Chapter Text
It had been nearly a year in the 70's and Harry thought he wasn't doing too badly for himself. Sure, he'd gotten himself sectioned at the beginning, and he had to accept living as a teenager despite having about 25 years of wisdom in his head. Talking his way out of the bad old days of mental health care where any 'overly excitable' behaviors won you either a dose of a sedative or something that sent you to have tea with the March Hare at best was a challenge that had him learning mental control and compartmentalization that he hadn't had when he was fifteen the first time. He managed to learn a bit during his auror training later in life, but he was certainly better at it now than he'd ever been before. He had a lot of secrets to keep hidden, first and foremost that he had the personification of Death as a buddy who kept watch over him and offered favors.
Unfortunately, Death was sometimes hard to understand, as you might expect from an eldritch entity, but Harry wasn't supposed to worry about that because he'd been assured he'd "just know" when something needed doing by various spirits Death sent to help Harry acclimate. Harry could now tell when someone's number was coming up, which was creepy and he wished he wasn't given that gift, but that dumb luck that had always been the most dependable tool in his arsenal had evolved into a much more tangible power so there was some upside to it all. His gut feelings were much more specific and felt more like divination and less like guesswork. It wasn't as strong or specific as that time he'd taken Felix Flexis, but Harry could make the comparison without feeling like he was using ridiculously overblown hyperbole. He'd never felt he understood the art outside of Firenze's classes, but once he was allowed escorted visits to the public library in Transition Alley, he did a bit of reading up on what Trelawney had never managed to teach him.
Transition Alley ran through wizard space in a manner that completely ignored muggle geometry and architecture starting just behind St. Mungos to terminate at Diagon Alley near Flourish and Blotts. It curved a bit through a small neighborhood of middle-class flats on cross-streets named after trees. It also crossed Practic Alley, which had quieter professional offices and tradesmen on the ground floor with rather fancy looking flats above. Pracic ran up one side of Gringotts to form the other leg of the big Y-junction square with Diagon. Nocturn Alley fed into the district on the opposite side of Diagon from Practic and Transition.
As an adult in the 00's, Harry had come to understand that Nocturn's neighborhood wasn't "the place evil people lived" but was in fact a slum with the cheapest rents in London - including the muggle side of things - and the mix of the desperate, the poor, and fresh graduates trying to get started in life naturally spawned pick-pockets and opportunists with a wide range of excuses for their actions. Most of the shops were perfectly respectable businesses, even if some paid under the table or weren't quite up to date for their codes or inspections. Others sold second-hand or knockoff goods, which for someone with money problems came in handy. It was also where a lot of adult-oriented businesses, from the oldest profession to midwives and nightclubs, were located, so even if the likes of Mrs. Weasley may shop there, she wouldn't have ever brought any children with her. It was a lot more pleasant to visit at night, since most places were shuttered to prevent vandals or thieves easily breaking expensive glass windows until three in the afternoon or so. There was one extremely busy breakfast cafe open down the far end of Nocturn that doubled as an entrance to the magical district that had been Harry's inspiration for his bakery.
The 42 Bakery, which had a mailing address of 420b but that sounded like an entirely different sort of bake to his ears, was half-magic and half-muggle. Unlike The Leaky Cauldron, which couldn't be seen by muggles even though it stood at the borderline, Harry designed the business so that 42 served people in a completely mundane fashion in the front and remodeled three small rooms in the back for magical customers. Previously, those rooms were office and storage space, but by knocking an archway out of a wall to connect the small and mid-sized ones into a nice sized cafe and making the third into an exclusive room for high tea and blue-bloods, he had plenty of space for all types of customers. Some runes and a few conditional muffling charms ensured that parents of muggle-born kids could talk about whatever even when seated in the muggle-facing side, which was tricky to do since the standard muggle confounding spells weren't fit for purpose. Harry bent the spells he needed to suit the job at hand, and they seemed to hold fine for the inspectors. It wasn't really a new invention, though Severus had cooed and gushed over the magic when they talked about it one day after work. He had counter service for anyone wanting to pay for their hand pies and pantry staples in Goblin coin. There was both a warded alley entrance with a registered apparition point and a floo connection for wizards to get in without all of them having to be escorted into 'the back' by the hostess.
His alley wasn't connected to the magical neighborhood in Birmingham, the cost of that kind of real estate was well out of his price range, but he'd secured a rent to own contract from an aging man who had to close the old sandwich shop he'd inherited from his grandfather when his sons declined to take on the family trade. The elderly man had come by for the grand opening, staring open-mouthed at the sort of renovation that would have taken six months or more if not for magic. Harry didn't correct him when he supposed they'd fit three dozen workmen in the building all at once to get it done in two weeks, and only vaguely said there were modern ways of doing things while pointing out the way he'd simply repainted most of the walls and swapped out furniture.
Harry was glad he'd learned enough about electricity to know he shouldn't let anyone mess with it who wasn't qualified, and the most expensive work done in the renovation was a muggle-born wizard who had taken up his father's trade as an electrician. Harry's advert in the paper for a qualified electrician had only found the man, who had all but left the magical world behind, thanks to a friend of a friend showing it to him. Between nepotism and prejudice, the skilled wizard had found better and more comfortable employment on the muggle side of things, even if he did have to go through all the trouble to register his home as a magical residence and convert some pounds over to pay his counsel tax. Being the only qualified wizard that could do the job in the entire country by Harry's reckoning, the man had essentially gotten to name his price. Harry's offer to use his cousin at the Prophet to get a good, fully animated ad for his business in the magical paper helped soften the blow to his bank ledger, but it was still a hefty fee.
All of Harry's employees were muggle-born, half, or squibs. Not because he wouldn't hire pure-bloods, but because none applied. He paid fair wages according to what he'd learned by asking at other cafés around Birmingham. The managers and staff he talked to had all thought he was thinking about a first job, rather than opening his own place, so they had been relatively up front with him. The muggle-born adults flooing in for work said he paid good wages compared to what they'd been offered at any magically owned establishment, while for others it was their first job or just a summer gig before going back to school. The head chef said when he was hired that if he had any serious trouble about being a squib he'd be out the door. Benny Housemen had been working in muggle kitchens, but his kid had started doing accidental magic and his wife as a muggle-born witch he'd met when she'd been renting a room in Nocturn, so the family was trying to re-integrate into Albion's culture and economy.
It was hard to rent a flat anywhere in Albion in better condition than what might be found in Nocturn when employed by a muggle business, no matter how much you were taking in, so that was where Harry had targeted his job listings. Harry couldn't pay what Benny asked for straight off, but offered the man a contract with a profit-based bonus that should pay even better than what Benny asked for once things got going. Harry's account manager at the bank, a wizened old Goblin named Eekut, had helped him write it to ensure it was iron-clad, and then the bakery took off so well and so fast that Benny was grinning ear to ear and joking about how Harry shouldn't have negotiated by the time he got his third pay packet.
The bakery really was doing well. All those hours sitting with Luna watching crap TV to try and turn his anxiety off had been surprisingly useful. He'd learned from Gordon Ramsey shouting about keeping things as simple and clean as you could in a kitchen. There were exotic foods and interesting combinations from challenge shows. That home renovation show about flipping properties had advice for how to renovate on the cheap. There was that business show with the investors, and the baking shows all had relevant advice.
Harry had been the one switching to the baking shows. Aunt Petunia had insisted he cook for the family, from an age so young it was a wonder he hadn't burnt their house down. That mostly meant fry-ups and roasts, but she'd had him do the more tedious parts of making fancier things. She didn't like to let him near a pint of berries, rightly sure he'd sneak a few, and the same went for icing. Instead, he would make puff pastry, or blind-bake pie crust, or whip up egg whites. Anything that was slow or took a lot of work. It had been the only thing he'd missed when she eventually decided it was 'too dangerous' to give him huge lists of chores to do, and he'd been hurt when his offers to help with making pudding at The Burrow were put down as unnecessary by Mrs. Weasley. Eventually, he'd just brought an over-sized chiffon cake over, covered lemon whip and blackberries, and then nearly splattered it in Percy's face when he congratulated Ginny on finally making an edible cake. They hadn't even arrived together!
Harry made that same chiffon cake and sold it as the bakery's signature sweet: The 42 Chiffon. A hothouse just outside Hogsmeade promised to provide the berries year-round at a decent price, among other fresh fruits and herbs. Harry added "American Style" ice cream, which he had to explain to the staff.
"You want to charge how much for a scoop of ice cream in a crepe?" Benny asked at the second weekly staff meeting after Harry hired Severus.
"I know what Mr. Whippy charges, and that's because his product is made out of vegetable oil instead of cream. The Americans have regulations for how little milk can be in something before it can't legally be called ice cream," Harry said calmly. "We don't, and so a lot of cheap ice cream has an ingredients list that more closely resembles cheap mayonnaise than any kind of dairy. You just leave out the vinegar and freeze it."
"Hold on, are you saying there's no cream in the ice cream?" Adrian asked, indignant.
"There's some, but it's stretched out to keep costs down. Like trying to cut butter with margarine, which might work if you only use a little or if you do it for a white cake, but eventually you end up with flavorless croissants if you take it too far. I got this recipe on a trip to Arizona. While I won't ever order a tea over there again unless I'm craving a glass of cold simple syrup, the people living in a blazing hot desert know their frozen treats. Everyone have a taste, you'll see what I mean. No offense to Fortescue's, but there is certainly room in the market for a little competition." Harry let everyone try a spoonful of the ice cream he made.
"Fuck!" Severus shouted. He'd been the first to try the special dark chocolate one he'd mixed up instead of the vanilla or strawberry. Harry got him some of the vanilla in a hurry, and Severus glared at him, sniffing the spoon experimentally before shoving it in his mouth with visible relief.
"Chocolate, cayenne pepper, and cinnamon," Harry said, standing proudly behind his creation. "I call it frozen hot chocolate."
"No shit?" Benny asked, going for a taste himself. The man took a deep steadying breath. "The normal flavors are incredible, and even this one is smooth as butter, but you can't serve that one as it is. We'll have complaints." The other staff said it couldn't be that hot if it was frozen, but then every one of them agreed they needed something to put the fire out after a taste.
"I can't imagine eating a bowl of that," Adrian said.
"Do none of you eat curry?" Harry asked, shocked that everyone hated it.
"That's spicier than curry, mate," Adrian insisted, backing away from the table.
"It's based off a Mexican style hot chocolate, and I even toned down the cayenne." Harry took a spoon, worried he'd messed it up somehow, but it was fine. "This is mild compared to what I made for myself."
"This is the mild version?" Severus asked. "A Gryffindor wouldn't eat a double scoop of it on a dare."
"Maybe just the cinnamon?" Benny suggested. "That would make it nice and warm rather than blazing."
"Or we could serve it half this and half vanilla, or one with marshmallow ribbons to keep the hot chocolate theme," one of the other waitresses, Laura, suggested. "This stuff is posh, and pricey, so having some fancy exotic flavors to talk the toffs into might help sell it. Like with the lavender cupcakes, nobody wants to eat something that smells of laundry soap unless you're too rich to have ever used laundry soap."
"Eat three scoops," Harry said thoughtfully, wondering if going out twice a month with one or both Patil sisters for the best part of a year had done something to his tongue that even reversing time hadn't fixed, "of my original recipe, and win a photo on the wall and a free... something."
"Like a pub challenge?" Benny asked.
"Any eight-inch pie, maybe?" Harry suggested. "Is that too much? It would have to be worth more than the ice cream to be a decent prize, but I don't want a lot of people walking away with too much free food."
"I really don't think we have to worry about too many people winning if we use your original recipe. We can sleep on it and pick something tomorrow morning, but remind me never to trust you about how spicy something is," Benny said. There was a general murmur of agreement.
"What dishwater curry are they serving around here?" Harry thought aloud.
"Oh, we're going out now," Adrian said, pointing between Harry and himself. Harry reared back and looked him up and down. "Not like that, there's a place downtown that says if you finish their spicy curry you get half off the bill for the whole table. They probably have a limit of like four people or whatever, but come on." The waiter looked around at the other staff. "Let's see if anything can burn the boss' mouth off like he just did to us. Who's with me?"
Harry had everyone on board for their premium ice cream menu, including what to charge for scoops added to other orders and magically spun milkshakes at a price high enough that should mean they don't run out of milk making them. Laura and Severus painted a gorgeous sign for the window that declared 'No fillers or fakes, quality cream in our shakes!' while the rest of them finished cleaning and prepping for the next day.
Then, he was herded down the road and into a curry house by Adrian, Severus, Laura, and John - their dishwasher and cranky customer remover. John said he wasn't really a quarter giant, but everyone figured that just meant he was an eighth instead. The others either had plans or didn't want to come, with Benny phoning his wife before going home to meatloaf made from scratch. Poor man looked so sad when he said it, but then Harry had seen Ginny in the kitchen.
It was a nice place, not a dive and not too fancy, and it seemed fine that they were all still in their work uniforms. Pale blue for the wait staff, white for John and Severus' kitchen uniforms, and Harry in bright red, and all of them with flour or grease on them somewhere. Harry pulled off his pill box hat, leaning back so he could put up his hair in a straw wrapper he discreetly transfigured into a clip. The waitress clearly thought it was some kind of dare, smirking when Adrien ordered the curry challenge plate for Harry. She asked if Harry wanted it with pork or chicken, looking pointedly at Severus for some reason. While they waited, Harry tried to stay involved in the conversation about music, if the English team had any chance for the cup (all carefully worded with no proper nouns or names,) and other small talk, but Severus kept bumping Harry's knee with his leg and it was the most distracting thing Harry had ever had to ignore in his life.
With how they'd met and now that Harry was his boss, he'd have to be seven kinds of monster to do anything about it. Headmaster Snape's memories had not conveyed how adorable he was when happy and not wearing a mask. The little smile, the sass, the way he twisted himself when he was shy as if he was soaked in words and had to wring himself out to speak them... Harry wanted to kiss him like he wanted breath in his body, but he couldn't put that kind of pressure on Severus. Sure, Severus asked to stay with him part of the week, but that was just practical. Same for giving him permission to use his given name, which was important for a traditional wizard. He was nicer than Harry had expected, but that might be because he hadn't been made bitter by the war yet. White daisies kept popping up all over the flat, but Snape seemed to like flowers more than the average bloke with how he always smelled of rosewater. Gregory Evans, his grandfather (even if the man didn't know it) had asked them point-blank if there was going to be any 'funny business' about them sharing a bed, and Harry had gushed out a lot of mess about how the potion dropped his blood pressure so much that wasn't possible, and he wasn't even sixteen until the end of July, and there was a bunk bed in the spare room... and thank Merlin Severus stopped his verbal diarrhea by saying they weren't even dating, and asking the man if he'd kissed every girl he met when he was their age.
Harry had conjured a few flowers of his own, lavender because of what Severus' letters started to smell of once he was home for a while, and a few extra daisies. He caught Severus smiling at them, so he was sure to conjure some replacements before Severus came back the following week and stuffed them in a pitcher. Severus had spread them out all around the place, and this morning there was a white rose petal in the sugar bowl when Harry went to fix his tea. If Severus started putting roses everywhere he might just explode, innocent white buds or not. And he couldn't even masturbate about it, because of the stupid potion!
The curry served to him came in a wok with a fair amount of fanfare to announce the challenge to the room. Thankfully it wasn't a full-sized wok, but Laura said just smelling it was making her eyes burn. The waitress stayed to watch him eat the first bite, but there was a front of house manager or something that came over with her and shooed her off. To win the challenge he couldn't share after all, so they would have to watch the table. Fucking hell, but it was hot. It wasn't all hot peppers, though. Under the fire there was a great blend of spices on marinated chicken, onion, and tomato.
"Oh, this is good," Harry said, going for a second and a third bite before taking a bit of rice. Severus had ordered the cheapest option, which was a vegetarian yellow curry, and took a hesitant bite.
"Right, so, we knew he was nuts," Adrien said. "I mean that with all due respect for my employer."
"No, it's good. Hot as the sun, but besides that, this is good food," Harry insisted, blinking back tears.
"Your mouth says one thing, but I don't think the rest of you agrees," John said, then took a bite of his own tikka masala. Harry's was probably a really good vindaloo they mixed extra chili paste into before dumping a bunch of sliced peppers on top for a dramatic look. Sure, he might be sweating and there were tear tracks down his face, and it was the hottest thing his fifteen-year-old body had ever consumed by a wide margin, but the food was still good quality. He was glad he ordered a lassi instead of a coke, sipping it was his only relief.
"I can't believe you're nearly finished," Laura said. "Mine isn't half as hot as that, and I can't eat any more."
"Parvati's incarnation better be feeling proud of me right now," Harry said, panting a bit.
"Who's that?" Laura asked.
"Friend of mine. I found out I got my curls from India, and when I told her, she and her sister made it their mission to burn the beige out of me." Parvati had taken belated revenge for how Harry treated her at the Yule Ball fourth year in the form of feeding him blazingly hot food when he'd cautiously asked them for help with the revelation that his grandparents had been Hindu. Their bodies were still in the quarantine-sealed house and he wanted to bury them properly and learn a bit about it all. Padma had been too happy to help, coming to the old manor home to explain the alter and roasting Ron in absentia by suggesting all the boys in Harry's dorm were cultureless bores who thought a bit of black pepper made something spicy. Harry paid for and ate whatever they chose for him while listening to them explain everything from who the gods were to all the ways the British Raj had been evil. He'd decided not to convert early on, but he wanted to know what it was all about before he finalized the decision. Besides, it had been something to do with himself, and what kind of Gryffindor chickened out over a few spicy vegetables?
"They died in the raid?" Severus asked quietly.
"That is what only survivor means," Harry said, mixing the last few bites of his curry around. Then, much quieter, "Fiendfyre."
"Shit," Adrien mumbled, "sorry."
"Don't be, it's good memories," Harry said, taking a quick sip of his lassi before going for the rest. There was a nice sized chunk of a chili pepper sitting right in the middle.
"What's this about some scrawny little boy eating all my spicy curry?" an old man with skin like a paperbark maple tree, all stretched looking and ruddy brown, called out. He had a tall chef's hat, a wide grin, and had captured the attention of the whole room. "Where are you all from?"
"We work at The 42 Bakery," John said, hooking a thumb towards Harry. "That's the boss. He even puts hot pepper in chocolate ice cream."
"I didn't invent it; I just froze a hot cocoa recipe from Mexico. This is brilliant Vindaloo," Harry said to John and then head chef, digging back in.
"Quite a young man, for running a bakery."
"Peverell owns it, but the head chef is named Houseman," Adrien explained while Harry ate. "When he's cooking it's Houseman giving the boss orders, but once he's up front handling customers it's obvious who runs the place."
"I think I've singed my nose hairs just sitting next to you," Severus said.
"I'd share, but I'm not allowed to," Harry threatened.
"That's the only reason I came along," Laura said. "If you weren't doing the challenge, we'd all have to try your definition of medium spice, or else you'd send it back as not hot enough and none of us would ever be able to eat normal food here again."
"I know how to be polite in someone else's restaurant," Harry said over his last bite. The chef clapped and congratulated him, and then Harry had to explain about how a lot of British ice cream couldn't legally be called ice cream across the pond to the chef here. "You just can't drink their tea."
"Ah, I know. A cousin of mine brought me back a bottle of instant tea mix when she visited Florida." The old chef chuckled. "She also said she ordered something called biscuits and gravy that explained why so many Americans are fat."
"Biscuits and what?" Adrien asked.
"She said it was like a scone, and the gravy was white, but I couldn't make any sense of the rest of what she said," the chef said.
"That sounds worse than unexpected peppers ruining chocolate ice cream," Severus chimed in.
"Nice meeting the new neighbors, but I must get back to the kitchen. Enjoy your discount tonight, only one per customer per lifetime," the old man said. The waitress came over to take desert orders. Harry was stuffed, it had been a very large portion after all, so he just ordered another lassi to try and counter the heat he was still feeling. When Severus hesitated to order something for after, Harry squeezed his knee and hoped he understood that Harry had him if he was short.
"Did I see a rose and cardamom lassi on the menu?" Harry asked.
"Yes, would you like that instead of the plain?" the waitress asked. Harry looked at Severus, but his face had gone very blank.
"Yes," Harry said. When it arrived, he offered Severus some. It was similar to how he'd gotten Severus to snack a bit while they were at Hogwarts, getting things for himself and then offering to share. Severus took the straw out of his water so they weren't sharing one.
"Pass it down this way?" Laura asked.
"You have cake," Harry pointed out. "It tastes like unset Turkish delight mixed with yogurt."
"It is very pink," John said. "Can't share that with a girl without starting rumors."
"Lots of food is pink," Harry dismissed. Severus' knee bumped his, and he bumped back. "Your curry was pink, that's just what happens when you mix red tomatoes and white yogurt, and you shared that around."
"Snape just needs feeding, and the boss likes to feed people" Adrien said. "I tell people we have a miniature cake decorator, and then have to specify that the cakes are full size."
"I can do the petite fours, too," Severus quipped, shifting so his leg was pressed against Harry's from ankle to knee. Then, less confidently, "I'm not that small."
"It's not the size of the spoon," Harry began, and then he had to defend himself from a bunch of used paper napkins flying at him. "Hey, hey, alright, but you can't get any jam out of a jar with a soup ladle is all I wanted to say."
"Alright," Laura said, "I'll admit I haven't heard that one, so I'll bite. What the fuck does that mean?"
"If you had to, and you knew what you were doing, and you had the time, you could get your toast buttered and jammed with a toothpick, but while you can slap some butter around with a soup ladle, you'll never get it in the jar. There is no floor if you have skill, but there is a ceiling," Harry said.
"I..." Adrien began, "No, I need you to back up that whole thing."
"Every known half-giant comes from a giantess and a wizard, because a great big ladle doesn't fit in a little jam jar," Harry said confidently, holding up his left hand with his pointer finger just touching his thumb and then smacking that hole with a closed fist to illustrate the problem.
"Christ on a bike, I meant like pretend she hadn't asked, not cite your sources," Adrien moaned, clapping his hands on his ears dramatically. Laura choked on her cake and John let out a deep chuckle. "The boys back at Beauxbatons are not going to believe how I spent my summer when I tell them I went out with my boss to eat the spiciest curry in the country, and he proved with inarguable citation that small dicks get the job done better."
"I meant versatility, but..." Harry was cut off.
"Why are you in Birmingham," Severus asked, changing the subject, "or maybe, why do you go to Beauxbatons?"
"My mother hated her Hogwarts years," Adrien said. "Dad's always been a bit upset I'm going overseas, and the fees and paperwork and all that is a hassle, but he can't argue against what mum said about her school days. He just wishes there was another option with real instruction instead of just self-study or by mail."
"I can understand that," Severus said. Harry couldn't bump his leg with them already pressed together, but he could scoot the lassi over in front of Severus.
"The headmaster plays favorites. We knew that even where I came from. Not so much by house the way some people claim, but he picks individuals he thinks will serve the greater good of magical society. He gets a plan in his head, some lofty idea that this kid or that one is going to be good for the world, and then he tries to help them along. It doesn't always work, and his idea of acceptable losses when achieving a good end has ruffled a lot of feathers. He hasn't picked a Slytherin in a long while, true, but I think that's just because ambitious people with a strong sense of self-preservation either don't need help finding a path that might better our entire society or else are just harder to manipulate using his preferred methods. I think the last time he tried to go all father figure on a student to get them on what he considered the right path, Tom Riddle told him to fuck off. Then Dumbledore either chose not to explain The Blitz to the current headmaster or actively downplayed how dangerous it was for unrelated reasons, Riddle got shipped home for the holidays into a warzone, and the kid developed a god complex from surviving for some reason or another. Changed his name to 'flight from death' but then nobody teaches poor orphan boys how to properly pronounce French, so, Voldemort where you do pronounce the 'T' at the end was born."
"Hogwarts sent kids home during the Blitz?" Laura asked.
"That's part of why Mum didn't want me going there," Adrien said. "She was fine, because it was all but over before she started school and she's a Brummie anyway, Nazis never got this far, but she remembers her parents panicking about having to pick her older sister up from the train in London. They sent everyone back just the same way, instead of having the train stop north of the bombings. Beauxbatons has - I think it's called Muggle Studies here - as a required class, and Wizard Culture too. For everyone and not just the muggle-born kids or whatever."
"There isn't an extra culture class for muggle-born students at Hogwarts," Severus said.
"Really? I thought Mum said there was, but people who are half like she is weren't allowed in even though she wanted to take it," Adrien said thoughtfully. "I'll have to check with her."
"Dumbledore's idea of equality over fairness," Harry muttered. "Giving everyone exactly the same treatment isn't always fair. Imagine if Professor Flitwick and the groundskeeper were given the same size chairs as the purely human staff. Thats equal, but it isn't fair."
"You said he plays favorites," John pointed out.
"And if you aren't one of the chosen he deems worthy, you get the same treatment as everyone else," Severus explained. "Which is that you suck it up and carry on, and if one of the golden children steps on you to reach their goals you should be grateful for the privilege of being a stepstool." Harry nodded at Severus' assessment.
"Right now, it seems like he thinks these two boys in our year are destined to be the finest aurors the force has seen in decades, so if they get some practice hunting criminals by going after people they think are evil they get a bit of extra leniency even when they are wrong or go way too far," Harry explained. "Severus has been on the wrong end of that, because he finds creepy magic fascinating on an academic rather than practical level. As a Peverell, and given my natural talents, I figure I have no chance at beating the reputation that family name comes with and I'll be pegged as evil too."
"Your natural talent for making a perfect chiffon cake even in your sleep, or your ability to eat food that classifies as a war crime as if you are half-dragon?" Adrien asked.
"You haven't read the Tale of Three Brothers, have you?" Harry asked. "Not all the rumors and fairy tales are true, of course, but they all sprung from something. Besides, knowing the future is often much worse than being surprised, and the curse of Cassandra drops down on me like a ton of bricks at the worst moments, so I do try to button up and keep it all to myself. I don't mind saying I think Dumbledore's current pet projects were slated to crash and burn before they turned twenty, though I may have accidentally helped them out by getting them to experience some real consequences before they slipped down that particular slope."
"You think Potter and Black will fail out? They get top grades, and don't ask me how with all the other stuff they are doing," Severus snapped. Harry took a sip of the nearly empty drink and sighed, then he explained. Harry's eyes glazed over a bit as he tried to think about everything he knew of the Marauders and work out the general shape of their future, leaning heavily on his oddly specific gut feelings about the whole thing.
"I doubt they will make it through auror training with the path they are on now. What's been allowed to happen is all a waste, really, and the way he's gone about it means it's only making them a more vicious and insular little group that feels they are above the rules rather than fostering brotherhood and teamwork or making Black into an example of how good people might discard racist traditions. Being a rabid classicist instead of a rabid racist isn't an improvement, it's just a different sort of awful. Even if they are a little better prepared for the exciting parts of being on the force, they won't tolerate all the rest. Being told what to do and when, having to follow regulations, only catching people who are properly guilty, following evidence rather than emotions, and all the paperwork. Once they don't have ready targets in the form of schoolyard rivalries, it'll get nasty fast, especially for Pettigrew since he's never wanted to be an auror. He just likes to watch people get the tar beaten out of them and sneak about looking at knickers, and frankly it isn't Dumbledore's side of politics that offers that kind of entertainment as a bonus."
"Well, shit, the boss is a real seer, the kind that don't get stuck talking in riddles unless he's in front of the person he's talking about," John said. "I promise I won't ask you, ever, about any specific future plans I have. I know better than to tickle sleeping dragons."
"You've got nothing to worry about that you can't handle." Harry waved a hand dismissively.
"And that's as specific as I want you to be about it," John said with a nod.
"How many kids will I have?" Laura asked. Everyone gave her an incredulous look. "What? A girl has to have plans, and I'm twenty-one already. I've got to catch a man soonish."
"You'll have to remember my family name and come up with a question I can answer, because I've got nothing for that one," Harry said with a shrug.
"Am I supposed to ask you when I'll die?" Laura asked sarcastically.
"Either the ninth of June 1999, the eleventh of December 2036, or the tenth of August 2056," Harry voiced the chill whisper that murmured in his ear, the timbre of his voice nearly unrecognizable for a moment. Laura dropped her fork. In his normal speaking voice he continued, "Every choice you make matters, and that's only the three most probable dates based on your current plans, health, and all that."
"Either I'll die on my forty-fifth birthday or make it to a hundred and two," Laura said.
"Free will exists, but it seems like you'll go in the summer," Harry said with a shrug.
"That's pretty damn specific for someone who claims predestination isn't a thing in the next breath," Severus said.
"I see what you mean about being creepy enough to be a target," Adrien mumbled. "That's one hell of a natural talent."
"I think we settle up and get out of here before we learn something we don't want to know," John cut off any further conversation.
Harry tried to cover the whole bill, arguing that they could take turns covering the tab. Adrien and John said Harry had already 'paid' for half the meal, so why not have it work that way with the person who picked the place paying half off the top and then everyone chipping in for their part of the remainder. John said it would keep it square in case somebody ordered the most or least expensive thing on the menu, and he sounded like he was speaking from some bad experience he'd had in the past. Lauren thought it would be way too much maths especially if 'the adults among us' had alcohol, but Severus piped up to make it three against two so Harry conceded. Severus also insisted on paying for half the rose lassi, and then they were all parting ways and heading home.
"I am so late taking my potion," Harry said when he caught sight of the time displayed on a bank branch sign. It was still a bright Thursday afternoon, since the Bakery didn't stay open past 2pm except Fridays and weekends.
"I took mine before we left the bakery," Severus said. "Are you alright?"
"I don't really need it anymore, at least not for the tendon repair and muscle redevelopment it's meant for. I'm only still taking it at all because if I don't wean myself off it slowly, I risk going into withdrawal and having a seizure or heart attack. I feel fine right now, and I'm down to an eighth dose so I'll be off it after my birthday, or that's the plan anyway. They pushed back when I was supposed to stop taking the full dose twice last spring, and then they kept me on a half-dose for ages because my right quadriceps wouldn't get with the program."
"I didn't know going off a potion could make you sick," Severus said. "I thought you needed to take the full course to get all the benefits and ensure they are permanent."
"It's a chemical addiction, er, I don't think magical medicine uses a separate phrase for the different types of addictions," yet anyway. "To use laymen's terms, I'm not addicted to it mentally or emotionally or whatever you want to call it, only physically, so it's not as hard to kick."
"Can you explain the difference?" Severus asked.
"My body got so used to having the potion, that it's changed how some of the essential systems are regulated to compensate. It had to, because the potion is invasive and if my body kept operating normally around it my blood would have gone all out of whack. The body tries to maintain homeostasis, and the side effects of that class of potion really throw that off."
"I know about homeostasis." Severus rolled his eyes. "So, your body adapted to having the potion, and in order for it to heal you without killing you, it changed your blood."
"Yes, and blood being what it is, any change affects just about everything. Blood pressure is my biggest problem. My heart and bone marrow and so on are working to overcome the artificially lowered blood pressure and relaxed blood vessels all the time, and it will take a while for everything to get back to normal. If I just stop taking it, my blood pressure will shoot up and cause all sorts of problems. Hermes will take a long time to train up as a medical familiar, but he's already bang on monitoring blood pressure because of my whole mess. I really should have popped upstairs to get him before we headed out, even if he wasn't finished shedding."
"So, what's a mental addiction, then?"
"When it's all in your mind, more like a bad habit that's really ingrained. If you take something that makes you feel good, your brain starts to reset itself to crave that when you feel sad. The same way you might crave a favorite food or want to listen to a certain song when you've had a shit day. In very basic terms, drinking or something like that can be fine in moderation, but it becomes an addiction when you are doing something that disrupts your life just to feel good. That happens because your baseline of happiness or misery has adjusted so that unless you have it in your system, you feel atrocious," Harry said, holding out his hands like balancing a scale. "Alcohol is also chemically addictive, all the worst ones do both, and people wouldn't normally consider it a food or music addiction unless it's really fucking up your life. Even then, it tends to be considered an emotional imbalance or obsession, and professionals would check for something like chronic depression to go after the thing making you want the unhealthy habit. Caffeine is chemically addictive too, though it's not anywhere near as bad, but lots of people simply must have their tea even if they are drinking an herbal blend without a stimulant in it. The ritual of making tea became a habit that they can't get through their day without, even if they have stopped or never started drinking anything caffeinated. Have you heard of operant conditioning?" Severus nodded.
"If you would feel bad if you don't take your potion, then isn't that the same thing because you'd be conditioned to want it?" Severus asked, his head tilted cutely. The haircut framed his face so much better than the mess he'd had when they met. Even better than the neater but harsher cut Harry remembered from the 90's.
"I don't crave it, I don't like how it makes me feel even a little, and frankly I think it's annoying. True, if I don't take it soon, I'll start to feel awful. That can cause a psychological addiction, which is why I've been careful not to miss doses. If not taking it makes me miserable repeatedly, and taking it makes me feel better right away every time, over time I might build up that association even if I don't want to and that could become a problem. In my case, I would very much like my dick to work again, so I've got a very strong counter to that mental spiral," Harry said, blushing a bit. "I've got an appointment coming up on the 29th, and I'm really hoping I can ditch it."
"So, an alcoholic has two addictions?" Harry wasn't supposed to know why Severus was so keen on the topic. He tried to play it cool.
"Well, I don't think any health care professional would say it exactly that way. They might talk about the severity, but people who drink or smoke all day every day are completely addicted, in every way a person can be. It is really hard to drop the habit when it's that bad. It becomes part of the routine, it produces rewarding mental compounds in the brain resulting in operant conditioning, their body adjusts how it operates so if they quit or even just reduce how much they use suddenly they would experience horrific withdrawal sickness, and they require it to get through their day emotionally while also needing to prioritize it over other things they would otherwise want to do," Harry rattled off.
"Then, you really should take your potion on time to make sure you don't become mentally addicted to it," Severus said. "That way you'll be off it for your birthday."
"Exactly, though each time I drop the dose down I go through a little bit of withdrawal, so I'll probably feel ill on my birthday. I do try not to take weekends off, but even if I'm well enough to show up I might have to stay in the office," Harry said with a sigh. He did tend to take a bit of a nap in his office to make it through the longer days. Severus either worked the morning with him or showed up in time for the doors to open, like most of the staff. It was really only Harry and Benny pulling the long hours, but that was the job.
With the original office now part of the magical dining space, he'd hit a small coat closet with an expansion charm to make his own office. He'd thought about just having it upstairs, but he'd been convinced to keep his work and living spaces separate mostly to avoid offending Eekut. Goblins had very strong work ethics, but they also had strict rules about the separation of their duty to The Hoard and their duty to their family. As soon as Harry explained the plan, Eekut had started talking about how much extra cost would be involved since they would have to either put stairs inside so the office could be accessed from the business or carve out an entry area for the flat so he didn't go through the door to his home to get to the to the office and didn't need to have visitors walk through his workspace to get to his home. Stuffing himself into a cupboard came with a certain amount of irony he had to keep bottled up, but he'd been assured by multiple people that having the office upstairs would have been a very bad idea especially if he planned on selling the majority of the business.
"Houseman can keep things running for a day or two," Severus said confidently.
"He's terrible with customer complaints, though. He either gives the place away or pops off shouting," Harry argued.
"Well, most of what you do is handle people, even if you do spend a lot of time cooking that isn't why you are there," Severus said. "You're good at it, you know, knowing what you can say to people and how to keep us all on task. That... that time you sent me out front I thought I'd die."
"Don't be dramatic," Harry soothed, hooking his arm around Severus playfully for a moment. "It went great!"
"I could have vanished myself, they were so mad before I even walked out there, and I was sure they'd just know it was my fault," Severus moaned. The mayor's wife had brought a party of twelve for the five-course high tea on short notice. Meanwhile, at a table in the Lord's tea room, the soon to be Mrs. Malfoy was being treated to a day out by Andromeda and ordered some of the fancy tarts decorated with candied violets. Narcissa had arrived with a tiara that said "bride to be" and Harry had pulled Adrien, with all his boyish charm, off getting new tables in the front for a bit so he could focus more on the special party of high-maintenance witches. Severus had insisted he deliver the tarts to the table himself, and Harry hadn't realized he and Narcissa Black (almost Malfoy) were ever so close. Severus' steady hands and careful precision produced the most beautiful sugared flowers, Harry was hardly the only one who cooed over the delicate blossoms, and then Severus convinced Narcissa to buy an extra dozen of mixed flavors and decorations to take home so she could show them to her family and the wedding caterer. He'd even suggested that white rose petals could be made to look like a peacock's tail, if she wanted to have something to symbolize her future home.
Harry had needed to visit the table and talk to them after that, and not saying anything rude to Bellatrix had been a real trial especially with the tattoo showing through her lace sleeves. Getting to meet Andromeda again had made up for it, they'd had a lovely chat where Harry realized she was Andromeda Tonks currently and Nymphadora was already three, and then Adrien had to come soothe Bellatrix since she was loudly bemoaning that her traitorous older sister was getting too much attention on her younger sister's special day. How Narcissa was keeping the peace at that table, Harry couldn't guess. Perhaps Bellatrix just loved her little sister enough to keep her racist ideas to herself for the duration. While Bellatrix was being fussed over, Harry had peered into Andromeda's teacup, with permission of course, and said there was a good chance her daughter would meet a werewolf as an auror and be very happy about it. That left Andromeda very confused, but Narcissa seemed supportive of having an auror for a niece even if 'it's not a very ladylike profession, but she is a metamorphamagus. Just look at Uncle Alphard and his odd hobbies.'
Unfortunately, since Severus had sold them out of nearly all their flowered tarts and they took ages of fiddly work to make, there wasn't enough when the mayor's wife and her friends selected them as the final course of their tea service. Benny tried to stall so they could put fresh flowers on some of the cheaper plain tarts instead, but Harry just knew that wouldn't work. Harry sent Severus out with a cart of petite fours that had been iced but not yet decorated, a paintbrush, and a bunch of colored icing to sketch flowers onto the cakes table-side. The black sisters saw Severus walking terrified with the cart as they were leaving, Harry chattering at him trying to assure him it would be fine, and Andromeda followed them out under the sign warning everyone they were entering the muggle half of the business. Bellatrix refused to follow, but after a few sharp words Narcissa told her to just go home and joined her sister in her exploration, both of them listening to the muggle ladies asking Severus for certain colors or flowers.
Harry checked in making sure the Black sisters had everything they needed after making certain that Bellatrix left without making a mess, and Narcissa seemed flattered that so many people read her tiara and congratulated or at least smiled at her. She also seemed taken aback by the sheer volume of people coming in after work.
"There's over two million muggles in the city of Birmingham," Harry muttered. Andromeda looked around nervously. "No need to worry, Mrs. Tonks, we have wards so we can speak freely so long as we aren't shouting. Anyway, I run a successful business in part because I serve out both sides of the place. There are only ten thousand or so of our sort in England, with perhaps another three thousand in Wales and Scotland, which means there just aren't enough customers to go around unless I want to run someone else out of business. Of course, I'm not upset you bought me out of those tarts, Severus can draw just as well as he can cook or brew, so I'm certain those politician's wives will leave happy. I do love magic, but when it comes to filling up my bank account I'm willing to take most anyone's money."
"You'll be a Slytherin for certain," Andromeda said with a warm smile.
"I've resigned myself to it, even if my family would have preferred a lion were they still with me," Harry said wistfully.
"Oh, have they passed?" Narcissa asked.
"I'm fairly certain I saw your other sister trying her best to murder my siblings during the Death Eater raid that orphaned me for the second time. I'm the only one of my family still alive because as the fastest runner they told me to go get help," Harry recited, shocking both women enough their porcelain skin paled further, and their eyes blew wide. "I figured it wasn't worth the potential consequence to chuck her out, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't bring her back for tea. The two of you are welcome any time, and I'll gladly take her money if she's ordering to go."
"Your entire family is gone?" Andromeda asked, grabbing hard at Narcissa's arm.
"The entire enclave village: squibs, half-bloods, pure-bloods, half-humans... everyone. I think it was because we were such a mixed community and had a strict policy of telling outsiders to keep their politics to themselves, but I'm not certain. The elders didn’t tend to keep the kids in the loop. He acts as if he's the only one in Albion who can talk to snakes, so he gets to run the place. Hermes, come say hello, but be sneaky about it," Harry switched to parseltongue briefly. Hermes slid up out of his collar to twist though his hair and then down the other side of his head while Harry spoke. "Obviously, I have my own opinions about how killing a bunch of magical people will or won't result in a stronger community that overpowers the muggle one enough to safely drop the Statute of Secrecy, but I'm just some random seer running a bakery."
"You said two million muggles?" Narcissa asked.
"In this one city, yes," Harry confirmed. "At this front counter, we serve about a hundred people an hour from eleven to two on weekdays. That's the equivalent of a tenth of every witch and wizard living in London and Cornwall coming in for lunch. I trust you see the problem with certain people's politics that I'm trying to highlight?"
"We won't bring Bella back," Andromeda said. "Thank you, for the wonderful tea and the... free service, as a seer."
"I'm sure there are plenty of people predicting a more favorable outcome for his aims, but the thing about seers is that we're people. We can lie, and we can be biased, and we can be wrong, but I am glad you came out front to see some things with your own eyes. I am sorry for bringing you down on a special day out. If I can make a suggestion if you aren't sure what to do with yourselves for the next quarter hour that might make up for it?" Harry asked.
"Please do," Narcissa said, looking quite stressed.
"It's a lovely day outside for a walk," Harry said, gesturing to the muggle entrance. "Just once around the block to clear your head, and you'll feel much better. If you please and have more than a few minutes, we aren't so far from the museum and art gallery on Queensway. Just follow Livery or Newhall Street southwest, cross the main road with care paying attention to the colored lights, and turn right. You can't miss it." He pressed a few muggle coins into Narcissa's hand, the entrance fee wasn't much. "Even if you hate it all, it's better to know than guess." The sisters left out the front, and Harry turned in time to see Severus being handed a five-pound note for his performance. The dark-eyed boy scuttled off back to the kitchen, where he was far more comfortable. Harry made a circuit around the dining room, his bright red uniform and chef's pill-box hat making him more eye-catching than the front staff's more muted uniforms. Benny had a red uniform as well, as head chef, and he planned to put the new manager in red if it all went to plan. The front counter had a steady but sedate stream of customers this close to close on a weekend, and everyone looked happy, so he went back to prepping ingredients.
"Customers are awful," Severus insisted, breaking Harry out of his memories and bringing him back to the leisurely stroll back to the flat above the bakery.
"I have an inquiry about making a hundred and fifty apple tarts with white rose petal and icing peacocks on them next spring," Harry said.
"Really?" Severus asked, his eyebrows flying up.
"The caterer doesn't think they can do that kind of volume without elves, and Narcissa is insisting that the elf ones don't taste right." Harry bumped Severus’ shoulder with his own, smiling bright. "You deserve to be proud of your work. Not that I'm sure we can fill the order, with how close to spring exams it is. We might need to train someone up to your standard before the end of summer."
"I'd still have a job next summer?" Severus asked.
"No reason you wouldn't, there's plenty of work to go around. Unless you find something better, which would be fine. Of course, you said there isn't a convenient floo where you live, so if you still wanted to use my flat, we can work that out, I'm sure," Harry said, his nerves buzzing. "You'd be seventeen by then, so there is always apparition, but it's an option."
"Provided you still live there after it's sold," Severus said, tilting his head down to obscure his face with his hair.
"I've decided not to sell the majority of it. Do you know Mr. McKinnon? He's been in quite a few times watching how things work; sandy hair, a bit more muscular than average, walking amalgamation of the nicer Scottish stereotypes, can't talk to anyone without mentioning his daughters."
"I've seen him. He was hanging over my station while I was dipping the pansies with his mouth open, so I told him to back off and stop breathing moist air on them before they all turned white. Seemed alright, just really curious," Severus said with a shrug.
"He can't afford more than ten percent right now, but I'm thinking he'll be a great manager and could take over my part of the work with a gentleman’s agreement that he’d be the first to know if I’m selling more of the business later on. We've scheduled to work semi-overlapping shifts next week, and he'll be in when I'm technically out on the 30th and 31st." Harry watched Severus carefully. "If it's a good fit, and I don't expect it to be perfect and I'm going to promote Laura to assistant manager for the front of house so nobody has to work the insane hours I've had to put in this past month and a half, but if it's a good fit I'll sell to him and he'll be a permanent part of the staff. I'll have more free time in August, be able to get my school shopping done and maybe even some revision or a trip to the cinema before school starts. The Tenant looks interesting, but I saw an advert for Monty Python and the Holy Grail. That came out last year and I missed it, but it's coming back to the local cinema for a two week run."
"What's that supposed to be about, a big snake and some Christian myths?" Severus scoffed.
"It's a comedy about King Arthur, actually," Harry said, feeling a little disappointed. "I never got to go the cinema much, but I've heard..." Harry pulled up short at the look Severus was giving him.
"King Arthur?" Severus asked, clearly excited.
"Yeah. Monty Python is a comedy group, they have a show on the telly that's popular, or so I hear. I haven’t lived anywhere with a telly since I left my Aunt’s place at eleven. The movie is supposedly about King Arthur on a quest, and the more you know about the myths, the funnier it is."
"I know everything about King Arthur," Severus said with such confidence and certainty that Harry had no choice but to believe him. Nevertheless, for the rest of the walk home and getting settled in for the evening Harry was treated to a monologue that reminded him of how Hermione would dump a bunch of facts about some random topic she'd recently read up on. Snape really did know all sorts of things about King Arthur, Merlin, and the knights of the round table. His mother apparently had a set of books that he'd re-read enough to have memorized them, or at least that's how it seemed to Harry. Eventually he cut into the somewhat disjointed tumble of interesting things.
"I'd always been curious, but never had the time to read much fiction," Harry said, and Snape spun away from where he was making some chamomile tea to sputter indignantly for a moment.
"It's not fiction, it's mythology! There are numerous historical kings and great feats by knights that could have been the original inspiration for various tales that lived in the 4th to 6th centuries, and then there is the Merlin who lived in the 10th century who was likely a time traveler, and it is a folk hero story of great importance to our culture," Severus finally shouted at Harry. A barrage of facts and figures followed which Harry listened to dutifully, as this was clearly something Severus was deeply passionate about even if the old tales had previously been something Harry was only vaguely aware of.
"My Aunt and Uncle, the ones who weren't so nice I got rescued from? They disallowed any talk of fantasy, fairy stories, all of that," Harry explained when Severus finally took a breath. "So, when I say I haven't had the chance for fiction, I mean all the stuff of day-dreams and leisure. Fifteen-year-olds from normal family backgrounds don't pass the junior mediwizard exam at all, let alone getting a perfect score on their first try. I'm not trying to compare it to anything, I'm just saying my life never had much in it that was frivolous outside of Quidditch. Boys are allowed sport, after all." Severus peered at him for a while, as if trying to make a very important decision. Harry waved his wand, wordlessly finishing fixing their tea so he could wash down the flavor of his prescription. Severus came over to sit at the table.
"The once and future King was named Arthur, and he was advised by a wizard who far surpassed all others named Merlin..." Severus began, and what followed was a lovely bit of storytelling. There were no funny voices or sound effects, but there was a passion for the story that came through in vibrant descriptions told in a voice that - while it hadn't deepened to what it would eventually become - was a gentle monotone somewhere a bit shy of the cultured RP accent Severus used most of the time – notably not when he was swearing a blue streak.
In a home without a telly or a radio, there were still many ways of keeping oneself entertained. Handicrafts, like Mrs. Weasley's knitting, but also storytelling, playing instruments, song, and reading. Alone in the early part of the summer, Harry had mostly read the paper and then fallen into bed exhausted. He'd tried his flute, a cheap gift from one of his minders who remembered the least significant detail of him trying to tell the story of his first year at Hogwarts, but without an audience there wasn't much motivation to improve. With Severus around three of four evenings out of the week, it was much nicer. Harry tried to play along to Severus' singing something he'd heard around Cokeworth, both of them out of tune but enjoying themselves anyway, or else they would talk. Sometimes Severus was in a dark mood and would retreat early up into his bed, other times they'd stay up too late and nod off on the couch. Harry felt his eyes drooping as Severus recited one of the origin stories for Arthur - Harry knew enough to know there were multiple versions of all the old tales - and finally had to cut Severus short. He reached over to catch Severus' wand hand in both of his.
"You can tell me more tomorrow, for now I've got to drag myself through a shower and into bed," Harry said gently. "I really want to hear it all, even if it takes the rest of the summer."
"We'll go to the cinema to see that movie, too," Severus said decisively.
"The advert is on the side table there, with my mail. The bright yellow paper. Stick it up somewhere obvious, will you?" Harry asked, levering himself up.
When Harry woke up the next morning, he saw the flier had been attached to the cold cupboard and surrounded by multicolored flower petals, which ensured it was highly visible from every part of the main room of the flat. The confetti petals were so adorable Severus caught him stroking them, but actions taken at fuck me o'clock in the morning couldn't be held against anyone. Harry was reasonably certain he'd opened the cupboard to hide his blush before Severus' sleepy brain caught up with what he saw.