AN: I meant to get this out quicker but hockey's started and I don't bounce back as quickly as I did when I was younger.

Secondly, I can't count. This was always planned to have three parts. Not sure why I wrote two last time. There's one more chapter to go.

"Good to see you too, Snape," Potter evenly said, before turning to greet a member of the Wizengamot. He gave some murmurs of acknowledgement of the dreadful war and the work to restore the school. There was none of Potter's usual energetic energy behind them and it incensed Severus that he was just standing there coolly and blandly as if he had not just been uncovered as the mysterious café owner that Severus had spent far too much time with.

"No need to look so angry, Severus."

"Filius," Severus said, his tone deep as he slowly moved his glare away from Potter.

"He only came back last night, I heard," Flitwick contributed, nodding toward Potter, who had left them to talk to some other important looking witches.

"Did he now," Severus said, a statement more so than a question. The crowds were starting to mingle again that the speeches were over and Severus itched to leave.

"Yes, though he's never said where he was. His friends are still in Australia, you know. I'm sure it's lonely now that the war's done."

At this Severus blinked and fully regarded his colleague, a fellow head of house that he used to take tea with and duel against late in the cold winter evenings. The spark in his eyes, often punctuating a laugh as Flitwick took the upper hand in a duel, was still there.

"I find it hard to believe that the Boy Who Lived would be lonely so shortly after defeating the Dark Lord," Severus groused.

"I suppose. And how are you enjoying the attention?" he asked, with a tiny smirk. "The Spy Who Won is one of your more benevolent nicknames, isn't it?"

Severus looked around the room once more, noting the people who were glancing his way with curiosity.

"Meddlesome."

….

After a night of stewing to himself, sitting by his fire with more whiskey than had ever been recommended by the NHS, Severus had worked his way up to a mixed state of mostly anger and a slight bit of confusion. The anger masked his curiosity, and he felt a level of satisfaction from people clearing out of his way as he stormed through Diagon Alley.

"How dare you," Severus started, slamming open the door with the perfect burst of noise that he'd wanted. Maddeningly, Potter did not seem surprised.

The café was more of a mess than Severus was used to seeing - the blanket on the chair had holes in the knit, the rug seemed to be a slightly different shape than before, and something was off about the bookcases but Severus couldn't be bothered to give it any further attention.

"Been planning that dramatic entrance since yesterday?" Potter asked, leaning against the stove and holding a mug in his hand. He was wearing a plaid shirt, long sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and his forearms were rather distracting. The glamour was still on, which infuriated Severus further.

"You'd know about dramatics, Potter. Or should I say Brewer?" Severus said, standing right up against the bar top and pointing at him.

"If you're talking about my final conversation with Voldemort, I don't disagree. But disappearing to the continent hardly counts."

Severus narrowed his eyes at that as Potter casually sipped his tea. Unlike his previous visits the cauldron of water on the cooker remained still and cold, and Severus found himself unexpectedly annoyed at the break in routine.

"To be quite honest, I used to think you were envious of the fame," Potter continued, when Severus hadn't immediately clarified. "It's not so easy being on the other side, is it? Diagon Alley's… newest celebrity."

"Potter," Severus growled, stepping forward so only the bar top was between them. He was slightly thrown by the fact that it was very evident that Potter was now an adult, and that he was no longer bothered to be at the end of Severus' vitriol.

"Hypocritical as always, lying to people and hiding behind a -"

"This is your glamour," Potter interrupted, his voice bold, with an undertone of power that hadn't been there as a student. "You can puzzle why out later, but don't you dare lecture me on how to manage fame in our world."

He stood straight up and stepped away from the cooker and Severus saw an angry flame burst out from under the metal grated element.

"You exposed me to this hell with your little conversation," Severus continued, leaning over the counter. Potter met his gaze; fear absent from his expression.

"Neither of us thought you'd survive," Potter bluntly said. "You'll get used to it, Snape."

"I don't want to get used to it!" Severus bellowed, invigorated and jabbing his finger into the air at Potter. "I want to be left - "

"Alone?" Potter interrupted, his eyes dark and sharp. "Fade away from life in your own little world now that the war's over?"

"What I choose to do with my life is my choice," Severus seethed, the sibilant choice leaving his tongue in time with the steam from the boiling pot.

"It still is," Potter said. "The papers will get bored and move on to something else. They always do. And you can live in your little cottage that the Ministry's money bought and never speak to another person again. But that's not what you want."

"And how in the ever-loving fuck would you know what I wanted, Potter?" Severus snapped.

"Because if you didn't want solace or a friend to talk to, the café never would have appeared open to you."

"What absolute rubbish is that?" Severus asked. "The café isn't sentient."

"Are you sure about that?" Potter asked, putting a clean mug down on the counter top and standing within a foot of Severus. "I knew you were trying to figure out who I was, and I would have answered."

"I asked your name- "

"And I gave you an obviously fictitious one," Potter interrupted. "Nothing else I told you was a lie. This café isn't open yet because I currently control it, and much like setting up your house, this is my project that I and I alone get to do."

"They will run you haggard," Severus said. "The Boy Who Lived opening a café…"

"Yes," Potter agreed. "And they'll judge me for not becoming an auror and for not marrying Ginny and for not… what else is new? Get used to it, Snape. They'll do the same to you."

"Not if I run them all off first," Severus determinedly said. He did not expect Potter to laugh.

"I reckon you could."

"But you didn't," Severus pressed. "You've never liked me Potter, and you didn't run me out of your café."

Finally, Potter showed some discomfort as he picked up a cloth and wiped at the already clean sink.

"A lot's changed, hasn't it?"

Severus, who hadn't exactly been feeling that settled with how welcoming the wizarding world had suddenly become to him, found he couldn't disagree.

"Are you staying for tea?" Potter asked, hand hovering over a second porcelain cup.

Severus took a long moment to think, organizing the information he'd gleaned in his mind and still trying to work out if he was truly annoyed with Potter and what the mysterious message about the glamour meant.

"To take away," he finally replied.

….

Severus didn't return to the café the next day.

He told himself it was because he had several pressing things to do around his cottage and not because he was avoiding Potter. There was the rest of his desk to set up, the plans for his brewing area to be sorted, and his bedroom could do with a nice rug. The outside as well needed seeing to, before anyone from the village voiced complaints.

Why had Potter been friendly to him?

Severus spent his morning in the garden, dealing with the mess of nettles and saving the best for potions. He never was a person to talk to himself, but instead spent a silent morning with his thoughts whirling as he replayed the last few weeks in his mind, always coming to the same conclusion. Potter owned a café that purportedly was not just a normal café and had somehow wanted Severus to find it. He'd been amicable, but not in an overly saccharine way like post-war strangers Severus had encountered, and was comfortable enough to have Severus in his space and have conversations that weren't just the banal pleasantries between a worker and a customer.

He couldn't figure out what Potter wanted.

By the time he was done pulling nettles and the other weeds that had grown wild in his yard Severus was tired enough to use magic to bag his pullings. He stood and gave a solid stretch, wincing slightly as his back cracked and using the stretch as an excuse to check that none of the muggle villagers could see him. He'd bought the cottage because it did have a lot of privacy, and the library down the lane had an obscured view only. A few quick swishes of his wand and the garden detritus was bagged up, the area looked cleaner, and Severus was left wondering what to do next.

….

Severus had debated whether or not to buy himself a car when he moved to the cottage. He knew how to drive; his dad had spent one summer ensuring Severus had enough muggle skills to live passably amongst the non-magical. The cottage was in a remote enough town that if he hadn't a car he suspected that his neighbours would wonder how he got out and about, given that they would be oblivious to apparation. The drive was dirt instead of paved but a subtle spell renewed once a year would keep it from getting too muddy; well enough that the used two-door dark blue Ford Fiesta he'd purchased wouldn't sink in. Severus also figured if he drove it once or twice a week, that would be enough to allay the curiosity of villagers.

Though he'd spent most of his time in muggle London over the past few weeks, Severus was determined to know enough of the area to be able to converse and fit in with his muggle neighbours. He'd chosen rural Wales for privacy reasons, yes, but also because it was much nicer than the shite end of the industrial town he'd grown up in.

The drive failed to keep his mind off the café.

If it had been another student, another Slytherin, Severus would immediately understand. His new and ridiculous title as the Spy Who Won did afford him some measure of power and influence, and he could see a Slytherin wanting Severus to help restore their standing or perception in the magical world.

But Potter… Potter already had good standing. He didn't need Severus for anything, especially now that the war was done and his mission was over.

Severus relaxed in his seat and tapped the steering wheel as he drove over a stone bridge and came to a stop by an old building right by the side of the road. Left was toward his new home; right was toward a larger town with a grocer's.

He turned to the right, deciding to see if there was a café in that town as well. He told himself that Potter's tea was of the same quality that he could brew in his own newly set-up kitchen, and it was just an exercise to get out of the house. And it was entirely likely that a café in this town would have pastries like those that Potter had made for him.

Severus accelerated his car and glanced to the creek flowing by the road; red, orange, and yellow fallen leaves floating down, snagged by fallen branches stuck in the creek bed rocks.

Potter didn't need anything from him after the war. Perhaps that was also what now made him his equal.

….

His task list grew smaller in size of effort, and Severus didn't want to think about the one task that he hadn't written down. The house was outright paid for, and muggle bills had never been too much of a concern to Severus. But he'd still need a source of income at some point, and Severus was stalled in that he didn't know what he wanted to do. Only what he didn't want.

He sat in his wingback chair at the evening's fire musing over what he'd been able to accomplish in the months since the war. His cottage, though not yet complete, felt homier than Spinner's End ever had. He'd taken to the domestic tasks of painting, building, cleaning, and organizing with vigour, with a restless energy that came from having to be constantly vigilant during the war and now being without an outlet for said focus.

Severus sipped from his whiskey and glanced at the empty chair across from him. Beyond the chair was a box that he'd not yet unpacked, a box containing his collection of potions journals and notebooks from his mastery. Potions. The mere act of teaching and sharing his knowledge for a subject he once took solace and pride in had almost killed his passion for it. Severus had no desire to turn it into a money-making venture and completely destroy his remaining enjoyment of it, regardless of how good he was at brewing and improving.

It didn't leave many other options though, as the majority of experiences on Severus' CV would be looked upon rather poorly by any employer.

Maybe Potter's idea wasn't the worst, Severus thought. The wind was starting to howl outside, the dark night turning a bit ominous and threatening rain. Opening a bakery was so far from what anyone expected of Potter that there would be no expectations for him to meet. Potter was young enough that he could get away with that though, a roguish charm to him that Severus was entirely certain would not transfer over to any misadventures of his own. Despite the population now thinking it fully acceptable to approach him in public, Severus knew the idea of him running any sort of shop or restaurant was a preposterous one.

Severus finished the rest of his whiskey and extinguished the fire before he got too maudlin thinking about his post-war life and its lack of direction.

He missed talking to Brewer.

An owl pecked at his hallway window as Severus walked up to his room and he considered leaving the post till morning, but knew it would play on his mind through the night. The Daily Prophet had been trying to reach him again, and Severus gave a pre-emptive scowl to the letter before opening it and being pleasantly surprised.

Arthur Weasley's small note congratulated him on his entry into Wizarding Encyclopaedia Britannica. The second half of the note asked, with an impression of sincerity Severus hadn't thought possible with quill and ink, how he was doing. A loaded question, but a kind one Severus supposed. Arthur had always been rather neutral toward him and Severus vowed to respond in the morning.

….

He'd expected more change to the café in the four days since he'd been there but it looked much the same as when Severus had been visiting Brewer. The chair was in its usual place, the books were neatly on the shelf, and a fire was going to keep the room warm. Potter was somewhere in the back, as Severus could hear him banging about with something.

He didn't seem surprised to see Severus settled in the window chair when he came out from the back.

"You've fixed the holes in the blanket,' Severus said, smoothing his hand over the blanket on his chair. It wasn't an apology, specifically, but it was what Severus had to offer.

"I didn't," Potter said, dumping a bowl of what appeared to be chilled dough on the countertop.

"Potter, there were holes in this the other day, and there are none today."

"Probably," Potter said, maddeningly calm and not at all bothered by the contradiction. Though he didn't bring out his wand, Severus saw a small flame flicker to life under the pot of water on the cooker.

"And you've removed your glamour."

"Again, no." Potter looked up from rolling the dough. "But you wanted the glamour to be gone."

Severus tossed the blanket down on the chair as he stood up and went to inspect the tins of tea on the shelf.

"Of course," Severus said. "Your cover is blown. There's no point in using a glamour."

Potter shrugged with a contented look on his face. He tossed a handful of flour on the worktop and picked up a rolling pin.

"Wasn't mine."

"Potter. I have never cast a glamour on you," Severus said, clutching the tin of Ceylon tea tightly and regretting his decision to come back. Brewer had been like this too, asking questions that made him think, but knowing it was Potter somehow made them more irritating.

Potter looked up at him and swept his hands open toward the café, pointing at the chair with the rolling pin.

"Haven't you figured out how the café works yet, Snape?"

Severus glared at him and placed the tin on the counter top.

"Yes, only I can enter, and instead of a regular café where the customer is respected, I am treated to pastries and an invasion of my privacy by the café owner."

"Free pastries," Potter clarified, picking up a plate and placing a pumpkin tart with chocolate drizzle on it.

"Free pastries," Severus monotoned, taking the plate with a firm grasp.

"I haven't invaded your privacy much," Potter continued, watching Severus as Severus settled into his chair. "You're free not to answer any questions. But you might no longer get tea and pastries."

He gave Severus a cheeky grin at that and Severus prided himself at how well he kept his face schooled into a blank look.

"I see. Was this a tried and tested method during the war to interrogate snatchers or Death Eaters?" Severus asked, putting the pastry down. The filling had enough spice to wake his tongue and the chocolate drizzle that followed after smoothed out the experience.

"Fortunately, didn't run into them much," Potter said, using a cookie cutter to cut circles out of the dough. "We had a hard enough time getting regular food last year."

Severus wasn't surprised to hear that, as the first time he'd seen Potter at Hogwarts after nearly a year Potter had visibly lost weight. Leaner, muscular, and with a quiet power that had been absent as a teenager, but most certainly having been through a year of scarcity.

"You didn't plan this?" Severus said, hearing the hypocritical question in his words. He'd often accused Potter of not planning anything throughout the years he'd known him, and wasn't sure why now of all times he assumed that Potter had had a grand plan to open a café in Diagon Alley.

"Not for months, if that's what you mean," Potter said. He busied himself looking through several packages of chocolates. "Look, the war ended and we had to do trials and interviews with the Ministry. And avoid the press. And for me it's been seven years of having one major goal to work toward, and now it's gone."

Severus crossed his arms, trying not to calculate how long it had been for him since he'd had his own choice in his goals in life.

"Disappointed?" Severus dryly asked. "Shall I go dig him up again for you?"

"No," Potter said, laughing. "But for seven years I never dared to think about a future beyond Voldemort. I bet you didn't either."

"My future was death," Severus said, hiding the discomfort in his voice.

"Right," Potter said, raising his tea mug in solemn solidarity. "So, I reckon we get a bit of a break figuring out what to do now."

Severus searched Potter's face for any sign of judgement but once again found none. It was utterly ridiculous as a thirty-eight-year-old man to have no plan of what he wanted to do with his life. He only really had a set list of two things he didn't want, and that was to teach or to brew potions for money.

"I'm not starting a bakery."

"Good?" Potter said. "We've become friends of sort, yeah? Would be hard to keep that up as competitors."

A bell at the back of the café gave off a cheery series of dings and Severus looked toward the back curtain with confusion.

"Delivery for H Brewer," a wizard said, sticking his head through the curtain. Severus didn't recognise him, but his attention was very quickly diverted to the rest of the room that had started to subtly shift. The armchair Severus sat in remained the same, but the bookcases shifted to a more modern look, the fireplace brick took on the look and colouring of marble, and Potter… Potter was wearing yet another glamour.

Severus stared at the loose robes that Potter was now wearing and the longer hair on his head getting trapped in the hood collar of the robes.

He paid almost no attention to the delivery wizard, who delivered boxes of plates and mugs, collected Potter's signature, and left without paying any attention to Severus.

It was the first time anyone else had been the café, and Severus watched with an intense gaze as the café melted back into the one he was accustomed to visiting.

"This is the room of requirement," Severus said, memories of his teenage years at Hogwarts filling his mind.

"The café," Potter said, looking up from the invoice he was holding. His shirt had changed back to the familiar black one with short sleeves, and his hair had returned to his normal cut. "But yes."

"How?" Severus asked, standing up to touch the fireplace and make sure it was actually there. "I didn't deliberately ask for a custom tea shop."

He ran his fingers along the mantel, to the bookcase, and back down to the tins of tea lined up on the shelving that Potter had installed. It all felt real, and Severus fought against his initial reaction at being deceived. He'd had no suspicion that the café he'd taken solace in that summer day might not have been real at all.

"But you had a subconscious idea of what you wanted," Potter said, watching him carefully. "It's all real. The café has a kitchen, bookcases, a chair, the countertop. But the look of them is dictated by the customer."

"Which is why no one else can come in at the same time," Severus reasoned. "But the delivery wizard- "

"It's the end of his day and mine was the last stop. I don't even think he'd notice Voldemort if he was sitting in here," Potter explained.

"So your business model is to create a café the deliberately entices customers," Severus summarised.

"Don't they all?" Potter asked. "This just uses magic to make it look like the place they want to be when they walk by."

"That's manipulation," Severus pointed out. He sat back into his chair, his limbs sinking into the soft material that had in such a short period of time become broken in to his frame.

"Lots of things in this world are."

"There is that," Severus reluctantly agreed. The Wizengamot and Ministry of Magic may have done much to create law and order in a world where magic made impossibilities attainable, but it was still much less innocent than the muggle world and Severus knew magic was very easy to taint with ill intent.

"I didn't realise you would come back," Potter said, moments later. Severus looked up from the rug edge he'd been studying in the silence.

"The magic here wasn't supposed to really be working yet, but whatever was going on that day made this place look like exactly what you wanted. I don't think I've ever seen you that frazzled before."

"Annoyed," Severus immediately corrected, flicking the little strands of blanket fringe off his lap.

"And then you kept coming back, and were easy to talk to," Potter finished, shrugging as if it made perfect sense to have struck a friendship with a man he'd once chased down after a murder and tried to curse. Perhaps it did, but Severus had never been good at following Potter's logic.

"You must be severely lacking in the social area if I am easy to talk to," Severus dryly said.

Potter rolled his eyes and shifted his stance by the counter. The wind had picked up again once more and scrap bits of paper bags and detritus could be heard smacking against the wooden window frame.

"Pretty sure you get as many owls as I do," Potter said. He waved his wand and conjured a chair for himself near the fireplace, opposite of Severus. "But it's different having someone who doesn't want to talk about the war. Seems like half the people out there get off on hearing about how dangerous or violent it was."

"Because they didn't have to go through it," Severus muttered, finishing his tea and suddenly feeling like it wasn't quite enough for the heaviness of the conversation.

Potter seemed to agree, as a bottle of rum floated over to their little side table. Two glasses followed and Potter poured the rum out with an ease that made Severus slightly concerned that he might be using alcohol to cope with whatever haunted him from the war.

"I use it in baking," Potter said, taking a sip and making a face at the harsh burn.

"That's right. Potter goes off and opens a five-star bakery, dazzling the magical world once more," Severus said, tipping his glass toward Potter.

"Is this what you do when you drink? Shit on your friends?" Potter asked, laughing.

"I don't have friends," Severus bluntly said. "I have acquaintances, either in Azkaban or in the ground."

He drained his glass and held it up for Potter to refill. Severus preferred firewhiskey, but Potter hadn't gone cheap on the rum and it was an acceptable substitute.

"And Albus."

Potter looked reflective at that and Severus was entirely certain that he did not want to hear sympathies from a man who didn't choose to be controlled by Dumbledore; who didn't choose his penance.

"Would you like a friend?" Potter asked instead. And Severus could feel the hair on the back of his neck raise as his defensiveness thickened at his throat.

"I don't need a pity friend from the boy who has his choice of hundreds," Severus tersely replied, sipping more rum.

Potter rolled his eyes but he didn't seem that insulted, leaving Severus to wonder if he was pleased or disappointed at that.

"You're wrong," Potter said, slouching back in his chair. "I have friends, but only a few. The rest just want to be near me so they can say they're friends with Harry Potter. It's worst for dating."

Severus scoffed.

"You expect sympathy from a man who's not had a date in a decade?"

"I don't know. Genius potions master with that whole dark and broody thing going on? Think you should read those owls once in a while. There's interest."

"Fuck off, Potter."

Potter laughed and stood up to put the bottle of rum away.

….

The next morning was surprisingly pleasant, and Severus took advantage of the sunny day to go for a constitutional. The village was full of off shoots and paths from the high street, none of them properly marked and leading to a never-ending debate on whether the turn he was about to make was a small laneway or someone's private property.

It was a Saturday, and after his few disastrous weekends in Diagon Alley in the summer, Severus vowed to stay far away from London.

"Nice change to that cottage, there," a gravelly voice said, knocking Severus gently out of his musings of what to have for lunch. Severus had rarely been able to visit the library during its meagre opening hours – though one would be more accurate to call it a community centre room turned book storage. He'd also not yet met the librarian, an older gent north of seventy who had on a cap and scarf that neither matched nor was a distinguishable grey or brown. His eyebrows looked like they were alive and trying to escape his face, and he had friendly eyes that somehow matched the wrinkles and age spots on his face.

"All the nettles and the like."

Severus nodded and turned toward the door of the library, deciding that now was as good as ever to do some research on potential careers.

"There's a long list," Severus found himself saying, stopping by the man for what would likely be Severus' only conversation of the day. "Getting to it."

"No rush, no rush," the man said. "Just nice to see life in there again, is all. Dai Davies."

He stuck his hand out and Severus saw that the knuckles were swollen with arthritis and he had little scars on his fingers as if Dai had once lived a life with a lot of manual work. Severus had several ingredients in storage, he thought, and it wouldn't take much to get the rest to brew a potion to help with the arthritis but…

"Severus."

"Go on and have a browse then," Dai said, nodding toward the inside of the library. He seemed to be fiddling with something in his pocket, and Severus thought he saw the edge of a pipe sticking out. What he saw beyond Dai's shoulder made him fight back a scowl.

"Have any career-oriented books?" Severus asked, positioning himself so that he looked ready to follow Dai.

Dai raised a considerable brow and poked his pipe back into his pocket.

"After a new career, are you?" Dai asked, shuffling into the library, leaves stuck to his shoes and littering the inside of the entryway.

Severus stepped in just behind, though turned at the last second to glare up into the sky and point toward his cottage, ensuring the post owls and their letter bundles didn't get delivered in front of Dai.

….

After a lazy weekend of walking around the village and listening to the nattering on of Dai Davies as he tried to research occupations, Severus returned to London to try his luck there. He spent an hour visiting several shops and a museum on the muggle side, before entering the Leaky Cauldron. He'd made it just in enough time that the dinner crowd hadn't really settled, but was still stopped by two people who wanted to express their gratitude.

He managed a bitter acknowledgement, and lost much of his appetite as the conflict of being congratulated for the actions stemming from his worst mistake weighed on his mind. He hadn't been sure if he was going to visit Potter's café (a lie if he'd ever told one), but more and more looked to it as a spot to escape the frankly unwarranted admiration of the general public.

His step quick as he wove through the alley to the dark door in the far end of the Alley, Severus whipped open the door and shoved his head in. He unravelled his scarf and turned to his right to place it on a hook that he hadn't known before was there, but just had felt a natural spot for it. The magic of the café was impressively subtle, Severus thought.

The café was empty otherwise, stove cool and pot of water waiting for attention. The worktop was clean and bare, and even though he noticed a few changes to the room (the light seemed brighter, and the windows were cleaner), it looked much the same.

"Potter," Severus said, standing by the shelf to choose what tea he'd like. Here the changes were more evident. Potter had clearly picked up some heaviest and bolder teas in anticipation of a cool autumn.

"Potter?" Severus continued, popping off the lid to a caramel Scottish breakfast tea to give it a sniff.

"Harry?" He asked, putting the lid back on and putting it on the worktop. Still no sound came from the back and Severus' curiosity started to get the better of him. Potter was grown enough to be able to defend himself, certainly after the past year, and the front of the café bore no signs of battle, still, Severus removed his wand and cautiously made his way behind the curtain.

More boxes of stock and crockery were neatly stacked in the back, where the plain walls were covered in colour coded lists. Potter sat on a stool in front of a giant sink, his one foot up on the rung and a letter in his hand, draped over his thigh. His gaze was toward the floor, no longer focused on the letter but thoughts clearly lost in it.

"Potter," Severus repeated, leaning against the doorway.

Potter looked up with a slight startle, his expression a little lost as he pushed away whatever was playing in his mind.

"Sorry," he said, springing up out of the seat and grabbing a small cloth. "Didn't hear you come in."

"Bad news?" Severus pressed, nodding toward where Potter had thrown the letter. He couldn't read it from that distance, but the blue biro pen ink was unmistakably muggle.

Potter looked back at it and gave a carefully casual shrug.

"Unsurprising news."

"I see. Well, it's tea time and I have a quandary about muggle televisions."

"You know you have to pay a licence for those," Potter said, following Severus back to the front. "They will come round and check."

Severus have a little smirk and settled into his seat, hiding his surprise that a second chair was opposite his by the window already.

"You called me Harry," Potter said, dumping the tea Severus had chosen to a pot to steep.

"So I did."

….

Three hours, an impressive rant about Coronation Street, and a shared order of Indian later and the café was quite warm and cosy. The Alley outside had switched from witches and wizards returning home from work to those who had ventured out to pubs and restaurants for the evening. The tea had long been consumed, and Potter's rum had been broken into once more.

"How old are you, Potter?" Severus asked, watching over the edge of his cup as Potter stood behind the counter, rolling dough.

"Old enough."

"You don't know why I'm asking," Severus said, his voice slow and deep as he took another sip.

"Don't I?"

Potter looked back up at Severus, his rolling pin paused at the far end of the dough he was working on, his arms extended and tight enough that Severus could see the division of muscle from shoulder to biceps and forearm veins.

The acknowledgement was unspoken and Severus knew that he was skirting a very precarious line. Potter was a hero, his ex-student, and years younger than him. It was one thing to admire him privately, but his interest was no longer a secret.

Potter had also quickly become one of the very few friends Severus had made after the war.

"Try this," Potter said, his voice an octave lower as it cut through the thick air between them.

A small plate came his way with a tart Severus didn't recognise. A small roundish tart, filled with what looked like caramelised brown sugar.

"Drink some rum first. I mean to include it in the filling, but forgot," Potter admitted. He held up his own glass and plate. "A sip per bite."

It was a bold flavour to start with, a dark spiced rum that overpowered his mouth and yet blended beautifully with the rich buttery filling and flaky pastry.

"Decidedly adult version," Severus said, licking his lips to chase the rum.

"Very," Potter said. "Though the magical world has never much struck me as child friendly."

"Wizards are hardier than muggles," Severus said, taking another bite.

"Are we?" Potter asked, taking the rest of his rum as a shot. "Physically, maybe. But here we are after a war and you've been holed up in your own cottage, cursing the general public, and I in a café that I keep delaying the opening date."

Severus watched him pick up the bottle and consider filling his glass up again, before putting the bottle back down. The rain had started up again outside, splashes hitting the window and wet leaves from the wind slapping against the door.

"As you said, this is under your control," Severus shrugged, finishing his tart. "War never is."

"That's why you left teaching, isn't it?" Potter asked, placing the tray of dough shapes under a stasis spell. "Always thought you hated it."

"I did," Severus answered. "But I've done worse."

"Mm," Potter replied, turning back to oven and quelling a timer.

In for a penny, in for a pound, Severus thought. He had, after all, certainly done worse.

"My cottage is nearly finished," Severus said, putting his plate on the side table and watching Potter very carefully. "You are welcome to come see it."