Serving Penance • Snarry •

Chapter 8

The following afternoon, Snape surprised him.

He had brewed a potion strong enough to overpower the Permanent Sticking Charm behind Walburga Black's awful portrait in the hallway. Snape made it clear in no uncertain terms that this was a risky process not to be undertaken alone. Essentially, it would dissolve the painting itself.

Harry was keen to get started straight away, and Severus must have been too, as he agreed without question. Severus transfigured a tea towel into two sizeable squares of black fabric and secured one around Harry's nose and mouth to protect him from the noxious fumes. He held stock-still while Severus touched his hair, aware of the body inches behind him, barely daring to breathe.

Snape gave the other piece to Harry and faced away from him.

Harry had never been so close to him before. He concentrated on breathing calmly and deeply, hoping against hope that it wasn't obvious to Snape that he was smelling him. He fumbled for a few moments, and couldn't help but notice that Snape's hair was very silky.

Severus held two pairs of earmuffs not unlike the ones used to harvest mandrakes back in his second year. "So we may better focus on the task at hand, without tuning in to that odious woman," he murmured into Harry's ear, before sliding the earmuffs on for him. Severus carefully lifted the arms of his glasses so that they wouldn't dig into his head. He grinned and withheld the impulse to shudder at the thrill of Severus's breath in his ear.

The potion was in what appeared to be a giant glass perfume atomiser. Severus placed it in his hands and lifted one ear of his earmuffs. "You may do the honours, as the homeowner and inheritor of this cursed painting," he said quietly.

"Should we wake her up, first?" Harry whispered uncertainly.

Severus snapped his own earmuffs on and raised up the cloth covering his mouth so that Harry's gaze could slide down to his mouth to lipread his reply: "By all means."

Snape swept back the dark moth-eaten curtains. The old woman in a black cap began to shriek as if she was being tortured. When she recognised them both, she drooled, her eyes rolling back in her head, and the yellow skin of her face pulled taut as she screamed. With the earmuffs on, it was as though they were listening to a quiet film about a tormented banshee.

"Yooooou!" she howled, her eyes popping at the sight of them both. "Filth! Scum! Filthy half-bloods! Mutants, freaks, begone from this place! How dare you befoul the venerable and noble—"

It wasn't really a two-wizard job, but perhaps Snape as a "filthy half-blood" himself wanted to aid in its destruction.

Harry sprayed her in the face and saw rather than heard her wail of agony as her head dissolved. Her eyes, cheeks, chin, and lace collar bubbled and steamed, and the colours ran. With a few more squirts, the painting was unrecognisable. Handing the bottle to Severus, he ensured it completely destroyed the canvas and frame.

It was with considerable satisfaction that they sat down to a pot of tea fifteen minutes later with a burnt hole in place of a giant screaming portrait. "Tranquillity, at last," Snape said.

"Thank you. Thank you, thank you, thank you. What was that stuff?"

Snape smiled evenly. "One of my own invention. It's not particularly useful beyond this specific occasion, aside from perhaps the Black family tree. I doubt such a concoction would be commercially viable since no one else is stupid enough to permanently stick foulmouthed paintings in their homes."

"Too right." They savoured their tea. "I'd better make it up to Kreacher somehow. He worshipped that witch."

"Not clothes, surely?"