Author's Notes : The beginning of this was actually going to be a Role Play post, but considering I hardly have any time to Role Play. . And when I do, there's no one to do so with. So I suddenly got an urge to turn it into a fanfic, it was easy because I had the role play ideas in my head. All I had to do was revise it all into a fanfic. Which, might I add, was not the easy part. This is my first attempt at a serious fanfic I've actually tried on. Do be gentle, loves

Warnings: Slash gay/homosexual/yaoi/shonen-ai/twomentogether warning: Remus/Severus. If you haven't read the HBP, don't continue. The Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore theories of Snape's sort of 'innocence' are here. I'm not about to post the whole thing here, but I doubt it would be hard to find. I think you may be able to get through this short bit without too much trouble in case you don't feel like searching. There may even be some oocness, it all depends on your own opinion. Prior to this story, there was something between Severus and Remus. So you can use your imagination with what is said here

Summery: Severus Snape has a few sentimental thoughts over a drink. The time line of it is two and some-odd-years after the HBP

Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series and am merely borrowing the characters for my own amusement.

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It was an early December evening and snow had not yet fallen, though this did not mean the crisp air did not produce a shiver out of those who dwelled in its wake for too long.

Knockturn Alley was fairly disserted, save for the occasional lone figure. It was not quite the same Knockturn it had been a year ago. In the all hours of both day and night, it was heavily paroled by the wizard and witches most finest. They would be careful this second go, would they? It had only taken them death, destruction and years to figure that out.

Severus Snape sat at a small, isolated table beside a darkened window. In front of him was a nearly full pint of fire whiskey, which had been refilled four times before hand. Farther ahead of him stood a lone chair, partner to the current one he occupied and it gave him a sense of loss. Loss which was likely just the result of the high amount of alcoholism in his system but this did not occur to the not-so-sober ex Potion Master.

The reason for his choice of tavern was not out of its popularity, which it scarcely had if any, or the status of its beverages, barely acceptable, but that it held only four other customers.. All of whom kept to themselves in their solemn postures. Severus could not quite remember if he had given the wooden sign above the door a glance before entering.

In his hand he held a nearly forgotten letter from Hogwarts' new Head Mistress, Minerva Mcgonagall. Their correspondences were the only thing that kept a small tie between himself and Hogwarts. And through these said letters, a certain bonding had sprouted. But how could it have not? She had been both his Professor, his coworker, his companion within the Order. So how could he have not grown a certain fondness for the elder woman? She had pointed out things concerning what was between the lines of his earlier letters without really saying anything outright; such as the incident two years ago and Lupin.

Lupin. Lupin who had disappeared nearly a year ago along with Potter. He had expected it was to go into hiding until the news of Lord Voldemort's demise turned to old. There were still attacks after all, still those fools who expected said Lord to suddenly burst from the shadows and their goals would be fulfilled in purifying the Wizarding World…

He had a not-so-straight-forward round about way, with each letter, on asking the well fare of the Potter boy and Lupin. He had a distinct feeling that she knew exactly where they laid and was eased with a reply that 'No, she had not heard anything out of them but was positive they were safe.' He expected it was her own way of saying all was well…

The man slowly trailed a slender finger about the rim of his mug--

It would be the second Christmas for Hogwarts without Albus Dumbledore, wouldn't it?

--and in a daze, he lifted his glass with some effort to his lips.

There was a sudden pang in his chest at this unexpected thought and a sudden longing rose that had a lump growing steadily larger in his throat. Had he any real sense at the time, he would have shaken it off with minor difficulties but considering his state, he could only drown the feeling out with a large gasping gulp from his mug.

He missed the old man. He missed Lupin, although he would never admit it. Ever. You could even say he missed the unpleasant faces of first years within ten minutes into their very first Potion Class. This latter gave Severus an unstable chuckle that caused the bar tender to turn and give him the eye. He was nearly close to calling this 'loneliness', but even at this moment he would not allow this of himself. Severus Snape did not blubber like a fool for a lost cause.

But wasn't that exactly what he was doing?

No matter, he thought in a daze and pressed his lips once more to his glass, giving no heed to a new arrival within the Tavern.

He was the victim of alcoholism and in his drunken state he had the full right to blubber.

"How low have you sunk, Snivellus? " He ground out, childhood nickname pronounced with a good amount of disgust, not to mention a slur.

In the pit of his stomach, an uneasy feeling had slowly been progressing and he turned his traveling gaze toward the far end of the Tavern, to nothing in particular but felt as if he should. The world tilted. He lifted his hand from his mug and gripped the table firmly, feeling if he did not, he would find himself toppling over. And he doubted if he did fall, he'd be able to get back up again.

Help, I've fallen and I can't get up!

A sly, grim and wolfish grin forced itself across his features.

When his eyes regained his former blurred look, he caught sight of the earlier new arrival and should have been shocked when said new arrival stood in the middle of the room, body facing his own direction and obviously watching. Him.

Now on any other day whither drunk, sober or something that would influence One to be in any way shape or form act the slightest bit different in character or alter the senses, Severus' inner switch would have been flipped, signaling 'Warning: Caution. Unknown. Perhaps holding close your wand would be a good idea, sir. '

But no such signal went off. Something about the figure gave off a sense of harmlessness although still capable of the earlier's opposite still. . . Ignoring that he was shrouded in a heavy and unrevealing robe, the lower half of his face hardly visible under a hood in the dim lighting of the Tavern, much less the higher half.

How Severus knew he would not suddenly be Curcioed on the spot he did not know, only that his gut gave a twinge of anxiousness. The feeling you may get right before standing in front of a crowd to give a speech you weren't sure you were ready for. And Severus Snape usually trusted his senses, however under the influence they may be at the time. He thought he was a good judge of character and to go back on that now. .

Well, he'd lived a long life, hadn't he?

A snorted, the grip on the table relaxing as he sub-consciously felt he could handle not toppling over and out of his chair.

The figure took a step, paused, seemed to hesitate, and then as if to make up his mind, made a brisk walk toward Severus' table. The manner of it insured the more conscious Severus that the earlier judging. Had it been anyone who was bound for murder, such a manner would not have been presence.

Severus knew these things. He had to.

And it all would have all been terribly amusing toward his drunken self had he felt as if he could not quite comprehend the fading of his sight or the thought he was sinking in a deep mist. .

Before allowing the heavy lids to close, the world around him felt as if it took several large steps back. The taste of alcohol in his mouth, the murmuring of other customers, the sound of approaching steps . . His senses were dulled, the awkward feeling of not really being in his body but half away out the door—

He should really cut back on that fire whiskey.

"What took you so long?" He heard himself say almost thoughtfully as the steps stopped.

And then there was blackness.

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Author's Note: Oh noz.

Review, pleasemaybe?

Should I continue? Hmm. .