Slowly, Harry surfaced to consciousness to the pleasant heaviness of a strong arm around his stomach. He turned around carefully, taking in his lover's sleeping face. Relaxed, with the frown lines smoothed and his black hair fanned around the pillow, Severus looked a decade younger.
"Finished staring?" Severus asked without cracking an eye open.
Giving in to a silly urge, Harry placed a kiss on the bridge of the aquiline nose.
"I've told you not to do that," Severus growled, and Harry found himself pinned under his very much awake form.
"If that was meant to dissuade me, you're doing the exact opposite," Harry laughed breathily, hooking his leg around Severus's hip.
Much later, when they finally got out of the bed and went down to the kitchen, Harry remembered about the vials from Daphne Greengrass's flat.
"I've got some potions from yesterday. Would you help me identify them?" he asked, cracking eggs into the frying pan. He didn't bother with making proper breakfast often—the process brought too many memories of the miserable time with the Dursleys—but cooking for Severus felt different.
"Bring it on."
The yesterday's robe was right there in the kitchen, unlike several other items of clothing they left behind the night before. It must have been Kreacher who took them away to the laundry, although Harry wouldn't put it past Severus to get up at night just to gather the clothes. He was particular about having all the things in their proper places, unlike Harry who created chaos everywhere, vowing to change his ways every other week. Like right now, when he was elbows deep in the extended pocket of his robe. The heaps of sheer stuff inside included everything from useful magical trinkets to weeks-old Chocolate Frog wrappers.
"Aha!" Harry gave a triumphant cry as he extracted the potions.
While Harry was flipping the bacon, Severus uncorked the vials one by one.
"Euphoria Elixir, some sludge that was most likely intended to be Infatuation Infusion, and Sleep-Stop Solution: this dose would let you go without sleep for up to a week. Highly addictive and banned in Britain together with most of the world."
"Infatuation Infusion... Is it some love potion, like Amortentia?" Harry asked, making a face. He had seen more love potions than he was comfortable with in his field of work. Enough to convince George and Ron to stop selling them, with sound approval from Hermione.
"It is considered a love potion, yes. But instead of targeting someone specific, a user applies it to themselves to appear more desirable to the people around."
"Like a Veela effect?"
"Indeed."
"Is it even legal?"
"It's frowned upon and regulated. You cannot use it in Wizengamot, formal competitions and such."
"Huh."
"I'm glad I finally managed to teach you something about potions," Severus said dryly.
"Haha, very funny. I've learned a lot from the best. Like the Half-Blood Price, for example."
He filled their plates and put them on the table. A steaming coffee pot and cups flew over as well with a wave of Severus's wand.
"But anyway, I wonder what her issue with not sleeping was," continued Harry, picking up the cutlery. "She had Party-Ups all around her flat."
"And then the foolish girl decided to mix it with Remembrine," said Severus. "That potion alone can easily cause brain damage, but together with the stimulants that had likely been building up in Miss Greengrass's body for a while... It's no surprise that the effect was lethal."
"Yeah, I've tried it."
"Oh, have you?" Severus asked softly.
"Yeah. Felt like Cruciatus to the head." Harry nodded. Then he looked over from his plate.
Severus was silent for a moment. His eyebrows were pinched, and a vein pulsed at his temple. Maybe not keeping his mouth shut was a mistake, Harry thought, waiting for the inevitable explosion.
"What were you thinking?! Did you want to join the Longbottoms in the nice padded ward at St. Mungo's?" And here it was. "This potion has the same effect as the Cruciatus Curse on the nervous system, directed to the brain. Which would be lost on you as you lack one, deciding to try something like that!"
"It was only once and I'm not going to do it again." Harry reached to take Severus's hand in his. "I got Obliviated in the middle of the case and needed to restore the memories."
"Legilimency is a much safer way around almost any mental block."
"Then I know whom to ask the next time." Harry gave Severus a winning smile.
"Reckless and foolish." Severus harrumphed, picking up the fork again. "Wherever did you even get the potion?"
"Romilda Vane. She used to brew most of the complicated potions for me. I must pay her a call, by the way, because the Party-Up in Daphne's flat is definitely hers."
"Vane is adequate," Severus said grudgingly. "Though I suspect the official Potions community sees only a fraction of her effort."
"Yeah, she's got… peculiar interests."
"Didn't she try to feed you a love potion once?"
"She still tries that sometimes. It's her idea of a running joke." At least she stopped sending him chocolates laced with Amortentia every birthday and Christmas after learning that he usually got at least two boxes of those. Unfortunately, this only made her more creative.
Severus contemplated Harry for a moment, eyebrows raised to the forehead.
Harry gave a rueful smile. "Why do you think I got that lab and learned to brew most of the potions by myself?"
Daphne Greengrass did her fair share of modelling, wrote an occasional editorial for the Witch Weekly and had her own Sunday radio show. Choosing between the lesser of two evils, Harry headed for the wireless station.
After all these years, people still dropped their things and gawked at him as he made his way to the third floor of the building over Flourish and Blotts. Harry wished he had bothered with a disguise, but he tried to avoid relying on them too much unless it was necessary for the job. In the aftermath of leaving the Aurors and the deluge of articles analyzing his every move, past and present, and claiming he had finally cracked, he had formed an unhealthy habit of never leaving his house as himself. So in recent years, Harry made a point of wearing his own face in public. After Voldemort, reporters and paparazzi would not be the ones to scare him off or ever dictate his actions.
Having pocked his head into several doors, Harry finally found the one he was looking for.
"—While the weather in the rest of Scotland is nice and sunny, it's raining cats and dogs in Hogsmead. Literally cats and dogs, as well as small rodents. The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes is sorting everything out right now, but if you're planning to pop to Three B's for a glass or two, don't forget a sturdy umbrella!" Lee Jordan chattered into the microphone, fiddling with an enormous control board in front of him. Noticing Harry, he smiled and waved his hand. "And right now, my favourite summer jam, Love Hit Me Like A Stunner by Sally-Anne and the Perks!"
Lee lowered the headphones he'd been wearing as soon as the song started playing.
"Hiya, Harry, my man! Long time no see! Has Alicia finally dragged you in for an interview?"
"Sorry, Lee. I'm here for work," said Harry. "I'm the one with questions this time if you can spare a couple of minutes."
"Is it about Daphne?" Lee's affable face grew serious.
Harry nodded, surprised.
"Wait a moment. I'm doing a Quidditch segment now and then I'll have a break."
Listening to Lee talking about the new Nimbus Galaxy and Oliver Wood's return to the ranks of Puddlemore United after his injury brought a feeling of nostalgia; even more so when Alicia Spinnet joined them in the broadcasting studio. An elderly wizard trotted in her tow with a basket of giant vegetables, dropping it with a gasp as soon as he saw Harry.
"—Let's give another listen to The Weird Sisters with Do the Hippogriff, oldie but goodie, before I give the mic over to my amazing colleague Alicia Spinnet. Stay tuned to hear from this year's winner of the biggest Tomato Competition held by the British Gardening Society. Personally, I cannot wait to learn how he's managed such a feat!"
"Biggest tomato competition?" Harry mouthed incredulously.
They left the studio and went next door, to the staff lounge. With beanie chairs and a big board with a schedule floated in the air, it looked as if it belonged more to a nursery than any place where adults gathered.
"Well, it's 10.30 in the morning. You need to fill the air somehow." Lee shrugged, taking two butterbeers from the icebox and giving one to Harry. "Besides, you have no idea how popular those competitions are. Quidditch can't hold a candle to scandals, intrigue and backstabbing of the old geezers from the Gardening Society."
"Backstabbing, really?"
But then, Harry remembered Aunt Petunia and the lengths she would go to outshine the neighbours with her perfect garden. Usually by working Harry ragged.
"The winner of five previous years in a row was Madam Marchbanks, that ancient witch from the OWL and NEWT examination commission," said Lee. "She also wins every Gardenia Contest. I can't tell you how many anonymous calls we've had accusing her of using Dark Arts in her garden and demanding an independent investigation."
Harry nearly choked on the first sip of his butterbeer, recalling Severus's story.
"But I guess you didn't come here to learn about the dark underbelly of the gardening contests."
"You never know when such insights will come in useful," Harry said, only half-joking. "But no, I wanted to ask you about Daphne Greengrass." Discussing the woman's demise felt weird while lounging on a canary-yellow floating bag. He planted his feet firmly.
"We weren't exactly friends—moved in different circles and all that—but she was a decent person, especially for a Pureblood Slytherin from big money." Lee didn't need further prompting to start talking. "People didn't give her enough credit, thinking she's just another pretty face wasting her inheritance away for party and robes. Don't take me wrong, that was a big part of her life. But she was so much more than that."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. She was passionate about art; even had some muggle design classes, can you believe it?"
"Yes, I've got that impression." Harry thought of the number of costume history books on Daphne's shelves.
"She might have come across as a bit haughty, but she was never less than polite and friendly to everyone, from fans to colleagues. Even to interns. Even to the blokes making a pass at her, when she told them to get lost."
For the next ten minutes, Lee waxed poetic on Daphne's character and work ethics. His eyes shone. It was obvious that he had liked Daphne more than just a colleague he'd seen once a week. His picture of her was very different from Pansy's, although not necessarily contradictory.
"She took her programme here very seriously. Always on time and prepared," he said. "Except for the last month, that is. Then the strange behaviour started."
"What do you mean?"
"She would come at the last minute, always worried over something. I saw her putting glamour over dark circles under her eyes once," Lee said with a frown. "Drank uppers like it's pumpkin juice. You remember George that first year after the war, so you know how dangerous that stuff can be."
Harry nodded. George didn't have the healthiest ways of coping with Fred's death in the beginning, and the family didn't catch up soon enough.
"And she had some lapses in her memory, too." Lee lowered his voice, even though there was nobody around them.
"Lapses in memory?"
"I ran into her in Gringotts once, but she barely acknowledged me when I said hello. After I asked her about that the next day, she was shocked she had even been there, and questioned me about every moment."
"Do you remember when exactly that happened?" Harry asked, taking out a notebook and a pen. That was something that warranted a closer look.
"Let me see." Lee tugged at his dreadlock. "It was Saturday, because the Witching Hour airs on Sundays. I think it was her first one in June, two weeks before her death."
"Did she mention anybody in particular? Her fiancé, perhaps?"
"That wanker!" Lee put his butterbeer bottle on the table with force. 'No, she hadn't mentioned anybody and much less him lately, and it explains so much. If I were—" He trailed off, looking away.
"You know Goldstein?" Harry asked instead of pressing the issue.
"Not personally. I went to Daphne's sister and then to him after learning about her death from the fucking Prophet. Told them everything I've told you."
"Oh? And what did they say?" Astoria didn't mention Lee.
"They both basically told me to fuck off. Very courteously in case of the sister, and much less politely in case of Goldstein."
"It's actually Astoria Greengrass who hired me."
After recent revelations, news about Anthony Goldstein came as no surprise. Astoria was a trickier case, though. She hadn't got on with her sister particularly well, that much was clear, but how deep did the animosity run? Harry filed the question away for later.
"Well, maybe not all's lost for her yet, even if she's dating that git Malfoy. So tell me, it wasn't a simple case of overdose, was it?" The dark eyes bore into Harry with intensity unusual for the laid-back and ever-cheerful ex-Gryffindor.
Harry sighed. Despite—or maybe because of—best efforts from the Greengrasses to hush up the details, everybody came to the most obvious conclusion anyway.
"Not exactly," he said. "Not with drugs. I can't say any more yet."
"Was she poisoned?" Lee's eyes widened.
"No, it was an accident." Better nip the rumours in the bud.
"Oh."
"But there was something fishy going on in the last months before her death, and I'm investigating that."
"Tell me if you need anything, I'll be happy to help," said Lee. "Somebody should. She seemed to have so many friends, but all this month, I've been hearing only from bloody vultures."
"Thank you, Lee. By the way, do you have any recordings of her show?" asked Harry. "I thought I'd listen to one to see what it's like."
Lee grinned, his solemn mood lifting. "Don't keep up with the Witching Hour, you say? Oh, but I know exactly which one to show you."
They left the lounge and went to the archive room, a windowless closet wall-to-wall with old records, tapes, and CDs. A dingy desk was squeezed between the shelves. A familiar freckled girl with strawberry-blond hair was sitting there, scribbling something in a big ledger.
"Emma dear, get Harry here a recording of the last WH Daphne did," Lee said in a businesslike voice. "And find me that radio play about the star crossed lovers from Cardiff and cursed turnips."
"On it, Mr. Jordan," said Emma Weasley, a Hogwarts student and a big help in the investigation of Alexander Rowle's disappearance. She stood up from the desk, careful not to bring down precarious stacks of records, each one was at least two feet high. Her eyes widened slightly as she noticed Harry. "Hello, Professor Potter."
"I suppose I'll go back to the studio now, Professor Potter, or Alicia will have my head for leaving her alone with Mr. Big Tomato for so long," Lee said with a grin. "Don't be a stranger, Harry, and please do Daphne's memory justice."
"A summer job?" Harry asked as the door closed behind Lee.
"Yeah. Always wanted to be on the wireless."
"How do you like it?"
"I hoped they'd let me to the mic at least once." Emma scowled. "But all I do is cataloguing this old junk and making coffee." Her hand went across the CD rack closest to the door. "Alex gets to do much more exciting stuff in Gringotts."
"How is he, by the way?"
"Great. They took him as an intern thanks to Mr. Weasley's… Bill's referral, so he'll be able to get an apprenticeship next year unless he screws up his NEWTs completely."
"I'm glad he's doing fine after the last year."
"Yeah, me too. Aha! Found it." A CD jumped from its case. "I wish I'd got to meet Daphne Greengrass. She was such an icon. That last show—" Emma trailed off with a funny look in Harry's direction.
"What about it?"
"Oh, you haven't actually heard?"
"Unfortunately, I missed this particular episode of my favourite radio programme," Harry deadpanned.
"Well, enjoy, then!" Emma tapped the CD with her wand.
It flew up in the air and spun madly. Then, without a player or any device whatsoever, the sound of the music intro filled the room.
"Hello and welcome to Witching Hour, the show where we talk about fashion, trends, and latest celebrity news. It's me, Daphne Greengrass, your all-time host and beauty enthusiast, and oh Circe!—we have a lot to talk about today. But first, our regular feature, Hot or Not!"
You Charmed the Heart Right Out of Me, one of Mrs. Weasley's favourite songs, started playing on the background.
"Celestina Warbeck was the talk of the Midsommer Gala this year with her sequined magenta robes with a standing collar and a train made of live hummingbirds and fairies. While some loved this bold choice, many of us wonder whether our Singing Sorceress is trying too hard in her attempts to stay relevant in the new millennium against younger, up-and-coming stars. Sally-Anne from Sally-Anne and the Perks certainly didn't need any flashy accessories to shine on the red carpet with her stylish black dress.
"Black silk, clear lines, a short cape and a silver snake choker: what—or, rather, who—was the inspiration behind our favourite rock diva's statement dress? I bet we'll see these trends a lot this summer, and the reason for them is the man whose distinctive style is familiar to every Hogwarts alumni of the two last decades. Yes, I'm talking about the one and only Severus Snape—the wizard who snatched the heart of the enfant terrible of the wizarding world, Harry Potter himself!"
What in the name of Merlin's soggy bollocks—?! Harry's mouth fell open. There was a sound suspiciously close to a snicker coming from Emma, but when he looked over at her, she was busying herself with the shelf of old records, her face blank.
"Despite his fame and roguish good looks, our former Boy-Who-Lived and the Man-Who-Conquered never quite managed to become a trendsetter, avoiding all the hottest events like plague and settling for safe choices every time he does attend a function every once a year or so. In his daily life, Harry prefers casual clothes and has been criticised for a number of fashion faux-pas he's been known to make repeatedly, although I must admit that his style has improved in the recent years."
Because letting Pansy buy his clothes was easier than listening to her carping.
"As you, my dear listeners, surely know from the news, Britain was shaken by a series of scandals from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this winter, and our Saviour played a crucial role in solving numerous crimes going on there and exposing the true nature of certain respected members of our society. After that, Mr. Potter graciously agreed to share his experience in battling forces of evil as a Defence Against the Dark Arts Professor for the rest of the year. According to our sources, that's when his unexpected affair with the snarky Potions Master started. Although I, your humble host, had the privilege to share the Potions and Defence classes with Harry myself, and let me tell you, the passion was always there. Not to imply anything improper, of course."
Harry's sympathy for Daphne Greengrass was melting away faster than the Chudley Cannons' chances for winning the League Cup. Catching Emma's curious stare, he shook his head madly. Severus didn't need that kind of rumours.
"So, let's look at the strengths of Severus Snape's style that attracted the Hero of the wizarding world himself! Don't worry, you need not go around all buttoned up in a floor-length black robe to be on trend this summer. Instead, stick to the dark monochrome pieces with a minimalist cut, high neck and rows of decorative buttons. Another option is a long open robe to wear with short dresses and heels, but make sure it billows as you walk!"
"Okay, I got the gist," Harry said incredulously. Meanwhile, Daphne switched to the hair trends of the summer. "Can you make me a copy?" he asked after a moment of hesitation. He was torn between burying it and forgetting this recording ever existed and teasing Severus with it mercilessly.
"Sure." Emma tapped the CD, stopping the recording. "Gemino."
Harry wished they were still at Hogwarts, because the cheeky look she gave him deserved at least twenty points from Slytherin.
"I remember Lee asking you for some radio play," he grumbled instead. "I'm pretty sure you found it ages ago."
"'The Cursed Garden'." She showed him an old-fashioned record in a faded sleeve.
"People take this seriously?" Harry couldn't help but ask the question burning on his tongue as they exited the archive room.
"Love stories with turnips?"
"The programme."
"Oh, yes. Totally. Even the Gryffindor girls." Emma brushed an invisible speck of dust from the dark green open robe she wore over the sundress. "Bye, Professor."