Chapter Text
Harry clutched his reservation card with both hands and stared up at the Soho bar from the damp pavement across the street. The yellow glow of streetlights reflected in the overlarge front windows. The name of the place was printed black and bold in a sharp font across the bright blue doors. Red-bricked with steel frames and features, the place looked hip and modern wedged between the lofts and shoppes at the heart of London.
Too hip and modern for the likes of Harry.
He pushed his glasses up his nose, fluffed up his hair, and tugged at the hem of his green jumper. A soft cashmere number that hugged him too tightly, but Hermione insisted suited him.
Crowds had already gathered inside. Harry spied a couple blokes through the windows, men of all shapes and sizes, chatting and sipping at cocktails. His pulse tripped over itself, with nerves and a little bit with excitement. He shoved his reservation card in the back pocket of his jeans, squared his shoulders, and marched for the entrance to join them.
He’d received the invite to the speed dating event, ‘Date in a Dash’, in the post last week. He didn’t have a clue what speed dating was, but the invite promised a ‘fun and flirty’, ‘no pressure’ night of round-table dates. It said he’d meet ten to twenty men, test out their intentions, and then pick the one he had the best connection with. If the man returned Harry’s interest, the event coordinators would have them exchange contact information.
Seemed easy enough, but Harry kept his expectations reasonably low. It wasn’t that he didn’t hope he’d want a second date with someone here. He simply hadn’t wanted a second date with anyone in ages. Absolute ages.
People fell all over themselves to date The Boy Who Lived.
None yet had lined up to date Harry Potter.
Harry was fumbling and awkward, but exacting and imposing. Overeager then withdrawn. Moody, impulsive, mercurial, sulky, morose, erratic—all words partners had attributed to him. He was an unfortunate mishmash of awful at dating and at maintaining relationships long term.
Harry was tired of being set up with his friends’ friends, with asking people in his own circles out, and then failing spectacularly at living up to expectations, of growing bitter and annoyed with people who expected him to be the glittering hero and nothing more, and then having to go on interacting with them at social gatherings after.
‘Date in a Dash’ gave him a chance to meet a bunch of random people he could forget he’d met when they inevitably disappointed one another.
The inside of the bar was warm and smelled of cologne and fried food. Red-leather booths sat against the wood-panelled walls and round tables dotted the floor. A bar stretched across the back of the room, cradled between two sets of steps leading up to a second level. A table sat at the foot of the left steps with a sign taped to the front: ’Speed Daters! Sign In Here!’. A well-dressed man stood behind the table, smiling blandly, with a clipboard in his hands.
Harry blew out a long breath and walked over. “Hello.” Harry glanced down at the sticker name tag on the man’s chest. “Logan. I am here for the dating. The, uh, ‘Date in a Dash’…thing.”
“Harry Potter.” Logan grinned. “We were all so excited when we received your attendance request in the post. Not as excited as I am sure all of your dates tonight will be.” Logan chuckled and Harry forced out a matching one even as his heart sank. “Let’s get you a name tag. Not that you need it, eh? But it’s part of the fun. Then you can head upstairs here. Everyone is mingling a bit, having a drink, before we get started.”
Harry stuck the sticker labelling him ‘Harry Potter’ to his jumper, over his left pec. He gave it a solid press with the palm of his hand as he made his way up the steps to the second level.
The second level looked much like the first, only bigger, and all the tables had been lined up in two long rows in the middle of the room. Chairs faced each other across the tables. Note cards were piled in front of each seat beside a neat triangular placeholder.
No one was sitting down yet. Three dozen or so men ambled around the room, drinks in hand and curious gazes on their faces. Some had paired up in clusters of threes and fours. Some stood alone, watchful.
A few heads inevitably turned his way. There wasn’t much he could do about it.
Well, he could date Muggles, but he’d really rather not, for a myriad of reasons.
And there had to be at least one gay wizard in England capable of seeing past all the hero nonsense surrounding him.
Harry ran a finger along the edges of the name tag, securing it further in place, and walked over to the bar. Three bar tenders rushed around behind the counter. The mirrored back wall was lined with shelf upon shelf upon shelf filled to the brim with colorful bottles of assorted liquors and wines and whatnot. Harry scanned a short menu and ordered something with a cheesy name that promised to taste of lemons and gin.
Harry sipped it as he turned back around to face the room, just in time to lock eyes with none other than Severus Snape.
Snape had just mounted the last step from the first level. His jaw flexed as his lips disappeared into a pressed line. His hair hung limp and familiar to his shoulders, still black as night but clean and brushed. He wore all black, because of course he did, a tailored button up and hip-hugging trousers. Long and lithe and fit, Harry’d not seen the shape of the man before. Ever. Wizarding society had veered away from robes since the end of the war. Muggle fashion leaked in more and more each day, for better or worse. Better in this case.
Much better, Harry was surprised to find.
Snape’s hands curled into fists at his sides. He jerked backwards several steps. If Logan hadn’t come up behind him, blocking the stairs as an exit route, Harry was fairly certain Snape would have fled.
Harry wished he would have.
His expectations for the night were low. Bottom of the barrel low. But he’d really rather not add embarrassing himself in front of Severus Snape to the event.
Having to look at the man’s smug pleasure over Harry Potter’s failures? No thanks.
Harry had had enough of that over the last seventeen years. First, the years and years at Hogwarts where he couldn’t escape it. Then, after the war, Harry had gone out of his way to tell Snape’s story and to clear the man’s name, only to have the man rip him to shreds with that smart mouth of his the first time they met face-to-face. In front of the whole Order. He’d called Harry a loathsome nuisance, a meddlesome child with an ego the size of all of England and the perspective of a house fly, lacking empathy and self-awareness and decorum and respect for privacy.
Stung, his hopes of reconciliation properly deflated, Harry had struck back with a barrage of his own, calling Snape an ungrateful arsehole, a rude motherfucker (which he’d laughed about and said something clever about Snape wishing he was a motherfucker), arrogant, hypocritical.
They’d ended up at the ends of each other’s wands. Then scrambling on the ground. Fists clenched in robes and hair. Knees connecting with groins and kidneys.
They’d had to be dragged apart, flailing and kicking as they went.
They’d rightly avoided each other ever since.
Stridently, and with fervent purpose.
Going so far as to check if the other would be present at an event, and declining if the other had already RSVPed.
Harry’d missed Minerva’s seventy-second birthday this year because Snape got his RSVP in there first. And Minerva always threw a jolly good party. Harry still felt a bitter about missing that one.
Of course, Harry had not thought he’d need to check about Snape attending a bloody speed dating event. Christ, Harry did not want to date Snape. Not even for a five-minute quickie one.
Logan clapped his hands and the room quieted. “Hello! Welcome and thank you for joining us tonight for what is sure to be a fantastic, thrilling night of connection, romance, and possibilities. ‘Date in a Dash’ is proud to boast of an eighty percent success rate. Keep an open mind, an open heart, and you too will walk away with at least one potential partner.”
Snape crossed his arms and tucked himself behind a group of smiling men, glaring at Harry as he vanished from sight. Harry sipped his drink. The sour citrus notes sparked against his tongue, and the pine freshness of the gin cooled the back of his throat. He’d need about another half-dozen of these to get through this night.
“Now,” Logan continued, “I have divided you into two groups. The Sitters and the Circlers. It is as simple as it sounds. As you can see, we have two rows of tables here. The inside seats are for our Sitters. They will stay in one chair for the whole of the event as the Circles move, you guessed it, in a circle around the tables. A bit like a game of musical chairs except no one loses.” A low chuckle filled the room. “Every seat has a placeholder with a name on it. In a moment, I am going to ask you to find your name and sit in front of it. Beside each placeholder is a stack of cards with our participants’ names on them. You are to rank each date as it occurs and check the box at the bottom indicating if you would like to continue a relationship past tonight.”
Logan waved his wand and a countdown clock appeared over the bar, ticking down from ten minutes.
“You may place drink orders at the bar, small appetizers are available as well. Staff will also circle the room during rounds, taking orders and helping with anything you may need. We will begin when the timer sounds. Each date will last seven heavenly minutes. After ten dates, we will have an intermission—ten minutes to gather yourselves before we begin the second round. Ten more dates. At the end, the staff and I will collect your score cards. The bar will remain open for thirty, forty minutes more of drinks and mingling. Tomorrow, you will receive an owl with your matches’ contact information.”
Harry downed the rest of his drink, turned back towards the bar to order another, and found Snape had beat him there. Snape read over the menu with a pinched look on his face, seeming like he was actually in pain as he ordered: “One Dragon Sunset.”
Harry glanced over the cocktail list until he found the Dragon Sunset. It was all fruit liquors and syrups. It sounded ungodly sweet. Harry lifted an eyebrow, side-eyed Snape, then ordered another of his gin with lemon drinks for himself.
Harry wove through the crowds towards the tables, ready to get the night going properly. He hoped he’d been assigned to the Sitter group so he could plunk himself down in one place and avoid Snape for as long as possible.
Best case scenario, for the whole night.
He blew out a relieved breath when he found his name on the inside row of chairs. Then groaned when he read Snape’s name on the placeholder card at the Sitter seat at the table beside his.
He’d be spending the whole night, one hundred and forty excruciating minutes, within arm’s reach of his worst nightmare.
Fine.
Fine.
He was Harry Fucking Potter. He’d faced every other nightmare scenario the world threw his way. Why not toss this one onto the ever-mounting pile?
Harry thunked his drink down beside his placeholder and threw himself into his chair. He crossed his arms and pursed his lips. This was the worst. Snape would have a front row seat to every single one of his dates tonight. Each awkward conversation and failed attempt at humor. Whatever horrible things were said to him, whatever saccharine declaration over the Boy Who Lived. Snape would be there sneering.
Harry pinched the bridge of his nose.
Someone clicked their tongue beside him and Harry fucking knew exactly who it was.
Harry dropped both hands to the table with a thump, his drink splashing against the rim of his glass. He glared at Snape and said, “You could leave.”
“And lose my deposit? We aren’t all made of money, Lord Potter.”
A growl bubbled in the back of his throat. “Don’t call me that.”
“You prefer your highness?”
Harry narrowed his eyes. “I prefer nothing. Keep my name out of your mouth entirely.”
“Gladly.”
Snape primly lowered himself into his chair, crossed his legs, and sipped his drink.
“I’ll repay your deposit,” Harry said.
Snape’s face twisted to one side. “No.”
Harry downed the rest of his drink and lifted his hand for one of the roaming waiters.
“I will pay for you to attend two more of these things if you just fuck off right now.” A very attractive man sat down in the chair opposite Harry, frowning, obviously having overheard. Harry’s cheeks flushed hot, but he turned his attention back to Snape. “A dozen more.”
“Stop throwing your money around.” Snape eyed the man across from Harry then moved his gaze to the equally good-looking man that was settling into the chair across from him. “I will not be going anywhere. You leave.”
“No, I was here first.”
“I was born first.”
“What the fuck does that matter?”
“Language, Potter. Tsk-tsk. Boy Heroes should display better manners.”
Harry crossed his arms with a huff.
He refused to leave. Refused.
Harry picked up the provided pen. Twiddled it. Drummed it against the list of suggested questions taped to the table. Put it back down.
He turned in his seat to glare at Snape some more.
Snape caught him, swiveled in his seat, and sneered. His gaze raked up and down Harry. “A green jumper, Potter? To match your eyes? How trite.”
“A black everything, Snape? To match your heart? How predictable.”
Snape leaned into Harry’s space. “Have you already trawled through your legions of clingers-on? Need to come roll in the muck with the plebeians for dates? What a sad, little rich boy.”
Harry went nose-to-giant nose with him. “At least I can get dates.”
Snape’s brow lifted. “Excellent.” Then fell. “Leave.”
Harry’s teeth gnashed and his knuckles popped, the skin pulled tight over his fisted hands.
Logan spoke above the chatter of the crowd. “Are we all in our right seats?”
Snape’s eyes darted to the side, back across the table, and Harry followed them. Their two table mates were staring at them. Harry looked back at Snape and found he could see the man’s pores. The close-shorn stubble on his jaw. The red capillaries in the whites of his eyes.
Harry reeled back into his seat, lips a tight line, embarrassed by how close he’d been to Snape, and gave his fullest attention to the next instructions.
“Excellent,” Logan continued. “The bell will sound in a minute and you are to begin your first date of the night. Have fun, you lot!”