He was so sneaky about it, it was months before she realized he was courting her.

He paid whenever they went out to eat together. Usually, that meant fish and chips, but there had been at least twice in the last few months that he'd bought her a steak dinner. And he randomly picked up her favorite chocolates when he was chaperoning Hogsmeade weekends and she was off. And there was that one time that he'd gone to Diagon Alley on a random Wednesday afternoon and brought her Fortescue's back; they'd sat in her office eating their treats like children who'd got into the cookie jar while Mummie was out.

It took his asking her to dance to make her realize he was up to something. He was a generous friend—she'd seen it in his interaction with the other teachers, with the clerk at the apothecary in Hogsmeade, with Lucius Malfoy—but he did not dance if he could help it. Yet he'd asked her. He'd asked her at a Ministry function where people would see.

"Of course," she said, hoping the connections being made wouldn't show in her eyes.

They danced. He was a very good dancer. He swept her around the room, and she barely kept up with the conversation. (She never could when he was touching her, because it was so rare that he did, and now she was sure he was interested…) They talked about their colleagues, how strange it was to see Fudge at one of these functions, and then had a rather nice spat about gillyweed. She didn't notice that they'd danced the rest of the night until it was over.

He walked her home. Well, they walked out together and then he took her Side-Along back to Hogwarts. He usually did, since he still had the headmaster's privilege of being able to get through the wards (even though he'd absolutely refused to take up the position again after the war, and had happily settled into teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts).

She kissed him on the cheek, and hoped that wasn't giving away too much.

It was strange that he'd opted for old-fashioned courting. She supposed it was because he'd immersed himself in wizarding culture so thoroughly, first trying to fit in with the purebloods that were his school companions, and then to gain standing as a Death Eater and spy. He'd been raised Muggle, though. As far as she'd been able to tell, he'd gone about relationships the Muggle way in the past. Or at least in a more modern way than friendly meals and holding her at a very appropriate distance while dancing with her in front of a roomful of chaperones.

It took her the rest of the weekend and one very rushed trip to a Muggle watch-maker, but everything was in place when Monday night arrived. It was their mutual off night—no rounds, no meetings, and too soon in the week to have much in the way of a marking backlog.

They walked back to her office together, rehashing the gillyweed argument. Her palms sweated the entire time, and she was sure she was blushing.

"Oh, I have something for you," she said once they were safely enclosed behind her wards. "A surprise."

"A surprise," he repeated, tone not quite suspicious.

"A good surprise," she said, rolling her eyes at him. She tried to maintain her cheer. "Or at least I hope so."

"Hm."

She scowled at him. "Thanks for the vote of confidence."

She'd had it in her pocket all day, thumping against her thigh as she moved up and down the aisles between the desks monitoring for imminent explosions. It had made her nervous and excited in turns.

"Ta-da."

He took the parcel from her—she'd wrapped it in plain brown paper—with narrowed eyes, turning it over in his hands and making no move to open it.

"I didn't curse it, Severus."

"There are heavy enchantments, nonetheless."

"Yes. That's the point. It's a present, and it's enchanted, and it's inside the paper. You have to unwrap it."

He scowled again, muttering about how he didn't like surprises or presents and it wasn't his birthday anyway. She ignored him, pouring all her focus into keeping her shoulders relaxed and not wringing her hands while she waited for him to pull the paper off.

"It's a watch?"

"Yes. A pocket watch. Since yours broke."

"It did."

He'd been disappointed, the old watch having been the one his mother had scraped and saved to get him for his seventeenth birthday. It had weathered both wars with him, but it had finally given out. Even the strongest reparo had only managed to get it ticking for an hour or so before something else went wrong.

"And all the enchantments you were so worried about," she said, rolling her eyes at him, "are on the fob. See?

The fob was mother-of-pearl with a sheen to it that hinted at the layered spells. The chain that attached it to the watch was gold, so it would resist destructive spellwork as much as any unenchanted thing could. The watch almost could've been a set to the bracelet he'd given her for her birthday, though it was gold with enchanted freshwater pearls instead of the inlaid mother-of-pearl. He'd spent a lifetime perfecting the combination of enchantments on his old watch, and he'd duplicated the clever thing for her in the bracelet. It had been exhausting to recreate on the new fob so quickly.

"We match," she said a little too brightly. She could've entirely misread things, after all. He might've been being polite with the dinners, and friendly with the ice cream. He might've taken somebody's advice on her birthday present and not meant anything by it. And the dance…

He put the fob through the buttonhole of his waistcoat and put the watch in his pocket. It looked Victorian, and rather dashing. (She always thought he looked rather dashing, though.)

"Perfect," she said, reaching out and turning the fob so it lay right. He was warm, and she wanted to keep her hand close but she didn't dare. What if he didn't…

"Thank you."

"You are most welcome."

There was an awkward pause. At least she thought it was awkward. He didn't seem to realize there was a pause. A lull. A moment of dead air that the entire world seemed to hinge on for the space of it.

"May I take you out to dinner?" he asked. The words were surprisingly measured. Her heart was racing, and she'd assumed the world was fluttering on at the same speed.

"Of course."

"Not just dinner. A date. I'm asking you on a date."

So he wasn't so collected as he appeared. (Thank Merlin.)

"Right. I thought so," she said. They blinked at each other, waiting to see who should talk first. "That's why I agreed."

"Oh. Good."

"Good. Yes." She shoved her hair back behind her ears and realized they were both standing in the middle of her office, awkward like they hadn't been since she'd first become a professor. "Great."

"Is it?"

"What?"

"Great?"

"Yes. It's great."

"Are you sure?" He copied her movement, putting his own hair behind his ears. "I wasn't sure if—I mean to say. That is—I didn't want to spoil anything."

"Severus," she said decisively, "you haven't spoiled it."

"I haven't taken you to dinner yet."

"Sure you have. So many times. We eat together almost every meal of the day."

"None of those were dates."

"But we have proven than we can, in fact, eat at the same table without entirely bollocksing up our… relationship?"

"What if I kissed you?"

"What?"

"Would that bollocks anything up?"

"We'll have to find out, won't we?"

"I think so. Yes."

"Yes."