A small furry animal is living in Severus's mouth - ew, it's his tongue
Severus wakes.
Well to say wakes is to make the entire process sound much more positive than it really is. Severus scrabbles his way to consciousness just about sums it up.
And he feels moderately awful.
Malfoy wine may be better than the average gnat's piss but it's still got a kick like a mule, though he feels sure the lad will argue it was the bottle of firewhiskey - each - they consumed that did the damage.
His back hurts - still or again, he's not sure which - and a small furry animal seems to have taken up residence in his mouth. A ginger exploration demonstrates to him that it is in fact his tongue, which seems to have expanded to three times its natural size and to be utterly repellant.
Only the knowledge that he's going to look really bloody stupid with his tongue hanging out restrains him from evicting it from his mouth.
Coooooffeeeeee.
His hand closes round his Cup and he spends a fraught minute wondering whether imbibing the scalding liquid is a good idea. Reassured that if he is capable of thinking long words like Imbibing the chances are that he can cope with coffee, he sucks on the cup like a baby on the nipple (or Albus on the gin bottle, he really doesn't want to be thinking about breasts right now. Even Minerva's breasts.)
He ponders whether he ought to shower first - for the benefit of his housemates - or eat breakfast.
Breakfast it is then.
And fuck porridge, he wants something he can get his teeth into. Although he ought to test the waters, as it were, with a little light toast, before commencing on the orgy of food preparation he has in mind.
Starting with a soft boiled egg and soldiers. Just like Wincy (his house elf) used to make when he was a child.
Well to say wakes is to make the entire process sound much more positive than it really is. Severus scrabbles his way to consciousness just about sums it up.
And he feels moderately awful.
Malfoy wine may be better than the average gnat's piss but it's still got a kick like a mule, though he feels sure the lad will argue it was the bottle of firewhiskey - each - they consumed that did the damage.
His back hurts - still or again, he's not sure which - and a small furry animal seems to have taken up residence in his mouth. A ginger exploration demonstrates to him that it is in fact his tongue, which seems to have expanded to three times its natural size and to be utterly repellant.
Only the knowledge that he's going to look really bloody stupid with his tongue hanging out restrains him from evicting it from his mouth.
Coooooffeeeeee.
His hand closes round his Cup and he spends a fraught minute wondering whether imbibing the scalding liquid is a good idea. Reassured that if he is capable of thinking long words like Imbibing the chances are that he can cope with coffee, he sucks on the cup like a baby on the nipple (or Albus on the gin bottle, he really doesn't want to be thinking about breasts right now. Even Minerva's breasts.)
He ponders whether he ought to shower first - for the benefit of his housemates - or eat breakfast.
Breakfast it is then.
And fuck porridge, he wants something he can get his teeth into. Although he ought to test the waters, as it were, with a little light toast, before commencing on the orgy of food preparation he has in mind.
Starting with a soft boiled egg and soldiers. Just like Wincy (his house elf) used to make when he was a child.