Another day like any other, Lily met Severus under their tree. They didn’t own the lanky tree, or even live particularly close to it. But, after coming upon it on one of their long walks through the Surrey countryside, they’d claimed it. Scratching a messy ‘L+S’ onto one of the softer parts of the trunk. Lily liked to think it meant they’d live beyond their mortal lives. Their names scratched on this spindly tree, to be found by another set of young lovers.
Lily began to twirl in the shortened grass as she normally did, listening to Severus talk about the potions he’d been researching and the properties of different concoctions he’d found stacked on the dusty shelves of his father’s locked study. Severus continued, lounging against the sturdy base of their tree, talking through how he felt ready to make draught of the living dead. How this would bounce his career into motion before he’d even had the chance to start it. And his aspirations of becoming the Wizarding World’s most incredible Potions Master.
A small smile filled Lily’s face. It was nice to hear Sev so optimistic for once. So much of their conversations had begun to dampen since the Sacred Twenty-Eight had become publicised again, both feeling the slight shudder of pureblood supremacy in the darker corners of the Wizarding World. To others, Severus Snape seemed cold, a stony exterior with words venomous like a serpent’s. But the snake shed its harsh coating with Lily, just a small boy with ebony hair and a heart like no other. Sev’s love for Lily had been evident since the day they’d met, Lily’s accidental magic scaring off Petunia but only enticing Severus. The patience of Snape with Lily knew no bounds, always offering a shoulder to cry on when Petunia was particularly awful and stroking Lily’s hair as he knew she loved on the worser days when no words could leave her lips. And Severus leaned into Lily’s touch. When his dad had been particularly cruel and Sev came to the tree with tear-stained eyes, Lily held him close to her for hours, no words traipsing between them. Just Lily, humming the same song her mother used to hum for her.
Lily’s first love being Severus was never strange to her; he was her best friend. No one knew Lily Evans like Severus. Knew that she only liked hot drinks if they were doused in sugar. Knew that although lilies were her namesake, bluebells were her favourite. Knew that she spent so long studying in her spare time, because if she did not, the whole Wizarding World would see the timid girl underneath. Just a filthy little Mudblood, as some boys in Diagon Alley had said when she dared to visit alone. And Lily was an encyclopaedia on Severus Snape. He was fiercely loyal, and protective over those he loved (there had been many occasions where she’d had to stop him doing something awful to Petunia). Only Lily knew of Snape’s dreams, how he wanted acclaim for the passion he loved so much. How he wanted this life not just for himself or fame, but for them both. To live comfortably away from whatever was brewing within Britain’s Wizarding World.
In her own daze, Lily had not noticed Severus stop talking. Dizzily, Lily stopped, the grassy mounds and other gnarled trees still spinning, and saw Severus staring. His dark eyes followed the outline of her, causing goosebumps to bloom across her bare skin. Lily chuckled, trying to hide the blush blooming underneath her freckle-sprinkled cheeks. Snape’s face stayed unreadable, which was strange for Lily. To those who knew him, which really only included Lily herself and his doting mother, Severus’ emotions painted across his face at any given moment. It was weird to say the least that she of all people could not read this. Without warning, Severus stood up and began to walk towards the fields. Lily worried she’d said something wrong, ignored something important or laughed at something she shouldn’t. She didn’t want to upset Snape. His importance to her was ineffable, even though their intimate pairing had no real label.
“Sev, where are you going? Was it something I said?” Lily attempted to follow him, but her eyes continued to roll the world quicker than her body could comprehend. Instead she sat back down beneath their tree, hoping he’d return.
A few moments later, Lily heard the slight stomp of someone walking towards their tree, large boots attempting to conceal their sound. Like a lily in spring, she rose from the ground and stood in anticipation. From behind the nook of their tree, the shape of Severus appeared, a hand swiped behind his back.
“I am sorry, Sev. I was listening, I swear! I just like the sound of your voice. It’s calming and you know we both need that. I didn’t mean to laugh, you know how much I love y-” Lily was rambling, but Severus’ face stayed the same. Until he interrupted her.
“There’s no need to apologise, Lil. I-um-I brought you something. This.” From behind Severus’ back, he revealed a hand-picked bunch of bluebells, still bright and vibrant even during the oncoming autumn months. Lily remained silently in awe, as Sev raised his wand. Tying a transfigured blade of grass around the bunch.
Even as the bluebells floated across the air to her, Lily did not speak, no words encompassing what she was thinking, or feeling. Severus’ love was quiet, and broody, and unexpected at times, but was also strong and beautiful, just as he was. Her hands collapsed around the bluebells, as she bowed her head to inhale the scent of them. They smelled of summer days playing hide-and-seek in the fields. Sitting under the tree at sunset, as insects chirped and headed home to their dwellings. Trips across the bounds of fields, picking flowers and plaiting them into long red locks. They smelled of summer, her summer with Sev. And they were everything. As tears pricked at her eyes, Lily smiled and whispered,
“They’re gorgeous, Sev. Thank you. So much.”
“It’s no worries, Lil. You deserve the most beautiful flowers that the world can give. And so much more.” Severus finally raised his eyes from his feet to look at her head-on, a slight pink hue across his nose.
“This summer.. Will we always stay like this? Just us, and our tree?” Lily’s voice was timid and soaked in tears she tried to conceal.
“Lily Evans, I will always be yours. And this tree will always be ours.” Severus’ voice was certain and stern, but full of adoration. It made Lily hopeful. Maybe, this summer would only be the start for them.
-
Draco’s elegant fingers were doing something with what seemed to be a sheet of blank parchment, across the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. Professor Snape continued to teach with fervour, explaining something that Harry had lost track of a while ago. Harry watched with amazement. He knew Draco had a secret talent for origami, not one that he’d admit to anyone other than Harry. Most times, Draco would flash his wand in a useless motion, pretending a simple spell (that he would tell no one) had been the one to cause the beauty he’d created. Harry wasn’t sure what it was this time, all he hoped was that he’d get to see it later in their room. It wasn’t their room, just a random door that disappeared and appeared on occasion that they’d found one night while sneaking around the moonlit seventh floor. But, after it seemed no one was using it, they donned it as their own, using a pen knife Draco kept on hand to carve their initials into a wall behind a portrait of two unknown wizards.
Harry’s mind continued to spiral, thinking of their room and seeing the sensitive parts of Draco for the first time. His love for his mother. His stress for the Wizarding World. His knowing of his fate with his family and the dark magic that encircled anyone close to the Black family. And the softer aspects of Draco Lucius Malfoy. The parts of his scalp that when scratched, caused Draco’s entire body to relax and go limp. The snitch socks his mother bought him every Christmas, that he wore only when he knew no one else would see them. In his daze, Harry had not noticed Draco finish his project and set it gliding with a simple spell. Even as the bird flew across the tables, spite licking across Draco’s lips, Harry saw the love within it. Opening it and finding a ridiculous doodle of Harry flying his quidditch broom wasn’t the most romantic thing. But this was Draco Malfoy. The angelic face of the Slytherin Prince, effortless and cruel. But his Draco, behind closed doors and through scrawled notes that did not match his penmanship purposely, was not the prince of Slytherin house. Or the son of Lucius Malfoy or the Malfoy heir, prepped to be another servant of the Dark Lord. He was just Draco, trying his best to stay afloat.
Harry responded at the drawing in his best outraged fashion, glaring with a lack of malice at Draco. Enough to be believable by those surrounding them, but not too much to make Draco panic for the remainder of the day before they’d meet tonight. Harry hoped his eyes, the green apples of his soul, would show his love, and not the hate he had to portray to the world around them. The drawing itself was quite funny, showing Harry slipping off his broom in an animated way that must have been some kind of enchantment (he would have to get Draco to show him it). It seemed to show his broom in a suggestive way, which was obviously part of Draco’s dark humour. But that wasn’t what he focused on. In an empty corner of the folded parchment, inconspicuous to those who looked at it, was two initials ‘DM’, in the same scrawl as his boyfriend’s usual scrawled writing in their more private notes. The ‘D’ had the same flick on the side that he used when signing off notes to Harry, it was adorable for such a seemingly standoffish boy.
Draco and Harry were such an unlikely pair, that keeping their relationship confidential was easy. Through corridors, spiteful venom spit from the Slytherins and the proud lions held their own, loyal but equally cruel when needed. On days where one or the other had been particularly cruel, the atmosphere of their room would be awkward at the start, Harry and Draco both feeling the burden of their secrecy. One of these occasions was after the trip to Diagon Alley, where Harry’s invisibility cloak had helped to embarrass Draco and his friends royally after some disgusting insults of Harry’s friends. Most would have thought this would have taken two enemies sneaking around together plenty of time to reconcile over. But, to them, their intimate relationship wasn’t beyond someone’s imagination. Avoiding certain topics unless brought up, like their parents or their families or Dumbledore or the Dark Lord, the two’s conversations were always honest and true, explaining why things had transpired and the societal expectations that hung heavy on both of their shoulders. Draco’s honesty had taken time to come to fruition, but when it did, Draco bore his soul on the particularly easier days and let out small truths on his harder ones. Harry admired Draco’s bravery and his trust for Harry after their tumultuous past, something that only helped to build their relationship. Draco was profuse in dark humour, making any traumatic situation so funny their stomachs would be hurting by the end, and as loyal as a Gryffindor (even if he’d never admit this). His aspirations for his future, similar to a small child’s but still powerful in Draco’s mind, were always to continue with his work in Potions, hoping to one day make a great difference in the world. It was partly the reason why he actually enjoyed Snape’s lessons and didn’t mess around in them. Harry could relate, always feeling connected to Defence Against the Dark Arts, purely due to Professor Lupin’s teaching. In their private space, both boys could have dreams for their future with no judgement towards the other. It was the quiet moments, sitting in comfortable silence where the world couldn’t touch them, that were Harry’s favourites.
When the class resumed, finally ignoring the falsely created atmosphere between Potter and Malfoy, Harry snuck a glance across the room, meeting the darkened eyes of Draco. Glancing around the room, Harry noticed no one was watching them or even looking in their general direction. All eyes had returned to the lesson. So, he took his chance.
“That was incredible. What was it?” Harry mouthed across the room, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Draco returned the small smile, and mouthed back “A dove.”
A dove was a small beacon of hope between them. An emblem of peace and love, the only thing both boys in asymmetric situations could agree on. Harry wanted peace from fighting the likes of the Daily Prophet and the Ministry of Magic, who believed him to be a liar and a scaremongering fraud. He just wanted to be a teenager, free to love who he pleased and be another nobody. Draco always said he wanted similar things, to be free of the Malfoy name and the expectations that came along with it. To just be a teenager who makes mistakes but isn’t an inherently awful person for this, Draco just wanted the freedom to fuck up and try again. The dove encompassed this for them, the hope for a future where they’d both be free to love. In another life, perhaps they’d be teenagers who snuck around due to not wanting their friends to know yet, and not for the safety of their lives.
Sometimes, Harry wondered if it would always be this way. The secrecy and lies were not ideal, but to see the grin of Draco Malfoy by a roaring fire in their room, or to hear his chortles as they ran down the corridors hand-in-hand, it was all worth it. To be with Draco, all this fighting would be worth it. Harry just hoped that, as time went on, their love would remain the same.