The baker and the potion master

Chapter twenty-one: sweet talk and sweet tarts

A hush filled Severus' shop while he inventoried after being absent for a couple of days. Jars and bottles lined a counter as he looked them over and added them to his ledger. The busy work did little to keep his mind from wandering back to the gloom of Grimmauld. He worried about Potter, even though he knew that the potions he had prescribed had worked – at least for now. A hand clenched around the neck of a purple bottle before being set on the shelf. Severus knew he had to get this done before he reopened and before Weasley arrived to continue the warding of his shop.

Glancing up at the clock, he saw that it was half-past nine. Weasley would be there in twenty minutes or so. Part of Severus hoped that he'd run late because Potter would have delayed him to tag along again. So far, that had been the case. Severus feared that he'd seen the last of the young man. Why would Potter ever come to Severus' shop for anything? It just didn't make any sense.

Severus was still committed to doing all he could to protect and save Potter from the Deathly Hallows. Knowing that they would eventually drain his magic or turn him into the undead sent chills down his spine. They couldn't possibly let that happen to Potter. Unfortunately for him, however, it would mean relying on both Granger and Weasley to handle the situation. They'd keep him in the loop, but unless he needed to do something drastic as he had with the potions these past few days, he knew he'd be on the outside looking in.

If it saved Potter that was all that mattered.

Severus snorted. He'd be old and gray and still saving Potter.

Despite the awful situation that had led to it, Severus would always treasure having had the chance to spend these past few days caring for Potter. He had had a chance to be a bit more caring, a bit warmer with the young man. Often, Severus felt tension when he interacted with Potter as if their history still hung between them like an unexploded bomb. During those few days he had tended to Potter, there had been ease between them. Potter had been friendly and relaxed with him – well, when he was lucid that was.

Severus told himself that it was probably the potion, but Potter had slept best when enfolded in his arms. It hadn't been his intention, but it had helped. He'd do it again if he needed to do so. The weight of Potter in his lap, secure in his embrace, had been the fulfillment of a longing he'd had since the end of the War. He could still smell flour and cinnamon and fresh dough that saturated the brat's clothes, probably a holdover from his constant haunting of Dudley's bakery.

Perhaps Potter and Severus had far more in common than he thought.

Potter's bare face still haunted Severus, gaunt and all jagged-edged. Dark shadows had etched beneath his eyes. His cheeks lacked color. A chill ran down Severus' spine at the thought that perhaps he may be too late to save the young man from the fate of becoming a wraith. Half of the decade had passed since the end of the War. What Granger had read said that within a decade the Master of Death who didn't hold all of the Hallows would face that fate. Time ran short.

Severus gasped as he knocked a bottle over, its contents spilling onto the counter with a sharp hiss. With the wave of his hand, he vanished it, the reflex honed over the years of teaching incompetent and careless students. He resigned himself to perhaps finishing his inventory while Weasley visited. Thankfully, he didn't have that much more left to document. A separate list totaled the potions he'd have to brew.

The chime on the door tinkled and Severus looked up to see Weasley enter, his warding robes on and a professional expression on his young face. He shut the door behind him and turned, facing Severus. "Good morning, sir."

Severus nodded. "Good morning, Weasley. What ward shall you set today?"

"I thought I'd place the ward to prevent theft next. It'll take a few applications and some layering, but it should prevent anyone walking out with anything they haven't paid for," Weasley said. He slid his wand from its holster. He glanced around the shop, looking over the corners and the door frames. "This ward will require me to anchor it to the corners and to all doorways. The doorways would alert you that someone has taken something so you can respond. I usually have the alarm sound silently to everyone but the shop owner, keeps people from realizing that they've been caught until it's too late, yeah?"