Chapter 1

Severus Snape had endured many indignities in his life. He had endured first-year essays in which flobberworm was spelled three different ways. He had endured Tom Riddle's insufferably smooth voice drifting through the staff room every morning. How that man ran on no coffee was still a mystery to Severus. This however...

"You cannot be serious," Severus said.

"I am perfectly serious. You said Slytherin would win the match against Hufflepuff by at least eighty points," Minerva reminded him smugly.

"They should have. The Hufflepuff Chaser flies like a concussed goose."

"And yet the concussed goose scored."

"A tragedy for standards everywhere." Severus's mouth thinned.

Then Minerva slid a small cream-coloured flyer across the desk. It had gold lettering, which was enough to make Severus suspicious. "I selected the event myself," she continued. "A blind date mixer. It's respectable, private, and adults-only."

"How reassuring. I would hate to be humiliated in public before an audience of children. Adults, at least, have the decency to pretend they are not entertained."

"You are going."

"I am not." The Potion master argued.

"You are."

"I could resign."

"You would have to explain to Tom why he has won the staff betting pool then."

Severus froze. "I'm sorry, what?!"

"He bet on resignation by Thursday," she said.

Severus took the flyer. "I despise you, you know."

"Love you too, Severus," Minerva shot back.

"And Severus, please try. You may even meet someone."

"Yes, my own murderer, if the evening is merciful," Severus grumbled as he stalked out of the office.

That was how, three days later, Severus Snape sat in the corner of a private ballroom in a club in wizarding London called the Velvet Lounge, wearing his usual black teaching robes with his hair tied back.

"One lost bet," he muttered into his untouched glass of firewhisky. "One."

Around him, young witches and wizards were dressed in enchanted silks, jeweled collars, and sheer sleeves. Across the room, a blond young wizard in sapphire robes laughed too loudly at something said by a man old enough to be his grandfather.

A blind date mixer, she had said. A respectable evening among eligible adults, she had said. What she had neglected to mention was that the "mixer" was, in fact, a sugar baby gathering.

He narrowed his eyes at the banner drifting above the bar. The Golden Arrangement Society Welcomes Prospective Patrons and Companions.

"Minerva," he murmured under his breath, "I am going to put lacewing flies in your tea."

Then a hand touched his sleeve. Severus looked to see a young wizard with silver eyeliner smiling at him. "Are you a patron?"

Severus arched one brow, and the young man's smile faltered before he excused himself.

Fifteen minutes passed, then twenty. Severus ordered another glass and considered whether it was possible to brew a potion that would erase the last half hour of his life without also removing language skills.

It was not loud at first, but Severus noticed. No announcement, just merely a subtle shift in the room. Conversations faltered, and several shoulders straightened. Hair was being adjusted, and drinks were set down and retrieved again purely so people's hands would have something to do.

Severus followed their attention, and then he saw Harry Potter had walked in. He should have known.

He had seen Potter before, of course. Everyone had. Harry Potter, the richest bachelor in magical Britain. Harry Potter, disowned in all but name. Harry Potter, whose failed engagement to Ginevra Weasley or possibly Romilda Vane, Severus had never cared enough to determine which version was correct, had ended in spectacular public fashion when it became clear the lady in question loved his vaults rather more than his company.

Though this was not the boy Severus remembered from Hogwarts. Not the messy-haired nuisance that gave him several of his grey hairs. This Harry Potter was taller, broader through the shoulders, dressed in a tailored black and emerald robe. His hair was still a disaster, but now it looked less like neglect and more deliberate.

Severus's breath hitched. Then he caught himself. Potter was handsome. Worse, he knew it. Worse still, everyone else seemed to know it too. Three-quarters of the room seemed to shift toward him at once. A young man in silver robes actually touched his own lips as if preparing them for battle.

"Harry!"

"Mr Potter, darling..."

"I didn't know you were coming tonight."

"You remember me, don't you?"

"Harry, I wore the bracelet you sent."

Severus watched with narrowed eyes as Potter accepted the attention with practiced ease. A smile here. A hand briefly touched there. Severus looked away before Potter could notice him. Naturally, that was when Potter noticed him.

He felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He lifted his eyes, and across the room, Harry Potter was staring at him. For one suspended moment, neither of them moved. Then Potter smiled a rather genuine smile and not the polished ones he had given the flock.

Then Potter excused himself from the cluster around him and crossed the room directly toward Severus. Harry stopped before his table.

"Professor Snape," he greeted.

"Mr Potter."

"It's Harry now."

"How tragic. I had grown so fond of formality." Severus stated.

"May I sit?"

"That depends. Are you here to ask whether I have taken leave of my senses?" Severus leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. "If you have come to mock me, do get it over with. I am already calculating how many detention assignments will fit into Minerva's office before she notices."

"Minerva sent you here?" Harry's brows rose. "To this event?"

"So it would appear."

Harry glanced around the room, then back at Severus. His lips twitched. "Does she know what kind of event this is?"

"She believes," Severus said icily, "that this is a harmless blind-date mixer for respectable adults."

Harry stared, and then he laughed.

"I fail to see how my suffering is amusing." Severus scowled.

"Oh, how I've missed your wit." Harry's eyes brightened, but Severus stilled. It was an absurd thing to say. They had not been friends. They had barely been anything beyond teacher and student, two people forced into the same institution by the persistent cruelty of education and yet Harry said it as if he meant it. Severus looked away first.

A waiter appeared and asked, "Mr Potter, would you like something to drink?"

"The private reserve, please. Two glasses."

Severus gave him a flat look. "Presumptuous, aren't you?"

"I do not require patronage." The Potion master continued.

"I didn't offer patronage."

"Given the venue, that is a bold claim."

"Yes," Harry said. "I suppose it is." Then he leaned back, studying Severus with open interest.

"You are very comfortable here," Severus observed.

Harry's expression shifted. Not much, but enough. "I've been to a few of these."

"So I gathered from the feeding frenzy upon your arrival."

"That obvious?" A corner of Harry's mouth twitched.

"One of them nearly sprained a wrist trying to get to you." Severus deadpanned. "So, yes. It is fairly obvious."

Harry's expression shifted. For a moment, the charming, polished bachelor slipped. Beneath him seemed to be someone more tired. Someone younger and older than he should have been. "It's cleaner," He confessed. "There is no pretending. No one tells me they love me while eyeing my vaults. Everyone knows what they want."

Severus studied him for a moment and then said, "That is a bleak philosophy."

"A practical one." He answered while looking at him over the rim of his glass.

"So," Harry said, settling back, "what did Minerva hope would happen?"

"I suspect she hoped I would become less unpleasant."

"That would be a tragedy." Severus blinked when Harry said that.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me." He took a sip of his drink. "I always thought you were far more interesting with your dry wit. You putting Fudge in his place all those years ago is still memorable."

"You are flirting with me."

"Yes."

Severus stared at him while Harry merely looked back, relaxed as a king in his own court. "You are brilliant, difficult, and vicious when provoked. Probably lonely, though you'd hex me for saying it." He leaned closer. "And the only man in this room who looked at me as if I were an inconvenience instead of a vault key."

"And that appeals to you?"

"More than I expected."

"You may wish to reconsider," Severus stated.

Before Severus could say anything else, they were interrupted. Someone approached.

"Harry," someone purred. The young man who stepped into view was almost offensively beautiful.

"Caspian," Harry said, though he did not look away from Severus.

The young man's smile tightened. "I wondered where you'd gone." His gaze slid to Severus, and something ugly entered his expression. "Though I can see you've found yourself... occupied. You promised me a drink."

"I said perhaps."

"You said perhaps in your voice."

"My voice?" Harry raised a brow and finally turned his head.

"The one that means yes."

"I'm having a conversation."

Caspian's gaze flicked over Severus again, dismissive and amused. "With him?"

Severus felt his old, familiar armor slide into place. He set his glass down. "I assure you," he said, "I am no happier about this than you are."

The young wizard laughed lightly. "Oh, I doubt that. It must be flattering, at your age."

Severus stood. "I believe," he said coldly, "I have reached the limits of my tolerance."

Harry rose too. "Severus, please stay."

"Why?" Severus looked back at him.

"Because I'm enjoying your company."

Caspian gave a disbelieving little laugh. "Harry, don't be absurd. He's clearly leaving. Let him."

Harry turned. "Caspian," he said. "Your flat in Mayfair. You have until noon tomorrow to vacate it."

The colour drained from Caspian's face as conversations around them faltered.

"Harry," Caspian said quickly, laugh gone. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I'm not."

"You can't just..."

"I can. I own it." Harry deadpanned.

Caspian stepped closer, lowering his voice. "I was joking."

"No. You were testing whether I'd allow you to insult someone sitting at my table." Harry stated. "The account paying your expenses is closed. Your line of credit at Twilfitt and Tatting's is revoked. The wards on the flat will allow you entry for forty-eight hours to collect your belongings, after which they will recognize the property manager only."

"Harry," Caspian breathed, panicked. "You can't be serious. I didn't know he mattered!"

Those words landed badly. Very badly. "That," Harry said, "was your mistake."

The color drained from Caspian's face as Harry signaled Security. Two burly wizards in discreet but fine robes appeared almost instantly. Harry gave a slight nod toward Caspian, who was now sputtering protests and apologies. They took him firmly by the arms and began steering him away. His pleas faded into the resumed hum of the party, which now had a new, juicy piece of gossip to savor.

Harry turned back to Severus, who had watched the entire scene with a sort of detached, clinical interest. The cold anger had been replaced by a different, more complicated feeling.

"My apologies," Harry said while running a hand through his hair. "Some people mistake generosity for weakness. They forget the generosity can be revoked." He looked around the gilded room. "I find I've lost my taste for... glitter." He met Severus's dark eyes again.

"I have a manor," Harry said, his voice dropping to an intimate tone. "It's quiet. The whisky is better, and it's blessedly free of aspiring gold-diggers." He paused, "I could... spoil you a bit with no expectations beyond good conversation or perhaps... a night of pleasure, if the conversation leads there."

The proposition was breathtakingly direct. It was a raw, honest offer from a man who was tired of games, who saw another tired man and recognized a kindred, cynical spirit. Severus Snape, who had come here under duress, found himself at a crossroads. He could Apparate back to his dungeons, to his silent, lonely rooms. Or he could follow Harry Potter and see where the night led.