Slamming the door to his chambers - not to impress anyone in particular, but simply because it made him feel better - Severus leaned against it, flushed with anger.

As his pulse slowed to a normal rate, he strode over to his cherrywood liquor cabinet with purpose…

He was going to get sloshed. Extravagantly sloshed. Potions Master he might well be, but tonight called for a more primitive cure.

He poured a very generous amount of brandy into a glass and dropped into a chair, staring broodingly into the fire as he fell to the task at hand with enthusiasm. The brandy was rich and warm, and as he stood to refill the glass he pulled off his robes and cast them aside, unfastening the first few buttons on his shirt.

What was he going to do with her? His father's solution for a headstrong woman was to shag her within an inch of her life… Not only did Severus desire to stay as far from his father's practices as possible, he somehow doubted that that remedy would work on Sabine. He sneered - It wasn't as if he could try, could he? After meditation on the subsequent mental image for a long moment, he was reduced to a fit of laughter… He didn't stand an icicle's chance in hell. Sabine, especially in her current mood, would likely castrate him and display his bits and pieces in a jar on her classroom shelf.

Ruminating on this possible turn of events as he filled the glass again, Severus thought dimly that he should perhaps stay away from Rosmerta's brandy… It was quite potent, and invited unwelcome, sometimes exceedingly unpleasant images into his mind. Shrugging, he took the bottle back to his chair - it wouldn't do to fall over while on his way to the cabinet.

He disregarded his own warning and gradually downed another glass.

"I'm an ass." He commented decisively to no one in particular, his smooth voice somewhat slurred at the "s" sound. Upon that profound declaration, Severus got carefully to his feet and wandered through the halls - they were wonderfully empty at that unholy hour - and found his way to Sabine's door. Knocking in an absent manner, he abstractedly studied the grain of the wood a few inches from his nose.

The door inched open, and a tentative hazel eye appeared between door and doorframe. Said eye rotated in its socket, looking the tall man up and down before Sabine opened the entry enough to let Severus observe one half of her face, the other half still hidden behind the door. It was a trick unconsciously learnt from Sabine's mother- if you were angry with a man, the implication that he didn't deserve to look at you would usually be enough to pose a threat.

In all honesty, Sabine hadn't expected to be approached so quickly. She had decided to take the supremely satisfying tactic of sulking and kicking things, and so, after having left the library, she had stalked the hallways, refused to apologize when she tilted a painting with a carelessly-placed elbow, purposely employed a boot to upset an empty cauldron left by an equally careless student and placed herself in a chair beside her unlit fireplace to fume.

Now she was occupied with the view of her friend, and the scent of brandy as it reached her nose. "You're drunk," she pointed out accusingly, adding only as an afterthought: "You bastard."

"No." Severus declared vehemently; then, after several moments of careful thought, amended the statement. "Slightly intoxicated. Four glasses of brandy…" He made an exaggerated gesture with his hands, indicating the size of the apparently foot-tall glass.

"I believe," he said slowly, contemplating a spot on the worn stone floor as he cast his gaze down. What had he been saying? Oh, yes. He began again. "I believe I owe you an apology."

Sabine stood at the door, allowing herself to gape openly in disbelief. Severus Snape had just made her feel like an idiot, dismissed her from his presence like an animal, and generally made her strain her throat, only to return under the influence of alcohol and expect her to hear a drunken plea for forgiveness! Certainly not. Sabine would not hold with such nonsense. After all, she was -sort of, kind of, technically- a lady, and the least she could expect -as a lady- was a proper, sober apology from her husband!

Er. Companion. To whom she incidentally had no actual legal binding whatsoever.

Or attraction. Because Severus Snape was not in any way, shape or form attractive, even when she did find herself most verily delighting in his conversation and wit.

But yes. Sober apology.

Right? Right!

So it came to pass that Sabine stood there in the partially unobstructed doorframe, her face flushed unpleasantly and her form stiff; her lips tensing several times in succession. When finally she did speak, the words emerged in a strange sort of choked hiss, which seemed to serve as a sort of dam for a good deal of anger.

"Yes, you do." With that, the door was promptly shut in Severus' face.

Severus blinked slowly, his brain taking quite a long time to comprehend what, exactly, had happened. This slowness displeased him, in a vague sort of way, and when he ran over the previous moment's events, he swore.

"That did not go well..." He muttered, and stalked off back to his chambers to topple, grumbling, into bed.