Archive of Our Own

"Potter, I'm still waiting for your report. It was supposed to be on my desk this morning!"

"You'll have it this afternoon, sir, I promise!" Harrie said.

Her superior gave a grunt, sending her a look that propelled Harrie into motion. She picked up her quill, located her half-finished report, and started re-reading the last sentence she had written. Ugh, no. What had she been thinking? With a sigh, she erased the sentence, then stared at the paper.

Being an Auror came with a lot more red tape than she had envisioned. She spent more time filling out paperwork than being out in the field. Sure, yes, she tracked down dark wizards and dangerous magical artifacts, stopping the bad guys and protecting the world from evil, which was what she wanted to be doing (what she had always done), but why did it have to come with so much paperwork?

"Chin up, Harrie," came a cheerful voice from her right. "You'll conquer that report in no time."

Harrie smiled at the woman occupying the desk next to her. Alicia was a few years older than her, with more Auror experience under her belt, and she had sort of taken Harrie under her wing, helping her navigate the reality of working as an Auror. She always had encouraging words for Harrie, and they had quickly become friends.

"Why does it have to be so detailed?" Harrie grumbled. "I don't remember which spell that guy cast first when he attacked us. Or how many he cast. Plus, there were some non-verbals in there."

"You don't have to remember," Alicia said, in her trademark no-nonsense tone. "You only have to check the results of the Prior Incantatem on his wand, which are logged and available for perusal."

"Right. I'll do that."

"Oh, while you're downstairs, can you pick me up some scones at the cafeteria? I'm in the mood for something sweet."

"You're chipper today," Harrie remarked with a grin.

"I went on a date last night, it was magical."

"Really? I thought you had sworn off dating. In fact, I distinctly recall you saying that you'd stay away from men, because they were all rubbish."

"I gave it one last shot. Found an ad in the Prophet about a dating service that promised a guaranteed compatible match. I tried it, and the guy they paired me with was actually a very pleasant surprise. I'll be seeing him again this Friday. I was thinking of wearing the dress I had on last Christmas party, remember? The red one?"

"That dress on a second date? That sends a strong signal, as in take me right here on this dinner table."

"That's the kind of signal I want to send," Alicia said, smiling. "What about you, Harrie? When was the last time you went on a date?"

Harrie grimaced. She hadn't tried dating in months, and her last couple of dates had gone terribly, leaving a sour taste in her mouth.

"I'm enjoying being single at the moment," she said.

"Oh come on, won't you give it a try? There is a thirty days reimbursement policy if you're not satisfied. Maybe they'll find just the right bloke for you."

"I doubt it."

The right bloke would have to be a Muggle, because she wanted someone who didn't care she was Harrie Potter, and everyone who was a wizard cared. Even those who tried really hard not to care stared at her scar at least once.

"You have to try," Alicia said, "or you're not allowed to complain about being single ever again."

"I didn't complain!"

Alicia stared at her.

"Okay, just a little," Harrie admitted. "But I was drunk. No one told me the Butterbeer served at the Ministry was so strong."

Alicia kept staring.

"Fine. Fine, I'll try! And when it doesn't work and they pair me up with a fan of Gilderoy Lockhart or something worse, I'll complain. To you."

"Uh-uh. And if it works, and you meet your soulmate, I want an invitation to the wedding."

Harrie snorted. Fat chance that would ever happen.

*

Hedwig hooted softly, depositing a package into Harrie's lap. Harrie stroked her owl's head, rewarded her with a treat, then opened her mail. Under the brown waterproof wrapping, there was a small golden box, held close by an intricate-looking lock. The moment Harrie's fingers brushed the lock, it shimmered and vanished in a small burst of powdery gold dust.

"Points for presentation," Harrie said, opening the box.

It contained several scrolls of parchment, all neatly tucked inside. She picked the one at the top, unfurled it. The paper had a lustrous shine, and words appeared upon it in silver ink.

Thank you for trusting MDS, the Magical Dating Service of your dreams!

Satisfaction guaranteed! Find your soulmate on the first date!

More words appeared, summarizing how the service worked. She would have to fill a questionnaire, send it back, and they would 'work some magic' and match her with her soulmate. The process took upward of a week. Both her and the other person would then be informed that a match had been made, and they would receive a new letter, with indications on where to proceed for their first date ('the first of many, of course', the parchment proclaimed).

Harrie took a look at the second parchment. It was the payment slip, upon which she had to indicate her vault number at Gringotts, and then apply her magical signature to attest that she allowed the payment of fifty Galleons made to MDS.

Rather reasonable, fifty Galleons. Of course she was rich anyway, so she could have afforded a much more exorbitant price, but it was easier to part with fifty than with a hundred or more, considering how foolish this all was.

Her soulmate, pfff.

She unfurled the third and last parchment, her eyes widening at the long list of questions. Preferred gender, preferred age range, preferred physical features, preferred personality traits, your interests, your sexual preferences... There were a lot more questions about sex than Harrie had expected. (There was also an option to indicate that you weren't interested in sex, but Harrie wouldn't be ticking that case.)

At the bottom of the parchment, there was a line that said Special requests? Write them here.

Feeling stupid, Harrie wrote, 'Someone who doesn't care I'm famous.' That was really her main requirement. Then she filled out the rest of the parchment, grumbling at the rather invasive questions. She skipped some, unwilling to let someone else know exactly what she enjoyed in bed, even if there was a strong privacy policy included in the contract that meant she could sue them to high heaven if any of this ever got out.

Once she was done, she sealed the parchments back in the box, gave it to Hedwig, kissed her on the head, and sent her on her way.

A week passed.

She'd almost forgotten about the whole thing when one evening, an owl showed up at her window, with another box. She hurried to open it, more excited than she wanted to admit.

A match has been found! proclaimed the parchment. This will be one magical date for sure!

There were instructions below, a time and place for the date, as well as a codeword so they would recognize each other. Harrie had expected she'd get the name of the guy, or some information about him, but there was nothing. It would be a complete surprise.

Next Saturday, around noon, she was in the Muggle part of London, heading for the restaurant the dating service had selected. It was late August, and the weather was still very hot, so she was wearing a dress, a pretty blue one with flower motifs on the front. Her wand was tucked away in a side pocket. She never went anywhere without it, even in Muggle settings.

She entered the restaurant, which was neither too casual nor too classy, the kind of place she felt comfortable in, and quickly looked around. Her Auror training meant she assessed threats first. There were none, and for a second she was a bit disappointed.

Come on, Harrie, this is a date, not a fight.

She took a few steps further in, then froze at the sight of a familiar head. The back of a head, to be precise, but she knew those dark locks, that haircut, and that lustrous shine that came from standing over cauldrons for hours at a time.

No. Surely no.

She stepped closer, her heart pounding.

It was him. He was wearing dark Muggle clothes that fitted him well, a crisp shirt with a row of buttons at the front, and a pair of black trousers.

What were the chances he happened to be there, at a Muggle restaurant, on the precise day and time she was supposed to meet her date? This wasn't a coincidence.

"Snape," she said, coming upon his table.

He lifted his head, considered her with shocked surprise.

"Potter. What are you doing here? Don't tell me..."

"Weather vane," she said, using the codeword.

Snape's eyes went flat, his mouth thinning.

"I want my money back," he said.

"You and me both," Harrie said with a groan.

He folded his napkin, placed it on the table, started to get up.

"Wait," Harrie said.

"This is obviously a mistake, Potter. I'm not going to entertain this for a second longer."

"This doesn't have to be a date. We can just... talk."

"Talk," he said, derisively, like her suggestion was ludicrous.

"We haven't seen each other in a while. Let's use this as an opportunity to catch up. A meal between two friends."

"We are not friends."

"Between two acquaintances who have saved each other's lives," Harrie said.

She was a bit hurt, but Snape was right. They didn't see each other often, only at the memorial services and at Ministry galas, and while they were cordial with each other, some small talk twice a year didn't make them friends.

"Plus, the food looks good," Harrie added, glancing at another table where a couple had ordered a plate of lamb chops that looked delicious.

Snape made a small noise, sat back down.

"I will say the choice of restaurant was adequate, even if present company leaves much to be desired," he said.

"Hey, I wasn't expecting to see you either," Harrie said, as she took the seat opposite him.

"No, I imagine not. Were you hoping for a dashing young wizard, ready to fall in love with you at first sight?"

"Not really. I thought it was all a bit stupid, you know." She shrugged. "How could a dating service, even magical, match you with your soulmate? That's just lying publicity."

"Obviously," Snape said, with a sneer. "But I do have to ask, why is the famous Harrie Potter using such a service? Surely if you wanted a date, you could have picked from any of your numerous fans that are throwing themselves at you."

"I tried that. Going out with a fan is a recipe for disaster. They get all weird about it. Asking to see my scar and all."

"Are you telling me that you've finally had enough of being worshipped as the savior of the wizarding world? Who knew this day could even come?"

His caustic tone riled Harrie up, and she remembered why they weren't friends. It was always like this. The conversations between them would start civil, and then Snape would throw barbs at her, and she'd get frustrated and leave before she started shouting at him. Back when she was a student, she'd reply just as meanly, even insulting him sometimes, but now she didn't feel comfortable attacking him verbally. He was a hero, and he had sacrificed so much to help her triumph over Voldemort, and it just didn't feel right.

"Well, it came," she said, looking to the side. "I've had enough of fans."

"I see," Snape said, with no trace of venom this time.

Harrie looked back at him. His face was guarded, betraying very little of what he might be thinking. He looked younger than during the war, which wasn't really surprising. Stress took its toll, on anyone. Now that his only responsibility was being Hogwarts' Potions Master, and that there was no more spying, he also seemed more at ease, his features less tight, almost like he could smile.

The Muggle clothes fitted him well, the shirt showing off his lean chest and hinting subtly at muscles below. She could even see his wrists, which by Snape standards was scandalous.

In fact, Harrie reflected, he looked... rather handsome. Not that she would ever say that out loud.

She cleared her throat, aware that she'd been staring at him for some time, not saying anything. What were they talking about again? Ah, yes, fans.

"Yeah," she said, putting this conversation back on track. "One even turned out to be a reporter who wanted exclusive details about Voldemort's death. He waited until we were back at my flat and half naked to start asking questions, and then he wouldn't stop."

"I assume you hexed him," Snape said, his lips curling into a smirk.

"No. I told him he had a tiny prick and I threw him out."

"Well, that would be a devastating blow to any man," Snape said, but she couldn't decide if he was joking or not.

The waiter arrived, asked what they would drink, then took their starter orders. Snape ordered a bottle of red wine, and they both chose the spring salad.

"Don't look at me like that, Potter. If this is to continue, I most definitely need some alcohol."

"I didn't realize my company was so taxing," she said, trying to make it sound like a joke.

Snape answered with a quiet throaty noise, and she had no idea what to make of it. She used to be much better at reading him.

I'm out of practice.

That bothered her, and then she got even more annoyed, because she couldn't tell why that bothered her. It was just Snape. They weren't friends. Why did she want to know what he was thinking?

Shaking her head, she took a sip of water.

"You have fans too," she pointed out. "Why are you using a dating service?"

"They're not fans, they're sycophants. You may have enjoyed the hero worship, but it makes me sick. I would sooner go out with a troll."

"Or me."

"No. Not you, Potter. You're worse than a troll."

"How am I worse than a troll?" she groaned, her annoyance rising.

Maybe she'd just walk out on him if he kept being like that.

"Because you know me," he said, which made no sense.

"What?"

"You know me," he repeated, his tone betraying his own frustration. "You know my weaknesses."

"And therefore... what? I'm gonna use them against you?"

Snape's expression told her that was exactly what he expected.

"I wouldn't do that! And... and I know your strengths, too. I admire them."

He made a disparaging noise.

"I do!" she insisted, seized by the urge to throw something at him, because he was being ridiculous. "Listen, I know we have a history, but I don't... I would never hurt you. And if you're that uncomfortable with my presence, then I'll leave. Right now."

"And leave me to foot the bill for your meal? I don't think so. You're staying, Potter."

She glowered at him.

"Fine, but I'll have a glass of that wine when it gets there."

"Fine."

The wine arrived soon after. Snape filled her glass, then his own, and they both drank, looking at each other like this was a duel, waiting for the other to make their move.

"We should have our money back, you know," he said. "They didn't even conform to what we had written."

"How so?" Harrie asked.

She hadn't expected Snape, but she couldn't see anything in the questionnaire that would have invalidated the possibility of him. She hadn't written 'no one I know', hadn't written 'no grumpy Potions Masters', and he actually matched her one requirement. He didn't care one bit about her fame.

"The age," Snape said. "I indicated twenty-five as my lower limit."

"I am twenty-five."

Snape did a sort of double take, blinking at her like he was seeing her for the first time since she had sat down.

"Yeah," she said. "I grew up. Surprise."

"What about your age preferences, then? There's no way you—"

He didn't finish that sentence, kept looking at her.

"I had forty-five as the upper limit," she said. "Yes, I like older men, so what?"

Snape didn't say anything for a while. He drank more, finished his glass, refilled it. Their salads arrived, and they ate in silence. Harrie found herself wondering once more what Snape was thinking. How could her age have come as a shock to him? It had been eight years since Voldemort's defeat. She wasn't a child anymore, wasn't his student anymore. Did he still see her as such? No, it didn't feel like it.

"The fault lies with me," Snape said as they were almost done with their salads. "I shouldn't have put down twenty-five. Foolish mistake, guaranteeing that I'd end up with a former student of mine."

"Why did you?"

"Don't make me say it, Potter," he growled, with such a nasty glare she had a flashback to his Potions classroom for a second.

"Oh. Okay."

So he liked younger women.

"You took a risk," she said. "Sorry about the result. How come you didn't put down 'no Gryffindors'?"

"Another mistake. Most regrettable."

She grinned at his self-flagellating tone.

"What about you?" he said. "You accepted the possibility of being matched with a Slytherin?"

"Sure, I don't mind. I know a couple of really brave and handsome Slytherins."

He was included in there, but going by his sneer, he had no idea.

"And you actually match the most important requirement I had," she added. "Someone who doesn't care I'm Harrie Potter."

"Ah," he said, giving her a shrewd look. "Perhaps that explains this confounding match. But if you wanted someone who doesn't care about your scar, surely your former classmates would qualify, Potter."

"Nah. And they all have someone, anyway."

"Are you telling me that Longbottom managed to find a witch that could stand his constant mediocrity?"

"Snape, what are you talking about? You really have to get up to date. Neville killed Nagini. Decapitated her with the sword of Gryffindor. He had witches throwing themselves at him after that."

"Mmm. So it seems there is hope for even the most desperate of cases."

Harrie snorted, twirling her fork in her hand.

"Are you referring to yourself, or to me?"

"Perhaps both of us," Snape said.

"Sure. You'll find your witch. I mean, you deserve to be happy."

"Touching, Potter. I assume that's the wine going to your head."

"Not really. What, you think I can only wish good things for you if I'm drunk?"

"Yes," he said, but he was looking at her very carefully, and it occurred to Harrie that he was trying to read her as hard as she was trying to read him.

"Well, you're wrong," she said with a shrug. "I wish you the best life possible. You've earned it."

There was an awkward silence. The waiter made another appearance, took their orders for the main course. Harrie chose the lamb chops, while Snape ordered pasta with a steak cooked rare.

"And I mean rare," he said to the waiter. "I shall be most displeased if it is not."

"Wow," Harrie said once the waiter had left. "You know there's no need to be a dick, right? The guy's just doing his job."

"How am I a dick when all I did was ask for what I wanted, very clearly?"

"You didn't have to ask for it while being all, you know, rawr."

"All what?"

"All rawr," Harrie said, failing to come up with a better noise for approximating Snape's mean face, the intense stare, the almost snarl.

He looked at a complete loss.

"What is that face you're making?"

"It's your face. The famous sneer of Severus Snape, which puts fear into the hearts of friends and enemies alike. Rawr."

"I most certainly do not look like that."

"Yeah, you do."

She tried to maintain the face, failed, and then she was laughing. She didn't try to stop herself. She laughed frankly, heartily, and she had the thought it was the first time she was laughing while talking to Snape.

He made a noise that could have been a repressed laugh, his lips twitching.

"Foolish girl," he muttered.

She didn't mind. He had called her that, and worse, but this time there was no bite to it.

"Yeah, I must be," she said.

Foolish to think you're handsome, and even more foolish to wish this was an actual date.

It must have been the wine. Or she was so horny and it had been so long that she'd settle for any man, even Snape. She wondered how he was like in bed, then blushed at the inappropriate thought. Thank God he wasn't looking at her. He appeared to be lost in his own thoughts, his gaze going past her, unfocused.

"You know, you shouldn't hide them," she suddenly said, without knowing why or where that came from.

He jerked back to reality, lifting a hand to touch his throat then hastily lowering it back to the table, before he scowled at her.

"I'll thank you to keep your advice on my scars to yourself, Potter."

His voice was scathing, but that didn't deter her. If anything, it made her want to soothe his anger.

"I'm just saying, women like scars."

"So you're suggesting I display my scarred, ruined throat for the purpose of attracting members of the fairer sex? Is that it?"

Now he looked like he wouldn't have minded throwing something at her. Or taking out his wand, which he must have kept on his person, and casting some sort of nasty curse on her.

With a little pang to her heart, she realized she was doing to him exactly what she hated so much: asking to see his scars.

"I'm sorry," she said, wishing she could take back her stupid words. "I'm sorry, Snape. I don't have any right to tell you what you should do."

"No, you don't," he bit out.

He rubbed his throat, grimacing slightly. Harrie felt even more stupid. His scars must have hurt, and here she was telling him he should have shown them. Stupid, stupid.

"As if any woman would want to see that anyway," he muttered.

"I would."

Oh. So there were no limits to her stupidity.

"You're drunk, Potter," Snape said, his voice tinged with disapproval. "Merlin, and I thought you were insufferable sober."

"I'm not drunk, I've only had one glass. I just... you might think they're ugly, but that's not everyone's opinion. It's not mine. They're not ugly, they're... uh..."

She groped for a word that wouldn't betray too much, but then her mouth worked on its own, and it was too late.

"...attractive."

Shock slapped Snape's face, his eyebrows lifting up, his mouth opening. Oh no, oh no. How could she salvage this?

"Maybe I am drunk," she said, looking down sheepishly.

It was so embarrassing. Now he'd know she had a crush on him, a crush she hadn't even been aware of before today, and he would... well, he'd use it against her, wouldn't he? He'd make mean remarks the next time they would see each other. She would have to avoid him.

She reached for the wine bottle, filled her glass again.

"So you think the solution is to get even drunker?" Snape said, with his usual cutting tone.

"Yes. Maybe if I drink enough, I'll forget this ever happened."

"I can always Obliviate you at the end, if you'd prefer."

"I might take you up on that offer," she said with a small groan. "Where do you keep it? That outfit doesn't seem to have any pockets."

"Right here," Snape said, curling one hand over his breast.

"Ah, special enchanted holster with an invisibility charm? Ingenious."

"Why, thank you Potter, I believe I'll take that compliment. What about you?"

"My dress has pockets."

His eyes slid down her body, like he was trying to see through the table. A small shiver tingled down her spine.

"Does it, now?"

"Yeah."

Why did she sound breathless? More than breathless. Turned on. Fuck, this was getting worse. And Snape wasn't even doing anything! He was just... looking at her. But then his dark gaze had always been penetrating, hadn't it?

Oh yeah, penetrating. That's exactly the word I want to have in mind right now.

She was blushing again. Snape was kind enough to not point it out (which surprised her, because when was Snape ever kind?).

"Your regular wand," he said. "And to think you had the Elder Wand, and did nothing with it."

"Ultimate power isn't really my thing."

"What is your 'thing', then?"

Having inconvenient crushes on unattainable men.

"You know, just saving the world, I guess," she said, affecting nonchalance.

"Indeed. Have you stopped any Dark Lords lately? No, I'm sure I would have heard about it in the papers."

"One Dark Lord was enough for me, thank you. Ah, but I did get a new scar last week, on my left thigh. It sort of looks like a lightning bolt, too."

"From a curse?" Snape said, looking concerned.

"No. I Accio'd a dark artifact, but I misjudged the trajectory, and it hit me in the thigh instead of going into the containment bag."

"Reckless, Potter. That seems to be a recurring problem with you."

"You know me," she said, and then grinned at him.

"Why are you smiling, you foolish girl? You have to be more careful. A significant percentage of Aurors die young, and I would hate to have sacrificed so much in order to keep you alive just so you can explode yourself before you turn thirty."

Was that him saying he cared about her? Unexpected warmth bloomed in her chest.

"I promise I won't explode myself."

Snape didn't seem convinced.

"Do you want me to take an Unbreakable Vow to be careful?" she said, only half-joking.

"You'd break it and be dead within a week," Snape said with an eye-roll.

"Ha-ha. No, seriously. I'll be careful. I would hate to disappoint you."

He grunted, reaching for his wine glass.

Their plates arrived, and Harrie's mouth watered.

"That looks yummy, thank you," she said to the waiter, hoping to compensate for Snape's dour face.

Snape cut into his steak, examined it carefully.

"Adequate," he said.

"That's high praise from him," Harrie said to the waiter.

"It most definitely isn't," Snape said, while the waiter just smiled politely and left them to their meal.

"Course it is."

"No, Potter. High praise from me would sound like this." He shifted in his seat, his gaze darkening. "Very good. I am most impressed, you did very well."

His voice was a sensual purr, and she felt a pulse of shocking heat curl low in her belly. Fuck, what? Where did that come from? She had never cared for Snape's praise. Not that she had ever received any, but...

"Do you see the difference?" Snape said, and he was smirking, that bastard.

He was enjoying playing with her. She could play, too. If he was going to embarrass her, she would fight right back, and with the same weapon.

"That didn't sound like praise. That sounded like flirting."

He scoffed.

"Please. If I were flirting, you'd know, Potter."

"Go ahead. Practice on me for your next date."

He paused and seemed to consider her offer, then shook his head.

"You really need the practice," she said, just to needle him.

"That may be so, but if you blush any further, you'll look like someone having an allergic reaction. I would rather not attract attention."

"Fine. Maybe I'll flirt with you, then. I also need the practice."

"I shall endure whatever painful attempts you make," he said with mock solemnity.

She cleared her throat, started on her lamb.

They ate in silence for a while. Despite what she had said, she didn't feel comfortable flirting with Snape. When she imagined his reaction, he either criticized her or laughed in her face, and neither of those options sounded appealing. She didn't want to be mocked. While she was mostly immune to criticism from anyone else, Snape had always had a talent for finding the chinks in her armor and striking right into her flesh.

"No flirting?" Snape said after a while, his voice light, still holding some sort of taunt.

"I decided you weren't worth it," she said, and immediately winced. She hadn't meant to sound so mean.

Snape's eyes went cold, while his mouth curled up in a smirk.

"That may be your wisest decision yet," he said.

If she apologized, he would mock her, so she said nothing, focusing on her plate. Silence stretched on, growing more and more awkward by the minute.

"How is it at Hogwarts?" she forced herself to say, smoothing her voice to something neutral. "Made any student cry recently?"

"The term hasn't even started, Potter. Are you that drunk that you can't remember which day it is?"

"You can talk, Mister oh-really-you're-twenty-five."

He grunted, didn't reply. What could he have said, anyway? He knew when her birthday was. The whole thing had started because of when her birthday was. Born as the seven month dies, and Snape had reported the prophecy to Voldemort, who had decided it meant her and not Neville.

There was more silence. Soon Harrie was finished with her lamb. She poked at the remaining bones, trying to think of something to say. Nothing was coming to mind.

Glancing up at Snape, she tried to gauge his mood. His brow was knitted, and he was chewing intently, with some viciousness to the action, like his steak had offended him and he was taking revenge on it. Harrie had the thought that the steak was paying for her stupidity, and that Snape was really angry with her, and that, in turn, made her angry with herself. How had she managed to cock things up so badly? They wouldn't even be cordial acquaintances after this.

Snape was looking at her, a steadfast, unblinking gaze. Usually she didn't mind it, but right now, it made her fidget and feel... guilty. It couldn't stay like that between them. She had to say something.

"I..." she started, with no idea of what came next.

"Yes, Potter?" he drawled.

What could she say?

I'm sorry.

or

I find you really attractive.

or

Can we make this into a real date?

"I have to go to the loo."

Oh, brilliant. That would solve the problem for sure.

"I promise I won't disappear while you're away," Snape said, which made her fear he would do exactly that, as a cruel parting shot.

"Please don't," she replied, then quickly left the table before she could feel more embarrassed.

She entered the toilets, and just stared into the large mirror above the row of sinks. She looked anxious, even skewing toward terrified, like she would have to face Dementors once she went back out there, and not Snape.

But it was just Snape. She could handle Snape. She only had to find a way to turn this around.

Running a hand through her hair, she blew out a frustrated breath.

"Everything all right, luv?"

A middle-aged woman with a kind smile was making eye contact through the mirror. Harrie turned toward her, smiled weakly.

"Yeah, fine."

"Is your date going badly? If you give me your phone number, I'll fake an emergency so you have an excuse to slip out, no worries."

"Oh, thank you, but it's not going that badly. It's just..."

She gave a little shrug.

"He's my former teacher, so there's history between us, and that makes it complicated. It's not really a date, anyway. There was a misunderstanding, we weren't supposed to be meeting each other."

The woman's kind smile didn't waver. She nodded in understanding.

"I don't even know if he's interested," Harrie said, more plaintively than she intended.

"He didn't know he'd be meeting you?" the woman said.

"No."

"And how long have you been talking?"

"Uh, a while. Maybe an hour? We're coming up on dessert."

"And he's still there? Oh, sweetie, of course he's interested."

Hearing it from someone else's mouth, and so plainly, put everything into perspective. Yes, that was it. He was interested, but since he was Snape, he would never admit it. He was keeping his true feelings close to his chest and not letting anything show, because this was what he did.

"Okay," Harrie said, feeling somewhat relieved. "So how do I, um..."

"Show him that you're also interested? I find some innuendo works wonder."

"Flirting?"

"That's usually how it goes when you're on a date, yes." The woman patted Harrie on the shoulder. "I'm sure you'll do great. Good luck!"

"Thanks," Harrie said, feeling a grin come upon her lips.

Snape was still there, which boosted Harrie's mood. She could do this. She gave him a small smile as she took her seat.

"Thanks for not running out on me."

He nodded, curtly.

"The waiter came to ask about dessert. I ordered for you, I hope you don't mind."

"No, it's fine."

"Chocolate mousse," he said.

Her favorite dessert. He did know her.

"I'm afraid it won't be as good as the one at Hogwarts," he added.

"I miss Hogwarts' food sometimes," she said with a sigh. "The Ministry cafeteria is so vastly inferior."

"Well, you could always give up on being an Auror and come teach at Hogwarts. The DADA post is still vacant, as of yesterday."

Her mouth opened in an O. Was he serious, or was that flirting? Or... both?

She was saved from having to think of an answer by the timely return of the waiter. He set down identical cups of chocolate mousse in front of them, asked if there would be anything else.

"Yes," Snape said. "Your macarons, are they homemade?"

"Yes, sir, they are."

"The lady will take a box of six, please."

Harrie stared, thoroughly confused. Why was he being so nice? Had something happen while she was gone? Had he gotten his own pep talk from an equally kind middle-aged woman?

"You're being very suspicious," she said. "Should I target you with a Finite Incantatem?"

"What sort of spell do you think I'm under?"

"I don't know. You're just... acting weird."

"I've decided to practice my flirting. What do you think?"

He was looking at her in a challenging manner, and if she wasn't mistaken, there was even a touch of heat in his black eyes.

"Convincing," she said, aiming to keep her tone neutral, like her knickers weren't currently on fire.

"Maybe I'm not so out of practice after all," he said, looking smug.

It was so odd. Snape looking smug used to mean detention, or a scathing verbal dressing-down. It never made her belly flutter like that before, what the fuck.

"Maybe," she said, which was so meek an answer Snape raised an eyebrow.

Come on, Harrie. Flirt right back.

She took a spoonful of her mousse, trying to decide on what to say. She had to hit him with something heavy, something that made it clear she was interested in him. He already knew anyway. There would be no more embarrassment.

"Maybe they matched us together because we're compatible in a different way," she said.

"And what way would that be?"

"Sex."

Her blunt statement had some effect on Snape. He directed an intense stare at her, leaning forward slightly.

"This is about to be a very private conversation," he said.

He gripped his invisible wand, cast a privacy spell that would allow them to talk without being heard. Harrie smiled.

"I think that's it," she said. "They took into account my one requirement, and then they didn't look at interests, or personality traits. They just looked at the part about sex, and we were compatible."

"Are we? I was very clear in what I want in bed. I don't think you would enjoy any of it, Potter. I like to... dominate."

Oh, shit. What did he have to say it like that? Like it was the most sinful word in all of creation.

"And here I thought you knew me," she flippantly replied.

His eyes grew darker. His hand sort of stroked his wand, and somehow he made it sexual, like he wasn't stroking his wand, but his...

Harrie looked away, her pulse racing.

"You're blushing again, Potter. My, if I had known you'd be so easily rattled, I would have done this sooner."

"I'm not rattled."

"And still an abysmal liar. Didn't your Auror training cover deception?"

"It did, and I aced that course," she said, taking a big spoonful of mousse. "Anyway, that's not me being rattled. That's me being turned on."

Could you still consider it flirting when you were this unsubtle? Harrie didn't care, Snape's reaction was worth it. He made a small noise at the back of his throat, eyes narrowing, unmistakable heat flooding his pupils this time.

"So you would enjoy it," he said, very softly.

"My theory stands," she replied with a victorious smirk.

They didn't look away from each other while they finished their mousse. The tension between them nearly felt solid. Harrie had never been this aroused, ever. And he hadn't even really done anything yet. What would happen if he touched her? Oh God, she wanted him to touch her.

He was staring at her mouth.

"What?" she said.

"You have some..."

He made a small gesture indicating the left corner of his own mouth. She licked her lips, catching the stray bit of mousse with the tip of her tongue.

"I don't think you got it all," Snape said—lied.

She licked her lips again, slower, maintaining eye contact. He had such an intense look on his face that in any other circumstances, she would have been worried he was about to curse her.

"Did you know," she said, "that Auror training also comprises a course on seduction?"

"And how did you do with that one?"

She had never heard his voice go so low either. Was that how he sounded when he was aroused? She wanted to hear more of it.

"Isn't it obvious? I aced it as well."

The tension was a wild, electric thing, almost like magic in its own way. Harrie had no idea what would happen next, which was thrilling. Would he flirt with her again? Talk more about what he liked in bed? Would he reach across the table, grab her chin, and smash his lips to hers? And what did she want most?

Just as she was about to say something, anything to break that unbearable tension, the waiter reappeared. He gave Harrie her box of macarons, and she immediately picked up one and bit into it, looking, of course, straight at Snape. He replied with a thin, hungry smile. Would he lick the crumbs from her lips if she made a mess?

She was so engrossed in her sexual fantasy she almost missed what he murmured to the waiter, something about taking care of the bill.

"Hey, we'll split the bill," she said as he got his credit card out.

"No, we won't."

"Yes, we will."

"I pay for my date, Potter. Call it a generational divide, if you want."

"I thought this wasn't a date," she said, glaring at him.

"We can only fool ourselves for so long."

She grumbled, but she let him pay.

"That doesn't mean anything more will happen," she said as they were getting up.

"Unless you want it to," he replied, his voice wrapping around her like a caress.

They got out of the restaurant, and Harrie felt a completely different person than when she had entered it. In that one hour, she had changed more than in the last year.

She wanted Snape. Wanted to have sex with him. What a revelation.

She wanted him, and she was gonna have him, damn it.

"I do want more," she said, taking his hand.

He didn't seem surprised, merely smiled at her.

"Then we should move this elsewhere, don't you agree? Come here, Potter."

He tugged her close, until he was holding her like he was planning to kiss her, one hand at her lower back, their bodies flush, their faces inches apart. Harrie stopped breathing, brain slammed with a sudden spike of desire that dizzied her. Snape murmured something that sounded like a spell, then his hand tightened on her arm, and he was taking her with him in a Side-Along Apparition.

Harrie had experienced a few Side-Alongs before. The ones with Dumbledore had been a bit frightening, his magic crushing her, plucking her from one place and depositing her in another, like the hand of a disinterested god who was doing this routinely. Hermione's had been much softer, still with that constricting sensation, but with a sense of care.

Snape's Side-Along felt like an iron fist in a velvet glove. It teased. It promised, and then it took, and you had better be ready, because it wouldn't let you go. There was such a sense of control in his magic that Harrie was sure he had never been Splinched once in his life.

They Apparated in a living room. It was rather cramped-looking, with bookshelves occupying three walls out of four, crammed with all sorts of books. The light that filtered through the single window seemed dull, even though it was the afternoon.

"Not even your bedroom?" Harrie said, taking a deep breath. "I was hoping to be—"

Snape apparently didn't have the patience to wait for the end of her sentence, because next she knew she was being slammed against a bookshelf and kissed, with no delay. It was just his lips at first, molding to hers, a steady pressure that felt at once like an order (kiss me back) and a question (is this what you want?). Then, as soon as she opened her mouth and kissed him back, his tongue was there, sliding in.

Lust scorched a path down her spine, her legs trembling. Snape tasted of chocolate, with a faintly metallic overlay. She moaned, heard a thud, something hitting the ground. She couldn't care less about what that was, not when Snape was licking into her mouth like he planned to devour her. He pressed his body harder into hers, cupped her jaw with a strong hand and made her tilt her head back, his tongue tracing her lower lip before darting back in.

She felt a hand trail up her thigh, the tips of his fingers warm against her bare skin.

"Tell me to stop," he said, voice thick and hoarse.

She spread her legs so he would have easier access, flicked her tongue across his lips.

"If you're smart, you'll tell me to stop, Potter."

His hand crept higher, fingers brushing along the edge of her knickers. She shivered violently, need ripping a keening moan from her.

"You know I'm not that smart," she said, panting from sheer desire.

His eyes gleamed with lust, with greed, with such a carnal flame she wondered how come she wasn't burning right now. Or maybe she was, and her brain just hadn't caught up.

"You little fool," he growled, and it sounded like praise, which was confusing as fuck (also hot as fuck).

She gasped when he pushed her knickers to the side and inserted a finger inside her. She was so wet, her cunt spasming around the intrusion, around that teasing finger that would never be enough. He moved it, a slow pumping motion that was just more bloody teasing.

"Snape, please—"

"You're ready for my cock, aren't you?"

Holy shit, he said cock. Snape said cock.

A hand gripped her hair and tugged, and all she could do was moan.

"I asked you a question, Potter."

"Yes! Yes, I'm ready—oh, mmmm..."

He had added a second finger and was being rougher, stretching her for real.

"No, I don't think you're quite ready yet," he said, with a quick, wicked smile. "I'm not a small man."

With a shuddering whine, she rolled her hips, a searing wave of arousal pulsing through her. His fingers pushed, and wriggled, and rubbed, and she was about to come from two minutes of finger-fucking, which was kind of embarrassing, but he was just—he was too good. Those long, elegant fingers that were perfect for preparing potions ingredients were also perfect in her cunt, and that was what she would say if he mocked her, that it was his fault for being so—fucking—

"Oh God, yes! Right there, right there, don't—don't stop, oh..."

He had found the spot from which all pleasure radiated, that patch of needy, throbbing flesh inside her, and he was mercilessly stimulating it. She bit her tongue, all but riding his hand now, completely shameless, her hindbrain taking over.

Then he added his thumb on her clit, and there was no way she could resist that.

She cried out, her cunt fluttering in strong pulses, coming on Snape's fingers, harder than she had in months, perhaps years. On his fingers.

He kept stroking her clenching walls throughout her orgasm, and the wicked smile was back, along with a dark, predatory look in his eyes that made Harrie whimper. One last weak surge of pleasure, then she sagged against the bookshelf, breathless, her skin tingling all over.

"Good girl," Snape drawled, removing his fingers from her.

God, he couldn't say that. How was she supposed to ever make herself come without imagining Snape calling her a good girl now? He would ruin her imagination, replace all of her fantasies with himself.

He brought his fingers to his mouth, darting his tongue out to lick them. Harrie whimpered again. That image would also be burned into her brain.

"Do you want to keep being a good girl, Potter?"

She nodded.

"Now, now," Snape said, with a little smirk. "Use your voice. Or have I finally managed to stun you into silence?"

"I want you to fuck me. How's that?"

"Don't be impatient."

He gripped her jaw, pushed his fingers in her mouth. She sucked on them, tasting her own musky arousal.

"Yes," Snape murmured. "I want to feel your tongue on my cock first."

She gave an enthusiastic, muffled moan. Snape chuckled. He stepped away, moved to the sofa, and sat with his legs spread. The bulge of an imposing erection was straining against the fabric of his trousers. Harrie knelt in front of him, quickly unzipped his trousers, and fished out his cock.

He was perfect. Thick, and long, and throbbing in her hand.

Snape's cock. I'm holding Snape's cock, and I'm about to suck it.

She never would have imagined finding herself in this situation. Never would have imagined it would arouse her so much. Despite her recent orgasm, her cunt was clenching in need. If he hadn't exhorted her to patience, she would have already been riding him.

She dipped her head, gave his cock a long, firm lick. He shuddered, tangled a hand in her hair, let out a groan when she licked him again. Was he vocal in bed? What sort of noises would he make when he would come? She couldn't wait to find out.

She licked him, caressed him, slowly, getting to know him. There was a vein on the underside of his shaft, going from the root almost to the tip of him, and she followed it with her tongue, up and down, several times. Snape made another noise, his hand sliding closer to her scalp, his legs tensing.

"That's it, Potter," he said, the rasp of his voice making Harrie shiver. "You're finally putting that tongue to proper use."

She frowned while she licked at his swollen cockhead. That 'finally' had a lot of weight behind it, as if he had wanted her to suck his cock for a long time. But that wasn't possible, right? It wasn't possible that he'd wanted her, and never said anything, never tried to even hint at it. No, that would be absurd.

"Snape," she said, looking him in the eyes.

"Mmm?"

"How long have you wanted this?"

"For years."

"WHAT?"

For years, what did he mean, for years?

"Why didn't you tell me?" she growled, curling her fingers around his cock and pumping him almost angrily.

"Because, obviously, I never imagined it would be mutual," he said, jaw tensing, eyes awash with renewed heat. "I never imagined... ah, fuck, that's good... that you would want my cock, Potter. Fuck, slow down."

"No, I'm not gonna slow down. We could have had this years ago, and instead I had to endure a string of very disappointing hook-ups. For years, what the fuck. How many years?"

"I can't answer that."

"What? Why n—oh. Oh, you mean..."

Grinning, she squeezed the base of his cock, guided him into her mouth, closing her lips on the first few throbbing inches. She bobbed her head up and down a couple of times, then drew back, a string of saliva connecting her mouth to his cock.

"Did you imagine my mouth on your cock during all those detentions?"

"I tried not to."

"Seriously, you should have said something. Not when I was in school, but after."

"And how would I have broached the subject? 'By the way, Potter, would you mind coming over sometimes? I'd like to pound you into my bed'."

She giggled, stroking him lightly.

"Well, not like that. But I don't know, you could have given me some hints."

"What about you? You never said anything either."

"That's, um... That's because I didn't know. I wasn't aware I wanted you until, like, an hour ago."

Snape laughed, which was an entirely disconcerting spectacle, and so unexpected Harrie stopped all movement to gawk at him. His face contorted with mirth as a low, raspy laugh left his mouth, his chest shaking.

"It's not funny," Harrie grumbled. "I just... I never..."

She didn't know how to justify herself. Why hadn't she never thought of Snape this way? Her hate for him had died the same day as Voldemort, when she had discovered that Snape had been on their side all along, that all he had ever wanted was to protect her. In place of that bitter hate, she had felt respect, and a desire to see him well, but her thoughts has never turned sexual, not until today.

"You didn't know... Oh, Merlin." He shook his head, tugged on her hair. "Come here, you perfect girl."

She moved to straddle him, and he braced a hand at her back, the other going under her dress.

"I thought I was foolish?" she said.

"Foolishly perfect."

He palmed the insides of her thighs, then the meat of his hand was rubbing against her mound. She mewled, rocking her hips, seeking more friction.

"Are you on the potion?" Snape asked.

"Yes."

"Good."

He flipped her onto her back, pinning her down to the sofa, looming over her. She looked up, at the improbable sight of Snape about to fuck her. This wasn't a dream. This was happening.

"I'm going to fuck that little cunt raw," he said as he tugged her knickers down. "I'm sure you need it, don't you? When was the last time you had a good fuck?"

"Can't remember," she said.

Her skin was buzzing, her breaths coming fast. She didn't know what to do with her hands, so she laid them flat on the sofa, nails curling in.

"You'll remember this," Snape promised her in a gravelly voice that betrayed his own need.

He positioned himself at her entrance, rocked his hips gently, coating the blunt head of his cock in her fluids. Then he pushed forward, sinking inside her. Harrie moaned and arched up, lifting her hips. Her cunt throbbed around Snape's cock, welcoming every hard inch. He invaded her slowly, with a kind of gentle care that Harrie would never have expected from Snape.

Once he was all in, he bent down and kissed her, his tongue dipping into her mouth languidly. She bit at his lips, trying to spark violence from him. She didn't want gentle care, she wanted... well, she wanted it rough.

She didn't have to ask. He bit her right back, then he grabbed a handful of her curls, forced her head to the side, and while she was gasping, he withdrew halfway and drove back inside her with brutal savagery. Pleasure quaked through her. His cock was so thick, stretching her so nicely.

He set a steady, merciless pace that had Harrie seeing stars. She writhed beneath him, emitting high-pitched mewls, pleasure swelling hot and wild in her core. His hips connected with hers again and again, cock plunging deep. He nipped at her throat with soft little bites as he moved inside her in claiming strokes.

"Merlin you feel good..."

"Snape..." she mewled, her pleasure climbing.

"Is is what you pictured, Potter? Or is it better?"

He slammed hard into her to punctuate the last word, grunting.

"Fuck—Snape—"

It wasn't just better, it was a completely different world.

He growled, went faster, hammering into her, exactly as rough as she wanted. Heat gathered in her belly, an inferno of it, the flames burning higher with each pump of Snape's cock. Her little mewls of pleasure were barely audible over the loud smack of skin that their frantic coupling generated. Then Snape started grunting, and the part of Harrie's brain that was still capable of thought (a part that was getting smaller and smaller by the second) found it remarkable that he could be this vocal, groaning out his pleasure on each exhale.

"So tight..." he huffed.

"Please, please, please..."

She was close. She needed to come now, or she would... she would explode. Groaning, she squirmed and thrashed, her thighs tensing. Snape tugged on her hair, raked his teeth along her throat, pushed deep. The pressure reached a tipping point, and she tumbled into utter bliss, bucking up, her entire body locked by spasm after spasm of paralyzing ecstasy.

Snape shuddered against her, groaned something that might have been her actual first name, and then, with a series of short, grinding strokes, he was spilling inside her with a muffled curse. He stayed tense above her for the duration of his climax, after which he dropped his weight on her. She made a small, contented sound. She had never been this happy to be squished into a sofa.

They didn't move for a while, lying together in languid warmth.

"I think they deserve their money after all," Harrie said.

"Definitely," Snape said.

He lifted his head, and their eyes met. She slid her palm along his jaw, marveling that she could touch him like that. Marveling at the way he was looking at her too, with a smile, and an air of vulnerability that was the furthest thing from Snape she had ever witnessed.

"Were you serious when you said the DADA post was vacant?"

"It is. It's stressing out poor Minerva."

"And how much paperwork would you say there is for a Hogwarts professor?"

"Apart from the students' essays to grade, not much," he said.

She smiled.

"Then it might be time for a career change. I guess... I just need to know if my new colleagues will be friendly."

"Haven't I been friendly enough?" he said, with a warm, teasing smile.

"I don't know. I think I'm gonna need more proof of your friendliness before I take my decision. You have, mmm, the entire weekend to convince me."

"Then I better get started right away," he said, and bent down to kiss her.