The DISCLAIMER…. (drumroll): I don't own Harry Potter or any other character or any part of the world that JKR created. The woman is a genius. Kudos.

Author's Note: Author's Notes will always be at the end of the chapter. Except this once. Because I have to write the obligatory: "Please don't read this story if you haven't read ANY of the 7 books… As there are spoilers for all of them, but especially the last."

Chapter 1: Start the Morning Right with Breakfast!

If anyone had told Harry Potter that he would be sharing a flat with one Severus Snape after defeating Voldemort, he would have told them to go fuck themselves and then proceed to let Voldemort take over the wizarding world and destroy Muggle civilization.

Fortunately, no one told him. And Voldemort had definitely been decaying for the last month at the bottom of the Pacific Ocean, about seventy miles southwest of Oahu.

So the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice-to-be-Flatmates-with-the-Snarky-Bastard could only long for the good ol' days with helpless nostalgia.

By all rights, the tall man cooking breakfast before him should be dead. He had the puncture scar from Nagini's bite sure enough, but Snape hadn't walked into The Snake's lair unprepared. Harry still hadn't heard the full story behind Snape's miraculous appearance at his doorstep one month after the Final Battle, but one of these days he'd get it out of the man.

Harry stood up from the table where he had collapsed with a cup of coffee—cream added—and began washing the few dishes in the sink. They had shared the apartment for only a week and already the Potions Master had claimed the kitchen as his own. It was quite irritating, actually.

"So, Snape, how long did you say you have?"

A pause lingered as the professor grated over the fact that he could no longer distract the boy with a "Professor Snape, Mr Potter."

"How long until what, Potter?"

Dishes clanked. "Eh, the potion stops working and you croak."

"About the same time the lease is up. Convenient."

"We're out of dish soap."

"You're the one with the fortune."

Harry set the table viciously before resuming his old seat. Grabbing the coffee mug, he brought the mug up to his lips so quickly coffee spilled over the edge onto his hand. "Fuck!" Setting the mug down just as quickly, he shook the scalding liquid off.

"Should the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice be using such foul language?"

"I'm Harry Potter, not fucking Jesus Christ."

"That's obvious." Snape divided the eggs between their plates and put a plate of toast on the table. A pitcher of orange juice soon followed and the Potions Master finally joined Harry.

After a few bites, Harry said pointedly, "I'm making breakfast tomorrow."

"No you're not. I want to live as long as possible."

"Isn't it a little too cliché for the Potions Master to enjoy cooking?"

"I enjoy watching you sit there and feel completely useless because some Muggles taught you to equate your worth with how crispy the bacon turned out."

"Now you're just trying to piss me off."

"Will you deny this man a little amusement on his death bed?"

"You have six months. And I cook a damn good breakfast."

"Probably."

"I'll prove it!"

"Listen to yourself, boy."

They ate the rest of the meal in silence, then Harry took their plates to the sink. "I'll pick some dish soap up this afternoon."

"You have the fortune."

Tentatively, Harry asked, "And your plans for today?" He was craving a good fettuccini alfredo—with grilled chicken. And he wanted to cook it himself, dammit. True, he had just polished off a large breakfast, but he was a 17-year-old young man, with the constant hunger associated with the age.

And he wanted to cook!

"I'm going to visit Minerva. Compared to present company, the conversation will be positively engaging. And I would like to die with the knowledge that my portrait will not be hanging inbetween Albus' and Phineas'. While I'm there, the new Potions Professor and I might as well get… acquainted."

In Harry's mind's eye, the grill on the patio was lit, the chicken on top was juicy, the saucepan was filled with simmering alfredo sauce—

"Or I may stay here and wait as my insides rot."

The Boy-Who-Lived gave his Potions Master a sharp look. The tall man was breathing laboriously, his head bowed slightly.

"I am definitely cooking breakfast tomorrow," said Harry.

"What did I—"

"Give it up, Snape!" exploded Harry, breaking the monstrous tension that had been building quickly and strongly over the last week.

A raised black eyebrow demanded an explanation for his outburst.

"Ok, Snape, believe it or not, I do not equate you with the Dursleys. You saved my life a few too many times for that. Besides, you're dying—something I have and can deal with—and I chose to stay here so you wouldn't have some stranger taking you to the bath—"

"—that 'saving people' thing—"

"—no! Are you going to make me bring up my mother? That—" Harry's voice caught for a second. Then he said, in a completely different tone, "Ginny's coming over for dinner tonight. What should we have?"

"Thai from that restaurant across the street."

"That's what we had last night." Cautiously, Harry suggested, "I was thinking some Italian—maybe alfredo sauce over fettuccini with chicken grilled to perfection—you know, something not spiced so hot you can smell it a block down."

Snape coughed piteously and wheezed. "…my lungs…"

"Oh fuck! We'll have the fucking Thai. The usual fucking Thai."

"Language, Potter."

"Go fuck yourself." Harry grabbed his bookbag. "I'll be gone for most of the day." He walked out the door.

A smug grin of self-satisfaction watched him leave. What better way to spend his last months than tormenting the Boy-Who-Bloody-Lived?

A head topped with very messy black hair popped back in and said, "Ok, I'm getting dish soap. Do you need anything?"

"Thai."

The head disappeared, a hand replacing it, one finger effectively reflecting Harry's feelings toward the Potions Master over the last seven years.

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A-Long-Author's-Note-At-The-Bottom: I plan on writing more. Definitely. And the chapters will not be this short. I'm just putting my toes into the water tentatively, seeing how you all like this insanity. Will this story be Severitus? I'm still mulling that one over. I really wanted to write a story canon with the entire series. Let me know what you think and I will take it into account as I write. What's the point of reviews otherwise?

And this story will not be slash. Sorry, folks. They're already roommates—I think that's torture enough for the both of them!

Also, I haven't had a chance to visit England. So please forgive the many Americanisms! Harry won't be saying "Fo shizzle, yo" or "Chillax, dude" anytime soon, but the time it would take to painstakingly translate American English into British English would greatly increase the time between updates. And that's sad.