Drunken Domesticity
Mar. 3rd, 2003 06:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
icarusEver start a story, and have it wander off in its own direction? This was unpredictable.
Part I on the Boozefest
Title: Drunken Domesticity
Author: Icarus
Email: icarus_ancalion@yahoo.com
Feedback: Oh, hell yeah
Rating: PG-13
Archive: Just let me know where. I've *never* said no, and don't plan to either.
Summary: Post-Hogwarts Ron has a midnight visitor - *when* will Harry learn to call ahead? This, my friends, is the definition of a friend. Features Ron's observations on the Ministry, Harry's sex life and the infamous WUC.
Warnings: None, unless you're surprised Harry can drink.
A/N: Unbeta'd, raw stuff I wrote for Brodie in exchange for high praise and the Boozefest! http://boozefest.netfirms.com. Car trouble today. I could sure use a little TLC from Ron. But I'll settle for reviews, or hot chocolate (or both).
Drunken Domesticity
by Icarus
Harry stumbled out of the fireplace, feeling sick. Bloody awful way to travel, he thought, but there wasn't much chance of his staying on his broom right now. He just hoped Ron wasn't, er, busy. The thought drunkenly crossed Harry's mind that Ron might have a date or… something. That could be awkward.
Harry flopped to his knees in Ron's living room, or what passed for one in the cheap Ministry flat, tried to get up, and decided, no… hands and knees was good… as his stomach settled. Ron would kill him if he threw up on the ugly carpet, though it might just improve it, as Ron would be the first to admit. Harry moaned.
"Harry - ?" Ron's sleepy voice grumbled from the bedroom. There were few people allowed past the junior Auror's Wards - and only one who'd show up at this hour. "Dammit… can't you owl or something? Y'know… 'Dear Ron - Plan to get smashed. See you at ridiculous hour of night.' Be a nice change - and don't throw up on the carpet, or this time I'll leave it for you!"
Wow. Ron sure was grouchy at three in the morning. Hangers jangled, and Harry gazed up, tried to focus as Ron emerged from the bedroom, tying a bathrobe and rubbing his eyes.
"Disgusting, look at you…" Ron scowled. "Into the showers first. Don't touch anything." The gentle grip under Harry's arms and the warm, strong hands lifting him up belied his rough words. "C'mon," Ron grunted. "You can tell me all about it in the bath…."
Harry groaned, and stumbled in the vague direction of the loo, bumping against Ron. He was getting Ron's bathrobe messy, but Ron didn't seem to care.
"That's it…" Ron said soothingly as he settled Harry on the toilet seat. Ron sounded just like his mum. The sound of the shower spurting startled Harry. "Strip. And in. Now."
Harry whimpered a complaint. The buttons just slipped out of his hands as he tried to undo them…
"I can't believe you." Ron roughly undid the buttons. Right. As if Ron had never been drunk before, he and his hard-partying Auror friends. Ron never showed up at Harry's house dead drunk only because Harry didn't live alone… but that brought back why Harry was drunk in the first place. The sharp water hit Harry's face.
Harry leaned his forehead against cool tile. He worried briefly about his clothes… he didn't remember taking them off… but then figured Ron would not let him into his tub dressed. Ron was funny like that….
"So then… ?" Ron asked. His voice echoed in the bathroom. "What did he say, what did you say - then what did you do and what did he do. Oh! -- almost forgot -- what did you break as you slammed the door? By-the-way, you're gonna have to get a job if you keep breaking things like that. Nothing Snape owns is cheap."
Harry wasn't that predictable, was he? Though Ron had just described their fight spot on. But Harry didn't know what he broke. He just heard something crash. The water felt so good, he didn't want to think.
"But let's have the short version tonight, shall we?" Ron said tiredly. Water beaded off the shower curtain with a rough sound.
"Bad week?" Harry managed, water cascading down his back while his head swam.
"Mission all cocked up… Ministry's got its head up its arse -- not that I can do anything about it, mind, arse extraction's not-my-job-thank-you -- Percy can have it. You know I really feel sorry for him these days? But I need some sleep for a change…." Through the curtain Harry could see Ron lean an arm on the sink and run a hand through his hair.
Harry started to feel guilty. Which meant the water was having an effect. "How's it going? What d'they want'choo to do now?"
"Far as I can tell -? To say 'I told you so' after the fact. But I'm damned good at it if I don't say so myself."
" 'M'sorry, Ron…"
"Don't be. I knew they were idiots when I joined up, who could miss it?" Ron snorted. "I'm simply refining my theory of idiocy. There are 'bumping off a wall' idiots who can't see what's right in front of them, there's 'rushing madly in a circle' idiots - why, it takes all kinds to make the Ministry as crazy as it is!"
"Oh Ron... y'know, you don't have to wait up… I - I can get myself to the couch." Harry hung onto the cold sink as he stepped out of the shower. He blinked water out of his eyes. Now. If only the sink would hold still, Harry could find the door out of the bathroom.
"Uh-huh. Maybe. Or you might just leave the water running." Ron said pointedly. He leaned over and brushed past Harry to turn off the shower. "Nope. Staying right here till you're safely tucked into the WUC, thanks."
The WUC was their private joke, which stood for 'World's Ugliest Couch,' a fair description of the monstrosity that squatted in Ron's living room. Ron said it was a good thing it was vomit-coloured, given his friends. Its sole virtue was that it was large and surprisingly comfortable. Harry started to stagger in what he thought was the direction of the door.
He was forgetting something, Harry thought, though he felt a lot better. And he smelled better he was sure…. Ron looked like he was going fall asleep on his arms on the sink. He smelled like cologne and musk. And something smoky, like all Aurors. He must not have had a shower before bed. He had no business smelling so good.
"Harry… um…" Ron chortled, "would you like a towel?"
Ah. That's what Harry forgot.
Ron wrapped the towel around him, complete with a soft Warming Charm. His hands were warmer than the cloth and Harry sighed into both. Ron was good at such homey details, which made his place a palace to Harry. Ron said he learned it all from his mum, but Harry doubted Fred or George, or even Percy, would bother.
As Ron's arm settled around Harry to guide him to the couch, Harry's dulled senses jangled at the touch of bare skin and warmth through a thin T-shirt; while the other part of his mind argued that of-course-Ron-had-taken-off-his-robe, he'd gotten vomit on it.
But Ron's warm hard chest at his back felt so good. Harry was glad of an excuse to press into it, to smell the heat of him, as Ron guided the stumbling Harry to the couch. Ron had nice legs, with just the boxers on. His scent was really strong… sweat and musk. Harry liked sweat, especially on someone as physical as Ron. Harry drank him in, letting his head loll back onto Ron's shoulder. Harry nuzzled Ron's neck, pale and soft, lipped at Ron's sandpaper chin with a slight moan. He just needed….
Two hands seized and cupped Harry's hands, as they circled Ron's waist. Then gently pulled him off. At Hogwarts Ron might have shouted, 'dammit Harry, I like girls!' But now there was no anger, just a shake of the head, and a more accurate assessment, "You'd regret it in the morning. Like that hangover you're going to have," Ron added.
He made Harry lie down, stood and gestured with his wand. A sheet fluttered from the closet to the couch. Ron must have learned every homemaking spell there was, Harry thought, as the comforting sheet settled over him. A blanket soon followed.
"It'll work out, Harry. I know there aren't a lot of greasy, ugly, mean-spirited bastards to choose from -- not all in one package at least, lucky you -- but Snape'll come 'round. Or you will. Whoever's at fault this time." Ron raised his hand before Harry could protest. "Yeah, I know, it's always his fault. Who am I to argue? It's not like your fights ever make sense anyway."
Limply, Harry had to agree. He already couldn't figure it out. What was it - ? Oh yeah --
"He brings Cursed Artifacts into the house!" Harry spluttered righteously.
"Yeah, well, everyone has to have a hobby," Ron yawned cheerfully. "I'm just glad I'm not your neighbor. Between the shouting, breaking things and door slamming I doubt they get any sleep."
Ron shuddered as he tucked the blanket around Harry's feet. Ron stood with a satisfied sound.
"Okay. Pepper-Up's in the bath when you need it tomorrow. Take twice what you think, it's not that illegal dragon acid Snape makes. I wouldn't take it now though; it'll keep you awake." Ron made to go back to bed after telling Harry all these things he already knew, but were comforting nonetheless.
"Ron…" Harry said after him, anxiously, blanket tucked up to his chin. Ron paused. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me. You threw up in my Floo," Ron answered with a malicious grin. "Guess what you're cleaning up tomorrow?"
Harry winced. He inwardly debated whether it was worse to clean it drunk, or with a miserable hangover. Since he was already clean, he opted for putting off hardship and snuggled into the blankets to sleep.
He stared at the door as it shut, blearily thinking it would have been nice to have slept on the other side of it tonight. But Ron was right, of course. As usual. He was a good friend.
...
Part II for the next Boozefest. (?)
Note: this part II is more than likely to go into the round file. I'm just wondering if people think it's as lame as I do. Sometimes I'm too hard on my stuff, but Wilderness Guru didn't like it either.
Harry's mouth felt like it had been used to store Floo powder, and the room was uncomfortably bright. He coughed and turned over, surprised to find some scratchy material in his face. The bed felt oddly empty. He reached for Severus, only to discover he was on a couch. Ron's couch. Oh, shit.
The night came rushing back. He'd made a pass at Ron. Fuck. Though Ron would likely never mention it.
Harry sat up, instantly regretted it and slumped back the pillow, hands over his head, moaning. Moving at all was a mistake. His eyes felt hot and sticky, and the world truly was a horrible, horrible place if anyone could ever feel this bad. The color of the couch was an assault. Harry shut his eyes.
"G'morning," Ron said brightly, on his way to the kitchen.
Ron, Harry decided, was truly the most evil, sadistic bastard that ever lived. Shouting first thing in the morning… and how could he be happy when clearly the world had come to an end? Or would soon. Harry wished it would get on with it. He couldn't decide which hurt worse, his stomach, his head or his eyes. He settled on his eyes, which had to deal with the misery of the outside world and throbbed in time with his head.
Ron stood in the kitchen doorway, without his robe, making an abominable clinking noise with his teaspoon in his cup.
"Still alive?' Ron asked cheerfully. Harry planned to kill him if he ever had the chance.
"No…" Harry moaned. Fortunately for Ron, Harry was going to die first, it was clear.
Ron shrugged, and began throwing pans around the kitchen. Or at least, that's what it sounded like.
Harry groaned again.
At the oily smell of frying eggs, Harry lurched from the couch, stumbled to the tiny bathroom and heaved into the toilet, the slick tile cold on his knees. Ron was really lucky Harry felt guilty about last night. And too sick to hex anyone. Though Harry had only a vague recollection of where his wand was anyway.
Harry scrabbled for the Pepper-Up Potion, handily located in the shower caddy - a testament to Ron's own drinking habits. Harry felt vindicated. As the smoke poured out of his ears, and Harry was left with a sour stomach, weak knees and a vile taste in his mouth. But the pounding, at least, had stopped.
Eggs. Gah. Ron knew better than that.
A familiar harsh rap at the front door sent Harry's heart into his throat. He came here?
"Harry?" Ron's voice quizzed the living room on the other side of the door. "It's for you -- damn it, where'd you go? I'm not dressed!" Harry heard the heavy sigh, and the front door squeaked open.
Harry nudged the bathroom door open a crack.
Severus stood, black and imposing, on the doorstep, his dark elegance clashing horribly with the cheerful shambles of Ron's apartment.
Severus never came here. Harry didn't know if he was flattered or angry, but his pulse raced. He was really glad he'd already taken the Pepper-Up. Severus was a bit much with a hangover.
Severus' eyes swept Ron's mess of used and repaired furniture disdainfully, reminding Harry that he lived in an elegant little nest, furnished with Severus' antiques… and the damned Cursed Artifacts. But Harry liked Ron's place: it was homey.
For a moment it seemed Severus was going to just sweep in, like a teacher entering the Gryffindor common room. But Ron blocked the entryway with folded arms and one word:
"Snape."
Ron's nod was respectful, though not an invitation. Severus seemed to recall that they were, none of them, at school any more.
"May I come in." It wasn't quite a question. His smoky voice made Harry sweat and his heart gave a painful lurch.
Severus' eyes searched the living room for him; worry in the gesture. Harry could imagine the familiar little crease in his forehead.
Harry stepped out of the bathroom, shut the door and leaned his back against it.
Severus' eyes met Harry's, and there was a world of regret in them, all hell and worry. The eyes hit the floor in that subtle language of Severus Snape: I'm sorry, the glance said.
Harry was unable to hide his own answer, the pained slump of his shoulder. What Severus had said last night had hurt. But he held Severus' eyes steadily anyway, with steadfast acceptance. Severus was a difficult man. Harry knew that. Harry wouldn't change him, not a hair. Kill him, sure. And when Harry felt better he planned to get started on that right away… the impossible, arrogant, inconsiderate, selfish, sarcastic, snobbish…! Harry's eyes blazed at Severus, and were met with a slight thin-lipped smile of relief.
Don't you dare find me funny! Harry struggled to hold onto the fury with which he'd slammed the door to their flat very satisfyingly last night. Harry hoped whatever he broke was a priceless family heirloom. You really deserved it this time.
But the righteous anger slipped away, and all Harry could do was run his hands through his hair and say, "Damn it. What you put me through…."
Ron stood aside and let Severus in, glancing between them in mild confusion. The exchange had only lasted a moment Harry realised.
Harry was also suddenly aware that he and Ron were standing there in boxers and T-shirts, and he looked like hell no doubt. From the feel of his hair, he'd slept with it wet. Meanwhile, Severus was as neat as a pin. Of course. Severus didn't drink himself stupid after their fight. Nope, Severus would have turned up his music - ignoring the neighbors' complaints - and stared into the fire all night, chewing over cutting remarks he wished he'd said. So who was more pathetic?
No doubt he meant to come here to deliver his best-honed specimens, but on seeing Harry he had 'changed his mind.' Harry knew him. They could dissect his better cuts over dinner tonight. But the Cursed Artifacts still had to go.
Ron finally broke in, cleared his throat. "Why don't you wash up, Harry? And don't forget…" Ron said over his shoulder. "…the hot water's marked cold, and the cold water's marked hot." Ron threw his poverty in Severus' face. He'd seen the earlier disdain. "Oh, and the knobs don't match either. Bet you'd hate that." Ron gestured to the kitchen, "I'll get some tea on, and I'll be dressed in a minute."
Severus declined comment and filed into the kitchen behind Ron.
Ron was right of course. Everything matched at their place. Harry envied the new broom rack Ron had bolted to the wall, but Severus said they were 'ghastly' and wouldn't give in. Harry turned away to take his second shower of the day, and hoped Severus could keep his mouth shut, just this once.
"Perhaps the Ministry owes you a raise…" Harry heard, as the bathroom door shut. Harry winced.
It was too much to hope. Severus was truly awful with people.
That was, believe it or not, a compliment, delivered in that measured tone. A sincere observation of Ron's value to the Ministry, and a hint at a possible recommendation even. He'd do it too, as repayment for taking care of Harry.
But not many other than Dumbledore spoke 'Snape,' or read his subtle shifts of body language and intonation. Harry decided they needed a Translator Spell, to rephrase whatever Severus said in a way that didn't leave people bleeding from the ears.
Harry pulled off the borrowed T-shirt and stepped into Ron's wonderful claw-foot tub. Complicated man. It was as much fun figuring Severus out as it was explaining him.
Harry didn't realise they already had a translation spell - two in fact. Himself, and Dumbledore.
~*~*~
Not long after, Harry shut off the water and shoved the curtain aside with a loud rasp. He felt almost human again. A bit of conversation from the kitchen drifted through the door. Conversation? Those two -? Uh-oh.
"You're too bloody hard on him - he really deserves better." It was Ron's voice. Harry had only left them alone twenty minutes! There was no answer. Of course, Ron didn't know this meant Severus agreed. "It's not fair! You drive him crazy, then I get the blowback!"
Harry wrapped a towel around wet hair, looked for a robe and found… pink satin? There was a bra swinging from the hook underneath it. Harry smirked. Ron was definitely due for some teasing.
"You're his friend… it's your choice."
It was a reasonable response, and for Severus, astoundingly polite. It was also guaranteed to set Ron off like one of Neville's cauldrons. Harry hurried. He skipped through the living room and popped the kitchen door open with his foot.
"Hel-lo… did I miss anything?" He looked sharply at the two of them as he toweled his hair.
Neither man responded. Ron's neck was red; Severus sat with crossed legs at Ron's rickety table, gazing at Ron over a cup of tea with a look of utmost loathing. If it came to a duel Harry would still put his money on Severus, but he'd rather not put it to the test.
Harry's robe was barely tied. Suddenly, he didn't regret his hurry, or the clingy pink satin: the appraising look Severus shot him, the tongue that ran across his teeth, promised spectacular make-up sex later. Harry grinned.
Severus wiped his mouth and smirked, "Pink's not your colour."
Ron had caught the look that had passed between them, and rolled his eyes.
"I give up. You're both crazy," he sighed into his hands with long-suffering disgust, and got up to leave them alone. "Talk. Kiss and make up. I wash my hands of the consequences. But if I find you fucking on the counters when I get back -- I will Curse first and ask questions later!" Ron added, "And it won't be a Jelly-Legs Curse. Not legs, anyway."
He stalked out. But the door shut quietly, so he wasn't that irritated.
The kitchen was the nicest room in Ron's place, colourful and cheery. Ron had made up for lack of cupboard space by hanging all his pots and pans on the wall. There were mason jars filled with colourful dried fruits and preserves along the open shelves: Ron's mum kept the whole family supplied.
Harry calmly pulled out the remaining battered chair and poured himself a cup of tea, giving Severus an apologetic look on Ron's behalf.
"He really is going to be a very good Auror," Harry offered, taking a sip.
Severus nodded in grudging agreement.
"You should follow through with that recommendation, by the way."
Severus snorted. "I intend to…" Then he smirked at the robe. "Shall I carry you home?"
"I think Ron wants his robe back."
"Is that a promise?" Severus leered.
Harry blushed furiously. "You're terrible…."
There was a long moment of comfortable silence. Their fights were strangely satisfying the following day; they almost had an afterglow of their own. The kitchen was pleasantly warm and cluttered. Ron liked to cook although he wasn't very good at it. Harry knew the refrigerator was filled with various dishes that only Ron found edible. Cooking was probably the only thing Ron and Severus had in common. Besides himself.
"Don't believe Ron, though - you do deserve me," Harry said more seriously. "Or, well - I mean…"
"Perhaps I will have served my penance by the end of this life," Severus snorted.
"I - that came out wrong…." Harry stammered. But Severus' eyes shot Harry a brief, fierce look of gratitude. Sometimes Ron was no more sensitive than Severus. Ron didn't know Severus, really, or his feelings about having been a Death Eater. Though that was something Harry was not going to translate for Ron.
There was a discreet knock at the kitchen door. "Are you decent?"
"No," was Severus' blunt answer.
"Oh shut up -- Yes, we are…."
Ron entered, looking them up and down, clearly relieved to see their clothes still on, hair unmussed.
Severus scanned Harry's robe and muttered, "You've a strange idea of decent…."
Harry winced again. Severus enjoyed making Ron uncomfortable.
Ron pretended he didn't hear it. "Harry, you can borrow a set of my robes -- you'll look like a two-year-old, but just roll up the sleeves -- And don't trip." Ron shook his head. "Yours are in the wash, but I say: burn 'em."
"Thanks, Ron, if I could borrow your wand too for a minute, I'll take care of the Floo." Harry blushed. "eh… I'm not exactly sure where mine is."
Normally Ron would have joked the 'wand' was in Harry's trousers -- for a change! -- but Ron didn't make crude jokes around Severus, more's the pity. It might break the ice.
"I have it."
Severus extracted the slender wood from a breast pocket. "Never do magic drunk." His sly smile as he handed Harry the wand spoke volumes about his experience in the matter.
Harry cuffed Ron on the shoulder as he left them alone for a second time, giving Severus an admonishing glare to be civilised. Please.
Ron leaned tiredly against the doorjamb. A Wipe-Away! dishrag brushed along the counter of its own accord with a soft swishing sound. Severus sipped his tea thoughtfully, watching Ron over the rim of the cup. A fly buzzed airily around the kitchen. A faucet dripped.
Then Severus spoke.
"I wonder…"
Ron looked up cautiously, startled.
"I wonder… just how many hapless souls have wandered through your doors to be patched up? At least, thus far this week?" Severus took a long, knowing sip of his tea, his eyes sharp over its rim.
Ron blinked. Then he finally answered, "Too many," and shrugged.
Severus snorted and nodded. He considered Ron a moment, before saying with a sigh:
"It's your brother Percy who is holding up your raise. Something about 'appearances' and 'avoiding favouritism.' "
"The bastard! Politics are more important -!?" Ron fumed.
"I wouldn't worry about it. If you were listening to me just now, you would have realised the Snape's must still have some pull at the Ministry." Severus set down the cup with a clink. "But spare me the trouble for next time, and make friends with Percy's boss. Take him on one of your famous drunken binges I've heard so much about. If our 'Head Boy' must kiss some arse, it might as well be yours."
Ron stared at him, then shut his mouth, realising it was open. However, anything he might have said was interrupted by Harry's cheery voice from the living room.
"Hey, Severus -- ready to go?"
Severus unfolded himself from the chair. Ron was slightly taller, but somehow Severus always managed to be intimidating anyway. Ron caught the man by the arm, something he would never have dared as a student. Severus' eyes narrowed at the hand.
"Snape…" Ron began, and stopped. Then he shook his head. "Just… take care of him."
Severus said silkily, "Or you will?"
"Count on it." Ron ignored the implication that Snape guessed what had happened -- or almost happened -- the night before. "And make him get a job, will you? I don't know if you realise it, but he's only picking fights with you 'cause he's bored."
A light of understanding went on in Severus' eyes. Then he snorted. "I've tried."
"Yeah. 'Bet you have," Ron chuckled. And they both relaxed somewhat in mutual amusement over their Harry Potter. Ron let go of Snape's arm.
"Cut him off. Really. He won't leave you! Honest. Money means nothing to him."
"Why are you interested?" Severus folded his arms tilted his head curiously. But he never got his answer.
Harry poked his head in. "What's the body count? Two still standing, that's a good sign. Any day now Severus… Ron, one Floo, good as new, cleaner than it's been in months… and…" Harry grinned and added warmly, "…thanks, Ron."
"Harry, you're a rotten guest, but a wonderful maid. You're hired," Ron said.
Severus laid a hand on Harry's back and guided him out the door, "Perhaps we've found your new calling in life… your career…." He and Ron exchanged smirks over the top of Harry's head. "You can start by sweeping up the vase you broke… I left it for you."
"Vase? Not the one by the door?" Harry asked plaintively. Severus didn't answer. "Oh, shit. I liked that one…."
As Harry made to leave, Ron caught something… so fleeting, it almost seemed Ron imagined it. But as Snape held the door for Harry, he glanced back at Ron. In his eyes there seemed to be a brief flash of gratitude.
Ron reheated his breakfast and put away the cups, replaying that glimpse in his mind. After careful thought, Ron decided he was sure that's what he saw.
Perhaps Ron could learn to speak Snape after all.
Finis.
...
I'm really not sure what to do with this slice of life. Opinions? *Icarus ducks*
Part I on the Boozefest
Title: Drunken Domesticity
Author: Icarus
Email: icarus_ancalion@yahoo.com
Feedback: Oh, hell yeah
Rating: PG-13
Archive: Just let me know where. I've *never* said no, and don't plan to either.
Summary: Post-Hogwarts Ron has a midnight visitor - *when* will Harry learn to call ahead? This, my friends, is the definition of a friend. Features Ron's observations on the Ministry, Harry's sex life and the infamous WUC.
Warnings: None, unless you're surprised Harry can drink.
A/N: Unbeta'd, raw stuff I wrote for Brodie in exchange for high praise and the Boozefest! http://boozefest.netfirms.com. Car trouble today. I could sure use a little TLC from Ron. But I'll settle for reviews, or hot chocolate (or both).
Drunken Domesticity
by Icarus
Harry stumbled out of the fireplace, feeling sick. Bloody awful way to travel, he thought, but there wasn't much chance of his staying on his broom right now. He just hoped Ron wasn't, er, busy. The thought drunkenly crossed Harry's mind that Ron might have a date or… something. That could be awkward.
Harry flopped to his knees in Ron's living room, or what passed for one in the cheap Ministry flat, tried to get up, and decided, no… hands and knees was good… as his stomach settled. Ron would kill him if he threw up on the ugly carpet, though it might just improve it, as Ron would be the first to admit. Harry moaned.
"Harry - ?" Ron's sleepy voice grumbled from the bedroom. There were few people allowed past the junior Auror's Wards - and only one who'd show up at this hour. "Dammit… can't you owl or something? Y'know… 'Dear Ron - Plan to get smashed. See you at ridiculous hour of night.' Be a nice change - and don't throw up on the carpet, or this time I'll leave it for you!"
Wow. Ron sure was grouchy at three in the morning. Hangers jangled, and Harry gazed up, tried to focus as Ron emerged from the bedroom, tying a bathrobe and rubbing his eyes.
"Disgusting, look at you…" Ron scowled. "Into the showers first. Don't touch anything." The gentle grip under Harry's arms and the warm, strong hands lifting him up belied his rough words. "C'mon," Ron grunted. "You can tell me all about it in the bath…."
Harry groaned, and stumbled in the vague direction of the loo, bumping against Ron. He was getting Ron's bathrobe messy, but Ron didn't seem to care.
"That's it…" Ron said soothingly as he settled Harry on the toilet seat. Ron sounded just like his mum. The sound of the shower spurting startled Harry. "Strip. And in. Now."
Harry whimpered a complaint. The buttons just slipped out of his hands as he tried to undo them…
"I can't believe you." Ron roughly undid the buttons. Right. As if Ron had never been drunk before, he and his hard-partying Auror friends. Ron never showed up at Harry's house dead drunk only because Harry didn't live alone… but that brought back why Harry was drunk in the first place. The sharp water hit Harry's face.
Harry leaned his forehead against cool tile. He worried briefly about his clothes… he didn't remember taking them off… but then figured Ron would not let him into his tub dressed. Ron was funny like that….
"So then… ?" Ron asked. His voice echoed in the bathroom. "What did he say, what did you say - then what did you do and what did he do. Oh! -- almost forgot -- what did you break as you slammed the door? By-the-way, you're gonna have to get a job if you keep breaking things like that. Nothing Snape owns is cheap."
Harry wasn't that predictable, was he? Though Ron had just described their fight spot on. But Harry didn't know what he broke. He just heard something crash. The water felt so good, he didn't want to think.
"But let's have the short version tonight, shall we?" Ron said tiredly. Water beaded off the shower curtain with a rough sound.
"Bad week?" Harry managed, water cascading down his back while his head swam.
"Mission all cocked up… Ministry's got its head up its arse -- not that I can do anything about it, mind, arse extraction's not-my-job-thank-you -- Percy can have it. You know I really feel sorry for him these days? But I need some sleep for a change…." Through the curtain Harry could see Ron lean an arm on the sink and run a hand through his hair.
Harry started to feel guilty. Which meant the water was having an effect. "How's it going? What d'they want'choo to do now?"
"Far as I can tell -? To say 'I told you so' after the fact. But I'm damned good at it if I don't say so myself."
" 'M'sorry, Ron…"
"Don't be. I knew they were idiots when I joined up, who could miss it?" Ron snorted. "I'm simply refining my theory of idiocy. There are 'bumping off a wall' idiots who can't see what's right in front of them, there's 'rushing madly in a circle' idiots - why, it takes all kinds to make the Ministry as crazy as it is!"
"Oh Ron... y'know, you don't have to wait up… I - I can get myself to the couch." Harry hung onto the cold sink as he stepped out of the shower. He blinked water out of his eyes. Now. If only the sink would hold still, Harry could find the door out of the bathroom.
"Uh-huh. Maybe. Or you might just leave the water running." Ron said pointedly. He leaned over and brushed past Harry to turn off the shower. "Nope. Staying right here till you're safely tucked into the WUC, thanks."
The WUC was their private joke, which stood for 'World's Ugliest Couch,' a fair description of the monstrosity that squatted in Ron's living room. Ron said it was a good thing it was vomit-coloured, given his friends. Its sole virtue was that it was large and surprisingly comfortable. Harry started to stagger in what he thought was the direction of the door.
He was forgetting something, Harry thought, though he felt a lot better. And he smelled better he was sure…. Ron looked like he was going fall asleep on his arms on the sink. He smelled like cologne and musk. And something smoky, like all Aurors. He must not have had a shower before bed. He had no business smelling so good.
"Harry… um…" Ron chortled, "would you like a towel?"
Ah. That's what Harry forgot.
Ron wrapped the towel around him, complete with a soft Warming Charm. His hands were warmer than the cloth and Harry sighed into both. Ron was good at such homey details, which made his place a palace to Harry. Ron said he learned it all from his mum, but Harry doubted Fred or George, or even Percy, would bother.
As Ron's arm settled around Harry to guide him to the couch, Harry's dulled senses jangled at the touch of bare skin and warmth through a thin T-shirt; while the other part of his mind argued that of-course-Ron-had-taken-off-his-robe, he'd gotten vomit on it.
But Ron's warm hard chest at his back felt so good. Harry was glad of an excuse to press into it, to smell the heat of him, as Ron guided the stumbling Harry to the couch. Ron had nice legs, with just the boxers on. His scent was really strong… sweat and musk. Harry liked sweat, especially on someone as physical as Ron. Harry drank him in, letting his head loll back onto Ron's shoulder. Harry nuzzled Ron's neck, pale and soft, lipped at Ron's sandpaper chin with a slight moan. He just needed….
Two hands seized and cupped Harry's hands, as they circled Ron's waist. Then gently pulled him off. At Hogwarts Ron might have shouted, 'dammit Harry, I like girls!' But now there was no anger, just a shake of the head, and a more accurate assessment, "You'd regret it in the morning. Like that hangover you're going to have," Ron added.
He made Harry lie down, stood and gestured with his wand. A sheet fluttered from the closet to the couch. Ron must have learned every homemaking spell there was, Harry thought, as the comforting sheet settled over him. A blanket soon followed.
"It'll work out, Harry. I know there aren't a lot of greasy, ugly, mean-spirited bastards to choose from -- not all in one package at least, lucky you -- but Snape'll come 'round. Or you will. Whoever's at fault this time." Ron raised his hand before Harry could protest. "Yeah, I know, it's always his fault. Who am I to argue? It's not like your fights ever make sense anyway."
Limply, Harry had to agree. He already couldn't figure it out. What was it - ? Oh yeah --
"He brings Cursed Artifacts into the house!" Harry spluttered righteously.
"Yeah, well, everyone has to have a hobby," Ron yawned cheerfully. "I'm just glad I'm not your neighbor. Between the shouting, breaking things and door slamming I doubt they get any sleep."
Ron shuddered as he tucked the blanket around Harry's feet. Ron stood with a satisfied sound.
"Okay. Pepper-Up's in the bath when you need it tomorrow. Take twice what you think, it's not that illegal dragon acid Snape makes. I wouldn't take it now though; it'll keep you awake." Ron made to go back to bed after telling Harry all these things he already knew, but were comforting nonetheless.
"Ron…" Harry said after him, anxiously, blanket tucked up to his chin. Ron paused. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me. You threw up in my Floo," Ron answered with a malicious grin. "Guess what you're cleaning up tomorrow?"
Harry winced. He inwardly debated whether it was worse to clean it drunk, or with a miserable hangover. Since he was already clean, he opted for putting off hardship and snuggled into the blankets to sleep.
He stared at the door as it shut, blearily thinking it would have been nice to have slept on the other side of it tonight. But Ron was right, of course. As usual. He was a good friend.
...
Part II for the next Boozefest. (?)
Note: this part II is more than likely to go into the round file. I'm just wondering if people think it's as lame as I do. Sometimes I'm too hard on my stuff, but Wilderness Guru didn't like it either.
Harry's mouth felt like it had been used to store Floo powder, and the room was uncomfortably bright. He coughed and turned over, surprised to find some scratchy material in his face. The bed felt oddly empty. He reached for Severus, only to discover he was on a couch. Ron's couch. Oh, shit.
The night came rushing back. He'd made a pass at Ron. Fuck. Though Ron would likely never mention it.
Harry sat up, instantly regretted it and slumped back the pillow, hands over his head, moaning. Moving at all was a mistake. His eyes felt hot and sticky, and the world truly was a horrible, horrible place if anyone could ever feel this bad. The color of the couch was an assault. Harry shut his eyes.
"G'morning," Ron said brightly, on his way to the kitchen.
Ron, Harry decided, was truly the most evil, sadistic bastard that ever lived. Shouting first thing in the morning… and how could he be happy when clearly the world had come to an end? Or would soon. Harry wished it would get on with it. He couldn't decide which hurt worse, his stomach, his head or his eyes. He settled on his eyes, which had to deal with the misery of the outside world and throbbed in time with his head.
Ron stood in the kitchen doorway, without his robe, making an abominable clinking noise with his teaspoon in his cup.
"Still alive?' Ron asked cheerfully. Harry planned to kill him if he ever had the chance.
"No…" Harry moaned. Fortunately for Ron, Harry was going to die first, it was clear.
Ron shrugged, and began throwing pans around the kitchen. Or at least, that's what it sounded like.
Harry groaned again.
At the oily smell of frying eggs, Harry lurched from the couch, stumbled to the tiny bathroom and heaved into the toilet, the slick tile cold on his knees. Ron was really lucky Harry felt guilty about last night. And too sick to hex anyone. Though Harry had only a vague recollection of where his wand was anyway.
Harry scrabbled for the Pepper-Up Potion, handily located in the shower caddy - a testament to Ron's own drinking habits. Harry felt vindicated. As the smoke poured out of his ears, and Harry was left with a sour stomach, weak knees and a vile taste in his mouth. But the pounding, at least, had stopped.
Eggs. Gah. Ron knew better than that.
A familiar harsh rap at the front door sent Harry's heart into his throat. He came here?
"Harry?" Ron's voice quizzed the living room on the other side of the door. "It's for you -- damn it, where'd you go? I'm not dressed!" Harry heard the heavy sigh, and the front door squeaked open.
Harry nudged the bathroom door open a crack.
Severus stood, black and imposing, on the doorstep, his dark elegance clashing horribly with the cheerful shambles of Ron's apartment.
Severus never came here. Harry didn't know if he was flattered or angry, but his pulse raced. He was really glad he'd already taken the Pepper-Up. Severus was a bit much with a hangover.
Severus' eyes swept Ron's mess of used and repaired furniture disdainfully, reminding Harry that he lived in an elegant little nest, furnished with Severus' antiques… and the damned Cursed Artifacts. But Harry liked Ron's place: it was homey.
For a moment it seemed Severus was going to just sweep in, like a teacher entering the Gryffindor common room. But Ron blocked the entryway with folded arms and one word:
"Snape."
Ron's nod was respectful, though not an invitation. Severus seemed to recall that they were, none of them, at school any more.
"May I come in." It wasn't quite a question. His smoky voice made Harry sweat and his heart gave a painful lurch.
Severus' eyes searched the living room for him; worry in the gesture. Harry could imagine the familiar little crease in his forehead.
Harry stepped out of the bathroom, shut the door and leaned his back against it.
Severus' eyes met Harry's, and there was a world of regret in them, all hell and worry. The eyes hit the floor in that subtle language of Severus Snape: I'm sorry, the glance said.
Harry was unable to hide his own answer, the pained slump of his shoulder. What Severus had said last night had hurt. But he held Severus' eyes steadily anyway, with steadfast acceptance. Severus was a difficult man. Harry knew that. Harry wouldn't change him, not a hair. Kill him, sure. And when Harry felt better he planned to get started on that right away… the impossible, arrogant, inconsiderate, selfish, sarcastic, snobbish…! Harry's eyes blazed at Severus, and were met with a slight thin-lipped smile of relief.
Don't you dare find me funny! Harry struggled to hold onto the fury with which he'd slammed the door to their flat very satisfyingly last night. Harry hoped whatever he broke was a priceless family heirloom. You really deserved it this time.
But the righteous anger slipped away, and all Harry could do was run his hands through his hair and say, "Damn it. What you put me through…."
Ron stood aside and let Severus in, glancing between them in mild confusion. The exchange had only lasted a moment Harry realised.
Harry was also suddenly aware that he and Ron were standing there in boxers and T-shirts, and he looked like hell no doubt. From the feel of his hair, he'd slept with it wet. Meanwhile, Severus was as neat as a pin. Of course. Severus didn't drink himself stupid after their fight. Nope, Severus would have turned up his music - ignoring the neighbors' complaints - and stared into the fire all night, chewing over cutting remarks he wished he'd said. So who was more pathetic?
No doubt he meant to come here to deliver his best-honed specimens, but on seeing Harry he had 'changed his mind.' Harry knew him. They could dissect his better cuts over dinner tonight. But the Cursed Artifacts still had to go.
Ron finally broke in, cleared his throat. "Why don't you wash up, Harry? And don't forget…" Ron said over his shoulder. "…the hot water's marked cold, and the cold water's marked hot." Ron threw his poverty in Severus' face. He'd seen the earlier disdain. "Oh, and the knobs don't match either. Bet you'd hate that." Ron gestured to the kitchen, "I'll get some tea on, and I'll be dressed in a minute."
Severus declined comment and filed into the kitchen behind Ron.
Ron was right of course. Everything matched at their place. Harry envied the new broom rack Ron had bolted to the wall, but Severus said they were 'ghastly' and wouldn't give in. Harry turned away to take his second shower of the day, and hoped Severus could keep his mouth shut, just this once.
"Perhaps the Ministry owes you a raise…" Harry heard, as the bathroom door shut. Harry winced.
It was too much to hope. Severus was truly awful with people.
That was, believe it or not, a compliment, delivered in that measured tone. A sincere observation of Ron's value to the Ministry, and a hint at a possible recommendation even. He'd do it too, as repayment for taking care of Harry.
But not many other than Dumbledore spoke 'Snape,' or read his subtle shifts of body language and intonation. Harry decided they needed a Translator Spell, to rephrase whatever Severus said in a way that didn't leave people bleeding from the ears.
Harry pulled off the borrowed T-shirt and stepped into Ron's wonderful claw-foot tub. Complicated man. It was as much fun figuring Severus out as it was explaining him.
Harry didn't realise they already had a translation spell - two in fact. Himself, and Dumbledore.
~*~*~
Not long after, Harry shut off the water and shoved the curtain aside with a loud rasp. He felt almost human again. A bit of conversation from the kitchen drifted through the door. Conversation? Those two -? Uh-oh.
"You're too bloody hard on him - he really deserves better." It was Ron's voice. Harry had only left them alone twenty minutes! There was no answer. Of course, Ron didn't know this meant Severus agreed. "It's not fair! You drive him crazy, then I get the blowback!"
Harry wrapped a towel around wet hair, looked for a robe and found… pink satin? There was a bra swinging from the hook underneath it. Harry smirked. Ron was definitely due for some teasing.
"You're his friend… it's your choice."
It was a reasonable response, and for Severus, astoundingly polite. It was also guaranteed to set Ron off like one of Neville's cauldrons. Harry hurried. He skipped through the living room and popped the kitchen door open with his foot.
"Hel-lo… did I miss anything?" He looked sharply at the two of them as he toweled his hair.
Neither man responded. Ron's neck was red; Severus sat with crossed legs at Ron's rickety table, gazing at Ron over a cup of tea with a look of utmost loathing. If it came to a duel Harry would still put his money on Severus, but he'd rather not put it to the test.
Harry's robe was barely tied. Suddenly, he didn't regret his hurry, or the clingy pink satin: the appraising look Severus shot him, the tongue that ran across his teeth, promised spectacular make-up sex later. Harry grinned.
Severus wiped his mouth and smirked, "Pink's not your colour."
Ron had caught the look that had passed between them, and rolled his eyes.
"I give up. You're both crazy," he sighed into his hands with long-suffering disgust, and got up to leave them alone. "Talk. Kiss and make up. I wash my hands of the consequences. But if I find you fucking on the counters when I get back -- I will Curse first and ask questions later!" Ron added, "And it won't be a Jelly-Legs Curse. Not legs, anyway."
He stalked out. But the door shut quietly, so he wasn't that irritated.
The kitchen was the nicest room in Ron's place, colourful and cheery. Ron had made up for lack of cupboard space by hanging all his pots and pans on the wall. There were mason jars filled with colourful dried fruits and preserves along the open shelves: Ron's mum kept the whole family supplied.
Harry calmly pulled out the remaining battered chair and poured himself a cup of tea, giving Severus an apologetic look on Ron's behalf.
"He really is going to be a very good Auror," Harry offered, taking a sip.
Severus nodded in grudging agreement.
"You should follow through with that recommendation, by the way."
Severus snorted. "I intend to…" Then he smirked at the robe. "Shall I carry you home?"
"I think Ron wants his robe back."
"Is that a promise?" Severus leered.
Harry blushed furiously. "You're terrible…."
There was a long moment of comfortable silence. Their fights were strangely satisfying the following day; they almost had an afterglow of their own. The kitchen was pleasantly warm and cluttered. Ron liked to cook although he wasn't very good at it. Harry knew the refrigerator was filled with various dishes that only Ron found edible. Cooking was probably the only thing Ron and Severus had in common. Besides himself.
"Don't believe Ron, though - you do deserve me," Harry said more seriously. "Or, well - I mean…"
"Perhaps I will have served my penance by the end of this life," Severus snorted.
"I - that came out wrong…." Harry stammered. But Severus' eyes shot Harry a brief, fierce look of gratitude. Sometimes Ron was no more sensitive than Severus. Ron didn't know Severus, really, or his feelings about having been a Death Eater. Though that was something Harry was not going to translate for Ron.
There was a discreet knock at the kitchen door. "Are you decent?"
"No," was Severus' blunt answer.
"Oh shut up -- Yes, we are…."
Ron entered, looking them up and down, clearly relieved to see their clothes still on, hair unmussed.
Severus scanned Harry's robe and muttered, "You've a strange idea of decent…."
Harry winced again. Severus enjoyed making Ron uncomfortable.
Ron pretended he didn't hear it. "Harry, you can borrow a set of my robes -- you'll look like a two-year-old, but just roll up the sleeves -- And don't trip." Ron shook his head. "Yours are in the wash, but I say: burn 'em."
"Thanks, Ron, if I could borrow your wand too for a minute, I'll take care of the Floo." Harry blushed. "eh… I'm not exactly sure where mine is."
Normally Ron would have joked the 'wand' was in Harry's trousers -- for a change! -- but Ron didn't make crude jokes around Severus, more's the pity. It might break the ice.
"I have it."
Severus extracted the slender wood from a breast pocket. "Never do magic drunk." His sly smile as he handed Harry the wand spoke volumes about his experience in the matter.
Harry cuffed Ron on the shoulder as he left them alone for a second time, giving Severus an admonishing glare to be civilised. Please.
Ron leaned tiredly against the doorjamb. A Wipe-Away! dishrag brushed along the counter of its own accord with a soft swishing sound. Severus sipped his tea thoughtfully, watching Ron over the rim of the cup. A fly buzzed airily around the kitchen. A faucet dripped.
Then Severus spoke.
"I wonder…"
Ron looked up cautiously, startled.
"I wonder… just how many hapless souls have wandered through your doors to be patched up? At least, thus far this week?" Severus took a long, knowing sip of his tea, his eyes sharp over its rim.
Ron blinked. Then he finally answered, "Too many," and shrugged.
Severus snorted and nodded. He considered Ron a moment, before saying with a sigh:
"It's your brother Percy who is holding up your raise. Something about 'appearances' and 'avoiding favouritism.' "
"The bastard! Politics are more important -!?" Ron fumed.
"I wouldn't worry about it. If you were listening to me just now, you would have realised the Snape's must still have some pull at the Ministry." Severus set down the cup with a clink. "But spare me the trouble for next time, and make friends with Percy's boss. Take him on one of your famous drunken binges I've heard so much about. If our 'Head Boy' must kiss some arse, it might as well be yours."
Ron stared at him, then shut his mouth, realising it was open. However, anything he might have said was interrupted by Harry's cheery voice from the living room.
"Hey, Severus -- ready to go?"
Severus unfolded himself from the chair. Ron was slightly taller, but somehow Severus always managed to be intimidating anyway. Ron caught the man by the arm, something he would never have dared as a student. Severus' eyes narrowed at the hand.
"Snape…" Ron began, and stopped. Then he shook his head. "Just… take care of him."
Severus said silkily, "Or you will?"
"Count on it." Ron ignored the implication that Snape guessed what had happened -- or almost happened -- the night before. "And make him get a job, will you? I don't know if you realise it, but he's only picking fights with you 'cause he's bored."
A light of understanding went on in Severus' eyes. Then he snorted. "I've tried."
"Yeah. 'Bet you have," Ron chuckled. And they both relaxed somewhat in mutual amusement over their Harry Potter. Ron let go of Snape's arm.
"Cut him off. Really. He won't leave you! Honest. Money means nothing to him."
"Why are you interested?" Severus folded his arms tilted his head curiously. But he never got his answer.
Harry poked his head in. "What's the body count? Two still standing, that's a good sign. Any day now Severus… Ron, one Floo, good as new, cleaner than it's been in months… and…" Harry grinned and added warmly, "…thanks, Ron."
"Harry, you're a rotten guest, but a wonderful maid. You're hired," Ron said.
Severus laid a hand on Harry's back and guided him out the door, "Perhaps we've found your new calling in life… your career…." He and Ron exchanged smirks over the top of Harry's head. "You can start by sweeping up the vase you broke… I left it for you."
"Vase? Not the one by the door?" Harry asked plaintively. Severus didn't answer. "Oh, shit. I liked that one…."
As Harry made to leave, Ron caught something… so fleeting, it almost seemed Ron imagined it. But as Snape held the door for Harry, he glanced back at Ron. In his eyes there seemed to be a brief flash of gratitude.
Ron reheated his breakfast and put away the cups, replaying that glimpse in his mind. After careful thought, Ron decided he was sure that's what he saw.
Perhaps Ron could learn to speak Snape after all.
Finis.
...
I'm really not sure what to do with this slice of life. Opinions? *Icarus ducks*
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2003-03-04 04:03 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-03-04 06:04 am (UTC)I liked it, the tense interplay between them all not too obvious, with a good comfortable feel between the characters in the end. It's a good resolution to the first part.
What is it that's not feeling right to you? Just one character? You wanted more friction? What?
What feels wrong with it?
Date: 2003-03-04 07:57 am (UTC)I like the idea of an NC-17 story much better. *grins*
Sure, we can Beta it and add it. That's alright.
~Icarus
Domesticity
Date: 2003-03-04 09:25 am (UTC)But don't you think this story is, well, as directionless as Harry? It just seems to ramble, the way real life does, in the way that makes real life so uncompelling if unpredictable at times.
~Icarus
Re: Domesticity
Date: 2003-03-04 11:06 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2003-03-05 06:14 am (UTC)brodie
Drunken Domesticity
Date: 2003-03-05 09:56 am (UTC)I'll add it to the story on the Boozefest (now I have to track down a Beta...). I like other people's slice of life stories, Cybele's rubber ducky, and don't forget Wizworld. I loved Telanu's Coffee. But my own slice of life piece... meh. Don't know why.
LOL
~Icarus
Re: Drunken Domesticity
Date: 2003-03-05 10:36 am (UTC)Actually, what I wrote was positive, as I'm still not sure what you didn't like about it in a way that could be fixed.
BTW, to be horribly pimp-y, come see my Minx fest at my lj and rec your favourite story by her! I decided that I owe her a demonstrable apology for not writing to her when I should have to tell her how great her stories are.
Re: Drunken Domesticity
Date: 2003-03-05 10:53 am (UTC)I've seen your Minx fest. But you've already got my favourite, the one where Snape buys Harry.
I really, really like your rec journal. I do, I do. I'd never seen Grindylowe's fics. *whapwhapwhap* Baaaaad elf, baaaaaaad elf!
~Icarus
no subject
Date: 2003-03-05 11:15 am (UTC)Sorry, I think my late-night typing is catching up with me --- I meant that the e-mail that i typed up but have yet to send is generally positive. And that I probably won't be able to send it till tomorrow, my time.
brodie