Chapter Text
It didn’t take much longer for Henry and Snape to finish at the bank. After the wills, the only things left were quick, short things. Henry’s three heirship rings were easily acquired and on his fingers, Grinner passed him a money bag of fifty galleons to cover his needs until the audit was finished, the audit request merely required signing a form, and Snape simply handed the custody paperwork from Madame Bones to Grinner. They were finished before lunch.
Snape led them to a quiet cafe down one of the side streets Henry had never been down before.
They were well into their tea and waiting for their food when Lady-Aunt Cissa sat down at their table, gesturing Draco into the fourth chair.
"So, when you said you'd see us later," Henry said slowly, recovering from the startle of someone ignoring Snape's aura of intimidation to sit with them, "you meant later today."
Lady-Aunt Cissa smiled, "Of course. You need clothes and Sev has no sense of fashion."
Harry, remembering Regulus' rant about Sirius' trousers and what he had willed to Harry and why, snorted. "Apparently, neither did Dad, Sirius, or Remus so I don't think anyone would be surprised if I didn't either."
Draco looked mortally offended and Lady-Aunt Cissa tilted her head quizzically. "That is true, James and Sirius did have the worst sense of fashion in their year," she said slowly, with the smallest tone of surprise, "but how did you learn of it?"
Severus smirked at such an opportune moment and pulled out his copy of the transcription of the private wills reading. "Henry was named in three wills that hadn't been read yet. With his permission, we did a private reading and scheduled the public ones for the 25th. You'll be getting a notice later. Reggie was one of the three. He had much to say on the subject of fashion," he told her as he passed the packet of parchment. "You'll also want to look at the last page."
Narcissa's face did several complicated motions, like she was trying not to cry and laugh at the same time as she read through the two pages containing Regulus' will, then she flipped to the back page. One delicately shaped eyebrow twitched ever so slightly higher at several points as she read the last gifts of Lily's will and the list of names. Henry knew when she'd gotten to the best part when both eyebrows distinctly went up and stayed up for a solid three seconds as her eyes traced and retraced the same three lines. Twice.
Lady-Aunt Cissa shuffled the pages back in order, neatened the edges, and set the stack down in front of her, blinking at nothing for a moment. "Well, then," she said finally, looking at Harry. "I suppose you're my nephew four different ways, now."
“Mother?” Draco inquired over his tea cup. A year ago, or six years in the future, whatever, Harry would have been hesitant to call the look currently on Malfoy’s face “worried,” convinced as he had been that Draco Malfoy knew no such emotion. But after the events of the last month, Harry knew better, not that this Draco was aware of that.
Lady-Aunt Cissa smiled at her son and explained. “To begin, Sirius Black is not what people say he is. He didn’t betray the Potters, and if he did kill Peter Pettigrew, it was probably justified, as if Sirius didn’t betray them, it must have been Peter. We can know this as fact because Sirius was sworn godfather to Henry and also made him his heir. As Sirius is still alive…”
“He couldn’t have betrayed those oaths,” Draco finished, nodding in understanding, though he still looked rather confused.
“Sirius and Regulus were my cousins, but we grew up much like siblings, for all we lived in different houses. Regulus named Henry his godnephew in his will. As I consider Reggie my baby brother, any nephew of his must also be…”
“Your nephew,” Henry smiled, recognizing the argument.
Narcissa nodded agreeably. “Secondly, Severus is my little brother, he considers Lily his sister, and has custody of Henry, and was named in Lily’s will granting him custody. Fourth on the list, all three people before him being incapacitated at the end of the War. If Severus is your uncle, then his nephew of whom he has custody is…”
“Your nephew,” Draco nodded.
“Thirdly, while my parents may have disowned her for contractual reasons, Andromeda Tonks is still my sister, however infrequently we speak of late. As she is also on the list for Henry, that makes Henry…”
“Your nephew,” Snape smirked, joining in on the game.
“Finally,” Cissa smiled, “Lily instructed that if her list was exhausted and it appeared necessary to send him to his biological aunt Petunia, he was to go into my custody instead, in place of his biological aunt, which makes him…”
“Your nephew,” Harry said, smiling. Lady-Aunt Cissa was already better than Petunia, and he’d only seen her twice before this. He was more than happy to let her take Petunia’s place on his family tree.
“Four times over,” Snape drawled.
Draco blinked and looked at Harry. “Well then. Welcome to the family, cousin.” He turned to his mother. “Apparently we have shopping to do?” he asked.
Cissa smiled and nodded, waving the Server over, “After lunch.”
Their food arrived quickly.
“Can we do something about this first?” Harry asked, pointing to his hair, “I keep hearing about how much I look like James, and I’d rather not. It’s also getting too hot to keep this jumper on, and the scar is rather noticeable.”
Lady-Aunt Cissa cast a quick tempus and nodded. “If we eat quickly, we should have enough time to stop at the salon, yes. We have an appointment at two with Gideon Godet.”
“Cissa,” Snape …Harry couldn’t quite call it whining, but it certainly sounded closer to it than he’d have ever imagined Snape could get. “I do not have the budget for designer wear.”
“Who said you’d be paying?” Narcissa rejoined lightly. “I have a nephew to spoil. You can cover the basic blocks, underwear and socks, if you insist.” Her tone made it clear that she didn’t think he should insist at all, and that insisting wouldn’t get him much leeway anyway.
“I suppose I should content myself with underwear and decor for his room, then?” Snape asked, sighing.
“No,” Aunt Cissa smiled sweetly, “you will have to content yourself with underwear. Amelia nearly had a riot on her hands after they arrested that family, she could only quell it by letting the Aurors’ Office start a fund to cover decorating his room.” The smile took on a distinctly mischievous air. “I suppose I could let you handle all his school things, if,” Snape groaned, “you stand for Gideon and let me buy you three outfits, two of which must contain something other than black, one of which must only have black as accents.”
Snape muttered direly under his breath, but Lady-Aunt Cissa only smirked victoriously.
***
Snape disappeared into Obscurus Books while Lady-Aunt Cissa took the boys into the hairstylist's shop.
"Lady Malfoy! And Draco, too! How delightful!" the stylist greeted warmly. "And who's this?"
"This is Henry, he's just moved in with Potions Master Snape and requested a makeover of his hair," Lady-Aunt Cissa said with fondness.
"My aunt tried shaving it off once, to control it. It just grew back overnight," Harry said glumly, pulling the hood off of his head. He could feel the way it bounced back out every which way.
The hairstylist's eyes flickered briefly over to his scar before locking on the hair on his head. "Oh, my. Yes, I see the problem. Why don't you come sit right here and we'll see what we can do about that?"
A hair growing potion and fifteen minutes had his hair long enough to sit on and he snickered at how much it looked like a cross between Regulus' never-cut hair and Sirius' wild mane. "I don't think I want it quite this long," Henry decided, "I'm not sure I could take care of it well enough, but perhaps still long- ish?"
The hairstylist nodded, "I know just the thing."
They left twenty minutes later with a bag of hair products, just in time to walk to Carkitt Market and their appointment. Henry’s hair was cut in chunky layers with thick long bangs swept to the side over his scar, just long enough to weigh them down, the rest just long enough to match the tips of his shoulder blades at the longest and brush against his neck at the shortest, easy to put up in a pony, as he did now, pull into a bun, or leave it down.
Lady-Aunt Cissa and the Professor were making complicated faces again. Snape had come in halfway through the shortest and least difficult haircut Harry had ever had and looked like someone had smacked him with a crowbar. Or rather, he paused momentarily and blinked before moving to join Lady-Aunt Cissa on the waiting area’s couch. Same thing, really. They’d been making polite, complicated faces and whispering since.
Draco, prancing peacock that he was, had nothing but good things to say about it, so either he was being a disingenuous arse or… it itched up his spine. Henry sighed. He didn’t want to go Gryff again, really he didn’t, but sometimes the Gryffindor way got things done. He rolled his eyes and turned around, walking backwards next to Draco to glare at the adults following them. “Alright,” he demanded, “what’s wrong with my hair?”
"What?" Snape asked, stopping where he was.
Lady-Aunt Cissa blinked down at him, "Henry, why would something be wrong with your hair?"
"I don't know!" He threw his hands in the air, "that's why I asked. You've both been staring, making complicated faces, and whispering since before she even got done with it!"
"Henry," Draco said, confused, "they weren't staring?"
"They were staring like Slytherins do, which very carefully doesn't look like staring but very much is." Henry answered while continuing to glare at the Slytherins in question.
Snape blinked. "Nothing is wrong with your hair, Henry," he answered firmly. "It is simply very Black."
"Yes, it's always been this color, good of you to notice," Harry deadpanned before he could stop himself.
The corners of Lady-Aunt Cissa's mouth twitched. "Capital B, Henry. Your hair is, in fact, exactly halfway between Sirius' and Regulus' hair when they were your age, in both length and texture, while being the same color as both."
"Oh," Henry blinked, he hadn't thought of that, or how it'd hit them on the day they first saw their friend-slash-brother's will. "Should I --"
"Absolutely not," they both answered, cutting him off.
"We will get over it," Snape said, resting a hand on Henry's shoulder and leaning down to look him in the eye. "There is nothing wrong with your hair."
Narcissa smiled down at him, "It's perfectly lovely hair. But what's most important is that it's what you want. There is absolutely no need to change any part of yourself just to make other people comfortable."
***
Draco was… confused. A week ago Father had picked him up from the Notts' manor and told him that The Boy Who Lived had been sent to live with muggles who abused him, and was now living with Uncle Sev. None of which made any sense, especially not when everyone knew Harry Potter lived with some pureblood family in seclusion being trained by Dumbledore. And everyone knew Uncle Sev hated James Potter and would have nothing to do with his son.
This morning, Mother had pulled him aside and told him he couldn’t go to the Zabinis’ because they had an appointment at two with Gideon to help his new cousin discover the concept of proper clothing. He liked Gideon and did quite enjoy shopping, but had no idea who this “new cousin” was. Then Mother explained what she, Uncle Sev and Madam Bones had found out, and he was horrified, for sure, but that didn’t explain why Lady Malfoy, a scion of House Black, was calling Harry bloody Potter his new cousin. Or why The Boy Who Lived, everyone’s supposed hero, was in that situation to begin with.
Lunch was…revelatory.
First off, his name wasn’t Harry, it was Henry. Everyone was wrong.
Secondly, he wasn’t bold and brash and well-trained in defense against the dark arts, he was skittish and cunning. Everyone was wrong.
Thirdly, he wasn’t well off and spoiled, he was wearing Uncle Sev’s old things like they were the nicest clothes he’d ever worn. Everyone was wrong.
Then, Sirius Black wasn’t a traitor to his friends and either wasn’t a mass murderer or was but it was entirely fair because the person he was trying to kill was the one who did betray them. Everyone? Was wrong.
Mother explained how Harry was his cousin four times over, in ways that made it clear that. Everyone. Was. Wrong. Eight times over.
He didn’t even like being compared to his father! Everyone was wrong!
He didn’t revere Dumbledore, he called him ridiculous names. On purpose. Everyone was wrong.
And now, just when he was starting to get his balance back, Henry is offering to cut his hair back off, to the shape he hated because it made him look like his father, just because his new hairstyle made Mother and Uncle Sev sad. Like a Hufflepuff. WHILE catching them doing sneaky things Draco himself hadn’t caught. Like a Slytherin. AND acting like a Gryffindor and just dealing with the problem head on. What was next? Spouting riddles like they make him sage like a Ravenclaw?
He breathed a sigh of relief as they reached Gideon Godet's Atelier and Uncle Sev opened the door for them. This he knew, this he could do. Get Henry, who was definitely not Harry Potter, into nice, new, good-looking clothes. Easy as pie, right?
***
Gideon smiled as they came in. “Madame Malfoy, a delight as alvays! Potions Master Snape, gud to see you. And young master Draco! And zis must be zhe young man you told me of, Milady? Come let me see you, young sir.”
“This is Henry Potter,” Lady-Aunt Cissa introduced as Henry stepped out from behind her, looking very uncertain.
“A pleasure, young master Potter,” Gideon smiled reassuringly.
“Severus has graciously volunteered to stand for you first, so Henry knows what to expect,” Cissa smiled with demure vicious glee.
“Did you now?” Gideon grinned at Snape. Something else was going on here, behind the polite talk.
The Professor scowled and sighed, “She goes in for extortion.”
“I’m buying three outfits for Severus, if you’d consent to making them, of course.” Lady-Aunt practically radiated her glee. Ah, Harry nodded to himself, watching Mr. Godet’s face and the carefully hidden mooncalf eyes he was making at Snape, Mrs. Malfoy was matchmaking. He hoped he never got a turn for that. “Draco, darling, would you show Henry around?”
The boys wandered away. Lady-Aunt Cissa was probably detailing the terms of Professor Snape’s three outfits for Mr. Godet. Which could be funny, for the faces Snape would make, but was most likely quite boring as it wouldn’t require their input.
Draco was quiet, seeming to struggle to find something to say. Which was odd, because in seven years, Harry had never seen him so devoid of words. Not even in Myrtle's bathroom.
“What do you like?” Draco finally asked.
“I don’t know,” Harry answered easily, “I never had a chance to like much of anything. I like sports, well enough, but I haven’t been allowed to play much. The worst part of being locked in my cupboard for days at a time, aside from the hunger, was always the enforced idleness. The last week was the longest I’ve ever been so still without it being a punishment. I was just waiting for your mum to clear me before I start running laps around the park.”
Draco stared at him wide-eyed for a moment before visibly putting it aside and plowing on, leading him over to the wall of fabrics. “Let’s start simple, then. What’s your favorite color?”
Henry almost laughed. “All of them or none of them, depending on your point of view. Every color has its uses and benefits.” He thought a moment then added, “I like black, I suppose, even Dudley can’t really stain it much, so I get fewer people insisting I’m a slob when I wear it. I didn’t have much of it, though. Aunt Petunia didn’t buy what she called freakish mourning clothes for her Precious Dudders, so there was only a couple pair of trousers that were black.”
Draco sighed. “Pick a dozen,” he waved at the wall, “whatever catches your eye most, Gideon will help narrow it down, or expand if need be, from there.”
Henry laughed and ran his hand over the bolts of cloth. They were all so…nice. Soft. Some silky-smooth, some nubbly, some fuzzy, but none of them were rough to his hand the way Dudley’s old jeans, joggers, and shirts were. None were scratchy like Dudley’s old suits either. He spent a few moments just reveling in the feel of them. Finally he blinked, and began doing as Draco instructed, taking the cards hung below the bolts with scraps of the fabric below them. He started with some of the heavy, soft wool in charcoal and black, picking up a light weight crimson, another of burgundy, a satiny emerald, royal blue and sapphire, a brilliant teal and a darker one, aubergine, and a true, royal purple. He did a quick count and picked up a soft wool in grey about halfway between heather and gunmetal to round it out.
“Good instincts,” Mr. Godet commented as they rejoined the adults, scrap fabric cards in hand. “Olive skin tones like yours and ze Potions Master’s do best in rich, dark colors and jewel tones.”
“Mr. Godet, where is Professor Snape?” Henry asked, suddenly realizing the man was nowhere to be seen.
“ ‘E iz changing into ze fitting garments.” Gideon waved towards the back, opposite the wall of fabric and a door there. “Ze are auto-adjusting size breeches and shirts zat cover everyzing important, but let me get accurate measurements wizout so much fabric in ze way.”
“Why do you call Uncle Sev that, anyway?” Draco asked.
“I haven’t figured out what else to call him, yet,” Henry answered honestly, “Uncle means Vernon, and even if the professor is fairly…acidic, he’s nothing like Uncle Vernon. It’s why I call your mum Lady-Aunt instead of Aunt. Aunt is Petunia and Lady-Aunt Cissa is not Petunia. And is very much a Lady, with a capital L.”
“You could just try my name,” Snape drawled behind Henry.
Henry cringed. He hadn’t meant to say that in front of Snape, and had somehow lapsed his Constant Vigilance enough for him to come up behind Henry unheard. Moody would be so disappointed. “No, I couldn’t. Not calling adults by their titles gets you in trouble.”
Snape seemed to think about that for a moment. “Not calling adults by their titles without their permission to do so,” he began slowly, “or in professional environs, where their title is actively in use, would be rude, yes. However, in private or casual circumstances when you have permission to do so, the first name is the better option. Especially when the personal title that applies, like Aunt or Uncle, has such negative connotations. You have my permission, outside of when I am acting as your professor, to call me by my name.”
“And I am Gideon, not zis Mr. Godet nonsense, unless you are a reporter,” Mr. Go- Gideon insisted. “You’re not a reporter, are you?” he winked jovially. “Now zhen, if Severus will come stand up here, ve can begin.”
The boys both blinked and looked away, feeling remarkably like they were seeing Sn-Severus in his underwear, as he wore only a vest and what looked like long boxer-briefs that fit snug to his legs and highlighted just how much muscle the duelist and potioneer generally hid under voluminous robes.
Two hours later, Severus had three finished outfits, and had been badgered into wearing one immediately by Lady-Aunt Cissa. Thus he was wearing black dragon-hide trousers that fit nearly to his skin but somehow didn’t hinder his movement at all (Gideon had explained the use of gussets at strategic places to provide the extra mobility, but it still seemed like straight magic to Henry) with a rich, brilliant emerald shirt. Over the top was a robe of black and deeper-emerald brocade acromantula silk that fit very close to his torso, shoulders and arms, with black satin ribbon laces up the back and silver buttons, but flared out around his legs to show off the trousers while still achieving the iconic-Snape batlike flaring while he walked. Somehow, the boots that Henry strongly suspected were ordinary, muggle Doc Martens’ fit perfectly with the look.
They then spent the next hour going over muggle clothes and shoes that Gideon had sent a runner for sometime since Lady-Aunt Cissa contacted him, and the differences between them and wizard fashion. It included a rant about some tosser named Beau Brummel and how he did muggle men no favors. Henry did get some muggle clothes, adjusted to fit by Gideon, out of the lot, but only a couple T-shirts and jeans and a single set of exercise clothes and shoes. Then it was his turn to change into the “fitting garments” and get up on the stool for Gideon.
Lady-Aunt Cissa and Draco made comments and suggestions, which Gideon took in stride, Severus mostly just looked bored. The only thing Henry asked for was that his trousers be cut like the ones Severus was wearing, under the excuse of not actually knowing how to sit still (which was true) but mostly so that if he had to go chasing after Golden-warts again, he wouldn’t be hobbled by his clothes. Severus sighed gustily and gave him a look that said they’d be Talking Later. Henry still had no regrets.
They had tea in the shop while Gideon worked feverishly. By the time they left, just in time for supper, Henry had more clothes than he knew what to do with, and Gideon was promising another four sets within a week.