Chapter Text
Lucius Malfoy -1971, Hogwarts Great Hall
He'd been reeling slightly. Lily was so far away, across the Great Hall, at the same table as those boys from the train. The hat had clearly got it wrong. Lily was like him, she was ambitious, she wanted to be more than Cokeworth and Muggle and Ordinary. Maybe if Lily asked Professor Dumbledore, she could swap Houses. He seemed reasonable, if eccentric–
"Lucius Malfoy. I'm a Prefect. Welcome to the House of Merlin. Don't look so glum. Cunning is just another word for clev–"
"I know tha'. I wanted t'be in Slytherin."
Grey eyes had carefully regarded him then and a pale hand wearing a ring on the little finger had extended towards him. "Severus Snape, wasn't it? How do you do."
"Aye. An' I'll be reyt."
He'd grasped the hand in his smaller, thinner one and shaken it. Over time Lucius would help him hide his accent, and teach him that how do you do was not to be answered, only echoed.
Lord Voldemort -1980, Rosier Summer Garden Party
"Snape...not a name I am familiar with, historically speaking." The man had appeared next to him from apparently nowhere. Tall, handsome, well-dressed in traditional flowing robes.
Severus swallowed, fighting back the shame as he turned. "Unfortunately, my father–"
"Ah." The single syllable had cut to the core of it, but despite what he had heard, the man before him did not seem dismissive or disappointed. It almost resembled understanding, with no pity in his piercing gaze. "But you are not beholden to your unfortunate start in life, so I hear."
"No, I– should hope not."
"Lucius tells me you are very good at Potioneering. And the more…shall we say esoteric and traditional arts." There had been something in that slight smile and tilt of the head that had drawn Severus in.
"Academically." Severus had hastened to add.
"Of course. I understand completely, Severus." A pale, long fingered hand had reached towards him. A chance to seize some power for himself. A chance to belong. "My friends call me Lord Voldemort."
He thought often about that handshake. The cold hands, the too tight grip, the slight caress as they had released.
The Dark Lord taught him to hide his true feelings, and helped him see that his weakness must always be hidden.
Albus Dumbledore -1981, Hogwarts Headmaster's office
"And lastly, what would you say is your greatest strength, Severus?"
Severus stared down at his hands, unwilling to meet Dumbledore's eyes. It wasn't that he worried about Legilimency from the man. He'd seen all the worst already. The job interview felt like a sham.
"I don't know."
"Come now. I am sure you can think of something."
"Subject matter expertise?"
Blue eyes peered over the half-moon spectacles. He felt them on him.
"Perhaps I shall just note down 'courage'."
He did look up at that, but Dumbledore was already flourishing the quill and setting the parchment aside.
"Well, everything seems to be in order. You seem an excellent candidate, and I see no need to bother your references."
The Headmaster shook back a sleeve and extended a hand over the desk towards him.
"Welcome back to Hogwarts, Professor Snape."
Dumbledore taught him to have faith in his own convictions and beliefs. That making the right choice was often difficult and came at a cost, even moreso when it went against the judgements of society and acquaintances.
Sirius Black- 1995, Hogwarts
It was not fair. For the Headmaster to throw it in his face like that. To ask him to shake hands with Black as if they were school boys again.
They'd gripped each others fingers like they were trying to break them, and Black had always been stronger than him.
Black taught him that childhood wounds run deep and fester. Begrudgingly, he must admit that Black–with his death–also taught him that taking action for love might be reckless, but is also its own form of courage.
Kingsley Shacklebolt -1998, Ministry of Magic
He felt eyes on him when the Minister approached, one hand extended, the other pressing the Order of Merlin into his hand.
"At last, you have earned our thanks and recognition."
The photographer's bulb flashed like spellfire – it hurt his eyes, and he was sure that with a light that harsh, Kingsley would look glowing and healthy and he would look whited out. Removed from the picture by his own sickly pallor, not yet fully recovered from the bite and the blood loss and the venom.
"One more without the flash perhaps?" The Minister asked, but it carried the weight of an order and he didn't let go of Severus's hand.
As the photographer changed the plate, Shacklebolt leaned forward. "Don't look so grim, Severus. You deserve this."
Severus doesn't manage a smile, and the photographer seems to know better than to ask. But as Kingsley's now free hand clapped him on the shoulder, Severus did raise his chin, showing off the pinned medal and his scars.
It teaches him that he's worth more than secrets. That taking control of his own reputation doesn't have to mean hiding his humanity.
Viktor Krum -1999, Hogwarts Great Hall, restored for the Anniversary Ball.
"Professor Snape."
The ballroom did not stop, though eyes flick over to the Champion and the pariah from all sides.
"We met 4 years ago. The Triwizard Tournament."
Krum's accent was strong, even if his English was excellent. He made no attempts to hide it. And while always serious, he let it show on his face when he disliked someone. That was not how he currently looked. In fact he looked...not exactly eager, but hopeful?
Viktor Krum has no fear of judgement, strong in his own belief.
"I remember, Mr Krum. How do you do?" Severus sets down his glass and turns in his chair to face Krum properly.
"Well, but I am not so much a dancer. Yourself?"
Severus hesitates, because one should not answer such things, truthfully or at all.
"Recovered. Free."
"Good." Krum extends his right hand, slightly upturned. Holding out an olive branch, an apology, or a thanks perhaps. "I would like to shake your hand."
No apology, no thanks. Just an offer of respect and acknowledgement.
Severus eyes the hand for a moment. The music in the ballroom changes, musicians sliding easily into the next song. The steady oom-pa-pa of the waltz seems to thump in his neck where the damaged vein sits high above the dress robe's collar. He feels reckless, restless; it feels like a moment to take action or sink back into the shadows.
When he extends his own hand, it is the left, smoothly stroking past the strong broom-roughened fingerpads, his own long fingers twining briefly with Viktor's before settling into a curl along his index finger and the curve of his thumb.
Neither of them speak, but stare at their joined hands.
Severus feels Viktor's fingers grip his as he strokes gently against the meat of Viktor's thumb and stands from his chair, ignoring the opinions of others.
"You say you are not much of a dancer, that makes two of us."
Viktor's hand rests against his ribs and Severus places his on the slightly rounded shoulder.
"Do you know how to lead, Viktor?"
Neither of them are easy smilers, but Viktor's eyes are dark and focused on Severus' face. His lips quirk once when Severus' gaze falls to them.
"Lead or follow, I can do both."