Warning (highlight to view): For generous helpings of sausage.
Word Count: 445
Summary: Everyone likes sausages.
Disclaimer: This work of fan fiction is based on characters and situations created by J. K. Rowling and owned by J. K. Rowling and various publishers, including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made from (and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended by) the posting of this fan work.
Author's Note: A twenty-minute word-war ficlet written because I was missing Snarry.
The sharp, stabbing pain of hunger wasn't one that Severus had ever forgotten, so when the delicious scent of toad in the hole wafted out of Potter's kitchen, Severus accepted his invitation to dinner. Their business had run long—Potter had insisted on going over the file of each Auror that Severus would be training in Advanced Occlumency—and spending another night on his own eating indifferent take-away wasn't something to which Severus was looking forward. He knew that he'd made the right decision when the sight of the fat, succulent toads wrapped in bacon and nestled in generous, leek-filled hole met his eyes.
Severus' stomach issued a loud growl reminiscent of his childhood.
"You like sausages, then?" asked Potter.
Severus swallowed. "Everyone likes sausages. You prepared this?"
"You're surprised? London's expensive."
"You're rich, Potter."
Potter sat down, urging Severus to do the same with a sweep of his arm. "I'm a divorced father of three supporting two households so that Gin can finish her broomwrighting apprenticeship."
Severus barely registered anything but the squeak of sausages as they continued to cook in their dish, temporarily losing himself in the memory of his mother's cooking. Mam made the most out of almost nothing at all, he thought, almost starting as Potter placed a generous plate of food before him.
In addition to two toads and plenty of hole, Potter had served him a garlicky pile of some green or other. He ignored it, grunting occasionally as he tucked into the bacon-wrapped goodness, and he didn't look up again until he'd eaten everything.
"You like my cooking!"
"I do," Severus replied, biting back the "not" that had almost reflexively fallen from his lips. "You have . . . mastered this particular dish."
Chuckling, Potter pushed away from the table. "There's dessert, too. Hope you saved room for it."
Before Severus could respond, Potter had returned to set a perfectly splendid-looking pudding on the table. "Steamed lemon pudding with treacle sauce. Do the honours?"
Severus slid his gaze from the pudding up Potter's body. I'd like that, he thought, almost smiling.
Potter blushed as their eyes met and he said, "And, er, you can, you can call me Harry."
And you can call me Professor, thought Severus, the memory of the fantasy that had plagued him all of Potter's "eighth year" rising in his mind.
He blamed said memory on the fact that he'd just realized that Potter was a gay divorced father of three.
It's not like you to be so slow, you idiot, he thought, turning his attention to dessert. "Tell me, Harry, just how big do you like it?"
Potter's gasp was almost as gratifying as the pudding.