A start of a story where Harry and Snape have a heart to heart after the war. They're both struggling to find their place in the world when neither expected to survive.

Severus caught sight of a young man sitting on the couch, seemingly disengaged from the festivities around him. "Mr. Potter," he addressed him.

Harry's gaze met Severus's, the man he had recently rushed to the hospital wing. "Sir."

"If you don't feel like joining in the celebration, why are you here?" Severus asked.

Harry raised an eyebrow, observing Severus as he took a seat next to him on a couch situated away from the crowd. "I could ask you the same thing, sir."

Severus let out a frustrated sigh and reclined on the couch. "I presume you were also coerced into attending?" He mimicked Minerva McGonagall, "'It would do you good, Severus, to socialize with everyone,'" then rolled his eyes.

Harry smirked, amused by the likeness of the imitation. "Something like that," he admitted.

Severus scoffed, "I despise these gatherings. A room full of giddy, drunken fools. It's intolerable."

Harry chuckled, "I can agree with you there, sir. But I find it amusing to observe them from a distance."

Severus raised an eyebrow, "Oh? And what do you observe?"

Harry shrugged, "The usual things, really. People laughing and having a good time, others making fools of themselves. It's all rather entertaining."

Severus leaned back, intrigued by Harry's observation. "And what about yourself, Mr. Potter? Why are you not joining in?"

Harry sighed, "It's complicated. I just... don't feel like celebrating."

Severus studied Harry, sensing that there was more to the young man's reluctance than just a lack of enthusiasm. "Is it because of recent events?" he probed gently.