Chapter Text
Harry had just finished putting the last of his clothes away when an owl tapped its beak against his window. He flinched at the sudden noise and for a second, he didn’t know where it had come from. Then the impatient beak of the bird scratched against the glass again and Harry sighed.
He had thought Minerva’s summons would wait at least until tomorrow. He didn’t have the energy to deny her request for Quidditch tutoring today. It wasn't that Harry didn't like the idea of Gryffindor’s team getting extra coaching, but it really wouldn't be fair if they got it from him. Plus Harry was nowhere near ready to take on even more hours. But It did sting him to know he'd have to watch Gryffindor lose against Slytherin for another year (If Crowley, one of Slytherin's chasers, continued like that she would make the national team before she turned twenty-five).
Another drag against the glass – and Harry could swear this owl has perfected the art of making the sound as squeaky as it possibly could – had Harry rushing to admit the little pestering beast into his bedroom.
“Alright, alright,” he said. “No need to be so unpleasant.”
But when he saw which owl was bothering him, he grinned a little.
“Well, maybe your atrocious manners are fitting.”
After dinner, Harry had asked Severus if he was free that evening, but had only received a brisk, non-committal reply before the other man had turned around with his robes in full dramatic swoop, and left Harry standing in the middle of the hallway.
I find that my work can wait until another day. If you still wish to pay me a visit, I would be free to receive you now.
He hadn’t even bothered signing it – not that Harry would need him to. He’d know that spidery handwriting anywhere. A short flashback to the Prince’s book in which he had not recognised his Professor's hand had him shaking his head at himself. He'd truly been an idiot back then.
Harry smiled and thought back to his first year of teaching alongside Severus, when it seemed to pain Severus to be… not nice, but at least polite to him. They had come a long way since then, and Harry might be bold enough to consider them friends now. He felt the corners of his mouth twitch.
~
“Thank you,” Harry said as he took hold of the saucer and cup, briefly brushing against Severus' hands in doing so. His brow furrowed and he wondered why he even noticed the contact before he pushed the thought away again. It was to be expected that he would notice such trivial things when it came to Severus Snape. After all, he would have never thought they'd one day be amicable enough for Severus to tolerate such casual proximity.
The fact that he was allowing Harry to call him Severus alone would have left his teenage self thinking that someone had shoved the real Snape in a trunk and was now simply doing a very bad job at impersonating him with polyjuice potion.
Severus just nodded at him as he took his own cup to his seat opposite.
For a few minutes, neither man said anything and Harry started to feel a little restless. He had been the one to suggest that they meet up, surly that should mean he'd have some pieces of conversation lined up. Yet, all he could think about at that moment were the current Quidditch season and the time, last Christmas, when Filius had gotten so drunk that he had burped the whole school hymn.
“I have to say that I was a little surprised to receive an invitation to your birthday celebration last month.”
Harry let out a breath. Of course, his birthday was when they had last seen each other. That would do well enough as a starting point.
“Really? I hadn’t even thought about not inviting you. I think we get along pretty well by now, wouldn’t you say?”
Severus took another sip of his tea and gave an affirmative grunt. “Certainly. Only, I had thought that it would take more than civility to be counted as one of the Chosen One’s friends.” The turned up corner of his mouth betrayed him to be teasing, and Harry let out a little laugh.
“No, indeed, I tend to invite everyone I have ever talked to for more than five minutes so it’s easier to get lost in the crowd. Then I may have the pleasure of talking as little as possible.”
Severus' mouth twitched further into something almost resembling a smile. “You could simply not invite anyone at all, if that was your true desire.”
Harry nodded, then looked pensively at the man in front of him. “True. You know, I still don’t know your birthday. When can I expect an invite to yours? I do so enjoy eating free cake… Or do you not like cake?” Harry knew he was grinning as he remembered Severus eating quite a few slices of cake at his party, if only to have an excuse not to speak to any of the Weasleys.
Severus squinted his eyes in suspicion. “You shall not milk me for information, Potter. –”
“– And yet, what is a cake without milk?” “The date of my unfortunate birth shall remain a mystery to you.” He could not help a real smile from appearing on his face at Harry’s interjection, but he was quick to mask it by taking another swig of tea. “After all, we cannot allow the great Harry Potter to become too bored. He might decide the Aurors are the place for him after all, and then who will become our new Defence teacher? I could not possibly bear being the reason that Minerva has to be put through the hiring process again.”
~
By the time Harry had arrived back in his quarters, the plan had solidified in his mind. He was going to throw a little birthday celebration once every month until the git gave up the information. He would finally find out which one of them carried the more stubborn head on their shoulders.
He roamed around his living room trying to remember where he had put that baking book Molly had gifted him three Christmases ago; back when he had made the mistake of telling Ron and Hermione he might look into baking because of this dude he was interested in. Harry had mistakenly thought that his crush worked at the little bakery he 'd bought his lunch from every day. Needless to say, neither endeavour had worked out very well.
With a triumphant cry he fished it out of a drawer. “There you are, you little bugger.” He blew some dust or flour (he really had no way of knowing which, unless he wanted to brave a taste) off of the cover and took a peek at the table of contents. He knew he was limited in his choice by the sheer lack of ingredients in his cupboards – and asking Dobby or another elf for ingredients from the kitchen would just end in them baking a dozen cakes themselves. However, he did know that there was some flour and sugar and possibly some cocoa powder in the cupboard above his stove.
He walked into the kitchen and noticed his sad little fruit basket in his peripheral vision just as he read Britain’s Best Banana Bread – page 39. Harry supposed that the longish brown things among the apples had once been yellow bananas and, with a determination to start as quickly as possible lest they reach the point of no return, turned to page thirty-nine and set to work.
It only occurred to him when he had mixed everything into a bowl that he had neither brought his baking pans with him from Grimmauld Place, nor had he ever used the oven in his kitchenette before. There had been no need for it after all, given that his last excursions into the baking world had neither borne edible fruits nor had they excited much pleasure within him. And in any case, Hogwarts’ incredible cuisine and Molly’s delicious home-baking had always been just a call away.
With sticky fingers, he grabbled for his wand that had gotten lost somewhere in the small chaos he had created. Harry coloured, as he tried to transform a plate into a heat-resistant baking pan with his wooden spoon instead of his wand. He succeeded on the second try after he finally found his actual wand underneath the recipe book. He thought about turning the pan into a fancy shape, but the only thing he could manage was a standard size rectangular tin. Harry used the spoon to scrape all of the mixture into it and only then read on in the book. “Make sure to butter the pan well beforehand so the banana bread won’t stick to it once it’s out of the oven. Proceed to bake at…”
“Oh shit,” Harry whispered to himself, “I guess I’ll just bring the whole pan down tomorrow.”
~
Harry got up with a groan the next morning. He brushed his teeth and put the clothes he had simply thrown to the ground yesterday back on in record speed. He then lost no more time in rushing to the kitchen to pick up the cake and almost running all the way down to the dungeons.
He had overslept just a tad – but since school wouldn’t start for a few weeks, he really didn’t care much – so he assumed Severus would be either in his office or his private lab. He tried the office first, thinking that a cake that had been surrounded by potion’s fumes all day might not be all too tasty, and sighed in relief when he heard footsteps echoing from inside.
A whispered incendio lit up the candle just as a very stressed looking Severus opened the door.
“What do you wan –” He stopped as he saw what Harry was holding and his frown deepened. Harry imagined the man might have a headache brewing soon if he kept that up.
“Happy Birthday,” he said, lifting the cake. “Make a wish.”
Severus grumbled something in reply that Harry could not quite make out but lifted his hand from his face, where it had been pinching the bridge of his nose, to look at him. Then at the cake. A soft snort escaped him.
“I’m flattered by your effort to make me younger, but I assure you I am indeed older than one. Although I might be able to make some money touring as the most proficient baby yet.”
Harry laughed and replied, “It’s because this is your first birthday with me.” And, Harry thought, because I didn’t have any more candles and was once again proven to be rubbish at transfiguration.
Severus harrumphed and blew out the candle. “I really don’t have time right now. For some reason, I seem to have extra work on my schedule today.” A soft change of colour appeared on those sallow cheeks; and Harry thought the warming charms of the dungeons had greatly improved in strength since he had been a student.
“And it’s not my birthday.” With that Severus took the cake from Harry and turned back into his office; the door slamming shut in Harry’s still grinning face. He didn’t care much for banana bread anyway.