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batsutousaiTitle: Growing Old With You
Fandom: Harry Potter
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Teen
Pairing: Harry Potter/Tom Riddle, Lily Evans/Severus Snape, others
Warnings: Alternate Universe (canon divergence & soulmate), Slytherin!Harry, minister!Tom, age difference, politics, dating in the public eye
Summary: A chance meeting between a Hogwarts student and the Minister for Magic spirals into a love story that the tabloids adore, while those involved are just trying to figure out how they actually fit together.
A/N: For those who asked about James' fate, Harry explains here. (For Severus' soulmate, tbh, I never actually settled on anyone. It was probably Barty Crouch Jr, because I maybe accidentally love that ship a little too much after writing NttW, whoops.)
Cross-posted to Archive of Our Own and LiveJournal.
Chapter 2/3
-0-
Really, Tom wasn't all that surprised that his soulmate would show back up at the Knockturn pub, but he had expected it to take a couple of days, not be on the night after the Snapes visited the manor. "Shouldn't you be in school?" he asked as Mr Snape motioned for a drink.
Those brilliant green eyes turned towards him, not the least dimmed by the dark lighting of the pub. "I had some questions for you," his soulmate said, low and serious in a way that Tom was admittedly a little surprised by.
He really needed to stop being surprised by someone who was supposedly the perfect match to his own soul.
"Questions," he murmured into his glass. "What sort of questions?"
Mr Snape considered him for a moment, something almost searching in his gaze, and Tom was admittedly a little disappointed when he didn't feel any attempts at legilimency. And then his soulmate quietly asked, "Are you a dark lord?"
And again with the being surprised. Though, really, he was in Slytherin; of course there was a chance that he'd hear about Tom's darker dealings and what certain members of the purist community called him, he just hadn't expected it to come up quite so soon. Certainly not before the public announcement.
"Richard," he ordered the barkeep, "a room key."
Mr Snape didn't drag his feet or make any shows of confusion, just collected his drink and followed Tom up the stairs once he had the requested key. Which Tom appreciated.
It wasn't the first time he'd taken someone upstairs in that pub, nor was it the first time he'd done so without the intention of sleeping together, but it was the first time he felt even vaguely nervous about it. He blamed the inexplicable nerves on why his soulmate was the one to cast privacy wards before settling at the rickety table provided.
"Auror Black," Tom assumed as he looked over the wards, admittedly a little impressed; they were strong, far stronger than he'd have expected of someone who was still a student.
"Uncle Sirius taught me soon as I turned seventeen," Mr Snape agreed flatly. "Said anyone who spends most of their days surrounded by snakes needs to know a good way to protect their secrets."
Tom snorted, familiar enough with that particular anti-Slytherin mentality. "As though snakes are the only ones who creep around on soft feet, listening for blackmail material."
Mr Snape's mouth twitched, like he was resisting the urge to smile, and then he leant back in his chair. "So, you are a dark lord, then. Or called yourself one at some point."
Clearly, there would be no beating around the bush; a part of Tom appreciated that, even if another part of him rather enjoyed the word games that were so natural to him after decades in politics. "I had, at one time, aspirations towards replacing Grindelwald, yes. However, seventeen year olds aren't particularly threatening, and that clearly wasn't something that was intended to change with any speed. So I turned my eye to the more legal route of changing the world."
Mr Snape nodded, his expression gone a little distant. "I suppose it would be difficult to effectively lead a crowd of older purists when you're trapped in the body of a teenager," he agreed, and then his eyes narrowed on Tom. "I know the purist agenda, and I've heard your original policies; where do you actually stand on muggleborns?"
Tom watched him for a long moment, intrigued and regretting, just a little, that he hadn't done a more extensive search into his soulmate's background. He suspected that 'Snape' was originally a muggle surname, given the limited number of them in the records, but that was really all he'd dared to find out, lest he lead anyone to suspect why he was looking into a student's family. His mother was evidently a teacher at Hogwarts, and very likely a Gryffindor, given her attack on him in his home. And, based on her comment about the elder Snape's friendship with Auror Black, he had to assume the man had also been a Gryffindor, though he could have been in one of the more 'neutral' houses, which would explain how Tom's soulmate had landed in Slytherin.
He leant forward over the table and flashed his soulmate a sharp smile. "Tit for tat, Harry," he said. "You know my story, but I haven't the faintest about yours, save the names of your mother, father, and paternal grandmother, and what I know of Auror Black."
Mr Snape blinked, then tilted his head to the side. "Unexpected, but fair. No doubt, reporters will have personal questions for you; you may as well collect the answers from the source. But I asked first, so..." He motioned for Tom to speak, then took a sip of his drink.
Tom inclined his head and relaxed back into his chair again. "While it is true that I once held nothing but contempt for muggleborns," he said, following his soulmate's example in using the politer term, "my initial election loss did teach me to listen to the populace with less bias. I truthfully find them to be something of a necessary evil, in that I dislike how many muggle ideas they bring into our society. However, without them, we are too few in number. Those willing to fully join wizarding society are more than acceptable, but I detest those who return to muggle society or who attempt to, shall we say, straddle the line between the two. Those are the ones who endanger us, who bring the hatred and poison that all muggles spew back into our society."
Mr Snape's expression remained carefully neutral while Tom spoke, which was something he rather appreciated, even though a part of him should have liked to see how his soulmate truly felt.
After a long silence, Tom done explaining himself, Mr Snape finally said, "My mother is a muggleborn."
"Ah."
Mr Snape shifted, his expression tightening briefly. "I've never met her sister, my aunt, but I've been given to believe that she is either a thoroughly detestable individual, or hurt and misunderstood, depending on whether Dad or Mum are the one speaking about her. However, they both agree that Mum's parents were absolutely lovely, and Dad's father, who was also a muggle, was the absolute worst person in the world; Dad visits his grave on the holidays just to spit on it."
Tom snorted, fully understanding that urge.
Mr Snape sighed. "I'm willing to agree that muggles can be dangerous to us, but I cannot agree that those muggleborns who wish to retain some connection to their muggle origins are detestable."
"They endanger us every time they speak with a muggle!" Tom snarled.
Mr Snape raised an eyebrow at him, clearly unimpressed, and Tom forced himself to sit back and breathe again; clearly, Mrs Snape wasn't the only one in the family capable of testing his temper.
"Mini– Tom," his soulmate murmured after a moment, his voice gentle, "at least when muggleborns deal with muggles, they know how to hide. When most magical people have to interact with the muggle world, they stand out like sore thumbs; if anyone is a danger to us, it's those who cast all manner of impossible spellwork on their tents during the Quidditch World Cup, or go about in robes when most muggles would never think to wear such.
"No matter what the purists or you yourself might think of them, muggles are not stupid," he continued, steel entering his voice, "and we can't continue overusing the obliviate charm to cover our arses. Eventually, they're going to find out, and I guarantee it won't be due to a muggleborn who just wanted to go to their parent's funeral or a sibling's wedding."
Tom had to look away, disgusted with how sensible the boy had made that all sound. He'd spent decades building and living by his beliefs, and this half-witted child thought to come in and try to change all that?
"You're only angry because I'm making sense," Mr Snape said, his voice quiet, but still with an edge of steel.
"How well you must think of yourself, the child of a mudblood and a halfblood," Tom heard himself snarl.
And then he realised what he'd just said and shoved away from the table, standing up and turning away so he could berate his loss of control in private.
"Well," his soulmate said after a long, tense silence. "Thank you for not cursing me, at least."
"Is your whole family this infuriating?" Tom demanded of the wall.
Mr Snape let out a laugh that sounded startled. "Uncle Sirius and Mum, yes, but Uncle Remus and Dad are usually more sensible. Most of the time." He coughed, and Tom heard the sound of fingers drumming against glass. "And Dad, Severus Snape, isn't my birth father."
Tom turned to face him again, his curiosity winning out over his lingering rage. "But your name...?"
Mr Snape offered him a small, slightly sad smile. "Mum's soulmate was James Potter. He's my actual father."
Tom couldn't quite stop a grimace; while he hadn't actually been directly involved in the giant debacle that had resulted in the deaths of six aurors and permanent retirement of three others, he'd still taken the blow to his popularity, and had been required to attend all of the funerals and visit each of the survivors in hospital, which meant he knew every single name. And, because it had been the sort of tragedy that no one else dared to forget, he hadn't allowed himself to forget a one of them.
"Mum married Dad, Severus, because she couldn't cope alone, not with a baby on the way. They were friends in school, and Dad's soulmate had died that night, too, so I guess it made sense to them to weather their loss together. James wanted Uncle Sirius named as my godfather, but him and Dad have never got on, so him and his soulmate, Remus Lupin, are my honorary uncles. Lucius Malfoy and Alice Longbottom are my godparents."
And, just like that, Tom understood how his soulmate had found out about his being referred to as a dark lord by certain members of the purist families; Lucius would never have shared such around him, not when his mother was a muggleborn, but his own son would have either been informed or overheard a few things. If Mr Snape and the little Malfoy had grown up together, they would be, at the least, allies, and willing to share what information might prove beneficial later on.
"The Potter fortune is held in trust for me – my mother decided long before I started Hogwarts that the whole thing should be mine – so I have no need of your wealth; I believe we can expect someone from Witch Weekly to ask that extremely inappropriate question."
"Undoubtably," Tom agreed, finally returning to his former seat. "Doubtless, they'll also want to know your future plans."
"Them, or you?" his soulmate returned, his mouth twitching. "It depends on my NEWTs, to some extent, but I have no intention to be idle. Or, rather," he added in a wry tone, "my parents won't let me be idle; if I don't have the scores to join the aurors, I'll end up apprenticed to my father. He's a master potioneer," he explained, clearly reading Tom's unasked question.
"And a Slytherin, I must assume, given your relation to Lucius."
"Yes. Mum, Uncle Remus, Uncle Sirius, and James were all Gryffindors, as are Alice and her family. And while the Hat did want to put me in Gryffindor, I made the choice to be a Slytherin, in a large part because of some of the things Dad has said over the years. And, I'll admit, to annoy Uncle Sirius. Just a bit."
Tom startled himself with a laugh, and his soulmate grinned in return, wide and entirely too fetching.
"So, no aspirations towards politics, then," Tom asked, mostly to take his mind off the urge to kiss the smile off his soulmate's lips.
"Not particularly," Mr Snape admitted with a shrug. "Beyond our previous discussion, I have little interest in politics, and even that little bit is more for the sake of my mum and those muggleborns I count among my friends."
"And what are your aspirations, Harry?" Tom had to ask, leaning forward over the table slightly.
His soulmate eyed him for a moment, mouth turning with an amused little smile. "I think you're going to have to sort that out on your own, Tom."
Tom chuckled and settled back into his chair. "I do believe I might just enjoy it," he decided; for all that his soulmate was capable of bringing him to a rage with what seemed to be little effort, there was also something almost soothing about him when they weren't at odds. And while Tom should like to convince himself otherwise, it was likely in part due to how often Mr Snape managed to surprise him. "I presume you've shared the truth with all of those you fear might kill you without advance warning?"
Mr Snape shrugged and nodded. "Yes, I filled Ginny in. And, you know, a handful of students who I trust in each of the houses, so they can keep eyes out for any adverse reactions to the news." And there it was again, just like when he'd asked for the truth bracelet, that gleam of intelligence in his eyes, with just a hint, Tom recognised, of challenge.
"Perhaps I won't ready an auror squad, then," Tom returned in as dry a voice as he could muster.
Mr Snape snorted. "Should I be touched, or insulted?"
Tom decided that was rhetorical and asked, "Was there anything else we needed to verify in preparation for tomorrow?"
Mr Snape watched him for a moment with his too-intelligent eyes, before shrugging and looking away. "Not particularly, I should think. I expect to get more death threats or people cosying up to me, than anything else, and if you need more than the basics we've covered about my background, I'm certain you can talk your way out of any holes."
"Your belief in me is truly touching."
He got a wide grin in response to his sarcasm.
Before the silence following that exchange could get awkward, Tom rose. "You should probably get back to Hogwarts."
"Mm, probably," Mr Snape agreed, also rising. He paused while reaching for his drink, though, expression twisting with uncertainty. "Ah. How did we meet? I mean, it's not really a secret I've been sneaking out this year, but so far as anyone at the school is concerned, I haven't gone past Hogsmeade."
Tom considered that for a moment, especially the implications that his soulmate had never snuck out before this year and that he'd snuck out to see someone in London the night they met. He didn't care for the flare of jealousy that accompanied the obvious assumption – a lover or crush (more likely, given the nameplate from the singles' mixer) who had been in the year above him – and forced himself to focus on the more important task of coming up with a meeting place that was less damning than Knockturn Alley. "It has been quite some years, but I've been known to frequent the Hog's Head on some evenings."
Mr Snape frowned and ran a hand through his hair, upsetting it in a manner that was slightly distracting. "Abe knows me, though. I might be able to talk him into covering for us, but he'll want something in return."
Tom raised an eyebrow at that; he knew who the owner of the Hog's Head was, and that he'd been in Slytherin well before Tom's own time, but he'd never been on good enough terms with him to think he might cover for him about anything. (If he was honest, that was at least partially because of who his brother was.) "If necessary, his liquor licence can get waved through when it's next up for renewal without him needing to pay any fees."
Mr Snape raise his own eyebrow. "I'll pass that on, then let you know."
"Of course."
With that sorted, they collected their drinks and quit the room, returning to the bar, where Tom returned the key and his soulmate left his glass after draining the last of it.
"Good night, Tom," Mr Snape murmured before kissing his cheek again.
He was gone before it occurred to Tom that he should probably respond; he really needed to stop doing that.
The special edition of The Daily Prophet arrived in the middle of lunch, and it was an honest struggle for Harry to keep his back straight and his expression even as an unusual silence fell over the room; the sign of everyone in attendance reading either their own copy, or that of a friend.
As much as he wanted to get a look at the article himself, he knew he was best off pretending not to care, or at least that he already knew what it said. (Draco had given him a hard time over not demanding a preview of the article, but it wasn't like Harry didn't already know what the minister would cover, and while his soulmate might have sufficient political power to go demanding advance print copies, he didn't. Anyway, he knew he could steal Draco's copy of the paper and read it in the loo before their next class.)
He had talked to Aberforth on his way back to the school, and he'd been willing to cover for them, for the price of not having to pay his next liquor licence renewal and a picture of his brother's reaction to the news, which Harry had employed his favourite of his family's house-elves, Totty, to take and deliver for him. (It was hardly the first time he'd paid for favours with taking photos of the Headmaster in moments of weakness; training Totty with a camera as a kid for the sake of getting blackmail against Sirius and Draco had served him well.)
Harry strongly suspected Aberforth would have covered for them just for the price of the photo, but since the minister had offered, he figured he might as well do the same. Anyway, the less anyone knew about the transactions he made via embarrassing photos, the better for everyone; he didn't expect letting the minister know he could take pictures of people in compromising or embarrassing positions was likely to end well.
As people started talking again, Harry cast a glance at his mum and received a faint nod; the minister hadn't said anything too offensive about their family, then, and Harry wasn't in any more trouble than he had already been for sneaking out and meeting his soulmate the first time.
Headmaster Dumbledore, Harry noticed as he turned away from the head table, was watching him with what looked suspiciously like a speculative gleam in his eyes. Harry forced himself not to react and promised himself he'd look at his copies of the photos Totty took as soon as possible; Severus had taught him a long time ago to never trust the headmaster, despite what the rest of the family might say, and six and a half years in Slytherin had taught him his father was right to say so. (Dumbledore might act gentle and kind, but everyone in Slytherin knew he'd sooner feed their entire house to the wolves to save any one student in another house, especially if it was a Gryffindor.)
Pansy had not, in fact, ended up needing to spend a couple of days in the infirmary. They'd barely spoken all day – not particularly uncommon; her fathers may not have put a moratorium on her spending time with him, but her distance was largely due to his mum's blood status – but as soon as he stood, Draco's copy of the paper slipped away in his bag, Pansy stood and joined him, slipping her arm through his and holding tight enough, it was clear he wouldn't be shaking her loose without causing a scene.
"To what," Harry murmured as they started walking towards the doors of the great hall, Draco and Blaise notably remaining in their seats; he was on his own, "do I owe the dubious honour of your presence?"
"Are you implying we're not friends, Harrison?" she returned, and the way she said his name, he thought, made it perfectly clear that they weren't friends.
In response, he simply raised an eyebrow at her.
She huffed and, once they had started up the staircase, well away from the other few students who had looked like they'd rather be monopolising Harry's time, informed him, "Perhaps it's time to rectify that oversight."
Harry took a moment to count the steps as they climbed them, biting back the first two responses that came to him. Finally, he stopped at the landing to the next floor, cast an unimpressed eye over the nearest paintings, who were very obviously pretending to not be listening, then turned to her and said, "I spent two years trying to be your friend, for Draco's sake, until you tried to push me down these very stairs." He motioned down the staircase they'd just climbed, and she looked away. "You know how to make amends," he reminded her, because they were both Slytherins, and shame on her for forgetting that you didn't get anything for free.
So saying, he pulled his arm from her grip, then continued up to the second floor, where he retreated to the nearest loo and settled in to read the article.
There were no surprises waiting for him in the paper, thankfully, and while there had certainly been some questions about the suitability of a relationship between the minister and himself, given the age gap, the minister had insisted that it was Harry's choice whether or not to pursue a relationship after finishing Hogwarts. Which meant Harry should expect questions about whether or not he thought the minister was hot, or whatever ridiculous standard people thought was most important to determine whether or not someone was worth dating. Easy enough to dissuade, given his history of relatively high grades. (He'd never cared enough to fight Hermione Granger and Draco for the honour of being top of their year, but he'd always fallen within the top five, and had racked up more than enough time in the library to prove he cared more about studying than relationships.)
Finished with the only article he particularly cared about, he slipped the paper back into his bag, then went to join his classmates outside the charms classroom. While he'd usually sit with Neville – who had once been as close to a best friend as Draco, before their sorting – he knew he'd get more peace with the Slytherins, and Neville's wry smile as he settled in next to Draco said he understood. Doubtless, he'd already had to listen to Ron's grumbling, or Lavender Brown's complaining about how it wasn't fair that she wasn't the minister's soulmate – Harry had it on good authority that she was just as obsessed as Pansy.
Professor Flitwick, bless him, didn't say anything about Harry's soulmate, and he politely told off Brown when she started to talk a little too loud about the article.
While Harry usually would have retreated to the library after charms, having got used to getting his homework done as soon as he received it with Hermione and a couple of other students who didn't mind working with students from other houses, he instead retreated to the Slytherin common room. In part to avoid any questions, which he could only assume the rest of the school would believe his reason to be. But, too, he knew he needed to be on hand for his housemates. Some would have questions, some would want to sort out new alliances, and others would simply wish to watch him.
By the time they left for dinner, Harry was on speaking terms with about half of the children whose parents had told them to avoid Harry because of his mum, and had eased the concerns of a number of the younger years, who hadn't known exactly how much or what they should say to non-Slytherins.
After dinner, he met up with those students in other houses he'd asked to keep an eye on their housemate's responses. There were the expected few students who, like Pansy and Brown, had a massive crush on the minister and were none-too-pleased about a 'slimy Slytherin' – or, for a couple, a male – being his soulmate. A sixth year Hufflepuff boy and a fourth year Gryffindor girl had both needed to be hexed and sent to the infirmary, where Madam Pomfrey knew to talk them down once they were sorted out, but everyone else was handled without wands needing to be drawn. There were a couple of students who they would be keeping eyes on – while Slytherins were the most widely accepted to bide their time and wait for his guard to go down before attacking, Harry had learnt early on that house didn't matter when it came to that particular attack plan – but, all things considered, everything had gone much smoother than Harry had anticipated.
He remained on his guard for the next month, even going so far as to remain with at least one other student he trusted at all times – not hard, as he and Draco had pretty much the exact same schedule, save herbology, which Harry shared with Neville and Hermione – but no one made any attempts on his life. If anything, the amount of hostility he faced had gone down, in large part due to the children of the least accepting purist families finally being allowed to talk to him, but also because a number of students, especially those intending to find jobs in the ministry after Hogwarts, were attempting to make friendly with him.
While Harry accepted the truce from the purist students, and Pansy and he eventually reached an uneasy (at least on his part; it was hard to fully trust someone who had tried to kill him and he knew still had an eye on his soulmate) alliance, he held very firm about not allowing himself to be an easy path to his soulmate.
"We've spoken twice," he informed Ron after the third or so time he'd tried to get Harry to put in a good word for him. "I haven't had anything to do with him in near a month, and I don't expect to do until summer. If you really want into the aurors that bad, you should be pestering one of the Boneses, anyway; it's one of them what's in charge of that lot, not the minister."
"Anyway, Weasel," Draco added with his classic nose-in-the-air pose, "it's not like you haven't got your own lines in the ministry. Or has your father finally got the boot he so deserves?"
Harry very firmly pulled Draco away before Ron managed to get his wand out.
Honestly, with so much of the school's eyes on him, he hadn't bothered to do any sneaking out, save going past the twins' shop the first weekend, in an attempt to keep them from coming to the school and giving him hell in front of witnesses. (They had, in fact, given him hell, then got the true story of his first meeting out of him, mostly because they knew he'd been in Diagon at some point before the announcement.)
He'd settled himself to not seeing his soulmate until spring break, at the earliest, but probably not until that summer, and turned his focus back to his studies, doubly important with the looming NEWTs.
He didn't hear anything from the minister before or during spring break, and he'd ended up spending most of it studying with Hermione and those other students in their inter-house study group who didn't bother with going home for the week, anyway, so he was hardly fussed. (He also knew, from the paper, that his soulmate was in talks with the French and Turkish magical leaders regarding an incident that took place over the English Channel, involving some Turkish nationals; clearly, he had more important things to worry about than Harry.)
And so, colour him surprised when, not long after breakfast on the day of the final Hogsmeade trip of the year, one of the younger year Slytherins raced into the library (where most of the seventh and fifth years were bent over books), ignored Madam Pince's warning glare, and nearly crashed straight into Harry. (Probably would have crashed, actually, except Vince had grabbed the back of her robes; he'd been taking one of his regular breaks to rest his eyes and happened to be in range.)
"Snape!" the girl said, and was promptly hushed by at least half the library. Harry, for his part, just shot her a tired look. "The minister's in Hogsmeade!"
There was a long moment of silence, not even the sound of a single page being turned, and then people all over the library were getting up, whispering about how they could probably take a short break.
"Why?" Harry asked no one in particular, because Pansy had already stolen the messenger to get the specifics out of.
"Might as well go down and find it out in person," Theo said, even as he capped his ink and cast a drying charm on the essay he'd been in the middle of writing.
When Draco very pointedly tugged on his arm, Harry gave in to the inevitable and put away those things he daren't leave behind, then collected his bag and joined the exodus from the library.
The minister was, indeed, in Hogsmeade, attended by a few aurors – not Sirius, thankfully; he'd agreed to not be an arsehole to the minister, but he'd made it clear that the man being Harry's soulmate didn't change how much he disliked him – and talking to a couple of students. There were also reporters in attendance, and Harry sincerely hoped his soulmate wasn't intending this to be some sort of pretty and perfect photo op, because while he hardly looked sloppy – Draco had cast a few charms on him on the way from the castle – he had been fully intending to spend most of the day in the library, not smiling for the press.
The reporters clearly saw him first, for they all straightened and Harry and his yearmates – the fifth years had all gone ahead or trailed well behind – were suddenly the focus of almost a dozen cameras.
"Aren't you glad I fixed you up, now?" Draco whispered from behind his perfectly cultivated public smile.
Harry did his best to resist a sigh, mostly because it would ruin his own public smile.
And then the minister looked up, straight at Harry, and smiled. And he was...so unfairly gorgeous. When the wind tousled his hair, it didn't end up looking at all like a bird's nest, for one, and the silver edging of his deep green robes sparkled in the sunlight, which really caught the eye. As if he needed the help.
Harry didn't realise he'd stopped to stare until someone none too gently shoved him in the back.
The students who had been talking to the minister politely moved out of the way of Harry and his fellow seventh years, so the path to his soulmate was a relatively easy one. That said, Harry was wearing his bracelet – he rarely took it off, mostly because the more familiar it became, the less suspicious it would seem – so he stopped a polite distance from the minister and didn't bother with holding out a hand or anything of the sort.
Likewise, neither did the minister. Instead, he said, "Hello, Harry."
"Hi, Tom," he replied, feeling uncomfortably like he was on display. Which, well, he sort of was, but he also wasn't actually used to using his soulmate's name; he'd only ever used his title or his last name with his family and fellow students, because that felt more comfortable. It wasn't like they actually knew each other.
Draco cleared his throat, and Harry realised it would probably be polite to introduce his entourage, which was thankfully made up of those he knew best in his year. "Ah, these are my yearmates: Draco Malfoy, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Theo Nott, Vince Crabbe, Greg Goyle, Susan and Mark Bones, Ernie Macmillan, Padma Patil, Hermione Granger, Sally-Anne Perks, and Neville Longbottom."
And then, practically out of nowhere, Ginny popped up next to him, elbowing Draco in the side in the process – on purpose, Harry would bet – and grinned widely at him.
"And this," he added a bit helplessly, even as he pulled Ginny to his other side, out of the way of Draco's retaliation, "is Ginny Weasley, my best friend."
Draco scoffed, but since he'd given up the title of best friend when they started Hogwarts – something about proper Slytherins not having friends; Harry called codswallop – he really couldn't argue it.
The minister raised a single perfect eyebrow. "Miss Weasley, is it?" he said. And then, before Ginny could actually take offence to his tone – Harry knew she would, though she was a little slower to explode than Ron – he told Harry, "At last, the full name of the young woman you mentioned."
Well, that would probably keep the rumour mill going at least to the start of exams, if not through the end of the year; Harry was starting to wish he'd stayed in the library.
The minister must have read something of his displeasure in his expression, because his smile turned slightly apologetic and he said, "I do apologise for interrupting your study time, but I'm afraid your mother insisted I visit for tea."
"Of course she did," Harry muttered. Knowing Lily, it had probably even been partially intended as a way to get Harry out of the library; she'd pulled something similar near the end of his fifth year, making up an emergency to get him to come down to the village on the final Hogsmeade weekend of the year. He turned to Draco and requested, "Clean up my spot when you get back to the library? Knowing Mum, I won't be back to the castle until dinner."
Draco wrinkled his nose in that way that meant he'd be grimacing if they weren't in public, but nodded. "We may as well get some butterbeer while we're here," he told the other students.
While all of the seventh years and a few of the other lingering students took that cue to walk away, Ginny was one of the ones who remained. "Your dad home?" she asked, and Harry knew she was seriously considering crashing the tea.
"I haven't heard about any trips lately," Harry told her honestly. He didn't actually always know when Severus was leaving to hunt down a rare ingredient or attend a lecture or convention of some sort, but Lily usually at least mentioned when he was gone, especially during holidays and Hogsmeade weekends.
Ginny made a face – Severus wasn't naturally good with people, especially children, and Draco was the only one of Harry's friends who could stand to be around him for long – clearly debated for a moment, then sighed and patted his shoulder. "I'll steal one of your mum's tea cakes another day."
"I'll warn her," Harry returned, which they both knew meant she'd probably have some waiting for her back in her dorm after dinner.
Ginny flashed him a smile, then turned to his soulmate, intoned, "Minister," and took her leave, chivvying away the last of the gawkers.
Harry allowed himself a quiet sigh, then offered the minister a small smile. "She's probably not expecting us for at least another half hour."
The minister raised an eyebrow. "Pranks or sweets, then?"
Harry snorted; Fred and George would cry mutiny if he went to Zonko's, and he knew better than to try wading through the crowd in Honeydukes. "I, actually, could use a couple new quills," he admitted, because he had a terrible habit of chewing on the ends of his when he was reading stuff he needed to take notes on, which he'd been doing a lot of the past couple of months, so all of his quills were looking rather ratty. He usually resorted to stealing one of Draco's excess of spares, or begging one or two off of his mum when they got to the point where he was embarrassed to use them in class, but since he was in Hogsmeade anyway...
"Scrivenshaft's it is," the minister agreed, then motioned for Harry to take the lead.
The auror escort was slightly distracting, but he wasn't unused to Sirius prowling around and keeping his head on a swivel when he was feeling unsettled in a public space, and the crowd of reporters that was trying to follow them was far more of a nuisance.
Only one auror actually followed them into Scrivenshaft's – Kingsley Shacklebolt, who Harry had met a couple of times because he had mentored Sirius and Draco's cousin, Dora – while the others remained outside and, presumably, kept the press from following them.
"Regrettably," the minister murmured once they'd found a display a bit away from both the windows and the few other patrons in the shop (though not, Harry spotted while his soulmate was talking, away from a particular beetle, who was sitting oh-so-calmly on his own sleeve; the only reason Harry didn't squash her, was he knew Lucius had her in his pocket and would be cross to lose her), "there's not much I can do about the entourage."
Harry shrugged and nodded; he didn't really suppose the minister could go around unprotected on a Hogsmeade weekend, his magical skills notwithstanding, and as soon as he'd requested the guard, it would have got leaked to the press. Who, he knew from the papers and magazines, had been dying to get a good photo and hear more about him ever since the reveal. (Harry had actually, through Ginny, sent in a couple reasonable photos of himself, then split the money with her. Information was harder to control, even when he knew how to guard against the worst snoop in the press, but the people who knew him best weren't likely to betray his trust that way, and everyone else could only share information that was either public record, or mostly harmless speculation.)
Photos of both him and the minister, not to mention what they did on what would likely be noted down as their first date, would be as good as gold.
"Mum'll hex the lot of them if they try getting into the house," he said with a shrug, and resisted shooting a pointed look at the reporter on his sleeve. "She should at least let the aurors inside, though, set them up with their own share of tea and nibbles. Assuming they don't get in her way of hexing anyone."
The minister coughed in just such a way, Harry could only assume he was trying not to laugh. "So long as she doesn't aim at myself, one of them, or, very likely, you, I don't believe they'll care."
"Me?" Harry had to ask, confused. Why would the aurors care if his mum hexed him?
The minister's expression went completely blank. "You're my soulmate," he said, as if that was the obvious answer.
"Yeah, but I'm just a student. And she's my mum, besides."
The minister just sort of stared at him for a moment, his expression impossible to read, before he sighed and closed his eyes. "Just...accept it as one of the dangers of being my soulmate," he suggested in a voice that sounded almost pained.
Harry frowned at that, still not quite understanding exactly what the minister wasn't saying, but resigned himself to not finding out in public, at the least. Instead, he picked up a couple of quills and, at a loss for anything else to say, started talking about the NEWTs.
It must have been close to fifty years since the minister took the NEWTs himself, but he took to the subject change quite easily, and they were debating which potions were most likely to show up on the exams by the time Harry had checked out.
They ended up at Tomes and Scrolls next, the minister insistent that Harry needed to read a particular book in preparation for the transfiguration NEWT, which turned into them debating which book was better for seventh year offensive and defensive magics, since the current professor required a very different one from what the minister had used.
Lily found them sometime later, ruffling Harry's hair and sighing loudly behind him in lieu of announcing herself like a civilised person.
"Mum!" he recognised after jumping a bit in surprise.
"Merlin protect me, there's two of you, now," Lily said, and Harry was a little embarrassed to realise that the minister and he had each amassed a small pile of books to debate about, almost all of them on defensive magic or some of the nastiest legal curses.
The minister cleared his throat. "I'm afraid we may have lost track of time."
"Just slightly," Lily agreed in a tone that was way drier than Harry thought was strictly necessary.
Harry did end up getting the transfiguration book the minister had been pushing on him, because he could use all the help he could get in that class, while the minister bought the defensive magic book Sirius had bought for Harry a couple of years ago, which was probably his absolute most precious book. (In his defence, it had taught him all manner of spells to protect himself from those upper year students who had been in the habit of 'accidentally' hitting him while 'practising' their spellwork in the halls or the common room; it had been Slytherins attacking him because of his mum's blood status as often as Gryffindors who didn't like him because of his house.)
The reporters had all vanished while they'd been in the bookshop, and it was even odds whether they'd got bored with trying to catch peeks or been shooed away by Lily before she'd collected Harry and his soulmate. The beetle on his sleeve was still there, likely delighting in all of the specifics she had that no one else did, but she obediently flew away when Harry subtly shook her off his sleeve once they were outside. (The anti-animagus wards on the house, cast by Severus after one too many times of Sirius-the-dog bounding inside behind Harry and upsetting something, would have kept her out, anyway.) For the aurors, all four walked with them to Harry's house, and while Lily seemed willing to let all of them in, two of them returned to the ministry, leaving Kingsley and Peregrine Derrick, who had been three years ahead of Harry and one of the Slytherin beaters, to guard the minister alone, and both were relatively quick to accept the offer of tea in the office.
Severus was indeed home, standing stiffly in the sitting room when they finally reached him. "Hi, Dad," Harry offered.
"Harrison," his father replied, holding out an arm in the offer of one of his rare hugs. Harry suspected Lily had insisted – whether because they hadn't actually seen each other in months, or because of the guest, only she would know – and didn't bother demurring.
"Minister," Severus added once the hug was out of the way, inclining his head ever so slightly.
"Mr Snape," the minister replied with a nod.
As they settled in the chairs around the table that had the tea set and sandwiches, Lily said, "I don't want to see either of you wearing one of those bracelets," in that tone she'd perfected after about the third time she'd spotted Harry wearing his in her class. (Harry felt that her insistence that she didn't know how the spellwork would interact with the potions was a little weak, insofar as potential arguments against it went, but he'd always quietly slipped it off just to keep her from causing a scene.)
Nearly in tandem, Harry and the minister removed their bracelets and slipped them into a pocket, which got a snort out of Severus; doubtless, he'd already been warned about them.
"Are we expecting my uncles to this interrogation?" Harry couldn't resist asking as he watched his soulmate sort out his tea. (He used rather a lot of milk and two spoons of sugar; Harry was going to remember that, especially the suggestion that the minister had a sweet tooth.)
"Unfortunately," Severus muttered into his tea.
Lily elbowed him while Harry hid his grin in a sandwich, then explained, "Remus had to work this morning, so they'll be by a little after lunch."
"Uncle Remus," Harry explained to the minister, "works at a little muggle bookshop; unfortunately, muggle shops are a lot less likely to connect their employees consistently requesting off around full moons."
The minister hummed and nodded. "Unfortunately, policy changes can only do so much against a stigma that is centuries old, especially in a community that is as set in their ways as ours," he murmured; the laws criminalising firing werefolk on account of their curse had come nearly hand-in-hand with the creation of the potion that allowed them to keep their human mind, but they had seen only limited use in the decade since they'd been signed, especially as employers would cite plenty of other reasons for their firing.
Harry, who had watched Severus struggling to unlearn his own fear of Remus over the course of nearly a decade, hardly blamed the minister for his uncle not being able to hold down a job in the magical world, but he wasn't certain how to explain that in such a way that neither of them would lose face, so he settled for simply shrugging and murmuring, "It is what it is."
"Unfortunately," Severus said in that tone that he always used to warn Lily away from going off on a rant. (He used to try to use it on Sirius, too, but it had only ever ended in disaster; Harry had some rather fond memories of the days before his father learnt better, though.)
Lily's unimpressed glare was completely unsubtle, but Severus ignored her, so she eventually turned to the minister. "So, Tom," she said with a worrying amount of Gryffindor brashness; likely meant to punish Severus, "whatever do you do when you're not trapped in the ministry or glad-handing with the purists?"
Harry probably should have suggested his soulmate come up with an emergency and run for it while he still could.
The minister smiled, though, seeming far more composed than the last time Lily had gone after him, and glanced at Harry. "I'm afraid you've just seen something of a preview," he said. "I should have been quite happy to give up politics for a more academic calling. Alas, Professor Dumbledore refused me the position."
"I wonder why," Lily muttered.
"Mum!" Harry called, frowning at her, even as Severus cleared his throat in that utterly unimpressed way he'd long since perfected for using when they had lunch over at Malfoy Manor.
"I apologise," Lily said in a tone that wasn't really apologetic. "I only mean that your politics during the time you would have made such a bid don't speak well to your ability to teach all students fairly."
"You may as well speak plainly, Mrs Snape," the minister returned, tone wry. "I do believe it's clear to everyone in this room why you find my early stance on muggleborns so abhorrent. And, in truth, I do believe that was a large part of why Professor Dumbledore turned me down."
"Only a part of it?" Lily muttered, before very pointedly picking up a sandwich to eat, likely in response to the unimpressed stares Harry and Severus had both turned on her; Riddle-Gaunt's permission or no, the hostility was completely unnecessary.
The minister cleared his throat. "You cannot tell me that you haven't noticed the disparity between how Professor Dumbledore treats Slytherins and the students in other houses; he has never cared for me."
Lily looked away, clearly not having a good response for that; Harry knew she'd fought for him to be made head boy – the last one in Slytherin had very likely been the minister himself – but the headmaster had refused, instead picking Neville. (Neville had told Harry, multiple times, that he very much had not wanted the position, and he'd tried to refuse it, but his gran hadn't let him.)
"Didn't he introduce you to the magical world?" Harry had to ask; he'd heard some stories from other Slytherins that suggested as much.
"He did," the minister agreed, something almost uncomfortable about his voice. "I don't think either of us were particularly impressed with the other by the end of the meeting."
"In what way?" Lily pressed, leaning forward, and Harry was really starting to wish he hadn't asked.
The minister shifted, rearranging his hands in in a slow, calm manner that Harry was nearly certain was meant to try to hide how much he didn't appreciate the topic. "I was raised in a muggle orphanage," he said, his voice utterly flat. "I believe you have some familiarity with how cruel muggles can be towards those different from them, Mrs Snape."
Harry very firmly focussed on the sandwiches on offer; his mother would almost certainly be glaring at him, and Severus was probably either doing the same or wearing his silently suffering look.
"I found ways to protect myself, using what little magic I had discovered myself capable of, and Professor Dumbledore wasn't impressed. So much so that, when I requested a display of his magic, he made an illusion that he'd set the only things I owned on fire."
Lily flinched and demanded, "Albus did what?" with such rage, Harry half suspected the headmaster would be getting a tongue-lashing later; her respect for Dumbledore and dislike for the minister would do little to change how much she abhorred adults who threatened children.
"You're welcome to ask him about the event," the minister commented, sounding slightly more at ease than he had done; Harry could only assume he was pleased to put a dent in Lily's love of the headmaster, which he was fully behind, after nearly seven years in the man's least favourite house. "I'm sure he'll happily fill you in about my childhood misdeeds to excuse himself."
"Perhaps I will," Lily agreed in that tone that Harry knew meant she fully intended to do so. He almost wished he could be a fly on the wall for that conversation; perhaps he'd ask the portrait of former headmaster Basil Fronsac (who Harry had befriended in his third year, after realising how beneficial it would be to have a spy in Dumbledore's office) if he could give him the highlights.
"Perhaps," Severus intoned, "we should discuss something that's less likely to cause a debate?"
"Potions?" Harry was quick to suggest, because that had always been a favourite in their home, for obvious reasons. "Dad will deny it," he stage-whispered to the minister, "but he was instrumental in the creation of the Wolfsbane Potion."
"I would hardly say 'instrumental'," Severus tried to demure.
"So Damocles didn't swear that it would have likely taken him another decade without your invaluable help?" Lily asked with a wide grin; teasing Severus about his rather secretive assistance in creating a not-insignificant number of the potions created within the last fifteen years was one of Lily and Harry's favourite pastimes. (Which was at least half the reason Harry had brought it up, because Severus could take the teasing, and then the minister would get a break.)
"He was exaggerating," Severus insisted, even as his shoulders slumped slightly. (Harry could only assume he'd done the figuring himself and reached the same conclusion as Harry that this was a far preferable topic to Lily verbally attacking the minister.)
By the time Sirius and Remus stumbled through the floo, they'd moved on to discussing advances in potions that Severus hadn't had a hand in – a far more comfortable topic for him, and one which the minister seemed particularly interested in.
"Hey, Lils!" Sirius called as he led the way into the sitting room, wearing one of his widest, most chaotic grins. "And my Prongslet!" he added as he caught sight of Harry, his eyes lighting with the sort of mayhem that the Weasley twins could only aspire to.
Harry sighed and got up to walk over to his uncles, mostly because he didn't want to know what sort of 'accidental mess' Sirius would cause for the sake of greeting him. "Uncle Bonehead," he offered as he reached them, which made Sirius laugh and drag him into a slightly painful hug. 'Save me,' he mouthed at Remus.
Sirius' soulmate laughed and said, "Let him alone, Sirius."
"Rude," Sirius informed them both, and only he could say whether he was referring to Harry or Remus.
He did let Harry go, though, and he got a much calmer hug from his other honorary uncle.
"How bad has your mum been?" Remus whispered while Sirius greeted the minister and Severus; Harry was a little impressed that he didn't insult either of them, but he assumed Remus had warned him off.
Harry shrugged. "We distracted her early."
Remus' smile was knowing, but he didn't push, instead letting him go to get his own greetings in.
With everyone finally there, they moved to the dining room, where Kingsley and Derrick were invited to join them. Conversation ended up consisting of mostly auror talk, likely due to the number of them in residence.
"You know," Sirius said near the end of the meal, casting the minister a narrow-eyed look, "Harry's been thinking to join the aurors."
"So I've heard," the minister agreed evenly. "I believe he's also waiting until his NEWTs scores come back before deciding for certain which profession he'd rather go into." He glanced over at Harry, who shrugged and nodded.
"But that was before he knew his soulmate could affect his admittance into the auror program," Sirius returned.
"Black," Severus snapped, "you are not forcing my son to follow yours and Potter's ridiculous boyhood dreams."
"I'm sorry, but whose son is he?" Sirius demanded, shrugging off the hand Remus put on his shoulder and starting to rise.
Harry had seen this argument play out a few too many times, and he had less than zero interest in seeing it again, especially in front of guests. So he snapped, "If you two don't bloody shut up, I'm taking Lucius' suggestion!"
They both shut up and very firmly stared down at their plates, expressions mulish.
"And what, I wonder, was Mr Malfoy's suggestion?" the minister asked into the strained silence.
Harry turned a flat look on his soulmate. "Guess," he suggested, because even if he wasn't a supposed dark lord who owned Lucius' loyalty, it was hardly a secret what his godfather did while wandering around the ministry at all hours.
The minister's mouth twitched. "I do have a couple of unnecessarily opulent rooms you're welcome to use, should that be your choice," he offered in a perfectly reasonable tone.
"What?" said Sirius, while Harry couldn't help but grin; he'd never actually follow Lucius' 'advice', and he was fairly certain his soulmate got that, but he was playing along, and that was delightful.
Kingsley cleared his throat before anyone could recover enough to explode, and said, "Unfortunately, Minister, I believe that comes a little too close to misuse of ministry funds."
"You may be correct," the minister agreed, then turned an apologetic look on Harry. "It seems, should you resort to such a path, that you'll have to make use of Mr Malfoy's home, or else something you purchase yourself."
"He's already promised me use of the Rose Room, should I ever need it," Harry admitted, mostly for the overdramatic groan he knew Sirius would make.
"I suppose it does suit your colouring," the minister allowed. "However, I should think you'd rank a richer room."
Well, that answered the unasked question about whether or not the minister had ever been to Malfoy Manor, not that Harry had ever doubted he had been; Lucius did hold regular events, to which he invited all of the purist families and anyone else with a great deal of either political power or money. (Harry had a standing invitation, on account of being family, but Lily had insisted he wouldn't be attending any events until after he'd graduated, and Narcissa had politely agreed that that was sensible before Lucius could try arguing otherwise.)
"Probably," Harry agreed, "but that was my gift for getting into Slytherin."
"Yes, leave it to a Malfoy–"
"Remus, control your lesser half," Severus ordered, and Remus sighed and elbowed Sirius, who had mostly shut up to glare at Severus, anyway.
Harry decided he was done with lunch, and his soulmate looked like he was mostly done, too, so he asked, "Could I borrow you for a bit, Tom?"
The minister raised an eyebrow at him, but agreed, "Certainly," and started to get up.
"Stay in the house," Lily ordered.
"And doors open!" Sirius added, giving up glaring at Severus to narrow his eyes at the minister.
"Salazar protect us," Harry muttered, and exited the room before the brewing row could boil over.
He led the minister up to his bedroom, as it was one of the few places they could be promised a modicum of privacy.
"I'm sorry about them," he offered as he sat on his bed, leaving the desk chair for his soulmate. Assuming he stopped looking around Harry's room at his books, knickknacks, and the poster of Viktor Krum that Draco had bought him as a joke when he'd realised Harry had a crush. (Harry had put it up mostly because what else did you do with a poster of your favourite quidditch star?) "You probably would have been better off refusing Mum's invitation."
"So far as I'm aware, all families have their...dysfunctions," the minister returned as he settled into the desk chair, though his eyes were still on Harry's bookcase. "Some, admittedly, hide them better than others."
"If you think this is bad, wait until you hear about what happened when Walburga died and the whole extended Black family showed up to pay their respects and find out who was going to be the new head of the house," Harry muttered; he'd heard the story from Sirius, Narcissa, and Dora, each separately, and not a one of them had managed to paint the event as anything but a massive clusterfuck.
The minister snorted, finally looking at Harry. "I'm sure it ended in curses," he said, his eyes bright. And just a little red, again; Harry blamed the one red wall that Sirius had insisted he needed, then spelled to be resistant to repainting spells.
"That's putting it mildly."
The minister watched him for a moment, looking unfairly gorgeous with his faint smile focussed on Harry, before he asked, "Was there a reason you wanted me alone? Or was that just an attempt to get me away from your family."
"Mostly the second one," Harry admitted. "Though I was using you as an excuse to escape myself, as much as an attempt to save you."
The minister chuckled, warm and low. "I don't suppose I can blame you. I do, I admit, appreciate you diverting your mother earlier."
Harry tilted his head, considering that. "Was it true, Dumbledore pretending to set your things on fire?"
"Quite."
Harry watched him for a moment, then asked, "Why? What had you done?"
The minister's expression tightened. "I cannot begin to imagine what tales he had been told before the orphanage matron brought him to meet me, but I knew how to use magic to force people to tell me things, by then, and I tried it on him. Foolish."
Harry strongly suspected that was hardly the worst of it, but he didn't push for more, instead offering, "Mum'll probably yell at him and give him the silent treatment for a couple weeks, no matter what defences he pulls. She's real protective of kids, even those already grown."
"Interesting," the minister murmured, something almost crafty in his eyes.
"Whatever you're thinking, you'd best stop," Harry informed him, unimpressed. "If I catch you trying to manipulate my mum, I'll have to show you some of the curses Uncle Sirius taught me over the summer."
The minister's return smile wasn't particularly kind. "I'm not certain that will work out nearly as well as you're thinking."
Harry narrowed his eyes.
"However," the minister continued, his smile easing into something gentler, "I shall endeavour to remember that your family is off limits."
Harry watched him for a long moment, waiting for any sign that the minister was just being facetious. But, if he was, he hid it well, and Harry eventually relaxed, determining that was the best he was going to get.
The minister had evidently been waiting for him to relax, for he shortly after asked, "What is your preference for future job, if you don't mind my asking?"
Harry shrugged. "As much as it disappoints Dad, potions has never been my passion, though I like it well enough. Curses and shields are more my preference–" he motioned towards his bookcase, which was at least half books on offensive and defensive magic "–but auror has never spoken to me the way Uncle Sirius says it did him and James. That's really why I said it depended on my NEWTs, because I just don't care."
The minister stared at him for a long moment, frowning, before turning to look over his bookcase again. Harry could almost see his mind racing behind his not-quite-red eyes, supplying and discarding ideas faster than most of the people Harry knew would bother.
Finally, the minister looked back at him and asked, "Which NEWTs are you taking? Potions, transfiguration, offensive and defensive, I assume?"
Harry nodded. "And charms, herbology, care of magical creatures, and arithmancy." He sighed. "I actually wanted to take ancient runes, too, but Mum said seven classes was a heavy enough course load, and Dad insisted I needed to take magical creatures in case I ended up picking potioneer."
"Sensible," the minister allowed, "and magical creatures would likely also be helpful for aurors, though I'm given to understand that very few of them ever took the course."
"Yeah, that's pretty much what Uncle Sirius said."
The minister nodded. "While I doubt you want another option, I'm certain the Department of Mysteries would love to have you."
Harry straightened. "Wait, the DoM? Don't they only take transfers from other departments? That's what Professor Sinistra said, during my career advice." He'd actually seriously considered the Department of Mysteries before that meeting, because they had sounded way more his speed than his other options; experimenting had always been his favourite part of potions, and defence and offence, besides just being something he was good at, gave him lots of opportunity to see how different spells interacted, which shields stopped which curses and how well.
"As a general rule, yes. However, they have been known to accept students with larger class loads who pass most or all of their NEWTs. And, of course, I could press them to accept you."
Harry stared at him, because that was likely true, and not something that had been an option before. Still... "I think I'd rather get in on my own merit."
The minister inclined his head. "Admirable. The offer does stand, however; I've found it's better to fight a bit for what you truly want, than to simply lie down and accept second best."
Harry couldn't quite stop a laugh. "I'm pretty sure that's the house motto."
The minister's smile was rather more toothy than was polite, but Harry suspected his own was the same.
After a moment of companionable silence, during which they could hear voices in far more friendly tones downstairs, the minister's expression twisted with something that looked a little like uncertainty. "I'm sure your family has plans for your official return home. A party, or some such."
"Probably," Harry agreed with an uncertain shrug. "I mean, they haven't said anything to me, but Uncle Sirius and Uncle Remus always come over the first night I'm home and we do dinner. Why?"
The minister attempted to meet Harry's eyes, then quickly glanced to the side and took a slow, careful breath. "Perhaps the next day, then, if you wanted to do lunch?"
It took Harry a moment, but then he felt a bit like his chest was swelling. "You're asking me on a date?"
The minister's whole face tightened. "Badly," he said, sounding a bit like it had hurt him to say so.
Harry was so utterly beyond charmed, it was sort of ridiculous. And yet, there was something rather humanising about watching his much older and extremely accomplished soulmate struggle with something that Harry had always thought to be, if not simple, certainly something that didn't take any real skill to manage.
"I actually hadn't decided if I wanted to even take the train back, honestly," Harry admitted, because he'd only ever taken the train back to King's Cross after his third year, and that had been because he was spending a couple of weeks with the Longbottoms while Severus was studying with another potioneer in America, Lily intending to follow him as soon as the train left Hogsmeade to add her own assistance. "It's just not something that really makes sense, not when I live in Hogsmeade. Assuming you're not busy for lunch that afternoon?"
The minister finally met his eyes, still looking a little uncertain, but also maybe a little relieved? "I'm fairly certain I have that afternoon free," he said with the sort of certainty that made Harry think that he'd be clearing that afternoon, if necessary. "Did you have any particular restaurants in mind? Not the ministry cafeteria, please. For the sake of both our digestive systems."
Harry laughed and shook his head. "I've heard enough stories from Uncle Sirius to know better. Uhm, maybe not somewhere you'd have to go on a waiting list for? Otherwise, I'm not picky."
"I'll surprise you, then," the minister decided with a final sort of nod. "When you arrive, you're welcome to wait down by the welcome desk, or else come up to my office; Cornelius can supply you with tea or water if I'm slow wrapping something up."
"I suppose it depends how busy the atrium is."
"Yes, that does tend to affect things," the minister agreed with a small smile.
(It remained utterly unfair how attractive he was when he did that.)
Thankfully – or not, depending – Lily picked about that moment to call, "Harry! You can stop hiding; your father and uncle are in time-out!"
The minister raised an eyebrow and Harry sighed as he got up. "That means Dad's in the potions lab, cleaning the cauldrons that can't be done with magic, and Uncle Sirius is helping the house-elves with either the dishes or cleaning the dining room, depending on if they broke anything. And Mum's almost certainly got both of their wands, though Uncle Remus might have Uncle Sirius'."
The minister cleared his throat. "Remind me to stay on your mother's good side."
Harry laughed and led the way back downstairs.
.
