Back to Hogwarts: FIC: First Kiss: Framed Title: First Kiss: Framed Author:leela_cat Artist:veridian_dair Rating: PG-13 (for art and story) Word count: ~5,000 Warning(s): (highlight for spoilers) *Portrait life after canon character death for Severus, death of old age for Harry, and an exceedingly happy ending for both of them.* Summary: Severus turned and was gone, and Harry was left standing there and staring at the picture, the hand that had been touching the frame clenched in a fist. "I can wait." A/N: This collaboration was one of those times when serendipity led to an artist and a writer having a lot of fun. Our thanks to A, E, and BD for beta assistance and, especially to BD for her title-fu when everyone else's failed. A/N #2: Please click on the art to view it in a larger size.
First Kiss: Framed
January 2000
Severus blinked, but nothing changed. He was still looking through a window into the headmaster's office at Hogwarts, and everything was still disturbingly tartan. He craned his neck, wanting to see as much as he could. Then he simultaneously realised that nothing hurt and pressed a hand over his jugular, where he'd only recently had a gaping, bleeding wound.
His neck was healed. Better than healed, in fact; it was whole and unscarred. He felt around, stretched and twisted, but everything felt the same. Except that it really wasn't. His skin felt almost textured. Not exactly rough, but not as smooth as he'd been expecting either.
Holding his hands out in front of him, he examined them. The results only increased his unease and left him feeling that something was deeply wrong. The familiar stains had been reshaped and were in slightly different places on his fingers and palms. The calluses on his stirring hand and the knot by his knuckle where he always rested his quill were gone.
Snapping himself out of his fugue state, he forced himself to relax and to take stock of his surroundings. His chair was solid oak and was cushioned with pseudo-velvet. A cautious sniff proved the air to have a vague oily residue that smelled of linseed. To his left and slightly behind him was the desk that he'd used for all the decades he'd been Potions Master at Hogwarts.
Directly opposite, and to his right, was the primary workstation from his private lab.
He frowned and tried to swallow down his apprehension. He was clicking the puzzle pieces into place, and coming up with an answer that he didn't want, when he was distracted by a noise from outside his window — frame he corrected himself absently, then swallowed again.
A quick check proved that neither his wand nor its holster were in their usual place. He pushed himself to his feet and spun around, keeping the chair between himself and whoever was coming in the back door.
"Severus, my boy," Albus Dumbledore greeted him with a broad smile and a twinkle in his eye.
"Welcome to the Headmasters Emeritus of Hogwarts."
With a snarl, Severus shoved the chair out of his way, lunged for Dumbledore, and punched him.
* * * * *
June 2003
"We've killed it, right?" Harry pointed at the spiderweb plant that had turned somewhat mauve when Siri had tried to water it with his Ribena.
"I'll check." Neville knelt down in the grass and stroked a finger along one of the delicate fronds. However, instead of being distracted from their original topic of conversation as Harry had hoped, he said, "Snape just wants to talk to you."
"I've got nothing to say to him." Harry massaged the back of his neck, trying to ease the tension that this discussion always caused. "And I definitely don't want to hear anything that he might have to say to me. I heard enough of that when I was a kid and didn't have any choice except to listen to him."
"He could surprise you."
"I doubt it," Harry responded, resisting the urge to stomp off. "And that's all I have to say about it. Can we talk about something else now?"
Neville sighed as he conjured fertilising solution and poured it from the end of his wand onto the plant. "I'll tell Minerva. She won't be happy, but I'm not going to push you."
"Good." As Harry searched for a change of subject, a faint chime sounded from an upstairs window. "That's Siri awake from his afternoon nap." Already moving towards the back door, Harry didn't try to keep the relief out of his voice. "As soon as I've got him up and sorted, we can have our tea."
"Just one thing," Neville said, without looking up. "If you don't want to talk to him, why'd you arrange to have his portrait hung in the Headmistress's office?"
Harry paused, one foot on the first step, and gave the usual not-quite-answer; the one that didn't expose anything at all. "He was a hero. He deserves to receive the same respect as every other headmaster. And," he added, "my Mum would have wanted me to do it."
Then he raced up the steps and into the house before Neville could ask any of the other questions that were obviously crowding behind that first one. Not only didn't he want to answer them, he didn't even want to think about the doubts and fantasies and self-recriminations that had spurred his long campaign to have Snape recognised by the Ministry, the Hogwarts Board of Governors, and the rest of the Wizarding World.
* * * * *
Interlude ~ Severus Time was. Time is. Time can be.
Severus hadn't truly understood what his Grandmother Prince's favourite wizarding adage meant until he was forced to endure life inside a frame that looked out onto a tartan hell and had a back door that couldn't be barred against the likes of Albus Dumbledore and Dexter Fortescue.
Time ebbed and flowed. Days, months, and years sped by in an eye blink or crawled past so slowly that he thought he'd go mad with the boredom of it all.
There were few challenges for a portrait at Hogwarts, especially after that brain-deprived hat elected Neville bloody Longbottom as Headmaster and, thus, rendered the headmaster's office utterly uninhabitable.
Then, one September 1st, Harry Potter followed his son home to Hogwarts, and Severus woke up.
* * * * *
September 2012
"Ravenclaw?"
"Bugger off," Harry said, without raising his head from the lesson plans he'd been reviewing.
"Your facility with the English language continues to astound me."
Gritting his teeth to prevent himself from responding to Snape's taunts, Harry pulled over the first of the books on his desk and began flipping through it, verifying that each of the pages he needed was spell-marked for easy reference and making the odd note on his lesson plan. His first week of teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts had gone far better than he'd expected, but he'd seriously overestimated what the upper years had learned from their last professor.
"Potter!" Snape's exasperation made Harry want to smirk. "You cannot ignore me forever."
"Why not?" The words were out before Harry could stop them.
"Past experience and—" Snape's voice cut off abruptly.
Harry squeezed his quill, a blot of ink spread across the parchment, and then, when he couldn't resist any longer, he looked up.
The frame across from his desk was no longer inhabited. The painted table was set with rows of cutlery, many glasses, and a stack of plates with a bowl on top, as if for an elaborate meal. One chair was pushed in; the other had been toppled over. Candles and a fire lit the scene from within. It was exactly the same as it had been before Snape had invaded it.
Throwing his quill down and spattering more ink over his lesson plan, Harry sat back in his chair and stuck his tongue out at the painting. Then, feeling self-conscious, he scrubbed the back of one hand over his mouth.
He hated a mystery, and Snape's sudden disappearance certainly counted as one. Unless, of course, it was a calculated move designed to get his attention and persuade him to chase Snape down and talk to him.
"Bastard," Harry muttered. "You wouldn't know a—"
"Talking to yourself, Potter?" Snape stepped back into the frame. "And here I'd thought you still retained remnants of sanity."
In spite of every promise he'd made to himself, Harry's lips twitched into a crooked smile, and he said, "I'm not mad. At least no more than I ever was."
The self-satisfied quirk of Snape's eyebrow left Harry wanting to pull back his words or say something to wipe the expression off Snape's face. But, while he was racking his brain for an appropriate insult, the door to his office opened, and Siri poked his head inside.
"Hi, Dad."
"Hey." Harry pushed his chair back from the desk. He got one hug before Siri pushed his way out of his embrace and made a face. "Aren't you supposed to be in your common room?"
"I've got ages." Siri beamed. "Curfew's not for at least another half an hour."
"Well, that's a familiar attitude," Snape sneered. "How reassuring to know that the Potters continue to breed true."
"Hi." Siri reached for Harry's hand and sidled closer to him. "I don't know you."
"No, you don't."
A confused look on his face, Siri turned to Harry and whispered, "Who is that?"
For a brief moment, Harry contemplated not answering but Snape's expression made it clear that he believed Harry wouldn't introduce him. And there was no way he was going to give Snape the satisfaction of being right. "Siri, this is Professor Snape's portrait. Snape, this is my son, Siri."
"The Professor Snape?" Siri tugged on Harry's hand. "The one you told me stories about?"
Harry nodded.
One of Snape's eyebrows arched towards his hairline, and he twitched but, to Harry's relief, he said nothing.
"Wow. You're a hero. Did you know that?"
"I hardly—" Snape cleared his throat. "If you insist."
"Everyone says so." Releasing Harry's hand, Siri went over and climbed on the chair below the picture. "Aunt Hermione says that you were brilliant at potions. Better even than her and Uncle Draco."
"Uncle Draco?" Snape made a choking noise.
A rant rose in Harry's mind, about the end of the war and no longer being kids and moving beyond childish resentments and all the things he'd argued about more than a decade earlier, but before he could say anything, Siri spoke up.
"Uncle Draco and Aunt Ginny are having a baby." Siri giggled. "Aunt Ginny says that she doesn't like being fat, but Uncle Draco says she's not as fat as—."
"Siri!"
"Sorry."
No, you're not, Harry thought, but he only said, "I think it's time you went back to your common room." Harry swished his wand at the mess on his desk, casting spells to clean up the ink and restack his papers and books. He held out his hand to his son. "Say goodnight to Professor Snape, and we can walk together."
Siri bounced on his toes and waved at Snape. "G'night."
Snape inclined his head and, to Harry's relief and — relief, definitely nothing more than that — left the frame and Harry's office.
"I think he likes you," said Siri as Harry locked his office door.
Harry shook his head, smiling despite himself. "You have some strange ideas, Siri."
"Uh huh."
As they walked through the castle, Siri chattered on and on about his dorm mates, his classes, and the riddles that protected the Ravenclaw tower. It wasn't until Siri was closing the common room door that he asked, "Do you think portraits get lonely?"
It was a stupid question, Harry was sure of that, but he couldn't stop thinking about it for days.
* * * * *
April 2013
Some days, Severus would have traded his Potions Master ring for a spot on the wall in the headmaster's office that did not face Albus Dumbledore's portrait. Watching Dumbledore encourage Longbottom into doing the "right thing" was enough to turn Severus's non-existent stomach.
"It's not that I want to give into Governor Cattermole's request," Longbottom was explaining to his captive audience. "It's just that I don't see any way around giving her the changes that she wants. She wields a lot of power on the board and is being touted as the next candidate for Deputy Minister. If I insult her now, the long-term repercussions for Hogwarts could be—" he paused, fumbling with his quill and almost knocking over the inkpot "—well, you can imagine them, I'm sure."
"Request," Severus muttered to himself. "Why not just call it blackmail and be done with it."
"Do you have something to suggest, Severus?" Dumbledore's eyes twinkled in the way that always made Severus want to check that he still had his bollocks.
"Hogwarts' headmasters have never given into that kind of high-handed demand," Dilys Derwent interjected. "Certainly not in my day."
Several portraits grumbled their agreement, including Phineas Nigellus Black who added, "Blasted creatures, coming into our world and assuming they know what's best."
"Well, her ideas aren't all bad," Longbottom said. "I can't just dismiss the whole lot. And definitely not because you don't approve of her background." When Black harrumphed, Longbottom continued his cavilling with, "I could have used a class on household magic, never mind the Muggleborns."
Severus did his best. He tried not to listen as the dunderhead rambled on and on and sodding on about how to placate and compromise with Cattermole, as Dumbledore cajoled and manipulated and tried his best to run Hogwarts from his portrait behind the desk. Unfortunately, he was, after all, human — or at least, he had been — and so, he had his limits.
"For Merlin's sake," he exploded. "Longbottom, are you the headmaster or not? She has no more and no less power than you permit her to have. Pull some of that Gryffindor bravery out of the hat and shut the addlepated twit up."
His face red, his mouth hanging open, Longbottom stared at him and stuttered something incomprehensible.
Regretting the fact that he could no longer properly punish the fool for genetic idiocy, Severus snapped, "Surely you've learned how to deal with the board by now? It's not that complicated."
"Severus. If you don't have any useful advice..." Dumbledore deliberately allowed his sentence to trail off and gave Severus that look over the top of those ridiculous glasses.
Crossing his arms over his chest and refusing to be intimidated or manipulated by Dumbledore, Severus glared at everyone, especially Longbottom. "You want useful advice," he said. "Report her to the Aurors for blackmailing the headmaster of Hogwarts."
Longbottom looked at Severus as if he'd grown an extra head. "Wha... Are you... No, I can't!"
"Then you might as well call her Umbridge and hand her the keys to the castle."
"Severus!" Dumbledore rebuked him. "This is neither the time nor the place."
"It never is."
Silence followed Severus's words. No one spoke. A couple of portraits shuffled and shifted in place. Longbottom collapsed back into his seat and looked from Severus to Dumbledore and back again. It was as if everyone was waiting for one of them to speak.
For a brief and shining moment, Severus considered saying all of the words that had built up over the decades that he known Albus Dumbledore, giving voice to all of the gratitude, resentment, love, and anger. But he couldn't do it, not there and not then. Growling under his breath, he spun around and stormed out of his portrait.
He slammed through painting after painting, snarling and swearing at every portrait who got in his way, until he found himself in Harry Potter's office, in the frame that no one else ever seemed to inhabit. That evening, it looked out over an empty room.
"Potter!" When there was no response, he yelled the name again.
"What?" Potter appeared in the doorway. His feet were bare, his hair was wet and dripping onto the collar of a faded and worn dressing gown, and he wasn't wearing his glasses.
Severus stared at him, having forgotten why he'd thought Potter's office was a good place to go.
Coming closer, Potter squinted at Snape and, with a puzzling edge to his voice, asked, "What happened?"
A snort escaped from Severus before he could stop it.
Potter sighed and sat down in the armchair in front of Snape. He held out his hand, his glasses flew through the door and landed on his palm. When he had them comfortably settled on his nose, he spoke again. "Neville or Dumbledore?"
Severus swept his arm over the table and sent the place settings crashing to the floor. Sadly, breaking dishes wasn't as good at relieving his stress without the sounds of things smashing.
"Both then," Potter said. "Let me guess. Neville's fretting over Mary Cattermole, and Dumbledore's trying to tell him what to do."
"Bloody idiots. Giving in this time will merely encourage her to make further threats."
"Yeah," agreed Potter. "She needs to be stopped and soon. We can always implement her one good idea next year."
Arching an eyebrow and scowling to hide his shock at Potter's agreement, Severus sneered, "Too bad nobody's giving Longbottom that advice."
"Oh, Neville will get there." Potter shifted back in his chair and crossed his legs, tucking his feet beneath them. "He just needs to worry about a bit it first."
"A bit?" Severus sneered. "Longbottom could worry for England."
Potter laughed, throwing his head back and exposing his neck, and Severus tightened his hands into fists, digging his fingernails into his palms, and fought the useless urge to seize and to touch.
* * * * *
Interlude ~ Harry It's not over until the green light flies.
Molly had taken to spouting some variation of that nonsense at Harry every time she saw him as if it would somehow get him to live the kind of life that she wanted for him. Some day she'd accept that he was perfectly happy as a single parent. He had his son and his friends and occasional lovers. He didn't need anyone else. Then again, being subject to her litany of trite sayings was an improvement over the barrage of nagging and incessant questions that had followed his return to England with Siri in his arms and no wife or partner anywhere in sight. At least she'd eventually accepted the fact that he was never going to tell anyone the identity of Siri's birth mother. Not even Ron and Hermione, and they knew most of his secrets
It was none of their business, Harry had insisted. Siri was the only other person who needed to know, and that wasn't going to happen until he was old enough to understand what a surrogate was.
When Siri received his Hogwarts letter, Molly had briefly renewed her attempts to set Harry up with a nice someone. Witch or wizard, she didn't care, throwing people of both sexes at him on a regular basis. She just wanted him to have a happy life, she'd say, as if happiness depended on someone else, and then she'd spout that ridiculous saying.
Harry always smiled and nodded and paid no attention to whomever she'd invited for dinner that Sunday. There would be someone for him one day, but it wasn't going to be anyone Molly introduced to him.
As for her favourite saying, Harry ignored it. In his experience, that particular green light brought change to his life not an end.
* * * * *
May 2017
"You'd be better off revising with your mates," Harry said, after Siri had asked him yet another question he couldn't answer.
Siri scowled at him. "All they can talk about is the upcoming Quidditch match with Gryffindor. Idiots. OWLs are far more important. Without an OWL, you can't get into the NEWT classes, and NEWTs are everything."
"Well, what about—"
"The professor's useless," Siri said dismissively. "He told me to wait until the review classes, and they're not until next week."
"Well, Potions wasn't exactly my strong suit."
The disbelieving noise that came from Severus's portrait brought a smile to Harry's face. He looked over at the frame where Severus was lounging at the table, reading a book, and he asked,
"What?"
"Not your strong suit is the understatement of this century and quite possibly the prior one as well." Severus turned his attention to Siri. "Since Longbottom made your father look like a prize pupil, I can only imagine that any professor chosen by him is sub-par at best."
"Huh? I would have thought you'd be friendly with—"
"Borage is, as Sirius so aptly puts it, useless. He is a slug beneath a rock in the shadow of his Great-Uncle Libatius."
"How he got his mastery I'll never understand." Siri made a face. "He's not the least bit interested in theory. I tried asking him about the effect of Golpalott's Fourth Law on tinctures as opposed to elixirs, and he just stared at me. I'm beginning to wonder if he knows what the Fourth Law is."
"Indeed." Severus leaned forwards, resting his elbows on his knees. "What are your thoughts on that? I've experimented with..."
Harry tuned out their discussion and returned his focus to the stack of fourth-year essays that he was marking. When he happily drew a blue circle around the E in the top right corner of the last essay, long after Siri had said goodnight and returned to his common room, Harry placed his quill on his desk and stretched. To his surprise, Severus was watching him intently.
"What?" Harry asked, Severus's intense gaze making him self-conscious enough to consider Summoning a cloak to cover himself. Or, maybe, put on some clothes that weren't old, worn, and full of holes, some that were tight and fitted and... He sighed and dropped his arms.
"Am I disturbing you?" It was clear from Severus's expression that he didn't care one way or the other.
An infinite number of responses flitted through Harry's mind. He finally settled on, "Hardly."
"Is that so?" Severus's voice was low and deep and seemed to wrap around Harry in a way that he never knew was possible. Then, as Harry licked his lips and swallowed in an attempt to moisten his suddenly dry mouth, Severus rose to his feet and slowly, deliberately stretched.
Severus reached upwards, arching his neck to expose the tendons and Adam's apple, and twisted — although the word didn't do justice to that cat-like movement — in a way that caused his robes to flutter and fly around his long legs.
"Yeah," Harry managed, getting up and moving around his desk, walking slowly towards the picture, without taking his eyes off Severus.
"Good." One last step brought Severus to the front of the picture. He raised an arm over his head, rested it against the edge of the frame, and leaned against it.
Matching Severus's posture, resting his arm against the wall next to the picture, Harry lifted his hand and traced the carvings on the frame with a fingertip.
One side of Severus's mouth curved upwards, and Harry smiled back. Then Severus straightened up and dragged his hand down the inside of the frame, matching Harry's movements. A look of regret crossed his face, and he stepped back.
"I have a tutoring session in the dungeons," Severus said. "Perhaps we can talk another day."
He turned and was gone, and Harry was left standing there and staring at the picture, the hand that had been touching the frame clenched in a fist. "I can wait."
Longbottom thrust out his chin and moved from his chair over to the window. "What would you have me do? I can't exactly hire a portrait to teach Potions, and Borage seems competent."
"Competent?" Severus threw a beaker against the bookcase at the back of his portrait, only to get angrier when it bounced off and didn't break. "The man is inept. He coasts through life on his Great-Uncle's reputation. There isn't an apothecary in the nation who would sell his potions for fear of losing their clientele. To have him teach at Hogwarts?" He made a disgusted noise.
"It's tantamount to child endangerment."
"He's a Potions Master. He's more than qualified to teach here."
"Rubbish."
"Now, Severus, Neville does have a point," Dumbledore interjected.
"He does not." Severus could feel his hands flex as he fought the urge to Accio a wand, any wand in the hopes that he'd be able to hex the pair of them. "Do you have the slightest idea how many students I tutored through their OWLs and NEWTs this year? Never mind those who came to me at the end of last year. Do you even care?"
"Oh please," said Longbottom. "You're one to talk about teachers caring."
Nostrils flaring, a vein pulsing in his forehead, Severus snarled, "Despite the ridiculous number of cauldrons you exploded, not a single student in my classes had to spend a night in the infirmary. Compare that to Borage's record, you half-witted—"
Dumbledore cut in. "Severus!"
Making a dismissive gesture, Severus shook his head. "Why do I even bother? You'll do whatever you want with the old man's blessing and support, that much is clear, and to hell with the opinions of people who actually know something about Potions."
"He does have a point," said Black. "A headmaster cannot possibly be an expert in all areas of the curriculum. That is why we are here to provide advice and the benefit of our experience and expertise."
"It would be difficult for our esteemed—" Severus drawled the word, as if it were an insult "—headmaster to have less expertise in Potions."
"Get out!" Longbottom grabbed a crystal apple off his desk and hurled it at Severus, then went over and started pulling at his frame. "Get out of my office."
"Now you find your bollocks." Smirking, Severus adjusted his stance when his portrait was jolted.
"You're not helping the situation," Dumbledore admonished him. "Neville, why don't you sit down so we can discuss this more reasonably?"
Swiping his hair out of his red face, Neville snapped, "No. Not until he's out of here."
"You can't remove a portrait from this office once it has been installed," Derwent said. "The castle will not permit it."
"Then I'll find a new office."
"Impossible." Black slapped a hand on his chair in emphasis. "You cannot run this school without the knowledge provided to you by the magic inherent in this room."
"It's Snape or me," Longbottom said, a mulish expression on his face. "I will not sit here and allow him to bully and insult me at every turn."
His disappointment tangible, Dumbledore released a heavy sigh. "Severus, you do understand that we're supposed to support the current headmaster."
Severus met his eyes and then moved his gaze to Longbottom. His voice even, he said, "I am supporting him. I'm attempting to stop him from making a mistake that could cause harm to a student."
Longbottom winced and averted his eyes. Silence filled the office as he contemplated his boots. Eventually, he raised his head and returned Severus's gaze. "If I agree to hire a Potions Master who meets your approval, will you take up residence in another location?"
Joy blazed through Severus, but he kept his face as expressionless as possible. When he was sure he could speak without betraying his emotions, he indicated the workbench and other items behind him. "That would be acceptable, if you provide me with a picture that has appropriate amenities. The one in the Defence Against the Dark Arts office is barely habitable."
"You would move to Harry's office?" asked Longbottom.
A curt nod was all that Severus could manage without betraying anything.
"Fine," Longbottom finally agreed. "If Harry agrees."
"I shall go ask him." Severus turned around. The extravagant billow of his robes expressed his triumph. He stepped out of his portrait, ignoring the chattering voices that rose behind him, and went to tell Harry that their plan had succeeded.
* * * * *
May 1, 2104
His tutoring sessions having gone long past the three hours he'd allotted to them, Severus raced to the front of his portrait and peered down at the bed below it. Siri had transferred Severus's portrait to the bedroom when it became clear that it would be some time before Harry was able to get out of bed and visit Severus in the office. This time, however, the bed was empty.
"Harry," he called out, pressing against the barrier that kept him in the painting.
"I'm sorry, Professor Snape," Rose Weasley-Potter said, drawing his attention to where she sat on a chair at the end of the bed.
"Sorry?" Severus sneered at her. "What are you sorry for this time?"
"He's gone."
Savagely suppressing the hope that rose inside him, Severus demanded, "What do you mean gone?"
"Gone, Severus." She sniffed and rubbed at her cheeks. "Siri... he just took Harry's—" she choked up and sniffed again before continuing, "—took Harry to the infirmary. We didn't want people trooping through here, touching his... his things."
Taking a deep breath, unable to make sense of the emotional whirlwind inside him, Severus said, "Quite."
"I'm going to the infirmary to help Siri. I'll ward the suite to keep you safe." Rose stood up, pulled out a handkerchief, and wiped at her eyes. She gave him a watery smile. "I'll try to warn you before we return."
"Bloody know-it-all." Severus turned to his workbench and checked on the potion cooling in the smallest cauldron. Purposefully not looking at the shadow in the back of his portrait, he raised his voice and called out, "Don't think I'm going to chase you through the castle. I have better things to do."
"So do I."
Sorrow and joy coursing through him, Severus closed his eyes. "What—" He cleared his throat and tried again. "I suppose you're full of bright ideas."
"Just one, really."
Severus turned around, and Harry reached for him, touched him. A soft gentle caress that sent shivers down Severus's spine. Unable to stay away, not wanting so much distance between them after so many years, Severus wrapped an arm around Harry's waist and pulled him closer and then closer again until Harry was pressing him against the workbench.
"You came," Severus murmured, reaching up to touch the odd stiff-soft texture of Harry's hair. He slid a thumb over the grey hairs that had marked Harry's temples when his portrait was painted at forty-six.
"I did." Harry clutched Severus's wrist and held it in place. "You knew I would."
Harry's lips felt soft and chapped, and they parted when Severus pressed the tip of his tongue to them. And their kiss, their first ever kiss, made Severus lick and nibble and suck on Harry's bottom lip, made Harry lean into him and rub against him. Their kiss made Severus believe that some things might just be possible. Even for him.