Finding a good man was like trying to catch a Snitch in a hail storm - damn near impossible. Even Harry, with all his Seeker prowess, had to accept defeat when defeat was the only option left. And this date was definately a losing match.

"...Egyption silks, though Italian spun is almost as fine." Harry stared down at his plate of well done steak, his mind half-hearing his date's rant about the different styles of high class silk.

"My father always said 'a man's wealth is noted not by the size of his bank account, but by the style of which he dresses himself'. His tastes were for cotton, soft, tightly spun cotton."

Harry sighed and finally turned his attention to his date. The man was a Muggle, his hair a fair brown and eyes a deep shade of green. He was wearing, wouldn't you guess, a fine silk suit, possibly Egyption, if his rant had proved his preference. Harry couldn't even remember his name - Andrew, maybe? - but he did remember the man saying something about a clothing line, which lead Harry to believe he was some sort of designer. Hence the obsession with fine silks. By the way the man carried himself, Harry could also guess that he was "in the closet" about his personal interests. Which would explain why he leaned back in his chair away from Harry, instead of leaning foward to indicate a likeness. Or he could just not be into Harry, which Harry knew to be a lie; the man had asked him, not the other way round.

"Forgive me for seeming rude," Harry said politely, laying his fork onto his barely-touched steak. "But I must really be going now. I have an early appointment tomorrow with some of my higher-ups." Harry pushed out his chair and lay his napkin onto the small dining table.

"Right, right, I understand. It wouldn't do you well to show up late to an important appointment." The man seemed to be put out, but Harry didn't care in the slightest.

"I have your number," Harry said reluctantly. "My scheduel is full up for this week, but I could try giving you a call...say...next Saturday?" As soon as Harry was out of Andy's sight, he was going to tear up that small business card with Andy's personal cell written on the back and toss it into the gutters. He had no intention of seeing him again, but Harry was all for pretending interest.

"Yes, of course, whenever you're free. It was nice meeting you, Harry." The man stood and presented his hand in what looked like a business manner. Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"Same to you, Andrew." Harry took his hand and shook it firmly. The man made a slight face at the name. Harry felt his face flush. Had he actually gotten his name wrong?

"Andrew is a little too formal for this sort of outing, wouldn't you say? Call me Andy." Harry smiled in relief; he hadn't forgotten his name.

"Well, Andy, I'll give you a call and maybe we could go somewhere a little more...private for our next meet?"

"That'd be nice. Good day, Harry."

"Good day to you as well, Andy." He gave the Muggle a small nod in farewell and left the restaurant. Harry took a deep breath of fresh air and shook off his resentment for the date he had left inside. He pulled the business card out of his pocket, tore it into pieces, and then threw the pieces into the air, letting the cool breeze blow them away. He reached into his other pocket and pulled out his cell. He punched his speed dial and waited.

"How'd it go?" Hermione's excited voice interrupted after the third ring.

"Do I have a tattoo on my forehead that says 'losers wanted'?" Harry sighed into the phone and started his long walk home.

"The date went well, then?" Hermione said sarcastically.

"Perfectly," Harry replied with a little more sarcasm. "He was a real charmer."

"There's more fish in the sea, Harry."

"Yeah, well, it looks like all the good fish were eaten by the sharks." Harry turned down his street, his legs moving faster now that he was almost home, where he wished he had stayed all evening.

"You'll find someone," Hermione said encouragingly.

"When Hell freezes over," Harry added harshly.

"Don't be like that," Hermione sighed. "In order to find the right man, you have to sort through the wrong ones. Everyone has to, Harry. I had to go through Mcclagin to realize that Ron was the one for me, remember?"

"So I just have to go for the completely mental and hope I find someone with half a brain? Great pep talk, Hermione, really helpful."

"Harry, I didn't mean it like that."

"Whatever, I have to go." Harry hung up and pulled out his house key. He unlocked the front door and stepped inside his small, one bedroom townhouse. It wasn't much, but it was enough. He threw his coat into the side closet and stomped up the stairs to his bedroom. He dived onto his bed and buried his face into his pillow, trying to forget about his date.

Why did finding a good man have to be so hard? Harry had lived a long, gruesome life, and all he wanted was someone to care for him, to love him for him, not for his famous name. That was the whole point of going for Muggles, they had no idea who Harry Potter was. But going for Muggles did have it's downfalls. If Harry did manage to find the right man, how could he be sure the man wouldn't run away screaming when he told him the truth?

Harry was so caught up in his thoughts that he didn't even hear the small pop near the end of the bed, nor the soft rustling of clothing.

"Is this a bad time?"

Harry yelped and sat up in bed, his hand instantly pulling out his wand. He pointed the wand towards the voice, and then his eyes finally took in the body from which the voice came from; A tall body clad in all black from head to toe, with smoldering dark eyes and a prominent nose.

"P-Professor Snape?" Harry's heart fluttered in what he hoped was surprise.

"I haven't been your professor in four years, Potter." Snape glared down at Harry, his face impassive as always.

"Er...right," Harry said dully. "What are you doing here, Severus?" The name rolled off his tongue effortlessly, as if Harry had been using it from the moment he had met the man.

"The last remaining members of the Order asked me to check up on you," Snape answered, his deep voice a little hoarse, as if it hadn't been used in a long while. "We wonder why you refuse to grace us with your ever-hopeful charm."

Harry knew this to be a back handed compliment. Snape had said we, which meant he was still part of the Order and was just as curious about Harry's well being as the others. The last of the sentence was to try to disguise Snape's curiosity in a snarky remark.

"Why is the Order still running?" Harry asked. "The Dark Lord is gone, there's no reason to keep it going."

"The Dark Lord may be gone, Potter, but his Death Eaters still exist. While most have already served their sentences and are returning to their places in society, there are a certain many that still roam in hopes of finishing what the Dark Lord started. We cannot disband entirely until they are all caught and brought to justice."

Harry sighed and finally lowered his wand. "That makes sense, I guess. But why do I have to come to the meetings? My work for the Order and the Wizarding World is finished. I killed him, saved everyone, the end."

"You are still a member of the Order, whether you like it or not, Potter," Snape said firmly. "And as a member of the Order, you are required to attend meetings regularly."

"Now's not a good time for me, okay?" Harry snapped. "I'm trying to move on with my life. I want to forget about the fighting, the war, all the Hell that I went through and just be alone for once in my abnormal life. Why can't everyone just leave me be?" Even to his own ears, Harry sounded like a whiny teenager throwing a tantrum, but he really didn't give a damn. He'd saved the world from total destruction, he deserved to throw a tantrum every once in a while.

To Harry's surprise, Snape's face softened, the impassive mask finally fading away. When Snape spoke again, his voice was low and strangely affectionate. "No matter how hard you try, Harry, you can never forget your past. I have tried to forget my own, but in vain my past refuses to die." Harry's heart swelled for this man he hated, this man that had done his all to make Harry's life a living Hell. This man that had almost died to protect Harry in the end...

Against all logic and reason, Harry found himself hugging Snape. He had leapt from his bed and threw his arms around Snape's neck, trying to put all his sudden feelings for the man in the embrace.

"Thank you for understanding," Harry whispered. "I know you want to help me, but this isn't the way. I can't go back." Harry felt warm arms slowly wrap around his back, and he snuggled closer into the embrace. Snape was hugging him, holding him. Harry thought his heart would explode with a happiness he refused to aknowledge.

"Running from your problems will only hurt you, Harry." Harry felt the warm arms disappear, and he held back his groan of disappointment. He looked up to see the mask back in place.

Harry sighed. "I just want to live a normal life. Is that too much to ask for?" Snape raised an eyebrow at him.

"That Muggle you were with tonight is normal?"

"How - ? He was an alright bloke."

"You still haven't mastered the art of lying, I see." Snape smirked.

"Why do you care who I go with, anyway?" Harry said defiantly.

"You would be better suited for a wizard," Snape said, ignoring Harry's question.

"If you can find me a wizard who will love me for who I am and not who I defeated, then I'd give him a shot."

"You are to attend the next meet, which will be this coming Saturday." Snape turned his back to Harry, seemingly in thought. "As for wizards, Potter, I know of one who would never worship you as if you were a god amongst men."

"Yeah? Who?"

"Me." Harry's face flushed and his heart gave a hopeful flutter. Before Harry could question him, Snape Disapparated, a loud popping noise the only thing he left behind.