Rosmerta busied herself by cleaning up the day's mess in preparation for the busy weekend. It was late and the Three Broomsticks was closed but a few persistent witches and wizards knocked plaintively at the bolted door in hopes of getting a nightcap. Rosmerta turned them away as she always did. There was only one person she allowed into the bar after closing.

For fifteen years Severus Snape had been coming to the Three Broomsticks nearly every Friday night for a drink. It didn't matter if it was pouring rain or dumping snow, he always walked down, grateful for the few minutes to himself. Rosmerta had grown to look forward to his visits. Usually they opened a bottle of wine and had a glass or two each, sharing the events of the week. Lately, however, Snape had been coming later and later, sometimes not at all. Rosmerta knew it was because he had taken to sitting in the Slytherin common room with his students, watching over them until they had all gotten safely to bed. It was a point of pride for him that of all the heads of house, he was the most beloved and trusted by those in his charge.

Rosmerta knew Severus better than anyone in the whole world, except Dumbledore, who seemed to be somewhat omniscient. She supposed that the Headmaster knew of the potions teacher's weekly drink. As for Snape, Rosmerta was positive that he knew more about her than anyone else, Dumbledore included. Over the years they had shared a lot of secrets.

When he did come now, wine usually wasn't strong enough for him. Dragonwater, imported from the Americas, had become his drink of choice. It was a little strong for her, but Rosmerta sometimes joined him in a very small glass.

Snape didn't bother to knock. He knew the charm to open the locked door. He stepped into the warm bar, looking very tired and very much in need of the stiff drink he had come for.

Drying the rain from his cloak with his wand, he murmured his habitual greeting:

"Evening, Rosmerta."

"Evening, Severus. I see that it started to rain." she replied, wiping down a shot glass for him. He nodded, causing raindrops to slide off his wet hair onto the floor. With a wave of his wand, the moisture disappeared.

"It has indeed." Rubbing his eyes wearily, he sat down at the counter in front of her. "What have you got for me this week?"

"I've got a nice bottle of Chat Gris in the back." Rosmerta offered hopefully. She knew he would say no, but it was worth a try. She missed drinking wine with him.

As predicted, Snape shook his head. "Thanks, but I need something a little stiffer than a spritzer."

Having anticipated this, Rosmerta pulled out the bottle of Dragonwater she had placed under the counter for him.

"How's this?" she teased. His face broke into a rare smile.

"Rosmerta, you're an angel."

"I know."

With a wave of her wand, the bottle was uncapped and pouring itself into his shot glass. Snape took the shot and stared at it for a second or two.

"What shall I drink to?" he asked her.

"To me, if you have nothing better." she replied with a winsome smile. Snape's eyes glinted and the corners of his mouth pulled up slightly.

"To Rosmerta, the prettiest barmaid in England." he said.

"Only the prettiest in England?" Rosmerta asked, feigning offence. "What about the world?"

"Well," Snape replied, "I haven't seen every barmaid in the whole world, so I couldn't make such a statement with any real confidence."

"Oh, and you have seen every barmaid in all of England?" she asked, leaning on the counter. Snape cracked a small smile.

"No."

"Ah ha!" Rosmerta cried accusingly.

"But," he amended, "I have seen a great many of them, and certainly enough to know that you are a rose among thorns." He lifted his glass. "To you." The fiery red contents disappeared down his throat and wincing, he slammed the shot glass down on the bar. Rosmerta watched his grimacing face with a playful smile.

"Good?"

"When was this made?" Snape asked, blinking tears from his eyes.

"Two years ago."

The potions master glared at her. "You did that on purpose." he accused. She merely smiled in response, resealing the bottle with the wave of her wand and stashing it below the counter. She pulled out another, very dusty bottle.

"That's the ticket." Snape said, eyeing it with anticipation.

"Eighty-three years old this time." Rosmerta assured him, pouring a glass for him. He knocked it back and sighed with relief.

"Better?" the barmaid asked.

"Much."

Now it was time to be serious. "What's wrong, Severus?" Rosmerta asked gently. He shook his head, taking the bottle from her and pouring himself another glass.

"Nothing in particular." he replied. "Just accumulation."

"How are the students?"

"They're fine, getting good marks." Snape sighed, a hint of sadness creeping into his voice. "I've been having some behavior problems with the Malfoy boy and his friends, but it's nothing I can't handle. I just hope I can straighten them out, keep them from making the same mistakes I did, restore the good name of the Slytherin house."

Rosmerta nodded her head through all of this, listening quietly as all good barkeeps do. She finally spoke.

"You do too much."

Snape smiled sadly. "I know." he teased. He passed the Dragonwater to her and she took a short swig straight from the bottle. She grimaced.

"How can you stand to drink this?" she asked, making a face and passing the bottle back. He followed her example and took a drink.

"It's an acquired taste."

"Well, I don't plan on acquiring it."

Snape shrugged. "More for me."

They both smiled. Rosmerta then shared all of the interesting encounters she had that week with odd customers and they chuckled over Snape's stories about students. The antics of Fred and George Weasley always made them laugh the hardest.

Snape glanced at the clock on the wall. It was nearly two o'clock in the morning.

"I should go," he said, getting up and putting on his cloak. Rosmerta recapped the bottle of Dragonwater for their next Friday visit.

"Goodnight, Severus." she said with a gentle smile. Snape nodded in reply, hesitated a moment, then ducked out of Three Broomsticks into the rain.

Rosmerta looked around the now empty bar with a sad sigh, feeling a little lonely. Then she promised herself the same thing she had promised herself for the past 15 years.

"Next Friday," she vowed, "I'll tell Severus that I love him."