Snapeletman....
Snape, dressed in black tunic and hose, perched on a fallen log, holding a skull in one hand and staring into the empty eye-sockets.
"Alas, poor Albus, I knew him well."
"The bastard," muttered a voice behind him.
"He gave me a job," Snape protested half-heartedly.
"Yeah, spying on Voldemort. Terrific career move."
"He spoke up for me in front of the Wizengamot."
"Right, telling the world, including the Death Eaters, that you were a spy. How clever is that? Look, are you going to sit there all day? Hagrid's finished polishing the Snapemobile. He's really getting into the role of faithful old retainer with a loveable accent, you know. I'd hate to disappoint him."
Snape sighed dramatically and levitated the skull onto the big white tomb.
"How am I supposed to do angst when you keep blathering on like a dunderhead, Potter?"
Harry tossed his scarlet cape back over his shoulder and grinned rakishly.
"You only do it because you look good in black tights. Come on, get a move on and I'll give you a blow job."
Snape brightened visibly.
"Oh well, if you put it like that..."
"Hm-mm. It's this outfit, very snug fitting, isn't it?"
Snape followed him across the lawn, staring appreciatively at the neat arse in the blue and red tights. There were advantages to dating a superhero, even if was Potter.
The skull grinned and deep within its eyesockets, something twinkled.