Written as a joint LJ birthday greeting for Tzikeh and Azazello (aka, junediamanti)

Master of the House
by Beth H.
(c) May 31, 2005

"That's Professor Snape," the black-robed man said icily. "Surely even a dunderhead such as yourself is capable of showing the proper respect for a Hogwarts' teacher."

Greg House leaned back against his desk, and smirked. Wilson had been telling him he needed to work on his "people skills," but with this guy around, nobody was ever going to notice his lack of people skills again.

The subject of his thoughts whirled around. "And what is it, precisely, that so amuses you, Mr..."

"Doctor, actually," said Greg. "Doctor House. And what's amusing me is...hmm," he frowned. "Have you had your liver examined recently?"

"Excuse me?"

"Your liver. Your skin is looking a little jaundiced. Drink much alcohol, do you?"

Snape's sallow skin became flushed by rage, and he drew a wand from the pocket of his robes. "What bloody business is it of yours what my drinking habits are!"

Greg lifted his cane from the floor and waved it in front of Snape's face in an overt 'my phallic substitute's bigger than yours' kind of way.

"No bloody (*) business of mine, and my clinic hours are over for the day. I just wanted to know if you had any booze on you. I could use a drink."

"Ah." Snape reached into another pocket and pulled out a flask. "Old Ogdens?"

Greg frowned. "Whiskey?"

"Muggles," Snape muttered. "Yes, it's whiskey. Of...a sort. Perhaps we should retire to somewhere more...private?"

Greg reached out to take the flask, and noted the smile that crept slowly onto the other man's face.

It looked like the smile of a shark.

Oh, what the hell. Wilson was out of town with Julie, and if Greg was any kind of a diagnostician, this Snape guy looked like he hadn't had a good shag (**) in years.

"After you...Professor.

"Hey!" the narrator interjected. "What about tzikeh's and junediamanti's birthdays?"

Snape looked over his shoulder and sneered. "They can watch."


(*) Pardon the inappropriate Britishism. Hugh Laurie insisted on saying one word of his own.
(**) Two apparently

Comments, critiques, chit chat: beth-h @ mrks.org

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