"I saw him leave with a wizard once at closing time, but mostly, he just sits there and watches the dancers, then leaves alone," Justin said.
Harry was intrigued in spite of himself. He had never imagined that Snape might be a homosexual. With all the horrible, nasty things he'd said and thought about the man in school, that idea had never crossed his mind. But then, he hadn't thought of any of his former teaches as sexual beings. Still didn't, in truth. Just the idea of thinking of Minerva or Hagrid that way was enough to short-circuit his brain.
But Snape was apparently here in the flesh, and that was just too much of a novelty to pass up. Picking up his firewhiskey, Harry gave Justin's arm a friendly pat and said, "Good seeing you again, Justin," and headed over to where Justin had said Snape's table was.
He could feel Justin’s shocked stare on his back the entire way.
Harry hadn't a clue what he'd say to Snape, but even if they got into one of their shouting matches, it would have to beat the awkward small talk he'd been attempting with Justin. The one thing he knew for certain was that Snape wouldn't act like a star-struck sycophant.
Away from the bar, it was darker. Harry had trouble distinguishing the tables on the far side of the dance floor, but when he'd circumvented the dancers, he finally saw the tables.
It took Harry barely a heartbeat to pick out the familiar, menacing figure from his schooldays. Even after more than fourteen years as an Auror, Harry still found Snape an intimidating sight.
The blighter hadn't changed much. His hair was longer, unfashionably so. Snape wore it pulled back in a ponytail now, which only accentuated the stark, homely lines of his long, angular face and oversized nose. The black robes and the jacket with the dozens of buttons might have been the very same ones Snape had worn at Hogwarts.
Harry stood in the shadows, taking a long moment to observe his former teacher, debating the wisdom of even attempting to make contact. It wasn't as if Snape and he had ever had an amicable relationship. Even when Harry had testified on Snape's behalf at the trials, the man had been a bloody terror to him, insulting and sniping at him every other minute.
No, there had definitely been no love lost between them, but . . . Harry had known Snape, in a way that he'd never known Justin or perhaps any other person in his life. For all their differences and all the hatred between them, they'd both been Dumbledore's men to the very end, although it had taken Harry some time to understand that.
If nothing else, Harry figured he'd get some decent conversation out of Snape, providing the man agreed to speak to him at all. Harry was highly aware of the fact that Snape was perfectly capable of making a scene that would make the front page of the Daily Prophet faster than his own marriage engagement would. As if.
"Still skulking in the shadows, Potter?" the familiar, deep voice from his Potions class drawled from ten feet away. "Either get over here and sit down or leave . . . before I hex you."
Harry jumped. He should have been completely invisible in the shadows. He wasn't used to dealing with anyone as observant as he was, at least, not outside of work. But he'd always had a bad habit of underestimating Snape. It didn't surprise him at all that the man had lost none of his edge over the years.
Thinking that the invitation to sit, however rudely voiced, indicated that Snape might be inclined to suffer his company, Harry crossed the few feet that separated them. He was highly conscious of Snape's dark gaze upon him as he approached the small, isolated table and slid smoothly into the empty chair opposite Snape.
Absurdly enough, Harry found himself wishing that he was taller, that he could have made a better impression.
"How’d you know I was there?" Harry asked, genuinely curious.
"For all the commotion your arrival caused, you might just as well have one of your minions sound a trumpet to announce your arrival," Snape said. "Subtlety and notoriety don't mix well."
"That explains when I entered the pub, but I was standing in the shadows a moment ago. I could barely see you and you're more in the light than I was," Harry said.
"It isn't as though your power has decreased any over the years," Snape said. "Any wizard who felt that level of energy crackle behind him would have been on guard."
"Yet, you're the only one who felt it," Harry said.
Snape shrugged. "This isn't the type of place that attracts those dedicated to the enhancement of their magic. I must admit to some surprise at seeing you in such an establishment, Potter."
Harry was stunned to feel a smile touch his own lips at Snape's words. They really weren't all that different from what Justin had said to him, but somehow the impact wasn't quite the same. "I was about to say the same thing, Professor."
"I haven't suffered that title for sixteen years now; I'm relieved to say," Snape corrected.
"I'd heard you'd left Hogwarts without telling anyone where you were going or what you were doing," Harry said, stunned by how amicably things were going. He knew that wouldn't last, but it was a nice change from the enmity he remembered. Figuring that they might as well get the shouting over with now, he added with his usual cheek, "Some of the rumours were . . . fairly far-fetched. One version had you in Italy, running an owl-order business for illegal poisons. Another claimed you'd started a Dark Arts school to rival Durmstrang. The one I liked best said you'd gotten filthy rich manufacturing beauty products. So, which is it? The poisons, the school, or the beauty aids?"
Sixteen years ago that kind of question would have gotten him a roar of fury and six months' detention. But tonight Snape merely stared at him a long moment before softly answering, "Although I admit the poison premise sounds interesting, I fear that my work is now boringly legal. And if it weren't, do you believe I'd be so dense as to tell an Auror if I were involved in the sale of illegal poisons?"
"The school then?" Harry said, startled to realize that he was actually teasing Severus Snape – and getting away with it. So far. He was highly conscious of the fact that that could change any second.
"Surely, you can't have forgotten my aptitude for teaching," Snape said, completely deadpan.
"So, it is the beauty products, then?" Harry asked with a huge, genuine smile. Normally, when he came to Whispers, all his smiles were forced. Truth told, he didn't smile much at all these days. That Severus Snape would inspire the first real one in what felt like forever was astonishing.
"Really, Potter. Would even someone with your pathetic intelligence purchase a beauty product manufactured by someone with my face and hair?" Snape asked with shocking self-honesty.
Harry found himself chuckling. "In that case, what are you doing – providing it's something you can tell an Auror, of course."
"If you must know, I've been doing experimental research on healing potions. I can't say that it has made me filthy rich, but it has kept me quite comfortable," Snape said.
"I'm glad to hear it," Harry said. He was intimately acquainted with the narrow, suspicious look Snape turned on him in response to that.
"Is that so? I would have thought you would have liked to see me starving on the streets," Snape said.
Harry held that probing gaze. "Once, maybe, when I was still in school. Even you have to admit that you were never exactly . . . kind to me when I was your student."
"Perhaps not, but, then, I am not a kind man," Snape answered, his left brow rising as if to accentuate his point.
"To be honest, I'm a little surprised by how . . . amenable you're being tonight," Harry hesitantly admitted.
"I wouldn't have thought your vocabulary included a word like 'amenable'," Snape remarked, but it wasn't said in a contentious tone.
"I'm just full of surprises," Harry countered. Deliberately not squirming as those inky eyes continued to scour his features, Harry continued with, "But, seriously, I was sure you'd be belittling me by now."
"You don't find comments about your pathetic intelligence and inadequate vocabulary belittling?" Snape enquired.
"Not from you," Harry answered. Snape had always known how to get under his skin, instinctively knowing which insults would cut him the worst. From Snape, detrimental comments on his intelligence and vocabulary were nearly compliments.
"I may not be a kind man, Potter, but I do acknowledge my debts," Snape said, holding his gaze. "There was a time when you could have taken your revenge and condemned or ruined me. Perhaps even had me killed. Instead, you argued my case before the Ministry and forced them to release me with the same honours every other member of the Order received."
"I didn't do anything special," Harry denied, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. The last thing he wanted was Snape's gratitude. He remembered how bitter being indebted to his father had made Snape. Harry had no desire to continue that particular family tradition.
"No? Do the words 'If you put Snape in Azkaban, you have to put me there too, because he was following Albus Dumbledore's direct commands the same way I was!' sound familiar?" Snape asked in a mild tone Harry had never heard him use.
"I didn't do it for your sake," Harry protested. "I did it because it was what Professor Dumbledore would have wanted me to do."
Snape nodded, still seeming . . . non-aggressive. "I realize that. It's why I have never . . . troubled you with no doubt unwelcome expressions of gratitude."
"You didn't seem all that grateful at the time, if you don't mind my saying, sir," Harry pointed out carefully, not wanting to offend, but wanting honesty.
To his shock, Snape answered him rationally instead of losing his temper. "I suppose that's true. At the time . . . death seemed to be the best I could hope for, and, if we're being honest, I didn't trust you. Until the very moment the Ministry released me, I expected you to turn around and demand that I receive the Dementor's Kiss."
Harry digested that in silence, having expected nothing else. The only wonder was that Snape would openly admit it to him. "I would never have asked for that, even if I'd still wanted you dead for what you did to Professor Dumbledore."
A shadow passed across Snape's hitherto unreadable face when Harry mentioned the horrible night Dumbledore had died. After a long, strained silence, Snape quietly admitted, "Perhaps I should have known that. Albus always held you in the highest regard, even though I could never comprehend why. But even if I had been . . . of a different, nobler nature. . . I could hardly have been deemed rational at that time."
Harry thought back to those days – all the senseless deaths, Voldemort's atrocities, the constant terror they'd all lived under. Towards the end there, Snape had been on the run from both sides. Harry couldn't even begin to imagine what that must have felt like. He still had nightmares about his own experiences, and he'd only had to worry about eluding one side.
