AN: Thanks for reading, hope you all have a lovely autumn. Recipe at the end. :)
Severus wondered what the fuck he was playing at. Thirty-eight-years old and walking down a mucky, leaf-lined path from an old broken down shed that he'd used as an apparation point, Harry Potter by his side. Ex-student, ex pain in the arse, boy hero of the magical world, son of his childhood friend and childhood bully.
"Sirius' family all have names for constellations," Harry said, nodding up at the sky as he walked next to Severus. It was a crisp evening and the sky was beginning to come alive with stars. "It's always sounded like rubbish to me, it's just a bunch of stars clumped together, could never see the shapes."
Severus stared at him and saw the small upturned corner of Harry's mouth, hiding a smile.
"Divination classes went well, I see," Severus sarcastically commented. Harry huffed with amusement and followed him to the gate of his cottage. It wasn't large at all and the roof sloped down to cover a lot of the building, the stonework old and uneven, top floor bedroom window slightly slanted. It was warm though, and Severus, as he opened the door to the front entryway with its catch-all table and cloak rack, though he'd done a passable job on it.
Eschewing the shadows and dampness and darkness of the dungeons of Hogwarts, Severus had painted most of the walls in the cottage with a vanilla colour that reminded him of homemade clotted cream. Severus was fairly certain his sore joints and muscles were born out of years of skulking in the cold and clammy stones of the lower dungeons, nights spent in the countryside undercover, and was determined that this home be as warm and welcoming as possible.
The cream walls sprouted from thick wooden planked floors that led into a larger living space, rich butternut soup orange walls flanked by shelves of a few knickknacks and a large fireplace with a worn dark walnut mantel. The floors were grooved from decades of footsteps; a rich rug that Severus had picked up in a charity shop thrown on the floor in front of his dusty green wingback chairs. Several photo frames leaned against the walls, waiting for Severus to fill them and hang them.
"This is…" Harry said, looking around at the room and smiling as he took in the piles of books, papers, and other detritus that Severus had set aside to put away.
"Unexpected?" Severus asked, defensive.
"Cosy."
Harry gave him a small smile and ran his finger along the mantel.
"Also unexpected."
Severus snapped his fingers and a fire sprung to life in the fireplace, filling the room with a bright red glow that hid the embarrassed blush starting to creep up his face.
"I suppose you thought I lived in some sort of crypt, like a vampire," Severus suggested, holding up a glass toward Harry. He didn't have rum, but his firewhiskey was smooth and Severus had plenty of hangover potion for the next day.
"When I was younger it was definitely a suspicion," Harry confirmed, taking the glass. "But this is so much better."
Severus released some of the tension in his shoulders as he watched Harry skim some of the book spines near him before walking toward the glass doors leading to the garden and looking outside.
"Last year all I could think of some nights was the war being over and having my own space that I could make however I wanted," Harry said, speaking to his own reflection in the glass. The rain had followed them north from London, but the wind had kept relatively calm and for once they weren't being subjected to a storm.
"No tent, no drafty old cursed house, no muggle house I was forced to stay at," Harry continued. "My own home." He looked up and made eye contact with Severus through the door's reflection before spinning around and relaxing into the chair closest to him, the wingback chair that was always empty.
Severus swept his arm to the side as if showcasing his tiny living room, the autumn colours from the garden bleeding into the room like the setting sun of the day's golden hour. He poured himself his own drink and sat down next to Harry, feet stretching out toward the fire.
"No five-star hotels in the Forest of Dean?" Severus asked. "Suitable for Boy Heroes or most wanted wizards?"
"No," Harry said, his laugh self-depreciating. "But we made do, and survived."
"That you did," Severus said.
The pause in conversation wasn't uncomfortable, but was a shared agreement that neither was particularly inclined to discuss much about the war. It was both too fresh and too old, a time that they could talk about for years to come.
"Not many people in our world use a blue biro," Severus said, sitting back in his chair and holding his nearly finished glass against the arm of the wingback.
Harry said nothing but raised his eyebrow a bit, as if waiting to see where Severus would go with his sentence. The sun lingering warmth had fully disappeared and a small chill was creeping into the room, darkness cloaking the windows that Severus hadn't bothered closing the curtains for.
"Muggleborns, maybe. Half-bloods," Severus continued, not ticking off his fingers as if going through a list, but naming them all the same. "Odious muggle relatives."
"Still a nosy bastard, aren't you," Harry said, reaching his foot out and lightly nudging Severus'.
Severus swallowed his smile with a sip of his whiskey and hoped that the dim lamp lighting was more forgiving for his harsher facial features.
"It was from Aunt Petunia," Harry said, putting his empty glass on the table beside them. He draped his hands in his lap and his fingers loosely tapped against each other. "Just Petunia now I suppose. I reached out to see if they were okay after the war."
"And?"
"She is at least. Told me it was none of my business and to never contact them again."
Severus wasn't surprised. He looked to the window over the garden at what had appeared to be a shooting star out of the corner of his eye, but turned out to be a muggle aeroplane.
"There's some genealogy books in the library down the lane if you wanted to stop in there tomorrow," Severus offered, knocking back the rest of his drink. "Find replacements."
"Not sure a small Welsh library would have anyone related to me in it?" Harry said, as he stood up and stretched.
"I don't believe that particular detail means anything to Dai the librarian at all."
Severus put his glass on the table and knocked his finger against it once. He'd been bold earlier, inviting Potter – Harry to his cottage. He was fairly certain that Harry had been flirting with him a bit; after all he'd never before seen a baker or café worker wear such tight shirts and flex his muscles so often when customers were around. Or perhaps Severus had blinded himself with wishful thinking at the first hint of someone potentially flirting with him.
Harry finished his own drink, and Severus knew they'd arrived at a moment where Harry would stay, or he'd thank Severus for the night and leave.
"The guest room is warm," Severus suddenly said, surprising himself and Harry. It wasn't something that had crossed his mind until it had crossed his tongue, and given how acerbic he could be, it at least wasn't the worst thing he could have said.
"Cheers," Harry slowly said, his slightly confused expression melting into a grateful one. "Home's been all right, but a bit loud."
"Above the café?"
"Grimmauld. I've rented it to Andromeda and Ted, to raise Teddy. A knut a month. I'm there for now too, but babies aren't quiet and they're still grieving."
"Many of us are," Severus acknowledged.
Severus waved his wand and closed the curtains, deciding that he was too old to deal with is he or isn't he guessing games.
"Potter, have you been flirting with me?"
Harry looked up at him with an expression of surprise.
"Yes," he exhaled, an admission but not one with any true guilt. "Which I thought you knew, inviting me here."
Severus didn't want to admit that he was so inexperienced in anything other than mutually agreed upon anonymous hook-ups in a London gay bar that he'd maybe been fooled by the hope.
"I was ninety-four percent certain," Severus said, his voice steady as if he was fully comfortable with the line of discussion.
"Ninety-four?" Harry repeated, a small grin growing on his face. "What can I do to get the other six?"
Severus' eyebrow raised and Harry's face flushed.
"Sorry. I'm a little drunk."
"It's… fine," Severus said, feeling his own face warm. Too much whiskey, Severus.
Harry leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and holding his hands clasped in front of his lap he looked like he was figuring out what to say, and Severus let the silence stand between them. It wasn't uncomfortable, unlike most of their interactions in the past, which he added to his tally of unexpected post-war pleasantries.
"This is my first…" Harry started, still staring at his hands.
"Hook up?"
Harry's eyes snapped up and his hands fell apart.
"It's not just a hook up," Harry immediately countered.
"What is it then?" Severus quietly asked. He'd spent a few nights thinking about friendship with Harry Potter, what the press would think of it, if it could survive their past hatred, if it was a good idea considering what they'd both gone through. And Severus wanted it, despite the logical part of his brain screaming at him that he'd suffer less on his own. That Harry Potter had the power to hurt him.
The flirting had been incidental, at first, with Brewer. But Severus had not stopped it. And found his interest remained when Brewer had turned to Potter. To Harry.
"It is potential," Harry finally said, keeping eye contact. "I'm not stupid enough to think that this will immediately be perfect and we'll never argue. Or even that in five years we'll want to continue."
"We could destroy a new friendship," Severus pointed out.
"We could also both enjoy it and… that would be fine."
"Yes," Severus said, standing up from his chair. "Yes, I suppose it would be."
"Why did you invite me if you weren't sure if I was flirting?" Harry asked, following Severus to the hallway.
Severus didn't turn back, but paused before flicking the muggle light switch.
"I had hoped," he finally said. "And if mistaken, you would still be the first to visit."
…..
The stairs to the bedroom were by the front door, the floor slightly chilled on their feet as some of the damp had gotten in. Severus led Harry up, opening the door for him and keeping the lights off. The moon, no longer full, provided enough light that the shadows were friendly and forgiving.
He could tell Harry was excited, and he hoped his own nervousness wasn't as evident.
"Have you-?"
He reached out and touched Harry's neck, his hand sliding backwards, fingers curling around the hair at the base of Harry's neck.
"Not — no."
Severus nodded slightly and leaned in, brushing his lips against Harry's and tasting the faintest edge of firewhiskey. Severus wasn't much experienced either and though he knew the pressure to be good was one put on by himself, he cursed his awkwardness anyway.
He'd forgotten to remove Harry's glasses.
A spell sent them to a bedside cabinet and Severus' hand continued its exploration down Harry's neck to his shoulders, tracing the line of his shoulder bones at they kissed.
"I…. Ah," Harry said, speaking into Severus' shoulder, and seeming not to notice the taught muscles of said shoulder at his interruption.
"I'm drunk and this is a first so… it might not last long."
The words were spoken into the collar of Severus' shirt as Harry's hands gripped at Severus' waist, keeping them close together and the evidence of his excitement very noticeable.
Severus lifted Harry's chin with his fingers, echoing the tipping of the scales he felt inside as he slid back into a confidence he could rely on for the rest of the night.
Harry's cheeks were red with embarrassment, his eyes dark with interest and lust.
"I think you told me time is what we now have a lot of," Severus said, knocking Harry down onto the bed and crawling on top after him.
…..
As he woke Severus registered that the room was warmer than it usually was, and that a hot foot was resting against his calf. The blanket had shifted toward the other side of the bed, leaving Severus barely covered as he stretched on his side of the bed. Harry was sleeping on his side, facing away from Severus, breathing just loudly enough that Severus could tell he was still asleep.
The sun was peeking through the trees outside, and the wind had finally died down.
The evening had gone smoother than Severus had imagined, only slight times of awkwardness as the attraction, or at least interest, was acknowledged. Being this close to another human, letting his guard down in sleep, was such a novel feeling after the war that Severus was loath to move and break the spell. He had to use the loo, but if he stayed as is, the bed was warm and Harry was beside him, he didn't have to think of what came next. Was one night all Harry wanted? Was he expecting to move in immediately and never let Severus go?
Severus cursed the firewhiskey. These were terms he should have clarified first, that he should have known. He'd been so preoccupied trying to figure out what Harry Potter had wanted, what ulterior motive, that he didn't consider that the answer would be something to do with Severus that wouldn't be to hurt him or extract revenge.
But last night had been nice, and Severus found himself wanting to experience it again.
Severus slipped out of bed and picked up his dressing gown from the floor. He didn't have any particular plans for the day, his usual now that the war was over, and he wasn't entirely sure that Harry did either.
The uneasiness he'd first felt upon not having a set goal to guide him was slowly breaking away.
…..
Severus heard Harry on the stairs, the fourth step down creaking a call of intrusion. He didn't turn, instead continuing to stand at the stove with the pan of eggs and his tea mug steaming beside him. He knew that the kitchen was visible from the doorway of the corridor and predicted, correctly, that Harry would stop in the doorway and observe him.
Severus continued to cook, his wrists practised as they flipped the eggs and added bread to a muggle toaster.
"Why don't you use magic for some of that?" Harry finally asked, stepping into the kitchen.
Severus remained silent, forming words around the drive in his mind that he'd possessed since the night of the battle. He felt Harry brush against him and stepped aside so the mug cupboard could be opened.
"I died, temporarily, on that night," Severus started. He saw Harry's hand tremble ever so slightly as the man poured from the teapot. Harry had died too. The Order knew this, and though the public only knew that Harry had gone to the forest to face the Dark Lord, a few had been told the whole story.
"In a dirty shack, my tasks done. After months; years, of thinking that would be the end. The final action of my penance."
He finally turned and saw Harry with arms crossed holding a tea mug, leaning against the other counter, watching him with a closed expression that told Severus he was thinking of the very same feeling. Remembering it.
"I found myself not thinking of great achievements I would miss out on in life, but the little things one never gives much thought to," Severus finished.
"Like making eggs and toast," Harry suggested, his arm turning red where the hot mug was pressed against his skin.
"Yes. Painting a room. Clearing nettles from a garden, sitting by a fire, making a bed and turning off the light switch at night to see the stars through my window. Hearing a tea spoon clinking against a mug as the tea is stirred."
He handed a plate to Harry and gestured toward the table, where some jam and cutlery had been laid out. Harry appeared lost in thought, and though Severus felt like he'd told a secret that was never intended to be shared, he knew the likelihood that Harry would understand.
"This is what brought you back?" Harry finally asked, sitting next to Snape so he could also look out over the garden.
"Fawkes. A final gift, or more likely apology, from Albus."
The morning sun, filtered through the remaining leaves on the trees in Severus' garden, made dancing spots of light flicker across the table and their plates.
"I haven't always wanted to open a café," Harry said.
"So you mentioned," Severus said, sipping his tea.
"I just, the idea of doing something like that, an idea completely my own. It felt powerful."
"Potter - Harry, you are arguably the most powerful wizard in England in right now."
"Well, if I believe the press, The Spy Who Won is even more so," Harry said, grinning into his mug.
Severus rolled his eyes.
…..
There were less people in the Alley as the weather had grown colder. Harry had left for the café after a late breakfast in the morning, walking toward the apparation point and catching the notice of Dai Davies. Severus knew he'd be questioned later, but had made his excuses to motor off so that he could meet with a supplier in Diagon Alley. Dai had very little concept of time, Severus had found, nor took any notice of social cues relating to the ending of conversations.
He'd managed to secure an appointment with the supplier to Slug & Jiggers, a trade on his newfound fame that Severus did not like how comfortable he felt with. Had this been a task for the Order, to gain information or evidence of something, Severus wouldn't have blinked an eye in using his name and influence to gain favour. To use it for his own potions workshop in his cottage, however, felt like he was putting a large sign on himself that said 'look at me.'
He didn't object to the hero's discount, however.
…..
He managed to catch Harry for a quick lunch at the Leaky, and was surprised at how many people left them alone to eat instead of approaching them. The majority were content to glance their way, point them out, and whisper their names, but only one was both brave and rude enough to approach and interrupt.
"Mr Potter, how was your trip to the continent?"
"Lovely, thanks," Harry said, barely glancing up toward the wizard. Severus didn't recognise him either, but that didn't mean much as he genuinely avoided interaction with the public.
"What was your favourite part?" The wizard asked, giving a smile as if he had found a way to make successful friendly conversation with a star of the magical world and not, as he actually was, discourteously interrupt their dinner.
"Oh, the food," Harry said. "Plenty of choice and new things to try. I'm actually enjoying lunch right now with a friend."
"Quite right," the wizard said, finally showing a hint of embarrassment. "Professor Snape, congratulations as well. Formidable team you are!" He gave a little salute as Severus tipped his water glass in a very slight motion of appreciation. The wizard left and Harry skilfully turned inward again and gave the body language of one who was deep in intense conversation and didn't want to be bothered.
"Did you actually go to the continent, or was that a lie as well?" Severus asked, mildly amused.
Harry looked slightly sheepish and grinned as he grabbed another chip from the basket in front of them.
"I went for two weeks, got food poisoning, came home."
"Had only the Dark Lord known that food poisoning was your ultimate Achilles heel," Severus said, smacking at Harry's hand and pulling the chip basket closer to himself.
"Worked out in the end," Harry shrugged. "I cooked the plainest things for myself for two weeks after then started baking. And the idea for the café popped up."
…..
Severus sat at his newly built desk in the corner of the guest room, thumbing through the stack of new parchment paper and thinking about what to write. Arthur Weasley's letter had been on his mind for a few days and Severus thought it well past due that he responded. Arthur and he had usually gotten on during Order meetings, and Severus knew that beyond the loss to his family, Arthur was likely also dealing with an extremely busy Ministry office.
It was good practise for him to write a letter of pleasantries and not one using specifically thought-out language to gain information. It was also a challenge. He was a moody, solitary, queer man that tended to turn more people away than endear, and Arthur was a pleasant family man with a love for all things muggle and a disposition that drew people and friendly conversation to him.
Severus looked up through the window and saw a red squirrel in one of his trees, flinging bits of leaf detritus around as it built a drey for the winter. He had a mixture of trees in his garden, most not useful for potions in any capacity, none of them a standard beauty either. Gnarled branches, knobby stumps branching off, half the leaves gone on some, scratches in the bark. The visual appeal was almost a personal reflection.
He watched the squirrel leave, likely off to find either more nesting material or food, and returned to his letter.
Arthur –
Thank you. I have not deliberately sought out any material on myself, but I am not surprised it has been published so quickly. I have been occupied setting up my new home, an activity that has been surprisingly pleasant.
Are you familiar at all with this new Muggle 'Internet'?
Severus
…..
The end of October wind made Severus miss the barrier of his long hair. He'd purchased a new cloak for himself with a thick felt collar and turned it up against the chill as he walked through the Alley. Still, he found people turning to look at him as he passed, but it had become easier to nod and continue on his way without stopping to engage.
His feet carried him toward Harry's café, manoeuvring around the sellers packing up their very ripe gourds, pumpkins, and squashes at the end of a market day, and the shoppers returning to home with their supper groceries.
A light was visible, just barely, in the window and Severus wiped his feet on the doorstep as he entered.
"Hello Severus," Harry said, standing by the cooker and pouring hot water into a ceramic purple mug.
The café was different and Severus found it uncomfortably bright and modern. Granger was sitting at a metal bar stool by the countertop, holding a mug and playing with the teabag string and label that was hanging out of it. She appeared distracted, her foot swaying gently back and forth and tapping the rung intended as a footrest. Weasley sat beside her, skin heavily tanned and posture relaxed as he sampled pastries.
"Am I intruding?" Severus asked, not entirely certain he liked having other people in his café. Harry's café. He'd not seen Harry in two days, and thought he was perhaps overdue for a visit, and felt cold at the reminder that Harry had other friends, ones whom he almost certainly liked more than Severus.
"No," Granger said, finally turning up to look at him. Unlike Harry and Weasley, she appeared to be more troubled now that war was over, not less.
"We're just catching up before going back."
"To Australia?" Severus asked, accepting his tea from Harry. Harry's fingers subtly tapped Severus' as the handover happened, a deliberate action that was meant to convey that he was wanted there. Severus wasn't overly interested in the conversation, but thought it strange that Harry's friends were leaving him once more.
"My parents are still there," Granger replied, as if that answered anything. Severus nodded as if he understood and took his tea to where his wingback chair normally was, hiding his scowl at the fact that Granger's café apparently did not have wingback chairs, but thin modern chairs with hard white padding.
"Hermione erased herself from their memories to keep them safe in the war," Harry explained, clearly catching Severus' mildly confused expression a few seconds earlier. "But reversing the charm hasn't been fully successful."
Severus settled in and lamented that his lap blanket was also missing. The morning had started out sunny and dry, but as the afternoon had gone on the wind had picked up and the temperature had dipped significantly, causing Severus' joints to ache.
"I don't understand why they think they're Australian," Granger muttered. She had both a notebook and textbook beside her, appearing to read at random from both.
Severus had no desire to enquire further, as he was no longer a problem solver after the war, and there was a reason why memory charms were usually well monitored by the Ministry. Trust Granger to have figured out how to use them, but Severus was also not surprised to hear that something in the reversal had gone wrong.
What he really wanted to do was speak with Harry, privately, and enquire just what the hell the two of them were doing and if whatever it was was going to continue for an unknown amount of time.
His rumination was broken by the sight of a plate coming his way. Harry had almost always served a pastry with his tea, and Severus felt like he'd been a chief taster for the café. He'd secretly been keeping a tally of which were the best in his opinion and planned to share the results after Harry had opened the café and had enough sales to compare.
"What are these, mate?" Weasley asked.
"Buttertarts," Harry said, passing one on a plate to him.
"Straight up butter?" Weasley asked, looking at them with suspicion before taking a bite. "Blimey these are good. Where are these from?"
"Canadian bloke I met in France gave me the recipe," Harry said. "Took me a bit to perfect it, but I think I've got there."
"No rum?" Severus asked, eating his in a much neater manner than Weasley was.
"Not for these ones," Harry shook his head, wiping his hands and closing the pastry case doors.
"Rum ones?" Weasley asked, his interest piqued. Beside him Granger had picked up her pencil and was writing notes at an impressive speed.
"Yeah, made those the other day. Severus has been testing a bunch of the pastries, cos you've been away."
"Going to Australia was more important," Weasley said, though he didn't sound fully convinced that it was, and laughed when Granger kicked his leg without looking up from her notes. "Heard you left Hogwarts."
Severus regarded him carefully, wondering what had changed that Weasley was no longer giving him the standard look of derision and defiance he had so much as a student. He was under no delusion that Harry wouldn't have shared the contents of his memories with his closest friends, as Severus knew he'd convinced them somehow to let him walk to the forest, alone, that night. And all three had given testimony in the trials after war, with neither Granger nor Weasley making any mentions of Severus being a traitor or a murderer as they had the year before.
"I have no desire to return to the castle," Severus said, stirring his steeping tea. Severus had never been one patient enough to let his tea steep for the recommended time, preferring instead to jab at the teabag with his spoon for the illusion of speed. What he didn't say was that he had no desire to return to teaching either, and had never really liked it. He suspected that Weasley and Granger knew this anyway.
"Me either," Weasley agreed. "Would be happy to not see that place for a while."
"There was talk about an eight year," Harry mentioned, leaning against the counter. "Or us going to auror training."
Severus couldn't think of anything he'd want less after years of war and terror than to voluntarily sign up for more.
"Think I'd rather sell meat pies in Diagon for the rest of my life," Weasley said, standing up and stretching. Granger had snapped shut her notebook, looking lively and that she'd had an epiphany.
"I've found something that will help," Granger said, picking up her coat, scarf, and bag. "We need to go to the library at the Ministry."
"Oh good," Weasley said, putting his coat on and pushing the empty plate back toward Harry. "The library. Another place I'd love to never see again."
Harry handed him a wrapped bundle of buttertarts and Weasley smoothly dropped it into his coat pocket.
"See you, Harry," Granger said, her tired face still cheery as she gave him a smile. Severus fully expected to be mostly ignored but paused with his tea at his lips as she turned to him.
"Good to see you, Severus."
"Likewise, Miss Granger," Severus said, pausing a second. "Hermione."
"Cheers mate, thanks for the treats!" Weasley said, following Granger out of the café. He gave a friendly nod to Severus. "Snape."
The silence that filled the café was thick, and Severus took a minute to enjoy the awkwardness in which Harry wiped down the already clean counter.
"Harry."
"They, um," Harry started, running his fingers through his hair as he usually did when he was about to admit something embarrassing. "They knew about my obsession with the Half Blood Prince."
"Wonderful. You have the subtlety of a troll."
…..
Severus' bedroom faced toward the south east and had a large window that he didn't normally close the curtains for as he'd spent more than a decade living in a dungeon and there was something refreshing to be woken by the sun rising. He suspected it will not be as enjoyable in the middle of summer, but looking out the window showed sunlight filtering through small puffs of white clouds in an otherwise bright blue sky, hitting the remaining leaves on the tree branches he could see and making the red tips look like they were on fire.
There was also something refreshing, and entirely new, about waking up with Harry Potter curled up next to him, tufts of hair sticking up in all directions as he drooled slightly on his pillow and with his knees nudged up against Severus' thigh. He slept defensively, fists holding the blanket tight up under his chin and back towards the wall of the room.
Severus stretched, hearing his toes crack and feeling his calves tighten nearly painfully, taking care to not dislodge the warmth of Harry's skin against his. He wondered in the coming months if Harry would start to relax more, subconsciously, in his sleep.
…..
Most of the leaves had fallen by the end of October, in time for the rain to give a few days' worth of reprieve. Severus had spent most of his time puttering around the outside of his cottage, inspecting it and preparing it for winter. There was an old muggle water tap to disconnect, branches to prune and secure, and the drive received some carefully cast spells to ensure it held up to the forthcoming snowy wet weather.
He'd just finished sweeping the front steps when an owl landed on the stone half wall by his front door. It held The Evening Prophet, which Severus had tried to cancel when they had started reporting on his daily actions after the trials had finished. The owner of the paper had insisted that The Spy Who Won never have to pay for it in the first place, and refused to cancel. Severus used it for kindling.
He carried owl treats in his pockets around the cottage though, as he lived far from both London and Hogwarts and had been raised to appreciate the efforts of post owls. And their long memories.
The Boy Who Brews! Harry Potter's Secret Diagon Alley Café
Severus flipped the paper over and skimmed the article. It wasn't surprising in the least that someone had found out about Harry's café, as it was in Diagon and he'd had to register the business. He felt a pang of… was it sadness? Disappointment maybe that Harry didn't get to make the announcement himself now. Severus frowned as he continued reading; no opening date shared, Potter's café touted the opportunity for a personalised café experience, and no one had seen what it looked like inside.
Not no one, Severus thought. He felt like he'd been privy to something, and he had been, but it wasn't just the café. Harry had shared his experiences and opinions of post-war life with Severus, his plans for the café and his support for Severus. He'd become a friend, and more recently, was turning to something a little more.
Severus was also not blind to the fact that he'd been thinking of him as Harry in his mind for more than a few days, instead of Potter.
"Face is making some interesting contortions there," Dai suddenly said, stepping out past Severus' car. "Was that an owl that just flew off?"
"Believe so," Severus said, rolling the paper back up and tossing it toward his front door.
"Get all kinds of wildlife round here," Dai said, seemingly unperturbed at the thought of an owl being so close. "Mind if you have any pets, there's foxes nearby as well."
Severus nodded, unsurprised. He doubted that their little village had much in the way of truly dangerous animals, and he was not going to share that mere miles north of them in Snowdonia were dragons.
"Wanted to bring a book by," Dai said, after a moment's silence as he looked around at Severus' cottage.
"Did you?" Severus. "I thought you had come to find out who my visitor was."
Dai gave him a crooked grin and wink.
"That'd be the missus who wants to know that," Dai confirmed. He pulled a book out of the worn bag he'd brought with him, the book not in much better shape. "Wrote to Porthmadog for this one."
Severus took it and studied the cover, a young man with an unassuming smile looking studious and sitting in front of a muggle computer device. The title was an overly clichéd one (Carving a Career, Forging Your Way in a Digital World), and was focused on building new careers around computers and the internet. Severus had very little idea of how the internet actually worked, but recognised that it was a blooming important muggle technology and appreciated that Dai thought he was young enough to take advantage of it.
"I'll be sure to return it shortly," Severus promised him. "The idea of doing business on this internet thing where I have no need of encountering people is enticing."
Dai laughed and adjusted his cap.
"Good to see you have a mate then, if you're so set on avoiding people," Dai told him, turning to continue on his walk.
"I'll come to the library once in a while," Severus called back, holding the book up in appreciation.
Severus had never worked with a computer but was curious about the possibilities. It would be a lot easier to do business with muggles if he could be anonymous on their internet.
…..
Severus had owled ahead, a first for visiting the café, to enquire about what food to bring for dinner. He was fairly certain that this pushed them firmly into a dating standpoint, but he still found himself not repulsed by the idea, and not particularly in a rush to add a label to it. Most of his experience in companionship had been more related to a sexual nature, but Severus had enjoyed the conversations and presence of Harry far more than he'd ever thought possible. Harry had now been to his cottage a few more times for quick visits, and Severus hoped he'd perhaps be interested in staying the night once more.
He did note that two witches were watching him with curiosity as he approached the café, and that instead of it being a dreary greyish blue blank storefront, Harry had finally put the name up. The paper had spilled his secret, and Harry so had decided that it was time for The Perfect Brew to open.
Once again, the café was not empty.
Arthur Weasley gave Severus a nod as he waved his wand at the cash register on the countertop, an old-fashioned monster of metal and buttons that had never been there in all of Severus' visits. A board was up on the wall beside the cooker, listing several types of coffees and teas with their prices. The pastry display case was empty, but now had little cards for pricing and labels in it.
"Think that's got it," Arthur said, tapping the cash register and looking delighted when it gave a solid ding. He gave It a friendly tap on some of the buttons and then raised his eyebrows at the clock's echoing ding on the wall.
"Must be off or Molly will be wondering," Arthur chirped, putting his wand in his pocket.
"That clock of yours no longer works?" Severus asked, stepping aside as Arthur wrapped his scarf tightly up in preparation for going out in the chilly evening.
"Oh yes," Arthur replied, his cheery voice more subdued. "We've packed it away for the time being. It was an obsession, and now the one marker… well."
Severus nodded. He couldn't remember off hand which twin hadn't survived, but knew the clock would be a fresh source of grief every time his unmoving marker was noticed.
"Goodbye, Harry!" Arthur called, his hand on the door knob.
"Thanks, Arthur! Oh good, you're here," Harry said, stepping out from behind the café with a few blocks of butter in his hands.
"Good?" Severus asked, his eyebrow raised in sarcastic disbelief that hid his contentment that Harry was still happy to see him.
"Yeah. Need to make a bunch of tarts before I open on Saturday."
"Tomorrow is Saturday," Severus stressed, putting the bags of food down on the counter.
"Guess I'll need your help most of the evening then," Harry said.
Severus rolled his eyes as he removed his cloak and started unpacking the food.
"What happened to all the talk about this being your little project under your control? One little article about this café and suddenly you're racing to open."
Harry shrugged and pushed aside the bags of flour and blocks of butter so they could use the counter to divide the food.
"You knew I was putting it off," Harry said. He used his wand in a smooth and quick flick to summon plates from the back kitchen, and deliberately didn't look up as he filled his plate. "Didn't seem like ours any more once The Prophet printed about it."
"Ours?" Severus asked, his hand pausing over the container of rice.
Harry finally looked up, and he had a slightly hesitant smile on his face that Severus had rarely seen him show, and when he had, had never been on the receiving end.
"You didn't think the café had let others in before, did you?"
Severus didn't know what to answer to that, as it implied that Harry had been interested in him for far longer than Severus had imagined, and that was a thought that had settled rather warmly in his stomach.
The wingback chairs were still set up in the window and Severus settled with his plate into what he had considered his spot for quite some weeks. Harry flopped into his own chair and nearly spilt his curry, but either the plate had an anti-spill charm on it or he was just accustomed to the clumsiness and accounted for it.
"So you shall be spending all your time here from now on?" Severus asked, trying not to sound like he was bothered by it.
"No," Harry said, pinning Severus with his gaze and not looking away. "Thought you'd realised that being their hero means you can set your own exclusive hours?"
"I believe the public will still have a limit to their patience on how inconvenient you make those hours," Severus dryly said.
Harry laughed and summoned two glasses of water over.
"I won't be running it all on my own. Molly mentioned wanting to get out of the Burrow for a bit, and Hannah wanted to help."
Severus nodded as he chewed. Molly Weasley had held down a home front in the war for more than two years and Severus understood wanting to get out for a bit. He'd done it himself permanently, leaving both the castle and Spinner's End.
"And what will you be doing with all your free time?" Severus asked, partially to tease, and partially because he actually wanted to know.
"I've heard winter in Snowdonia is something to see," Harry slowly said.
"Is it now?" Severus said, finding it difficult to add a tone of sarcasm to his comment. He'd originally been slightly concerned about holing himself up in the cottage for winter and feeling the effects of post-war loneliness. The thought of regular visits from Harry was not unwelcome.
"Perhaps there is a spot there as well to test your winter pastry recipes," Severus added.
…..
By the end of dinner the fire in the fireplace was in need of another log, and the street outside had dwindled to nearly no pedestrian traffic. The café had been ready in a manner of sorts to open for weeks, but Severus knew that Harry would fret and think of last-minute items for the rest of the evening. No matter how glib he seemed to be about the press, Severus was aware it still bothered him to find his name on the front page, to be slagged off for his decisions in life as an eighteen-year-old man who'd never had much in the way of familial support growing up.
"No pastries for opening day?" Severus asked, nodding at the empty pastry case.
"Right," Harry said, putting his arms on the chair in the universal sign that he was about to get up and do something. He had a look on his face that Severus very much recognised as meaning that Severus would be requested to help.
"Thought you could help me make some."
"I believe you're mistaken in how this partnership works," Severus pointed out, not moving. "You bake, I taste."
Harry had moved behind the countertop, pushing the blocks of butter and flour back to the centre of the counter.
"It's more like I work, you ogle," Harry said, bringing out bowls, a pastry cutter, and a rolling pin.
"I do not ogle," Severus objected, standing up from the chair and moving closer to Harry. "And I do not bake."
Harry rolled his eyes and beckoned for Severus to come behind the countertop and join him.
"You can bake. It's just like potions."
"Not exactly," Severus said, pulling out a set of scales that he just knew would be in a cupboard below the countertop. He'd never seen Harry use them, but Severus preferred brass scales, having used them near daily when teaching and brewing, and knew the café would provide what he wanted.
"Right well, similar enough. Less a chance of poisoning someone with these," Harry said. He slapped a chunk of butter on the scales, and once satisfied with the weight, started cutting it into cubes with a fluidity that he had never shown in the potions classroom.
"Aren't you going to be doing this too?" Harry asked, noticing that Severus had not picked up anything.
"I'm watching," Severus clarified, arms crossed. The knifework was impressive, but Severus wasn't surprised as he'd very recently learnt just how nimble and powerful Harry's hands could be.
"I thought you learnt by doing," Harry said. "I thought you were setting this up to be a thing where my arms go around yours as we roll the dough together, like that cheesy muggle movie."
"Cheesy…It's called Ghost you little heathen and it is a classic."
Harry laughed and threw a bit of flour at Severus.
"Come on."
"You are too short for that to work anyway," Severus said, sounding amused, and also to his horror, a bit petulant at the reality that Harry was indeed too short for it to work.
He took the saucepan that Harry handed him and moved to the stove, collecting the ingredients that floated his way.
"Melt the butter and sugar first," Harry instructed him.
Severus put the heat on low - he might not have been a baker but he was familiar enough to know that sugar would burn to the saucepan if the heat was too high.
"What will you do if your café fails?" Severus asked, mesmerised by his own rhythmic stirring of the brown sugar and butter.
"Sell it. I'll sell it if it's successful anyway. I don't want to do this for the rest of my life."
"Mm," Severus said, pre-measuring the vanilla for the next step. He'd lined up the cream, vanilla, and egg on the small table next to the cooker so that he didn't need to scramble for his next additions. Required when working with potions that had the tendency to explode if the right ingredient wasn't added at the current moment, but perhaps a little overkill for a buttertart filling.
"I saw the book Dai dropped off," Harry said, attempting casual and failing. "The career one."
"I do not have a computer," Severus said. He'd not mentioned the book at all to Harry, but was also not surprised in the least that Harry had found it. On the side table next to his wingback chair in the sitting room wasn't exactly hidden.
"And even if I did, there are very few business opportunities for a wizard on such an advanced piece of muggle technology."
"Not yet," Harry continued. "But if you did, seems a good way to sell stuff without people bothering you just for being famous. Aren't you working on an arthritis salve?"
Severus removed the saucepan from the heat and added the vanilla and cream, as directed.
"Perhaps," Severus replied. He had been, one that would work on his own joints, and a slightly less strong (and less illegal) one to share with Dai. "You are aware that magical items cannot be sold to muggles."
Harry, done with rolling the dough, turned around and put his arm around Severus' waist. There was no hesitation in the action and Severus was entirely certain that there was now flour dust on his black jumper.
"Smells good," Harry said, nearly putting his finger into the mixture as Severus smacked it away with a spatula. "And you know the head of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office. What are they going to do, arrest The Spy Who Won?"
"They will have to, if the Boy Who Lived keeps using that term," Severus darkly muttered.
Despite the threat, Severus was entirely certain he would never forget the delighted grin Harry gave him, and felt the last of his worries about post-war loneliness slipping away to the back of his mind.
- Fin
Oliver's Buttertarts
Filling:
* 165g packed brown sugar
* 75g unsalted butter
* 15ml table or whipping cream (18%-30% milkfat)
* 5ml vanilla extract
* 1 large egg
In a small pot melt the butter and brown sugar. Stir it often and remove from heat when fully melted together. Add the cream and vanilla, mix well. Let cool to touch (about 5 - 10 min) and whisk in the egg.
Pastry:
* 165g all-purpose flour
* 4g sugar
* 2g salt
* 112g cold unsalted butter cubed
* 70ish ml cold water Stir together flour, salt and sugar in a large bowl. Add the cubed butter to the flour and mix it together till it's crumbly (easiest with pastry cutter). Mix in half the water and work dough till it just holds together as a ball. Wrap it and chill for min one hour. When ready to bake, preheat oven to 380ºF/193ºC/Gas mark 5. Roll the dough out to be about 60mm in height. Use a 10cm cookie cutter or upside down glass to cut out circles of dough and put them in the muffin tins. If your tins aren't non-stick, use a spray first. Pour the filling into the pastry cups and try to keep it even. Bake for 15-17 min. You can tell when they're done with the sugar is bubbling and the pastry has some golden edges.