Archive of Our Own

"D'you know anything about Divination?" Harry finished washing up the pot he'd used to fry the veg and turned it upside down on the board at the side of Severus’s sink, then turned back to find Severus staring at him. "What? Did I get tomato on my shirt?"

"Divination," Severus said. He wasn't asking for clarification; his tone was flat, disbelieving. "Whatever for? Are you hoping to best design a plan to delude particularly intellectually-challenged Muggle housewives all throughout Britain into some sort of scheme involving séances and Ouija boards?"

"What? No!" Harry sat down with his teacup across from Severus. "Why would I do that?"

"It may be all Divination is good for," Severus said. He grasped his cup slowly, carefully, and Harry was glad all over again that he was still coming by as often as he’d done to start. Everyone else had largely stopped by now, one after another, dropping down to once in a month or six weeks and citing Severus's returning health--but Harry had got in the habit of Wednesday lunch, and honestly, they'd become nearly-friendly in the two and a half years since the original schedule had been drawn up, when he'd been one of a dozen on the rota. He liked turning up at half-eleven and spending an hour or three. And watching Severus check his grip so cautiously yet, Harry was certain the days he was on his own were probably difficult for him, at least sometimes.

He considered, as he usually did, using a general healing charm, and, also as usual, decided Severus would feel it and possibly (probably) skin him for the imposition--it wasn't worth it, so he shrugged. "I know a lot of it's rubbish," he said, "but after all, I also know of at least one true prophecy."

Severus pursed his lips. "Per popular opinion, you do. I suspect even that one may have been less a true divining of the mysteries and more that a certain misguided young fool relayed it almost in its entirety to a megalomaniac with the power to bend his surroundings to his will."

Harry wrinkled his nose. "You think? I mean, just about everyone holds to the notion that of all Trelawney's mutterings, that one, at least--"

"And if everyone jumped off a bridge?"

"Or through a window to fly away into the night?" Harry raised his eyebrows. "Come on, you know it doesn't follow that because you told a jacked-up lunatic the contents of the damn thing, it was otherwise not valid."

"And you know that everyone believing is no proof." Severus set his cup down and asked, "But you've not answered the original question, which was, whatever for?"

Harry blinked. "Whatever what for?"

"Honestly, how did you remember your convoluted and unclear mission for all those months of camping, what with air and snow and the like to distract you? Whatever for, Divination."

"Oh. Right." Harry fiddled with the handle of his mug. "Now that we've had a row about it it's going to sound stupid."

"Coming from you? Never." Severus folded his arms across his narrow chest. "And if you believe that to have been a row, I begin to think you know me not at all."

"All right, half a very small row. Also, fuck you." Severus snorted, and Harry grinned. "Anyway, no, it's just, I've been watching everyone pair up--you know, Neville and Hannah, George and Angelina, even Andromeda is seeing that fellow Fleur knew from Lyon, although I don't know if that will go anywhere."

"This is all quite nearly so fascinating as to render me unable to look away, but unless you mean to forecast your friends' romantic lives in order to most efficiently prepare to offer an I told you so when, as so often happens, these young relationships fall to dust, I still see no reason to invoke the great science of chicanery and bamboozlement."

Harry laughed. "Sometimes I think you read the thesaurus for fun. No, Severus, I'm just trying to figure out how it is that everyone I know, practically, is finding this perfect match, and me, I'm nowhere."

"Ah, yes. Harry Potter, aged twenty, spinster."

"Don't make fun."

"It's my way." Severus rolled his eyes. "But honestly, Potter. You've decades yet to--and for heaven's sake don't go telling anyone I've gone this soft--to frolic unfettered and... find yourself or whatever the youth are calling their journeys of self-discovery these days."

"See, you’re making fun."

"I am not, in fact," Severus said. "I offer you the example of myself to demonstrate that one might reach the decrepit age of forty before one finds a soulmate; unless you mean to add yours to the chorus of voices which suggests that this example fails due to my general unlovableness--"

"What? No. What? No one thinks that."

"Potter. I’m not an idiot, despite that my hands shake and my eyes no longer deign to focus at any but middle distances. Hundreds of people would agree with that sentiment, but this hardly matters in any case; I am not the only example of an individual who was not so tidily paired off at twenty. Including some of those you’ve listed, come to that."

Harry sighed and took a sip of his tea. "I know. But keeping in mind that my parents died at twenty-one, and that I kind of died at seventeen, maybe hurrying wouldn’t be a bad idea for me."

"Or, you’re impatient and justifying." Severus said. "I seem to recall this is a long-standing trait."

"I really hate that that’s not an unfair statement."

Severus shrugged. "Neither is the observation that not all of your more annoying teenage tendencies have remained. For instance, shouting defensiveness seems to have taken, at the least, a holiday."

"Proving it’s possible, so there’s hope for you." Harry chuckled at Severus’s grimace. "So, I should conclude Divination is beyond you, then?"

"Beyond, no. Behind and left there to rot, entirely."

"Any other suggestions?"

"For improving your sex life? Hardly."

Harry ignored that his cheeks were heating and said, "Didn’t actually say sex life so much as partnership."

"You said pairing up. That might imply either, and don't get squeamish on my account."

"True, and I'm not squeamish. Just... anyway. While I suppose I imagine that any pairing up in a partnership probably involves sex, still, that wasn’t actually the main thing."

"And yet, I’ve still no suggestions." Severus lifted his cup again, slowly but perhaps more steadily than before, and deliberately took a long drink. "Perhaps, if you are determined to shop for such a partner—"

"Well, that sounds a little bit horrible."

"If accurate. As I was saying, if you mean to shop, perhaps you ought to begin with a list of desirable qualities."

Harry nodded. "Intelligence, certainly. Wit and sarcasm. Appreciation of sarcastic comments as well, as I have a number of friends inclined to snark and it would just be awkward, else. Um. Ability to tolerate my presence?"

"It’s not a very specific list, is it? I didn’t mean for you to state your requirements here and now, but honestly, if those are they, then I probably qualify as your perfect life mate."

"Well, at least you probably won’t hate them, then."

"Says you. I was the one earlier who noted the degree to which I am widely considered not loveable; I expect were you to take up with someone a great deal like me, I might eventually have to challenge her to a duel, we would irritate one another so badly."

"Probably not her, but I’d have to insist against. I’ve had enough duels for a lifetime, and no interest in anyone getting hurt. Including you, because protest if you will but I am certain I like you quite a lot. Now. I didn’t when I was fifteen, but as you say, change is an actual thing in the world."

"Indeed." Severus drained his cup and pushed his chair back, throwing Harry a glance that dared him to try to help. Harry had played this game a number of times, and opted against doing any such thing, remaining seated until Severus was on his feet and reaching for the cup before he pushed back and took his own mug to the sink. "You’ve other things to do besides entertain me," Severus said behind him.

Harry hmmed agreement. He didn’t, in fact, have anything in particular on the agenda for the afternoon, but Severus usually said something of the sort when he was ready to be left to himself, and Harry was perfectly willing to respect that. "Next week, then," he said as he turned. "Oh. I volunteered to go with Hermione to Diagon Alley to see about some, I don’t know, thing thing robes work thing on Saturday. Shall I bring you anything?"

Severus shook his head. "I’ve no need to receive gifts, Potter. I’m sure I’ve said."

"Nope, no gifts. I meant, anything you want to reimburse me for, fine with me."

Severus narrowed his eyes. "You’ll not accidentally forget to note the cost and then insist it was your error and you should bear the cost?"

"Promise."

"Then yes. I’ll send a list."

"I’ll look for it." Harry put on his cloak and went to the door. "By Saturday morning, obviously."

"Obviously."

--

"So, you agree with him, then."

Hermione shook her head. "Only in that he's perfectly right, Harry. Divination to find your life partner is just ridiculous. If you don’t already know what you’re looking for then you'd be better off to place an advert in the Prophet."

Harry put up his thumbs and fingers as though in a frame for him to read from. "Single white male, twenty, in possession of a scarred visage, particularly strong at defensive charms, seeks smart, sarcastic partner for conversation, cuddling? Must love Quidditch and tolerate the presence of reporters? Somehow I think I won't."

"Of course you won't, because that text would give you away in an instant, although you’re hardly scarred in the sense that sounds like. But I don't think he was wrong that you ought to make a list, either, and some of those things would be on it." She paused. "Maybe it would be illuminating." Her tone was entirely too casual as she said this, although Harry couldn’t put his finger on what he was supposed to be garnering from it.

"Illuminating how?"

Hermione glanced over her shoulder at him as she headed for the Owl Post office, waiting until he started to walk with her. "You know how I feel about lists, Harry. Lists of reasons, lists of tasks, lists of traits. They always end up showing some kind of truth, right?"

"Like your list of reasons to and not to date Ron? The ones where you determined you had a hundred reasons not to and like nine reasons to?"

"They were nine good reasons."

Harry pursed his lips. "I think your maths are shaky, but fine, I suppose I might write up such a list. Still, it's hard to put into words."

"You could always sketch pictures. You know, perhaps you've a thing for blonds--"

"Um, no. And you’ve gone off-topic and don’t think I don’t know it. I asked, illuminating how, and you started talking about how you like lists, which, that’s not news. My brain doesn’t work like yours, though, and you know it, so I think you mean something else."

"Oh?"

"Yes. Also, you said if I don’t already know what I’m looking for, which seems like you do."

"Yes, well, I usually know what’s best for you, Harry." Hermione grinned as she paid for the services of the owl. "But I rather think decisions regarding your love life are the sort of thing you’ve got to come to on your own, don’t you think?"

"Damn it."

"So, that’s a yes, then." Hermione picked out an impatient owl and tied her message to its outstretched leg, then sent it off. "But if you want my opinion, I think you less need Divination than you need to take a hard look around you."

"What’s that supposed to mean? I know the Wizarding population is small, and I know I’m limiting myself if I mean to stick within it, which by the way I do because I couldn’t possibly feel good about the kind of secrecy… anyway. But it’s not as though I know everyone."

"True." Hermione pulled a scroll out of her bag and poked it with her wand until it unfurled and crossed two tasks off itself. She consulted the remaining list, then nodded. "I'm not trying to be opaque, Harry. I just don't think I have any brilliant advice for you."

Harry followed her out of the Owl Post and hunched into his coat a little when a chilly wind picked up. "Trouble is," he grumbled, "you're my ever-present font of brilliant advice. Not that I don't love you for a hundred other reasons, but that's sort of your role, you know. I'm a bit lost, without."

She laughed and pulled him against her side in a quick half-hug. "Well, then, make your list and place your advert and see what comes of it. Now, I'm off to a meeting with Draco, and I know you and he aren't exactly on the best of--"

"Oi, we don't actively try to kill each other anymore!"

"It's progress, and I'm proud of you, but still, I'd rather not start with any posturing on his part, so I'll see you next week. Oh, wait, no, Ron and I are doing that thing next week."

"Thing?"

"Quidditch Tour of Europe," she said with a sigh. "Ten days. We're leaving Wednesday morning." She got out her scroll again and added in bold letters, LIBRARY.

"Ah. Well, good luck with that. Maybe I'll come round on Tuesday before you leave and let you talk about your research progress at me for a couple of hours. Just to bolster your emotional, um, bolsters."

"You're a good friend, Harry. But it's fine. Ron really wants to go, and I'm sure there will be interesting things to be seen. It's not as though he's forcing me to go."

"Well, I might come round anyway. Particularly if my advert nets me a date with the next Marcus Flint or something."

"All right. If that happens, you may come by." Hermione gave a little wave and headed down the street, and Harry turned toward Knockturn Alley to see what from Severus's list he could find in shops where they owed him discounts.

--

The signboard caught Harry's eye with a bright-pink notice flashing words that… were not, actually, about what he meant to be looking for, but were attention-getting.

Even if he didn't actually want to take a copy of a form that suggested, in so many words, that one of the services the company offered was someone to fuck you blind, any way you liked it, every night of the week. But he'd seen the same company advertising something more in line with blind dates elsewhere; this was apparently just the Knockturn edition of their spiel. And taking a copy here, where people didn't look at each other too closely, felt less exposed than elsewhere.

And if he was going to find someone to love, well. He was going to have to start somewhere. Maybe at least this would help him narrow down what he was looking for? It seemed easier than actually writing his own item to place in the paper, and probably safer, too, if they screened people somehow.

He shoved the form into his bag and went on to find Severus a four-ounce bottle of albino-piglet tail-sweat.

(It wasn't the strangest thing on the list; he'd learned to stop asking.)

--

"This form is ridiculous," Harry said.

"And so you felt it best to bring it here so you could complain about it over lunch?" Severus bent to check the roast, and Harry glanced over to make sure he wasn't going to try to lift the damned thing; the roast itself wasn't particularly large but it wasn't the only thing in the pan.

"How's it coming along?" Harry asked. "Will it be lunch, or shall I plan to stay to supper?"

"Perfectly," Severus said. "Although it might have been better with more carrots. And it will be done in twenty minutes, give or take."

Harry chuckled; he was nearly sure Severus would never think there were enough carrots in any roast. "Give or take?" He set the matchmaking agency's application on the table. "What happened to seven stirs anti-clockwise and exactly three drops eighteen seconds apart, full moon, blood of a virgin collected at the stroke of midnight..."

"The art of cookery is considerably more forgiving. And less dependent upon charms, curses, and alchemical manipulatives."

"No magic in your cooking?" Harry raised his eyebrows, then squinted. "But it's always delicious. Surely--"

"It's my sickeningly sweet personality."

"Ah, obviously." Harry turned back to the table just in time to see the paper whiz past him and into Severus's hand. "Oi! Personal!"

"What? You've asked my advice before," Severus said mildly. "Surely you'll want someone to review for grammar and the like, and as I recall, Miss Granger is away on the continent."

Harry blushed.

"You've filled in nothing of substance," Severus said, peering through his glasses at the paper before removing the glasses and scowling at them, muttering a charm to adjust the shape of the lenses and putting them back on his nose. "Name, age, education--you've been generous toward yourself on that last, I see?"

"Fuck you, and what was I supposed to say? For one thing, my name pretty well gives up my life story anyhow, if they find me a match, and also, what, attended Hogwarts for six years; dropped out to engage in intensive one-year internship chasing and being chased by arseholes intent upon slicing me to ribbons whilst recovering and destroying cursed objects of varying sizes and located all about Britain?"

"I see the issue. Still, I don't know that I'd say you've expertise in Muggle Studies; the Muggles you lived with were, I hope, somewhat substandard and also did not offer you the full range of the Muggle experience, now, did they?"

"True. I've Hermione for that, though. Her parents are lovely, except for how wands make them flinch, still. Which is probably fair, although of all the things to focus on, I have to say, it's not as though they remember being Obliviated."

"Yes, well, the objects on which we focus our worst emotions may not always be the most logical," Severus said.

"I've noticed." Harry grimaced and didn't follow that line of contemplation any further; somehow the horrible flight through the Fiendfyre had just popped to mind as though called there by the idea of a worst emotion, and he generally tried to think about that only when he had time to do it justice.

"All right, moving along, though, there's an entire section here for what you're looking for, and so far you've managed, intelligent--as opposed to what, I'd like to know? Do you suppose perhaps there are people who require dimwittedness as a requisite... never mind, don't answer that. I believe I may have once spent a fortnight in the company of a good thirty people who would find that ideal." Severus shook his head. "So, intelligent, willing to tolerate autograph-seekers--what, you mean to start holding clinics?"

"God, no. But I can't stop people coming up to me. It'll have to end eventually, preferably sooner than later, but for now, it's a reality, and unless I want to traipse about Disillusioned or set up that whole fuckload of charms Hermione put together while we camped every time I go anywhere, there's not much for it."

"I see. Must like Quidditch--really? I'd have thought that was more a pleasant diversion?"

"It is, although I'm happy to see a match or play a pick-up game in the park. Still, my best mate and half his family love it, and since I spend a lot of time with them, I'd hate to drag along someone who'd constantly be bored to tears."

"Perhaps this someone might have hobbies of his own?"

"Obviously. Still, I just want to be fair."

"Of course you do. Likes to cook?"

"I like to eat, so. And--I don't know whether you've noticed, but I can barely melt cheese on toast without extensive direction."

"You don't say."

Harry laughed. "Actually, I sometimes was required to cook for my family, but they were extremely fond of vegetables cooked until no chewing was required and meat baked into leather. It's probably their fault, is what I think."

"Oh, clearly. And then, the form goes on to requirements and a personal statement, but that's all you've got filled in. You've nothing to add? I'd think you could find sixteen potential suitors walking down the street, then."

"Sure, but none of them would be The One. If it were that easy, I'd have found him already."

"Why, because he'd have capital letters spelling out 'the' and 'one' pasted all over his body?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "I dunno. What else do you think I should put on the form?"

"I'm sure I've no idea. Have you no physical preferences?"

Harry started to shake his head, then stopped to consider. "Maybe I do, but I can't really see ruling anyone out for having a scrawny arse or something."

"Ah, so, firm arse?"

"Um. I didn't mean that was totally required or anything. I mean, I actually don't know that physically, I have a type as such."

"No desire to pursue a girl just like your mother? Red hair, kind to the less fortunate, willing to sacrifice?"

"Why do you keep defaulting to girl? Just because the only relationships I've had, that you know of, have been with women--"

"That I know of?"

"Or at all, depending upon one's definition of relationship, but I'm pretty sure if I have to line up most of least favorite gender for a… you know, for things--"

"Oh, for things. I see."

Harry flipped him off. "--then that list goes, 'men, women'. Um, which is not to say it's impossible that I would be attracted to someone who identifies as neither."

Severus stared. "Neither. I suspect that's not among the options your form allows for? It's certainly not the sort of thing that often comes up in as small and closed a group as we are. But Granger has been filling your head with--"

"Information no one ever taught me at school," Harry said. "And I mean, you're obviously weirded out, and you can say it's ridiculous if you want, but people assume plenty of things about other people, and I want not to."

"Of course you do."

"What, and you disagree?"

Severus cracked the oven door to look at the roast again. "I didn't say that. I meant, of course you do, because your personality leans heavily toward sympathy for just about anything. It's what made you who you are, of course, but it's also a bit puzzling to the rest of us."

"Well, then I guess people will have to be puzzled. In any case, since my point was that probably whoever I find will be male, you can stop suggesting girls."

"Fine. No wish to find a young man who reminds you of your mother? Red hair--"

"Don't care about hair color, and the other traits, yes, I would like those but I think they're not always entirely on the surface, see. I mean, look at you."

"At me."

"Yes, you. No one would say you were unflinchingly kind to, um, anyone, but I've seen you in particular situations where I'd say perhaps you were. And it's not like anyone understood you were sacrificing, you know, everything ever, until after the fact."

"Albus knew."

"Okay, one person knew. Two if you count yourself. Where I was going is, sometimes you can't tell until you get to know someone, and asking someone to identify in himself traits you want to see, well then he's just going to say what you want to hear, don't you think?"

"Then I suppose you have a problem. Perhaps we should return to the definition of a relationship." Severus opened the oven door again, and Harry got up and nudged him aside. He rolled his eyes. "Honestly. I was going to lift it with a charm, Potter."

"Uh-huh, and yet, I can do it with my hands and leave you your magic all available for the next little bit, and don't tell me that's not still an issue because it is and I like to leave you, when I leave, unexhausted and therefore able to do for yourself later. But if you like, I can let you do it and then fall asleep in your porridge." Harry shrugged. "Your call."

Severus sighed and stepped back, gesturing for Harry to pull the roast from the oven and move things to the platter. "I'd fall asleep in my chair after the porridge, now, I'll have you know," he said.

"Progress!" Harry grinned. "Now, let's eat, and then I'll worry about how to write a personal statement later."

--

To: Harry Potter
6213-J16
Godric's Hollow

Your application for a match has been received and three possible matches have been found. As our brochure states, the identities of your matches remain unstated until you have both agreed to meet. Please see attached the descriptions and personal statements and let us know at your early convenience whether you would like to accept or reject each match. Please use the personal identification numbers listed.

Observe that each of these individuals is also being offered information from your application; should the other party not agree to meet, then no meeting will be arranged. Please understand that your privacy and satisfaction are our highest priority, followed by our desire to find you the perfect mate; we believe that unless both parties show clear interest, no meeting we arrange could possibly succeed.

The letter was signed, Amaranth Wiswell, followed by the embossed address of the agency.

Which was all well and good, except that Harry's half-finished application was still lying on the side-table next to his bed, along with four days' worth of thoroughly-crossed-out and frequently-crumpled personal essay.

Harry frowned at the letter, then flipped to the next page out of curiosity. Because clearly he couldn't agree to meet anyone who'd somehow been given his information in error--did the form self-replicate with some sort of time-limit on it, perhaps? Had all his scratchings-out and restarts been faithfully recorded in their office? Ugh.

But then when he glanced through the first profile, he stopped and started reading through again, more carefully this time. The second was less compelling, but the third made him stop again.

All right, whatever the game was, someone was playing at finding him the perfect partner astonishingly well, really. The first attachment paired him with an outdoorsman whose self-described attributes included a great preference for action over debate; an affinity for but not obsession with sport of many kinds; and a particular interest in studies on Wizarding/Muggle interaction, particularly in rural environments. Which, Harry hadn't very much considered the topic, but it was interesting to him as well, and it had never really occurred to him to consider whether the law was or should be applied differently in different social settings.

The second match didn't much strike Harry's interest, but still, on paper, it might have; the young woman described herself as a working artist, explaining that her art was heavily mathematical and that she had a good record of placing her pieces for show or sale. Harry didn't know a lot about art, but figured anyone who did art based on maths and also had enough of a head for business as to make a living at it was probably quite clever, and the quotes from her profile showed enough wit--dry and barbed, but not angry nor humiliating, he thought--that he imagined they would get on well enough. Still, it didn't feel right, and he moved on to the third attachment.

This one was the one that felt the most right, although Harry was hard-pressed to explain why. Based on the traits he'd actually managed to identify, he thought this man sounded too academic, too staid, not nearly enough engaged with activities outside of his craft, if craft was even the right word. He indicated a broad interest in scientific endeavors, a general enjoyment of solitude, a persistent difficulty with insomnia, and no patience for anyone who couldn't keep up. He also, peculiarly, said at the outset that he was jealous and would not be anyone's second choice.

Harry read through all three portfolios one more time, then retrieved his application from the table.

Dear Ms. Wiswell, he began.

He chewed on the end of his quill. It would be the right thing to find out what the devil his application actually said; that the matches were so good did suggest that his own interests were accurately reflected, but that didn't imply that his profile was equally good.

Still, he thought he would quite like to meet the first and third listed individual, jealousy aside, and if he went and asked for a copy of his file, he suspected they'd throw it out and start over. Which would be the right thing, of course, but...

Damn it.

He dipped the quill in his ink and wrote, I'm excited to have such a quick response. I'd be interested to arrange a meeting with 5249-F37 and then 2894-T88. I realize the latter specifically states he wishes to be no one's second choice, so I hasten to assure you he's actually my first, based on the material here; however, I feel in fairness I should also meet the other fellow, if he's interested as well.

Sincerely,
Harry Potter
6213-J16

--

"You went to a matchmaker?" Hermione wrinkled her nose. She'd only barely unpacked before sticking her head through the fireplace and telling Harry she was coming through; on arrival she'd said only that as much as she loved Ron and supported his interests, she wanted to spend the next hour with absolutely no mention of any of the requisite equipment for Quidditch, nor any trivia about any stadium or venue, nor either any comparative analysis of food and souvenir items sold at any such location.

Harry had laughed and shrugged, saying only he'd do his best.

Then he'd told her about his pending date.

"I didn't really know what else to do. On the plus side, they did make me make a list, just like you suggested."

"I didn't; Severus did. But I take your point. What was on the list?"

"Well, so that's the weird thing..."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Weird how?"

He put up his hand and accio'd the half-done application. "Weird, in that I hadn't actually finished this when they sent me a set of matches. But they were good matches, so I didn't actually ask. But I have a meeting to go to with one of the blokes tomorrow night."

She glanced through the form, then looked at him doubtfully. "So, they decided you needed matchmaking before you ever contacted them, then?

"Something like that. That's the weird thing, as I said. But I don't feel in danger or anything."

"And you're usually good for that," she agreed. "Still."

"I know."

She glanced through the crossed-out mess of the draft profile. "And it means whoever they've concluded is a match hasn't seen your actual materials, then."

"I know," he repeated. "I'm hoping as well as they came up with possibilities that maybe that's all right."

"Risky, maybe, but what's the worst that will happen? He won't like you? Well, that's never happened before."

"Never. I am widely and generally beloved by all Houses, and have been always."

She smirked. "Also, a meeting?"

"What?"

"You said you've a meeting with one."

"Oh. A date, I guess, but it's a blind date, obviously, and I don't know his name, and plus it was arranged based on this sort of business...thing? So I guess it feels like a meeting."

"I see. Was that the only good match?"

"No, there's a date with another on Wednesday."

"Ah, and that one's a date?"

"I feel like you're trying to make a point."

She laughed and pulled him into a sudden hug. "You know what? This is exactly the conversation I needed. I love that you let me tell you what to do but you also don't do what I tell you, you know?"

"And I'd have thought this was an annoying trait," Harry said, puzzled but patting her back.

"It is, but it's very you, and sometimes I miss you."

"What? I'm right here!"

"No, I mean, I don't know what I mean, but mostly I want to say whoever these blokes--both blokes?"

"What? Oh, yes."

"Whoever they are, they'd best know you're perfect."

Harry blinked. "Um. All right?"

"Anyway, we should go shopping. You'll want to look nice for your meetings-or-dates."

"Hermione, you hate shopping."

"That is very true. But I mean, else you'll show up in trainers and a jumper from fifth-year, won't you?"

"Oh, sixth, at least. But the first one is very active and outdoors. I imagine trainers will be fine."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "And this, Harry, is why you need me. Trainers might be fine, but trainers that are more hole than canvas, maybe not." She pulled her ever-present scroll from her bag and started a list. "Come on, we want you to smell nice, too. Not too nice, on the first, uh, meeting, but--"

Harry gave back an even bigger eye roll than she'd given him, but pulled her in against him to Apparate them to the entry to Diagon Alley.

--

"Seriously?"

Harry turned toward the familiar voice and shook his head, blushing. "Seriously, apparently. Wait, as I recall, you have zero trouble procuring a date for any event, occasion, or, I don't know, Saturday I've ever seen you at."

Charlie raised his eyebrows. "So?"

"So why on earth would you deal with Amaranth Wiswell?"

"Didn't, actually. Got the invitation, wondered what the fuck, but figured the meeting looked interesting and hey, any time George feels up to a prank, I am in full support. That boy was too broken for too long for me to do anything but roll with it."

Harry had started to worry in earnest when Charlie said he hadn't put in an application, but the thing was, it was the kind of prank the twins would have pulled, and he had to agree, George had finally started regaining any sense of equilibrium lately; it made sense he might have started pranking again.

And Charlie didn't seem upset.

"So what about you?" Charlie asked.

"What about me?"

"Why are you dealing with Amaranth Wiswell?"

"Oh. Um. Because I'm impossibly awful at dating. And, no offense, Charlie, but I think it might be that I'm actually impossibly awful at having any idea what I hope for in a date, because I've known you for ages and I think I would have noticed if we were, you know, likely to connect."

"Well. We could, but I feel like you're all about the permanence, and I'm entirely not."

"There's that. Wait, we could?"

Charlie grinned. "Hey, fucking is fun and I am a fan in nearly all contexts where everyone is happy. So. We were supposed to go to a football game. Still on?"

"Sure," Harry said, pulling out the chair opposite Charlie to sit down. "Although we don't need to spend the next hour getting to know one another first... tell me about Wizard/Muggle relations in rural environments. I mean, even though I don't want to get into your pants, that sounds really interesting."

Charlie laughed and signaled the server for two pints. "You know you're going to have to keep an eye on the time, right? Because I can get more than a little involved in the historical context in Britain versus on the continent."

"Works for me. Also, how did I not know you had this, um... I was going to say academic side, but that sounds as though I thought you were all brawn or something."

"Because I mostly show people the all brawn side," Charlie said. "It's a choice that means people underestimate me, and when they do, I know they're jerks. So. Wizards and Muggles. You know about the Secrecy thing, course, but do you know there are five zones in Britain where it's explicitly not enforced?"

Harry shook his head and took a sip of his ale, settling in to listen.

--

"So, I heard you went on a date with my brother?" Ron came the rest of the way through the Floo and plunked down on Harry's couch still chewing on the toast he had in one hand. He had three more pieces in the other. "How was that?"

"Not very datelike," Harry said, yawning. He was in the kitchen in his boxers and vest, waiting for the kettle to heat.

"You know, there's this thing you can do to hurry that along," Ron said. "I mean, I don't know if you know, but yer a wizard, Harry." He dropped into a poor but passable imitation of Hagrid's accent for that last.

"I hate you." Harry summoned his wand to him and poked at the kettle, then poured steaming water into his cup. He turned and added ruefully, "I usually remember that approximately sixteen seconds before it would boil. You'd think after nearly a decade I'd be fluent, but..."

"Eh. Everyone has quirks. Anyway, how exactly did you end up on a not-quite-date with Charlie?"

"Didn't Hermione tell you?"

"Wait, she knew you had plans to get it on with my, and more to the point Ginny's, brother?"

"What, no. First, I didn't have any such plans because what I was looking for was a date, like a date, not like some sort of horrible sex arrangement that I don't want, not that, I mean, anyway. Some people want that and that's fine, but I'm not them."

"Good to know, although honestly, a good orgasm is good for one's stress levels. I shoot for two a day."

"Um, I feel like I definitely didn't need to know that, and also, if you meant for that to be a pun, it was awful."

Ron smirked.

"God. Anyway, second, it wasn't supposed to be your brother anyway. I mean, I had no way of knowing. Third, it was probably a prank, Charlie thought. Fourth, no, Hermione didn't know either but knew I applied for, you know, a dating service thing."

"Oh, well okay. She did mention that. I just didn't think Charlie--he thinks George?"

"Yeah."

"Ah, well that's all right, then. So what are you going to do now? Apply again and see if they give you Perce?"

"No."

"Give up and join some sort of religious order? That would explain the celibacy. Oh, or you could--did you know Muggles have these stores where one can walk in and buy any kind of sex toy you can think of?"

Harry pinched the bridge of his nose. "Neither of those. I have another date tomorrow, and since this is the fellow who looked better on paper anyway, I'm hoping for the best."

"Any idea who this one is?"

"They don't tell you ahead of time. You meet up at an arranged place so everyone's privacy is maintained until you learn each other's identities at the same time."

"Well that's fucked," Ron said. "What if it's, I don't know, someone like Marcus Flint?"

"How is he the universal representation of horrible date options?"

"What, were you hoping it would be?"

"No, just, that was the exact example I gave Hermione of what might go wrong."

Ron pursed his lips. "So why are you taking the chance, anyway?"

Harry sighed. "I just need to," he said. "Everyone else is pairing up, and I'm not."

"'Kay." Ron shoved the last of his toast in his mouth. "So, how much did Hermione tell you about our tour?"

"She, ah, said she'd leave that to you."

Ron grimaced. "Hated it that much, did she?"

"No, not really. It was just more than she wanted. I mean, maybe next time stick to just Iberia or just the Mediterranean or something."

"Oh, and that way there would be more to see each year!"

Harry shrugged. "Or maybe alternate years. Or spread out with other sights between."

"See, you know things like this, so why is it you're the one having a hard time with relationships?"

"Search me. But it sounded like you were about to tell me about stadiums one through twenty-five?"

"We only saw ten."

"Oh, is that all?" Harry chuckled and sat down with his own toast and eggs, pushing a second plate toward Ron. "Do tell."

--

Harry stared at the letter in his hand, wondering if this was typical.

Well, no, it couldn't be; the service had said they meant not to let individuals know of each other ahead of time, but clearly, his second date knew who he was, or he wouldn't have sent a letter ahead.

It wasn't a cancellation, and it wasn't charmed or poisoned, and it wasn't anything else bad that Harry could think of, but still, he wasn't sure what to do about the breach of security. If nothing else, he wondered if he ought not to tell Amaranth Wiswell that her confidentiality sucked.

But, meanwhile, he wondered if he really ought to go somewhere secluded with his mystery suitor. Not that he couldn't take care of himself; he knew very well that there were not many wizards who would best him in a duel if it came to it. And while a picnic did sound nice, it was earlier than the expected dinner, and would interfere with his usual lunch with Severus, and...

Well, he supposed he could always go by Severus's home earlier, let him know what was up. He certainly didn't want to skip their lunch entirely, even if all they got today was a brief chat. He'd make it up to him tomorrow.

He nodded to himself and set the letter aside, then went about getting dressed in the soft jumper Hermione had helped him find. He still wore trainers, because honestly, he didn't generally go in for any kind of event that required anything nicer at this point--eventually he'd probably find a career that called for good shoes and dress robes, but he was happy enough to stay out of that sort of thing for now and continue with the third year of his gap year, picking up occasional day work and putting the Black family's money to much better use than most of them ever did.

For now, though, he tugged on unstained new trainers and the red-purple jumper the salesgirl had conferred with Hermione about (apparently the silver threads shot through it brought out his eyes). His denims were also new, although they were soft and felt worn. His glasses were the same as ever, and his hair as usual entirely out of control, so with a shrug, he pushed the frames up his nose, ran his hand through his hair, and Apparated to Severus's front door.

He knocked twice, then pushed the door slightly ajar. "Severus? I'm early. Can I come in?"

There was no answer, so he pushed a little further. "Severus?" He could hear water running, which he reasoned was likely the shower, but of course, letting himself in while the man was showering was a little creepy, even if all he meant was to leave a note.

Well, he'd just be quick about it, then, and say something if the water stopped.

He went into the living room and stopped, sniffing the air. It smelled amazing. Fruit pie--some kind of berry, it smelled like--and chicken, veg and fresh bread, chocolate... He sighed. Severus had gone to some trouble today, and while Harry had no idea what the occasion was, he couldn't just skip out with no warning. He went back to the door and let himself out, then sat on the step for fifteen minutes. Maybe he just wasn't meant to find true love, if he was this easy to dissuade. Obviously he had no way to contact the bloke back and say he'd be late, so that was terrible form, but... well. He wanted to stay for lunch, and that was that.

Maybe now that Charlie was back in Britain, and clearly had men friends he dated, he'd have some good advice? Damn it.

When fifteen minutes were up, Harry stood and knocked on the door again.

Severus came and peered out, hair damp, and frowned. "Harry. You're--"

"Early. I know. Sorry. I was going, well, out, and then I came by and the pie smelled good, and just, I thought I'd rather, not really because of the pie although that was relevant, so I decided not to because I wanted to, um, here was, I decided to stay." Harry scratched his nose. "Can I come in?"

Severus scowled.

"Um, I mean, I could come back at the usual time?"

"No, that's not the problem." Severus looked at him for a minute, then sighed and opened the door. "Come, then. Also, you do know that string of words was in no way a sentence?"

"Yeah, I kind of thought it had one or two small errors."

Severus snorted, then glanced toward the kitchen. "I suspect this is going to be awkward."

"What, were you expecting someone else? I can go. I mean, if you had plans--just because I usually turn up doesn't mean you can't, of course."

Severus shook his head, then headed into the kitchen and gestured at the table. "I may have slightly altered your dating-service plan."

"You what?" Harry looked at the great hamper which apparently contained chicken and veg and bread, with chocolate and pie still sitting out, pie cooling. "You... Did you for some reason decide to cook for my... date? I don't understand."

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose. "No."

"All right. Well, so I was going on a date today, and it was supposed to be tonight, and then it got changed to a picnic, but that was going to interfere?"

"You know where I live, Potter. You might have sent an owl."

"I might, but I wanted to see you, and I didn't want to just not show up. So, are you going to tell me why there's a picnic hamper on the table?"

Severus sat down in one of the chairs next to the table. "Because your date thought you might appreciate the mystery and--although perhaps you didn't perceive it as such--danger of meeting somewhere out of the way."

"It did cross my mind--wait, how do you know?"

"Because the location was my idea."

"You just said you didn't cook for my date."

"No, Potter." Severus pursed his lips, then said, "As much as I suspect this is going to make me look like a fool, I cooked this meal for you. And me. As a picnic. Where I thought maybe you would find me more--"

"Oh. Oh!" Harry shook his head. "Um, but here's the thing. I wanted to come here worse than I wanted to go on the date. With the unknown jealous man in his secret picnic spot."

"Why?"

Harry grinned. "Besides that pie? Because, I told you. I like coming here."

"For the food?"

"What? No. For the company." Harry clapped his palm to his forehead. "The whole thing was you, then? The form, the other dates...?"

Severus squirmed slightly. "The service is real enough."

"So...?"

"So, before I made an idiot of myself, I needed to know that you were interested."

"And when I actually said out loud that you had the traits I sought, that wasn't--"

"You might have been flattering me. And I didn't put those things on the profile. Although I was demonstrating liking to cook."

"You the one that put in a profile for Charlie?"

Severus shook his head. "That was, actually, George Weasley. Who also works under the name Wiswell."

"Of course he does. Who's the other one, not that it matters." Harry sat in the other chair. "Then, just so I've got this right: you're interested, but you let me whinge on for months. You called in favors, I imagine, to arrange this, and I blew your impressive reveal by showing up here because I like you better than my date who is also you who you deliberately described not how I said I would like just to check? Is that about right?"

"It sounds manipulative when you put it like that."

"Oh, because I don't know any other times you or anyone else I knew and loved was manipulative."

"Then, you're not angry."

Harry shrugged. "Have I accidentally broken any windows?"

"Is that a no?"

"That's a no. You're interested but didn't tell me, and I'm interested but am apparently such a complete dolt I didn't even know my own mind and also failed to express myself. Which, given how you feel about dunderheads--"

"You're a special case, Potter. Ugh, and I cannot believe I said that."

Harry stood and opened the top of the hamper. "So, I feel like this is not our first date," he said. "So, I mean, do you want to eat, or should we skip straight to kissing?"

"Who says I mean to count our previous lunches as dates?"

"No one, but you like to bend the rules at least as much as I do." Harry peered in at the chicken, then dropped a preservation charm over the whole lot and offered a hand up to Severus. "I vote for kissing."

"Knew you were after sex," Severus muttered. " For the record, I don't know who the other one was. You asked, earlier."

"One, kissing is not actually sex. Two, if we never have sex ever, I will still want to come here. Uh, not come like that. You know what I mean."

Severus chuckled and stood, chest to chest with Harry.

"Three, I do want to do things with you, but apparently, when it comes to you, I've acquired patience. I can't explain it. Four, I no longer care--"

Harry cut off abruptly as Severus leaned in, brushing their lips together briefly before pressing in further, opening his lips to taste and be tasted. He brought his hands to Severus's hips and pulled him closer, then backed them to the chair and sat, pulling Severus down with him, straddling his lap and threading his fingers into Harry's hair. He pulled away, took off his glasses, set them down on the table, and said, "I'll trust you'll tell me if I'm exhausting you?"

Severus shook his head. "Fuck that." He ducked back in, kissing Harry again, then startled as the Floo flared. They both looked off to the side toward the fireplace.

"Oi, Snape, your picnic ready?" George turned toward the kitchen, then stopped after two steps and stared for a minute before breaking into a grin. "Guess you have it handled, then?"

Harry shook his head. "This is all your work, then?"

"Not all," George said. "This one is the one with the devious mind."

"I think it takes one to know one," Harry said. "Also, thanks. Also, did Charlie know?"

"Hell, no. Although, Hermione did, once you told her about Charlie." George shrugged. "Please don't kill her; my baby brother quite likes her."

"The family report is quite fascinating, I'm sure," Severus said, "but if you don't mind?"

George laughed and backed back to the fireplace. "I'll leave you to your thoughts, then."

Harry stopped him. "George, if you ever need a favor?"

"Oh, look at this. You both owe me for a single act on my end. I should look into couples favors more often."

George tossed powder into the Floo and stepped in after, and Harry looked back at Severus. "He left us to our thoughts. What are you thinking?"

Severus brought their foreheads together and muttered, "I'm reasonably sure I taught you this skill: you tell me."

Harry blinked, then whispered, "Legilimens" as Severus surged forward to kiss him again.

--

"You know what's really distracting?" Harry asked. He'd summoned his glasses back to him as they lay sweaty on the bed. "Being kissed by the bloke whose mind you're trying to read is really fucking distracting."

"Having your mind read by the bloke you're kissing isn't the path to true concentration, either," Severus grumbled. "Too much input."

"Your idea," Harry said. He scooted forward and pulled Severus back to him, curling around his back. "And I know you're full of good ideas." He nuzzled the back of Severus's neck, nosing his hair out of the way.

"Harry, if you're hoping for more--"

Harry hummed against Severus's shoulder. "I told you. Even if we never have sex--"

"A potential which, if you were paying attention, you might have observed is no longer on the table--"

"Well, we've never had sex on the table, no." Harry nuzzled again, mouthing at the knot of scar tissue on Severus's neck from the bite.

"Oh, yes, that's exactly what I meant. Also, don't press too hard."

"I thought it was, and sorry, I'll stop. Here okay?" He nibbled above the scar, rubbing his nose against Severus's ear. " But where I was going was, I said I'd still want to be here. So while I would hardly object to more, I also don't need any such thing."

"Always so accommodating."

"Yes, except in making you do all the work to figure out what I bloody wanted. Special case or not, I'm amazed you didn't toss me out for being too dense."

"You can make it up to me." Severus glanced over his shoulder. "If you want to, that is."

Harry grinned and nipped at Severus's chin. "I do. Also, there's a good chance that if she knows all the pieces, Hermione will show up here eventually. You want me to disillusion us, or should we put on clothes?"

Severus shook his head. "If Miss Granger knows all the pieces and shows up here anyway, she will deserve everything she gets." He tugged at the rumpled quilt. "Unless you're embarrassed."

"Never." Harry groped for his wand to move the quilt out from under them, then took his glasses back off and settled them next to the wand. "Meanwhile, I suggest nap, then picnic, then possibly additional cuddling."

Severus nodded an assent, resettled against Harry's chest, and went to sleep.