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In truth, during the first year after her breakup with Vernon, Petunia had been actively dating.
Part of it was Mrs.
Evans pushing her.
Part of it was Petunia’s own need.
But things hadn’t gone smoothly, sometimes because Petunia couldn’t stand certain habits the men had, but more often simply because the men felt no spark with Petunia.
The experiences hit hard.
Petunia started doubting their own appeal, and eventually grew weary of the whole idea of finding a boyfriend.
It was in that state of mind that Petunia had taken Ruth’s advice and started experimenting with those little toys that were supposedly guaranteed to bring pleasure.
Gradually, interest in romance thinned out even further.
Now Petunia put most of their energy into work.
After a year of steady effort, Petunia had finally earned the recognition of Grandma Susan and Uncle Jack, becoming the indispensable second-in-command in the Delicious Bakery’s kitchen.
A real skill to their name now.
Ding-a-ling~~~~ “Welcome!” Grandma Susan had been under the weather this month, so Petunia had taken on the front counter as well.
Petunia looked up at the person in the doorway and went still.
It was Snape.
“What can I get for you?” Petunia recovered quickly, dropped their gaze, and smoothed over whatever was stirring inside, falling back on a professional tone.
Petunia hadn’t dreamed about Snape in a long time.
Had thought the forgetting was nearly complete.
But that figure — the one that had blurred in memory over the months yet stubbornly refused to disappear, was standing there in the flesh, more real than Petunia was prepared for.
Heart lurching hard, like it was trying to clear the ribs entirely.
Petunia didn’t let any of it show.
“They don’t sell alcohol here?” The question was almost absurd, as though Snape had just woken from a dream and was still trying to work out where he’d ended up.
The shop was thick with the slow, warm scent of baking, nothing remotely like the sharp bite of alcohol.
It was a deep, comfortable smell, like hot tea on a cold winter’s day.
Petunia raised their head.
There was a flicker of amusement in those eyes, chin tilting up to look at him, watching him the way you’d watch a very silly performance.
Wanting to make fun of him, just not wanting to seem too cruel about it.
“It seems Mr.
Snape’s eyes and nose are purely decorative.
The sign outside is perfectly legible, yet you walked right past it.
The smell in here is unmistakable, yet somehow you didn’t notice.” Something shifted on Snape’s face.
A trace of chagrin broke through.
Though it was hard to say whether he was embarrassed by the blunder itself, or by making such a spectacle of himself in front of a Muggle.
Petunia waited.
Expected him to come back with something sharp.
He didn’t.
That gave Petunia pause.
Looking at him more carefully now, searching for something that couldn’t quite be named.
His complexion was off, there was an unnatural flush to it, the kind that came with being tipsy.
His eyes had gone glassy, stripped of their usual edge.
His expression was slack in a way that didn’t suit him at all, as if his mind had quietly stepped out and left his body to manage on its own.
It reminded Petunia of Mr.
Evans when he’d had too much to drink.
Petunia stepped closer.
Sure enough, the smell of alcohol rolled over in a thick, stinging wave.
The man was thoroughly drunk.
And he’d still come out looking for more.
Snape clearly didn’t like Petunia getting close.
He turned to leave.
He hadn’t counted on how far gone he actually was.
His feet tangled.
He clipped the chair beside the door, lost his balance, and stumbled forward, straight into the door frame with a dull, heavy thud.
The sound was jarring in the small shop.
It made the air jump.
Uncle Jack came hurrying out at the noise, took one look, and stopped short.
“This — who on earth is this?” He frowned, studying the stranger.
Not a regular.
“Just a drunk,” Petunia said.
“He came looking for alcohol.
Clearly wandered into the wrong place.” Uncle Jack’s brow stayed furrowed.
Letting someone this far gone hang around the shop was asking for trouble, for the other customers if nothing else.
“I am not a drunk!” Snape pressed a hand over his forehead, where a sizeable lump had already risen, his voice tight with irritation.
That word.
He hated that word as much as ever.
As a child, whenever it came up, he’d always reacted sharply.
Probably because his father had been one, had drunk himself to death, in fact, and left a shadow behind that never quite lifted.
“Yes, yes, of course, you’re not a drunk, Mr.
Snape.” Petunia moved to steady him, already working out the fastest way to get this stubborn man out the door before he caused any more chaos.
Snape’s hands came up slightly, as if to push Petunia away.
Then his eyes found Petunia’s.
Something seemed to seize him.
He went still, caught, like a man who’d walked into something he hadn’t seen coming.
Petunia stood there feeling his breath wash over their face, a strange, unsteady nervousness rising in their chest.
Very aware of Snape’s hands, how, without seeming to intend it, they had settled around Petunia’s shoulders, drawing closer.
He was murmuring something.
The words wouldn’t come clear.
All Petunia knew was that the heartbeat had kicked up hard again, that same feeling of trying to escape the chest.
That feeling came back.
The one that crept in during the quiet hours of the night, the loneliness, the longing.
Petunia’s cheeks went warm and then hot.
Petunia forgot, for a moment, what to do.
Just let Snape hold on.
Uncle Jack watched from the side.
A soft, warm smile spread across his face.
He stayed right where he was, letting whatever this was drift through the air between them, quietly curious about what would happen next.
“Petunia!
Slow day anyway — looks like no more customers coming.
Go ahead and walk your friend home.” He gave the two of them a gentle nudge.
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