SkyeMoor gave me a prompt. I love prompts, you don't even know how much. By the way, have you read Skye's ongoing HP fic "Nobody Ever Asked My Birthday"? You should. You REALLY should.

This is definitely, firmly in crack!fic territory. If you're phobic, kindly fuck your way back out of this drabble, because this is not for you.

M rating for content.

Prompt: Snape's been lying... to everyone, it seems

Standard disclaimers apply because I'm a broke bitch.

Severus Tobias Snape. Man, myth, bane of students everywhere, was pissed. No, not pissed off, pissed. Drunk, three sheets to the wind, schnockered, schlitzed. Tumbling through the Floo, tripping approximately half the distance of his sitting room, and knocking into the low coffee table in front of his couch, he was pissed.

The Floo roared green again, burning his eyes through his closed lids and making the room spin further. "Really, Snape? You just - hic - you just left?!" The shrill frequency of the harpy before him made him gurgle a reply from his spot half-on but mostly off the lumpy, roughly upholstered furniture. "Do you even know how difficult it was to shove my tits into this thing?"

One dark eye cracked open as he turned his face to the guest now cupping a rather large handful of their own breasts stuffed into a questionable Slytherin green bustier. "Do yer knickers match?" Severus slurred. The internal voice which often kept him from saying anything as low-brow, especially to a former student, just giggled in the recesses of his spectacularly inebriated head.

A weight settled on the cushion next to his face and he reached one elegant hand out to grasp what felt like a fabric-covered knee. "If you weren't worse off than I am, I'd have told you to check - stop that, you lecher!" His hand was slapped sharply, interrupted in its path up the thigh of his guest.

"You tol' me to check." Severus grumbled petulantly into the cushion, the musty smell of which caused him to gag slightly. A hand was at his back rubbing between his shoulder blades comfortingly while his guest Accioed a bucket for him just in time.

Ron - Ronata, for the night - Weasley sighed while the dour potions master spewed the contents of his stomach. "If I had known you'd have gotten this pissed, I wouldn't have even bothered with the Transition Draught." With that, she stood and dragged her way to the downstairs bath of the Snape residence, tugging her earrings out and letting her hair down.

"'Mione worked so hard on this, too," she grumbled, staring at her sad blue eyes in the steaming mirror while the bath filled. While the bushy-headed Gryffindor hadn't understood why exactly she was styling her best mate's hair, the novelty of seeing Ron - er - Ronata in full ball regalia ("You're a gir - good Godric, your tits! Ron, your tits! They are making eye contact!") had been just enough motivation to doll him - rather her - up for the evening.

Based on Snape's reaction when Ronata had made her debut at the Memorial Ball, the ginger just knew her best friend had put two and two together. Well, it seemed the niffler was out of the bag, at least for one person. She sighed again, forlorn.

She was just climbing in the tub when Severus flailed through the door, nearly causing her to topple into the water and concuss herself. "You know," he began, looking to her right. Oh great, he's seeing double. "I've always had a thing for redheads." With those words, he lunged for the toilet and further emptied his stomach.

To her credit, Ronata just sighed again, and began lathering up her hair. "And they say romance is dead." Severus heaved once more before passing out with his face on the seat and she cringed. "It's not dead. It's blackout drunk."