was shown to me.
( It was an entirely different sort, the kind that didn't necessitate fresh blood to pull from. Something older, and far more complex, that the headmaster managed to procure — Merlin only knows how.
But. )
If... you find it necessary, we can brew a new one tonight. It will take a couple of hours.
no subject
[ Harry offers this reassurance quickly. Something tangible would maybe kill a few anxious, illogical doubts before they can take root, but during all the staring he's found the most simple form of proof: looking at Severus is like seeing his own face, just aged, a little distorted. Unconsciously he reaches up to rub his own nose, which would look exactly like his father's if Dudley had managed to break it a few more times. ]
And I do believe you. We look alike, don't we?
[ Now that he knows what to look for, he's seeing the signs everywhere. His hand comes back down to the tabletop as his head tilts, making his scar disappear beneath shaggy fringe. What else had he missed? ]
Was I supposed to figure it out? You've known for ages, and I had no idea…
no subject
He's tempted, strangely tempted, to reach out and clasp the boy's hand. Entirely uncertain where that impulse is coming from, he's hardly the hands-on sort, certainly not known for his physicality or his empathy. It's there all the same, and he only manages to curb the gesture by smoothing his palms absently over the surface of the table. )
No, child, of course not. How could you have known? This wasn't... a trick, or a puzzle you were meant to solve. I only thought to make it... easier, for you, than it might have been if everything was thrust upon you at once. That it might be- a little less... undesirable to hear, coming from somebody who you'd had a chance to meet properly. If I can be completely honest with you?
( A beat, to let the question sit — not that he's actually expecting a real answer. )
I'm not entirely sure if I've done this- the right way, and I suspect that's a trend that will continue on for the foreseeable future. I can't imagine I'll be particularly- good at this. I'm likely to make more mistakes than either of us can count, probably, but if you could find it within you to be patient with me, I would like to try.
no subject
Nowhere and no one could be worse than what he'd had before… but that's so far from the life he's lived beneath the professor's roof that to compare him to his aunt and uncle seems wrong. You're better than the monsters I knew before is not the appreciation he deserves. ]
You've been brilliant.
[ Harry is fiercely, eye-stingingly overwhelmed, but one thing is certain: Severus stepping out of those magic green flames had been the best thing to ever happen, and it has only gotten better from there.
He's quick. In the time it takes the boy to slip out of his chair and around the corner of the table, there's only been a split second for either of them to brace for impact. The embrace is awkward, one of only a handful he's ever initiated. His pointy chin digs into one of the bony shoulder's he has wrapped himself around. ] I don't- really know how this works either, but. I want to try too.