* * * Tea and Sympathy * * *
The quiet clinking of cutlery woke him. He was not particularly surprised to find that his robe and shoes had been removed and Dumbledore's stone portkey was sitting beside his wand on the bedside table. He said to the ceiling,
"Surely you have something better to do than to keep tucking me in, Mr. Potter?"
"No, I don't, actually," Potter's voice was calm, if not cheerful. "I seem to be out of a job." Snape heard dishes rattling, then Potter came into his line of sight. "Are you hungry?"
"No," Snape lied, sitting up slowly. "What time is it?" The headache was gone, but his tongue felt like a salted slug.
"Tea time. Come and eat."
Snape wanted to snarl at his unwelcome nurse, but the dolt was buttering a substantial pile of toast and it looked rather interesting, all of a sudden. By the time he had gotten up, shrugged his wrinkled clothes back into some semblance of order and made his way over to the hearth, Potter had poured him a cup of tea and was busy building a rather substantial sandwich out of toast and cheese and thin slices of roast beef. Snape watched him take a large bite and chew happily.
"What is your definition of "tea", Potter?"
"A meal in the middle of the afternoon," his former student replied succinctly and took a long drink of tea. "The House Elves are worried about us both, though. Eat something or they'll start ambushing you with sandwiches in the corridors." He sounded like a man with experience talking.
Grunting at the idea of Potter ordering him to do anything, Snape took a piece of toast and began nibbling it. They ate in silence, for which he was grateful. The warmth of the fire, the pleasant sense of being well-rested and without pain, of having an appetite and being able to feed it - all were novelties he wanted to enjoy in peace and quiet. If he was also enjoying having someone to share all these things with, the silence prevented him from having to acknowledge it. By the time the tea table was empty of food, Snape had made temporary truce within himself regarding his pleasure at Potter's company.
Potter, however, seemed to be taking little pleasure in Snape's company. The younger man stared into the fire, chewing on his thumbnail. The air about him seemed heavier, darker and more brooding. Snape thought about the scene earlier in Dumbledore's office. It was, he supposed, too much to hope that the situation had been resolved while he had been asleep. That same angry energy was still coursing through the young wizard. Although he had a tight rein on it now, Snape could almost sense it swirling behind his eyes. Potter looked like an over-ripe fruit about to split its skin.
"What are your plans for the evening, Mr. Potter?"
Potter's slight jerk showed that his thoughts had been far away, indeed. He shrugged, a little too casually. "Nothing special, Severus. What can I do for you?"
"No friends waiting for you? Your godfather?" Snape pressed.
"Sirius left on a mission for the Order yesterday evening. Ron & Hermione went home -- family parties to go to, I think they said."
"They didn't invite you?" Once, Snape would have given the words the most unpleasant and sibilant interpretation he could; now, he simply wanted information.
"They did. But I'm not up to that many Weasleys in any one place just now. Especially not after this morning. Now I have to figure out what the hell to do with the rest of my life."
"Since you're in the mood to ponder weighty subjects, will you take some advice?"
Potter looked at him sharply.
"Go out to a pub tonight. Get drunk. Pick someone up and shag yourselves silly. Come back in the morning and sort out your life then."
His former student's expression of shock was comical. He really did need to be told that he looked like an idiot when he let his mouth hang open. "You...what?"
"Which word didn't you understand, Potter? Pub. Drink. Shag. Nothing more earth-shattering than that until morning."
Potter blinked like a boiled owl.
"For heaven's sake, boy, it's tradition! When you get sacked, you go out and get pissed, then you get fucked." There was a certain amount of malicious enjoyment to shocking the man and Snape was pleased to see that he still had the ability.
"I quit," Potter corrected absently, still staring at Snape. "But who am I to buck tradition?" He got to his feet, still looking a little dazed. "You'll be all right?"
Snape sneered gently. "I believe I will survive the night without your care, Mr. Potter."
"See that you do," the young wizard shot back over his shoulder as he headed for the door.
"Potter!" Snape stood slowly, pleased that his head no longer throbbed or spun when he did that. He took a small leather pouch off the mantel and tossed it to Potter. It clinked musically as it smacked securely into the former Seeker's hand. "When that's gone, stop drinking. You're not supposed to poison yourself."
Potter hefted the bag of coins and stared at Snape again as if the professor had sprouted another head. Then he gave half a grin, nodded and opened the door.
"And Potter! Don't mix your drinks."
"Yes, Severus," Potter sing-songed as he went out and closed the door carefully behind him, a last green-eyed stare leaving Snape feeling a touch feverish. Then he went to prepare a hangover remedy for the morning.
* * *
The quiet clinking of cutlery woke him. He was not particularly surprised to find that his robe and shoes had been removed and Dumbledore's stone portkey was sitting beside his wand on the bedside table. He said to the ceiling,
"Surely you have something better to do than to keep tucking me in, Mr. Potter?"
"No, I don't, actually," Potter's voice was calm, if not cheerful. "I seem to be out of a job." Snape heard dishes rattling, then Potter came into his line of sight. "Are you hungry?"
"No," Snape lied, sitting up slowly. "What time is it?" The headache was gone, but his tongue felt like a salted slug.
"Tea time. Come and eat."
Snape wanted to snarl at his unwelcome nurse, but the dolt was buttering a substantial pile of toast and it looked rather interesting, all of a sudden. By the time he had gotten up, shrugged his wrinkled clothes back into some semblance of order and made his way over to the hearth, Potter had poured him a cup of tea and was busy building a rather substantial sandwich out of toast and cheese and thin slices of roast beef. Snape watched him take a large bite and chew happily.
"What is your definition of "tea", Potter?"
"A meal in the middle of the afternoon," his former student replied succinctly and took a long drink of tea. "The House Elves are worried about us both, though. Eat something or they'll start ambushing you with sandwiches in the corridors." He sounded like a man with experience talking.
Grunting at the idea of Potter ordering him to do anything, Snape took a piece of toast and began nibbling it. They ate in silence, for which he was grateful. The warmth of the fire, the pleasant sense of being well-rested and without pain, of having an appetite and being able to feed it - all were novelties he wanted to enjoy in peace and quiet. If he was also enjoying having someone to share all these things with, the silence prevented him from having to acknowledge it. By the time the tea table was empty of food, Snape had made temporary truce within himself regarding his pleasure at Potter's company.
Potter, however, seemed to be taking little pleasure in Snape's company. The younger man stared into the fire, chewing on his thumbnail. The air about him seemed heavier, darker and more brooding. Snape thought about the scene earlier in Dumbledore's office. It was, he supposed, too much to hope that the situation had been resolved while he had been asleep. That same angry energy was still coursing through the young wizard. Although he had a tight rein on it now, Snape could almost sense it swirling behind his eyes. Potter looked like an over-ripe fruit about to split its skin.
"What are your plans for the evening, Mr. Potter?"
Potter's slight jerk showed that his thoughts had been far away, indeed. He shrugged, a little too casually. "Nothing special, Severus. What can I do for you?"
"No friends waiting for you? Your godfather?" Snape pressed.
"Sirius left on a mission for the Order yesterday evening. Ron & Hermione went home -- family parties to go to, I think they said."
"They didn't invite you?" Once, Snape would have given the words the most unpleasant and sibilant interpretation he could; now, he simply wanted information.
"They did. But I'm not up to that many Weasleys in any one place just now. Especially not after this morning. Now I have to figure out what the hell to do with the rest of my life."
"Since you're in the mood to ponder weighty subjects, will you take some advice?"
Potter looked at him sharply.
"Go out to a pub tonight. Get drunk. Pick someone up and shag yourselves silly. Come back in the morning and sort out your life then."
His former student's expression of shock was comical. He really did need to be told that he looked like an idiot when he let his mouth hang open. "You...what?"
"Which word didn't you understand, Potter? Pub. Drink. Shag. Nothing more earth-shattering than that until morning."
Potter blinked like a boiled owl.
"For heaven's sake, boy, it's tradition! When you get sacked, you go out and get pissed, then you get fucked." There was a certain amount of malicious enjoyment to shocking the man and Snape was pleased to see that he still had the ability.
"I quit," Potter corrected absently, still staring at Snape. "But who am I to buck tradition?" He got to his feet, still looking a little dazed. "You'll be all right?"
Snape sneered gently. "I believe I will survive the night without your care, Mr. Potter."
"See that you do," the young wizard shot back over his shoulder as he headed for the door.
"Potter!" Snape stood slowly, pleased that his head no longer throbbed or spun when he did that. He took a small leather pouch off the mantel and tossed it to Potter. It clinked musically as it smacked securely into the former Seeker's hand. "When that's gone, stop drinking. You're not supposed to poison yourself."
Potter hefted the bag of coins and stared at Snape again as if the professor had sprouted another head. Then he gave half a grin, nodded and opened the door.
"And Potter! Don't mix your drinks."
"Yes, Severus," Potter sing-songed as he went out and closed the door carefully behind him, a last green-eyed stare leaving Snape feeling a touch feverish. Then he went to prepare a hangover remedy for the morning.
* * *