Going Concern

Year Two: Part 3

He followed close behind Snape on the spiral staircase up to his flat. After a whole day of work, Snape smelled of metal and dust and the oils he used to clean his things.

"You know," Harry said to Snape's back as they climbed, "you don't have to come in for the whole day.

"So eager to be rid of me, Potter?"

"No, no, not at all." Harry admitted to himself that despite needing all the help they could get, they'd walked on eggshells around Snape when he'd first agreed to come to work at the shop. Even so, he never wanted Snape to go away; eventually, Snape's presence had become as normal as Ron's.

They reached Snape's door before more could be said. Snape touched the green-eyed snake and the door swung quietly open for them.

"Go to the kitchen, that way," said Snape, pointing. He promptly disappeared down a dark hallway and into one of the rooms.

Harry did as he was told. A dark oak table sat in the middle of the room, with counters surrounding it. There were a few appliances on the granite counter-tops, but what really caught Harry's attention were the cupboards above and below the counters, all of which had been painted—by hand, from brush-strokes still visible on the paint's surface—a vivid orange. Harry sat down at the table and stared at them.

He was still staring when Snape came into the room in fresh clothes, hair damp and face red, as though it had been newly scrubbed. "You'll give yourself a headache if you look at them too long," he told Harry.

Harry cracked a smile. "I think it's too late."

Snape went to one of the cupboards and pulled out a bottle of something, along with two clear glasses. He set them all down onto the table in front of Harry. "Open it."

Harry considered the light yellow liquid inside. It wasn't familiar; the bottle wasn't even in English. "What is it?"

"Alcohol," said Snape testily. "Are we going to drink it, or did you just want to stare stupidly at the label and ask questions?" Harry opened the bottle and poured both of them a drink.

He choked on the first swallow as the liquid burned down his throat, settling heavily in the pit of his stomach. "Merlin." It was worse than firewhiskey.

"Well?"

"It's pretty good," he conceded. "Really strong. But good."

He watched as Snape took his first sip, with much more dignity than Harry'd managed, though he detected a slight hardening of Snape's jaw as it went down. "Hm." Snape took a larger swallow, and nodded. "Tolerable."

They drank in companionable silence, Harry measuring out equal quantities into both glasses whenever they were emptied. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the flavor of the drink and tried not to think too much about what he would say or do when Ginny got home.

When they'd finished more than half the bottle and Harry's vision started to blur, Snape reached over and took Harry's glass away. "I think you've had enough."

"No!" Harry exclaimed, rather more loudly than he'd intended, and made a grab for the glass. He missed narrowly, catching Snape's wrist instead. "I'm not done yet." He pulled Snape's wrist—and the glass—toward himself, and leaned over to take another swallow from the glass.

"Idiot," Snape said, but didn't take his arm away. He should probably let go, had no reason to keep holding onto Snape when the drink was gone, but Snape's pulse beat steadily under his fingers and calmed him, gave him something else to focus on.

Snape shook the arm Harry was still clinging to. "You're drunk, boy."

"Mm," Harry hummed in agreement. He set the glass—and Snape's arm—down onto the table with a muted clink, and then put his own head down with them. He could feel his hair brush against Snape's arm.

"What in heavens' name is wrong with you?"

Harry felt a giggle bubble up. "'You're drunk, boy.' Pretty much. And do you even want to know?"

"Potter, don't you know I've had a vested interest in your sanity for decades now?" Snape said, almost angrily, as if it inconvenienced him to have to admit he cared. It probably did.

This was stupid. Harry wasn't actually going to spill his guts to Severus Snape, of all people. Snape, who only cared about him because of his mother, whose interactions with him had always been—

Harry didn't finish his thought, because it was difficult to consider a man 'stiff' and 'hostile' when one had been drinking at his kitchen table for hours. "Oh god, we've gone and become friends, haven't we."

"I would not go that far."

Harry laughed against the table. He was in Snape's kitchen dead drunk, holding onto Snape like a security blanket, arguing about whether or not they were friends. It warranted at least a little amusement, he thought.

He was supposed to go through this with Ron and Hermione. But they were busy right now, and Ginny was their sister, and he couldn't say this to them, didn't know how it would work.

"My marriage is failing, and I didn't even notice." Another short laugh, this one harsher than the rest. There, he'd said it.

Ron would have cursed, would have asked him what the hell he meant. Hermione would have hugged him, and then made him explain in detail. Snape just made a small sound of acknowledgment. He pulled his arm away at last, and Harry didn't have the strength to hold onto it.

He heard Snape pick up the bottle and pour. Then Snape set it down on the table next to Harry's hand. "It appears you haven't had enough, after all."

Harry lifted his head from the table and curled his fingers gratefully around the glass. "Thanks."

Much later, when the entire bottle was gone, Snape set his glass down. He considered Harry for a beat.

"What?"

"Your marriage is failing."

Harry had been the one who'd said those words first, but it still hurt to hear them again from someone else, as though he'd been given confirmation. This was all wrong. Snape was the one who never said anything, who avoided conversation more than anyone Harry'd ever met. Why was he choosing to talk about things now? It went against all of Harry's expectations.

He dropped his glass. It landed on its side, alcohol spilling over the dark wood. "I think so," he said in a small voice.

"Is it over?"

"What?"

Snape made an impatient noise. "Stop repeating yourself like an idiot, Potter. You said your marriage is failing. Is it over?"

Right. "I—I don't know." He thought about Ginny and the life they'd built together: Albus Severus and James, their house, Ginny working in the back garden, dinners with the Weasley family. It was all good, and Harry didn't want it to end. "No," he decided. "No, it's not over. It doesn't have to be."

"Then there's no reason to get melodramatic about it, is there?"

Dear reader: This was one of my favorite scenes to write! I adore the idea of Snape getting Harry drunk so he'd finally tell him with the hell is wrong. Hope you enjoyed this scene, too! If you did, please consider voting and/or commenting to let me know which bits you liked best. Thanks for reading!