Sixteen years ago that kind of question would have gotten him a roar of fury and six months' detention. But tonight Snape merely stared at him a long moment before softly answering, "Although I admit the poison premise sounds interesting, I fear that my work is now boringly legal. And if it weren't, do you believe I'd be so dense as to tell an Auror if I were involved in the sale of illegal poisons?"
"The school then?" Harry said, startled to realize that he was actually teasing Severus Snape – and getting away with it. So far. He was highly conscious of the fact that that could change any second.
"Surely, you can't have forgotten my aptitude for teaching," Snape said, completely deadpan.
"So, it is the beauty products, then?" Harry asked with a huge, genuine smile. Normally, when he came to Whispers, all his smiles were forced. Truth told, he didn't smile much at all these days. That Severus Snape would inspire the first real one in what felt like forever was astonishing.
"Really, Potter. Would even someone with your pathetic intelligence purchase a beauty product manufactured by someone with my face and hair?" Snape asked with shocking self-honesty.
Harry found himself chuckling. "In that case, what are you doing – providing it's something you can tell an Auror, of course."
"If you must know, I've been doing experimental research on healing potions. I can't say that it has made me filthy rich, but it has kept me quite comfortable," Snape said.
"I'm glad to hear it," Harry said. He was intimately acquainted with the narrow, suspicious look Snape turned on him in response to that.
"Is that so? I would have thought you would have liked to see me starving on the streets," Snape said.
Harry held that probing gaze. "Once, maybe, when I was still in school. Even you have to admit that you were never exactly . . . kind to me when I was your student."
"Perhaps not, but, then, I am not a kind man," Snape answered, his left brow rising as if to accentuate his point.
"To be honest, I'm a little surprised by how . . . amenable you're being tonight," Harry hesitantly admitted.
"I wouldn't have thought your vocabulary included a word like 'amenable'," Snape remarked, but it wasn't said in a contentious tone.
"I'm just full of surprises," Harry countered. Deliberately not squirming as those inky eyes continued to scour his features, Harry continued with, "But, seriously, I was sure you'd be belittling me by now."
"You don't find comments about your pathetic intelligence and inadequate vocabulary belittling?" Snape enquired.
"Not from you," Harry answered. Snape had always known how to get under his skin, instinctively knowing which insults would cut him the worst. From Snape, detrimental comments on his intelligence and vocabulary were nearly compliments.
"I may not be a kind man, Potter, but I do acknowledge my debts," Snape said, holding his gaze. "There was a time when you could have taken your revenge and condemned or ruined me. Perhaps even had me killed. Instead, you argued my case before the Ministry and forced them to release me with the same honours every other member of the Order received."
"I didn't do anything special," Harry denied, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. The last thing he wanted was Snape's gratitude. He remembered how bitter being indebted to his father had made Snape. Harry had no desire to continue that particular family tradition.
"No? Do the words 'If you put Snape in Azkaban, you have to put me there too, because he was following Albus Dumbledore's direct commands the same way I was!' sound familiar?" Snape asked in a mild tone Harry had never heard him use.
"I didn't do it for your sake," Harry protested. "I did it because it was what Professor Dumbledore would have wanted me to do."
Snape nodded, still seeming . . . non-aggressive. "I realize that. It's why I have never . . . troubled you with no doubt unwelcome expressions of gratitude."
"You didn't seem all that grateful at the time, if you don't mind my saying, sir," Harry pointed out carefully, not wanting to offend, but wanting honesty.
To his shock, Snape answered him rationally instead of losing his temper. "I suppose that's true. At the time . . . death seemed to be the best I could hope for, and, if we're being honest, I didn't trust you. Until the very moment the Ministry released me, I expected you to turn around and demand that I receive the Dementor's Kiss."
Harry digested that in silence, having expected nothing else. The only wonder was that Snape would openly admit it to him. "I would never have asked for that, even if I'd still wanted you dead for what you did to Professor Dumbledore."
A shadow passed across Snape's hitherto unreadable face when Harry mentioned the horrible night Dumbledore had died. After a long, strained silence, Snape quietly admitted, "Perhaps I should have known that. Albus always held you in the highest regard, even though I could never comprehend why. But even if I had been . . . of a different, nobler nature. . . I could hardly have been deemed rational at that time."
Harry thought back to those days – all the senseless deaths, Voldemort's atrocities, the constant terror they'd all lived under. Towards the end there, Snape had been on the run from both sides. Harry couldn't even begin to imagine what that must have felt like. He still had nightmares about his own experiences, and he'd only had to worry about eluding one side.
"None of us could, sir, not after what we'd been through," Harry found himself answering. "And . . . as for noble, you did what Professor Dumbledore asked of you for the good of us all, even though you knew you would be signing your own death warrant by following his orders."
"I must admit that I'm shocked to hear you say that," Snape said.
Harry gave a humourless chuckle. "It took me a while to figure it out, and even after I did . . . well, I hardly defended you in the proper spirit back then. I did it as much to get up the Minister's nose as to help you. So, you don't really owe me anything."
"Don't I?" Snape questioned. "Regardless of your motivation, you still did it. That . . . matters."
"You seem . . . very different," Harry confessed. If it weren't for the scimitar sarcastic edge, he would almost have thought this man a complete stranger. With a start, Harry realized that even if Snape hadn't changed, that was still the truth. He had never really known what made Snape tick when he was younger, never seen him as anything but a cruel tyrant.
"For more than fifteen years, I haven't had to infiltrate an insane, sadistic megalomaniac's forces while simultaneously attempting to teach a complex subject like Potions to a schoolful of brainless dunderheads," Snape said.
"I guess the stress was severe," Harry said, only now realizing what this man must have gone through every time he answered one of Voldemort's summonses. His dreams and interactions with Voldemort had shown Harry how completely savage the dark lord could be. Snape must have lived in constant fear of his life back then. Harry realized that he'd never known Snape when he wasn't living under that shadow. Snape had been alerted to his former master's survival from the year Harry had first entered Hogwarts, when Quirrell had been host to Voldemort while Voldemort tried to steal the Philosopher's Stone. The worry and strain as Snape waited for Voldemort's inevitable return to power must have weighed on him horribly. Only now, as an adult, could Harry imagine what it must have been like for Snape, waiting day after day, dreading Voldemort's return and the revenge the madman would wreak upon his former servants. Was it any wonder that Snape had been so foul-tempered?
"It would be easy to blame my behaviour completely on stress, but we both know my natural inclinations tend towards cruelty," Snape said.
Only Snape wasn't being particularly cruel now, Harry realized. In fact, if this were anyone but Snape, Harry might have found the man's cutting honesty appealing.
"There's that," Harry said, not sure how to reply.
"I'm not the only one who's changed," Snape said in that rich, hypnotic voice that had always been the only thing Harry had liked about him.
Recognizing how true that was, and aware of what Snape might have said to detail how he'd changed, Harry gave a shrug and a wry, "I suppose even I had to grow up eventually, sir."
"You can dispense with the 'sir', Potter. I'm not your teacher anymore," Snape said.
"What shall I call you, then?" Harry asked.
"My name would do," Snape said, heavy on the sarcasm.
Harry considered it. "Calling you Snape feels disrespectful somehow."
Even though Snape's face revealed nothing of what he was feeling, Harry sensed he'd surprised him. After a moment's thought, Snape said, minus the sarcasm, "You might try 'Severus', then."
Feeling as if he'd been paid a great honour, Harry grinned and said, "All right, Severus. I'm still Harry."
"That you most certainly are . . . Harry," Snape replied, clearly almost choking over the name.
Harry didn't even try to hold back his laughter this time. When he calmed, he said, "You can still call me Potter if it makes you happy."
Harry took a sip of his firewhiskey and regarded the man sitting across the table from him. It was truly bizarre that he would be sitting here in a gay bar laughing with Severus Snape of all people.
He'd just opened his mouth to ask Snape what type of medicinal potions he was researching when someone touched his shoulder.
"Harry Potter?"
Harry turned to stare up into the completely unfamiliar, but breathtakingly handsome blond wizard's face. The stranger was so good-looking that Harry suspected a glamour must be at work. No normal human was that perfect without magical assistance. The guy made Muggle movie stars seem plain, he glowed so brightly.
"Yes?" Harry cautiously responded.
"I couldn't believe it when I saw you sitting here. I've wanted to meet you for so long. I'd heard you stop in here once in a while. Never thought I'd get so lucky as to actually meet you." As if remembering his manners, the fast-talking, athletic blond stuck out his right hand and introduced himself, "Brate Collins."
"Brate," Harry acknowledged, not taking the hand.
Collins let it drop without issue. His smile brightening, to a truly blinding level, Collins continued, "Look, I know this is going to sound very forward, but would you like to . . . hook up? I've read so much about you that I feel I know you, and, I promise you won't be disappointed."
The smile Collins graced him with would have melted icebergs.
If Harry had seen this man before he'd started talking to Snape, he might have been the one making that kind of advance. As it was, he was hard pressed to keep the anger out of his voice as he responded, "Excuse me, but did you happen to notice that you just interrupted a private conversation I was having?"
Collins' stunning blue eyes flickered Snape's way. The utterly dismissive expression that followed his glance turned that attractive face into something truly ugly. In a tone that wasn't quite low enough to be inaudible to where Snape was sitting two feet away, Collins stage whispered. "You can do better than that, Harry. The geezer's old enough to be your father."
The absolute stupidity of people never ceased to amaze Harry.
Seeing Snape stiffen, Harry quickly answered before his former teacher could curse the moron, "First off, that 'geezer' is an old friend of mine. Secondly, if it weren't for him, Voldemort would never have been defeated. And lastly, if you think I'd have the poor taste to sleep with someone so utterly boorish, you're sadly mistaken. Get out of here, before I let the 'geezer' here teach you a thing or two about manners and duelling."
Collins' face blanched at the word 'duelling', and then filled with colour as he skulked away.
"You didn't have to do that on my behalf, Potter," Snape said in the irritated tone Harry remembered from his school years.
"I didn't," Harry replied. "You can't imagine that I'd be interested in someone that rude?"
"Manners are not usually in high demand here," Snape said in a less aggressive tone. "He was very handsome."
"He was wearing a glamour, and, even if he weren't . . . . One one-night-stand is very much like another. It wouldn't have worked out anyway," Harry answered.
"How's that?" Snape enquired, seeming genuinely interested.
"It's gotten so I've almost developed a radar for picking out the ones I'll have trouble with – "
"Radar?" Snape asked, clearly unfamiliar with the Muggle device.
"It's a Muggle machine that detects airplanes and missiles long before they're visible to the naked eye," Harry quickly explained.
"And you have this radar for . . . wizards you're not compatible with?" Snape questioned.
"Well, it usually turns out to be most wizards. You know what it's like. You get to a certain point in the proceedings and it always becomes a tussle to see who will be on top," Harry said, only belatedly realizing that his brain had once again parted ways with his mouth and that he was sitting here talking sex with his former teacher.
But Snape didn't appear scandalized or even shocked. Holding his gaze, Snape replied in a strangely inflected tone, "No, I'm afraid I don't."
"Don't what?" Harry asked, feeling like he was losing track of the conversation. How could Snape not know? Every wizard knew.
"Don't know what it's like to tussle over who will be on top, as you so elegantly phrased it," Snape replied.
"But how can you not know?" Harry tried to keep his voice level. Snape wouldn't be here if he weren't gay, and every gay wizard had to deal with the same inhibitions when it came to penetrative sex.
