The first time Albus walks in and sees the little creature dozing against Severus’ collar, he opens his mouth and immediately shuts it as Severus glares at him.
“Not. One. Word.” Severus says softly. “She’s resting.”
“Not even a Monty Python quote?” Albus asks, his eyes twinkling.
“Definitely not,” Severus replies. “You’re one to talk. Need I remind you that yours catches fire on the regular?”
Albus shrugs. “Well, if I see you out on one of your walks, I may not be able to stop myself from quipping that you must be pining for the fjords.”
“Ha-ha,” Severus replies testily, “I may have to bring you a pile of ash to keep you company while Fawkes is busy being an ex-phoenix.”
SEVERAL BAD PUNS THAT BLATANTLY OR SUBTLY REFERENCE THE DEAD PARROT SKETCH LATER….
“Good afternoon Severus. I hope you don’t mind me walking a bit silly on my way out.” Albus tap-dances towards the door to the Potions classroom.
“THAT’S NOT EVEN THE RIGHT SKETCH!” Severus thunders, receiving a nibble on his earlobe for waking his bird.