Missed Opportunities

Missed Opportunities

Chapter Three

The next two weeks, I settled into Grimmauld Place, visited the Burrow, Headed to Gringotts’ for an accounting of my property (more complicated now than when I was younger, since I had inherited the Black estate and had the award money from the Order of Merlin), and investigated the idea I had slowly developed about what I wanted to do next.  I convinced Hermione to take time away from her own plans to take me shopping for clothes, and to help me select a place for… what I hoped would be my first… dinner… with…Severus.  I whispered the name to myself, and practiced saying it with a very amused Hermione, though I knew I would not dare use it unless he granted me the privilege.  I owled Severus with my chosen spot – in Muggle London – and held my breath until I received his one-word answer – “Acceptable.” 

The night before our… meeting… Hermione sat on my bed while I tried on one pair of trousers, one shirt, one tie after another, shaking at the very thought of somehow getting it wrong.  But we’d taken the time to walk into the restaurant we finally chose, to see what the customary attire was – not formal, but at least shirt and tie.  I blathered non-stop until I finally talked myself into a near panic-attack, and Hermione took me by the hands, sat me down, and said, “Harry.  You have to stop this!  You cannot place so much emphasis on this one evening.  It’s just dinner, Harry.”

“Yeah – but, Hermione…”

“It’s just dinner,” she emphasized.  “I know what you’re hoping, Harry, but really… you just graduated.  And while you’re very… delectable…”  She looked me up and down in a way that made me squirm, until we both laughed.  “…you’re also his student.”  She went on before I could protest.  “I know.  You just graduated.  And you defeated the Dark Lord.  And you’re a powerful wizard, Harry, but Severus Snape is an adult man, and you – and Ron, and Neville, and Luna, and I, and all of us – are still students in his mind.”  She reached over to brush the hair out of my eyes.  “Give it time, Harry.  Give him time to see you as something different.  Be something different, for a while, first, all right?  I don’t want to see your heart broken because you rushed in before he was ready.”

She was right, of course.  What was I thinking?  That we’d have dinner and… what?  That he’d come home with me to Grimmauld Place and shag me senseless?  And even if he did, was that what I really wanted?  Well, yes – but it was not all I wanted.  It was not even the main thing I wanted.  Which was, I realized, a relationship built on trust and friendship and respect.  How could I be a friend, earn his trust and respect, if all I kept thinking about was how much I wanted to get into his pants – or how much I wanted him to get into mine?  But what did I have to offer a man like that, in terms of friendship?

All I could do was to be myself… and maybe somewhere along the way, that would be enough.  After all, we had worked well together, at the start of the year… and I had excelled in Potions… had worked my heart out, to meet his standards.  Maybe it was enough to get on with.

I calmed down.  And Hermione, conversely, took a turn at freaking, and made me promise to check in afterwards, no matter how the evening went.  I promised.

During the day, that Friday, I met with Robards, in the Auror’s Office of the Ministry, because I thought he deserved a more personal notice that I was not going to follow through with the Auror’s training that had been offered to me repeatedly over the past year, and then with Kingsley, when Robards appealed to him to change my mind.  Kingsley, however, was much more accepting of my decision.  On impulse, I told him what I had been thinking about doing, and he was interested, supportive, and surprisingly, handed me a card for someone he knew who could help, and offered to put in a word for me.  I thanked him profusely, took him up on the offer, and promised to let him know how I was getting along. 

When I went to shake his hand as I left his office, he said, “My regards to Severus.”

“Excuse me?”

“He mentioned the two of you were dining together this evening,” Shacklebolt said, and something in his eyes told me that he knew more than I was comfortable with him knowing - about my motivation, at least. 

I laughed and tried to cover it up with, “Yeah.  I figure I owe him a dinner or two, given everything he did for me over the years.”

Kingsley laughed, shook my hand, and wished me luck.  I wasn’t sure what he meant by that.

I arrived early, unsure of whether to wait in the vestibule for Snape, or to go in, but that was decided when a gloved doorman gestured me in the door, and then further taken out of my hands when the hostess suggested I be seated.  “It’s Mr. Potter?  And who are you expecting?”

“Professor… uh… Severus Snape.”

“Professor Snape.  If you would describe him for me, I’ll keep a look-out for him.”

“Oh.  He’s… he’s quite tall… dark hair, dark eyes.  He’s…” Mysterious.  “He’s… striking.”

She smiled at me.  “A tall, dark, striking gentleman.  I’ll bring him to you.”

Oh, god!  What am I doing? 

Calm down!

Shortly thereafter, as I sat realizing there were more utensils in front of me than I knew what to do with, I saw him wending his way through tables, following the hostess, who smiled and nodded at me.  “This must be your young gentleman, then,” she said to him, as I rose to greet him.  We shook hands, and he looked at her and nodded.  He was attired in a black (of course) three-piece (of course) suit that looked like it had been made for him, and I added “elegant” to my list of adjectives for the man.  Dear Merlin in heaven, he was, even then, maybe especially then, so far out of my league…

Oh dear god… I just touched him… again, some part of my brain noted.  I tried to lock it down… successfully. 

Thank Merlin, Severus was… must have been… feeling generous that day.  “Good evening,” he said as he sat and flicked the serviette over his impeccably tailored Muggle trousers.  He looked around, and then back at me, a smile in his eyes, if not on his lips.  “More than adequate, Potter.  Italian would have been my first choice, as well.”

Score one, team Potter.

What I remember most about that evening was that, after a glass of wine, with Severus vouching for me, as I was barely old enough to drink and had no Muggle identification on me, I relaxed enough to talk with him without stammering. 

“How did your meeting with your solicitor go?” I asked, then winced, thinking it none of my business.  But he did not take it amiss.

“Quite well, thank you.  Were you in London for the day yourself, or did you come to the city especially for our… dinner?”

“Oh, I had business at the Ministry,” I said.

He raised his eyebrows.  “Indeed?”  It was an invitation.  I took a breath, let it out, and told him some of my plans, watching his face carefully to capture his reaction.  Not that I had a chance of doing that, given his life as a double agent.  But he kept his “politely interested” face throughout, until I started to wax enthusiastic about what I hoped I could do in my chosen profession.  Then, he leaned forward, elbows on the table, and queried me about what I knew about the art so far, and what had led me there, and whether I was serious about my pursuit of mastery. 

His face was… alive, expressive, intense.  The candles that lit our table flickered over the planes of his face adding depth and warmth, and lit his eyes.  If I hadn’t already, I’d have fallen for him that night.  Severus Snape, alive, enthusiastic, unguarded, open, engaged was… staggeringly beautiful. 

I don’t remember what I ate, what he ate, what we had for pudding…  Only that the evening ended with a nearly-quiet, nearly empty restaurant around us, and that we parted reluctantly, certainly on my part, and I got the impression that it might have been the same on his part as well.  I recognized the moment he realized that he – that we – had enjoyed our time together. 

“This was… quite enjoyable, Potter,” he said, as we stood outside the restaurant.  He gestured up the street to the nearest apparition spot.  “That’ll take you home.”

I nodded.  “I know.  Are you…?”

“I’m staying at the Leaky Cauldron for a night or two.  I have some other things to arrange.”

“You never told me what it is you’re arranging,” I noted. 

He smiled – actually smiled, at that.  “That is true.”  He searched my face, and narrowed his eyes, which warmed as he looked at me.  “I’m afraid I’m not quite ready to go public with my plans.”

“Your plans?  Are… are you leaving Hogwarts, sir?”  The idea was… shocking… stunning.

He considered me, pursed his lips – which did not even register, I was so shocked, and finally said, “If I do, you will be amongst the first to know.”  He smiled again, just a tiny quirk of his lips, but a clear softening around his eyes.  “Good evening, Mr. Potter.  And again… my thanks for a very pleasant dinner.”

“Good night, sir,” I murmured.  I watched him walk off a few steps before calling, “Professor?”  He turned back.   “Perhaps we could do it again, sometime.”

A slow smile changed his features into something ethereal in the moonlight.  “Perhaps we could, Potter.”  He turned and walked off again, reached the apparition point, turned and vanished with a tight crack.

“Wow!” I said to myself.  “Oh my god… where’s Hermione?”

Hermione dragged Ron through the floo with her, no matter that it was one in the morning.  The first thing he said when he saw me was, “Blimey, Harry!  Snape??!”

I laughed weakly, sank to the sofa, and put my head in my hands, before looking up at him, and then to Hermione, who was practically vibrating with anxiety, which made any of my residual tension completely dissipate.  My grin at the clear question on her face turned into a chuckle, and then a laugh, and soon all three of us were laughing until tears rolled down our faces and we were holding our sides.

“Oh my god!  I just had a date... with Severus Snape!”

Ron gulped.  “A date?  Harry… did you ask him out on a date?”  The idea stunned him, and Hermione and I laughed even harder, while Ron ranted about how mental I was, and suggested he contact St. Mungo’s to see if they had room in the permanently spell-damaged ward for me.  Still, he was grinning when he said it, and any fear I had of facing his censure was gone.