25

Chapter Twenty-Five

66

They got a lot of looks as they walked through the castle. Lessons were out for the day, it was starting to be time for an early dinner, and the good weather from yesterday held, creating a general festive and mobile air. Harry glanced at Severus for guidance; he proceeded as if nothing was out of the ordinary, and Harry followed his lead.

As soon as they were out of the castle and on the grounds, Harry said, "So I think people know."

Severus raised an eyebrow, looking amused. "I believe we have been over this several times by now. Has it suddenly become news?"

"Well, no, but—a little?" Harry stammered. "I thought you said the date was only our business."

"And it is," Severus replied. "That does not change the geography of the castle to allow a door from our quarters leading directly outside. Even so, I see no reason why it should come as a surprise to anyone that you and I have plans for Friday evening."

All of this seemed very contradictory compared to everything else Severus had ever done, especially after last night with Hagrid, but he let it go. He supposed Severus preferred the unspoken implication of passing by most of the school to outright announcing they were on a date. Once again Harry thought that they would be forced to make a verbal declaration of some sort sooner rather than later, but he could wait. Being by Severus' side like this, having his arm taken as he was led towards wherever they were going, that's what mattered. The kiss they had shared earlier, how Severus had tied his tie without a single derogatory comment, how Harry thought he might be floating instead of walking; that's what mattered. Looks in the hallways were irrelevant.

"So do I get to know where we're going yet?" Harry asked as they passed into Hogsmeade.

"Parles-tu français bien?" Severus asked with a hint of a smile.

Harry stared at him. "We're going to France?"

"Oui," Severus replied, then continued in French, all of which flew over Harry's head.

"Er," Harry said, feeling very uncultured. He didn't own a suit, he couldn't remember how to tie a tie, and now he didn't speak the language. "If there was a bit about asking if I speak French, the answer is no."

"Then it is fortunate you have me to translate, n'est pas?" Severus replied, sounding only a little contemptuous. "Allons-y, mon cher."

Harry was almost positive that was a term of endearment, but before he could remember what it meant or work up the courage to ask, Severus tightened his hold on Harry's arm and they apparated away.

After ascertaining his feet were planted firmly on the ground, Harry opened his eyes and looked around. They were in the middle of a park, standing beneath but by no means hidden by a grouping of trees. Harry looked around in shocked fear, waiting for someone to start screaming about the two men appearing out of nowhere, but the Muggles walking by didn't look at them in the slightest.

"Severus?" Harry asked nervously.

"A weak Disillusionment charm," Severus replied. "You did not expect a dank, dirty alley, did you? This is Paris; there is no such thing."

That, in fact, was exactly what he had been expecting. He took a better look around. The trees above and behind them were huge, towering over the square park and offering a feel of shaded seclusion, despite all the people walking by. Four large walkways branched out from the circle surrounding the trees leading to breaks in the squared off, smaller topiary lining the park. Those trees were still significantly taller even than Severus, lending the trees behind them majesty. Four smaller pathways cut through the grass and led to merrily bubbling fountains. Old-fashioned lanterns hung from lampposts along the walkways, and benches were evenly distributed. Townhouses lined the streets outside, and while Harry couldn't date them, it was clear they were very old. People—mostly couples, Harry noted—were everywhere, though they seemed more decorative than densely populated. The benches, the edges of the fountains, and the grass were all adorned with sophisticated Parisians.

Severus fit in very well here, with his perfectly tailored suit and his fluent French and his ambrosia. Harry felt awkward and uncomfortable, as if there had been a mistake and he'd wandered into the wrong city. It wasn't much different from when he found himself in Knockturn Alley all those years ago, only backwards.

"Do you not enjoy the locale?" Severus asked, surprised and, Harry was nearly positive, unsure. "Henri IV personally commissioned the Place des Vosges, and it is the oldest planned square in Paris. Of course much has changed in the intervening centuries, but it is still considered to be amongst the finest in the city."

Of course it was.

"No, it's beautiful," Harry replied quickly. "Really. I'm just—I've never been to Paris. I wasn't expecting something so—" A word, any word, he needed a word right away. "—grandiose." Did that make any sense at all? He'd never used it before, and had only a vague idea of what it meant. Given how Severus pulled away just slightly and how the muscle in his jaw worked, it didn't have the desired effect. "I'm sorry, I just meant—it's lovely. A bit imposing, that's all."

This time the disdain wasn't masked in the slightest. "I should have known you would not feel comfortable anywhere finer than a fish and chips pub."

Harry jerked his arm free and glared at him. "You didn't tell me where we were going," he said. "I didn't know what to expect, but no, a court designed by a king three centuries ago—"

"Four," Severus interrupted. "And we are in a square, not a court."

"That's beyond not my point!" Harry exclaimed. "I've been to more pubs than squares. I'm not saying I don't like it, I'm just surprised, and I don't know what to think!"

"Clearly," Severus sneered. "Shall we dine at the Three Broomsticks? Perhaps the Hogshead?"

Harry felt like crying. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. Their first date should have been perfect; romantic and rare, like nothing he'd ever had before, or would have in the future. Instead they were fighting, like always, only he couldn't blame Severus in the slightest. Severus had given him romantic, possibly the most romantic place in the most romantic city in Europe, and he had the gall to complain?

Wait, no, he hadn't complained. Severus had just made him feel inadequate, as always.

That was wrong, too. Severus didn't do that, not any more. He had brought Harry to this beautiful place, gone way out on a limb Harry never would have suspected, and he was ungrateful.

Merlin, he couldn't get anything right. He wasn't ungrateful, just—

Overwhelmed.

Yes, exactly that. Overwhelmed. Severus in all his ambrosia glory, taking his arm as he led him through the castle past the students and staff, apparating him to the oldest whatever in Paris, and taking him to what would unquestionably be one of the finest restaurants in the city. It would be overwhelming coming from anyone, but from Severus? That was roughly on par with—with—suddenly transforming into a Basilisk.

Harry burst into partially hysterical laughter that was mostly relief. Severus was looking at him as though he'd gone mental, which only made him laugh harder. He supposed being so overwhelmed was a form of madness, though if that was true, he certainly didn't want to regain his sanity anytime soon. He pulled Severus in for a kiss, trading in foolishness for the romance he should have jumped on in the first place. It took a moment for Severus to respond, to return the kiss and rest his hands on Harry's hips, but he did, and when Harry eventually broke away, he didn't look angry anymore, just confused.

"I'm sorry," Harry said firmly, hands still on Severus' face, thumb gently rubbing circles along his jawline. "This is perfect. I didn't think—"

"That a man such as myself was capable of a grand gesture?" Severus broke in. "I told you months ago, Harry. Do not assume I don't 'do' dates, in your inelegant parlance. I 'do' them very well; you are the one failing to hold up your end of the night." But the words were affectionate, mostly, and Harry relaxed into his embrace.

"I know, I'm sorry," he said again. "You're right, I'm not used to this, but promise me you won't stop. Take me to Paris, to Henri's gardens, and to whatever else you have planned."

Severus kissed the top of his head before releasing him, twining their fingers together in exchange of a hug. "Shall we proceed, then?" he asked. "Our reservations are for seven, and it would serve us well to be early."

Harry frowned slightly, but he followed Severus down one of the walkways. "Isn't it quarter of six?"

Severus let out an undignified snort, no doubt due to repressed laughter. "Paris and Scotland are not in the same time zone. Would it be so difficult to think before you spout such idiocy?"

"Only as difficult as it would be for you to not sound like a pompous prat," Harry replied with a smile.

"Then we have reached an impossible impasse," Severus said, squeezing his hand. They crossed the street, into the arcade and halfway down the block to a green door that Severus held open for him. L'Ambroisie was painted above the door in gold, and Harry had to suppress another round of laughter. Ambrosia indeed. The floor was marbled tile, but before he had a chance to form any further impressions, a tall, large man appeared before them and said something in French. Harry couldn't help stepping back slightly as Severus answered. They engaged in a brief conversation, and then were led into a small dining room.

Harry couldn't stop looking around. The walls were covered in beautiful Renaissance paintings, the chandelier was huge, gold, and ornate, the chairs plush and antique, and each table had a small bouquet of roses grouped in the middle. The maître d' held out Harry's chair for him and he sat, still looking around in awe. Severus exchanged a few more words with the heavyset man before turning to Harry.

"Do the names Duke of Chaulnes or François-Joseph Graf mean anything to you?" Severus asked.

"No," Harry replied, finally looking at him. "Is that all right?"

Severus gave him an indulgent smile. "Only if you wish to be robbed of the history all around us."

"Would you like to tell me?" Harry asked. The least he could do after their fight was let Severus lecture him, and if he paid more attention to his voice than the words, that was nobody's business but his own.

"Only if you would appreciate it, which you would not," Severus reiterated. "Know that we are in a historical monument that would delight anyone with any sense of culture whatsoever."

"Are you sure you know about dates?" Harry asked, smiling slightly.

"My past companions have been of a different caliber," Severus replied. "Not better, merely more educated, refined, and erudite than you."

"You've made your point," Harry said, merriment dropping away.

"Yet again, you have failed to listen and thus misunderstood," Severus said. "Not better than you, Harry. I prefer your company to that of anyone with which I have previously been involved."

Something warm and wonderful radiated through Harry. "Even though I'm an idiot?" he asked.

"You are far from," Severus replied, at which point Harry nearly died of shock. He was about to ask for clarification—demand it, if he needed to—when the wine arrived. More French he didn't understand, and then they were each poured a glass. "I may not expect you to understand the vintage, but you will not hesitate to tell me I am, again in your words, a 'pompous prat' for going on about it."

Harry stared at him. "You—"

"I am still prepared to cut off all conversation if you become overly verbose," Severus interrupted. "Enjoy the wine, even if you do not understand why."

Harry took a small sip. It was delicious. "You forget I'm your apprentice," he said. "I don't know the name of the wine, but I can tell it's been aged for roughly two years, the bottle sixty years or so, and the vines were maybe fifty years old when the grapes were picked."

Severus raised his eyebrows. "That is very impressive."

Harry grinned. There was no higher compliment. "It's basically a potion. A very tasty potion, but still just a potion. I've already learned once this year the importance of aging and preserving ingredients; I better be able to tell by taste."

"Still, your specifics are striking," Severus said. "You are drinking a fifty-seven year old bottle of Pétrus. The vines are nearly all over forty-five years old, and the average aging time is two years. Were you one who joined wine clubs, you would be quite the prodigy."

Harry wouldn't be surprised if he was physically glowing. "I take it all back. You're brilliant at dates."

Severus smirked. "I am aware. That does not diminish your skill."

A waiter appeared with two plates, explaining the food in detailed French as it was placed in front of them. Harry waited until he was no longer in earshot before asking, "We ordered?"

"The chef's menu, Harry," Severus said, the indulgent smile returning. "You do not order. Would you like to know what you are about to eat?"

Harry looked at his plate. It was divided into five small sections, each with no more than three or four bites of food. Small bites. There were slices of eggs floating in something, shrimp or maybe prawns, he'd never been able to tell the difference, a soup of some sort, and two things he didn't recognize at all. "Yes, please."

Severus talked him through the first course. Then the second, the third, the cheeses, and finally dessert. Listening to his voice was the perfect accompaniment to the meal, better than the wine (though that continued to be fantastic, and Severus continued to explain why). There were no more compliments that threatened Harry's life, which was probably good for his heart and his sanity. Insults were mostly mild, but they reaffirmed that this was, in fact, Severus, and not someone doing a particularly poor impersonation. When the check came Severus wouldn't let him see it, but the number of bills he slipped into the folder was daunting.

When they left Severus took his hand again, lacing their fingers together. They started walking away from the square, and Harry gave him an inquisitive look.

"You will see," Severus replied with a smile. "Enjoy your walk through Paris. I will restrain myself from imparting the details, but we are in a very old, historic district, and there is much to see."

It was full dark but the lantern-esque streetlights cast enough light to see the cobbled streets and centuries old townhouses without ruining the romance. Harry could still barely believe this was happening, but Severus' warm hand in his, the pleasant fullness, and the lingering taste of chocolate assured him it was. After ten minutes or so they arrived at the Rhine, continuing their walk along the river. Apparently couples really did go for starlight walks along the Rhine on Friday nights. What's more, apparently Harry and Severus were that sort of couple. They crossed over the river after several blocks, and Harry was so lost in Severus he didn't see what was right in front of him until Severus specifically instructed him to look.

Notre Dame stood before them. It was illuminated in a way that made the stones glow golden. Each level had its own row of lights, the medallion in the center radiated, and the insides of the tower windows cast into shadow. Harry stared, shocked into silence and immobility. Severus led them towards the cathedral, bypassing the people—again, mostly couples—along the grassy pavilion. It briefly occurred to Harry again that they were one of the couples basking in the light of Notre Dame on a Friday night, but the majesty of the building stole all other thoughts.

Severus guided them around the side, and Harry assumed they were going to circle the building. Instead, a woman wearing a security uniform stepped out of the shadows, and Harry was shocked to see Severus smile at her before they started speaking in French. Harry heard his name, saw the look of awe and the flick of her eyes to his forehead, and flushed. He would never get used to the stares. After several minutes of conversation much more animated than he was used to hearing from Severus, they followed her over to a door, which she unlocked and held open for them.

"Enjoy your night," she said, winking at Harry as Severus led him inside. As soon as the door closed, Harry stopped, tightening his grip on Severus' hand and holding him in place.

"Who was that?" he asked. "What are we doing here?"

"Not so loudly," Severus said quietly. "Juliet Laurent, a former student of mine."

"Why would a wizard be working security here?" Harry asked, feeling oddly defensive.

"To gain experience for a specialty in historical potions," Severus replied, starting to sound suspicious. "I would think that obvious."

"But—" Harry was having trouble articulating himself.

Severus smiled suddenly. "Harry, are you jealous?"

"No," Harry said defensively. He paused. "Maybe. You smiled. You never smile."

Severus kissed him firmly. "In case you had not noticed, I am not interested in women," he said, attempting disdain and failing miserably. "Come; the cathedral closed hours ago, and we are not allowed here. Follow me."

They started up a long staircase, and it took Harry a stupidly long time to realize they were climbing up one of the towers. He tightened his grip on Severus' hand until he was so out of breath he needed to conserve energy any way he could. The staircase seemed to go on forever, and by the time they reached the platform at the top, Harry was pitifully aware of how pathetic he was. Severus hadn't taken a single deep breath, and Harry could barely breathe. Severus waited for him with a smirk, then led him over to a door. He kissed Harry again, more thoroughly this time, and Harry once again lost control of his breathing.

"I love you," Severus said softly.

Harry stared at him. "Are you—Polyjuice?"

Severus glared. "In the very same sentence regarding the 'doing' of dates, we discussed the 'doing' of heartfelt confessions, did we not?"

"Yeah, but…"

"Just shut up," Severus said, and opened the door.

Paris was spread out before them. The Eiffel Tower glowed in the distance, but the entire city sparkled. Harry walked over to the edge of the balcony, Severus by his side and resting a hand on his back. Harry leaned against him, trying desperately to convince himself this was real. The view alone took his breath away. A date with Severus, any date, was unbelievable. Severus having a friend pushed the realm of possibility, let alone one in Muggle Paris. A heartfelt declaration was enough to firmly cement the night as a dream, or possibly the result of being hit very hard on the head, maybe even that he had died and this was his afterlife.

"Severus?" Harry said.

"Yes?"

Harry fumbled for the right words. "Would you, um, insult me?"

Severus turned to him, confusion and disbelief spread over his face. "Excuse me?"

"Well, it's just that this is so…" Harry gestured at the view. "And dinner, and the square, it's all—and what you said, I just—please?"

Severus rolled his eyes. "You are an idiot," he stated. "Completely and utterly daft, beyond all hope of improvement. If you truly cannot tell what is real, the night will end on a cot in St. Mungo's rather than our bed. Given the sudden increase in your proclivity to concoct utter nonsense, I feel I must ask: would you prefer the hospital?"

"No," Harry muttered, properly chagrined and feeling better for it.

"There is a Muggle quote that states madness is doing the same thing over and over again expecting a different result," Severus continued. "As such, I feel the need to point out that perhaps I am the one who has gone insane. How else would I still expect you to listen to me? I am forced to continually repeat myself in the hopes you will one day learn that I mean what I say. You cannot assume how I would treat someone on a date until you have had the experience yourself. I have become hopelessly repetitive for your behalf, and it is endlessly tiresome. Not only am I speaking far more than I wish to, I must remind you again and again that such words are irrelevant. I have spread the city out before you; consider that action and intent enough."

That was more like it. Still, Harry felt the need to provoke him just a little bit farther. "The intent being…?"

Severus groaned. "Potter, shut up." He turned Harry to face the view again. "Look. Don't talk."

The use of his last name grounded him, and Harry once again let himself enjoy the view. Yes, Severus wrapped an arm around his waist and yes, Harry used that as an excuse to lean against him, but was that really so different from cuddling on the couch at home? Of course being in one of the towers of Notre Dame overlooking Paris was hardly equivalent to their quarters, but their physical position was the same.

Harry didn't know how long they stayed like that, nestled together and taking in the view and each other, but when a particularly strong breeze caused Harry to shiver, Severus decided it was time to go. They stepped back into the shadows of the cathedral and apparated back to Hogsmeade, and the walk from the gates of Hogwarts to their bedroom was one of the longest Harry had ever experienced. With each step his heart beat faster, his stomach flipped over and over, and anticipation pooled in his groin. Nerves kept him from becoming too excited, and when they finally reached their destination, Harry was unable to control his trembling.

Severus tilted his head up so their eyes met, looking for something, Harry didn't know what. After a few moments he said, "I do not expect—"

"Please," Harry interrupted. "Please, I want to." He paused. "If—if you do?"

Annoyance flashed across Severus' face before being replaced with intensity. "Is this yet another litmus test to prove I am who I say I am, or are you really so stupid?"

Harry fidgeted. "Er, stupid, I guess."

Severus shook his head slightly, the corners of his lips twitching up. "My mistake; the answer was obvious. You are certain this is what you desire?"

Harry pressed his lips against Severus'. "More than anything." Realizing he hadn't said it before, he added, "I love you." He stopped himself at three words, knowing he could go on, thinking how easy it would be to ramble about how much, how he always would, how this night was amazing, how Severus was amazing and anything he did was just an added bonus. That would count as talking, and words wouldn't win him any favors.

Severus tangled one hand in Harry's hair, the other going to his lower back and pulling him closer. Harry's eyes slipped shut and a small whimper escaped when he felt hardness pressing against him but he held himself still, waiting for Severus' signal. The silence spun out, and when he finally did speak, the finality and sureness of just one word was enough to undo Harry completely.

"Now."