Chapter Text
The large oak tree at the edge of Hogwarts’ fields was the only place where Snape could collect himself. There, he could usually sit alone and be unbothered by other students. It especially was ideal for when he needed to escape from the taunts and barbed remarks of a certain group of boys.
Today was one of these times. Just ten minutes ago, he’d been humiliated in Flying class. After breaking free from the crowded throng of his laughing peers, he’d barreled his way to the top of the fields. He was curled under the oak tree now, his arms wrapped around his knees and his eyes squeezed shut.
Preoccupied by the noises of his own sobs, Snape didn’t notice the cracking of branches of someone approaching him.
“Hello?”
Snape opened his watering eyes to see a boy standing curiously over him. For a moment, he saw James’ face, hovering treacherously with lips pulled into a twisted grin. Like cornered prey, he instinctively began to back into the tree.
“Hi, um. Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you!”
That was not James’ voice. It was much lighter and cheerier. It broke Snape from his jittery daze, and he slowly refocused his eyes on the boy speaking to him.
The boy looked a year or two younger than Snape, who was a fifth-year. He had strangely bright, inquisitive blue eyes and a round, unblemished face. Locks of the most golden hair fell in soft, short waves. His clothes, the blue robes of a Ravenclaw, were noticeably cleaner and nicer than those of most students, who tended to frequently soil them and less frequently wash them.
What struck Snape the most, however, was the boy’s disarmingly warm and easy smile. It wasn’t perfect, no — an awkward silver set of braces gleamed among white teeth — but nonetheless it felt oddly comforting.
“I saw you leave your class,” the boy stated. “Are you alright?”
This surprise visitor and question nearly shocked and embarrassed Snape out of his crying. He turned his head away, unable to meet the boy’s inquisitive gaze, and nodded instead of replying.
The boy wavered, unsure of what to say to Snape’s lack of a response.
“What do you want?” Snape sniffled, growing agitated with the presence of a stranger.
“I saw what happened,” said the boy, after a momentary hesitation. “I was in the courtyard when I saw someone knock you off your broom. Are you hurt?”
Snape self-consciously drew a sleeve to wipe his snotty nose and cover his red, blotchy face.
“No,” he said, his mouth muffled in the thick fabric of his robe. “I’m fine. Leave me alone.”
“Your trousers are torn,” gasped the boy, pointing at one of Snape’s legs, where a bare, bruised knee poked out. “Now, don’t worry about that. I have several extra pairs of trousers that I wouldn’t mind giving away, if you need any.”
Snape didn’t have an extra pair of trousers, but what did it matter? His entire wardrobe, nay his entire appearance, was in disarray. A ripped pair of trousers wouldn’t make a difference in how others thought of him. Frankly, he was taken aback by the effrontery of the boy’s suggestion, and even offended by the fact that he had several extra trousers.
Grumbling, Snape dragged himself onto his feet until he was towering several inches taller than the boy. In the back of his head, he knew how ridiculous he looked with red eyes and a runny nose, but he didn’t care anymore, not in front of this impertinent boy. He shot down an angry glower.
“Listen,” he hissed. “I just want to be alone. I don’t need your help or sympathy or, for Merlin’s sake, your trousers. Go back to whatever hole or crevice you came from, and just let me be in peace.”
Snape caught a glimpse of the boy’s smile faltering as he shouldered past him to leave. He felt a tinge contrite, but he had more pressing concerns than the sensitivity of a stranger’s feelings.
For starters, there was a chorus of recognizable male voices coming from over a nearby hill, freezing Snape in his tracks. It took a wild moment for him to register what was about to happen. Flight then seized him.
He broke into a run across the field, plowing a straight line toward the farthest place he could see. His worn black shoes slid through the wet grass, and his breaths fell sharp and ragged. Behind him, he heard a loud crashing and rushing of feet. Increasing panic stirred in his pounding chest.
“Severus — Severus, wait for me!”
Snape whipped around to see the boy stumbling a few paces behind him. The blonde was red-faced and panting as he narrowly managed to cross over a branch. How did he know —
“Here, come,” urged the boy, scrambling over and grabbing Snape’s hand. Further behind the boy were the Marauders gathering at the top of the hill, like vultures ready to feed. Had they already spotted Snape?
He didn’t have time to wonder, because the boy was pulling the two of them in the direction of the school.
They hurried to the base of Ravenclaw Tower. There, they climbed up its spiral staircase, all the way up to the fifth floor. Upon arriving at the top, Snape, breathless, noticed how tightly he was holding the Ravenclaw boy’s hand and immediately let go.
The two of them stood in front of a wooden door, with no doorknob and only a bronze knocker in the shape of an eagle. The boy murmured a few indiscernible words, and the door swung open.
Luckily, there was no one else in the Ravenclaw Common Room when they entered. It was the middle of the day, so most students were either in class or at lunch. The room itself was wide, open, and filled with sunlight. Tastefully plush furniture in various shades of Ravenclaw blue gave the room a formal yet inviting atmosphere.
Now that they were safe and alone, Snape took the opportunity to catch his breath over the closest sofa.
“That was rather fun, wasn’t it?” said the boy. “I haven’t had that much excitement since last week’s Reducio demonstration in Charms class!”
After taking a moment to compose himself, Snape’s voice took a critical tone. “This isn’t a game.”
“No, no, of course not,” the boy quickly corrected. “Anyways, they won’t be able to reach you here. Unless they know the password, or know a willing Ravenclaw, but I highly doubt that. We’re good at keeping secrets, but we do make exceptions for the right reasons.” He smiled, unmistakably proud of himself.
“Speaking of secrets,” Snape barked impatiently, “I literally have never met you until today, and yet” — he waved his hands for dramatic effect — “here I am. Who are you? How do you know me?”
“I haven’t introduced myself? Right, sorry!” Despite the apology, the boy didn’t look at all ashamed and even appeared to relish the attention. Unfazed, he shot out a hand.
“Gilderoy Lockhart,” he said, calmly, sweetly. “Third-year, Ravenclaw. Pleased to be of acquaintance.”
The way his name flowed off his curled tongue was impressively smooth. Gilderoy Lockhart. It sounded like the name of a knight in a fairytale. How fitting, then, that he was protecting Snape. Snape suppressed a gag.
Snape gingerly took his hand and shook it, despite having held it just minutes ago. “Severus Snape. Fifth-year, Slytherin. As you probably already know.” He said his last sentence with a deliberate slowness.
Lockhart took the cue. “I’ve seen you around school a few times,” he explained, with a gentle laugh. “You’re not as invisible as you think you are, Severus Snape.”
“Obviously not,” growled Snape. “Otherwise people would leave me alone.” He rubbed his arm, feeling self-conscious of his tattered clothes and disheveled hair, in contrast to Lockhart’s fine robes and radiant complexion.
“Oh, no,” Lockhart interjected. “I mean, I’ve seen you, after hearing that you’re pretty good at spells and potions.”
Snape started. “Really?”
“Sure. I’ve heard some folks talking about you. They say you know a lot. Is it true that you’ve created your own spells and curses?”
Did people say that? What else did they say? “Yes,” he said tentatively.
“Incredible. You should be proud of yourself,” he said admiringly. “Most students still can’t get the hang of casting spells, much less creating them. Myself included. I’m a natural writer with a memory of an elephant, so I’m rather good at exams and papers. But something about the physicality of magic eludes me.”
“Clearly, you’re a Ravenclaw.”
“Yes, but sometimes I wonder what it’d be like to have been sorted into another House. Slytherin, perhaps. Do you ever wonder?”
“No.” Yes, he did. What if he had been sorted into Gryffindor, with Lily? But that meant he would’ve been stuck with the Marauders. The thought of living with them was sickening. “I’m content with where I am,” he admitted, and that was true.
“Slytherins, so proud.” Lockhart looked at him with interest and awe. “Well, let’s get you new trousers, yes? Can’t have you looking like you just fought a werewolf.”
Too tired to protest and protect his dignity (besides, he was already here, and new clothes never hurt anybody), Snape trudged after Lockhart to the Ravenclaw dormitories. A marble statue of Rowena Ravenclaw stood watch beside the dormitories’ entrance, its cold gaze making the Slytherin squirm.
Lockhart ushered them into one of the dorms, being careful to close the door behind them. Like the Common Room, the dorm was airy, bright, and clean.
“My room,” Lockhart declared, despite Snape being able to see the belongings of others. He plopped himself down onto a lush and neatly made bed, replete with fluffy decorative pillows. The other empty beds in the room, while also nice, didn’t look at all as lavish as his. He watched proudly as Snape surveyed the room’s contents, swinging his legs back and forth over the side of his bed.
Snape’s attention was caught by a shining window next to him. He hovered over to it, gawking at the spectacular vantage point the room had over the school’s grounds. He could see Black Lake, the Forbidden Forest, everything. It sent a chill up his spine.
“Isn’t it a fantastic view?” came Lockhart’s pleasant voice from beside him. “Nothing like the Slytherin dormitories, I bet.”
“Not really,” said Snape, a little defensively.
Lockhart took no notice. “Now, over here.” He skipped over to the other side of his bed and threw open the doors of his wardrobe.
Wandering over, Snape was immediately stunned by what he saw. Within the wardrobe was a tremendously tall and wide display of all sorts of garments and apparels, in every color and pattern he could imagine. Every item was painstakingly hung and folded away by color, and somehow it all fit. Lockhart’s wardrobe was truly a sartorial kaleidoscope. Snape didn’t know whether to be disgusted or impressed by this miracle of an abomination.
“How did you manage to fit an entire boutique in here?”
“Time and a skillful touch,” Lockhart said, in a self-congratulatory sort of way. “And this isn’t even all of it. Do you want to see my hair and skin-care products?”
Snape knew that he himself never had a penchant for fashion, but still he questioned: Were boys their age supposed to be using those things? He glanced sideways at Lockhart, noting how the curls on his head bounced as he excitedly spoke.
“Not necessarily.”
The curls stopped bouncing.
“You’re right,” Lockhart said, adopting a serious tone to mask his disappointment. “No need to get distracted. Let’s see here.” He moved to the very end of his color spectrum of clothes (and there was a very wide range), and rifled through the dark gray school-issued trousers for a minute.
“I think this shall work,” he finally said, closing the wardrobe’s doors. He held up a pair of trousers that looked identical to the ones they were wearing, minus the stains and the rips. “Most of mine are fitted, but these are a little too long, and I haven’t had the chance to take them to the tailor. Here.” He placed them into Snape’s surprised hands. “Keep them. They’ll fit you better than me.”
Snape ran a cursory gaze over the trousers. It felt soft and brand-new under his fingers. With a flutter of his stomach, he realized that it was the nicest thing anyone had given him in what felt like ages. He looked up to see Lockhart’s beaming face, clearly taking pleasure from seeing the Slytherin marvel over his gift.
“What do you think?” chirped the blonde.
“It’s — it’s very nice. Thank you.”
The smile on Lockhart’s face grew larger, braces winking in the sunlight. “You’re very much welcome, Severus!”
Snape blinked a couple times, trying to process everything that was happening. Why was Lockhart being so nice to him? Maybe he was rich enough that he didn’t care about arbitrary objects like trousers. Or maybe this was something else, and he expected something in return?
Why was Snape even in a Ravenclaw dorm, holding someone else’s trousers?
“Where are you from?” Snape blurted.
Lockhart seemed delighted to be asked a question about himself. “I was born in Belfast, but grew up in London. They’re lovely during the spring and summer. Have you been?”
Snape shook his head. “What about your family?”
“I have a mother, a father, and two older sisters.” He took a deep breath and stared into Snape’s eyes with unexpected intensity. “And I trust you not to tell our peers this, but — but my father’s a Muggle. My sisters are Squibs. Only my mother and I possess magic.” Lockhart fidgeted with his tie in embarrassment. “We were all so excited when I got admitted to Hogwarts. I have to make them proud, you see. You won’t tell anyone, won’t you, Severus?”
Snape, trying to hide his astonishment, shook his head again.
“Good. And what about yourself?”
“I’m from Cokeworth,” Snape replied. “I have two parents and no siblings.”
Lockhart gave him a small nod and smile. It was the sort of politely bored and sympathetic reaction that Snape was used to. People either didn’t know Cokeworth or knew of its stigmas. But that was fine; Snape didn’t want to talk more about the subject, either. It was a relief that Lockhart didn’t press further, as some students did.
“Well, thanks for these,” said Snape, glancing down at the trousers again. “I should be heading out.”
“Oh, of course.” If Snape wasn’t mistaken, Lockhart appeared slightly disheartened. “Do you have class? Lunch?”
“I’m just going back to my room to put these away and study.”
“Ah, very good for you. Stay on top of those grades.”
Snape followed him back out into the Common Room, toward the main door.
“Say, Severus,” said Lockhart, while opening the door, “do you want to go to the Quidditch tryouts with me tomorrow?”
“Huh?”
“I’m going to try out for the Ravenclaw team. I could use your support when I make it on.”
“I —” Snape quickly stepped into the hallway, a nervous hand scratching at the back of his head. “I, uh, have a Transfigurations exam tomorrow. That’s why I’m studying.”
“Tryouts start at two o’clock,” Lockhart said helpfully. “If your exam is earlier than that, maybe you can make it.”
“I’ll see.”
“Great.” Lockhart gave him a friendly pat on the shoulder. “Well, good luck on your exam. Hopefully those mean boys are gone for good. Oh, and let me know if those trousers don’t fit.”
“I will.”
“It was very nice meeting you, Severus.”
“You as well, Lockhart.”
“Friends call me Gilderoy,” he said sweetly. “So, please, Gilderoy.”
Friends.
“Sure, Gilderoy.” Snape’s heart pounded. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
And there was that warm, charming smile. The smile that had impressed upon Snape when they first met, and would stick with him for years to come.
“See you tomorrow.”