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It was the end of a long week at Hogwarts, and McGonagall and Snape found themselves sitting in the staff room together, each nursing a glass of firewhisky. They had been bickering back and forth all evening, as per usual.
McGonagall took a sip of her drink and sighed. "You know, Severus, sometimes I think you're just a big softie underneath all that prickly exterior."
Snape scowled at her. "I assure you, Minerva, I am anything but soft."
"Oh, I don't know about that," McGonagall teased. "I heard you cried during the final battle."
Snape's eyes narrowed. "I did not cry."
"You did too," McGonagall insisted. "You were bawling like a baby."
Snape glared at her. "I shed a single tear of relief, nothing more."
"Uh-huh," McGonagall said, taking another sip of her drink. "Sure, Severus. Keep telling yourself that."
They fell into a comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. After a few minutes, Snape spoke up.
"You know, Minerva, for a Gryffindor, you're not half bad."
McGonagall raised an eyebrow. "Gee, thanks, Severus. That's quite the compliment coming from a Slytherin."
Snape smirked. "Don't get too excited, Minerva. I wouldn't want your head to get any bigger than it already is."
McGonagall laughed. "Likewise, Severus. Wouldn't want you to lose that charming personality of yours."
They clinked their glasses together in a mock toast, both secretly grateful for the other's company. Despite their constant bickering, they knew they had each other's backs when it really mattered.