Chapter Text
"Life is infinitely stranger than anything which the mind of man could invent." — Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, 'A Case Of Identity'.
*
Over the ivy-wrapped trellis of the narrow balcony overlooking the glimmering cobblestones at the heart of Diagon Alley, a creaky, quaint wooden sign swung on the breeze: H. Potter Detective Agency.
So freshly painted it was, Harry could still catch a whiff of turpentine and aged oak coming off it, much like the scent of the bottom of an emptied whisky barrel exposed to sunlight after a long, sunless century in a cobwebbed, musty cellar.
He relished the gentle swaying of the sign and the gleaming paint, visible through the open frosted-glass windows of his new office. Marigolds bloomed on the sunlit window sill above the bustling street, filled with the usual afternoon traffic. The fresh excitement of this newly-rented space meant that every morning while rearranging his notes and turning the chair at his desk to face the sun, he was still getting used to the sounds of the creaky staircase and the tempting smells from the bakery around the corner. His heart still leapt with exhilaration akin to opening a Christmas present he hadn't dared hope for.
His office. His own place to work on cases of utmost importance. A chance to build his reputation as someone other than the Golden Boy or the Man Who Lived, or any of that nonsense. He had a space of his very own, with an official sign at the door and a quiet nine-to-noon routine of unglamorous paperwork, followed by the whirlwind of wherever his cases — what few of them were so far — took him in the afternoons or evenings. It was a brand new start.
"Ahh."
Harry let out a contented sigh at the enchanted tapestry depicting a map of Victorian London that spanned the far wall. He was about to pour himself a second cup of tea when the brass doorbell downstairs, shaped like a dragon's head, chimed as the door swung open. Chime by chime, the dragon head slurped up the festive chain of golden bells cascading from its mouth, spitting them back out and shaking them like a sun-warmed, melodious cluster of grapes.
There was a huff and the sound of footsteps, signalling a customer. His first customer! Usually, those in need of his services contacted him via letters, Floo, or the requests for help were simply notes sent over by Ron or Robards. An unexpected visitor like this was rare.
In the corner, the clock chimed half-past two.
"Good afternoon!" Harry called out. "Come on up, would you like some tea?"
Before he could offer to share his crumpets (a usual delivery from the bakery next door), the stairs creaked and the door to his office opened, revealing none other than Severus Snape.
"Oh," Harry said. "Severus, hi! Come in, come in! Perfect timing, I've just put the kettle on." With a flick of his wand, he directed the second, spider-legged office chair, which obediently scuttered out of its resting corner toward the visitor. "Welcome to the one and only Potter Detective Agency, where every clue is given its due!" — Al and Lily had been quite insistent on the silly slogan and after a while, it had grown on him too — "What can I help you with today?"
Severus' brow twitched at the sing-song catchphrase, and he seemed to be doing his best not to roll his eyes. His lips were thinly pressed as if restraining a smirk, as he examined Harry's new office. "Good afternoon. Strictly business today, I am afraid. I'm here in response to your advertisement."
"Oh?" Have they published it already? But I didn't send in the final revisions! "Of course. You must need my help. Hang on, let me get my notes and my quill. There's an intake form — do sit down, please. So, you were —"
"As I was trying to say —"
Harry, ever so helpful, levitated a tray with two steaming cups of tea toward Severus. Severus waved away the fluttering jar of honey and the lemon slices arranged in the shape of a flower but did take a sip of plain Earl Grey, with all the amiability of a cranky dragon momentarily appeased by an offering of riches and gold.
"As I was trying to say, I'm here, in response to the advert —"
"Of course you are. So, crumpets? I've got some biscuits as well, and an excellent prickly pear jam, if you like that sort of thing. Do you? Er, by the way, which advert was it?"
Severus' expression was oddly blank. "The one in the Sunday papers, of course."
"Right, there was an advert?"
Severus did eyeroll at that. "Oh, even you can't be that clueless — how did you manage to survive adulthood long enough to reproduce? Merlin's beard! And I don't mean Helga Hufflepuff. This week's advertisement, of course, full-page, colour print, enchanted five-minute-long every-other-letter wiggle. In the Sunday paper, surely you do remember that!"
"Er, right you are," Harry agreed through a mouthful of crumpet, though he had no recollection of such an advert, or its format, or its wording, or even requesting one in the Sunday papers. But free publicity surely couldn't hurt — look, it even brought Severus Snape to his doorstep. Maybe Ron or Hermione thought they'd surprise him and send something in. How nice!
"Well, as you so aptly put it — you are delighted to provide an upstanding, satisfactory, individual service to all-comers, day or night." Something in Severus' voice seemed off: the tone or the levity. Harry couldn't quite put his finger on it.
"Er, just to clarify," Harry said, to dot all the i's and cross all the t's. "I do have strict boundaries. Before we begin, any autographs, brand endorsements, or political statements are off the table. The Aurors' Department was crystal clear regarding that part if I wanted to maintain my affiliation with their image. I investigate, so they can continue to serve and protect upstanding citizens like... well, like yourself these days, Professor. As long as I'm handling their cases, I won't endorse or signal approval for anything that may tarnish their reputation." Robards was quite the killjoy with lengthy contracts, so Harry might as well turn the situation into a joke that the sarcastic type like Severus might appreciate.
"I... see." Severus' brow arched. "I am surprised then that the Aurors' Department signed off on your latest... escapade."
"This Agency? Oh, Robards loved the idea! It was quite a hit..."
"After all —" Severus paused for far longer than was necessary. "Sex Instructor?"
Wait! WHAT now? Harry choked on the mouthful of crumbs and shook his head in shock. He must have misheard. Did Severus say... "Did you just say 'sex'?"
*
As it turns out, Severus did indeed say 'sex'.
But let us backtrack a moment. Before this uneventful Diagon Alley afternoon escalates into something far more heated than Harry Potter's lukewarm, forgotten afternoon tea or his wounded sense of pride, let's start this story at its true beginning. Otherwise, things might seem quite boring and plain without the full context of what transpired.
And to understand the full picture, we need to discuss Severus' line of work first, don't we?
After all, who would the man (the myth, the legend) be without it?
All right then. Here we go.