Your Baby is the Size of A...

Mistakes are Made for the Better, Really

A/N: This will include smut and breif mentions of abortion. If you didnt see the tags this also includes Male Pregnancy so please if your are uncomfortable with this dont continue reading. I have given you a warning. Enjoy!!
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He leaned back in his chair, blinking slow and lazy against the haze of alcohol. Because Albus could throw a party, when he wanted. Soft music was threading through the teacher's lounge; the lights were thankfully low. He could just make out Minerva and Poppy swaying together across the lounge, wrapped up in one another's arms, Poppy's head on Minerva's shoulder.

And Severus let himself smile faintly, sipping at his scotch.

He felt heavy in the best kind of way - that submersion into alcohol was wildly different than most he had encountered. Because normally, it was him drinking straight from the bottle, sucking in haphazardly large gulps in an effort to shake the night off and then to shake the memories off.

Because Merlin had Voldemort driven him to drink. And a year was hardly long enough for his body to heal, let alone his mind.

Once more his gaze swept the room, catching on Hagrid and Flitwit and Sprout where they drank at the table, laughing. On Albus and Trelawney quibbling over tarot cards. On Lupin . . . making in his direction, bottle in hand. He fought down the urge to roll his eyes, because the entire staff of Hogwarts knew even when - or perhaps especially when - Severus had fallen into his cups and been made something that was almost softer, it still wasn't an open invitation to talk. And they all accepted and respected that. All of them but Lupin it seemed.

He drained his glass just as Lupin sat down.

Remus knew he was being . . . perhaps intrusive. But Severus looked as though his edges had softened just barely. And the drinking and Minerva had encouraged him. Because the older professor had smiled widely and nudged him, even as Poppy had rolled her eyes and thrust the bottle into his hand.

He leaned forward and sloshed some scotch into Severus's glass. Those dark eyes pinned him in place, gaze suspicious but not quite dismissive.

"To a year free of that mad bastard," Remus quipped, his glass lifted in a toast.

An eyebrow lifted, and Remus swore he could see those lips twisting just slightly in humor. Severus's glass touched his just barely, in the softest of clinks, before the other tipped his head back and drained the entire drink. Which was surprising and delightful as Remus followed suit, determined to not choke on the sharp burn of the liquor.

"Bored," the darker man drawled slowly, and Remus was hard pressed not to pull a confused look, swimming through his own haze of alcohol to understand.

"Not particularly, thought you might be though."

Severus snorted and leaned far closer into the werewolf's personal space, snagging the bottle where it sat on the floor. He pointedly ignored the hitch of the Lupin's breath as he poured them both a new drink - a larger drink, one meant for sipping. The bottle thumped back down on the ground.

"Pleasantly numb," he admitted, sipping at his drink and regarding the other lazily. Because Lupin had taken to conversing with him more than strictly necessary in the past months, since the Dark Lord had crumpled. Because Lupin had ignored Severus's every effort to dissuade . . . whatever it was that the damn lycanthrope was after.