Missed Opportunities

Missed Opportunities

Chapter Ten

Thursday, Severus and I met at the Italian place for a third time.  I expected some snide remark about my lack of imagination or some such comment, but instead, he greeted me with a smile, slid into his chair, and leaned back, closing his eyes a moment, and giving a sigh of contentment.  “Good choice.  I must admit, I was rather hoping you’d suggest it.”

I raised a hand to the waiter, who came over to ask us what we would like to drink, and ordered a bottle of the wine I knew Severus preferred.  He raised an eyebrow in mild inquiry, and I shrugged.  “Just felt like something relaxing.  You’ve got good taste.”

I raised my head from the menu to find him studying me, his gaze sliding up and down almost caressingly, and I felt a frisson of trepidation.  I had no idea what I was doing.  Not really. 

I was wearing a black shirt and trousers, a silk tie that was a shade deeper green than my eyes, and a grey jacket that fit like it was made for me.  I loved it.  It had the most amazing texture, and flowed perfectly down my arms and hips – and it was a bit more expensive than what I usually wore, and looked it.  The minute I had tried it on, I knew I had to have it.  When I turned to ask Hermione’s opinion, the look on her face was all the confirmation I needed.  Fortunately, my sales from the week in Paris cushioned the shock I received when I asked the price, and I inhaled, and reminded myself that… it might be worth it.

I cleared my throat, and he brought his eyes to mine.  It might have been a trick of the light, but I thought his face had a bit more… color… to it than usual.  “So, what are you going to have tonight?” I asked, keeping my voice light.

Stick to the plan, Harry.

We ordered.  I leaned over to point out something on the menu, and allowed my fingers to brush against the back of his thumb, as if by accident.  He gripped the menu a bit more tightly, then put it on the table and reached for his wine.

“Are you alright, Severus?  You seem distracted.”

“Hmm?  No, I’m fine,” he said, dangling his wine glass between his fingers, elbows uncharacteristically on the table.  He seemed to keep losing himself and having to pull his attention back to our conversation.  He ran his fingers up and down the stem of his glass, as if he were agitated. 

I took a sip of my wine and licked my lips.  “Mmm.  Good.”  I put the glass back on the table and ran a finger up the stem to catch a bit that had spilled, contemplated the deep red drop, and licked it off my finger.  His eyes followed.

Oh, god!  I can’t believe I’m doing this!

He straightened up abruptly, as if he had caught himself at it, and looked down at the table, then away, to where the waiter was attending to another table, as if he did not remember ordering. 

I shivered.  That’s enough of that… for now.

“So… how was your lab?”

He frowned.  “My lab?  Fine.  Why?  Was your shop…?”

I waved a hand.  “The shop’s fine.”  I let the game drop out of my mind altogether and leaned forward, matching his posture, with a bit of a smile.  “I had a dozen owls waiting for me – orders and inquiries.”

“I’m surprised it was only a dozen.”

I laughed.  “Alright… maybe a bit more.”  In truth, I had received more than two dozen.  “A bit overwhelming, actually.  I’m going to have to figure out a system to keep track of orders.  And how to cover the shop, if I’m going to have time to…”  I groaned.  “I really want to do research, too.  You know – continue to develop vials for different purposes, explore the properties of different types of crystal and their interactions with different potions… maybe even make some of the jewelry Meredith was talking about.  I want to make some goblets, too, and…”  I know my eyes became unfocused as I thought about the things I wanted to do – a lifetime of exploration I was excited to begin. 

I looked up to find an indulgent smile on Severus’ face, and flushed.  “Plenty of time for all that, I imagine.  Your career is only beginning, Harry.”

I snorted and shook my head.  “I’ll never accomplish what you have, though.”

His eyes warmed, but he denied it.  “You have the potential.  Don’t sell yourself short.”  He had said that before. “You’re going to need a shop assistant, though.”

“Yeah – that’s what Hermione said.”  This was my opening.  “By the way,” I said as casually as I could, “she and Ron got engaged a while back.”

Snape sniffed in amusement, reminding me of McGonagall.  “That was expected, surely.”

“Yeah.  April.  Mrs. Weasley is already frantic.  Hermione says invitations will be going out next week.”  I hesitated just a moment.  “And that you’ll be getting one.”

He actually smiled at that.  “That’s kind of her.”

“She and Ron really want you to come.  No, really!” I insisted at his disbelieving snort.  Before he could say anything – especially before he could say he would not go, I added, “I was wondering…”  I took a breath and finished in a rush, “if you would go as my escort.”

His eyes widened and his wineglass slipped in his hands before he caught it and placed it carefully on the table, then linked his hands together loosely, and eyed me contemplatively.  “You’re serious.”

“Yeah.  I mean… we’re both going anyway, so I thought…”

“I did not say I would go.”

“But… but would you?  Go as my escort?”  I held my breath.

He narrowed his eyes at me.  “Harry… do they even know you’re…”  He waved a hand between us.  “…gay?”

“What?  Yeah.  Yeah – of course.  I mean… Ron and Hermione do.  And Bill, at least.  And I’m guessing Ron probably told his parents and brothers…”

“You’re guessing.”

“Well, yeah.  I mean… no one keeps things a secret in that family, you know.”

He took a sip from his wine glass and set it down again.  “Your friend Ron did.”

I was silent a few moments.  He had a point.  I actually did not know if anyone other than Ron, Hermione, and Bill – who had overheard one of our discussions at the Burrow – knew. 

“If you are hoping to use me to ease your coming out…”

“What?  No!  That’s not it at all!  I just wanted you to be my escort.”  I was horrified that he thought such a thing… and absolutely certain that meant he would not consent… or would consent only to help me come out.  “Never mind, then.  I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to offend you,” I said, discouraged.

“Harry…”

I couldn’t look at him.  I couldn’t.

“Harry…”

I took a deep breath, tried to call back the moisture prickling behind my eyelids, and looked up at him, fighting to maintain my dignity.

“I would consider it an honor to accompany you to the Granger-Weasley wedding.”

“You don’t have to do that.  Not if you think I’m using you.”

“I apologize.  I should not have insinuated…”

I snorted.

“I should not have insinuated such a thing.  I know you would not…  You’re not a Slytherin.”

I snorted again.

“Harry,” he said firmly, “I sincerely apologize, and I would be delighted to accompany you to the Granger-Weasley wedding… as your... escort.”

“If you’re sure,” I said, acutely aware that somehow the tables had turned and he was now convincing me, rather than the other way around.

He smiled in apology and raised his glass in invitation.  “I am sure,” he said, and my heart suddenly rediscovered it had wings.

“I… I’m standing up, you know – Ron asked me to be his best man, so I’ll have other duties.”

He nodded.  “Rehearsal dinner, no doubt.  And you’ll have to be there early that day.  Bachelor party for your best friend…  Helping him pick out what to wear…  A formal toast to the bride and groom…  You’ll be a busy man.”

I wondered if he was convincing himself he would not have to spend much time with me.

“I will make myself available for any assistance I can provide… or should you require an… escort.”

My breath caught.  “You will?”

He smiled.  “A wedding is a process, Potter, not an event.”  I groaned and hung my head, and he smirked.  “That’s what you get for consenting to be best man.”

“Maybe we could talk them into eloping.”

“What – and disappoint Molly?”  At my look of horror, he laughed openly.  “That would not be the best way for Miss Granger to begin her married life.  In fact, you will have to satisfy Molly, as well, some day, I should expect.”

I groaned again.  “I’m never getting married.”

His eyes crinkled.  “Pity,” he said; then, “A toast – to the future Mr. and Mrs. Ronald Weasley.”  He lifted his glass, and I clinked mine against his.  “And to your own happiness, as well, Mister Potter,” he said, before he drained his glass.

April approached with incredible haste.  Three months was nowhere near long enough to plan a wedding, according to Mrs. Weasley, but it all got done.  Severus and I returned our invitations separately.  I was sitting at the table in kitchen at the Burrow when I told Hermione and Ron that Severus would be my date.  Hermione beamed in satisfaction, and looked over my shoulder as Ron pretended to protest, though he had already congratulating me on “pulling one over on Snape”, as he put it.

Grinning, I turned to see who Hermione was looking at, to find Mr. Weasley standing in the doorway, a shocked look on his face.  I felt the blood rush to my face.  Mrs. Weasley appeared behind him, giving him a bit of a push. “Move on, Arthur!  Why are you standing in the doorway?” 

He looked down and back at her, and seemed to recover his awareness.  “Oh.  Sorry, Molly.”  He took a basket of tubers from her and brought them over to the table, but I could feel his eyes on me, and looked up at Hermione and Ron.  Ron winced and mouthed, “Sorry, mate.”

Mr. Weasley cleared his throat.  “Molly,” he said, his voice a bit loud, as it usually was when he was nervous, “Harry was just telling Ron and Hermione who he’s bringing to the wedding.”

“That’s nice, dear,” she said absently.  She brushed her hands off on her apron before turning to see the four of us frozen in position at the table.  “Well?  What is it, then?  Who are you bringing, Harry, dear?”

Arthur looked at me, finally, and, probably because of whatever he saw on my face, which was terror, I think, he softened and smiled at me reassuringly.  “He’s invited Severus to be his escort, if I heard correctly, isn’t that so, Harry?”

I gulped, nodded, and said, “Yeah.  He… he said he’d come with me.”

Much to my surprise, Molly simply nodded, caught Hermione’s eye, and got a speculative look on her face.  “Severus, hmm?  A man could do worse.”  She looked at Hermione again and they both giggled.  Ron caught my eye and rolled his eyes.

“Well,” Hermione said, grabbing a tuber from the basket in front of her, and waving her wand to peel it, “he did win the Most Eligible Bachelor award… two years running!” 

“And the award for the best smile!”  Molly said.  Hermione grinned at me, stifling a laugh, and I relaxed and grinned back.

“Harry, dear, we’ll have to make sure you have appropriate attire for the wedding,” Molly said.  “After all, with Severus as your date…”  She ignored my squeak.  “…you’ll want to look as sophisticated and posh as he no doubt will.  Now, Madam Malkins is all fine and good for school robes and Ministry affairs, but for a wedding, we’ll want to…”  And she and Hermione were off, talking about robes and cravats and boots and fabric and…

And Ron and Mr. Weasley and I managed to make our escape, retreating to the back yard, where Mr. Weasley put up a warming charm, cleared the snow from the chairs set around their fire pit, and flicked a fire into being.  Another flick of his wand and a bottle of fire whiskey and three glasses shot out the door and floated to him.  He waved a glass to me and Ron, took the third for himself, and leaned to pour for each of us.  He settled into one of the chairs, and stretched his feet out toward the fire to warm his boots. 

“Ah!” he said, in appreciation of both the fire and the whiskey.  He waved a hand.  “Sit, boys.”

We sat, exchanging perplexed glances.  Several moments passed before Mr. Weasley spoke again.  “I take it, from the fact that you invited Severus to accompany you to the wedding, that you are gay, Harry,” he said, managing to make it sound like just a point of information. 

I looked at Ron, slightly panicked, and he shrugged, then looked at his father with a frown.  Somehow, I got the feeling that he was preparing to defend me, if necessary, and the realization strengthened me.

“Yes, sir,” I said, as nonchalantly as I could.

Mr. Weasley nodded as if I had confirmed something he already knew.  Which, of course, by then, he did.  He sipped at his whiskey again, and I tried to do the same, hoping it would stop my trembling.  Why had I not taken care of this before?  I looked at Ron, but he was staring into his glass as if Ogden’s would provide the answer to some question that had not yet been asked.

“You haven’t dated before now.  Within your own gender, I mean.”  It was not a question.  Then again, he did work at the Ministry… and I knew they kept tabs on me, to some extent.  And my life had never been private, really – not since Hagrid showed up at that house on the rocks the day I turned eleven.

I realized Mr. Weasley was waiting for some kind of response.  “Oh.  No.  No, I haven’t.”

He nodded again and pursed his lips.  “You are aware, I assume, that Severus is…”  A more experienced man, too old for you, I expected him to say, or something like that.  “…a man of deep feeling.”

Ron’s eyebrows shot up nearly to his hairline, and I imagine mine did as well.  Ron shook his head at me in bewilderment that matched my own.

“Yes,” I said, stunned.  “Of course.”

Arthur nodded a third time, tossed off the rest of his whiskey, stood, and said, “Alright, then.  I’ll be off.”  He turned and strode to the back door to the Burrow, leaving me and Ron looking after him, mouths agape.

Ron turned to look at me.  “Bloody hell!” he said, with feeling, and I snorted, and then chuckled, and in moments, Ron and I were laughing as hard as we had after Severus and my first dinner out together. 

I suppose it might have bothered me that Mr. Weasley’s concern had been for Severus, rather than for me, but it did not.  Instead, it warmed me inside, and made me feel protective toward Severus, as well, knowing that Mr. Weasley thought he needed it, and besides, it meant that my being gay wasn’t the issue – just the way I treated Severus.  I kept finding myself smiling, as Ron and I talked about the wedding, and Quidditch, and work, and as our conversation turned repeatedly back to Hermione… and to Severus.  Neither of us used the word “love”.  We finally went back inside when the warming spell his father had cast started to fade, waving the fire back to coals.