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The first time he spotted the young man in the bakery, he simply walked past. It wasn’t any of his business, really, what sort of people the old baker employed, there. He rarely wanted anything from there anyway.
The second time – a few days later – he allowed himself another, longer look. This one was pure self-indulgence. The man in question was probably in his mid-thirties, a comfortable twenty years younger than him. He was beautiful, in an understated sort of way.
His clothes weren’t shabby, but they weren’t stylish either. His glasses suited his handsome face, but his unkempt hair ruined it just a little. He had an open smile, but the demeanour of someone who didn’t necessarily enjoy the conversations he had with the patrons in the coffee shop.
He walked away, of course. He didn’t care for coffee.
“An apple tart, please.” He requested, a week later. He’d only gone in because it was raining – and he’d only ordered something, because it was the polite thing to do.
“Coming right up. Would you like some tea with that? I’ll bring it to your table.” The beautiful server said.
“Chamomile.” He requested, wondering why the slightly lopsided smile the other man gave made his stomach twist so oddly.
The tea, he found, was good – as was the pastry. He didn’t tell the man though – he hadn’t made them, and in any case, even if, he was hardly one to push unwanted conversations onto someone.
He was back the next week, and the week after that.
Usually, he just read something for a while, having a cup of tea. Every few weeks, a pastry as well. Never the same one, just whatever struck his fancy.
He never spoke to the man beyond ordering from him, and thanking him for said order.
There was no need to – he didn’t even stare, really. Not unless something unusual happened. It did, sometimes – a shattered cup, a dropped pastry, a crying child. The man dealt with all of them easily – even comforting the child with a fresh croissant.
He himself would have likely left it to the mother – but no, she got a croissant, also.
“Would you like something with your tea?” The beautiful man offered after the mother and her daughter had left. He hadn’t even noticed the man's approach.
“Perhaps. A croissant?” He requested.
“Sure. We have a new type – it’s filled with pistachio if you want to try.”
He loathed pistachios.
“Why not?”
“You know, most of the regulars introduce themselves to me at some point.” The beautiful man said, standing next to him, both of them about to step outside into the snowy weather – him, to leave, the man to take down the awning before the snow could become too heavy.
“It seemed intrusive.” He evaded, waiting to see if the snow would let up.
It did not.
“It wouldn’t be. If you want to tell me your name. Mine’s Harry.”
“Harry.” He repeated—a mundane name, oddly perfect for such a not-mundane man.
“Severus.” He replied, still looking at the sky.
“Unusual name, that.” Harry remarked.
“I hardly think so. I’ve heard it all my life.” He replied, before deciding to simply brave the terrible weather anyway. He could hear Harry’s pearly laughter for quite a bit before he was far enough that the sound faded.
“It’s been almost six months since you started coming here.” Harry remarked, one Tuesday morning after setting down his teacup and pastry of the day.
“Has it?” He asked disinterestedly – it made no difference to him.
“Yeah. About five months since you’ve actually started, you know, coming in.”
He glanced up, away from his book at the smiling man. “You saw me outside?”
“I daydream sometimes. You walked right through that.” Harry said with a wink.
Severus looked back at his book, utterly puzzled – and flushing more than what was suitable for a man of his age.
“It’s my birthday soon.” Harry declared proudly.
“I would hope so, otherwise you’d struggle to explain the presence of the party hat on your head.” He replied evenly – Harry was wearing a little golden hat that read birthday boy.
“Yeah, well, it isn’t until next week, but it’s great for the tips.”
He snorted weakly. “I’m sure. I suppose I’ll save the congratulations for after.”
“It’s supposed to be bad luck to do it before, yeah. When’s your birthday?”
He frowned at the unexpected personal question. “January.”
“You can’t just say January.” Harry said a few minutes later, setting down his tea and a slice of nut bread he hadn’t ordered. “You have to tell me the day as well.”
“I have to do no such thing.” He replied. “And I didn’t ask for the nut bread.”
“I know. It’s new on the menu. You’ll like it. So, what day?”
He sighed, pulling the nut bread closer – he still didn’t much care for nuts. “January 9th. And you best put to rest any ideas you have about asking me for the year.” He added dryly.
Harry giggled all the way back to the counter.
He visited on a Wednesday instead of the Friday he’d planned on. In addition to the party hat, there was bunting, that day, and a hand painted drawing that read, in poor spelling, ‘Happy birthday, Harry’ It was taped to the side of the glass display of pastries, not quite obscuring the view of what was inside.
“Happy birthday.” He offered quietly, when it was his turn to order.
Harry beamed at him, the beautiful man’s smile doing something odd and not entirely pleasant to his insides. “Thank you, Severus. What would you like? It’s on me today, since you came to see me today.”
He wanted to say he had done no such thing – would have, even, had he not spotted a new menu item that happened to strike his fancy at that exact moment.
“I’d like a chamomile tea and one of those black forest gateaux slices.” He requested, not looking back up at Harry.
“Coming right up.”
“So, it’s nearly Christmas. Got any plans?” Harry chirped as he brought him his scone.
“Nothing that would interest a young man like you.” He deflected, closing his book – he could tell this wouldn’t be a quick exchange.
“I mean, you don’t know unless you tell me – and besides, I’m not that young.” Harry said with a grin.
He hummed, ignoring most of what the other man had said. “A glass of wine by the fireplace, and an old record that has kept me company on Christmas for years.”
“That sounds lovely.” Harry said with a nod. “And if you wanted to, you could come by here as well. We’ll be open on the 25th, from 11 to 12.”
He frowned. “That seems… a strange time to be open.”
“Yes, well, that’s when we’ll be open. So you could, you know, stop by. It’ll be too early for your wine then anyway.” Harry said with a snicker.
“I might be busy.”
“Yes, well, we’ll be open anyway.”
Stepping inside of the little bakery on the 25th, everything else on the street closed, felt strange – like he was somewhere he didn’t belong. Then again – that was a feeling he’d felt all his life.
“Severus! You came!” Harry called out, not from the counter, but rather from behind it, further into the kitchen.
He wasn’t sure how the other man had known it was him, but… “You did invite me.” He said, feeling the need to defend himself.
“Yes, yes, I did. Come along to the kitchen, your order is in here, still.”
“I… what? That hardly seems… allowed?”
Harry chuckled. “You know, I bought this place a couple of months back. Pretty sure I make the rules now.”
Severus shrugged and stepped behind the counter, the feeling of not belonging intensifying. “What was that about my order?” He asked lightly, studying a rather dishevelled and flour-covered Harry.
“Special Christmas order. I’m just getting it out of the oven.” He said, before proceeding to do just that. He stepped closer to look at it – it was, if a little misshapen, mostly recognisable.
“A… reindeer?” He questioned, wondering why it lacked the usual antlers.
“It’s a doe.” Harry said, quietly. “And it’s too big for one person. Let me clean up and we’ll share it. I have some peppermint hot chocolate since it’s Christmas.”
Severus loathed peppermint.
“Alright.”
“I haven’t forgotten.” Harry chirped.
“Haven’t forgotten what?” He asked, setting down his teacup.
“Your birthday, tomorrow. I won’t congratulate you today, but… if you happen to stop by tomorrow, I’ll have something special for you, here.”
“You’re not open tomorrow.” He replied evenly – he knew the opening hours well enough by now.
“No, I will be.” Harry replied, grinning. “Especially if you show up in the morning. Say… eight or so?”
He opened his mouth to say no, to tell the other man that he was busy, even if he wasn’t – but Harry had left to serve the next customer before he had the chance.
“Happy birthday.” Harry said, not quite drawing him into a hug, but something close to it.
They’d never touched before – not even a single, accidental brush of fingers, Severus was sure of it.
He didn’t reply – couldn’t.
“I baked something for you. I know you like – you often get the croissants, but you don’t like pistachio or raspberry, do you?” Harry asked, gesturing towards two of the three types of croissants he had waiting in the display cabinet, the third being the plain kind.
“No.” He admitted truthfully.
“So, I made you a bunch of tiny croissants with different flavours to try. Whichever you like best will be ready for you when you, you know, fancy one.” Harry said, before hurrying into the kitchen and coming back with a platter of tiny croissants.
“Here, you’ll have to let me know which you like best.” Harry said cheerily.
A chocolate chip croissant became his standard order – he very rarely deviated from it, these days. That, and either a chamomile or a rooibos tea.
“It’s almost the spring equinox.” Harry said, standing next to Severus and looking up at the sky. This time, it wasn’t due to the weather – it was a lovely spring day, the sky full of stars – he’d never stopped by so late before, but Harry had still been open.
“Is it? I don’t keep track.” He answered truthfully. He had little use for holidays of any religion.
“Yeah.” Harry said. “There’ll be, you know, a bonfire, a town over. It’s supposed to be a magical event. Fancy going there? Together, I mean.”
“No.” He said evenly, stepping away from Harry.
“Alright, alright, how about I just join you for a cup of tea, then?” Harry asked a few weeks later.
“If you’re not busy. You quite literally own the chairs.” He said – sat outside for the first time since he’d started coming.
Harry’s addition of outside seating was new – and it wasn’t raining for the first time since he’d placed the two tables and four chairs outside his shop.
“Yes, well, I’m sure I won’t be too busy. Be back in a bit.” He chirped.
Severus wasn’t holding his breath – he didn’t really expect the beautiful young man to want to sit with him, not when he barely even spoke, anyway.
“Sorry to keep you waiting! Brought you the last of the chocolate chip croissants.” Harry chirped as he sat across from him.
“It’s almost your birthday again, isn’t it?” He asked, perhaps for the first time choosing to initiate a conversation not centred around ordering something.
“Hm? Yeah.” Harry confirmed.
“No hat, this year?”
Harry gave him a surprised look, green eyes widening a fraction. “I wasn’t in the mood for it, to be honest. Haven’t been in the best state of mind, lately.”
He tilted his head, suddenly feeling entirely wrong-footed – he was horrible at personal talk, had no idea what to say.
“Might – would you care to join me for tea and tell me about it…?”
Harry’s smile was wry. “Can’t. Too busy, today. But maybe… if you’re not busy, you could come back on my birthday? That would cheer me up.”
“We’ll see.”
He found himself walking into the bakery four days later – much sooner than usual – holding a small, poorly wrapped parcel. Then again, he hardly had much practice – he wasn’t one for gifts.
Harry still lit up like a Christmas tree when he saw him, his eyes fixed entirely on Severus’ face – he hadn’t even noticed the gift, he realised. It made him feel something – he wasn’t sure what.
The bakery was empty, save for an older man that often quietly had a coffee in the very back corner, so he approached Harry and gave him the gift he’d so painstakingly chosen for him. It would likely not be received well, but he’d been at his wit’s end on what to gift him.
“This is…” Harry asked, practically shredding through the wrapping paper.
“It’s… a gift.” He offered, quietly. “You may throw it away if it displeases you.”
“No.” Harry said, holding up the snow globe. “It doesn’t.”
“It’s an odd gift to give in July.” He said, his ears burning with embarrassment.
“No.” Harry said again, studying the little snowy owl sat on a branch inside the glass ornament. “It really isn’t. Stay. Have tea with me.”
“Almost Halloween.” Harry said, struggling to attach the last piece of pumpkin bunting to the awning.
“Almost.” He agreed, snatching the piece of plastic and using his height to attach it where he thought it would fit best.
“I’m thinking of making little trick-or-treat pastries. Scones with surprise flavours.” Harry said, with a satisfied nod. “I’m sure they’ll be popular with the kids.”
“No doubt.” He agreed softly. “Are there any croissants left?”
“Ah, last one sold an hour ago.” Harry said with a wince. “But I baked a couple more in case you came by later… they’ll be ready in about ten minutes if you’re willing to wait?”
He inclined his head, stepping inside and sitting at his usual table.
“You’ve been coming here for a long time now, hm?” Harry asked, sliding into the chair next to him.
He looked up from his book. “More than two years.” He agreed.
“Yeah. Long time, that. Any chance you want to come to the Samhain bonfire with me? It’s next week. Two towns over.” Harry asked.
There was something odd in his tone. Something not eager, but stressed. Something unpleasant.
He studied the man – his tense form, the way he looked braced for rejection. It was all he’d ever done, really – turn down the unwanted offers the beautiful man sitting next to him made him.
“Why not?” He wondered quietly – not quietly enough.
Harry heard him.
“Brilliant! Can you be here at nine? We can take a bus the rest of the way?” Harry suggested, his eyes practically sparking with excitement, his previous melancholy gone.
Severus froze for a moment, shocked by the sudden change – and his words.
“We might as well meet there – I live in that town.”
Harry tilted his head. “Huh, you do? There’s bakeries there too, isn’t there?”
“A few.” He confirmed.
Waiting for Harry anywhere other than in the bakery was strange. It felt like they’d left a safe, comfortable bubble. Outside of it, he had no idea how to interact with the younger man.
Not when he got off the bus – Severus had waited by the bus stop at the agreed-upon time. Not when he excitedly greeted him, his cheeks flushed from the cold air. Not when he took Severus’ arm and tugged him in the direction of the bonfire.
It wasn’t far – thankfully – and already burning fully by the time they reached it.
There were people, but they were oddly inconsequential as he followed Harry around the few stalls selling snacks around the large fire.
“Fancy something sweet?” Harry asked after buying himself some sort of cotton-candy-like treat.
“No.” He replied evenly.
“Wine, then?” Harry suggested next.
“The wine here will be awful.” He said with a huff. “It’s served in paper cups.”
“Didn’t say I meant theirs, did I? Brought a bottle of my own, if you want to find a log to sit on and share it?”
“Alright.” He confirmed, utterly stunned, and yet strangely not at all bothered by the idea.
Harry was warm – he hadn’t known that. Wouldn’t have found out either, if it weren’t for the fact that the younger man was leaning against his side, emitting heat like a short, bespectacled furnace.
They were watching the fire – he didn’t know what for, but they’d finished the wine and were now just looking at the dancing embers before them. The fire was warm too, but not as much as Harry.
He shifted, feeling the other man’s weight against his side.
“I was about to give up, you know.” The younger man said in a low voice. “Thought you’d never take me up on it.”
“On what?” He asked.
Harry lifted his head, looked up at him. It was too dark to see the colour of his eyes, but Severus knew it well enough.
“You know.” Harry said quietly.
“Yes.” He agreed, equally quietly.
“You know, you’ve never been to my place.” Harry said, setting down his tea.
“Nor you to mine.” He replied with a shrug.
“No… maybe a good opportunity to change that though, don’t you think?”
“What is?”
“Severus!” Harry said with a laugh. “It’s almost Christmas again. Unless you have other plans?”
His ‘No other plans’ didn’t quite sound like the polite refusal he’d been aiming for, but there wasn’t anything he could do to change it after the fact. He was sure that Harry would look upset if he did – and he didn’t like that idea one bit.
“Shall I cook for two?” He asked instead, wondering what if anything he could make – could offer – to a man like Harry.
“I’ll bring the wine.”
Harry didn’t study his home like it was something strange. In fact, he looked around once, before asking where he was supposed to put the wine. As if nothing about the situation was strange.
As if he’d been there a hundred times.
Severus felt like he was the stranger, the one who was intruding in his own home.
He stayed quiet, directing Harry to the kitchen, stayed quiet when he served them food, stayed quiet when Harry happily told him this or that about his last few Christmases alone.
“I’m surprised.” He said, eventually, breaking his silence. “That you’d have been alone.”
“Course I was.” Harry said, putting his fork down. “Who would I have been with? You’d have hardly agreed to spend it with me, before now, hm?”
“No.” He agreed, wondering why that fact made him feel ashamed.
“Good morning.” Harry greeted him, his hand brushing along Severus’ arm as he walked past him.
It had long since started to become a thing, between them. Casual touches – almost always initiated by Harry.
Sometimes, lately, by him – it caused the other man to look at him in a way he couldn’t describe, one that made him uncomfortable, but that he kept seeking out regardless, over and over.
More often, recently, than not, if he was honest with himself – something he didn’t make a habit of doing, for his own good.
“Sit down, I’ll bring you your croissant in a minute.” Harry chirped, walking past him again.
He spun, quickly, a hand brushing along the beautiful young man’s back. “Thank you.”
Harry beamed.
“A gift?” Harry asked, eyeing the bag in his hand. “What for?”
“Simply because.” He deferred, wondering if that was unusual – if it was unwanted.
“Thank you!” Harry said with a laugh, stepping close and pulling him down into a hug. Not even down – just closer. Severus’ body moved the rest of the way alone, until he had dark, unruly hair tickling his nose.
“You haven’t even looked at what it is.” He complained, his words no doubt muffled by the younger man’s hair.
“Doesn’t matter. It’s from you it must be something amazing.” Harry said – and just like that, Severus was glad that Harry couldn’t see him, couldn’t see his expression – not when he himself didn’t know what was showing on his face.
He studied the wall, the photos hung up there. Some of them looked like they might move at any moment, each of them capturing perfectly the vibrant nature of their subjects. There were a lot – dozens of them. They might have looked cramped, but somehow they didn’t, even with their many different mismatched frames. Lots of faces, some only in one picture, quite a few in multiple different ones.
“Are you coming?” Harry called from his kitchen.
Severus tore his eyes from a group of redheads before joining his – joining Harry in his kitchen.
“Can I help?” He offered.
“Nah. Well, actually, yes, if you fancy helping me grab the glasses, they’re on the top shelf.” Harry said, head tilting towards the cabinet in question.
He didn’t ask why Harry’s glasses were so high up, he simply fetched two and followed the beautiful young man to his dining room. He hadn’t known Harry lived just next door to the bakery – though it explained why he was able and willing to open at such strange times, sometimes.
The dining room was decorated carefully, candles of different shapes and sizes illuminating the otherwise poorly lit room.
Harry just finished setting out their meal – he’d made the farmer’s duck that Severus had mentioned he enjoyed eating some time ago.
“What do you think?” He asked, straightening out a sleeve of the dress shirt he was wearing, obviously eager for Severus’ opinion.
“Beautiful.” He admitted, studying the dark blue cotton, so nicely contrasting with Harry’s slight tan.
He felt his ears warm when Harry winked at him.
“I almost gave up a few times.” Harry said quietly – almost too quiet to hear.
No chance of that though – the younger man was pressed to his side, chin resting on Severus’ shoulder.
“Might have been for the best.” He said quietly.
“You don’t believe that.” Harry denied instantly, no doubt in his voice.
“How would you know?” He questioned, his free hand brushing a strand of hair out of Harry’s face – it fell right back.
“I know.” Harry said. “But it was bloody hard to figure out if it was, you know, just me.”
“No.” He said evenly. “It never was.”
“Mh, I know that now. You’re a difficult man to read, though.”
He chuckled softly, liking the way it pressed them a little closer. “Not particularly, not when it comes to you.” He offered, just because he knew it would make the other man smile.
“Do you ever think about going back?” Harry asked, his feet tucked under Severus’ bum, both of them curled up on Harry’s sofa.
Well, theirs now – but then, he still hadn’t quite accepted that yet – even if it had been nearly a year.
“To my old house? No. You know I sold it months ago.” He denied, turning a page in his book.
Harry snickered, wriggling his toes. “No, silly. You know what I mean.”
“Do I?” He questioned, fully aware of precisely what Harry meant.
“Yeah.” Harry replied, putting down his own book. “So don’t do that thing where you dodge the question and tell me. Do you?”
He set down his own book, eyeing the beautiful young man by his side – several years older than when he’d spotted him through that glass window, still every bit as beautiful, and, by now his. In every sense – most recently, even the ‘legally married’ sense.
“No.” He replied evenly. “There isn’t anything there that interests me.”
Harry reached out, linking their fingers when Severus held out his own hand too.
“Yeah, me too. I thought about it, at first. Going back. But… but the longer I was away, the less I missed the Wizarding World. Now it just seems like a dream, something from long ago.”
“Ages.” He agreed, allowing the wealth of affection he felt for his husband to bleed into his voice. “And we have all the magic we need right here. Common magic.” He said, just because he knew it would make the man he loved smile.
“There’s nothing common about us.” Harry deflected, his smile brightening impossibly more.
“No.” He agreed. “There isn’t.”