Under the Influence

A/N: I don't know how to fix the formatting problems on this, so if anybody can tell me how, I'll give your house 100 points.

Disclaimer: It's JKR's pool, I'm just doggy-paddleing through it.


CHAPTER 2- Next Wednesday night

Hermione walked into a bar and sat down on the same stool she had chosen last week. The bartender gave her a friendly nod. She smiled in return.

"A beer, please."

She sat, sipping her beer out of another filmy mug. She wondered if it was the same mug she had drank out of last week, if the bartender had just stashed it under the counter so it would be ready for her return. Some people didn't wash cast iron pans to give them seasoning. Maybe she was drinking out of a "seasoned" mug.

This train of thought brought a wry smile to her face.

'I wonder if I could be considered "seasoned" now. Twenty years old and I've been attacked by a troll, petrified by a basilisk, helped a convict escape, been almost killed by a werewolf, been cursed with an unknown curse, killed people in battle, and now, divorced. I've done so much for being so young.'

She thought of Professor Snape.

'He's been through a lot too. He was a spy against the most feared wizard ever for the majority of his life. He killed the only man who ever showed him mercy. He's had to teach a subject he hates to children he hates the whole time.'

As if on cue, Snape briskly strode throught the door and occupied the stool next to her.

"Speak of the devil," Hermione murmured under her breath.

"What was that, Miss Granger?"

"Oh, nothing, sir. I was just thinking on how you terrified us all for so many years, and here you are, walking in like a great bat."

Snape's lips curled in a smirk.

"You know, Miss Granger, most people would be too terrified to say such things to my face."

"You know, Professor Snape, I don't really give a shit. It's not like you can take off house points or assign me detention. I'm a Gryffindor. We say what we're thinking when we think it. I think you would know this, having taught for so long."

"Indeed, Miss Granger. But have you thought perhaps I could punish some terrified Gryffindor first year for your indiscretions? Especially since you choose to blame them on your house."

"I'd say you wouldn't, but I know you would. So allow me to gracefully apologize for sticking my foot in my mouth and blaming it on Gryffindor House."

"And why should I accept?"

"Because if you do, I'll buy you a drink."

"Done. Bartender, I'll have a whiskey and a beer."

The bartender served Snape his drinks, and asked Hermione if she would like anything else.

"I want to try something new. Um... I want some of that!" she announced, pointing at a bottle with a purple label that read 77.7.

The bartender grinned at her. He snatched the bottle off the shelf and poured a measure into a short, skinny glass. He then put a sugar cube into a tiny spoon, dipped it in the green liquid, and lit it on fire. Blue flames rose off the burning sugar.

"Miss Granger, you can't drink that. It's glowing!"

Hermione looked helplessly at the bartender.

"How do I drink this?"

The bartender told her to stir it until the sugar dissolved and the fire went out. Then, shoot it.

Hermione did what he said, grimicing at the burning in her throat.

"Good God, that was strong! The aftertaste isn't so bad, though. Kind of like licorice. What was that, anyway?"

Snape just looked at her for a minute before answering, "Absinthe."

"Am I going to start seeing green fairies now?"

Snape chuckled, "No, you shouldn't start hallucinating. This absinthe differs from the original formula. It is just very, very strong alcohol. The 77.7 on the bottle? That's what percentage alcohol is in the absymal stuff."

"Well, professor, in that case, I must insist you take a shot with me. Bartender! Two more, please."

Snape groaned.

"Miss Granger, I find this stuff atrocious."

"Well, sir, I found your teaching style atrocious, but I still put up with it for six years. The burning goes away after a minute."

"Just for that, Miss Granger, you're going to need to buy me another drink."

"Fine, sir. My divorce has left me a very rich woman. If the price for insulting you is a drink, I consider it a very small price to pay. You insulted me for years, and it feels good to be able to say a few things back."

"Well, by all means then, fire away. I could use a night of free drinking."

"Drink your absinthe first, professor."

Snape raised his eyes at her, but drank the flourescent liquid in one smooth shot. He didn't even make a face at the acid pouring down his throat. Hermione mimicked his gesture, but was unable to keep a straight face.

"Ugh! That burns going down! And it hurts worse the second time."

Hermione looked at the bartender meaningfully, pointing to her empty beer mug. He filled it instantly.

"I need to leave this guy a good tip. I don't think I tipped him last week. I don't remember..."

"Miss Granger, why do you come here on wednesday nights?"

"I don't have any morning classes on Thursdays. I have a very full schedule at uni, even having classes on saturdays, but for some reason, I have Thursday mornings empty. I can sleep in and nurse a hangover, if need be. Yourself?"

"Ah, I believe the Muggles call it 'hump night'"

Hermione burst out in giggles.

"Not like that, Miss Granger. It means wednesday nights are in the middle of the week. It just means the weekends are closer. Over the hump, so to speak."

Snape shook his head and drank a shot of whiskey, followed by a sip of beer.

"Well, since we're having a heart to heart here, I need to ask: why do you teach, if you hate it so much?"

"The price of that answer is another drink."

Hermione nodded at the eavesdropping bartender, who refilled Snape's whiskey glass. He also topped off Hermione's almost empty beer mug.

"Well, sir?"

Snape sighed and shot his whiskey.

"The truth is, Miss Granger, I neither hate teaching potions nor do I hate children. What I do hate is children with potential who don't use it. It seems that with each passing generation, children get lazier and their parents make more excuses for them."

"What about Defense Against the Dark Arts? And if you don't hate teaching, why are you so mean to your students?"

"I have no desire to ever teach Defense again. That was the worst year of my life and I do not wish to repeat it. I think the term "Dark Arts" is a contradiction. Who decides which spells are Dark? And shouldn't it be more about intent than labels? As for 'being mean' as you call it, I need to make sure people pay attention. Potions can go very badly in so many ways, so yelling at my students and showing them no mercy is a way to ensure they hang on my every word."

"What about people like Neville? He was so terrified of you, he couldn't brew properly. The terror overrode everything else."

"Mr. Longbottom was the exception to the rule. Besides, I would rather have him terrified of me and be able to take on Death Eaters, than be terrified of Death Eaters. If he would've been unable to fight properly...."

Hermione sighed, "I know. Voldiebutt might have won the war. I guess you're right. All this serious talk is killing my buzz. Bartender! Two more shots of absinthe!"

Snape groaned.