Two

Snape finished his shopping and made his way back to Hogwarts in time for dinner in the Great Hall, dropping his packages off in his office. Not that he was hungry – he was never hungry - but as Deputy Headmaster and Head of Slytherin, he was supposed to be at dinner, and Minerva got cranky with him when he missed it. He definitely wanted to avoid her ire at this juncture. He really wanted nothing more than to retreat to his rooms, curl up with a new bottle of Ogden’s, and try to sort out his afternoon. He was sure the Ogden’s would help. In fact, he was certain the Ogden’s was essential. He pushed his mushy peas around on his plate and tried to avoid Minerva’s notice. Too late.

“SEVERUS!”

He dropped his fork, startled, and looked at Minerva.

You’re going soft, old man.

Out loud, he said, “Yes, Minerva?”

“I was asking you if you were all right. You seem out of sorts,” she said, exasperated.

“How can you tell?” Harry Potter, the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, muttered under his breath.

Typical.

“I heard that, Potter,” he growled. “I’m fine, Minerva, thank you for asking. I’m just trying to work out a particularly difficult potion I’ve been working on.”

“Well, be that as it may, eat.”

“As you wish.” Severus sighed and began to shovel food into his mouth. He really had no interest in mushy peas right now, but the sooner he cleared his plate, the sooner he could escape to his quarters.

“Honestly, Snape, you’d think we hadn’t won the war. Somehow you mysteriously survived, and no one’s trying to kill you. Well, not very many people, at any rate, and only one or two here in the castle… so you should be living it up! Get a girl. Or at least get a hobby, preferably one that doesn’t involve getting a group tattoo and setting fire to Muggles,” Harry grumbled.

“Harry!”

Minerva’s scolding tone was too little, too late.

Snape threw his fork down with a clatter, glared at Harry, and stormed out of the Great Hall.

“Sorry, Minerva. But someone had to say it to him, and he hates me anyway. He’s driving us all insane.” Harry had the decency to look properly ashamed, but everyone else at the table shot him a look of gratitude. He’d said what everyone had been thinking.

“I don’t care. You will go apologize to him. Tonight. Or Gryffindor’s practice slot on the Quidditch pitch will be suddenly taken up by Hufflepuffs on Thursday afternoon.”

“You wouldn’t!” Harry’s eyes were wide.

“I most certainly would. It’s bad enough to call out a fellow professor, but you did it at dinner in front of the students. Now go.” Minerva was definitely not one to be trifled with, Harry decided. Especially when there was Quidditch at stake.

“Yes, Minerva, of course, I’ll go apologize. You’re absolutely right, what I did was uncalled for. Before I go, may I check in on Ginny and James? To let them know where I’ll be and to tell them to start looking for me if I don’t return… you know… if he starts throwing things… or hexing me…”

Harry really was pathetic at grovelling.

“Yes, fine, go check on your wife and child. But Merlin help you if I find out you haven’t apologized properly.”

***

Storming back to his quarters with appropriate dramatics and deduction of points, anyone who’d been watching would have thought he was in a fine snit. The truth of the matter, though, was that he was just glad to get out of the Great Hall and get back to his rooms.

Severus Snape had lived in the castle for most of the last thirty-four years. When he wasn’t living in the castle, he had lived with his parents during the summers when he was a student, or alone in the house on Spinner’s End when he was an adult, or with the other Death Eaters wherever they were holed up. None of this lent itself to the idea that meal time was an enjoyable social event. For Snape, whose mind was always running at full speed, the need to eat was a nuisance. As he’d never really been exposed to anything other than mediocre house-elf fair, his mother’s timidly prepared meals, or the abysmal food while in hiding as a Death Eater, he found the idea of eating for the sake of enjoying a fine meal, enjoying the company of his mates, or eating with abandon, completely foreign. And when one considered the combination of the pedestrian house-elf prepared meals, Snape’s generally anti-social nature, and the fact that the head table now included Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Neville Longbottom, it was a miracle he ever showed up to meals at all, and in truth he only did so because Minerva required it. Forcefully. And with a wand. So while being insulted by Potter at the head table was grating to be sure, his insults were also quite useful in getting Snape out of dinner. He’d fulfilled his requirement to Minerva; he’d shown up. It wasn’t his fault that Potter couldn’t keep his mouth shut and insulted him venomously at every opportunity. And of course, now Minerva was bound to send Potter down here to apologize for what he’d said at dinner.

Wonderful. Another disingenuous apology from Potter.

Snape paused for a moment to wonder why it was that Potter had taken to insulting him lately; it had been escalating: growing more public and pointedly personal. It hadn’t always been like this. They’d never been friendly, so to speak, but this was a new development. He mentally shrugged and decided it wasn’t worth worrying about.

I deserve it.

He thought about the problem vexing him, the question of why he’d chosen to be nice to Molly Weasley this afternoon. Maybe he could experiment and try to be nice to Potter. If it felt the same way as being nice to Molly, he’d know he’d lost his mind and check himself into St. Mungo’s. If it didn’t, he’d know something else and could calmly while away the evening drinking himself into a stupor. If nothing else, it would make Potter uncomfortable, and that was always worth something.

A/N: Thanks as always to my betas, sunny33, Ladyinthecloak and Sempra, without whom I would be an ellipse and comma mess.