The soft clink of cutlery and the murmur of conversation surrounded Severus and Lorelei as they entered the lavish dining room of The Golden Sceptre, one of the most exclusive and elegant restaurants in all of Muggle England. Situated in the heart of London, it was a place where only the wealthiest and most influential people dined, its chandeliers glittering like stars, casting a golden glow over the white-linen tables.
For the first time in years, Severus had no looming responsibilities to worry about. Damian was safely at Hogwarts, the company was flourishing beyond even his expectations, and the ever-constant pressures of his dual life had finally, for a rare moment, quieted. It felt as though the weight of a hundred years had been lifted from his shoulders, and he was free—if only for an evening—to enjoy the simple pleasure of spending time with Lorelei.
She looked stunning, as always. Her long, dark hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, and her emerald green dress brought out the glint of her own deep eyes. Her smile, warm and inviting, made Severus feel as though the world outside the restaurant didn't exist—only the two of them in this cocoon of elegance and privacy.
As they were shown to their table by a poised maître d', Severus couldn't help but take in the surroundings. The restaurant was a masterpiece of Muggle opulence—gleaming silverware, floor-to-ceiling windows showing a panoramic view of the city skyline, and an atmosphere that radiated both luxury and exclusivity.
"You chose well," Lorelei said as they were seated, her voice warm with appreciation. "This place is stunning."
Severus smiled at her, the corners of his lips lifting slightly. "I have a talent for finding places that suit my... tastes," he said, his voice smooth and confident.
Lorelei raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in her eye. "You know, it's not just your taste that draws attention," she teased. "It's your presence. When you walk into a room, you make sure everyone notices."
Severus leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk on his lips. "Is that such a bad thing?" he asked, his voice laced with both amusement and a hint of challenge.
Lorelei laughed, reaching across the table to rest her hand on his. "Not at all. In fact, I think it's one of the reasons I fell for you."
He looked down at her hand, his expression softening ever so slightly. "And yet, you still seem willing to tolerate my company," he said dryly, but the affection in his voice was unmistakable.
Lorelei smiled, the playful tension between them palpable. "Tolerate you? Severus, you're impossible to get rid of."
As the night wore on, the two of them relaxed into each other's presence. The food was exquisite, the wine rich and smooth, and the conversation flowed easily—shifting from their favorite books to their most recent business ventures. Severus had always been a man of few words, but with Lorelei, his guard seemed to slip. Her easy laughter and sharp wit made him feel, for the first time in a long while, at ease in his own skin.
He had never imagined that this kind of peace would be possible in his life. But here, with Lorelei by his side, it was.
Meanwhile, at a table across the room, a very different atmosphere was unfolding.
Petunia Dursley sat with her husband, Vernon, her eyes scanning the menu with an expression that could only be described as bewildered. This was their first time in The Golden Sceptre, a place they had been trying—unsuccessfully—for years to get a reservation at. They had finally secured a table through a connection that Vernon's business associate had, and they couldn't believe their luck. This was the pinnacle of dining, the kind of place people like them—ordinary, hard-working people—rarely found themselves in. It was a night of indulgence, of finally experiencing the luxury they had always dreamed about.
And yet, something about the place felt off. The extravagant décor, the hushed voices of the well-dressed patrons—it all felt a bit too much for Petunia. She would rather have been at a nice, simple café. But Vernon had insisted, and Petunia wasn't one to argue when it came to appearances.
"Don't be nervous, Petunia," Vernon muttered through a mouthful of food. "We're here. And we deserve it."
Petunia gave a tight smile but didn't respond. She was still uncomfortable, but the food was good, the service impeccable, and at least she could pretend, for a little while, that they truly belonged here.
As she took a sip of her wine, something caught her eye.
A couple entered the restaurant, their presence immediately commanding attention. The man had dark, unmistakable features—black hair, sharp eyes that seemed to pierce the air, and a confidence that made the rest of the room fall silent for just a moment. His companion was equally striking—tall, elegant, with dark hair that fell in soft waves and a confident, warm demeanor. She recognized him immediately.
Severus Snape.
No, Severus Prince, she corrected herself. He had changed his name years ago, reinventing himself as a successful businessman. She hadn't seen him in years, but she hadn't forgotten the way he looked—how he had looked at her when they were children, as if he could see through every one of her defenses. How he had always been so different. The way he had always carried himself with a kind of sharpness that no one could quite define, the way he had been... strange, almost dark to her.
Petunia's stomach turned as she sat up straighter. How is he here? Her mind raced back to her childhood—those days spent in the shadow of Lily's brilliance, when Severus had been a constant, irritating presence. He was the one who had always been too clever for his own good, who had always pushed buttons and provoked. She had never liked him, even when they were children. He had been awkward, shunned by others, and Petunia had always found him just a little too intense.
But now, looking at him as an adult, dressed in tailored robes, exuding power and wealth, she couldn't help but feel a flutter of unease. He had made something of himself in ways Petunia could never have imagined. And here she was, sitting with Vernon, at a table in one of the most prestigious restaurants in the city, trying to fit in while Severus Prince seemed to own the place with just his presence.
Her breath caught as their eyes met across the room.
Severus, who had been deep in conversation with Lorelei, paused. His gaze met hers, and for a brief moment, the two locked eyes. It wasn't a long look, not one filled with any kind of emotion—just a recognition, a small shift of acknowledgment that spoke volumes.
For a moment, Petunia felt like she had been transported back to her childhood. She remembered the way Severus had looked at her back then, with an expression that was both calculating and... almost pitying. He had always been so clever, so different, and Petunia had always despised that about him. The way he had mocked her when they were children, the way he had always seemed to think he was better than everyone else.
But now, it was different. Now, he was the one who had won.
Severus didn't linger on the moment. He gave a small, polite nod of recognition, a slight flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips—nothing more, but enough to acknowledge the unspoken history between them. Then, without missing a beat, he turned his attention back to Lorelei, resuming their conversation with an ease that suggested the interruption had never happened.
Petunia's hand tightened around her glass. Her mind raced through a maze of memories—the childhood rivalry, the resentments, the way Severus had always made her feel small. But now, in this moment, he was the one who had made it. He was the one who had risen above it all.
She hadn't expected that. Not at all.
Lorelei leaned in, her voice soft, but it was the warmth in her tone that seemed to pull Severus back into the present. His gaze softened as he refocused on her, and Petunia, feeling as though the moment had slipped through her fingers, sighed quietly, returning to her own meal.
For all the success Severus had found in the world, Petunia realized—he had always been out of her reach. And that, in itself, was a kind of victory she had never fully understood until now.