Missed Opportunities

Missed Opportunities

Chapter Eight

Tom led the group to a nearby pub, an English-styled place frequented by mostly Muggles, but with a smattering of magical signatures of…  Wizards.  There were only wizards in the pub, no witches.  No female Muggles, either.  The only table available was in the middle of the packed room.  Televisions were suspended from the walls around the room, every one tuned to football.  My head spun with the strangeness of it.  Severus and I had always been the only wizards in the Muggle restaurants we frequented.  To have so many wizards commingling with so many Muggles was… almost frightening.  It made me tense, and I struggled to figure out the best place to sit, around the table, as we made our way to it – back to the bathroom… back to the front door?  I felt naked and unprotected, and realized how much I had relied on Severus to back me up, if needed, on our ventures into the Muggle world.  I shifted my shoulders irritably.

“Here we are!” Tom said, and gestured at the table as if he had conjured it from thin air.  Making a decision, I chose a spot where I could watch the entrance and see out the front windows, but the position left my back feeling cold and vulnerable. 

Charlie sat to my left, and Tom managed to place himself at my right.  He lifted a hand to call the server over, and everyone ordered.  Muggle establishment, I reminded myself, and ordered a pint and Amer Picon bitters, which the server recommended.  When it came, I slipped my wand just slightly from my sleeve, my arm casually under the table, and uttered a spell.  I couldn’t help but imagine Snape’s approving smirk as I did so.  Other than the expected components, the drink was safe.

Tom, Charlie, Bill and Mario led the discussion, as they knew each other and some of the other conference attendees.  It was difficult to talk, because the music was loud and discordant, and people came and went past our table, repeatedly bumping into us, since the place was so packed.  Tom leaned close to talk to me, and Charlie kept one arm across the back of my chair.  That actually helped me relax.  Mario and Bill leaned across the others to talk, when they wanted to say something to me.  Someone kicked my foot under the table, and I withdrew it.  Whoever it was took it as an invitation to stretch out, and tapped my foot again.  Irritated, I tucked my feet under my chair, curled around its legs, until I realized that would make it hard for me to escape…

Which thought abruptly caused me to realize how tense and uncomfortable I was becoming.  I stilled, stopped listening to the conversation, and cast my senses out, trying to figure out where the threat I felt was coming from.  Beyond our table, the pub was a teeming mass of moving, dancing, laughing people, and despite a bit of aggressive energy here and there, I felt no actual malevolence.  I tightened my search to the immediate vicinity, and realized that it was Mario.  That should have reassured me – just one of our party, drinking too much, being a little too forceful in his opinions, his interactions.  I started to wonder just how well Tom and the others knew the man.

The conversation revolved around the conference, at first, before Tom turned to me and said, “So, Harry… how did you get into crystal work?”  A round of “what do you do and how did you get into it” followed, and after that, questions about where we were educated.  They had attended Beauxbatons, which lead to a long, humorous discussion about Veelas, because that’s where my head went when they mentioned it, thinking of Fleur and her little sister Gabrielle. 

When I said I had been educated at Hogwarts, Mario’s eyes narrowed shrewdly, and Bill said, “Hold on.  You were at Hogwarts?  In Scotland?”

“Yeah.  It’s a brilliant school!” I said, prepared to describe everything I loved about my alma mater.

Mario leaned forward, from across the table.  “You’re the right age to be him, then.”

“Him who?” I asked, my stomach going cold.

“You’re that Harry Potter,” he said, his voice flat, almost accusing.

“Uh…”

“Wait.  You can’t be that Harry Potter, can you?  I mean… you’re too young!  What are you – twenty-three?” Charlie asked.

“Yeah,” I said, shifting uncomfortably.

“So… you’re not him, then.  I mean, that bloke did some serious magic, if the stories are true.  He’d have to be some sort of… master wizard of all time, or something, to have done away with that maniac!”

That explained why relatively few people had recognized me, amongst Severus’ colleagues, I guessed.  The events that were so momentous in Britain had not impacted France nearly as much… and probably had not affected the Americas at all, I supposed…  It was strange, to think that something that seemed to threaten the whole world, my whole world, just a few years ago, might have been a limited conflict really… at least… it turned out to be limited, given that Voldemort was no longer alive to spread his power base beyond British shores.

“I mean – everyone knows Voldemort was the strongest wizard alive” Charlie continued, pronouncing Voldemort’s name without the t sound, making it French.  Bill and Tom readily agreed, to my relief, though I was bemused to realize that here, not everyone knew the whole of it.

Except Dumbledore.  And Severus, I thought.  But I did not say that.  “Yeah, well… he was certainly the most evil, anyway.”

Though Bill, Tom, and Charlie nodded vigorously and made sounds of agreement, Mario leaned back in his chair and sipped thoughtfully at his pint.  Thankfully, the conversation turned to general politics, which, in France, seemed to be perpetually turbulent, based on what they described, and that included the Muggle world, not just the French Ministry.  The others continued drinking at what I considered a shocking rate, but I put it down to the difference in culture, and stuck to lime and water after I finished my pint and bitters, with the excuse that I needed to be clear-headed for my presentation in the morning.

I realized, at some point, that I needed the loo, and stood to look over heads to find it.  Spotting the sign, I murmured something to Tom, and threaded my way through the tables toward the back of the pub.  When I finished my business and turned to go, I bumped into Mario – literally, as he swung the door open just as I reached for the handle.  I murmured an apology and turned to go.  He grabbed my arm.

“Monsieur Potter,” he said, “perhaps you would do me the favor of a dance.” 

“Oh.  Uh – I don’t dance.”

“It is no big thing,” he said, “I will show you how.  I lead, you follow.  It is easy.”

“Um… no.  I don’t think so.”

“What?  The English think they are too good for the French?”

“No!  Not at all.  I don’t dance,” I said affirmatively.  “Now if you don’t mind, I have a presentation to prepare for tomorrow.”  I pushed past him, realizing I had my wand in my hand without conscious decision. 

I made it to the table without incident, and managed not to look behind me, fighting down paranoia and wishing I had stayed in with Severus.

“I need to get back to the hotel," I said, pulling Muggle money from my pocket.  Tom put out his hand.  “No need.  You are a guest in our country – and you make exquisite stirring rods and vials… for which you charge far too few galleons!  Allow me to treat you.  Hold on a moment, and we will all walk back together.”  He looked around. “Where is Mario?”

“Loo,” I said flatly.

By the time we were ready to go, Mario was back, annoyed when Tom announced we were leaving.  We walked back to the hotel, and I managed to walk next to Charlie and Tom, keeping Mario, with Bill, ahead of us, where I could see him, fingering my wand, still tucked up my sleeve.  We entered the lift together, but to my dismay, Tom, Bill and Charlie got off at the fifth floor.  Mario stood silently as we rode to the seventh floor, and followed me when I got out.  I paused at the vending area, pretending to be checking for something to drink, but he stopped when I did.  Inhaling deeply, and firming up my grip on my wand, I turned toward my room, hoping that Severus would be inside.

I slipped the key into the slot, but before it wiggled, Mario grabbed my arm.  I jerked it away, catching him in the chest with my elbow.  He reeked of alcohol. 

“How about a kiss, then, ma chère?”

“No.  Thank you.”

“But why?  It is just a kiss, joli garcon.”

“No.  Please let go,” I said, as he made another grab for my arm.

“Why?  It is just the two of us.  No one need ever know.  Not your Monsieur Snape.”

“Monsieur Snape,” I growled, mangling the accent, “is waiting for me on the other side of this door.  Now, if you do not want the wizard who fought Voldemort and won to take you out next, let me go.”

His eyes widened.  “It is you!  Sainte Mère de Merlin!” he said, holding a hand to his mouth and stumbling back.

I rolled my eyes, shook my head, and reached behind me to wiggle the key in the lock, keeping my eyes on him. The door opened, and I slipped inside, but not before he recovered and cast a considering look at me.

I stopped just inside the door.  Severus was sitting at the small writing table, clad only in black silk pajamas.  I would have smiled, if I had not been so shaken – of course they were black!  His long feet were bare, toes curling and uncurling in the deep pile of the carpet as if playing with the texture.  One hand held a book; the other was curled at his chin, and his long hair hid half his face, shadowed in the flickering light of the fireplace.  I gasped softly.  He was… beautiful… so beautiful.  It shook me that I noticed that, even when I was shaken by having to shove Mario off. 

Severus appeared too deeply involved in his reading to notice me.  I was wrong.  Without looking away from his book, he said, “Trouble?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle,” I said, trying to stifle a shiver – whether from dealing with Mario or from wanting so badly to go curl myself into, around, within this man, I did not know.

He looked up and whatever he saw on my face captured his attention, and he looked me over as if searching for evidence of injury.  “Sure you’re alright?”  I could feel the tension curl in his body from across the room.

I recovered, forced myself to relax, and moved into the room, toward my bed, half aware that I did so to be closer to him.  “Yeah.  No big deal.  Mario wanted… something I was unwilling to give.”

Severus just looked at me.

“How… how was your evening?” I asked, to divert him.  "You and… Geoff…” I nearly choked on the name.  “… have a good time?”  I watched him out of my peripheral vision, not wanting to look at him directly… yet wanting to.

Severus shut his book and set it down, his movements deliberate and slow, and I knew he was still watching me, assessing.  “Yes.  We shared a nice game of chess.”

“Oh.”

His lips twitched.  “What exactly did you think we were going to be doing?”

I felt myself turning red and kept my head down as I stripped off my outer robe and toed off my shoes.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him shake his head at that, but he seemed to relax, as if I had confirmed that I was – physically, at least, well. 

“I… I thought you might have some… catching up to do.”

“Hmm…”

“You know…”  I dared to look up at him.  “Old friends and all…”

He frowned slightly.  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“You and he had a… a thing, didn’t you?  I mean…”

His frown increased and he shook his head in denial.  “I have known Geoff for four years, but...”

“But…”

His face cleared, abruptly, and he lifted his chin.  “You thought that we were dating.”  It was not a question.

I just looked at him.

“Potter… Harry… Geoff is straight.  He’s married.  He has a wife and three children.  We have never been more than friends.”  He said this with great seriousness, as if it were critically important that I believe him.  Not even a twitch of amusement crossed his face, and none was evident in his tone.

A flush of some strong feeling coursed through me and I felt suddenly weak.  It was almost painful… it was bliss… it was hopeful.  My stomach clenched in denial of that.  “But… The Prophet…”

He snorted and raised an eyebrow.  “And as we all know, The Prophet is committed to journalistic integrity.  Every word they print is the utter truth, completely lacking in speculation.  And Rita Skeeter…”

“All right!  All right!” I protested, lifting a hand.  “I’m sorry – it’s… that was stupid.  I…  You’re right.  I should not take The Prophet as a valid source of information.”  I rolled my eyes, appalled at myself.

“Indeed,” he said, his lips pursed, not at all amused.

“But… I thought… when… that day…”

“I had a meeting with Geoff to discuss a bit of Society business – a member who needed to be disciplined.  I sit on the Ethics Committee, and Geoff was chair that year.”

“… Oh.”  My relief was so strong that my body chilled and heated in turn.  I was shaking.  I tried to control it, afraid he would see.

“I should have explained.  I apologize.”

“No.  No – it’s my fault.  I assumed…  I should have just asked you.”

He cocked an eyebrow at me.  “Anything else you have put off asking?  Gossip you would like to clear up?”

I looked down and realized I was clenching my robe so tightly, I was creasing it.  I forced my hands to let go, rubbed them on my thighs, inhaled, and turned to sit on the bed, drawing up one knee so that I could face him, and took a deep breath, meeting his eyes.

“You’re gay.”

He laughed lightly.  “I should think that evident, yes.  As are you.”

“I…” I squeaked.  “How do you know?  I never…”

His lips curled in a gentle smile.

“But I never… I mean…” I blushed at the hole I had dug myself into, then steeled my nerves.  “I’ve never… you know…”  I waved a vague hand, and then blinked at the look on his face.  “What?”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, and he sounded like it – genuinely sorry, I mean.  “You’re a young man, Harry.  I would wish for you a… less lonely existence.”

“I’m not lonely!” I protested.  I have you.

He laughed lightly and narrowed his eyes.  “A man your age should be… enjoying the pleasures of the flesh.”  His eyes sparkled with something like mischief.

“Yeah, well – so should you,” I challenged, without thinking.  Oh, god!

His eyes warmed even more, but he said nothing.

“So… do you… did you… are you…?” I stammered, feeling my face and neck burn.

“I have, yes.  Did you think me a virgin?”  He smiled, but it was not mocking, and the warmth remained in his eyes, along with something else I could not identify.

“Oh.  Uh... no.  Of course not,” I said, feeling slightly sick and defeated.  I had one more question.  “So… is there anyone special…?”

The gentle smile was back on his face, and his eyes never left mine.  “Yes.  There is,” he said softly. 

Someone very special.  Only someone very special could have put that look on his face.

“Oh,” I said, feeling all my hopes disappear again in a flash.

I sat for a moment, dropping my eyes to my hands, which were clutching the coverlet, forced my fingers to let go.  I inhaled and murmured, “I… need to use the loo,” and rose without another word, turned my back on him, and fled before the tears prickling behind my eyelids could fall and betray me.

He was standing by his bed when I finally got myself to leave the bathroom.  I did not look at him as I made my way to my own bed, flipped back the covers and slid underneath, pulling them up to my neck, and turning my back to him, feeling the need to… hide, maybe.  I listened to him move about the room, enter, use, and leave the loo, slip into his own bed and punch his pillow into shape.  There was silence for a moment, then, almost too quietly for me to hear, he said, “Goodnight… Harry.”

I inhaled a deep, painful breath, and exhaled an equally, “Goodnight, Severus,” and allowed the tears to leave my eyes and leak down to soak into my pillow, trying desperately not to let them break into sobs, as Severus murmured, “Nox.”

I was better in the morning… resigned… again… maybe.  In any case, I was nervous.  My presentation was scheduled for nine, and I was up by six, showering and dressing as quietly as I could, so as not to wake Severus. Of course, that was useless.  He was up before I donned my socks, moving equally silently.  By the time he left the bathroom, I was at the desk, feverishly reviewing my paper, panic beginning to overwhelm me.  Why had I let him talk me into this?  I would rather have faced yet another Ministry function than this.  I was freezing and shivering, and I knew it was nerves.  I nearly jumped out of my skin when his warm hand landed on my shoulder.

“Potter.”

“Bloody hell, Severus!  Don’t do that!”  I had kicked back from the desk, and my wand was out and aimed at his solar plexus before I even registered the movement.  I sank back to the chair and wiped at my forehead.

“Nice to see you have your priorities straight,” he said, dryly amused. 

“Not funny, you bloody git!”  I shoved at him, and his amusement deepened, and he turned away. 

I was tempted to hex him, but he said, “Don’t even think it, Potter.  Leave your paper.  You need to eat.”

I sputtered an objection, and her turned back to glare at me, and then rolled his eyes.  “Bring it, then.  But breakfast.  You won’t think as clearly on an empty stomach.”  When I still hesitated, he said, “Eat, and I’ll help you suss out your room and get you settled.”

That sounded… helpful, so I nodded in concession, gathered the papers I had scattered in my reaction to being touched, grabbed my key, stuck my wand up my sleeve – at which Severus nodded approvingly again, and walked up to where he stood at the door.  He stood in my way, though, and his warm eyes looked me up and down, then returned to my face.  “You’ll do,” he said with a smile. 

“Git.”

He reached to brush some imaginary lint off my shoulders again, and I caught the movement in the mirror.  His face was focused, serious.  “You’ll do fine,” he said, tapping my shoulder once for emphasis.

“Good luck, dearies,” the mirror said, as we left the room.

I don’t remember breakfast.  I’m sure I did not register at all what I was eating, only taking in whatever Severus put in front of me, and not much of it, while he chatted, seemingly unconcerned, with whoever it was who shared our table.  I fidgeted more and more until he finally put down his napkin and stood smoothly.

“Gentlemen,” he said, nodding around, “and ladies…”  I hadn’t even noticed we had been joined by a couple of young witches.  “Harry – after you.”  He gestured toward the door, and I stood hastily, wished everyone a good morning, and preceded him out of the room, his presence at my back a reassuring warmth.

The next half hour or so is a blur in my memory, made up of hands waving wands to settle the podium in the center of the front of the room, introductions and handshakes from people I don’t remember now, final instructions about the Sonorus and projection spells, some junior wizard asking me if I required water, and Severus countermanding my denial…  I was vaguely aware that he cast a detection spell at the pitcher of water and the glass the wizard conjured for me.  Then he was tugging lightly at my robe to straighten it, though I am pretty sure that was unnecessary.

“I’ll be in the back of the room – there,” he said, pointing subtly.  “You’ll be fine.  Break a leg.”  The last was said with a wry smile, and suddenly, I was alone at the front of a room that had filled with witches and wizards without my notice.

Geoff came up to me from the side of the stage, and shook my hand, smiling at me warmly, and I suddenly realized, Oh my God… they’re just friends!  My relief came out of me in a huge whoosh of breath, and I grinned at him. 

“Bit nervous?” he asked.  “Don’t be.  Anyone gives you trouble, I’ll turn them into a flutterby bush.”  He laughed at my startlement.  “That is, if Severus gives me time.  I’m afraid he’d be faster on the draw than I would – especially given it’s you.”

With that confusing statement, he turned to the crowd, raised his wand to cast the Sonorus, and called for everyone’s attention.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.”  He raised a hand to quell the by-now-familiar catcalls.  “Now, now!  Let’s not start that.  Our presenter this morning is here before us for his first time – and I have reason to hope it will not be his last.  Let’s not frighten him away, shall we?”

Warm laughter and calls of agreement met his words and he lifted his hands again.  “Settle down!  Settle down!  It is my distinct pleasure to introduce one of the newest and youngest members of the Crystal Masters Guild, Crystal Master Harry Potter.  Master Potter comes to us, of course, from Great Britain, where he completed his education at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and went on to advanced training at…”

I let the review of my resume wash over me, glad I had omitted any mention of the war, looking over the crowd and finding Severus, as he said he would be.  He was standing just inside the door at the back of the packed room, arms crossed, right on top of left.  I could see him fingering his sleeve, and knew he was feeling for his wand. Hazily worried, I looked around the room, noting the presence of pairs of wizards and witches standing at the walls, rather than seated.  When I realized one of them was Robards, from the Auror’s Department at the British Ministry, I started, and flicked my eyes to Snape.  He nodded and lifted his chin at the pairs, then turned his eyes back to mine, nodding again, taking a deliberately relaxed stance.  I relaxed, as well, and realized Geoff was coming to the end of his introduction.

“…and so, my friends and colleagues, please welcome our presenter, Mister Harry Potter.  Crystal Master…”  He gestured to the podium.  I stepped up, took a sip of the water Severus had poured and protected for me, and uttered the Sonorus.

“Good morning.  I’m a little nervous,” I said, my fingers trembling as I picked up my papers. 

“No worries, Harry!” someone called, and there was a smattering of laughter.  I looked around the room and spotted Tom, sitting with the ever-present Bill and Charlie, who waved at me, and smiled at them gratefully.

“The title of my presentation is Exothermic Reactivity of Grignard versus Collins Reagents in the Creation of Vials for Healing Potions.  Let me first explain a bit about the purpose of reagents in working crystal and glass…”  I flicked my wand and the first in the series of images I had prepared floated in the air behind me…

Forty-five minutes later, my presentation complete, the audience broke into applause.  I looked to the back of the room, where Severus nodded his approval, though he was not clapping, his right hand still on the spot where his wand was tucked.  I could not see his eyes from where I stood, so I was not certain what he actually thought.  My attention went back to the audience when someone called out, “Mister Potter, may I ask a question?”

Fifteen minutes later, I was hustled off the stage by Geoff, who had finally called a halt to the questions.  It was over.  I had finished.  I realized I was sweating only because the papers in my hand were damp.  Geoff kept an arm across my shoulders and guided me through the crowd, waving off people who would have stopped us, to where Severus waited, relieving me of the papers as we met. 

“Let me have those, if you don’t mind, Crystal Master,” he said with a wink at Severus.  “I’ll be wanting to publish your paper, you know,” he said to me, and then more seriously, “That was quite impressive, young man.  You have an illustrious career ahead of you.  I hope you will consider…  Never mind.  I’m getting ahead of myself.  Severus – I leave him in your capable hands.  I hope you gentlemen will join me and Meredith for dinner this evening?”  Severus agreed, and I nodded.  “I’ll be off, then.  Have to introduce Ashton.”  He rolled his eyes, and Severus laughed in commiseration.

Several people shook hands with me, begged cards, or asked whether they could owl me for a catalog of my wares, as the room emptied.  “How did I do?” I asked when there was finally the space to do so.

Severus smiled slightly, though his eyes continued to scan the room behind me.  “You were inspirational, Mister Potter.  The IMPS will be beating a path to your door.”  There was a slight edge to his voice.

“Is something wrong?”

He pulled his gaze away from the room, looked at me, then looked down at his hands, wrapped around the wand I hadn’t realized he had pulled from his sleeve.  He spun it a moment before replacing it up his sleeve and raising his eyes to me again.  “No,” he said, but the look on his face said otherwise.

“Severus, what…?”

“Come.  The next presenter needs the room, and there are presentations you should hear, especially…”  He did not finish.

Severus led us from presentation to presentation, giving us little time to talk.  What time there might have been was taken up with people wanting to talk with him, and surprisingly, with me.  He guided me through it all, hand on my elbow or at my back, introducing me to some people, fending off others, standing guard silently at my back at other times.  Tom, Bill and Charlie came up to ask me to dinner again, but I begged off, glad we had already accepted another invitation, even when Severus leaned in and said, his breath tickling my ear, “Are you certain?”

I turned to look at him.  “I hardly think it would be wise of me to turn down an invitation from the head of my Guild, Severus.”  I intended to sound like him when I said it, and a flicker of amusement in his eyes suggested he had caught that.  “Besides,” I said, whispering back, though I barely reached his shoulder, let alone his ear, “I’d rather spend the evening with you, if you don’t mind.”  His eyes crinkled at that and a tension he had been carrying all day seemed to leave him.

“If you can manage not to be too insufferable, I suppose I could tolerate your presence,” he said in a long-suffering tone.  I flashed a grin at him, and his hand on my back pressed me through the crowd to our next meeting.

Dinner with Severus and Geoff and Meredith Crittenden was surprisingly enjoyable.  Geoff took us off to a Muggle restaurant Severus and I had not been in before, where exotic sea foods, unusually-named drinks, and dancing were all on the menu, the lit fish tanks filled with colorful and unusual creatures – none of which were on the menu, Geoff assured us – creating shifting light and shadow over the diners and dancers.  It was a beautiful place, and felt very intimate, despite the number of patrons it accommodated. 

We had no difficulty hearing each other, despite the background music.  Severus leaned toward me, when he found me looking around searching for the edges of a Muffliato spell, and said something about Muggle sound-dampening materials that I did not quite follow.  He laughed lightly at my confusion, and just for a moment, I thought I felt his hand squeeze my knee, but then he was reaching to pour water for Meredith, and I was sure I had imagined it.

The discussion ranged widely, but kept returning to my talk and the vials and stirring rods I had displayed.  Geoff surreptitiously withdrew his wand, tapped the table, and carefully opened the wooden box that held the vial he had purchased the previous day, showing it off.  The candlelight at the table caught its facets and cast a rainbow of colors – mostly in rosy pink – across our table and those around us.  Meredith was captivated, and suggested I consider making jewelry – charmed bits of crystal or tiny vials to wear around ones neck.  Severus and Geoff had other thoughts.  My fingers itched for a quill to keep track of ideas, and Severus withdrew from his pocket – of all things – a Muggle fountain pen, and Geoff laughed and conjured a tablet of paper. 

Severus had to knock at my elbow to get me to leave off contemplating the possibilities when dessert arrived, a delicious, chocolate confection that he sucked off his spoon, his eyes glinting in the candlelight, a smirk on his face.

Dear god!  I wanted to suck… something… myself.

“Would you favor me with a dance, my dear?”

I was startled out of staring at Severus when Geoff pushed back from the table and held a hand out to his wife.  She rose gracefully, and they left us at the table alone.  Severus set down his dessert spoon – fortunately for my dignity – and took up a cup of demitasse, and then spoiled my relief by licking a trail of dark liquid from the lip of the cup.

Damn the man!  I did my best not to groan, but did not succeed in turning my eyes away.  He eyed me speculatively, and I held my breath.

“Care to dance?”

“What?”

“I asked if you would care to dance.”

Holy sweet Merlin!

“I… I don’t dance, Severus.  I mean – I don’t know how, really.  I’d be stepping all over your shoes.  Really.”

He continued to eye me.  “Pity,” he said, and my stomach dropped, as if I had just lost the most incredible opportunity of my lifetime. 

Potter, you idiot! I told myself – in his voice.

I didn’t know what to say, and awkwardly scraped at my chocolate mousse, but it seemed to have turned to chalk, somehow, in the last few minutes.  Severus stood suddenly and said, “You’ll excuse me…” and turned away from the table.  I had the absurd impulse to follow him… to grab him by the arm… to drag him to the dance floor, but instead, I watched him walk away, kicking myself.  It took me several panicky moments to realize he had not gone to find another dance partner, but to the loo.  I felt stupidly guilty about how glad I was at that.  And then my mind went into overdrive anyway, wondering if he was going to wank in the loo – though I was pretty sure he had too much class to do that… and besides, I was the one with the raging… problem… not him.  Or maybe he was going to meet someone in one of the stalls and have a quick…  I mean… I knew some men do that…

No.  No, he wouldn’t do that.   Right?

I spent a good five minutes calling myself all kinds of a fool, and picturing all kinds of things I had no business picturing, so that by the time Severus returned to the table, all dash and sophistication, I felt an urgent need to go home.  But there was one more day of conference to get through… and one more night of sharing a room with a man I suddenly felt I did not know at all… could not make sense of in the slightest. 

Severus, however, without seeming out of sorts at all, merely picked up the discussion of the various other things I could make from crystal and glass where we had left off, before dessert, particularly lingering over the idea of miniature potions vials that could be worn about the neck, or even smaller ones that could be secreted in rings or hidden in the linings of robes, so that in short while, we were talking comfortably and enthusiastically about… business.

Geoff and Meredith came back to the table flushed and smiling and holding hands, but did not sit down.  “We should probably get back,” Geoff said.  “Will you be coming back with us, or did you…?”

“You go on ahead,” Severus said.  “Potter and I will just finish up here and walk back ourselves.”

“We’ll see you tomorrow then,” Geoff said.  He held out a hand.  “Mister Potter, it has truly been a pleasure.  I hope you will present at the Crystal Master’s Guild meeting next August.  We’re meeting across the Pond, I’m afraid, but I am sure the trip would be worth your while.”

“I’ll consider it,” I said, standing to shake hands.  He held my hand a moment longer than necessary, pulled me toward him, and said, in a stage whisper that I was sure Severus heard, “Get him to settle down, will you?”  He nodded in Severus’ direction.

I shook my head and frowned in bemusement, but Geoff let go, and Meredith took his place, kissing my cheeks in the French manner, and laughing.  “It’s just an excuse.  You’re such a handsome man!  Geoff would be jealous if we were anywhere other than France!”

“Meredith!” Snape growled, and though I did not turn toward him to see his face, his voice warmed me.

The Crittendens left, and Severus stood, flipping his robe across his shoulders. 

“I thought…” I began, but he plucked my robe from the back of my chair and handed it to me.  Confused, I settled it around me, and Severus tugged to straighten it, then took my arm to guide me through the tables and out the door, nodding thanks to the doorman as we left.  He turned us to the left, though I was sure our hotel was to the right.

“You haven’t seen much of Paris at night, have you?” he commented.

“Oh.  No.  Um… we were always here for lunch,” I pointed out.

“Mmm.  Well, it’s beautiful by night.  You should see it, at least once.” 

It was cold, of course, being January.  I shivered, and he cast a warming charm, tucking my arm through his to keep me close enough for it to cover us both.  He shortened his step to accommodate the difference in our stride, and we set off.  I felt off-balance, confused, warmed, and strangely excited, simultaneously, exquisitely aware of the warmth of my hand, snugged between his elbow and his side.  I walked at his side, in somewhat of a daze, wondering what on earth I was doing, walking in the most romantic city in the world – or so it was said – in the night, with Severus Snape.

We ended up at the Eiffel Tower, lit in shades of blue, a wreath of light still celebrating Christmas from two weeks prior.  I had seen it in daylight, of course, but never at night, when it seemed, suddenly, more fragile, as if magic alone kept it up, or as if it were made of beams of blue light.  It was breathtaking, and I turned to Severus to say so, but the words stuck in my throat.  He had thrown his head back, looking up at the structure.  The blue light reflecting on his skin, his already blue-black hair, and the black of his eyes made him look like some spectral angel, sent down from heaven.  My chest seized with how beautiful he was, and again, I was filled with what seemed to be becoming a never-ending sense of longing and loss. 

He turned his head to look at me, his eyes seeming lit from within, and he said, “Beautiful…”

“Yes.”

Time stopped for just those moments.  If I had been a braver man… if I had been as impulsive as I was supposed to be, Gryffindor that I am, I would have grabbed him by the lapels, and pulled his head down to mine, and kissed him.  But again, my courage failed me.

He held my eyes for long moments, his face as open as I had ever seen it, warm despite the cold I could feel pinching at the edges of his spell.  The almost-smile on his face deepened momentarily, and then he inhaled and looked away.

Is it possible to… talk yourself out of being in love?  It was hopeless.  He was hopelessly out of my reach.  He was beautiful and handsome and brilliant and lived in circles of influence that I could never be part of, never even understand.  I could never be part of his world, not really.  What was I doing there, pretending to have something of value to offer?  He was so beautiful.  And he didn’t even know it.  He reached for me again, tucking my hand in the crook of his elbow and patting it, as if reassuring me of something, and turned us back toward the hotel, walking slowly as if savoring the night. 

I wanted it to never end.  I needed to get back to Hermione, to Ron, to my workshop.  I needed to stop wanting it… wanting him. 

I didn’t think I ever would.

I readied for bed in silence, slipping past him carefully, as if his touch would burn me, if I happened to brush against him.  I kept my eyes averted, certain he would see, if I looked at him.  I cursed my cowardice.  I cursed my stupid Gryffindor inability to hide my feelings.  I cursed my decision to come to Paris.  And then I didn’t, because even though I could not have everything, at least I had this.  And friendship.  Which I would not give up for anything.  By the time I slid into bed I was calmer.

“Goodnight, Severus,” I managed, and sounded calm, I thought.

“Goodnight, Harry.  Sleep well.”