What Happens in Denmark

3.

Severus Snape took a measured breath. That's how Ron was sure, for
the first time in his life, that the man was genuinely, really and
truly, not evil, because it took every ounce of willpower the redhead
had not to leap across the desk and throttle the sweet little hotel
clerk and choke her endearingly thick accent right out of her throat.
But what did Snape do? He just took a deep breath. 'Professor
Snape, you are made of suave.' Well, okay, he wasn't really
teaching anymore, but Ron figured once you earned a title like that
you got to keep it for life. Ron was sure as hell always going to
think of him as 'Professor' at the very least.

Snape pursed his lips briefly and then slowly reiterated what the
girl had just told him. “So, correct me if I have misunderstood
you, but I believe you said that, already being aware of my
particular circumstances, and having received a request for a suite
of two rooms with an adjoining door, which I was assured several
weeks ago would not be a problem at all, you instead booked me for a
single room with a double bed, and have over-sold your establishment
to such a degree that alternate accommodations are not feasible.”

The girl blinked at the long string of words for a moment, but then
nodded. “Y-yes sir, very sorry sir...”

“And there are no other hotels in this area which can
accommodate my needs at present time?” he reiterated.

The girl twisted her head negatively rather firmly a few times. Ron
was sure she was going to turn into that girl from the muggle film
their father obsessed over, where the head spins all the way around,
but her spine remained mercifully in tact through the vehement reply.
“So sorry sir!”

Severus took another measured breath. “Very well. As I am
somewhat lacking in other options, I suppose I have no choice.
However, as I am not getting at all what I paid for, please inform
your manager that I will be expecting a substantial
refund for the difference.”

Ron watched the girl hand over the key with shaking fingers and
gesture weakly with a few timid directions, and asked if he would
like their bags brought up for them.

“Absolutely not,” Snape answered, lifting his suitcase.
“I think your establishment has bungled enough for one night.
We have carried them this far ourselves. Another three stories will
not kill us.”

Ron trudged after the older man in utter silence until they reached
the fourth floor. He wasn't even the one being yelled at and Snape
still intimidated him. Something about the dark haired man
made him feel like a clumsy sixteen year old all over again.

The room wasn't promising, either. Oh, it was quaint. Bed and
breakfast-ish. If he was staying her alone, Ron would have thought it
was pretty charming. There was a big, West-facing window, a small,
but tidy bathroom. The problem was the size. Two grown men were not
meant to share a double bed, and the armchair in the corner looked
comfortable enough for curling up with a book, but wouldn't prove
very conducive to a good night's sleep. The floor? Out of the
question – hardwood panels that would no doubt turn to ice in
the middle of the night. He bit the inside of his cheek. How was this
supposed to work?

“You will take the window side,” Snape answered as if
reading Ron's mind. “It is my preference to sleep facing the
door.”

'Because you're a paranoid freak,' Ron
thought, but kept his big mouth shut. “Uh, right then,”
he answered clumsily. “Should warn you, I...er...I snore. I
don't think that bad, unless everyone's been lying to me since I was
eleven.” Which they may well have been. No one likes to be
told they sound like a chainsaw in their sleep.

“Hn. Well, if you awaken in the hallway tomorrow morning, you
will know that you have been misled.”

Ron smirked. “Well, if that's how it's going to be, then let
me say right now: I claim the blue blanket.”

“My my, aren't we demanding,” Snape chided, but Ron got
the impression that his former professor had actually enjoyed their
exchange.

When they settled awkwardly into bed for the night – back to
back – two hours later after a brief and unappetizing meal of
cold sandwiches and warm beer, Snape wasn't as put off by the
potential snoring as he pretended to be. He made one last snide
remark about Ron sleeping in the hall, which Ron returned by
quipping, 'You'd better not be a blanket thief,' shortly followed up
with a 'Goodnight, Professor.'

“Goodnight, Weasley,” Severus returned, but didn't close
his eyes right away. He let them grow accustomed to the darkness and
the thin sliver of moonlight that streaked across the floor. That
bulbous mass in the corner was the armchair with Ron's jacket
carelessly tossed over the right side. The awkward step-shaped
shadow was where his suitcase rested against the wall. The pitch
black spire to his left delineated where they had left the lavatory
door slightly askew.

He felt the bed move with each of Ron's deep breaths. Contrary to
what people thought of his solitary nature, he liked it – the
repositioning of weight, the timid, careful shifting behind him, the
rustling of sheets. He'd been alone in the dark for so long. The
years since Hogwarts had been marked most of all by silence and
solitude. Against his wishes, Harry had visited him a few times
during the early months at St. Mungo's, but Snape had not been
terribly coherent at the time, and as the months wore on the visits
tapered off to nothing. By the time he was truly well enough to
receive visitors, there was no one left with any interest in
visiting. Then, recovering at home, he found the lack of ambient
noise he had grown accustomed to at Hogwarts unsettling.

There had been a time when Severus had thought he could live alone,
away from everyone and everything. He was nearly a hermit for the
better part of his life as it was, but he found the presence of
others, even if he was not directly interacting with him, was
something he required to feel sane. The way the loneliness snuck up
on him and the depression settled once he was truly alone had shocked
him. The sound and motion of another body beside his own made him
feel rather...restored.

He had jumped at the chance to
attend this Convention more for the human contact than potion
seminars (though the latter did
appeal to him). He expected a therapeutic experience, one that would
feed the soul and ease the nerves, but he had never imagined that
kind of nourishment would come from Ronald Weasley's kittenish
snoring lulling him to sleep.