No Milk Today

Chapter Three

-Fall 1969-

"Here's your milk," Severus said, setting the bottle on the table. He started the kettle without being asked. This had become routine. Harry would sit at the table, recovering from his shift to old age, and Severus would make him his morning tea while they talked over matters personal.

"Did you have an enjoyable weekend?" Harry asked.

Severus turned from the stove and gave Harry a dazzling crooked grin. Harry had seen it a few times, usually over a successful potion or the display of a particularly impressive piece of magic, but it never ceased to shock and amaze him.

"I made a friend," Severus said. "Her name is Lily."

Harry felt his momentary elation at Severus' obvious joy disappear to be replaced with a sense of dread. It wasn't that he didn't want the boy to have friends. If there was ever a child who would benefit from some honest companionship, it was Severus Snape. However, Harry had feared this particular turn of events since his started out on this project. He was going to find it very difficult to avoid the temptation of meeting the little girl who would become his mother, but it was just too big of a risk to take. He didn't know what would happen if he somehow changed her future, but he didn't want to find out. His only goal here was to save Severus' life; he couldn't afford the risk of trying to change anything else.

Harry forced the wavering smile to stay on his face. "Tell me about her."

Severus brought their tea over and sat down across from him. "She's a witch! Her parents and her sister are all muggles, but she can do magic."

"Does she live in the village?"

"Just across the meadow behind my house. I've seen her around, but I never talked to her before. She's brilliant! Can I bring her over here sometime?"

Harry felt his heart sink. He hadn't anticipated this, though maybe he should have. "Perhaps next week," he heard himself saying, buying time. "We need to focus on the batch of potions we're working on now. When those are finished, I thought we might go to Diagon Alley."

Severus' eyes widened in excitement at that. "Maybe Lily could come with us. She'd love to see Diagon Alley. She'd never met any wizards before she met me. She didn't even know the magical world existed. She just thought that she was weird. Isn't that funny?"

"Yes," Harry said, though his tone was noncommittal. He sipped at his tea. "We'll see what happens."

oOoOoOo

He did his best to distract Severus from conversation of Lily that day with only marginal success. That was one thing he'd learned about Severus over the last few months: once he'd latched onto a subject he just didn't want to let go. In these cases, Harry found it very difficult to be patient with the boy.

Most days Harry relished the time he spent with the boy and the long peaceful hours he spent alone after in the quiet of his little cottage, and only returned reluctantly to the complications of running Hogwarts in the aftermath of the war, but not today. Today he was only all too happy to shepherd Severus out the door. He wasted no time downing his de-aging potion, not even pausing to enjoy the effects as he pulled out his time-turner.

January 7th

-2003-

Harry breezed through his office. He'd long since moved Severus' portrait to his private sitting room, at the man's own bidding. Lately, their conversations had veered toward the personal, and Harry had been all too happy to conduct them away from the listening ears of Albus, Finneus, and all the countless others.

"I was planning to take him to Diagon Alley and buy him a full potions kit and a new pair of shoes, and he wants to bring my mother," Harry said, by way of explanation for his foul mood, as he slumped into the sofa. "I want scotch."

"I'm hardly in a position to fetch it for you. Call a house elf."

"Kreecher," Harry called.

"Not that one," the portrait muttered darkly, just in time for Harry to hear it before the object of his ire popped into the room.

"What is Master Black wanting?" the elf asked.

"I've told you," Harry said, "my name is Potter."

Severus snorted. "By all means, call him Peverell if you like. I hear that's what he's going by."

Harry ignored him. "Can you get me a glass of scotch from the liquor cabinet over there," Harry pointed, "and perhaps something to eat? I've been neglecting breakfast lately."

A look of confusion passed the elf's face, as well it should, for all he knew Harry hadn't missed a breakfast in the great hall since the start of term. The old elf toddled over to the liquor cabinet and pulled down the decanter of amber liquid. He uncapped the crystal stopper and sniffed. His wrinkled old face wrinkled further in disgust. "Master isn't to be drinking this swill," he said, "I will bring you something better from home." With that pronouncement he popped out of the room.

"Swill?" Severus sputtered, clearly disgusted. "That's almost fifty year old scotch, aged for twenty-one of those years in a cask of French oak. I was saving it for the end of the war."

"Well," Harry said, "the war is over, and you're dead. You should have drunk it when you had the chance instead of leaving it around for me. Anyway, Kreecher is right. The Black cellars can probably do better."

"Should you ever wonder in future why I so hated your godfather, I will point to this conversation by way of elucidation. I spent almost a month's salary on that bottle, and had meant to save it for a special occasion. You have a hundred or more bottles that easily outstrip it mouldering away in the basement of your mansion and are about to open one because you had a bad day."

"Grimmauld Place is hardly a mansion," Harry corrected, "and even if it was, I'd gladly give it up to have Sirius back." Severus snorted, but Harry pressed on. "Just as I'd gladly give up the contents of my Gringotts vault if it meant my parents were alive. Or you for that matter," he added after a moment.

"Well, let us hope it doesn't come to that," the portrait said. "If all of this works out in your favor, I quite look forward to sampling a few of the bottles in your cellar for myself."

Harry smirked at him. "And what makes you think that you would be entitled to that?"

Severus' retort was interrupted by Kreecher's return. The elf deposited a fresh crystal decanter on the side table for Harry along with a platter or assorted sandwiches. "Will master need anything else?" the elf asked.

"No, Kreecher, this will be fine. Thank you."

Kreecher nodded and once more disappeared, and Harry returned his attention to the portrait on the wall. "Can we get back to the problem of my mother?" he asked.

"I'm not quite sure that there is a problem. I would have thought that you'd be eager to meet your mother."

"Well, that's the problem, I am." Harry poured a generous amount of scotch from the decanter into his glass. "I'm not sure that I have the fortitude to keep saying no, but it just isn't worth the risk."

"What risk is that exactly?"

"That I might change events."

"Isn't that your ultimate goal?" Severus asked, honestly perplexed.

"Well, yeah," Harry said, sipping his scotch, "but what if I change something that shouldn't be changed. What if she doesn't marry my father? What if I'm never born?"

"So, your concern is that you will meet Lily and suddenly cease to exist?" Severus chuckled lightly.

"Why is that funny?" Harry asked.

"Because that would be impossible. You can't change the past to negate your own existence because there would be no circumstances under which you would be able to go back in time afterward to do so."

"I'm not sure I understand."

"It's a paradox, an inarguable paradox, and even if it weren't there are some events that are truly meant to happen, fixed events, and I believe that the Dark Lord's defeat is one of those. As much as you like to play the humble war hero, even you must surely realize that you were instrumental in his downfall."

"Yes, but it could have just as easily been Neville Longbottom."

"Longbottom?" Severus scoffed.

Harry shrugged. "Maybe it should have been Neville. Look at what he did that last year- while you were headmaster. Look at what he organized. Neville was always braver than I am, and a better leader. Neville is just a better man."

"That's nonsense, and you know it," Severus said. "What's worse is that you also believe it."

Harry took another gulp of his scotch. "I don't know what I believe."

"That at least is the truth." Severus sighed. "I have never done anything to lead you astray, and yet you still have never trusted me. Trust me now, just this once. Some things are worth the risk, and I believe it to be a very small one if there is indeed any risk at all. Things will happen however they are meant to happen. If you are meant to change the course of events then you will, if you are not meant to change them, this whole endeavor of yours will just be a heartbreaking waste of time. In any case, you should take the opportunity to get to know your mother. She was worth knowing."

oOoOoOo

Despite how much he really wanted to take Severus' advice, Harry spent the whole following morning debating his course of action. He sat at the head table, looking out over the sea of students. He pulled his glance away from them and cast it down the table instead. Most of the professors had stayed on for a year after the war- to help rebuild the castle and get Harry settled as headmaster, but then there had been a mass exodus as teachers that had seen the school through two wars took their long-overdue retirement. Of the old guard, only Trewlany and Binns remained teaching. Hagrid still tended the grounds, but had retired from teaching to devote more time to his little brother. Harry had called in a few favors and managed to fill the empty positions without too much trouble- mostly from the Order of the Phoenix roster, and primarily the Weasley members.

Ron had stepped in as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher immediately after the war, with Hermione joining him a year later- stepping into McGonnagall's shoes as both Trasfiguration teacher and head of Gryffindor house. Charlie had taken over for Hagrid. Bill taught Ancient ruins. Arthur Weasley was having the time of his life with Muggle Studies, and Molly was handling the Infirmary quite well. Ginny had even taken over charms. Of the few non-Weasley members of staff, three were non-order members. Augustus Tripplehorne, taught Astronomy and was head of house for Hufflepuff, and Elizabeth Bianco taught Potions and watched over Ravenclaw. Draco Malfoy, the only Slytherin that Harry could get to join the staff, was head of his old house and had replaced Madam Hooch as the flight instructor.

That only left Neville Longbottom. He was the obvious choice to replace Madam Sprout, but he had also proved to be invaluable as Harry's deputy headmaster. Harry had first offered the position to Hermione, and then to Ron, but they were busy starting a family and couldn't devote the time that the job required. Neville had been a last-minute substitute that had worked out better than Harry could have dreamed. They made a perfect team, and Harry didn't know where Neville's sudden confidence had come from, but it suited him. They had all grown up a lot over the course of their education and the end of the war, but perhaps Neville most of all. Gone was the round pale boy who stuttered when he was nervous and had a memory like a sieve; He had been replaced by a well-built, bright, articulate, young man who demanded respect and received it just by entering a room. It made Harry feel short and ordinary sometimes just to stand beside him.

He'd meant what he said to Severus the night before. Harry really did believe that Neville was a better man. He would make a damn fine headmaster too, when Harry resigned in five years after his time-travel project was completed- for better or worse.

The thing was, he could really use Neville's advice now, but he couldn't ask for it. Oh, Neville would be infinitely sympathetic about Harry's desire to meet his mother. His friend had never really known his own mother either. But, that was the crux. His and Neville's destinies had always been interchangeable. The prophecy could have been about either one of them, but Voldemort had chosen Harry. He was sure that Voldemort was meant to be defeated, but it could just as easily have been Neville, and how then might Harry's life have been different? Would Lily and James have been able to defend themselves against Bellatrix Lestrange? Surely Alice Longbottom would have given her life to protect her only son as readily as Lily had, thus providing Neville with the same protection that had saved Harry countless times. No,… that was too much of a temptation to even think about. He could never do that to his friend. Some ingrained sense of fairness prevented him from even considering it.

If he did decide to interact in any way with his mother, there was a lot more than just his existence at stake. It wasn't just his destiny either, Neville's was at risk also- his destiny and his lifestyle.

"Is something the matter, Harry?" Neville asked suddenly, interrupting Harry's thoughts.

"Oh, um," Harry met his eyes, instantly feeling guilty. "Just under a bit of stress lately. Maybe I need a day off."

Neville laughed.

"Yeah, I guess that is a bit of a joke."

"When is the last time you took a day off?" Ron asked, joining the conversation.

Harry thought about it, and honestly couldn't come up with an answer. Even his summers and weekends over the last five years had been filled with work- coordinating with the ministry, moonlighting for the Auror department, attending charity functions, redesigning lesson plans, and even occasionally filling in as a relief seeker for the English National Quidditch team.

If Harry was being honest with himself, and he'd been unusually forthright in that respect lately, the real reason he'd thrown himself so into these efforts was to distract himself from the downward spiral his personal life had taken. It was the same reason he drank too much most nights, and the reason for his recent promiscuity- Severus wasn't exaggerating the number of men that Harry had taken to bed since he'd admitted to his sexual preferences and broken things off with Ginny.

And it all came down to one thing, a thing he was finally ready to acknowledge. He was fixated on Severus Snape.

It was the reason that he had no desire to commit to any kind of long-term relationship, the reason that he couldn't sleep at night, the reason he kept a pensieve on his bedside table, and the reason he arrogantly thought that he could play with time.

Well, to hell with it, he was Harry Potter. One way or another, he was going to see this through to the end. Rash behavior and gut instincts had gotten him this far in life, and he was at a point where he was ready to throw in the towel if the universe wouldn't cut him a break just this once. Severus and Albus had both told him that things would happen as they were meant to, and he was ready to trust them. Let the chips fall where they may.

"If you have to think about it for that long, maybe it's time you took one," Ron said, laughing.

"Don't pester him, Ron. Harry has a lot on his plate. Maybe you should try working a bit harder once in a while," Hermione said.

"Why don't you take today off, Harry?" Neville offered. "I can cover for you, and you don't have any meetings scheduled today."

Harry nodded. "If you really don't mind, Neville, I think I'll take you up on that."

"Please do." Neville smiled. "You deserve it."

That didn't help with the feelings of guilt he was having over his decision, but he smiled anyway, and drained his teacup before rising from the table and taking his leave.

Once he returned to his room, he made a hasty search of his trunk until he found the mobile phone he'd purchased a few years back. The battery was dead of course, it was rare that he used it as often as once a month, but a quick wave of his wand fixed that. He flipped the phone open and pulled up its internal memory, dialing one of the three numbers saved there.

It rang three times before the man on the other end answered. "Hello?"

"Hey, Dudley. It's Harry. I'm glad I caught you at home. I actually have the day off today, and I was wondering if you'd want to meet for lunch."

"Can't today, Harry. Donna is out of town visiting her sister, so I'm watching the kids until she gets home. You could come over here if you want though; bring Teddy."

"Yeah, Alright."

"See you soon then."

"Sure."

oOoOoOo

Harry picked Teddy up from Andromeda's, and apparated them side-along to an alley near Dudley's house in Croyden. He held the boy's hand as they crossed the street to his cousin's house. Teddy rang the bell, and there was a thunder of tiny feet heard from the other side of the door before it was pulled open.

Two blonde-haired little cherubs that didn't in the least bit resemble beach balls stood there with twin grins on their devious little faces. The girl, Lucy, was four, and the boy, Deckland, was three, but of a height with his sister so that they were often mistaken for twins.

"Uncle, Harry!" They exclaimed in unison just as their dad came around the corner.

Dudley Dursley had lost some of the muscle he'd had in his school days when he'd still been boxing, and he'd developed a bit of a paunch, but he was still a shadow of his former bulk.

When the Dursleys had gone into hiding during the war, Dudley had been saddled with all of Harry's old chores, and found that he didn't mind all that much. He'd cultivated his love of food into a talent for cooking, and after the war was over he'd attended a culinary college. Now he ran the kitchen at a high-end restaurant in London.

"Stop blocking the door, kids," he said, chuckling at his children's excitement. "Let them in."

They stepped inside, and the moment Harry helped Teddy out of his cloak and winter things, the children pounded away up the steps to play. Harry hung the tiny cloak on one of the pegs by the door and took off his own.

"Tea?" Dudley asked.

"Yes, please," Harry nodded and followed him into the kitchen.

Dudley started the kettle and they both stood there awkwardly for a moment before he broke the silence. "So, what's going on? I believe you took a day off just to pay a social call about as much as I believe that my wife is really visiting her sister."

"You think she's having another affair?"

Dudley shrugged. "I'm trying not to jump to conclusions. But really, what's up? I haven't heard a word from you in months, and now suddenly you ring me and say that you took the day off. Something has to be going on."

Harry sighed, "Yeah, and I could really use someone to talk to about it- someone who isn't actually involved in any way. But, it's complicated and it involves a lot of magic."

Dudley snorted. "I had assumed at least that much. When I made the decision to get back in touch with you and try to fix things, I understood that meant accepting your lifestyle. I don't mind that you're a wizard, Harry. If anything, I'm a little jealous. I want to know more about magic; I think it's interesting."

Harry nodded. This had actually been what he was hoping for, though he hadn't exactly known it when he'd set out that morning. "I'll try to explain, but just… don't judge, alright? Keep an open mind; the whole situation is really complicated."

"Yeah, you said that, and I am open-minded, or we probably wouldn't be having this conversation in the first place."

Five years ago, the idea that Dudley Dursley could be open-minded about anything would have made Harry laugh, but the really funny thing was that Dudley was open-minded. Whether he'd always been that way and had hidden it out of necessity, or if it was something that had come with maturity, Harry didn't know. But, at this point, Harry really did feel he could tell his cousin just about anything.

"Okay," Harry nodded. "I've been spending half my time in 1969 for the last few months."

"Like, time-travel? You can do that?"

Harry nodded. He pulled on the chain around his neck drawing his time-turner out from under his shirt. "This is called a time-turner. I've made a few adjustments to this one, it tethers me to one place and one time: it's 1969 right now in the village where our mothers grew up."

Dudley frowned and turned away from him to pour their tea. When he had filled their cups, he sat down across from Harry at the little kitchen table. "Why?" he asked then. "Why then? Why there?"

"That's where it starts to get complicated. There was a man who taught me at school. He worked for our side in the war- as a spy. He was killed during the final battle, and I want to save his life."

"If he died during the final battle, then how can you save his life by going back to 1969? Are you just going to tell him how he dies, so he knows how to avoid it thirty years later."

Harry shook his head. "No. I'm not sure that would work. Given what was at stake, I don't think that full knowledge would change anything. He would willingly go to his death. I have to change his whole destiny. I need to keep him from ever following Voldemort in the first place. I need to… give him something to live for." He fell silent as the words left his mouth. They were true certainly. He couldn't ever hope to save Severus unless he could somehow make sure that he wanted to be saved.

"Why is it so important?"

"He saved my life more times than I can count. He's sacrificed everything down the line for the greater good, and he deserves a better reward for that then a life of misery and a premature death."

Dudley nodded. "Okay. I think I understand the situation, but I'm not quite sure I see what the problem is. You seem pretty confident about all of this."

Harry sighed and rubbed at his temples. "The problem is that his portrait is hanging in my sitting room, and I've been talking to him lately. It's started to complicate things."

"I can see why. Have you talked to a psychiatrist? Do wizards have psychiatrists?"

"Ha ha, Dudley," he said, drily. "I'm not going crazy; the portrait talks back."

"Oh sure," Dudley nodded in agreement. "As long as the painting talks back, you're definitely not crazy."

"Wizarding portraits do talk back Dudley. Magic, remember? Do you remember Ginny?"

"That hot red head you were dating before you decided you liked sucking cock?"

Harry grimaced. "Yeah, her. Anyway, she's dating a muggle travel writer at the moment, and she's teaching now so she has to stay at the school while term is in session. They don't get to see each other often, so he bought her a computer and they video chat every night. Do you know what that is?" Dudley gave Harry a look like he'd just asked if Dudley knew what a telephone was. "Obviously you do. I have a hard time keeping up with that kind of thing myself. Comes from relying on candles and fireplaces, I suppose. Wizards don't tend to take very well to technology. Anyway, having a wizarding portrait on your wall is sort of like having a computer permanently on video chat."

"Okay. I guess I understand that."

"So, at the end of the day, I go back to my rooms, sit on my sofa, have a couple drinks, and we talk. We talk about anything and everything, for hours, every night. I've become closer to him now than we ever were in life. I'm closer to him than anyone else probably. I suppose he's my best friend."

"So you're trying to save his life. That makes sense to me. What's the problem?"

"The problem is Dudley," Harry said, losing his temper a bit out of sheer frustration at the situation. "I've bloody well fallen in love with Severus Snape!"

"Wait," Dudley narrowed his eyes. "You're talking about Snape?"

That threw Harry off. "How do you know who Severus is?"

Dudley shrugged. "Now that dad is gone, mum talks about her childhood sometimes- usually when she's had a few martinis. The stories she tells tend to run along the same theme. Honestly, I think she misses your mother. She thinks Lily would still be alive if she'd never met that horrible ugly little Snape boy. At least that's the way she tells it."

Harry thought about that for a moment before he answered. "I think she's wrong about that. Even if my mother had never met Severus, it wouldn't have kept her from being a witch. The magical world comes with its own set of dangers. My mother knew that, better than most maybe, and she accepted it as part of the package."

Dudley nodded. "I believe you. Mum's just lonely. Sometimes I think she even misses you."

Harry snorted. "We tried that, remember- two Christmases ago? You know how well that went."

Dudley nodded. "To another point, just for curiosities sake, how ugly is this guy? I mean, if dad was anything to go by, no one would ever say that mum has great taste in men, so he must be really bad."

Harry couldn't help a snort and a slight smile at that. "He probably wouldn't win any beauty contests, but he has his charms. It's not about that anyway. I'm talking about real love, not lust or infatuation. It doesn't matter what he looks like."

"You must have it pretty bad then."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you."

Dudley nodded and let out a long breath. "I guess you really weren't kidding about the complicated part, but if you really want to have a chance with this guy I suppose you don't have a lot of choices. It would kind of help if he was alive first." Dudley scratched his forehead, thinking- a little gesture that never failed to make him look a lot thicker than he actually was. "I guess if you needed something in the meantime, you and the portrait could… you know… video sex?"

Harry grimaced. "Okay, we'll pretend that the very idea of discussing this with you doesn't put me off ever having sex again… ever. Wouldn't that be kind of weird?"

Dudley shrugged. "You do what you have to. Why do you think your ex and her new toy boy don't just talk on the phone?"

Harry coughed. "Okay, that does it." Harry waved his hands in front of his face. "I just won't have sex."

Dudley laughed. "Oh, grow up, Potter. Does he even like you back anyway?"

"I'm not sure, maybe, probably, I don't know?" Harry hedged and Dudley gave him a questioning look in return. "He's dropped a few hints that if things had turned out differently, maybe there might have been something more there. Maybe."

Dudley narrowed his eyes. "That's an awful lot of maybes. Why don't you just ask him?"

"I can't do that."

"Why not?"

"You don't know him. You don't understand how he is. It wouldn't be pretty. He would humiliate me. He's the most snarky, unpleasant, and acerbic man I've ever met. The way he talks to people when he wants to, it's… pure acid. He just has a caustic personality, takes whatever chance he can to belittle me. He'd eviscerate me with his tongue."

"I thought you poufs enjoyed that sort of thing."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It was meant to be a joke," he scratched his forehead, "you know… rimming, that sort of thing?"

"You seem to know an awful lot about gay sex for someone with two kids."

"We get HBO," he answered, which of course meant nothing to Harry, but he didn't ask for clarification. "Anyway, you don't have to just come out and ask him directly; you can be subtle about it. Flirt with him a bit, and see what he does."

Harry nodded. "Okay, maybe I'll try that. Anyway, thanks for listening. I just couldn't talk to anyone else about it."

Dudley shrugged. "Anytime. I have a lot to make up for with how I treated you when we were younger. You can count on me for anything; you know that."

oOoOoOo

Harry had been wandering around Diagon Alley for the last few hours, slopping around the slushy snow in a black mood. He was starting to wish that he smoked just so he'd have something to do with his hands while he wandered the cold empty streets of this hub of wizarding commerce, muttering to himself like a lunatic.

He'd been in a good mood when he'd left Dudley's, after spending a few hours playing with the children and eating lunch, but once he'd returned Teddy to his grandmother, Harry had found himself at a loss. He wasn't ready to go back to Hogwarts. He hadn't had enough time to really work out what he thought about Dudley's suggestion to try to pursue Severus' portrait in some way, and he just wasn't ready to face him.

So, here he was, wandering around in the frankly dismal weather, when he looked up from his soaked shoes and became aware that he had somehow wandered down one of Diagon's numerous side alleys, thankfully not Knockturn, and gotten himself lost. More than that, he had the sudden feeling of being watched. He looked up and down the street, but he appeared to be alone, which did nothing at all for the short-hairs standing up on the back of his neck. Then he caught a flicker of motion out of the corner of his eye in the large front display window of the shop to his left. He turned and met the eyes that peered at him from out of a dozen paintings and portraits. The sign above the door proclaimed the shop to be Lissandra Elegrante's Gallery and Art Studio.

On impulse, Harry went into the shop. The bell above the door tinkled and he stepped in with a flurry of snow that blew down from the roof. He browsed around for a few moments, taken in by the display of colors and images on the canvases, before the proprietor came out from behind a curtain in the back of the gallery. She was maybe twice as old as Harry, rail-thin with paint spattered across bare, muscular arms.

"How can I help you?" He turned to her and there was the widening of eyes and tell-tale flick of the eyes up to his forehead. "Harr… Headmaster Potter?" She was clearly shaken at his sudden arrival, a look he had come to expect- even if it was something he would never get used to.

"Do you ever do commissioned pieces?" Harry asked. "I like your work."

"Did you want to commission a portrait?" she asked.

She looked like all her Christmases had come early, and Harry felt bad telling her, "No, actually, but I have a specific subject in mind." He smiled, feeling really good for the first time since he'd left his cousin's house. "How fast can you paint?"

oOoOoOo

Harry stumbled in well after midnight, struggling with a large wrapped package, and expecting to find Severus asleep in his frame. Instead he was startled as the candlelight flickered across the portrait, showing Severus' scowling visage. "Where have you been all day?"

"Hanging out with Dudley, playing with the kids, then I went to Frankie's for a while."

Frankie's was the only gay bar in wizarding London, and the mere mention of it seemed to deepen Severus' scowl.

"Fresh from your latest conquest, and drunk as an Irishman on St. Patrick's day," Severus sneered.

"Or any other day of the year," Harry said, raising an invisible glass in mock salute. "And, I had a number of tempting offers this evening, but I had to turn them all down. I was only in Frankie's killing time."

Severus narrowed his eyes. "Killing time for what?"

"I was waiting for your birthday present," Harry said, holding up the package.

Severus frowned. "My birthday?"

"January 9th, same as it's always been," Harry said with a grin.

Severus looked skeptical. "You do realize that I'm a portrait, don't you, Mr. Potter? Does your inebriated brain still have the capacity to understand that? I was never born.

"Nope," Harry smiled, "but it's still your birthday, and I brought you a present. Would you like me to unwrap it for you?"

"So help me, Potter, if you thought to buy me a friend…" Severus threatened, his tone making it clear exactly what he thought of that idea.

Harry laughed. "I wouldn't be that mean to anyone. Trust me, I think you'll like this." Harry pulled the wrapping from the parcel, revealing the canvas. The painting depicted a quite large, well stocked liquor cabinet. "Only the best the Black family cellars have to offer," he said, smiling hopefully.

Severus seemed almost perplexed. "That's actually quite… thoughtful," he managed.

"Yeah, well," Harry smiled sheepishly. "I admit that I have an ulterior motive."

Severus frowned. "What do you mean?"

"It was the closest I could come to buying you a drink." For a moment Severus just looked blank at this statement, frown melting away in such an open look of confusion that Harry hardly recognized the expression on Severus' face.

"I still don't understand," the portrait said.

"Oh, you know, I'm trying to… declare my intentions." Severus still looked slightly confused, so Harry pushed on. "Look, I'm not delusional or anything. I know that you're not a flesh and blood, living person, but you still are a person, and none of it changes the way that I feel. You've become very important to me over the last few months. I know it's not all I might have wanted, or all I might have hoped for, but it's what I have. It's like you said, you're not the Severus Snape I knew, but you're the best I can do. No,… that didn't come out right, you've become more than just a reasonable facsimile for me; you must know that. I never really knew the real Severus Snape as an adult, and now he's been dead for so long that what memories I do have of him have all been mixed up with teaching young Severus, and my conversations with you. I don't know where the line should be drawn anymore,… if any of that makes sense at all.

Severus rubbed the bridge of his nose, and when he spoke, his voice was oddly flat. "I think I'd like to put that present to use now. I'm going to need a few drinks if we're going to have this conversation."

"Oh," Harry had nearly forgotten that he still held the canvas, "of course." He set it down and then cast a few spells to levitate it up parallel to Severus' portrait and secure it to the wall. He went over to his own liquor cabinet and poured a drink while Severus chose something for himself.

"Don't you think that you've had enough already?" Severus asked when Harry very carefully took a seat on the sofa with his drink.

"Why do you think I had a few before I came home? I wasn't ready to have this conversation without a little help either, but I think it's time we talked about it." When Severus didn't comment, Harry pushed on. "My cousin said that I should be subtle about it, flirt with you a bit and see how you react. The more I thought about it though,… I realized that that's what we've been doing for the last few months, but I want more than that. So, I think that this conversation is long overdue."

Severus gazed at him steadily for a moment, downed his drink, and poured another. "You're not just suggesting a bit of fun, you're proposing an actual courtship here, aren't you?"

"I don't think I could do casual with this one," Harry agreed.

Severus shook his head. "It could never work. How could you ever hope to have a romantic relationship with someone you cannot touch? No matter how deeply you claim to care for me, eventually that fact alone would turn affection to contempt."

"Don't try to tell me that no one has ever tried it before."

"There have been precedents," Severus agreed, "but it carries a stigma. It's the kind of thing that people hide behind closed doors."

Harry nodded. This was something he had suspected. It was perhaps subconsciously the real reason that he had never broached the subject with Ron or Hermione. Not only would they have been shocked and disgusted at how deeply his feelings for Severus ran, but there would have been sadness and pity in their eyes at the thought of him being in love with the portrait of a dead man. The first he maybe would have been able to deal with, the last would have been too much.

"It's just you and me in this room, Severus. No one else needs to know, and then someday, if my plan is successful, maybe we can be together for real."

"What would be the point then," Severus spat out, suddenly angry. "If you save him, I, this version of me, would cease to exist. Whatever we had managed to build together out of this steaming-pile-of-dragon-dung of a situation, would be for naught. You'd have to start from the beginning, try to convince him, me, that there could be something worth having there."

Harry smiled sadly, "He'll be angry at being deceived, you'll be angry. I'm beginning to understand how you think, and maybe why you think that way. But, just because it isn't ideal, does that mean we shouldn't find whatever happiness we can now?"

"You seem to think awfully highly of my feelings for you," Severus snapped.

Harry shook his head. "Don't do that."

Severus scowled, "Do what?"

"Close yourself off like that again. I know you think I'm stupid, and maybe you're right, at least subjectively. I'll never be as naturally intelligent as you are, but I'm not blind. I know you have feelings for me too, or I never would have mustered the courage to have this conversation- alcohol or no alcohol." He sipped his scotch as if to demonstrate.

Severus seemed to deflate a bit at that. "Even if I do have some affection for you, and how I could possible see anything in a short, near-sighted, brash, impulsive, Gryffindor prat like you is beyond me, what exactly are you suggesting we do about it? Relationships are built upon much more than just drunken conversations at two in the morning."

"No, they're built on trust and respect, common interest, physical attraction, and emotional compatibility."

"We could never have any kind of physical relationship. Don't try to tell me that you'd be satisfied with that, because I've seen the full extent of your libido."

"Well, like I said, it's not ideal, but even if we can't touch each other, there are ways around that end of things."

"What do you mean?"

Harry flushed. "Do I really have to spell it out?" he muttered.

"If you're really suggesting that we begin a romantic relationship based entirely upon conversation, then yes. You must, as you say, spell it out for me."

It was almost a purr, and Harry took another drink from his glass, not meeting Severus' eyes as he said, as clearly and loudly as he could manage- hardly more than a whisper, "Well, for one thing, I think I could come from the sound of your voice alone."

"Oh?" Severus was smirking. He'd finished a second glass from his own bottle of scotch and was pouring a third, and it was beginning to have a visible effect- there was some pink coloring his usually sallow cheeks, and a glint in his eye. "What else?"

"We can still touch ourselves, and," Harry cleared his throat, fighting the lump there that threatened to choke out his words, "watch. It's how people in long distance relationships do it these days, with computers." He tried to forget that it was actually Dudley Dursley who had suggested the, probably obvious, solution to this particular problem.

"Show me," Severus said. His smirk had become almost predatory.

"Show you?" Harry asked with a squeak.

"Take of your clothes, Potter. If I like what I see, I just might agree to this whole charade."

It was his name more than anything, not Harry but Potter, that convinced him and dissipated the last of his reservations. He was already half hard just at the slightly degrading use of his surname, whispered out in that deep, velvety stroke of a voice. He tried not to think too hard about what that might suggest about his sexual preferences. He downed his drink and set the glass down on the side table, then, with shaking fingers, began to unbutton his robes.

"Slowly," Severus purred.

Harry snapped his head up to meet the painted eyes of the man who had practically taken over the thoughts of his every waking moment. He swallowed again and started on the buttons once more, slowly and with steady fingers this time. He never took his eyes from Severus, watching his reaction.

Severus continued to sip his scotch, leaning back in his chair, eyes following the movements of Harry's hands.

Harry finished with the buttons, and he saw Severus' hand twitch against his glass as he paused before shrugging out of them.

"Your boots first," Severus said when Harry moved to start on the buttons of his shirt.

Obediently, Harry bent over and began unlacing his boots. He pulled them off and tossed them aside, along with his socks.

"Now the shirt," Severus allowed.

Harry returned to his shirt buttons, licking his lips and leaning forward a bit to give Severus a better view- revealing clavicles and throat, muscled chest, dusky nipples proclaiming his arousal, flat stomach, and a ghosting of black hair disappearing below his belt.

Severus hummed deep back in his throat at the sight, and the low sound reverberated like thunder in the silence. "No, wait," he commanded when Harry hastily reached for his zip to free his steadily swelling erection.

Harry looked up to Severus. "Do you want me to stop?" he asked, voice husky with arousal.

"Pinch your nipple," Severus said. He finished his drink and set the glass aside, slipping his right hand under his robes to do something Harry longed for a better view of.

Harry gasped as his cock twitched in response with the pain of his twisted nipples. He continued pinching and twisting with his left hand as his right reached to relieve that agonizing pressure against his erection.

"I haven't given you permission yet," Severus said, and Harry stopped, letting out a feral groan. "You may rub yourself through your trousers if you wish."

Harry did wish. He rubbed his palm against the bulge in his trousers, releasing his nipple to trail fingers teasingly up and down his chest. He was powerless to suppress the moans that escaped his lips.

Harry could see the hand below Severus' robes moving, and he moaned louder. "Please, Severus."

"Is that how you beg?" Severus asked, smirking.

"Please," Harry whimpered again, unable to manage anything else.

"Show the proper respect, and I may consider your plea."

"Please, Sir," Harry growled out.

Severus smiled, eyes dancing wickedly. "You may remove your trousers."

Harry didn't waste a moment. One hand was stroking his member, breath coming through slightly parted lips even as his other hand pulled his trousers down below his knees. He parted them for better access, quickening his strokes. Severus was moaning now too, guttural and soft, as he quickened his own strokes.

They didn't last long. Within moments, Harry was spilling his hot seed across his bare stomach. And, as he pumped his already softening cock for every last drop, Severus let out his own grunt and the hand below his robes first slowed and then stopped altogether.

After a moment when their ragged breathing had slowed, Severus said, "Next time you might think to have a packet of cigarettes added to the painting."

"You smoke?" Harry asked, momentarily jarred out of his post-orgasm haze by this statement.

"Only when the situation suggests."

Harry allowed his eye to lower to their former half-lidded state. "I take it you enjoyed yourself then."

"Quite."

"And we can do this again?"

"Yes."

Harry smiled, and rose to his feet, stumbling drunkenly as he kicked his trousers free from his ankles. Once unencumbered, he approached the portrait, looking for all the world like a stalking lion- for that moment all graceful lean muscle and predatory purpose. He stopped before the frame, raising one sticky hand to the canvas, only trembling slightly as he pressed it to the painting. Severus hesitated a moment before raising his own and pressing it against Harry's.

"Thank you," Harry whispered.

Severus' eyes were sad as he replied. "You shouldn't thank someone for ignoring their better judgment and giving in to desire."

The corner of Harry's mouth quirked. "I thank you for giving in to your heart. Most people would say you don't have one, but I know that isn't true."

"Go to bed now, Potter. I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Harry."

"Harry," he agreed. "Goodnight."

Harry smiled. "Goodnight, Severus." He lowered his hand only to replace it with his lips, pressing them against the rough texture of the canvas and trying for all his worth to imagine that it was the flesh or Severus' soft smooth hand. Reluctantly, he pulled away and retired to his bedchamber.

Harry's bed felt very cold and lonely that night.