Sharehouse. A sitcom.

by Daria (aka Dussia etc.))

Translated from Russian by the author

Beta: Tango

1. Actually it's a shared apartment, but Sharehouse sounds more compact. I would like to thank Tango for this suggestion.

2. The fact that this fic was to some extent influenced by such sitcoms as Friends, Will&Grace, or Golden Girls for all I care, is obvious. The main thing is: I never watch them, I just used (& misused) their model. What really drove me to write it was: 1. A dream of the two incompatible (for me) HP-characters sharing an apartment, yet staying "just friends"; 2. My growing disappointment with the romanticization of love-ships in HP-fandom (and slash-ships in particular). Personally, I do not believe in serious passion between let's say HP/DM – and the rest of them – because in all those tears and broken hearts, Rowling's irony is missing, and that's really sad. So in this sitcom (actually it's almost a screenplay), I try not to confine our heroes to specific pairings in the first place.

3. Well, no, in the first place, it's actually just innocent fun.

Disclaimer: Characters belong to JKR – they are OOC, but I still tried to retain their usual idiosyncrasies. Songs, etc. belong to their owners. ))

Pairing: see above. Anything goes, slash too – "I see no difference" (c ) Snape

Rating: PG 13 – all can be broadcast before 8pm

Warning: there may be slight spoilers to OoPh, because this all takes place many years after HP's school years. (Don't ask me how many – I haven't a clue).

0. Open House. (The pilot/Intro.)

A large, fairly well-furnished room with a view of London out of the windows (something recognizable; say, the Tower). The walls are lined with old portraits and menacing-looking artifacts that resemble torture devices; books are scattered over the upholstered couches, more books are stacked on shelves ceiling-high. There's a fireplace, arm-chairs, side tables, cushions on the carpet… All of this is the living-room, which flows into a big modern kitchen. The kitchen is dominated by an enormous counter right in the middle, on which rests a burner with an antique cast-iron cauldron.

Apart from a corridor leading inside the apartment, there are three doors – one of which is obviously the front entrance, because at this very moment, a rattling of keys can be heard behind it – and it is a very angry rattling. It sounds like somebody is trying to turn the key, and the key won't budge. There follows a muffled curse and then a loud: "Alohomora!". The door shudders like after a heavy kick, but does not surrender. "Alohomora, you f... bloody... errr… (reciting rhythmically) Please would you be so kind as to open yourself, and I'll never call you names starting with F." The door opens smoothly and in comes Prof. Snape, wearing one of his most vinegary facial expressions. He irritably waves away the immediate canned squeals and catcalls of the supposed audience.

Without taking off his soaked cloak, he strides over to the telephone, swishing his equally soaked hair. He picks up the receiver with barely concealed disgust and taps the buttons.

"Yes, it's Severus Snape here, Periwinkle Corner 123-2, urgent front door replacement. Yes, it's where you've already... I'm not interested in how many times you've already... Friday! No, that won't... How about right now? Of course. Yes, I'm waiting. Quite right, there is no number, just push the "Snape/Granger" button at the entrance... The same to you."

He throws down the receiver with a smirk, and the telephone immediately begins to ring. The tune is Madonna's "Material Girl." Instead of picking up the phone, he practically makes a face at it, takes better hold of a half-soaked paper bag under his arm and goes into the kitchen. There, he takes off his cloak and, wrinkling his nose, begins unpacking the groceries. They are: a half-crushed carton of milk, two bottles of whisky (firewhisky and Ballentine), assorted apples, tomatoes, avocados, strawberries – all squashed . The most hopelessly damaged items are sent straight to the bin with a snap of his fingers. Cracked eggs from the bottom attempt to follow the strawberries voluntarily, but Snape heads them off; the eggs self-break into a large mug and are joined by milk and brandy. A newly-arrived whisk starts to beat them enthusiastically.

Still sorting the groceries, Snape with his free hand adds spices and sugar, then gets rid of what remains of the mess, and takes the mug over to the nearest couch. All through this the phone had been ringing; finally it utters a loud click, and after a "beep", we hear:

"Hello, you've dialed Hermione Granger's number. Apparently I'm not home at the moment (Snape mockingly mouths the recorded words in time with the machine), please leave your message after the tone, and don't forget to mention the time and date of your call."

"Um… was that the tone?' They said 'leave your message after the tone'… Who said? Dunno, sounds like Hermie, but the voice was kinda strange… Ha, Hermie's talking but she says she's not home!"

(Snape rolls his eyes, but clearly enjoys what he hears.)

"Well, um… Hermie, you know…we... oh, right, sorry, it's shortly before eight... p.m. Well, we are here for a couple of days... and seeing as my folks are in Romania, we thought… we should meet, right? And then… well.. your place is pretty roomy, you know, so we thought…"

"Anyway, Hermione," another, more self-assured, voice takes over . "Mind if we take you up on that invitation of yours and crash at your place for a couple of days?" Snape jumps on the couch. "Haven't seen you in ages, it'll be fun!" Snape frowns and grinds his teeth. "We'll try not to bother your… well, you know. We'll give you another buzz later!" Followed by a short laugh and beeping.

Snape takes a large gulp of his drink, tiptoes over to the phone and hovers above it, clearly intending to erase the recording, but evidently with only a vague idea of how to accomplish this. Suddenly, the phone starts ringing again, but this time it's The Doors' "Light My Fire." Still frowning, he picks up.

"Severus Snape speaking…" and then visibly relaxes. "Oh, it's you, sweetie… hang on just a second…" almost cooing, he pulls the phone to the couch where he stretches out with his feet flung over the armrest, still without having taken off his rather muddy boots. "Yes, just now… oh well, nothing special, pottering around… What secrets, come on… (deep velvety laughter) just lying on the couch, drinking eggnog... What am I doing? Tonight? Everything! (satisfied chuckling)... Oh. Oh. I see. But of course, in this weather, your shoes might get wet, your hair might go frizzy, Merlin forbid... Sarcasm? Me? You're hearing things... What? A request? I'm listening," he unconsciously sits up a bit.

The screen divides diagonally into two parts: In the right one, we see Lucius Malfoy; in the background, the dimly-lit pompous surroundings of an ancient castle. He is sitting by the fire, wrapped snugly in someone's fur.

"Well, it's about Draco again… Sev, what can I say, I'm on a verge of giving up."

"Let me see… I've been hearing that… for how many years now?"

"Oh, please, don't jab at my wounds... First, he's killing time in Oxford, then in Harvard, and all for…"

"Leave the child alone."

"Oh, you're just like Narcy! I mean, I know why he's acting like this: Lost generation, absence of ideals, chemicals instead of good old herbs… (Snape snorts understandingly.) But one has to come to one's senses sooner or later! I wouldn't mind normally, but in our present situation… (Behind his arm-chair, the viewer can see mildewy blotches on the wall), I'm can no longer pay his debts, and he simply will not get it!"

"Am I to conclude that "Smith&Wesson" turned out to be a fiasco?"

"Not quite, that's why I'm calling. They (wrinkles his nose, under his breath: "I'd gladly avada the lot of them!") they agreed to take him, but ... only with a trial period."

"Well, in that case what's the ...?" suddenly there is a ringing at Snape's door. "Sorry, Luc', must go, the door's being replaced…"

"I'm begging you, Sev, don't hang up!"

Sighing, Snape goes to the door with the receiver propped to his ear, opens it, and silently indicates to the two workers who are evidently here not for the first time, that they can start. Then he returns to the couch.

"Dammit, he must put his best foot forward! He must at the very least understand something of what he's going to do there. He quite simply must be on time, for Merlin's sake, this rrrr…… Sev, I know, I'm asking for a great deal here, but you are the only one he listens to. His mother has been under his spell since he was a baby, me… well… he's learned to circumvent me, too… And you were always an authority figure for him, weren't you?"

"You're not saying that you want dump him in my lap…"

"Exactly! If only for a couple of weeks! Sev, when did I last beg you for something!"

"Well, just a day ago… (aside) Thank you, send the bill as usual." A wand appears out of thin air, and he points it at the door.

"Sev, he's really a decent, well-behaved child underneath it all. Moreover, he's absolutely perfect when in your presence. My goodness, you'll hardly notice him at all, especially considering with WHOM you are living right now!"

(tenderly)"You old bigot!"

"Eh?.. Who's "old"?… Sev, do it for me… Do it for a dinner at the Runes… For a dinner at the Runes every Friday and a weekend on the Riviera… And those six volumes of Paracelsus or what was his name…and…"

There is a noise at Snape's door: a struggle with keys and a muffled: "Alohomora, dear door, I hope you weren't slammed before... Hey, not again!"

"Sev, he'll be in town tomorrow, you could at least talk to him, love!" and the split screen vanishes.

"Luc', wait," for a time, Snape keeps staring raptly at the silent receiver, sipping his drink and not paying attention to the struggle at the door. Then he sighs and waves his wand in its direction. The door is blasted open under the weight of Hermione, who just manages to keep her balance and not drop a huge bunch of roses.

"Dammit, doc, I've had enough of it, really!"

"So have I," icily.

"Didn't we decide that I should be the one to enchant the door?"

"We! Besides, these are not spells but an insult to my psyche."

"Nevertheless, it is completely unnecessary to replace the door every time! Well, yes, my enchantments are indeed theoretically unbreakable, but we could find a compromise… Oh well, who am I talking to…" she snorts, and goes to the kitchen, casting a displeased sideways look at his shoes on the armrest.

" And still, I insist on being the one to enchant the door. After your lock nearly took my finger off!…"

"Tsk-tsk-tsk, only nearly?"

Hermione furiously unwraps the roses, jams them into a vase, but then becomes unexpectedly content at the sight of their beauty. She turns around, looks for a place to put them, and finally puts the vase on a side table near the couch, and hence, near Snape. He merely raises an eyebrow.

She drops on the couch beside him, breathes in the aroma of the roses and sighs like someone who is eager to answer your questions even if you were not going to ask them. The raised brow is enough. She tries to control her exuberance.

"He walked me back to 'The Cauldron.'"

(grimly) "What a bastard, could've at least brought you home".

"Well, he had to be in Northumberland at eight, he's giving a lecture on… (dreamily) Transphoquasiparaology…"

"Oh yes, sounds familiar…"

"Don't remind me. No, this time I have a good feeling. (Tries to persuade herself) Definitely. He's just too shy, for some reason especially in my presence"

Snape snorts into his mug and even gags on his eggnog.

"It's not as if I were that frightening! And I try so hard to look dumber than I am!" she bats her eyes, mouth slightly opened. "Oh really? How vvvery interesting, never heard this before, my goodness!" she waves her hand. "Oh, well, doesn't matter, if it doesn't work out, it'll be less trouble anyway… Someone's called?"

While Snape is about to reply, there is a loud ringing at the door.

"Well, yes, I just wanted to…"

But Hermione runs to the door without listening and shrieks excitedly at the sight of a grinning H. Potter at the threshold. Snape jumps from his place, moves towards the corridor, but then pulls himself together and turns to the kitchen where he refreshes his mug with a huge portion of pure firewhisky.

For a couple of minutes, Hermione and Harry hang on to one another, yelling joyfully etc.

"Say, haven't you got our message? On the machine?"

"No, I've just come home… did you say 'our'?"

"Well, yeah. I apparated as usual, and Ron should be here in a moment… you don't have an elevator, do you?"

At this moment Ron enters and receives his share of hugs and kisses.

Snape, out of the kitchen:

"Weasley, another failed apparition examination? How many does that make?"

Ron pouts, but Harry cheerfully claps him on his shoulder:

"Doesn't matter, it's better for his muscles! In fact, I reckon all these magic conveniences serve to weaken one's physical condition! And as they say: healthy body – healthy spirit!"

"It's either or," Hermione and Snape say simultaneously, but Harry isn't discouraged.

"Oh, good evening, professor!" Ron joins him; Snape utters something indistinct. Ron turns to Hermione:

"So, Hermie, is it all right for us to stay? A couple of days, better than that empty house, and…you know…"

"Oh. Uh. Uh, certainly, no problem! We have two guest rooms, would you prefer staying together or separately?"

While Ron and Harry are still too embarrassed to answer, Snape says rather vengefully:

"Together."

The boys redden. Ron whispers to Harry: "I bet he's reading thoughts again!"

Snape, calmly:

"Seeing as the second bedroom will be occupied from tomorrow."

Hermione, equally calmly:

"Now that's news. And by whom, may I ask?"

"By Mr. Malfoy-ju…"

"Again! No, no way! No, doc, pardon me, professor, that's crossing the line, honestly, just… just… Over my dead body! No, what am I saying? Over YOUR dead body! Are you serious! After the last time! Did you forget what he did here, that bloody aristocratic piece of sh…" she is unstoppable. Snape remains quite calm, and the boys open their mouths. "D— Professor, I can see your point, feelings, blah-blah, but I have my rights in this place, too, and so I repeat, NO; and may I remind you that last time, he and I nearly Avada-ed each other, and if you hadn't interefered, it would've been me heading to Azkaban, that's right, me and not him, excuse my bluntness, but he's long overdue at the family crypt and so, last time you solemnly swore to me that he'll never set his foot in this house again, and if he does, then…" she stops to take a breath, and Snape takes advantage of the moment:

"Will be occupied by Mr. Malfoy, Jr. Draco Malfoy."

Silence.

Harry is now wondering whether to make a similar scene, but thinks better of it given his own tenuous position as a houseguest. Hermione catches her breath.

"Oh well. That's OK, I guess..." Suddenly, she stops and gives Snape a probing look, then raises her eyebrows quizzically and pretends that she's trying to conceal an understanding smile. Snape is irritated.

"Mr Malfoy starts a new job at Smith&Wesson Solicitors and will stay here for a while. And I would thank you to spare me all further questions and speculations. Good night," he turns and leaves for his room down the corridor.

Ron and Harry can finally relax. Hermione gives each of them a beer out of the fridge, and they all drop on the couch or straight onto some cushions on the floor. Ron can no longer contain himself:

"Hermie, how come you're living like this!"

First, she pretends not to understand and then shrugs:

"It just happened. For many reasons. Rent in London is horribly expensive. Never mind that, guys, tell me about quidditch! How on earth could you lose to the Spanish!"

Harry and Ron explode with emotions.

(P.S. The Runes is apparently a magic counterpart to the Rules – the oldest London restaurant. ;))

CUT

Next day. Same room.

Hermione is engrossed in cooking something indescribable. There's a rattle of the keys at the door.

"It's open!" she calls as Snape enters. "I just thought, well, this place is a public thoroughfare for now anyway, so to hell with the charms."

"There IS such a thing as security."

"Well, considering we're already having one of the Malfoys stay here, who else is there to be afraid of? All right, all right, go ahead and put your charm on the door if it means so much to you. With a bit of luck, it will bite something off Malfoy … Did my owl find you?"

By way of answer, Snape produces a plastic box as though out of thin air. "Is this it?"

"You're a saviour! The guys just adore this brand." noticing his reaction: "No, no, I won't tell them." Chuckling, in an artificial voice. "Oh booooys, kind Uncle Snape bought you some ice-cream… They'll choke. Hey!" just as Snape snaps a delicious piece of something like a sausage out of the pot, and leaves the scene.

Presently, the front door which wasn't closed properly slowly begins to open. Hermione raises her head.

"So who's there knocking on my door? Or rather, not knocking? Not very polite, my friend, what if I was hopping around here buck naked?" she is sure it is either Potter or Weasley.

"You know, Granger, you are quite right, the shock would be too much for me."

If Hermione is startled, it is only for an instant.

"Well, if it isn't Mr. Solicitor in person, what an honor. Gee, that reminds me to sell my "Smith&Wesson" shares as soon as possible, just in case…

"It so happens that they are Ltd., but that is apparently beyond your all-knowingness."

"Well, I am glad that yours is making such progress," Hermione's friendly tone hints at Draco's "progress" that Snape has already told her about. Draco feels the venom and makes a face..

"And I am glad to be received in such a hospitable house. A muggle servant cannot be compared with a house-elf, of course, but the smell is quite satisfactory. You're also making progress, Granger."

"Mister Malfoy, if your daddy hasn't yet told you how his own visit to this 'hospitable house' ended, I suggest you ask him all about it before making such thoughtless remarks," – she cracks her knuckles with relish, producing a shower of ominously hissing sparks.

"Granger, Granger, where is your British wit?"

"Still here, don't worry - just as your freshly acquired American arrogance, Malfoy. On the other hand, you were known for it long before Harvard..."

Draco is getting ready for an equally venomous answer, but is interrupted by Harry and Ron – who also come in without ringing or knocking.

"Here comes backup, Granger, it's your lucky day. Never mind, your luck won't hold forever."

"Not that I need 'backup' but, for your information, Harry and Ron are as much the guests of My Hospitable House, as you are. Your room is to the right. Dinner is served at eight. Now, here you cook – and this goes for all of you! - either each for yourself or in turns. Today is my turn, and then we'll go alphabetically - Malfoy," giving him a broad toothy smile.

CUT.

Postscript to the episode:

Everybody is politely sitting at the table, each staring in his/her plate, obviously afraid to start eating. Finally, Snape takes the first bite. After having thoughtfully chewed it, he says:

"That'll do, Draco, that'll do..." Malfoy grins proudly. "But do me a favour and order at O'Donovan's next time, their cuisine is better than at the Little Broomstick."

Draco reddens, Ron snorts while starting to eat:

"See, Malfoy, good thing we talked you out of McDonald's..."