Being a Potions Master at Hogwarts did not have many perquisites. It left hardly enough time for experiments, had far too much grading and preparation, and left Severus in the awkward position of being the object of students' infatuation far too often. Not that he'd do anything with them. Frequently they were of the wrong gender anyway. He got no recognition, few people seemed very interested in a teacher, and his lasting commitments were stilted friendships with the other teachers.
All in all, it was a miserable, thankless job and he detested it. No one bothered thanking him.
Severus had seen many students go. Most of them never talked to him again. He had ensured that in his attempt to teach them potions.
The few who did often weren't even worth the trouble it took answering them.
He realized that he was horribly lonely.
Him! A Snape! Lonely.
The words boggled him.
Yet as he walked the cold, drab hallways of Hogwarts, taught unenthusiastic classes, conversed with his reasonably intelligent colleagues or friends (who cared about the difference, anyway? Beggars can't be choosers, after all), tinkered far into the hours of the night with his potions, trying to engage his stagnating mind, he could no longer escape the reality that he was very lonely.
It was never more apparent then when he climbed into the cold, off-putting bed in the middle of the night after his usual walk around the deathly silent school. Not even the fire managed to warm the bed enough to make it inviting. There was no warm body lying there for him to wrap around, no sleepy lips to kiss, no half-lidded eyes to stare into, no slightly sweaty chest to run his fingers down, no half-hard cock to wrap his hand around and stroke to hardness… There were only chilly sheets to attempt to warm with his lonely body.
He strode along the lifeless corridors, wrapping his black cloak around his body, trying to trap his body heat. The darkness, the grayness of the hallways suited his frame of mind, as miserable as the thought was. Then again, his frame of mind was miserable already, he didn't need dark corridors to remind him of that.
He considered stopping by the kitchens to postpone the inevitable empty rooms and emptier bed. The house elves were a little much for him on most nights, and yet, the prospect of his frigid rooms didn't excite him any.
His feet decided for him, seeking out company in any form it came. How pathetic, he thought to himself. A Snape resorted to talking to house elves out of loneliness.
After a completely unsatisfying conversation with the few awake (and sober) house elves, he headed to his rooms.
He undressed and headed for his bed, stopping suddenly.
Potter was lying there, naked, half-asleep.
"Waiting for you," Potter smiled. "I don't want to be alone anymore."
Neither do I, thought Severus, then smiled slightly. Perhaps this job had a perquisite, after all.
Perquisite – noun 1. A profit or benefit in addition to a salary or wages. 2. Broadly: The benefits of a position or office. 3. A gratuity or tip for services performed. 4. Anything to which someone has or claims the sole right. Word of the Day, February 3, 2008)