Chapter 3

Far below the calm peacefulness that bubble baths brought, Severus Snape sat restlessly in his dungeon. Staring into the fire, he realized the bottle of whiskey seemed considerably lighter then it was an hour ago.

He then realized he didn't give a damn.

She was back. Up there, high above him, still as unattainable as ever. The wonderfully ironic, not to mention phallic, symbolism of it all. Not that her stay was permanent by any means.

Given enough time, Potter would realize what a bloody great fool he'd been and try and get her back. Of course, she'd scream and yell- probably even give the stupid boy a good slap or two. He'd then beg forgiveness, saying how he didn't deserve it all the while, and then he'd swear he'd change. After much dramatic ado about this, she'd give in and forgive him, and they'd get married as planned. They'd live happily ever after, as she played the loving wife and he made sure to screw around much more discreetly.

Gryffindors.

At least with a Slytherin, there'd be much more intrigue. Maybe a murder or two for the hell of it. But no, Gryffindors just had to act all noble. They had to lead lives that read like a cheap paperback romance.

A more sober part of his brain realized that in those books, the husband didn't screw around anymore.

In answer, he refilled the glass, drowned it, and refilled it again.

Didn't the gods have anything better to do the torture him?

He had tried to tell himself that it was only a crush. It was the simple result of someone being nice to him. An incredibly beautiful someone being nice to him. It was just the natural reaction. It would fade away over time. He was confusing gratitude with love.

Unfortunately, the "crush" didn't go away. Maybe it would have if everything didn't remind him of her. Every student who dared to raise her hand, every female with a slight curl to her hair, and the entire bloody house of Gryffindor all brought back memories.

He chuckled to himself. Who'd ever have thought Professor Snape would become a sentimental old fool?

Gods, this was so unbearably pointless. Foolishness utterly beneath him. For god's sake, he was a Slytherin. Why couldn't he act like one?

She's probably bitter- corrupted, he thought. The war changed so many. She would be haggard, worn down, resentful. He interrupted his thoughts for another drink. If only it could be so simple. He knew from the few times he had seen her that she was still radiant and as noble as ever.

He threw the glass into the fire. He felt slightly better when he heard it shatter.

Damn, damn, damn. Why couldn't he just get over it? He tried- heaven knows he tried. Sex alone did nothing, especially when all he thought about was her. Drinking, travelling, losing himself in his work all had no effect. The years went on and his longing for her continued unabashed.

It was easier just to be the biggest bastard he could be, which wasn't very hard at all, considering that he wasn't very nice to begin with. He couldn't stand to see those insufferable children smiling every day. So what if they hated him? He didn't like them much either. What did they do to deserve happiness? Nothing, nothing at all. Why should he play nice to them? Bastards, all of them.

He supposed he was proof that misery does love company. If nothing else, by being a wanker, he didn't have to deal with questioners or people who knew of some girl with a "wonderful personality" who would be just perfect for him.

The last rational part of his mind registered he had drank almost a whole bottle of whiskey in an hour and a half and that this was not helping the situation any.

He told it to go to hell, after all it was only a little bottle, and finished the rest.

Several hours later, very persistent knocking on his door awaked Severus. Of course, "woke" could be a very objective term.

He rather hoped it would stop if he just turned over and threw his blanket over his head.

It did not cooperate, but instead grew louder.

Somewhere through the blinding nausea and splitting headache, a little voice, possibly reason- assuming it wasn't to terribly pissed at him telling it to bugger off last night- came through: It's the door, answer it, and the sound will stop.

Willing his body to comply, Severus slowly started to get up. The light streaming in from the windows, would have told him he had slept away all of the morning. That is, it would have if hadn't gotten completely pissed the night before.

Finally, reaching the door he swung it open and leaned against its frame to support himself. "What do you want?" he attempted to snarl. But before he could wait for a response a wave of nausea hit him. As he bolted for the bathroom, he didn't even look to see who his unwelcome guest was.

Severus had never realized how exactly wonderful and precious indoor plumbing was until that moment.

Settling down on the cool floor of the bathroom, he then decided that sleep would be a very good thing indeed.

For the second time that day, Severus awoke, very stiff from sleeping in a chair all night, like the drunken fool he was. But if he fell asleep in a chair, how did he end up in bed? And how come he didn't feel like he was about to die, vomit, and where had the elves that had been tap-dancing in his skull gone?

He found the answers to one of his questions on his nightstand. There stood an empty vial clearly labelled "Hangover Relief." Now how did it get there and how did he get in bed?

Slowly, he began to reassemble what had happened. He did sleep in the chair, but the last time he fell asleep he was on the bathroom floor. And he was on the bathroom floor because didn't want to cover whoever it was at the door with last night's dinner.

So who was this mystery guest?

While he was still trying to figure this out, a feminine voice teased "I see sleeping beauty has decided to grace the world with their presence."

Severus Snape turned around, and looked right at a smiling Hermione Granger.

Then for the first time in his life, he fainted.