Chapter 1
A dark brick building with windows covered in boards towered above Harry as he slid out of his red sedan. He studied it carefully while stepping around to the passenger side. The dark-haired man reached for his tote bag and the keys to the bookstore that his late mother had run since before his birth. After her sudden death a few weeks after Harry’s fifteenth birthday, he had not deigned to return to her beloved pet project due to the memories it held (or rather, did not hold) and an unwillingness to accept her being gone. Now, at 22 years old and less than a month away from his graduation with a degree in psychology from a local university, Harry was the sole owner of Potter’s Books.
After being notified of the inheritance, he’d contemplated selling the building, arguing with himself that he had no practical business experience and no established clientele. However, the draw of connecting to Lily, his mother, was too strong, and Harry decided to contact her lawyer to become a business owner. As he stood under the faded forest-green awning and unlocked the door with a heavy bronze key, the man wondered to himself if that decision was a mistake.
Inside, shelves stood exactly as they did seven years ago. Books leaning in different directions covered nearly every available surface, including the small counter where his mother used to stand. Harry trailed a finger along the spine of a nearby book and it returned to his side gray with dust. Behind the counter, he looked down to find a series of ledgers stacked haphazardly labeled by year, along with many odd bits and bobs that Lily Evans-Potter had collected throughout the years. One such item was a carved wooden stick, around the length of a standard ruler, with odd notches and insignias along its length. Harry picked it up carefully and inspected it for a moment, then placed it back onto the plush cushion where it had been presumably sitting for many years. Oddly enough, no dust graced the stick or its resting place.
He turned around to the door directly behind him, which led to the stockroom and stairs to the upper floor. The books here were somehow even more scattered and voluminous than in the front room, and Harry weaved carefully between precariously stacked towers of books lining the main walkway. Finally, his thin form reached the staircase and let out a breath he’d been holding. He made his way upstairs and entered the small living area the Potters had inhabited during Harry’s youth.
After he turned six, his father, James, realized that the studio flat above the bookstore was too cramped for a couple, let alone a family of three with what they would come to learn were twins on the way. A few months later, just before Harry’s younger siblings Edward and Elizabeth were born, they’d moved to a nearby neighborhood that his mother commuted from to run the store. She still stayed overnight on days when business ran late, but Harry never returned to the upstairs area again once they moved out.
He took in the dust-covered area. It was still small, but the lack of baby supplies made it feel less enclosed than before. Along one wall, a Murphy bed was folded up neatly with only a handle to show its existence. On either side sat two nightstands, one with an alarm clock and the other a stack of books. Unsurprising, since Lily’s sole passion in life had been reading. An older TV faced the sleeping area, but it probably didn’t work anymore, even if the cable was still being paid for.
Another wall housed the kitchenette and dining area, made up of mismatched furniture and hopefully empty appliances. If the refrigerator still housed food, he didn’t want to see it. Finally, the last wall held only a door to the tiny bathroom, which he remembered well enough. Harry sat in one of the creaky dining chairs and placed his head in his hands.
How in the world am I going to do this, he thought. I’ve never run a business before, and I certainly have no clue how to do it during my last month of classes. What had come over him to take over Potter’s Books?
A jingling downstairs interrupted his ruminations, and the dark-haired man jumped in the seat. After a moment, he stood and raced down as quickly as possible – the bell for the front door had gone off. When he stepped out of the backroom, Harry was greeted by a classically beautiful man with dark hair pulled back and pale skin dappled by sunlight from the cracks between boards covering the windows. The man turned toward him and frowned deeply.
“Who are you?” He said in a raspy voice, his large nose quite literally seeming to turn upwards at the sight of Harry.
He gaped a little at the rude tone from such a handsome man. “Um...I’m Harry. Potter. My mother used to own this store?” His words became questioning even though they were true. “Er, sorry, who are you?” His vividly green eyes flickered between thin, calloused hands, holding a stack of cookbooks with odd names, and a face that was rapidly becoming less icy.
The ethereal man sat the cookbooks on the counter. “I am Severus Snape. I run a...catering company down the street. Have you...are you taking over the shop?”
“Nice to meet you. Um...I’m thinking about it. My mom left it to me. I don’t know how to run a business, but I just felt like I needed to take over.” Harry looked down at the books under his hands. The top one was called “Magical Plants: Herbs and Fungi for the Culinary Witch or Wizard.” He looked at Severus again and laughed a little. “Wow, I didn’t know they made fictional textbooks. Um, you want to buy these?”
His face twisted slightly like he didn’t know what to think of Harry, or he’d said something wrong. “Yes.”
The younger man swallowed and turned toward the register to get away from the awkward tension that had suddenly erupted between the two. His earlier retail experience from a tourist shop in London came in handy, and he quickly navigated to scan the books. “Um...that’ll be £62.94.” He turned back and Severus handed him a stack of bills, then picked up the books and left without waiting for a receipt or any change. Harry started to call out but was cut off by the door slamming shut behind the oddly dressed man.
The next day, he woke up to the ancient alarm clock on the nightstand ringing loudly next to his ear. Harry had summarily moved into the flat above the bookstore for the weekend, although most of his belongings remained in the apartment near campus that he lived in with a few roommates. He reminded himself to text Hermione, one of his closest friends and roommate, about not being there for a few days to alleviate any worry.
He’d already decided to move into the bookstore after graduation, seeing as his father had moved into a nursing home a few months prior and Elizabeth and Edward attended a local private boarding school thanks to a favor from a close friend of Lily Potter and some funding left in her will. Harry has donated much of his own monetary inheritance to his siblings (who were known within the family as B&B because of their closeness and future aspirations to run a hotel chain together) when he turned 18, seeing as he’d gotten a full ride to a local university and wanted them to succeed as well. Without a permanent home of his own, the store and flat seemed like a gift from God. Well, Lily Potter.
Once Harry got downstairs, he set his mind to cleaning up the main room and removing the boards from the windows, making it more hospitable to anyone who wanted to come in. Hopefully, he could build a new clientele, seeing as many had probably written the store off after being closed for so long. The first item of business on the to-do list was dusting. He’d found a duster in the bathroom upstairs the night before while getting ready for bed, so Harry took it along and got to work. He ended up finishing around noon and then looked around for a mop. Naturally chestnut floors had become a dark gray brown after years of walking feet and collected dust.
The last thing the dark-haired man set out to do for the day was remove the boards covering the windows, letting in natural light. It was harder than he thought it would be. Each nail was carefully pried from the planks, which were then piled in the back of the storeroom in a big open space. The wood was good, so he hoped to find a carpenter and commission a shelf or another piece of furniture so it wouldn’t go to waste. After finishing up, the setting sun emanated through the room and began to warm the air. He watched a few pedestrians pass the windows as he straightened and sorted the shelves around the room. Luckily, most were already in alphabetical order and sorted by genre, although there were no labels to separate them.
At the counter, Harry searched for a spare sticky note and wrote down a to-do list for the next few days. It wouldn’t be a final list of everything he needed to finish, but a good starting point.
- Call Hermione
- Make labels for shelves
- Call power/water/cable/gas companies
- Sort storeroom
Just after he finished writing, the bell above the door rang out again. He had tentatively left it unlocked in case anyone else made their way in, but knew it was very unlikely. Technically, Harry hadn’t officially reopened the store, but he was hoping a few people would wander inside and he could make some new connections in the area.
He glanced up and was faced with the same awkwardly handsome man as before. “Oh! Welcome in,” he said. He still felt awkward, as Harry was pretty sure Severus had felt judged by the comment on his books from the day before. Today he’d promised himself to avoid saying anything about the books that people were buying, just in case.
Severus didn’t smile but didn’t glare either. Progress? Instead, he passed by and headed straight for a specific section near the back of the room. Harry remembered that it housed mainly cookbooks, but also several tomes about survival and plants. A few had funny names like the one about magical plants from the day before – he’d have to make a separate section for fictional cookbooks and plants if he ended up rearranging the books as planned.
A few minutes later, the caterer returned to the counter with more books. This time, Harry counted at least seven of them, and briefly wondered why he was buying so many books in just two days but kept his questions to himself. Instead, He began to scan them and looked at a few titles quickly. Several were normal cookbooks, but two had those odd names again and looked like they were about magical food and drinks. Odd, again, but maybe Severus enjoyed reading about food no matter the genre.
He cleared his throat as Harry rang him up. “Sorry about yesterday.” That raspy voice carried even as he spoke quietly. “I was in a hurry. I had an order to make before today.”
Harry smiled at him. Hopefully, Severus didn’t notice his pink-tinged cheeks; he’d always been attracted to men, but this one was especially gorgeous, in an almost inhuman way. “Oh, that’s alright. Actually, here’s your receipt and change from yesterday. I saved it just in case you came back.” He reached down to where it lay inside the most recent ledger under the counter and handed it to the man.
Severus looked surprised for a moment, then smiled briefly. “Thanks. Hopefully, everything is going well here. How has your second day been?” He took the books from the counter and slid them into a leather satchel, which barely changed shape even with the many new additions.
“Oh! Good. I got everything cleaned up and took down those awful boards. I was planning to finish up and go get dinner. I haven’t eaten today, now that I think about it...” Harry trailed off.
Severus tilted his head a bit and said, “I see. Well, I was about to go to dinner too. Would you like to join me?” The younger man flushed bright red. Was he asking Harry out?
“Yes!” He said too quickly. “I mean, of course. It would be great to make a new friend here since I haven’t met anyone yet. Let me get my wallet and lock up.”
The older man snorted and waved a hand. “Don’t worry, I’ll pay. Think of it as a thank you, since you’re reopening my favorite store.” His black locks whipped through the air as he turned and walked outside. Harry could only follow, stopping to grab his key ring and locking the door behind them.
Just down the street was a small bistro, named PSC Bistro & Café according to the sign above the door and the chalkboard beside the ornate fence. Severus led the way inside, and Harry followed, feeling eyes upon them as they entered the building. The two were at once sat by a waiter at a small table near the window. At six in the evening, it wasn’t too busy, but more than half of the tables were taken by presumably locals.
The town of Rosemont didn’t necessarily have a booming tourism industry and, based on what he’d heard from a former coworker that lived in the area, operated largely as a small town where everyone knew each other, and gossip ran rampant. Harry would probably be a source of rumors for a few months or even years unless another person moved in. Honestly, he was surprised more people hadn’t visited the bookstore to catch a glimpse of the newest member of the town’s less than 2,000 population.
“So,” Severus started, “Lily was your mother?” He picked up a menu but seemed to barely look at it like he was already ready to order, and this was just a formality.
Harry blinked, surprised. “I didn’t know you knew her.” But as he thought about it, it made more sense. Severus had been to Potter’s Books before and said it was his favorite shop. Of course, he must have known his mother. But Severus didn’t look much older than Harry. He looked timelessly young like he could be fresh out of high school or thirty years old. “Were you close?” His mother only let friends and family call her Lily. Others knew her as Lilian.
Severus nodded and put down the menu, looking at Harry with an intent stare. “Yes, we were. We grew up together in Cokesworth and went to boarding school together. I moved here after graduation, and she followed a few years later with your father. I went to her for issues that I didn’t have anyone to talk to about.” His face twisted a little.
Contrary to what many of his friends believed, Harry was not close to his mother. It wasn’t as if they fought or hated each other; more the opposite, as they did not speak often, and she spent more time and energy in the bookstore than at home. The last time the two spoke before her death, Lily had asked him about school, then tuned out what he said so she could order more books to fill the storeroom. Harry couldn’t remember the last time she and his father were in the same room, let alone shared words. All of this to say, he felt a small rise of jealousy as Severus spoke about his close relationship with his mother. Harry pushed it down and picked up the menu to cover up any feelings that crossed his face.
“I’m sorry. It was probably hard when she passed.” He told Severus. How odd it was to comfort a stranger over his own mother’s death.
He shook his head. “Yes, but much less than it must have been for you. How about we both be sorry and then eat our sorrows away?”
Harry laughed at the attempt to lighten the mood. It worked, and he looked down at the menu. “Of course. I’ve never been here. What do you usually get?” he asked the older man. The same waiter approached from the periphery.
“Oh, I love their soups. Usually the soup of the day, because I feel like it often matches what I am in the mood to eat.” Severus smiled at the waiter and handed her his menu. “I’d like the soup of the day, please.” She smiled back and bowed deeply. He raised a brow – it was almost like Severus was royalty. Maybe his catering business was well-known in the area, or he was just well-liked by the townspeople.