Back to Hogwarts: FIC: Philandering Philosophers and Alternate Acts of Alliteration Title: Philandering Philosophers and Alternate Acts of Alliteration Author:eeyore9990 Rating: PG-13 Word count: ~5,000 Warning(s): (highlight for spoilers) *Drunken!Snape, Voyeuristic!Portraits* Summary: In which Madam Pomfrey doesn't have a brain injury, Snape gets drunk, and former Headmasters weigh in with their opinions on Snape's love life… or lack thereof. A/N: Deepest thanks to r_grayjoy for both the beta and the plotting. And for being so very inspiring!
Philandering Philosophers and Alternate Acts of Alliteration
"You.... what?" Snape's left eyelid began to twitch like mad.
"I'm here to assist Madam Pomfrey."
"Yes, that part I understood."
Harry had to reorganize his thoughts; he'd become so engrossed in watching Snape's eyelid that he'd nearly lost track of the conversation, absurdly brief though it was. "Yeah, I'll be brewing her medical potions."
The sound of Snape's boot heel grinding against the stones that paved the ancient corridor caused Harry to wince; however, the sight of Snape nearly running toward the stairs put the aural discomfort from his mind. Interest piqued, Harry began to follow, albeit at a more sedate pace.
It simply wasn't like Snape to hurry. The man had a certain way of moving that Harry had learned to read over the years. When he was angry, he stomped; when on the lookout for students out of bed after curfew, he prowled. Sometimes he could even be seen simply walking—usually after what Harry now knew to have been meetings with Voldemort. Apparently walking was Snape's default when his body was too exhausted to attempt the drama of his normal scare-the-wits-out-of-children-and-small-animals stalk.
But speeding down the corridor? That was bloody well out of character for the man, and as such, Harry felt the need to investigate. After all, simply because he'd decided against joining the Auror corps—for now—didn't mean he'd lost his intrepid spirit.
Even taking longer than usual strides, Harry nearly lost sight of Snape on the third floor. He reached the top of the stairs just in time to see the hem of Snape's robes whipping around the corner of the corridor leading to the hospital wing. Harry paused a moment to catch his breath before entering the infirmary. No need to let Snape know he'd been following him.
He needn't have feared. Snape was far too engrossed in trailing Madam Pomfrey from bed to bed to notice anything outside of, possibly, a volcano erupting through the floor and spewing molten lava into the middle of the room.
Harry leaned against the doorway and watched the unfolding tableau with interest.
"Really, Headmaster! If you don't stop poking that wand at me and get out of my way so I can treat my patients, I'm going to take it from you and jam it so far down your throat you won't have to worry about anything as mundane as a magical snake bite!"
"Madam, you shouldn't be treating patients in your condition." Scowling, Snape waved his wand over Pomfrey's head and muttered the incantation for a diagnostic spell that Harry was nearly certain was normally only used on farm animals.
Pomfrey threw her hands in the air and asked, "What condition?"
"I'll let you know as soon as I've ascertained exactly which one," Snape said, lightly rubbing the tip of his wand over a spot at the base of Pomfrey's skull.
"Headmaster—Severus—what are you doing?" As she asked that, Pomfrey ducked away from Snape's wand and yanked it out of his grasp. "I'll be keeping this until you've given me a very good reason for disturbing my work."
Snape reached out to snatch his wand back from Pomfrey, only to grasp thin air when she deftly manoeuvred out of his reach and stuck it down the front of her robes. He glared at her with his hand extended for a long moment before exhaling noisily. "It has come to my attention that you've enlisted Potter's aid in the brewing of healing draughts."
"Yes, yes. And?"
"And you've obviously suffered a brain injury of some sort."
Harry scowled, understanding immediately what Snape was implying. Far faster than Pomfrey, who was still half-glaring at Snape, though a bit of confusion had entered her expression.
"Explain, please. And do hurry, as I've patients waiting to be seen."
"Madam, if you're seriously allowing Potter, whose ignorance of potions making is exceeded only by that of Neville Longbottom, to brew your medications, you've clearly gone 'round the twist!"
"Oh, seriously!" Harry said, stepping into the room to give Snape a piece of his mind.
Before he could unleash the rant he'd been storing for the past few minutes, Pomfrey raised her hand, pointed imperiously at the doorway and said, "Out, both of you! Get out of my infirmary and take your petty squabbling with you! This is a place for healing, not for opening old wounds."
Harry's mouth dropped open. "But I didn't do anyth—"
"Get. Out."
"If anyone else ends up dead, it won't be on my head." After delivering that sentiment, Snape stomped from the room.
"Madam Pomfrey, I—"
"Harry, I realise you and the headmaster have your issues, but I'll thank you to leave them outside my infirmary."
A million responses leapt to Harry's tongue, but seeing the irate gleam in Pomfrey's eye, he swallowed them down and simply nodded acknowledgement of her words.
Softening slightly, Pomfrey reached out and patted Harry on the arm. "And try not to take his words so to heart. Severus is under the influence of so many pain and healing potions, it's a wonder he can tell up from down. It's certainly not personal."
Ignoring Harry's incredulous expression, Pomfrey smiled genially and turned to the nearest bed, speaking in low tones to the young woman lying on it. Harry walked over to a potions workstation set up along one wall, muttering to himself the whole way.
Becoming absorbed in his work—not to mention his feelings of vilification—Harry didn't notice Professor McGonagall's entrance until the cadence of urgent whispering reached him. Curious, he looked up to see McGonagall gesturing emphatically while speaking in tones far too low for him to hear.
Pomfrey's reaction to whatever McGonagall was telling her was easy enough to read, though not to interpret. Harry watched as her face went through a range of emotions, starting with concern and ending with irritation.
"Well, I can't … time! I have… see to."
Harry, blatantly eavesdropping at that point, wished he'd nicked an Extendable Ear from George before he'd moved back to Hogwarts to start his temporary duties as Pomfrey's assistant.
"Harry!"
Harry jumped a foot and felt heat creep into his cheeks at being caught out. "Yes, Madam?"
"Leave that alone for a minute and come here. I have another duty for you that is more urgent than brewing potions I've already got plenty of."
Harry glanced back toward the potion he'd been stirring before Professor McGonagall had entered the infirmary, waved his wand to set a stasis charm on it, and then hurried to where the two witches were standing. Trying not to appear too eager to hear what they'd been whispering about, he asked, "How can I help?"
"We need you to…" Professor McGonagall stopped speaking, her mouth open slightly as if searching for the appropriate words. When she didn't finish, Madam Pomfrey stepped in to fill the silence.
"Basically, Harry, we need you to play babysitter. Neither of us has the time—or really, the patience—to do so at this point. Minerva is still working on the gaps in the walls and wards and I have a full infirmary." Pomfrey gestured around them, as if to prove to Harry that she wasn't exaggerating.
"Babysitting?" he asked. "Has someone brought a child into the castle?"
McGonagall snorted. "Child? I only wish he had that excuse for his behaviour. No, apparently the headmaster has decided that mixing alcohol with his current potions regimen is a good idea."
"To give him a bit of credit, if anyone knows what sort of effect alcohol will have when combined with his potions, it's Severus."
"That doesn't mean he should be drinking!"
"Of course not, Minerva. He's clearly an idiot. But…"
"No buts about it, someone needs to monitor that man. And neither of us has the time or the energy to do so."
Harry felt a bit like a spectator at a tennis match, so rapidly did his head swing back and forth from one woman to the other. "You need me to stop Snape from drinking? What makes you think he'll listen to me?"
"Oh, he won't listen to anyone. We just want you to keep him in his office and out of our hair. Use this is you have to." Pomfrey pulled Snape's wand from where she'd plunged it down her robes earlier. "I'm actually relieved to get rid of it. Bloody thing was chafing."
Harry took the wand thrust at him, trying not to grimace when he noticed how clammy it felt. The idea that he was the first one to touch the wood after it had been nestled between Pomfrey's breasts was enough to put him right off his dinner.
"Go on, Potter," McGonagall said, shooing him away.
Harry couldn't be absolutely certain, and he was nearly sure he was wrong to be quite honest, but he would almost swear he heard her say, "May the force be with you," as he passed through the exit.
The trip from the infirmary on the third floor to the entrance of the headmaster's office on the second took barely any time at all, and Harry paused to gather himself before stepping around the tumbled-over gargoyle and starting up the battle-damaged stairwell. The door to the inner chamber of the office was open, and Harry was about to peek around it when a glass tumbler went sailing over his head—he could swear he felt it brush his hair—and smashed against the curved wall just behind him.
"Bloody bints." Snape's muttering carried clearly to Harry, who ducked a bit lower before cautiously edging around the door—the only shield in reach—and stepping into the room.
"Err, sir?"
"Oh, wonderful. The great saviour himself. What do you want, Potter?"
It didn't take more than a second for Harry to decide that admitting he'd been sent to babysit Snape would likely get him strung up by his toes, so he held Snape's wand in front of him and blurted out, "Pomfrey sent me to return this to you."
"Madam Pomfrey, you impertinent brat. Have you cast a disinfecting charm on this?"
"Uhh."
Snape sighed heavily. "I'll assume that's a 'no' then. Really, Potter, what have you learned in all these years?"
"How not to die," Harry said with a shrug. Pulling his own wand from the pocket of his trousers, Harry cast a mild cleaning charm on Snape's wand, wondering why he hadn't thought of that himself.
"If you didn't want to be murdered, you've come to the wrong place." Snape reached forward to snatch his wand from Harry's hand and missed on the first try before slowly opening his fingers and carefully curling them around the length of wood. Then he tugged it free of Harry's grasp in a movement so forceful, he fell back against his seat with a whoomph of expelled breath.
Until that moment, Harry'd thought McGonagall had been exaggerating. Seeing Snape so completely graceless caused a bubble of worry to rise up in his chest. "Are you all right, sir?"
"'You don't have to call me 'sir,' professor,'" Snape said, his voice a high falsetto. "Always were a brat."
Harry flushed. "I, ah, apologize for that. I thought you were--"
"That I was a horrible, evil man intent on the destruction of the wizarding world in general and Albus Dumbledore in particular? Well, one out of two isn't bad, is it?"
Flinching, Harry looked away from Snape's challenging gaze and searched for something else to talk about.
"What's wrong, Potter? Cat got your tongue? Oh ho ho!" Snape slammed his hand on the desk he was sitting behind, then waved his newly returned wand and conjured two fresh glasses. "Sit, you little bastard. Have a drink. Have you even done that yet, or've you been too busy being showered with ginger cunt?"
Blinking at that mental image, Harry watched as Snape grabbed a bottle of something amber-coloured and poured it into the glasses. "Should you be drinking, Professor?"
"Should you be thinking, Potter?" Snape jabbed his wand at his pocket twice before finding the opening on the third try.
"You know, you don't have to be such a bastard all the time. If you'd be a bit nicer, people might actually be willing to believe me when I tell them that you're the real hero here."
"You're telling them what?! What the fuck is wrong with you, Potter? Are you trying to get me killed? First you go blabbing to the Dark Lord… 'Snape was Dumbledore's.' I'll have you know, you imbecilic infant, that I am my own man. I belong to no one but myself, and I especially never belonged to Dumbledore. Gad, can you imagine?" Snape shuddered lightly before casting a dark look toward the portrait where Dumbledore sat sleeping in his chair.
Though, the way Dumbledore's lips twitched, perhaps he wasn't quite finished with his meddlesome shenanigans. Harry narrowed his eyes and stood, pulling out his wand to cast a silencing bubble around the Headmaster's desk. Snape grumbled something snarky-sounding into his glass before draining it, though Harry was nearly certain he'd seen a bit of appreciation in Snape's expression.
"And you. Worst of the lot, if you ask me. You wave your wand around once or twice, happen upon the most foolish luck in the history of ever, and the entire world falls at your feet. But what did you really do, hmm? Stand there while the Dark Lord committed suicide by idiot? What about what I did?! All those years of bowing and scraping and being Crucio'd nearly to death, and does anyone offer me a word of thanks? No! They all look at me like I'm the second coming of Satan himself. Well, fuck the lot of them. They think they're getting me out of this office? Not bloody likely."
"Wait, what?" Harry asked, interrupting Snape's rant. "Who's trying to get you out of Hogwarts?"
"Oh, only everyone. Where have you been, Potter?" Snape reached for Harry's glass, forcing Harry to snatch it up and take a quick drink… and then gag on the burning liquid. Snorting at him, Snape muttered, "Infant."
"Look," Harry said when he regained the ability, "I don't know what you want from me. First you yell at me for telling everyone you're a hero—"
"Because there are still Death Eaters out there, you moron! And they're not above disembowelling me, especially if public sentiment nearly assures them that no one will investigate my death too closely."
Ignoring him, Harry continued, "Then you rant and rave about no one acknowledging all you've done for us. Well, I know what you did. You saved us all. And I'm really fucking grateful, but you're being such an arse that I can't even tell you that without having you jump down my throat! And for your information, if anyone even thought about harming one hair on your greasy head, I'd kill them myself and save you the trouble."
Snape began to snicker helplessly until he had to put a hand over his face to contain his snorts of hilarity. Finally, forcing his lips into a straight line, he was able to say, "Oh, please. You couldn't harm a flea, Potter. You weren't even capable of killing the Dark Lord in self-defence."
"Well, that's because I didn't care if he killed me, but I'll be damned if I'll allow anyone to hurt you."
Silence descended after that impassioned dialogue and quickly turned awkward. At least for Harry. He could tell by the unholy glee in Snape's expression that he was about to be subjected to a spectacular bit of harassment.
"You've got all these old biddies tittering and fawning over the romance of a forty-year-old virgin—which I'm not, by the way—sacrificing himself for the loveless affections of a woman seventeen years dead, when in reality it was you the whole time." Smirking, Snape sat back and toasted Harry with his glass.
"You're twisting my words way out of context. Which shouldn't surprise me, really, considering it's you."
"Mmmhmm. It's me. The man who inspires equal amounts pity and hate from the entire wizarding community because of your loose tongue. Thanks ever so for that."
"Look, you either want to be revered or you don't. Figure out which one you prefer and then quit fucking whinging about it!"
"Oh, that's rich. You accusing me of whinging! 'I'm so hard-done-by! That mean Professor Snape forces me to adhere to the rules all the other students must follow! Oh, woe is me, my life is so hard.'"
Harry carefully placed his glass on the top of the desk and pushed himself to his feet. "Look, I don't care what you think of me. I really don't. But my gratitude stands, regardless of how much you hate me." Taking down the privacy spell, Harry said, "If you don't mind, stay in here while you're drowning your sorrows please. Other people have enough to worry about; they don't need to add concern for your safety to their lists."
"I don't need a lecture from you, Potter."
A new voice rose in the room then, startling Harry so badly he nearly dropped his wand.
"In case you're wondering over our opinions, we've decided that you're both whinging brats."
"Not really brats, dear, more immature youths."
"In my day, immaturity wasn't an excuse. They'd both have been whipped with a birch rod for their actions."
"Corporal punishment isn't appropriate for the Headmaster, Everard."
Harry's mouth dropped open at the chorus of Headmasterly opinions darting around the room. "How did you…?"
"Oh, please, boy," this from Ambrose Swott. "You think you're the first to decide we shouldn't be privy to your conversation? Hmrph. It doesn't require four hundred years to learn how to lip read, you know."
"Well, if anyone wants my opinion, I think they should just shag and get it over with."
"Newton Joseph Scamander, I am shocked! What an absurd notion. Potter is half his age."
"What difference does that make, Heli? They're both obviously gagging for each other. That level of passion is enough to stir even these old bones. Heh, bones."
"Oh, for crying out loud. Would someone turpentine him already? His puns are enough to make me want to throw my frame into the nearest fire."
"That would do us all a favour, Black."
"No one will be shagging anyone," Snape shouted, pushing himself unsteadily to his feet. "Though a bulk supply of turpentine is definitely a possibility!"
"Or a fire," Harry muttered.
"Turpentine would be far more satisfying, Potter, trust me. You haven't had to deal with this lot for the past year."
"No shagging? At all? Well, that's me done for then. I'm off to visit my cousin Eunice at the National Museum." Gathering her knitting, the portrait of Headmistress Sakndenberg exited her frame. Even after the portrait was empty, Harry could hear her muttering about Roman exhibits and phallic art.
"You're all mad, aren't you?" he asked, both shocked and embarrassed at the turn of the conversation.
"Not at all, dear boy," Dumbledore said, 'waking up' from his 'nap.' "We've just lived long enough to miss the pleasures of the flesh. Of which this office is in woefully short supply."
"Well, you're not getting it from me, you meddlesome maniac." Turning from Dumbledore, Snape's unfocused glare landed on each of the portraits as he said, "You're supposed to conduct yourselves with the respect inherent in your stations as former Headmasters and Headmistresses of Hogwarts. This pornographic pandering is entirely out of line!"
"Have you always been this alliterate, or is it a side-effect of Nagini's bite?" Harry asked.
Snape opened his mouth to respond to Harry, only to be interrupted by a portrait whose nameplate Harry couldn't read from this distance. "When I was Headmaster, we were encouraged to choose an eromenos from among the staff to groom as our potential replacements, so you can see that we're not entirely out of line."
"He isn't a part of the staff. Nor is this a pedera-" Snape interrupted himself with a light belch, "pederastic society, Vulpus."
"But he's so very pretty. Really, what harm can it do?"
"Yes, yes, when where and why as well. Do be quiet, Potter, while I deal with these philandering…."
"Philosophers?" Harry offered, then shrugged at Snape's narrow-eyed look. "Just thought I'd continue with the theme."
"Oh, leave them alone, everyone. After all, Severus is in love with the boy's mother. A relationship between the two of them would have severely incestuous overtones."
"I am not in love with Lily!" Snape shouted at the same time a portrait on the far end of the line said, "What's wrong with a bit of familial affection?"
Unable to handle any more of this conversation while sober, Harry sat back down in his seat, grabbed up his abandoned drink, and knocked it back.
"Of course you were in love with her. Why else would you have gone to such lengths to avenge her memory?"
"Albus, you of all people should understand the motivational factor of guilt."
"Wait," Harry said, blinking back involuntary tears from the alcohol. "You weren't in love with my mother?"
"At one time, I did consider myself to be, however other factors came into play that convinced me otherwise… and that is entirely beside the point!" Snape wobbled around on unsteady legs to face Dumbledore again and said, "Stop poking your nose in my affairs."
"Or complete lack thereof," Phineas Black muttered.
"Simply because I don't throw my lovers over this desk and bugger them senseless does not mean I don't have any."
"Do you?"
Snape brushed his hair back over his shoulders and said, "That's none of your business."
"See there? He doesn't."
"You owe me three Galleons, Dex."
"I'll have the artist paint them when he comes for Snape's portrait sitting."
Someone snickered. "I believe the point is that no one comes for Snape."
"That's it," Snape said, his voice dropping to a near hiss of anger.
Harry made himself as small as possible in his chair so as not to attract Snape's wrath.
"Get out!" Snape said, pointing toward the door. "Not you, Potter," he added when Harry moved to leave. "Them. I am entirely too inebriated to deal with you lot of half-wits. Go to your other portraits and leave me in peace."
"You can't order us—"
"I will make room in the school's budget to purchase that turpentine. Now leave!"
Though the portraits grumbled, Harry noticed that they all left their frames. "Are they always like that?"
Abandoning his glass, Snape hefted the bottle of alcohol and took two long drinks directly from it. "Not really," he finally said, a slight wheeze in his voice. "I believe this to be their version of celebrating the continued survival of the wizarding world as we know it. And, of course, they can never pass up an opportunity to heckle me about my lack of sexual partners." Snape took the bottle with him and flopped into his chair, shooting it backward several feet on its casters.
Harry cleared his throat, squirming in his seat.
"Stop playing the innocent, boy. You're eighteen and you lived in a tent with Granger and Weasley for most of last year. You can't tell me you're still a virgin."
Harry coughed and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. "Ah. No?"
"You didn't have sex in all that time? What sort of prepubescent idiot are you?! It was the perfect opportunity to woo Granger with the trite 'I'm going off to war and don't know if I'll return alive' line."
Harry rolled his eyes. "Well, let's see. Ron would have murdered me if I'd even thought about it."
"So that's the way the wind blows, is it? I took you for a skirt-chaser myself."
"No! I mean…. Ron and Hermione are together. You know? I couldn't do that to my best mate."
"How noble of you."
"Well, it's not as if you're doing any better than me!"
"And you would know this how?"
"Oh, come on! If you had a girlfriend, you'd have tossed that in their faces," Harry said, gesturing around at the empty portraits.
Snape carefully stood up and walked around the desk, then leaned over until he was so close Harry could smell the alcohol on his breath. "Who said anything about a girlfriend, Potter?"
Harry gulped. No matter that he'd grown several inches in the past few years, giving him a minor height advantage over Snape, he couldn't imagine ever not being at least slightly intimidated by the man.
Well, maybe when he was one hundred and five. But certainly not any sooner than that.
"I thought you liked girls. I mean, my mum…"
"I believe I told you there were other factors that changed my mind about that."
"I thought you meant the whole pureblood/Muggleborn thing. Or you know, my dad. Or you being a Death Eater."
"Your father gave me my first erection, Potter. How does that figure into your considerations?"
"You and my—"
"No, of course not." Snape waved his hand dismissively, nearly knocking Harry's nose with it. "He was completely blind to anyone but Lily. That didn't stop my wayward prick from—"
"Okay, please stop. I don't need to know any details about your…waywardness, all right?" Harry shuddered, hoping against hope that Snape would never again become so drunk that he uttered the words wayward prick in anything other than an sarcastic manner.
"You're not gagging for it? What a shame."
"Maybe if you weren't such a prick yourself, I'd consider it!"
"Maybe if you weren't such a snot-nosed brat, I'd have gagged you with it long ago!"
"I'd pay for it first!" Intimidation no longer an issue, Harry stood up, pushing Snape backward. "From a Malfoy!"
"Don't bother," Snape said, lips compressing at the corners. "Lucius hasn't learned how not to use his teeth."
"Oh God, I didn't want to know that."
"And now you can't un-know it."
"Yeah, thanks for that."
Snape shrugged.
Anger effectively squashed by revulsion at the thought of anyone allowing Lucius Malfoy near their genitalia, Harry took a step backward, putting a more acceptable amount of space between himself and Snape.
"Why are you here, Potter?"
"Pomfrey and McGonagall sent me. They were worried about you."
"Don't tell me they're trying to play matchmaker also?"
"Uh, no. I don't think so. It was more that they thought you might do something stupid, like mix alcohol with pain potions."
"What pain potions?"
Harry stared. "The ones you're taking to help you heal from Nagini's bite, I would assume."
"I finished the course of healing potions for that three days ago. Which Poppy knows."
"Well… but… maybe she forgot?"
Snape stared balefully at Harry. "You have met our resident medi-witch, yes?"
"Maybe they were afraid you'd get drunk and frighten the students."
"Or maybe they can't mind their own bloody business."
Harry sighed. "Look, even if you're right, which I really don't think you are, maybe they just want you to be happy. I know McGonagall feels really guilty over the way you were treated here last year."
"Happy? You're pretty, Potter, but you're not that pretty."
"Why does everyone keep saying that? I'm not a girl, for fuck's sake!"
Snape gave Harry's body a lingering once-over. "Definitely not a girl." Circling back around his desk, Snape sat down and refilled his glass. "Go away, Potter. Go find your girlfriend and make lots of babies."
Rolling his eyes, Harry dropped back into his own seat. "I have 'other factors' too," he muttered.
Snape raised an eyebrow at him. "Oh? Never tell me it was Draco Malfoy you were hoping to pay…"
That surprised a genuine laugh out of Harry. "Not bloody likely."
"Who, then? One of your roommates? Lusting for years over the unattainable Gryffindor?"
Harry squirmed in his seat. "Ah, no."
Snape went pale—more so than normal, at any rate. "Not Hagrid!"
Shaking his head rapidly, Harry said, "Oh God no!" They sat in silence, both considering the incongruity of such a pairing. "No," Harry repeated firmly. "And there's no point asking, anyway. You… well. You don't know him."
And that's when Harry made the mistake of looking directly into Snape's eyes. Damning himself for never truly practicing Occlumency, Harry felt Snape slide into his mind like a hot knife through butter.
"The Half-blood Prince?!" Snape's laugh was horribly rusty. "Oh, how awful for you when you found out he was me."
"It wasn't that bad."
Snape raised his eyebrow again before a truly wicked grin settled on his lips. "Were you lusting after your evil old potions professor, Potter?"
"There you go alliterating again."
"Don't change the subject. It's just got interesting."
Crossing his arms over his chest, Harry shrugged. "Look, when I thought you were dying, I might have… I dunno. Felt a spark or something. Okay? Especially with that whole, 'Look into my eyes,' dramatic bollocks you were spewing. And then seeing your memories." He shrugged again. "You're a romantic hero, what can I say?"
"Romantic? I think not."
Harry coughed. "Well! On that note, I believe I'll be going back to the infirmary. Potions to brew, you know."
"Brewing under the influence, Potter?" Snape shook the half-empty bottle at Harry. "Tsk tsk."
"I didn't have that much."
"You had enough that I feel it my sworn duty to keep you here. By whatever means necessary."
"Bugger him rotten, Snape!" a voice called from an empty portrait.
Harry groaned. "If we're going to continue this conversation, can we at least do it in a place where there are fewer voyeuristic portraits?"
"I can think of at least one area of the castle where there are no portraits to interrupt us."
"Sounds fantastic," Harry said, standing up and waiting for Snape to lead the way.
"My rooms, then?"
Harry's eyes went wide, but he nodded bravely. "Um. Sure?"
After the door closed behind them, the Headmasters edged back in to their portraits.
Headmistress Derwent broke the satisfied silence when she said, "It's about time! I'll have to tell Minerva her plan worked perfectly."
"It's only too bad he didn't shag the boy over his desk for us."
"Oh, buck up, Dex. There's still plenty of time for that. We have eternity now, after all."