Euston, Muggle London.
The bell about the door rang out as Severa opened it, causing some heads to turn. Including the one she was here for.
Fleamont Potter looked up from his newspaper, one hand cupping his teacup. His gaze settled on her with mild curiosity. He was seated at a table near the window, his back to the wall ever so slightly hidden from those on the street as they walked past. The soft glow of the overcast morning cast a muted grey light on his features.
Severa took a steadying breath, schooling her expression into one of polite interest rather than the careful calculation running beneath it. She stomped her feet, wiped them on the mat, and stepped further inside. The café was warm, filled with the rich scent of freshly brewed coffee and pastries. A quiet hum of conversation surrounded her, but she barely registered it.
Fleamont's brow furrowed slightly as though he were trying to place her.
Good. That meant she had his attention.
She made her way toward the counter, taking her time to order a simple coffee with cream and sugar. This allowed her a moment to gather her thoughts and, more importantly, let him observe her without any direct interaction. As she accepted her drink and turned, she could feel his gaze follow her as she pretended to scan the room as if she were looking for a place to sit.
Their eyes met.
Now, the real work began.
As she looked around the room, she let her gaze skim over him without pause, furrowing her brow slightly as if debating her options. Most of the tables were full or quickly filling up with those coming out for a nice Sunday brunch—except for his. His table remained empty, offering the most convenient choice.
Severa hesitated long enough to make it look natural before sighing as if resigning herself to the inevitable. Adjusting the strap of her bag, she stepped toward the table, her movements deliberate but unhurried.
"Excuse me," she said, her voice edged with polite reluctance and a hint of shyness creeping in. "Would you mind if I sit here? It seems to be the only available spot."
Fleamont Potter looked up from his paper, his sharp eyes flickering with quiet interest before softening into polite cordiality. "Of course, please," he gestured to the seat across from him.
Severa murmured a quiet thank you, put her bag and coffee down, and slid into the chair with an air of casual indifference. She removed her coat, draping it over the back of the chair, and took a moment to adjust her skirt as though entirely unbothered by the company she now kept.
She could feel Fleamont's gaze flickering toward her every so often, studying her in that polite but curious way older men usually did when encountering someone vaguely familiar but out of place.
Now, all she had to do was wait. Wait for the right moment. The right words. The perfect opening.
Her gaze flickered to the newspaper in front of him—wizarding, of course.
At first glance, it seemed like any ordinary publication, but Severa knew better.
The print shifted subtly, ink reshaping itself in a way only a magical eye would notice. It was The Daily Prophet, naturally—what else would a man like Fleamont Potter read?
Severa adjusted her posture, exhaling softly as she let her gaze wander over the café once more. She needed to appear casual, disinterested even. The last thing she wanted was for him to think she had any particular reason for being here.
With a careful movement, Severa reached into her bag and pulled out the leather journal she'd put in her bag that morning. Opening it to a random, clean page, she took her pen and started to write. At first, she wasn't sure what to write; she just wanted to seem disinterested. She's let him speak to her first.
After a moment, she started to write down some notes on the Spellbound Beauty book she'd bought. Things she wanted to test or do more research on, she had many thoughts on how to change or add wand movements to quicken the process. Could she develop a spell that could change based on what you thought? What about a potion? One to make the drinker have a full face of makeup that doesn't wear off for a considerable amount of time, unlike a spell would.
She reached for her cup, bringing it to her lips just as she caught him lowering the paper slightly, his gaze flicking in her direction.
There it was—the first flicker of recognition.
With a subtle glance, she let her eyes flick to the pastry on his plate, as if casually trying to decipher what it was.
If there was one thing men loved, it was the chance to explain something to a woman.
She let her gaze linger just long enough to spark curiosity before shifting her attention back to the journal in front of her. She put her pen back to paper before taking another glance at his dessert.
Fleamont cleared his throat. "It's a Bakewell tart," he said, his voice husky and deep, polite but intrigue-laced.
Severa turned her head slightly as if not expecting him to speak. Her lips parted, then pressed together in thought. "Bakewell tart?" she echoed, her tone tinged with unfamiliarity. "I've never had one before."
His brows lifted the perfect mix of surprise and amusement. "Really? It's a classic."
She allowed a small, hesitant smile to form as if considering his words. "I suppose I've never had the opportunity." Then, as if catching herself, she straightened. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude." She gestured to the newspaper, now lying on the table beside his book.
Fleamont shook his head and smiled rather handsomely at her. Severa felt a flicker of annoyance; she understood now where James Potter got his unfortunate good looks. It was a shame he was the biggest arsehole on the planet. His father had an air about him that James could only dream about replicating.
"Not at all. Would you like to try a piece?" He gestured toward the plate, the invitation casual but filled with the underlying warmth of a man who enjoyed good company.
Severa hesitated just long enough to seem unsure before giving a slight nod. "If you don't mind," she said, her voice soft as her eyes tracked his movements.
If she was honest, the hesitation wasn't just fabricated to make her seem shy and unsure. Was this what life was going to be like from now on? Sharing treats? She'd never had someone offer their food to her before, and it did make her feel uncomfortable.
"What does it taste like?" she asked, pushing all thoughts away and watching him cut a piece off.
Fleamont looked up from his plate, a slight smile curling at the corners of his lips as he met her gaze. "It's a bit sweet, but with a bit of a tang—sort of like a lemon drizzle, but richer, you know?" He cut a piece off and raised it toward her. "Here, try it."
Severa's gaze lingered on the piece for a moment before she reached out, her fingers brushing against his as she took the pastry. The soft warmth of the dough lingered in her palm as she brought it to her lips, taking a careful bite. The sweetness hit her first, followed by the sharp cherry flavour that left a light, pleasant zing on her tongue.
She set the pastry down, swallowing slowly as she assessed the taste. "It's good," she said, her voice thoughtful. "Quite different from anything I've had before."
Fleamont chuckled, leaning back slightly in his chair. "I suppose I have a knack for finding the best things." There was a hint of pride in his tone, though it was subtle. "I love a good tart; fortunately, this cafe bakes the best one in London."
Severa let out a quiet laugh and let herself relax, her eyes narrowing just a fraction as she continued to study him. "Clearly. I'll be sure to ask you for any future recommendations."
He met her gaze directly, his eyes glinting with something that was hard to place. "I'd be happy to oblige."
She finished the rest of the pastry in her hand; she looked around the room as if she had all the time in the world, deliberately avoiding how his gaze followed her every move.
That's it, Mr. Potter. Keep your eyes on me.
"I'm Fleamont. Fleamont Potter." He extended his hand across the table, his voice smooth and confident.
Severa took a moment to wipe her fingers slowly on a napkin, ensuring she had his attention just long enough before she reached out to shake his hand. "Severa," she said coolly, her grip firm. "Severa Snape."
His brow furrowed as if her name rang familiar in his ears.
She didn't say more, her expression remaining neutral as she allowed the weight of her name to hang in the air. Then, her face transformed into an exaggerated look of shock.
"Wait, Potter?" She echoed, her hand instinctively rising to cover her mouth in feigned astonishment. "As in Sleekeasy's Hair Potion?" Her voice rose with excitement, the shock blending with her eager curiosity.
Fleamont's eyes flickered with a mix of surprise and amusement. He was clearly caught off guard by her reaction, and he leaned back slightly in his chair, clearly interested in her sudden enthusiasm.
"You're a witch?" he asked, voice tinged with amusement as Severa nodded, her hair bouncing slightly, small pieces falling out of her hairdo and framing her face.
Severa smiled faintly, her eyes locking with his, "Yes, though I suppose it's uncommon to see wizards and witches in the muggle world," she said, her voice casual, though the flicker of pride in her eyes betrayed the nonchalance.
Fleamont raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Not common, perhaps, but not unheard of." He gave a small chuckle. "I'm guessing that's why you've never heard of a Bakewell tart before?" he asked, a hint of a smirk on his lips.
Cheeky bastard.
Severa's lips curled into a subtle smile, but her eyes never left his. "It's not that I haven't heard of it," she replied, her voice smooth and composed. "I just haven't had the pleasure of trying it yet."
She took another small sip of her cooling coffee, her gaze now studying him in return. He was clearly enjoying the back-and-forth, a glint of amusement dancing in his eyes. Severa could see that he was entertained, perhaps more than he'd expected to be.
Fleamont's smirk widened slightly as if he knew exactly what she was doing, and yet, it only made him more intrigued. "Well," he said, leaning forward just a fraction, "if you like, the next time you're here at the cafe, I could introduce you to more Muggle delicacies. Consider it an education of sorts."
Severa smirked behind her cup; he was playing right into her hands.
"I'd like that."