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Severus Snape had agreed—reluctantly, bitterly, and under great emotional duress—to go on an actual, official date with Bruce Mulciber.
It had taken a week of mutual passive-aggressive gift exchanges (flowers, poisoned chocolate, lethal fruit), two late-night arguments over “what is this, exactly,” and a formal agreement that neither of them would use the word date out loud.
And now, on this fine, freezing Saturday, they were sitting stiffly across from each other at a cramped corner table in Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop, trying to pretend they weren’t surrounded by floating heart-shaped confetti and couples making out like Dementors in heat.
“This place is horrific,” Severus said flatly.
“I tried to book the Three Broomsticks,” Bruce muttered, glaring at the doily under his teacup. “Wilkes beat me to it. He said he needed it for a ‘private academic duel.’”
Severus looked like he might spontaneously combust.
They had been seated for exactly 45 seconds when it began.
(-)
Interruption #1: Wilkes
Wilkes kicked the door open like he owned the place and swaggered in wearing a long green scarf, no less than four rings, and the expression of a man who had absolutely not booked a table for an academic duel.
“Snape! Mulciber!” he yelled across the café, oblivious to the romantic atmosphere or the way Severus was stabbing his scone with a sugar spoon.
“What,” Severus growled.
“Borrowing Bruce,” Wilkes said, already dragging Bruce up by the elbow. “He owes me five Sickles and an opinion on whether my hex sounds like Latin or demonic tongues.”
Bruce blinked. “I’m kind of—”
“NOW.”
And he was gone.
Severus stared at his untouched tea, fuming.
(-)
Interruption #2: Avery
Severus had just gotten Bruce back (Wilkes had been threatened with his own scarf) and they were halfway into a bitter conversation about love potions when Edmund Avery slid into their booth like a greased ferret.
“I’ve been hexed,” Avery said, grinning maniacally. “Someone cursed me to sneeze every time I hear the word ‘romance.’ See?” He gestured wildly and then yelled, “ROMANCE!”
A loud sneeze nearly knocked over Bruce’s teacup.
“Get out,” Severus said without blinking.
Avery sneezed again and knocked over a milk jug. “Sorry. ROMANCE. Ah-CHOO. Damn it, it’s real.”
Bruce tried to stifle a laugh. Severus looked ready to snap the sugar tongs in half.
(-)
Interruption #3: Regulus Black
They escaped Puddifoot’s and tried for a bench near the Shrieking Shack. It was quiet. Windy. Weirdly intimate.
Bruce had just leaned a bit closer, looking like he might say something almost sincere—
“Oi! Snape! Bruce!”
Regulus Black jogged up to them, panting, holding a bottle of suspicious green liquid.
“Do either of you have a bezoar? Barty drank something from the ground again and he’s foaming a little.”
“We’re not—Why would we carry bezoars on a date?” Bruce snapped.
Regulus blinked. “This is a date?”
“No,” Severus hissed at the same time Bruce said, “Kind of.”
“Merlin’s ARMPIT, it IS.” Regulus grinned. “I’m telling everyone!”
“Don’t you dare—”
But he was already gone.
(-)
Interruption #4: Charity & Aurora
They retreated to the edge of the Forbidden Forest just for five minutes of silence. It was overcast. Peaceful. Romantic in the “I might bury a body here” kind of way.
And then—
“SEVERUS SNAPE!” Charity Burbage’s voice rang through the trees like an alarm bell. “I found a weird mushroom and Aurora says it looks like it might bite. Come look!”
“I’m not your foraging consultant!” Severus shouted.
Aurora Sinistra appeared next to Charity, waving. “Hi! Is this your boyfriend?”
Severus made a strangled noise.
Bruce was just about to respond when—
(-)
Interruption #5: Slughorn
Professor Slughorn himself emerged from the trees, red-faced and jolly as ever.
“There you are, my boys!” he bellowed. “I’ve been looking for young Snape and Mulciber—heard there was a budding courtship afoot! Thought I’d give you a signed copy of my memoir—From Cauldron to Heart! Very tasteful. Chapter 9 is all aphrodisiac brews.”
Severus looked like he was going to walk into the lake and never come out.
Bruce took the book. “Thanks, sir.”
(-)
By the end of the day, they sat side by side on the edge of the Slytherin common room couch. Silent. Dead-eyed.
“Was this the worst date in wizarding history?” Bruce asked.
“Categorically,” Severus muttered.
A pause.
“Same time next weekend?”
Severus looked at him. “Different plan. Different location. We hex the others if they follow.”
Bruce nodded solemnly.
(-)
The Slytherin common room was blissfully quiet.
A miracle, really—Wilkes had finally passed out in a pile of his own Dramatic Essays™, Avery was sneezing elsewhere (probably into the Prefect’s bathroom), and Regulus had been locked out of the dorm after trying to serenade someone using a singing jelly slug.
Severus and Bruce sat on the worn green-and-silver couch, slouched just close enough for it to be suspicious. A copy of From Cauldron to Heart lay facedown on the table in front of them, utterly unread and slightly cursed.
“So,” Bruce said after a long pause. “If we were calling this a date—hypothetically—it was still the worst date in wizarding history, right?”
“Undeniably,” Severus muttered, gaze fixed somewhere between Bruce’s collarbone and the cursed memoir.
A beat of silence.
Then Bruce shifted, slowly, cautiously, leaning just slightly closer. “But… hypothetically, if we were calling it that, we’d still… be okay with a second one?”
Severus looked at him, then down at Bruce’s hand—barely brushing his on the couch cushion—and back up again.
His voice was low. “Hypothetically.”
Bruce leaned in a little more.
Severus didn’t move away.
Their shoulders touched. Just slightly. Their knees brushed. Bruce tilted his head. Severus tilted his back. Their eyes met. The moment was just close enough to be—
BANG.
The common room door slammed open like it had been kicked by a centaur.
“SNAPE!” shouted Wilkes, suddenly wide awake and wielding a scroll longer than Bruce’s patience. “I NEED YOU TO READ MY THEORY ON CURSED INK—IT’S BLEEDING THROUGH THE PAPER—OH.”
He stopped. Blinked.
Stared at them, faces inches apart, about to kiss.
Severus’s face froze in pure, icy horror.
Bruce made a noise that could only be described as “rage snort.”
“…Were you two about to kiss?” Wilkes asked, delighted.
“Wilkes,” Severus said, voice deadly calm, “leave. Now.”
But it was too late. The noise had attracted the others.
Avery poked his head in. “WHAT’S HAPPENING? Are we fighting? Are we snogging?”
“WHO’S SNOGGING?” Regulus shouted from the hallway. “IS IT SNAPE?”
Severus stood up so fast his robes flared like bat wings. “I hate everyone in this castle.”
Bruce dropped his head back against the couch and groaned. “I was so close.”
“I will hex their names into the Forbidden Section,” Severus muttered.
Wilkes grinned. “I’ll make sure you two get a do-over. Maybe I’ll write you a schedule.”
“Do that,” Bruce growled, standing. “And I will send Severus a bouquet of puffapods laced with itching powder.”
Severus, storming off toward the dorms, called back, “Next time, we lock the door and silence the bloody walls.”
Bruce smirked. “Next time, we kiss before someone kicks down the universe.”