#and after the war they have a family dinner once a week and sev pretends to hate it but plans these dinners weeks in advance

[bluebellefox]

Sometimes I think about this fun little AU I have where Snape somehow ends up on the horcrux hunt with Harry, Hermione, and Ron for whatever bullshit plot reason. And the three of them are just like "Merlin he's an asshole, I can't believe we're gonna bully him into being our weird grumpy uncle figure" and then there's Snape being all disgruntled and trying to beat them off with a stick and the trio just doubling down harder out of spite.

Can you imagine Malfoy Manner with Snape being there, it would be a shitshow of epic proportions. Snape has really no idea that the three of them had grown on him like some kind of obnoxious fungus because he's absolutely terrible at handling his emotions right up until they're being threatened by torture to hand over the sword of Gryffindor and having that italicized "oh" moment right there. Which of course leads to him trying to goad Bellatrix and the rest of the Death Eaters into redirecting their attention on him because fuck those are kind of his kids now. And then the Golden Trio having their moment of realization with concrete proof that there's real emotions and feelings hiding underneath all that snark and snarling.

I just want them to get along.

[illuminating-dragons]

Fading Scars (3/?): The Godsons part 1

Time: 1998

Summary: The sentencing of his parents leaves Draco Malfoy with questions, and the legacies of godfathers aren't set in stone.

               “Lucius Malfoy, you are found guilty of your crimes. Narcissa Malfoy, you are found guilty of your crimes.”

               The couple bowed their heads.

               “As punishment, your assets will be seized for the Survivor Fund. You will not be able to profit from your evil deeds. You will be placed on house arrest for the next seven years. Once that time is finished, you will be required to perform charity services, to be determined at that hour.”

               Lucius was speechless. Narcissa was weeping.

               Murmurs went around the courtroom as the Malfoys were ushered out. A few were loud enough that they echoed.

               “Getting off easy…”

               “The worst of the lot…”

               And then one didn’t bother with murmuring at all.

               “First their kid gets off with community service, now this! I know Azkaban’s been demolished, but they’re not even getting prison time! I thought we were doing away with bribes!”

               Their neighbour shushed them. “It wasn’t a bribe,” they said sternly. “It was a wish.”

               “Who from?”    

               Draco Malfoy had never been to the Black family home. His mother had told him stories as a child about all the Dark artifacts there: “an embarrassment of riches”. But thanks to ‘my worthless cousin’, they’d never been able to gain access. It looked very disappointing from the outside.

               Taking a deep breath, Draco walked up the stairs and rang the bell. He recognized the house-elf that answered—Creeper, wasn’t it? He’d come to tell them all about the ‘worthless cousin’; he’d started the plan that had landed his father in jail…and killed the ‘worthless cousin’.

               Who also happened to be Harry Potter’s godfather.

               “Mister Malfoy,” the elf said. “Master Harry is expecting you. Do come in.”

               Draco walked inside, his eyes widening.

               His mother had painted a picture of a house dripping with darkness, but this house was…honestly, quite cheerful. The floors were clean and bright, the walls were a soft yellow. There was only one portrait on the wall (a sleeping Phineas Nigellus) and there wasn’t a single house-elf head in sight.

               Harry Potter came down the stairs, a nervous smile on his face. “Hello, Malfoy.”

               “Potter.” Draco couldn’t quite meet his eyes. “You got my owl, then?”

               Harry cocked his head. “Would you be here if I didn’t?”

               Damn him.

               “Kreacher, can you bring tea into the drawing room?” Harry gestured to Draco. “Come on up.”  

               Draco climbed the stairs, still looking around in disbelief. It was almost cozy in Number 12, Grimmauld Place, and that didn’t seem right. Then again, considering its new owner, perhaps it was.

               Potter sat down on a new looking sofa. Ill at ease, Draco sat across from him on a matching chair. Kreacher brought in tea and bowed to Harry before leaving the room.

               “You don’t have to do that,” Potter called after him. He picked up his mug, and after a moment’s hesitation, Draco copied him. The tea was good; strong and black.

               “Do you take anything in it?” Potter asked.

               Draco shook his head. His hands trembled only slightly, and that was good.

               Potter put his mug down. “Alright, why did you want to see me?”

               Draco sighed. “My parent’s sentencing was yesterday.”

               Potter nodded. “I know.”

               “Then you know that they did not deserve their sentence.”

               “It was as light as I could make it, Malfoy—”

               “So it was you?” Draco asked, thunderstruck. “You interfered on their behalf?”

               “Yes.” Potter sipped his tea and made a face, reaching for the sugar. “Well, interfered is a strong word. I…let the Wizenagamot know that I thought they didn’t need prison time.”

               Draco stared at him. “I don’t understand. My parents were Death Eaters. My father hurt your friends—he gave You-Know-Who’s diary to your girlfriend!”

               “And your mother saved my life,” Potter replied calmly. “She pretended I was dead, so Voldemort would take me back to the castle.”

               “She didn’t do it for you.” He didn’t want to say that—maybe Potter didn’t know after all—but he just smiled.

               “I know. She did it for you.”

               Malfoy swallowed hard, remembering the moment—just before Bellatrix died—when his mother had found him and swept him into her arms. His father had cried with relief as he sheltered them both as best he could from the spells firing through the air around them.

               “And that’s why I wanted to help,” Harry said. “She loved you, and I know your father does too, even if he doesn’t know how to show it…and I thought there’d been enough orphans in this war.”

               Draco’s mouth tightened. He’d caused some of those orphans. And so had his parents. But he still had his.

               “I will never like them,” Potter continued, “but I think this way is better. We’ve got to put more thought into imprisoning people and what we want to accomplish with that, but for now they’re being punished with some hope that they can be free again.”

               “And I can still see them,” Draco said. His parents had insisted he move out so he wouldn’t be trapped in their house, but he was already planning to visit at least twice a week. “Thank you, Potter.”

               “You’re welcome.”

               The room got quiet, and Draco fidgeted. “I’m sorry,” he blurted out.

               “Sorry for what?”

               It was a fair question. They had quite a history. Draco didn’t have the energy to get into all of it today, but there was one important point he needed to make up for, now that he understood how much it hurt.

               “I’m sorry you lost your godfather.”

               Potter went still.

               “I mean, I’ve lost mine now too,” Draco said. “Severus is dead, and I never realized how much I relied on him, and I know I did my best to get yours sent back to prison, and it’s my family’s fault he’s dead…” he was rambling, knew he was rambling, but he couldn’t stop. “I’m sorry he’s gone, because it’s horrible.”

               “Draco.” The name sounded strange, coming from Potter. “I—I never knew Professor Snape was your godfather.”

               Draco nodded. “I didn’t talk about it much, but yeah. He came over every Saturday night when I was small.” And every Saturday night during the war, no matter what. Last night was the first Saturday without him.

               Potter took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. And…thank you. I miss him.”

               “You know, you’re a bit lucky.”

               “How do you mean?”

               “At least you know he—Sirius—he loved you.”

               Potter swallowed hard. “Yes, he did. And I loved him.”

               “I don’t know that Severus loved me.” That was the worst part, that was the hardest part of last night. “I mean, he always seemed to, but he always seemed so loyal to Father and the Death Eaters and I just...it could have been an act. I’ll never know.”

               Potter leaned forward. “Did you love him?”

               “Yes.” He’d adored Uncle Sev, when he was still allowed to call him that, of course. Even now, after the betrayal, he still loved the man.

               “Then that’s what’s important, really. How you feel.”

               Draco nodded. “It’s strange, isn’t it? Our godfathers hated each other so much, and then they got godsons—”

               “Who carried on the tradition?” Harry smiled wryly. “It makes more sense than us being friends. God, the plans Ron and I used to make—”

               “You did that too?” Draco interrupted. “Goyle and—and Crabbe and I did that all the time. Trying to get you lot expelled.”

               Potter laughed. “What was one of them?”

               Draco blushed. “They were stupid. We stopped before third year, so they weren’t great.”

               “One of ours involved Flutterby bushes and Hermione’s hairbrush.”

               Draco blinked. “How?”

               And somehow, that got them talking. They traded expulsion plans (the Flutterby bush one was horrible, but the one involving Peeves, Filch and the Fat Friar was pretty decent), and before Draco knew it he was laughing. So was Potter, some of the grief in his eyes fading away.

               Draco gave a start when he glanced at his watch. “I’ve got to go,’ he said, standing. “I’m going to my parents’ for dinner.”

               Potter stood as well. “Sure. I’ll see you out.” The uneasiness came back as they went downstairs, and Draco found himself—absurdly—wishing that he hadn’t seen the time.

               “Draco,” Potter said as he stood on the doorstep.

               “Yes?”

               “Maybe in a world after a war…maybe things don’t have to make sense.”

               Draco thought about that for a moment. Their history would always be there, tangled up with the history of their families, their friends, their causes. But he was going to have tea with his parents, and Harry Potter stood in the House of Black with cheerful lights and colours. Maybe history wasn’t the only important thing.

               “I think you may be right, Harry,” he said slowly. “We’ll give it a try, how about that?”

               Harry smiled. “Sounds good. Goodnight, Draco.”

               And Draco Malfoy left 12 Grimmauld Place. It would be a couple of months before he returned, and there were arguments on both sides to be had before he visited regularly, first to bring Astoria to dinners, and later to bring Scorpius to play dates.

               (And much later on to be roped into wedding planning, but that’s another story).