A/N: A quick thank you to all of those who took the time to read this, and an extra helping of chocolate to those who took the time to review.


Early the next morning, Hedwig found herself carrying a carefully phrased missive to a place she never thought she'd see: the offices of the Daily Prophet. Promptly and professionally she dropped her burden on the desk of the Editor in Chief, plucked an owl treat from the bowl the open-mouthed man offered, then departed in haste, anxious to brush the ink-laden air from her feathers.

The editor sat there, dumbfounded, for an entire minute before he blinked and set down the bowl. Hastily he snatched up the parchment, juggling it a moment before unrolling it and scanning the contents.

"Stop the presses!" he bellowed, leaping to his feet. "We have a new headline!"

" 'Harry Potter Seeks True Love'," the subject of said headline read aloud that afternoon. "From an exclusive interview?" he snorted. "Who did they talk to? Hedwig?"

The owl in question opened a sleepy eye and made an owly sound of inquiry.

"Kidding, Hedwig, go back to sleep," Harry said from his chair. He scanned the rest of the article quickly, snorting at the description of him as a 'reclusive millionaire seeking to include his true love in his well-feathered nest', and muttered at the abbreviated description of the obligations the Potter Foundation had.

A familiar shiver in the front door wards told him Snape had arrived. Harry rose to meet him at the study door, paper in hand.

"I hope you know what you're doing," Harry said by way of greeting.

Snape paused in the act of pulling off his gloves and cape. Apparently he'd ridden over instead of apparating or using a coach; the chill air had put just a hint of red in his pale cheeks and a few strands of his heavy, shoulder-length hair had escaped its ribbon.

He looked, Harry thought wistfully, altogether delicious.

With the next breath, though, he tucked the thought away where the rest of his dreams and fantasies waited for the hours of darkness. Right after that he realized that Snape was looking at him expectantly, hand out.

"Err, right," he said, wildly searching his memory for what Snape could have said.

"The paper, Potter?" Snape said, arching his eyebrow and snatching the paper from Harry, the other hand draping his cape across the now-empty grasp. "Ah, still front page news; I thought as much." Snape quickly scanned the rest of the article while he made his way to his usual chair by the fire.

"Perfect," Snape announced, folding the paper and tossing it onto the ottoman the two habitually fought over. Propping his feet on the overstuffed footstool, Snape leaned back and laced his hands across his chest, smirking triumphantly.

" 'Perfect!' Are you insane? They've made me out to be some…some half-mad, love-starved recluse!" Harry strode across the room to stop in front of Snape, hand out. "Give me those."

Snape frowned. "Give you what? Oh," he realized, stripping off his gloves and handing them to Harry. "And while you're at it, ring for tea," Snape added while Harry crossed to the door, cape and gloves in hand. "It's devilishly cold outside."

"And yes, it is perfect. By tomorrow you should be inundated with owls from hopeful applicants," he added when Harry returned, house elf in tow.

"On the small table is fine, Dobby." Harry shooed the ecstatic elf out before turning back to his guest. "But I don't want hordes of hopeful applicants; I just want Malfoy to leave me alone."

"Don't be foolish, Potter; the point of the exercise is not just to thwart Malfoy. Although that, in itself, would almost be worth the trouble," Snape turned his attention to the fire in the hearth then sneered. "We've already established that you don't want to give up the Foundation, so you must wed. Unless you've a likely candidate waiting in the wings, this is your best shot at finding someone quickly."

Harry leaned forward in his own chair, face in hands and elbows on knees. There was an ache in his chest so sharp he thought he'd die. Maybe now was the time?

"I always hoped," he began carefully, "to marry for love."

"Love?" Snape snorted and reached blindly for his cup, the table obligingly moving within easy reach. "Sometimes I forget how young you still are, Potter. This isn't about love," he gestured with his tea. "It's about making sure Malfoy doesn't get his greedy little hands on your money." He set the cup down with a clink and pointed at Harry. "Marry Malfoy, and your days are numbered in hours. There'd be a convenient accident within the month, and the poor, bereaved widower left to carry on, with both your fortunes."

Harry sighed. "You're right, you're right." No, not the time, and he regretfully tucked his feelings away for another day. He refused to admit to the possibility of never, although with the tangle his parents had thrown in his lap, his hope of happiness was fading rapidly.

"Now, once the letters start arriving, we'll go through them; weed out the obviously unsuitable, then see what we're left with." Snape leaned towards the tray and Harry passed him the plate of crab puffs before he asked.

"Wait a minute! What 'we'? I should be the one to look at them, I'm the one stuck marrying one of them," Harry said around a mouthful of his own puff. As always, the pastry melted on his tongue, the creamy filling sliding down his throat. He gave a little, "hmmm," of pleasure before he swallowed and reached for his tea. Looking up, he caught something dark and bright flickering in Snape's eyes, something that brought an answering leap in his stomach.

"Because, Potter," Snape continued, motioning for Potter to surrender his cup, "you'd fall for some chit with a sob story, and end up with her thirteen worthless relatives underfoot. I can tell the difference between truth and lie easier than you can, and have a better grounding in wizarding society. Between your sensitivity and my practicality, we should be able to find someone you can at least live with."

He picked up his own cup and plucked another of the dainty puffs from the plate. "Now tell me, what did you find out at the Ministry?"

Harry shook his head. "Nothing. Or rather, nothing outstanding. I was apparently in testate, which I took care of yesterday as well." He spread one hand. "Without a will, everything would go to my spouse, as I've no other family, and without a spouse, it would all revert back to the Ministry."

"Hmm." Snape sipped his tea, relaxing back into the worn chair while he thought. "At the Ministry, it'd be but a short step to Malfoy's hands, either directly or through some Ministry puppet. Perhaps he's courting you to secure his hand?"

"I suppose it's possible," Harry agreed through a mouthful of something with watercress. "But still, as long as I refuse him, and if we can find a decent candidate, I don't think there'll be a problem. So," he said, dusting his hands on his trousers and grinning at Snape's little frown, "did you have something in mind for today? I found a wonderfully preserved book, circa 1100 I think, that I'd like your opinion on."

Harry hid his grin at the spark of interest in Severus' eyes. First the book, then perhaps a round or two of billiards? Severus was still ahead of him by three games, and the scenery when Severus leaned over for a difficult shot was unmatched, especially in riding gear!