Chapter Text
Clouds covered the sky, painting it a near pitch black. Most of the buildings adorned bordered up doors and windows, and excessive bouts of graffiti that gave life to the otherwise dead street. Except for one, which shone brightly in stark contrast to the lifeless homes surrounding it. Despite its obvious continued usage, it mirrored its brothers’ image with broken bricks and other various debris that littered the ground. The discolored, paned, and occasionally broken windows that littered its face suggested a long overdue need for an update.
Out of the darkness emerged a man with a pale, pointed face with cold gray eyes and platinum blonde hair that shone brightly in the decrepit street. His black robes just barely scraped the curb as he stepped out onto the street with cane in hand. His grip on the cane's handle, which was a black scaled snake’s head with a dazzling ruby for an eye, tightened as he heard the cries of a baby suddenly erupting behind him. Turning around quickly he saw a disconcerted man with disheveled black hair and a large hooked nose dismounting from his broom. In his arms he held a bundle of blankets. The sound of a baby’s cries came from them, nearly piercingly in the quiet of the forgotten street.
“Quiet him, Severus,” The blonde haired man said haughtily, “We must not be seen.”
Severus only glanced at him for a moment before returning his attention back to the baby. Gently shushing him as he bounced him in his arms. The street returned to its eerie silence as the baby’s cries stilled. Stepping out onto the street alongside the blonde man, he asks,
“I still don’t see how this is necessary, Lucius. Didn’t the Dark Lord want the boy dead?”
“The boy has already fulfilled the prophecy. So, our plans for him have changed. Now come on then, we don’t have all night.”
Lucius walked across the desolate street to the building’s large rustic doors. He inconspicuously pulled out the top of his cane to reveal a long and narrow black rod. With his quiet uttering of a quick incantation, a faint click could be heard. With a simple twist of the doorknob, they opened freely.
Inside, they were greeted with the dreary decor of the foyer. The faded wallpaper curled around the old, dusty pictures and flickering lights. The floorboards let out a deafening creak that filled the room with each simple step. They only seemed to be slightly muffled as their steps transcended on the discolored rug that stretched all the way down the corridor. The overall appeal did not get better as they traveled upstairs. The banisters were missing a few legs and wobbled with even the slightest of touches. Not to forget the chandelier, which hung precariously from the third floor’s ceiling.
At the end of the hall remained their destination. The busted door, left slightly ajar, stood in place as a blockade to their target. Laying on the floor sat its name plate. Engraved with the brass lettering, “Fausse”. The apartment itself reflected its doorway’s current state. Furniture was scattered and destroyed, pictures were left broken on the floor, soot covered the walls, changing them from a light blue to jet black. It would have been completely void of life if it were not for the small amount of light coming from the kitchen.
The destruction had clearly not stopped in the living room. Some of the cupboards had been torn off their hinges, meanwhile some were just barely hanging on. A chilling draft could be felt in the room, no doubt gaining its entry from the lone broken window. Empty wine bottles flooded the floor and covered the countertops. At the island, a disgruntled man sat holding what was most likely his last bottle.
His greasy brown hair made it look as though he hadn’t showered in weeks. Blood and dirt stained his tattered t-shirt. He slowly raised his head to look at the two men standing in the kitchen’s doorway. Light brown eyes, accented by the cuts and bruises that adorned his tired face, met an icy gaze.
“What the hell do you want?” He asked exasperated.
“To give you a new start, William. Of course, you must know how these things work by now.” He said, waving his hand at the destruction that surrounded them. “Nothing goes without a price.”
William shot up from his seat quick. “Listen hear you arrogant piece of-”
He stopped at the soft sound cooing from the bundle wrapped in Severus’s arms. He seemed stunned for a moment before his eyes widened at the realization.
“I-, what?” He stammered, “Whose-, why-?”
He flinched back as something small but hard hit his shoulder. Returning his focus to Lucius, he saw him slowly bringing his cane back to his side with a sly smirk plastered on his face.
“None of that matters right now. What does matter is your terms. We’ll give you the means to get out of this,” he gestured around them again, “lively home you have here, and keep the ministry off your tail. And all you have to do is raise the poor boy.”
William glanced back at the bundle precariously at that. A complex look fell over his face before he responded. “What’s the catch?”
With a short glance at Severus, Lucius simply states, “You’ll know when we get you settled. Severus, if you will?”
Severus approached the brunette man, trying to keep a still and indifferent face as he gingerly handed over the small bundle. A flash of sympathy fell over his face as the baby began to weep once more, before gaining his composure and making his way to Lucius’ side. Gently, William uncovered the boy's face to see a small lightning shaped cut on his forehead. Where the cut met his hairline, the once black hair had turned to white. His heart hurt for the boy, for whatever might have happened to him, and for what his future holds in store. Willed to give the boy one last thing to hold on to, he asks.
“What’s his name?”
Lucius scoffed as he began to head for the door, “What does it matter? Just name the boy after your own.”
As Lucius’ footsteps became fainter, William’s attention shifted to Severus in desperation.
“Severus. What’s his name?”
Lucius’ voice called out from outside the apartment. Prompting Severus to hurry along. But before he could, a shaky hand latched onto his wrist.
“Please.”
He stopped dead in his tracks and looked back for only a moment.
“It’s Harry.”