Author's Note: My first attempt at Snarry for Masao the Dog's (belated) birthday! I couldn't help writing a Severus/Hermione BROTP, so hopefully that's not too irritating, lol.

Painted With The Same Brush

"Come on, Severus, it'll be fun!"

Severus peered out from over the top of his research notes with a scowl. "Funny. I thought that walking through the miserable slush and mud to Hogsmeade just to pick up The-Boy-Who-Painted was the precise opposite of fun!"

Hermione rolled her eyes at him and took a sip of her lukewarm tea. "We've been cooped up in the castle for the past three weeks thanks to that freak storm. I know I'm not the only one who's going stir crazy. Besides, Harry's been an adult for years, now. He's hardly a boy."

Severus scoffed loudly. "He's as insufferable as ever! Traipsing around the world! Painting magical moving murals in Diagon Alley! I can't even open up the Prophet without having to see his smug face winking back at me next to some new gallery opening or Ministry installation!"

Hermione smirked and stroked her chin knowingly. "Uhu, is that so? You know, Severus, if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were jealous of him."

Severus sighed deeply. "Anything is better than having to keep babies with gooey noses from blowing themselves up in the most idiotic ways imaginable."

"It's true. I can barely keep myself from hexing them when they touch my precious books," Hermione mused. "What can I say? They're like my children. Only not gross and awful."

Severus snickered at that. "Well, you've certainly set yourself up to be even more terrifying than Madam Pince, and I say that with respect."

Hermione checked her watch and finished up her tea. "Well if you're not coming with me, I'd best be off or I'll be late. If I hurry, I can stop and see if Hagrid will come with me instead."

"Hmph," Severus said, his mirth snuffed out by a sneer, "I shall remain here in the comfortable silence of the Professor's study lounge, thank you very much. Besides, someone needs to go out into the library proper to make sure those little monsters aren't shredding your precious books."

"I can't deny that you're the ideal man for the job," Hermione said with a diabolical smile. "Well, in any case, I'm off. Oh, and just so you know, Harry's planning to stay for a bit. Minerva's got an order for commemorative murals in each House and in the Great Hall, so he'll be around."

"I don't see why you'd think that I, of all people, would find that information important," Severus grumbled.

Hermione gave him a secretive smile. "Just because I don't harbor romantic feelings for others doesn't mean that I can't tell when someone else does."

"Well, you obviously know nothing of my feelings on the subject. Leave me out of your scheming, Miss Librarian!" Severus exclaimed, turning and crossing his arms in a huff. Hermione merely stood and walked off snickering in a way that made Severus even more irritated than before.

In fact, he found himself so irritated that he stomped out into the library itself and it wasn't until he finally swooped in on a pair of snogging fifth years and gave them both detention with Filch that he began to feel somewhat calmer.

"The nerve of that woman!" Severus muttered to himself as he stalked back into the Professor's lounge.

He sat at his desk fiddling absently with his notes, but her words had dredged up too many memories and Severus could not force himself to focus. Instead, his mind played back the moment where he'd been saved. It hadn't been Potter who'd found him. No, it had been Charlie Weasley who dragged him to St Mungo's on the back of a Hebridean Black, and Severus hadn't even been conscious for any of it. Harry had told him later.

"No," he muttered, his voice trembling with resolve. "Not Harry. Potter."

When Severus had finally awoken from his coma, Harry had been sitting near the door reading the Daily Prophet. He'd been wearing scarlet Auror robes that looked far too big for him. It figured that the Ministry would give the boy anything he wanted after what he had done to the Dark Lord.

"A fine guard you are," Severus tried to say, but only horrible, unintelligible sounds escaped his lips.

Which, of course, had led to the boy standing and running to his side with a look that made Severus twinge with discomfort.

Pity. He pities me.

Harry had poured a glass of water for Severus to drink (it had felt like choking down razorblades) and called for a mediwitch. Severus had been overwhelmed by a flurry of medical activity and did not see the young Auror for at least a few hours, but when he did, the boy had moved his chair to sit at the foot of his bed. Severus had promptly pretended to be asleep.

Over the next few months, Potter had hardly left Severus' side. Later, he learned that this was partially due to the fact that other than Harry and Kingsley Shacklebolt, there were more than a few influential wizards clamouring that Severus should be Kissed by a dementor at the earliest possible moment. But, when Severus decided to refuse food in a misguided attempt to end his misery, it had been Harry who'd convinced him to start eating again, if only because the damnable Auror had incessantly attempted to spoon feed Severus. Finally, out of pure exasperation, Severus had wrested the spoon away and eaten his damned soup like a man possessed.

Harry (damn him!) had simply smirked triumphantly from his place at the foot of the bed.

Severus had hated it...but he had to admit he admired Harry's tenacity.

Not that he'd ever let the boy know.

Finally, he'd been discharged, and sought asylum back at Hogwarts. By then, Minerva knew. They all did, thanks to that sentimental idiot. Harry and Kingsley had sorted out the Wizarding World and nobody was clamouring for Severus' head (at least, not anyone who mattered), and Severus had thought it was all over.

It had not surprised him when Harry Potter had grown disillusioned with working in law enforcement and had quit the Auror division to find himself. After nearly a year of absolutely no news whatsoever, Severus had seen the boy's name pop out on an article in the Lovegood's old rag (he would never have bought a copy, of course, but the library seemed to be subscribed to for some ridiculous reason that he suspected had to do with Albus-The-Late-Meddling-Old-Fool-Dumbledore.)

But the photo on that page had no longer resembled a boy. Harry Potter's hair was tied up in a messy topknot, his ruddy cheeks splashed with an oily drop of paint that made Severus itch to wipe it off and his cheeks had filled out, his jawline framed with the dark shadow of a beard that made him look completely different yet somehow...right. And they framed his lips—

He'd thrown the newspaper on the floor with a squeak that was most unbecoming of a Potions master and fled from the stacks. Not his finest moment, to be honest, but he was horrified at the thought that he could ever...would ever...Potter had been a child in his care, for Merlin's sake!

Besides, Severus detested artists. Bloody rich fools, the lot of them! Off they went as they pleased doing whatever they wanted while the rest of the world toiled away at thankless jobs for a pittance. His father had been of that opinion, and despite his lingering distaste for what his father had become after the mill had closed, Severus could not help but agree with that particular assessment.

Besides, he had thought, this simply means I'll never have to see his obnoxious face in the halls of Hogwarts ever again.

"Harry!" Hermione called, running forward and throwing her arms around one of her best friends.

"Hey, Hermione! You didn't have to come- I know the way." Harry smiled sheepishly, and when she pulled back she noticed the paint chips stuck in his beard.

"You look a fright," she said, clucking her tongue. "And anyway, the snow stopped falling this morning and I could do for a walk. Besides, you know my mastery of the Warming charm is miles ahead of yours."

Harry adjusted his glasses, which had begun to fog up a bit, and shifted his bag to his other shoulder. "Well, I suppose you've got me there. You know, I've been in Brazil long enough that I think I nearly forgot what snow looks like."

Hermione stuck out her tongue and pulled off her glove, placing it next to his cheek. "Don't remind me," she said, "you're practically darker than I am!" She shivered as the cold hit her fingers and hastily tugged the glove back on again. She peered about, as though looking for something. "Well, then, are we all accounted for?"

"Just a moment," Harry said, bringing his fingers to his lips and letting out a high, loud whistle. The flap of wide wings filled the air and a massive snowy owl alighted on the shoulder of his thick, woolen robes.

"Ah, there you are, Claudine," he said, as the owl hooted softly. "I bet the flight was bracing after that long ride. "Ah, yes, I remember you haven't been introduced. Claudine, this is Hermione. Hermione, Claudine."

She turned her head around to stare at Hermione and blinked twice, then turned back to look at Harry with a soft, inquisitive hoot.

"She is Claudine?" Hermione asked, her eyes wide. "I...I'd thought…"

"I told you I'd met a special lady," Harry said with a short laugh. "I guess I forgot to clarify. She's from one of Hedwig's sister's clutches. She's very clever and brave, just like her aunt."

The owl seemed to stand up more rigidly, then hooted long and low. Harry answered with a nod and then pitched his arm up into the air so the owl could take off.

"She knows the way to the owlery," he said, smiling mysteriously. "Well, then, shall we go?"

Hermione shook her head as though clearing her head and then nodded. "O..of course! Just this way!"

"Well, now, you've got to tell me all about what's new at the castle," Harry said brightly.

"Well, you'll never believe what a Ravenclaw student did to one of my books on remedial charms the other day…" Hermione said, thus beginning a long tirade that would most certainly last them all the way to the front gates of the castle.

Arm in arm, they walked back from the platform towards Hogwarts.

"Mr. Potter?! Come this way this instant!" Minerva exclaimed, as Harry and Hermione trudged through the heavy doors, their hair filled with rapidly-melting flakes of snow. "And Hermione, dear, you too!"

Both of them looked at one another as though they had been caught at some sort of mischief and then grinned— it had been over ten years since they'd been students. But Minerva was having none of it and gave them both a lecture on the dangers of hypothermia as they tried not to giggle as they walked behind her.

"In conclusion," Minerva said sharply, as they reached her office, "Have a biscuit, Potter."

She opened the door to the room and all of the professors (who sat around a large table filled with treats including some rather mouth-watering-looking biscuits) began to clap and cheer. A few whistled loudly and Harry could hear Hagrid singing "Fer he's a jolly good feller!" at the top of his tone-deaf lungs. He blushed and smiled shyly as everyone vyed for his attention. Hermione absconded with his pack and escaped the hubbub much to his chagrin. Harry was very happy to see everyone, but he greatly despised being in the center of attention, despite what the Daily Prophet would have people believe.

Eventually, things calmed down a bit, and Harry was able to sink into a few one-on-one conversations. Flitwick was thrilled with his mural plans and Pomona had a few requests, but nothing major, and Harry was certain he could fit them in nicely. Hagrid had cried great fat tears of joy when Harry had shown him his plan for a mural featuring Roberta the dragon, Buckbeak, and Aragog to be placed on the far wall near the mantle.

After promising to visit pretty much everyone in the following days, Harry feigned exhaustion and excused himself. It was only as he reached the foot of the stairs leading from the Headmistress' office that he saw a familiar shadow hiding behind a suit of arms.

"Good evening, Severus," Harry said, trying to keep his voice steady. Those old, traitorous butterflies rose up as he forced himself to speak to the Potions master by his first name. If anything, he knew he couldn't lose his nerve or Snape would never let him live it down.

"I merely stopped by because it sounds as though a rampaging hippogriff has been let loose in the castle," Severus replied, not stepping out of the shadows. "I see, however, that the true reason is far worse than I'd feared."

"Well, actually, I'm going to call it a night." Harry said, letting out a nervous chuckle, "Long trip, you see."

"Indeed, Mr Potter," Severus said, his voice silky and even. "We shall see."

Harry forced himself not to move, lest he accidentally give the impression that his nervous butterflies had turned into rampaging elephants, and slowly turned over the words he wished to say. "Good night, Severus."

"Good night, Potter."

And then, with a streak of movement in shadow, Snape was gone.

Harry spent the rest of his walk thinking on how the man's voice almost seemed...happy?

But no, that can't be. I'm just tired, Harry thought, and readied himself for bed.

Harry started on his first mural early the next morning. Ravenclaw Tower was the second highest point in the castle, and Harry had decided that it would be best to start at the top and work his way down. It was not, he reminded himself, because he was avoiding Severus. It was merely the most logical choice. After all, the air and light would lead to the paint drying quite a lot more quickly than in the musty, dark dungeons, so he could be certain that they'd be far easier to complete. Flitwick wasn't up yet, but it didn't take long for a duo of early-rising students to make their way out of the door. Their eyes went wide when they saw him standing there with a friendly smile on his face, but they let him in and hurried on their way. The mural he'd decided upon would be painted on the ceiling and he had brought special bronze paint for the final touches. He opened his kit bag and pulled a scaffold that reached the ceiling in no time from its small confines. Undetectable Extension Charms truly were handy. Then, he set to work with his wand cleaning and wiping down the areas, using pencils to deftly sketch the outline he'd planned out a month prior.

Harry Potter hadn't thought about returning to Hogwarts for years. Though many of his happiest times had happened in the hallowed halls of the castle, there were far too many bad memories that had lain fresh in his mind. The problem, he had learned, was that the memories followed him. After his stint working as round-the-clock guard for Severus Snape, Harry had quickly realized that going out into the field and engaging in wand battles brought every tiny trauma back as fresh as the day it had happened. Dead faces swam in his vision and he'd freeze, his wand raised. He couldn't even get a stunner out. They'd talked about a desk job for him, but Harry had had enough. He left, taking the first portkey he could find to Berlin, where he consulted with a Muggleborn psychologist that Charlie had suggested.

It had been then that he'd gotten the letter from Ginny. She'd found love in the Keeper for the Harpies, and Harry found that he'd been more relieved than heartbroken. He and Ginny were still friends and she always sent him funny postcards from her travels with her wife. Though it hadn't lasted, Harry did have to admit that he and Ginny still had plenty in common.

Case in point- being massively dorky bisexuals.

Harry's next fling had been with a tall, wide German wizard who'd held him tight when he'd woken up from a nightmare, but hadn't wanted to stick around after he realized that Harry had more demons in his closet that hadn't yet been dealt with. Harry couldn't blame him, but the break up stung, and he found himself tiring of Berlin. He'd gone to Norway after, and stayed in a rustic cabin on the edge of an icy forest. The previous owner had left behind many items, including old paint supplies. It had been there, in the freezing darkness of a blizzard that Harry began to sketch, then painted over. At first, his lines had been crude and his painting skills had left much to be desired. The paints themselves were limited in colour. But he found that as he continued to draw, his mind went to a comfortingly blank place, and slowly, the nightmares faded away one by one. Many of his early paintings were dark and full of sharp, abstract lines. Bodies with scribbles for heads and rivers of scarlet poured down the canvas. But then once spring came at last, Harry began walking out into the forest and painting what he saw there— the green of budding plants, the swirl of creekwater around a partially-submerged rock.

There was another painter— and older woman, who had wrinkles around her eyes that made them look as though they were smiling even as her lips stayed in a hard line as she concentrated on her subject. She didn't speak his language and he didn't speak hers, but they grew comfortable with their wordless greetings and would nod at one another as they passed by. Harry learned, then, that he didn't have to justify himself. He didn't have to play the part of Harry Potter, Hero In The Limelight. He could simply...be.

When he received Hermione's letter, though, he'd left at once.

Her letter had begun, I hope this finds you well, Harry. I'm sure that I'm overthinking things. Be safe. We'll talk when I return."

Harry could see where Hermione had erased a few lines and written over them and then erased them again. Something was wrong.

He left at once.

"Hello Harry. I'm broken," Hermione had informed him, her voice filled with false cheer. The tears had come soon after. Hermione loved Ron. She really did. She just...she didn't want to do...things. She tried doing research on techniques. She tried gels and potions. She even tried breathing techniques. She consulted a few muggle books from her parents' library at home. "Maybe...it's just supposed to be like this?" she asked, her voice half-breaking with hope.

Harry hadn't been with many people, but he assured her that no, that wasn't supposed to fill her with dread.

After a long silence that seemed to stretch on forever, Hermione pressed her lips together and stood up pressing her fist in the palm of her other hand. "I know! In the absence of a clear answer, one must consider that the easiest possible reason."

"And that is…?" Harry knew that glint in her eye. There would be no convincing her of anything. As usual, Hermione had to know exactly what the right course of action would be on her own terms.

"Simple," Hermione said, letting out a deep sigh of resolve and resting her hands on her hips. "I just don't like anything to do with sex. So I'm not going to do it and that's that."

As Harry had suspected, Ron hadn't been happy, and they'd broken up soon after, but after a few months of moping and passive aggressive jabs, Hermione and Ron were back to their usual friendly fighting, and that had been that.

Crisis handled, Harry moved on, developing his art style under a number of masters around the world. He had to admit that he was especially lucky to receive a fellowship with Badeea Ali, who had become a world-renowned painter of moving portraits in Cairo. She'd taught him brushwork techniques that she'd created herself to get minute details onto surfaces with minimal splatter or smudging. While Harry would never be able to get his subjects to look as realistic as she could, his animating skills matured well under her tutelage. He'd gone back to London when Ron got married to a nice witch he'd met through work named Gloria Tuttle. Harry and Hermione were Ron's attendants, since Ron couldn't decide on just one.

That was when Kingsley had approached him about commemorative murals to be placed in the front hall of the Ministry. Harry had been offered almost total control over the design, and he'd called in Luna to help with the design planning. Together, they'd created a huge mural with the names of everyone who had fought defending the Wizarding World etched in gold leaf, their likenesses holding hands from one end of the room to the other. Harry hadn't done the human bits (Luna was far superior at that), but he'd done all of the detailed leafy patterns that curled around each one and created an almost stained-glass-looking background that shimmered with magic.

Harry had known that this would get him a bunch of unwanted attention from the Prophet, but it was a small price to pay for honoring those who'd fought bravely, especially those who had fallen.

Which brought him to Hogwarts. Minerva had been the one to suggest it as an opportunity for him to lay low after the hubbub at the Ministry calmed down. Harry had gone to Brazil instead after receiving a letter from an artist by the name of Marco Sandoval, who had created a technique of embossing the frames of his paintings with realistic paintings of plants so that it looked as though the painting was spilling over into real life. It had helped that Marco was easy on the eyes and had taken him both under his wing and into his bed while also allowing Harry his space to grow.

In the end, Harry had learned how to perfect the intricacy of his leaves and flowers, which were his favourite subjects due to their colour and graceful designs. Now, though, he couldn't put it off any longer. With the students mostly out of the castle for the holidays, it was a good opportunity to finish before school started up after the new year.

Halfway through the day, Harry stopped for a break and dragged his sweat-covered self down the scaffolding and to the door to the common room. There, sitting on a little table near the door was a covered plate with the word Harry written in neat, precise handwriting.

"Hermione," Harry murmured, lifting the cover. Underneath were some of his favourite foods, including a large mug of butterbeer. Harry tucked into his meal, only noticing the vial of Pepperup Potion when he was nearly finished. He downed the potion with delight and then sighed deeply as the aches and pains faded away.

With a renewed spring in his step, Harry turned and scaled his scaffolding to finish blocking the image for painting in the morning.

He did not see the shadow hiding behind the bookcase near the far wall.

"So, you were spying on him," Hermione said knowingly.

"It wasn't spying!" Severus sputtered. "It was...careful observation. In case of emergency. The poor sod spent almost six hours without any food or drink! He was bound to fall off the scaffolding and traumatize one of the remaining students."

"So...it was a public service, hm?" Hermione smirked knowingly.

Severus glared at her, his eyes pleading for her to change the subject.

"Fine, fine, fine, Severus. How's the book going, hmm?" Hermione looked like she was struggling not to roll her eyes.

"'I'm nearly done with the manuscript...but…" Severus trailed off, his expression downcast.

"...but you're fairly certain that once people see your book, nobody will ever need another book on the subject?" Hermione added helpfully.

"I was going to tell you, but if you're going to insist on being an arse about it—"

"Aw, come on! I didn't mean it like that, and you know it!" Hermione put on her very best puppy-dog eyes and Severus let out a deep sigh.

'It needs more than just this," Severus said, holding up the parchment in question. "Sure, I can write a detailed set of instructions, but other than a few wand movements and rough sketches far too crude to go in a final draft...I simply need more illustrations. Ones that don't look like they were written on the wall of the boy's room."

"Your art isn't that terrible," Hermione said, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"It isn't good enough for the front window display at Flourish and Blotts, though." Severus glared at the sketch that Hermione was pointing at.

"True," Hermione agreed, "But can't you just get your editor to choose a good artist to do the illustrations after the fact?"

"It can't just be any artist!" Severus exclaimed. "This is a labour of love! I've been working on this for over a decade! And I will be damned if Reginald-bloody-Gnorflet has a single chance in hell at being handed my manuscript to doodle his idiotic trifles!"

Gnorflet was a rather famous artist who'd recently won the Ministry's highest honors in art and literature, but both Hermione and Severus agreed that his images left much to be desired. While they were colourful and whimsical enough to provide broad appeal to the masses, it was commercial and soulless enough to be utterly dismissable as far as Severus was concerned. There was little doubt that Gnorflet would be the number one choice for Severus' editor simply due to the fame of both men.

"Well then," Hermione said, wiping a droplet of spittle off of her cheek with a frown, "what, then, were you thinking of doing?"

"Potter," Severus breathed, his voice at a low rumble.

A knowing smirk spread across Hermione's face. "Is that so?"

Severus glared sourly at her, not willing to rise to her bait. "You've seen his installations. Wouldn't you say that he would be well-suited for the task?"

"I would."

Severus nodded. "Good. That is why you should ask him for me."

Hermione stared at him for a long moment. She picked up a book, opened it up, looked inside of it, then slammed it shut.

"No," she said. "Now, if you will excuse me, I need to do my rounds."

Severus stood and followed her.

"It's not that hard," he argued, as she tapped a stack of abandoned books that had been left at a study desk.

"Then go ask him yourself," she replied primly.

"I...I can't."

"Yes you can," Hermione said, casting a Silencing Charm on a snoring student who'd fallen asleep in the middle of studying at another table.

"You don't understand!"

"I don't?"

"I...I hate him!"

Hermione turned. She seemed surprised by his outburst. Then she shook her head. "No you don't."

Severus gritted his teeth. She'd seen right through him. "Fine. He hates me!"

Hermione rolled her eyes theatrically. "Well, now that's just a blatant lie. Harry asks after you all the time."

"He...he does?" Severus considered this, then realized that she was grinning at him and backpedaled. "Well...who cares if he does!"

"You, apparently," Hermione said, grinning.

"Well, if you're going to be like that, then maybe I really will ask him myself!" Severus huffed loudly.

"Good idea," Hermione said, her grin wider than ever. "Oh, and Severus?"

"What?" He turned, his cheeks blazing as he tried to think of some way to go back on what he'd promised and finding nothing.

"If you don't stop shouting in my library, I'll have to silence you too," Hermione said, waving her finger at him. "So unless you would like to propose your collaboration using sign language, I would suggest you lower your voice."

Severus nodded and turned, billowing dramatically out of the library without a sound.

He had to find Harry.

Harry had just stepped out of the fifth floor toilets when he saw a familiar shadowy figure stalking off to his right at a ridiculous pace. "Well hullo there, Severus," he greeted a little flippantly, his heart stopping in his chest when the man immediately froze and turned back, his face scrunched up in a fierce expression.

"POTTER!" Snape exclaimed, and Harry instinctively took a step back, retreating halfway through the door back into the loo. The Potions master advanced upon Harry, eyes flashing.

Harry swallowed thickly, expecting a stream of abusive shouting, but—

"Have you eaten?" Snape's voice was soft and silky and tinged with something small and subtle that made Harry's heart flip in his chest.

"Um, no, actually," Harry stammered.

"Good," Snape said quickly, motioning for Harry to follow. "You will come with me."

With a bewildered expression, Harry found himself walking briskly behind the Potions professor. "Where are we—"

Severus suddenly stiffened and grabbed Harry by the wrist, pulling him into an alcove and covering his mouth. "Shh!"

Harry felt his cheeks flushing scarlet at the sensation of the soft yet callused hands against his lips and watched as Hermione strolled by with a cart filled with books whistling to herself. The alcove was so narrow that Harry could feel the heat of Severus' body pressing against him from behind and he tried not to let a soft moan of pleasure escape his lips.

"Not. A. Sound," Severus bent down and whispered into his ear, and Harry couldn't hold himself back. The minty, herbal scent filled him with heady thoughts. He shuddered with pleasure against the Potions master. A shock of mortification ran through him at once, but then he realized that even though the hallway was empty once more, Severus was still standing there pressed against him, his hand over Harry's mouth, and, Harry realized only belatedly how heavily the man was breathing. Great puffs of warm, humid breath clouded one side of Harry's glasses, but he found he didn't mind one bit.

After a long moment, where the only sound that could be heard was both of their labored breaths, Severus spoke, his voice breaking slightly. "We...should go."

"Of-of course," Harry replied shakily, and followed Severus with a slight quiver in his steps. He realized only later that Severus was still holding onto his sleeve.

"Sit." Severus motioned to a rather dusty-looking stool.

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but then he saw the way that Severus' eyes were glittering at him. He knew the desperation in that expression. He'd seen it in the pensieve all those years ago.

He sat.

A small cloud of dust rose up around him and Harry sneezed. By the time he'd finished burying his head into his sleeve and riding out the percussive succession of sneezes and looked up, he realized that Snape looked rather different.

He was facing away from Harry at the sink of a small kitchenette with his sleeves rolled up, washing his hands. His hair was pulled up into a topknot, revealing a long, slender neck. When he turned back to the counter, his hands hidden by a dish towel as he dried them off, Harry could see that his teaching robes were gone and in their place he had donned a dark green apron that hugged his slender frame.

"Would you prefer ham or turkey?" Severus asked in a conversational tone.

Harry stared. This was the first time that he'd heard such a friendly sound escape the unpleasant Potions master's lips.

"Chicken, then?" Severus asked, his head tilting slightly to the side in a manner that mirrored Harry's.

Harry swallowed thickly. "Um...yeah, whatever you want to make is fine."

Severus' lips twitched up just a bit then he nodded and turned back, pulling from one of his cupboards a number of items. Harry could see that the rune to create a perpetual cooling charm had been placed on one of the cupboards, and thought that it was rather interesting to see something very much like a Muggle refrigerator in the Wizarding World. From what he'd learned about Severus, though, it made complete sense.

Harry watched as Severus gracefully sliced bread, cheese, meat and vegetables. He watched as the bread was toasted on one side and then slathered with some sort of mystery spread in a green-glass jar. Severus then pulled out a long-necked bottle from another cupboard and grabbed two wine glasses. He placed one in front of Harry.

"Do you enjoy persimmon wine?" he asked, his expression neutral.

"I've never had it," Harry replied, noting the hand-lettered label, "but if you made it yourself, I'd love to try it."

Severus' cheeks went pink for a moment and he reeled back slightly, his eyebrows furrowing. "Are you...certain?"

"Yes," Harry said pointedly, holding up his glass.

Severus nodded and he poured in a small amount of the liquid, which Harry then swirled around and sniffed. It was sweet and had a somewhat spicy aroma. Harry wasn't much for drinking, but a little something every now and again was nice. He tipped back the class and tasted it. Sure enough, it was spicy on the tongue, but the bite wasn't too extreme, and it mellowed as he let it roll in his mouth. When he swallowed it, he couldn't help smiling. It was something completely different than anything he'd ever tasted.

"Well?" Severus looked down at him expectantly.

"I'm no culinary expert, but it was delicious!" Harry exclaimed, noting that Severus' cheeks had gone even redder than before.

"I made it a few years ago. It was a bit too astringent to drink upon bottling it. It definitely needed time to mellow."

"Seems like sometimes that's for the best," Harry said, nodding.

Severus' lips twisted until he was almost smiling. "Indeed."

The Potions master left the bottle at the table and resumed his work putting together their plates. He sliced up two apples and peeled four mandarin oranges, placing them in a bowl in the middle. Harry, who'd found his appetite only strengthened by the wine, found himself sneaking slices two at a time as Severus finished the sandwiches.

"I'm positively famished," Harry said, as Severus placed the sandwich in front of him. It appeared to have many layers of veg and meat and cheese and it smelled heavenly. Harry took the sandwich in both hands and took a bite. Letting out a small moan of pleasure, he closed his eyes and chewed. It was pure bliss.

"I could tell," Severus replied, sitting across from Harry but not touching anything. "I know I'm one to talk, but you ought to keep your strength up. Too much self-sacrifice isn't a good look for you."

"Aren't you hungry?" Harry looked skeptically over at the Potions master.

"A bit." Severus placed his napkin in his lap.

Harry grabbed the bottle of persimmon wine and poured a bit in Severus' glass. "It really is good."

"Oh...thank you," Severus replied, and Harry smiled back.

They ate in silence for a long time, but it was a comfortable silence. An understanding silence. Though Harry couldn't explain how, he found himself slowly relaxing as the moments wore on.

"My mural is nearly done," he said, finally. The wine had loosened his tongue a bit, and his belly was comfortably full. "I...I had hoped to talk to you about yours at some point…"

"Before we talk about that, however, I must confess that I have an ulterior motive for bringing you here." Severus sipped the last of his persimmon wine and set it down gently on the table. "Please wait here."

Harry watched Severus leave the room and upon seeing the foot of a bed through the open door way only belatedly realized that this wasn't some sort of hidden teacher's lounge but, in fact, Severus' personal quarters. Suddenly, his heart quickened its pace and he had to loosen his collar a bit to keep the heat from overwhelming his face. What was this ulterior motive? Harry began to imagine all manner of risque things that Severus might do, and realized that maybe, just maybe, the little crush he'd had on the man ever since watching over him all those years ago hadn't been just a fleeting thing after all.

When Severus returned, Harry was part relieved and part disappointed that he was still wearing all of his clothing but with a thick pile of papers held close to his chest in the sort of protective manner that reminded Harry of Hermione with one of her favourite books, Harry felt a stab of guilt at having expected something more.

"I have only showed this to two others," Severus began, "so understand that when I show this to you, it is with the expectation that it will be treated with respect."

Harry nodded. "Of course. As an artist myself, I can empathise."

"Here. Please. Look." Severus handed over a few of the pages and Harry took them gently, his forefinger brushing against Severus' thumb. Despite Severus' paleness, his skin was warm. Harry tried not to jerk away at the suddenness of skin on skin.

Harry willed himself to read the words, trying not to appear to be aware of the precision of Severus' gaze upon him. On one of the pages, a rough sketch of asphodel was set near the margin of the page with a note underneath it. Harry was struck by the detailed note, and traced his finger over the rough sketch, his mind already imagining how he might improve upon the lines—

"You see my problem, don't you?" Severus had bent down, his breath clouding at Harry's ear as he reached forward and pointed at the drawing. "My drawings are crude at best— I just cannot in good conscience send this to my publisher. Which is where you would come in."

Harry gulped. "M-me?"

"Yes, you. As much as it pains me to say, I've seen your attention to detail, especially when it comes to your studies of various flora and fauna." Severus pulled back and seemed to falter for a moment, then pressed on, the heat of his expression bearing down upon Harry once more. "I want you...er...to be the one who does my crowning achievement justice."

Harry flushed scarlet as he met Severus' eyes, but he didn't need to think for more than a few moments before he nodded. "I'll do it."

Severus seemed to sag with relief. "Ah...er...that is wonderful news…"

"I'll get some of my things and I'll start work this evening," Harry said, standing up and handing the pages back to Severus. "Do you have some sort of place that would be conducive to collaborative work?"

"You must understand that I do not wish these papers to fall into the wrong hands," Severus replied, "so if you do not mind, I shall meet you at my quarters and we can do whatever work needs to be done in my study."

"Excellent." Harry held out his hand. "I look forward to working with you, Severus."

Severus seemed to falter for a moment and Harry noticed how he worried a bit at his lower lip before thrusting out his hand and shaking. "Of course. It will be my pleasure."

Harry finished the Ravenclaw mural early into his second day and found a familiar shadow waiting for him near the door to the common room.

"Am I to assume by the idiot grin on your face that you've finished?" Severus asked, his eyes glittering with humour.

"Indeed," Harry said, laughing as they walked back to Severus' quarters.

"You're a mess," Severus said, putting on his apron. "Go and get yourself cleaned up. The shower is down the hall and on your right."

"Shower?" Harry froze, his heart thudding in his chest.

"Yes, Harry. Haven't you heard of it? Nifty invention. It involves hot water and soap so that you aren't covered in sweat and paint from hoisting yourself up and down bloody scaffolding for hours at a time."

Harry snickered despite himself. "Fine, fine! If it will make you happy."

Severus smiled in an unpracticed sort of way. "Indeed."

Severus willed himself to focus on chopping fruit. His keen ears could pick up the sound of the shower from two rooms away and he was having the worst time trying not to imagine what Harry must be doing with his bar of soap.

Severus was equal parts horrified and impressed with how easily Harry had gotten under his skin even though this time, it was for a completely different reason.

'You're disgusting,' he told himself. 'He's just a boy!'

He's been an adult for years. He can make his own decisions, whispered a shadowy voice in his head.

'But you're older! You should know better!' he told the shadowy whisper.

And what have all of these lonely years taught us? We suffered for nothing!

'He is alive! Isn't that enough?' Severus gripped the knife in his hand tightly, trying not to let out the shout of despair that threatened to escape his lips.

It's not enough and you know it.

'He's Lily's son! Is it not an insult to her memory to treat her son like so much meat?'

He is her son. That is how you know that the goodness in his heart isn't just another fabrication. He inherited it from her. It is truthful in the face of every lie you've ever been told. Face it, Severus. You lov—

"NO!" Severus shouted, the knife clattering onto the floor.

"Is everything all right?" Harry was peering warily through the door, his wand in his hand.

Severus noticed the wand and the tense pose of Harry's body long before he realized that he was holding a towel around his middle with his other hand. He knew that body language. After all, it had been exactly how he had become after the first war had ended.

"I...I was careless," Severus said, trying to keep his voice neutral. "I apologize for upsetting you."

Harry blinked slowly as though trying to focus on Severus' expression and see it better; he wasn't wearing his glasses, so his eyes were wide and, Severus realized that in this light they were a bit more of a yellowish green than Lily's eyes had ever been.

Another lie. But then again, it had been Dumbledore. The man had basically been a stale fart wrapped in lies and packaged in rainbow sequin robes.

"Well, as long as you're not injured, I'll just...er...go get dressed." Harry blushed scarlet, suddenly seeming to realize the level of his state of undress. He turned away then immediately turned back. "Um...I hate to ask but…"

"Yes?"

"My...my clothing appears to have disappeared."

"What?" Severus' voice was soft yet incredulous, but then understanding dawned. "Oh...it would have been Drippy, then."

"Drippy?"

"Yes, the blasted house-elf who has taken it upon herself to tidy my things without my asking!" Severus growled.

"Ah...well…"

"Do not worry." Severus placed the knife in the sink and then strode past Harry, trying not to flinch as he brushed against Harry's arm.

We're both in my bedroom now—shit! Don't think about it! DONTTHINKABOUTIT—

"Are you ok, Severus?" Harry's hand was on his shoulder, and Severus couldn't even turn his head. His touch wasn't rough, like his bully of a father. It wasn't like Lily's soft, insistent tug on his sleeve. No, this was completely different.

"I...think so," he said slowly, taking a step towards his wardrobe. Steadying himself with one hand, he slid the door open on one side, revealing impeccably hung clothing. "Here. It's silk, so it will be cold to put on, but it is rather comfortable. Drippy is usually fairly punctual with returning clothing she's absconded with to the laundry room, but it will usually take at least an hour."

"I don't mind," Harry said, smiling shyly. "We can do some sketching. Er...I can do some sketching and you can...er...direct me?"

"First, you ought to put something on," Severus said, pulling the black, silk kimono from the wardrobe and handing it over to Harry. "It would not do if you were to catch a chill."

"Of course," Harry said with a nod.

Severus stood awkwardly, and watched Harry walk back into the bathroom and close the door slowly behind him. Then, he slowly made his way back to his kitchenette. Harry had small, white scars that stood out on his back and shoulders. Severus could also clearly see the phrase that Umbridge had scarred into his arm with that bloody cursed pen. Severus was suddenly filled with rage on behalf of Harry, though he knew there was nothing he could do about it. He sliced the rest of the fruit with a vehemence that surprised him. It made him question if he'd ever truly loathed Harry Potter or if he had simply developed the hatred out of convenience and then forgotten that it wasn't just part of the plan to protect the boy. Severus hated feeling like a fool, but he hated deluding himself even more. And he had to admit, the man that Harry had become had forced him to reevaluate everything he had thought he knew about Harry...and...what was harder to admit...was how he'd had to change how he thought about himself.

Despite the barbs delivered by the dark little voice in his head, Severus knew it would be wrong for him to act on his desires while Harry was working on the images for Severus' book. It would be inappropriate. Still, Severus could not be faulted for having eyes in his head. If Harry had willingly shown off the lean muscle of his bare back or smiled at him in that charming manner that he made look so effortless...then it was not Severus' fault for enjoying it.

"It is what it is. Nothing more, nothing less," he mused to himself, finishing up the meal and placing it on their shared table.

"Ah, brunch!" Harry said brightly, as he entered, the kimono slung lazily on his trim frame. Severus noted that Harry's chest was still mostly showing. All in all, it looked rather alluring on him. "I love a good omelette! Thank you, Severus! This looks amazing!"

Severus felt his cheeks growing warm at the praise. He still wasn't used to hearing it, and it made him feel equal parts exhilarated and uncomfortable.

They sat and chatted a bit as they ate. Harry asked a number of astute questions regarding the art that Severus needed, and Severus answered him easily. It wasn't long until they were engrossed in conversation, and Severus was surprised when Harry stood and bussed the table, then began to wash the dishes and set them up to dry in the rack by the sink.

"You don't have to—-" Severus started, but Harry waved his protests away.

"You worked hard to put the meal on the table," Harry said. "It's the least I can do."

Severus sipped the last of his tea and watched Harry from behind. He really was confident in his movements. There was no clanging of glass or cutlery— Harry was smooth and sure of himself even when it came to something as simple as washing dishes. It was, he supposed, much easier for him to watch Harry when he knew that Harry wasn't watching him back. Almost hypnotic, really.

"Severus?" Before he realized it, Harry had turned and was calling his name.

Severus snapped his head down to look at the papers on the table. "Er, I was just—"

"It's ok." Harry walked back over to the table and sat across from Severus with a grin on his face. "I know what you mean."

"I...I'm not sure what you're getting at."

"There's something calming about sitting at the table while someone else is doing a simple household task," Harry explained. "It makes me feel serene— like there is a sense of life going on around me but I am not expected to do anything but enjoy the moment."

"I see." Severus nodded. "May I suggest that we retire into my study?"

"Indeed," Harry replied, smiling.

Over the next week, they settled into an easy rhythm. Harry went to Gryffindor tower next to paint his second mural, and Severus would drag his paint-stained arse down to his quarters and make him get cleaned up and fed him and then Harry would draw while Severus revised his book.

Severus caught Harry giving him curious looks from time to time— looks that Severus might have thought might have some sort of important meaning if Severus had any faith whatsoever in his ability to read other people. As it was, Severus was hopelessly terrible at reading any sort of positive attention, and he tried to block out the butterflies in his belly every time they increased in severity. While it was very clear that he had feelings for Harry, he was certain there was no way that such feelings could be returned.

And besides, he is still working on the art for my book. It would be improper. Highly improper. And also impossible because he obviously does not feel the same way!

But Severus would find himself tossing and turning in bed later on, his mind filled with the image of Harry lounging next to him on his bed, black silk kimono hanging open in the front and leaving very little to the imagination. Those eyes, flashing golden green as they gazed lovingly at him…

Severus found himself in a right state rolling about agitatedly on his duvet with a pillow grasped tightly in his arms as he blushed the deepest scarlet imaginable and could not force himself to finish that thought.

"It's only for another week," he muttered to himself. "Then...then he will be off on his next adventure."

"Good morning Severus." Harry had arrived at Severus' door that Saturday with a plate of fresh baked goods he'd nicked from the kitchens.

Severus, wearing his ratty bathrobe, blinked surprisedly at Harry.

"But it's the weekend!" he protested.

"All the better to come see a friend," Harry replied, winking.

Severus stepped back and let Harry enter, his face slack with disbelief.

"I thought we could talk about the Slytherin mural," Harry said.

"It's Saturday," Severus grumbled.

"Well, we could snog each other's brains out instead, if you like," Harry quipped.

"Sn-what?" Severus sputtered, stumbling back. He was fairly certain his cheeks had just caught fire for how hot they'd suddenly become.

"Or we can have breakfast," Harry said, his cheeks a similar five-alarm-fire red.

"Breakfast...perhaps we ought to start with that." Severus had already set the tea water to boil when he'd been interrupted by Harry's knock at the door, so he merely grabbed a second set of cups and plates and cutlery so that Harry would have a place to serve himself as well.

They ate pastry and sipped their tea in semi-silence. Severus was still slightly reeling from Harry's bluntness. Wasn't it just a joke? Surely Harry wasn't being serious?

But what if he is? Why not find out?

Severus swallowed the sourness that threatened to rise into his throat. That damned inner voice again!

But he had to admit that Harry had been giving him these long, meaningful looks over his croissant. And the blushing had to mean something, right?

Still, Severus could not bring himself to say anything. And when Harry pulled out a roll of parchment with his proposed mural design, Severus breathed a sigh of relief. The fear of rejection had overwhelmed him— it was one thing to hit on someone who he didn't particularly care about rejecting him (not that Severus was prone to such things, mind), but quite another to find that one's heart has been ensnared and know that being rejected by said ensnaring individual would be a fate worse than death.

"Come here, Severus," Harry said, patting the cushion next to him on the overstuffed sofa. "I need you to be close in order to see the plans. They're very intricate."

Severus walked over and stiffly sat on Harry's right. Harry pulled open the parchment and leaned closer. Severus tried not to think about the salty, earthy scent of Harry's skin. Or the way his eyes sparkled behind his glasses when he spoke about how he was integrating silver ivy into a snake motif. Or how his hand brushed gently against Severus' wrist as he brought the parchment closer to Severus for viewing.

"Which brings me to my last question." Harry placed the parchment down on the end table and pulled his glasses off with one smooth motion. "Er...what I mean is…"

"Severus…" Harry blinked, his eyes wide.

"Yes?" Severus asked, fighting the urge to run from the room.

"May I kiss you?"

Both men looked shocked, which Severus thought was ridiculous, because Harry had asked.

So of course he said the very first thing that popped into his head. "But why?"

"Because I want to." Harry's voice had grown firmer.

"Don't be ridiculous!" Severus said, flustered. "I'm obviously a terrible kisser!"

"But you didn't say you didn't want to," Harry insisted. "So, answer me, Severus Snape. Do you want a bit of an after-brunch snog, or am I totally pants at reading all the signals of sexual tension that have passed between the two of us and are by now practically thick enough to cut with a knife?"

"I...I….I—yes, but, well—" Severus only had a moment to stammer out his reply before Harry lunged forward and pressed his lips against Severus' with a vigor that left Severus breathless.

Typical Gryffindor. But oh my, is he ever divine at this!

Severus didn't have the heart to tell the inner voice to shut it.

In the end, it took Harry an extra two weeks to complete the murals, largely due to a wealth of mutually beneficial distractions to be had in Snape's quarters. The progress on the artwork for Severus' book was a bit behind, but Severus couldn't find it in himself to care, not when he had the warmth of Harry's body by his side each evening and the domestic calm of Harry's presence in his space, even when they were engaging in separate activities.

It was, as Harry had said, soothing to have someone nearby, but without any expectations of performance on either of their parts. There was something frantic and fevered in their explorations in one another that was matched in intensity by the peace and tranquility they shared after.

And though Severus gritted his teeth at the cat-that-ate-the-canary-I-told-you-so grin that Hermione gave them when she'd found them holding hands and chatting like old lovers by the Black Lake, he found that he actually didn't quite mind it at all.

After all, he figured that he could endure almost anything for the one he loved.