The air is warm and the place crowded as you are sitting in the Three Broomsticks, sipping on your cherry syrup and soda. Seems like a lot of witches and wizards decided to take shelter here from the biting cold of the winter evening.
You lower your drink from your lips and crane your neck, trying to look in the direction of the bar above the sea of bodies to no avail. Just as you are contemplating standing up and heading for the bar yourself, a swirl of black appears in your peripheral vision. Severus fights his way over to you, muttering curses under his breath as it appears that every person's intention in the inn is to stand in his way. When he finally arrives at your table, he is greeted by your grinning face, having watched his struggling. He puts the two glasses of water down with a little more force than necessary before sitting down, a huff leaving his lips.
"I should not have set foot outside the castle." He says, scowl etched onto his face.
"And pass up a chance of free Firewhiskey? I don't think so." You respond above the rim of your glass. The only answer you get from him is some grumbling as he takes a drink, so you take that as a win. After around half an hour you have already finished your drinks and are about to head out soon. You're sitting in companionable silence, mulling the events of the day over in your minds when suddenly, a thought strikes you.
"Did you ever think about doing unsupported flight while drunk? Like, just imagine being a passerby, looking up at the sky, seeing a patch of darkness zigzagging in the air and flying into a tree." You voice your thought process, a fit of giggles escaping you after the end of your sentence. You didn't drink much, so you can't blame this sentence on alcohol, but truth be told, it's not unlike you to say outrageous or questionable shit daily. Honestly, he has no right to be surprised after all this time. He turns his head slowly, looking at you with a blank expression. It takes a little while for him to react, and when he does, his only answer is a perfectly arched eyebrow and an "Are you well?"
A week passed since that shared evening, and you find yourself having a slow Saturday again. You already finished grading first-year essays but still have some third years remaining. Deciding on not wanting to spend another evening only in the company of parchments, you head for the dungeons, hoping Severus is available to bother. You knock on the wooden door of his quarters and wait a little, but don't hear anything. You call out, but no answer comes. You try your luck with turning the knob, and surprisingly it gives way, allowing you to step into his chambers. "Severus?" Still nothing. You walk slowly further inside, eyes settling on a desk. You approach it to set your stack of essays down on it, next to an opened—and almost empty—bottle of Firewhiskey. Unexpectedly, a faint sound catches your attention, making your heart skip a beat and your skin tinge with anxiety. Walking steadily, ears strained for any more noises, you enter the next room. The sight that greets you there leaves you momentarily stunned, breath catching in your throat as you don't know whether to laugh or rush to help. Severus Snape, tangled in his big black cloak, is sitting under the broken window, seeming like he can barely hold himself up, pieces of glass catching the light in his hair and on his clothes. After a few moments, your posture sags as you raise a hand to your temple, seeing him sitting in the middle of shards with a dazed expression on his face, shoulders shaking a little with silent laughter.
"Severus..."