Disclaimer: I do not, and never will own these characters (well, except for the ones I made up), so thanks a million to J.K. Rowling for letting me borrow them for a little while.


She stirred in her sleep, half-reaching out to the other side of the bed. Her fingers touched only the coolness of smooth sheets, coolness that suggested he had long been absent from her side. It was not surprise, rather resignation that forced open Treasa's eyes.

"Severus?"

It was folly to call out for him. She knew he would not answer even were he still in the manor. The Dark Lord often summoned him in the wee hours of the morning, and on the rare occasions he was allowed a full night's sleep, his own restlessness called him from their chamber.

A muted crack from the hall announced his return. Whatever else Severus was, he was fastidiously courteous enough to refrain from Apparating into the room while she slept. Or perhaps it was merely that he hoped to escape her presence for a few moments more. Since her residence in Snape Manor, his manner had chilled to the point of near-neglect, except for the habitual civilities that made her feel as if she were some visiting dignitary he disliked.

Potions.

The fact that Severus had not yet returned to the room meant only one thing – the Dark Lord had been displeased with something. The after-effects of a Cruciatus were cruelly debilitating. Treasa threw back the covers, flinching only slightly as her feet hit the cold stone floor. She grabbed her wand from the bedside table and headed for the cabinet in the far corner, by the window.

"Lumos."

She had yet to open this cabinet on her own. Severus guarded it with a jealousy that almost frightened her. His potions, it seemed, were as sacred as the rest of him – something he shared with no one, no matter the reason. Even so, it hadn't taken long for her to learn the color and consistency of the potions he administered after a visit to his master, and she had no doubt he would need the full cocktail tonight. The thick, deep red pain-cloaking Burning Bitterroot, the pale orange Strengthening Solution, and the tiny, purple vial of Dreamless Sleep potion. Severus could not afford to take a full dosage of the last for fear he might not heed the Dark Lord's call should he be summoned, but he did not deny himself a few hours of oblivion after such a gathering.

She sighed as she searched through the bottles for another dose of Burning Bitterroot, flipping a length of auburn hair out of her eyes. Severus had aged decades in the last year. It was hard to remember the unlined face of the 19-year-old she had known just a few months ago.

Treasa clutched the bottles as she padded back across the room. Should she go to him? The last time sympathy had overcome her fear, he had ordered her away with enough venom to rival a basilisk, wand clutched threateningly in a dead-white hand. She pressed her ear against the door, listening for a hint of his whereabouts. She had heard nothing to tell her he had gone downstairs to his laboratory. She shifted the bottles, struggling to maintain her grasp on her wand. As the silence lingered, she risked opening the door a little to peek out.

Severus Snape lay sprawled in the hallway a few feet from the door, one arm curled against his abdomen as if to shield himself from further pain. The other hand was futilely digging into the carpet, either to anchor himself or inch closer to the door, Treasa could not tell. His eyes were clenched shut, his face ghostly white in the wan beam cast by her wand.

She could see his lips moving, and guessed before the strained whisper passed his lips what he was saying.

"L-Lily."

"Severus?" She ventured.

His eyes jerked open at the sound of her voice, something remarkably like panic darting across his face before he shuttered it completely. Not for the first time, Treasa cursed his abilities as an Occlumens. Merlin, as if getting to know the man wasn't difficult enough. With an effort that sent a sick feeling through her chest, Severus drew himself into a standing position, one hand braced casually against the wall.

"Sorry to have disturbed you," he bit out, his voice coldly polite.

"I-I've brought your potions." Treasa thrust the bottles toward him, the tiny vial of Dreamless Sleep slipping through her fingers.

His reflexes were still good enough for him to flick his wand at the falling bottle and levitate it to a height he could grasp.

"Thank you, my dear."

The endearment almost made Treasa laugh at the absurdity of it. She was less dear to him than she ever had been, less important than those bottles she had handed over. Indeed, he clutched them with a fervor she had never sensed toward herself.

"If you'll forgive me, I shall take these to the dungeons. I have an urgent mission from the Dark Lord that requires I begin preparations immediately."

"But-" Treasa bit her lip as he turned, impatience shrouding his drooping shoulders. "Severus, surely you need rest after…"

The dull glint of deadened humor appeared in his eyes. "I thank you for your concern, but I assure you I am perfectly capable of fulfilling my duties. If I feel too fatigued, I shall take your suggestion."

This time she held her tongue as he walked away. Her eyes followed him as far as the wand light allowed, cursing the pang to her heart. Just one more reason for her to despise and thank the Dark Lord. Were it not for Voldemort, Severus Snape would not be her husband.