Welcome everyone to a new story! It's been a long time since I've posted anything up and there's a reason. College has been busy and since my writing style has changed I've tried to treat my fanfics like novels, putting more time and research into them to make them as best as I possibly can. With that said I have a few requests though for you, my readers!

I'm requesting help in the form of language and facts. I'm not saying I'm bad, but I'm encouraging you guys to point out (politely) if I do something wrong. I'm American, but I'm trying to keep the language sounding British (I spent a semester in Lincolnshire but I know I'm never going to be 100% spot on) so if I have any readers from the UK I'd be honored if you'd help me out. Also if anyone seems out of character at anytime, please (again politely) tell me. Thank you everyone and I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1

These moments should belong in horror stories, because she'd never bloody asked for this! There was a reason she quit medical university. This shit happened to them, not her! She wasn't even officially qualified to handle it! Taking one more look at the wounded, and probably dying if her luck was that great, man, she called out for her boyfriend.

The adrenaline shot into her veins like liquid drugs and elicited a strange calm that certainly wasn't what she felt; inside she was in near hysteria. She knelt beside the man and gently rolled him onto his back. No longer on his side, Orla finally could gauge his injuries: snake bites. Probably poisonous as he looked at death's door. Fumbling for his wrist, she nearly cried in joy at finding a pulse. He was alive, now to go from there.

She tried to dig through her medical knowledge for the procedures or treatment. These bites bothered her, something about them was dodgy.

"Babe- holy shit." She swallowed thickly as she heard his gasp, attempting to keep her own head clear as her hands became sticky with the stranger's blood. "Should I call for an ambulance?"

"By the time they get here, he'll die." God there were profuse amounts of blood, she'd never dealt with this quantity before. Hell, she'd be aiming to be a nurse not a surgeon; the most she'd ever dealt with was the syringe full she'd draw for tests. Orla wasn't squeamish, but the sheer copious amount of the coppery smelling fluid caused her stomach to flip.

"Bloody hell, poor git," the weak voice sounded behind her. Patrick was being absolutely worthless in this situation; gawking over her shoulder and warily keeping his distance. "Was he stabbed or mauled?"

"Neither, looks like it was a pissed off snake."

"The hell it is." His disregard for her medical studies had her prepared to fire back a vehement retort in his face. But his next comment stopped her, "There's too much blood for that."

Now that she thought about it, she'd never heard of this much blood being lost before. The bites, or what little she could see of them, appeared huge. Could they get that big? Orla couldn't treat him properly if she didn't know what he was suffering from. Taking a deep breath, she stuck with the poison route.

How had one of her texts phrased it? "Snake venom can act as an anticoagulant..." Alright, she took a deep breath, that was a start. She knew several things to avoid, like constricting the wounds, but she had to stop the bleeding.

Turning to Patrick, she said, "Reach into my jumper pocket, get my mobile, and go to the contacts." The calm in her voice was more for herself, but she heard her boyfriend take a few deep breaths. She felt him pull out her little blue mobile, the shaking of his hands evident. Ignoring the several beeps that followed, she removed her jumper and pressed it to the worst wound.

"Now what?!"

"Choose Gerald Barton, he's a professor at the university I attended. He lives down the street and should have anti-venom." This time she removed her tank-top and pressed it against another bite. Modesty had never inconvenienced her quite as much as other girls. Besides, she habitually ran in her sports bras.

She heard him hit another several buttons and mutter, "Why would a professor have anti-venom just laying around? I would rather call an ambulance. Nothing we-"

"Were you not paying attention?" she snapped, "he wouldn't make the trip. Besides, Barton used to be a doctor and is a regular hiker. He keeps stocked up."

Patrick's groan nettled her. "Don't get your knickers twisted- Oh, hello? Professor Barton? Yes hi, I'm with Orla Dacosta, a former stu- oh I'm glad you remember her. I know it's a Saturday, but we found a man in great need of anti-venom."

During the slight pause, she flipped sweaty strands of hair out of her eyes and listened carefully as her boyfriend gave Barton the directions to their location in the park. Her hands shaking as blood seeped through the soaked fabric and licked her fingers.

"Do you think he'll make the wait?"

She ignored the negative thoughts and declared wistfully, "As long as he doesn't bleed out, and I won't let him. At least he isn't conscious."

"Why?"

"Panic or movement increases heart rate, which spreads the venom faster and speeds up the bleeding."

So they waited like this: Patrick pacing as he looked for Barton and Orla hunched over the poor man. Her back ached and she desperately wanted to scratch the itch on her nose, but she didn't dare remove her hands. She wished Patrick would offer to trade places... but of course he didn't.

It felt like years before her friend arrived.

She heard, more than saw, as he approached them at a light jog, a bag carefully clutched to his chest. "Orla, tell me I'm not too late."

"No, there's still a pulse... or at least there was before I applied pressure." She watched him check, nodding to confirm her observation.

Offering a tentative smile, he got to work unpacking his bag. "Reassuring to know that you were paying attention during those morning lectures."

"I may have hated the medical field, but I did try to absorb it all."

"Well that may have just saved this man's life. Could you show me one of the wounds?" He let out a sympathetic hiss as she removed the jacket briefly. "Any idea what kind of bite?"

"No idea, I was thinking snake, but I was hoping you would know."

"I agree, even though they're large for a snake, I just can't tell what kind. I'm glad I brought polyvalent anti-venom rather than adder antivenin." He quickly dug through his bag and pulled out a vial which, she figured would normally have been clear, but was frosty. She knew the anti-venom had been refrigerated, which meant is should be fresh.

"What's the difference?" Patrick didn't sound good. Was she a bad girlfriend if she hoped he got sick? At least his incessant babbling would stop, he'd nearly chewed her ear off during the wait.

Since Gerald was busy prepping the anti-venom, she decided to answer. "Polyvalent can be used for most poisons rather than one specific type. Antivenin is just another term for anti-venom."

She might be indifferent about a medical career, but modern medicine was amazing. Less than a hundred years ago, anti-venom had to be snake specific to work, now it didn't.

"How do you think he got those bites?"

"The better question is how he got them on his neck." Gerald corrected Patrick as he stored the needle and vial. "Orla, why don't you take your friend there to my truck. It's down the path since I couldn't drive it directly here."

She was reluctant in moving, keeping her hands carefully on the bloody garments. She was the one to find him, he was her responsibility, she should remain and help-

Gerald, knowing her better than most people, said, "I brought extra towels, grab them so we can replace your clothes and use one to clean yourself off."

His tone was final and she unwillingly let him relieve her. Patrick didn't protest as she led the way, his face still quite ashen. Surprisingly he was quiet, she couldn't have been more thankful. Last thing she needed was his badgering.. now that the adrenaline was wearing off. The world coming a back into focus, the sun burning high above as they lost the cover of the trees.

Christ she was exhausted.

The familiar vehicle wasn't as far as she feared, making her sigh in relief. "He leaves his doors unlocked, so can you open one for me?" Her boyfriend's face tensed, and she figured he'd come to some kind of unpleasant conclusion. She'd laugh later, for now she carefully reached into the black truck and found several folded white towels sitting on the passenger seat.

The first one she used to clean as much of the blood off herself as she could, then to wipe off the sweat that was dripping down her face and neck. Wincing, she ignored her shoulders as the coarse fabric irritated her sunburned skin. Damn, she'd forgotten sunscreen.

Glancing at the towel in her pink stained hands, she found herself wishing for the man to survive. Despite her earlier confidence, there was just too blood to remain optimistic.

Patrick had grabbed the other towels and the pair made their way back down the trail in tense silence. Gerald looked slightly winded and, dare she say, terrified, but even she must have looked a fright. It had been a long time since he had been in an E.R.

"Well?"

"I'd say our patient has a long road ahead of him." Removing her ruined clothes proved that the bleeding had slowed, but would it be enough? "He's stable for now, but he'll need to be checked on constantly. I've got more medicine that I'd like to administer."

"I could do it."

"As dedicated a student I know you were, great care needs to be taken with the antidote. The doses are tricky to get right."

"So, does that mean we can send him to a hospital now?" Was it just her, or was Patrick being an absolute wanker? He sounded almost hopeful while making his proposition.

She kept her smug smirk to herself as Barton said, "I'm afraid not." He was now wiping off his own hands as she resumed applying pressure. "The doctors there aren't really familiar with this method. Besides, I couldn't make that drive everyday to ensure they did it right." At her inquisitive look he answered, "Could you look after him? You're closer and only a few minutes drive from my house-"

"Why can't you?" Patrick sounded furious, which he shouldn't have, it wasn't his flat to begin with.

"Because I have a wife and three sons, not to mention two dogs. It's a horrible environment for a critical patient. Orla also doesn't have to grade papers. She can look after him better than I." He almost seemed... nervous at the suggestion. Actually Gerald had seemed anxious ever since they returned.

"But you said she couldn't administer the medicine."

"No, I have enough time to do that. Let's give him a few more minutes so the anti-venom can kick in and then we'll move him to your flat. Do you have an extra bed?"

Orla shook her head, "No, but I'm fine sleeping on the couch. I do have extra sheets we can use for him though."

Barton nodded and they waited. Orla was thankful that the sun was almost down, else the park would be teaming with people. Some fool would've sent him to the hospital to die.

The warm water felt so delightful. The night before had been chaotic and she had fallen asleep almost immediately, still filthy, the feeling had been ruddy awful. But the lengthy stint in the shower had been worth it.

She spent plenty of time braiding her long auburn hair, pinning back her styled fringe, not wanting to wake up her guest with the hair dryer. Well, that's if he was close to consciousness. After putting on jeans and a blouse she checked back in on her patient. Hadn't even moved an inch.

She had popped in before her shower to grab clothes and see how he was. No charge, he remained terribly pale and the bandages had nearly bled through. They would have to be changed soon.

She hadn't paid much attention to him yesterday, but now that she wasn't panicking she had more time. She didn't figure that he was much less pallid when he was awake and she couldn't help but wonder if his black hair was coarse or soft. He was surprisingly skinnier than she first figured and his hooked nose was a very dominate feature.

Something Orla didn't figure was that he'd be muscular, and for the most part she was right. When her father's friend had pulled off his black coat and white shirt, she realized that he wasn't without some muscle. It was very little though. Overall she didn't find him much to look at, but it's not like she was shopping around anyway.

Patrick had protested when Gerald removed his shirt, so loudly that she feared someone would come knocking; Orla grinned as she imagined his conniption had it been necessary to fully strip the stranger.

With the stress of the situation mostly blown over, she found her anger had ebbed away. They had both been placed in a taxing situation and so, of course, he lashed out a bit, showing his boyish tendency toward jealousy.

Well, in light of it all, nighttime and evening runs through the park were officially ruined for her now.

As she sat beside him something caught her eye; her finger gently traced the foreign shape on his left arm. At first she'd figured that it was a scar, until she took a closer look. It was a tattoo, very faint but she could positively make out the design: a skull with a snake emerging from its mouth, the coils curled and twisted. Even as faded as it was in the morning light, looking at it gave her chills.

Having removed her finger when she'd leaned closer, the deep auburn ends of her french braid fell over her shoulder and brushed his pale skin. Had it not have been quiet in her room, she might not have heard his soft sigh. Or was it a groan? The brief twitch of his fingers caused her to jump back in embarrassment.

To Orla's relief, and slight disappointment, he didn't stir further. "Do try and wake," she said gently, "the day is beautiful and it's too early yet to die."

Had it been a trick of the light or had he moved again? She gave a slight smile and felt more confident that he would live. He at least looked peaceful, the lines on his face having suggested a life full of misery. They made it difficult to guess his age.

Taking her light blue eyes off his prone form, she made her way out to the kitchen to eat. Checking her clock, she thought about calling her mother and almost forgot that in America it was still very early in the morning. So instead she fixed up a pot of tea and enjoyed one of her few mornings off.

She wanted to do something, but feared that the worst would happen if she left. Still, he'd made it through the night so that was reassuring.

Pulling out her copy of The Lord of the Rings and opened the tome to the second book and simply read. She's become so lost in the story that when there was a light rap on her door, she jumped.

It was Gerald.

"How are things?" He inquired as she let him in.

She smiled and re-heated the tea. "I checked in on him a few hours ago and there wasn't a change, but there's still a steady pulse regardless. Bleeding hasn't stopped though."

Hearing an odd noise, she glanced back up to see him patting the bag she had finally realized he had. "Don't worry, I have something I believe will help, but it'll take a few days to fully work."

"I know you'll do your best." He placed a hand on her shoulder before he moved further into her flat. "Need help?"

"Nope." And with that he closed her bedroom door. She's never known Barton to be a nervous man, but his response had sounded rather clipped. Her face fell into a frown, after all it was her room and there shouldn't be anything to hide.

She tried not to let it bother her, but the curiosity pricked at her. She retrieved her book and took up her spot on the rented couch. A rented flat had its perks, particularly furnished, but it lacked any emotional attachment when most items didn't belong to her. It was just easier this way for when the lease ended.

She could hardly concentrate on the story after she took the kettle off the stove, this was taking too long. She'd only finished a page when the door finally opened and he joined her. Seeing Orla holding such a thick book caused him to chuckle. "It's surprising that you have such a patience for books when textbooks drive you mental."

This drew a laugh from her. "Only because I wasn't interested. Same with sewing and chess, I'm not good at either and they take forever to complete, the combination is lethal to me." She paused and glanced at the bloody bandages that he threw into his bag. "Is he alright?"

"Yeah. Gave him the anti-venom and changed the bandages. Hopefully he'll be conscious in a few days."

Orla was truly happy to hear this, but she didn't know what to say. He was a stranger, having him in her home unconscious was alright but awake was a different story. Instead of speaking, an awkward silence followed and she poured Gerald a cup of her earl gray.

Finally she decided to ask him about how classes were going at the university. He had only good things to report, leading into a polite conversation which quickly died.

"Orla?"

"Yes?"

"Look, as an old friend and teacher I want to know how you're doing. Last night was the first in months that you've called." Had Gerald Barton only been her father's friend, she probably would have cut all ties to him, but he was hers as well. It was touching that his concern was genuine.

She shrugged; the tea cup in front of her had hardly been touched. "Alright, I hate my ruddy job but I make enough to get by. I'd love to go back to a university and finally get a degree... problem is I have no idea what I want to study."

"What about your parents?"

"Well I'm sure you've heard that my father moved to London before I moved here." He nodded, probably remembering the first time she'd told him. "Well mum moved from New York, said it was too busy and crowded."

Gerald snorted, "That sounds like Isla." He took another sip and glanced at the only picture she had in her living room: a photo containing her father, mother, and herself with smiles plastered on their faces... several years before the divorce. "Where is she now?"

"In the Tennessee state, Memphis I believe she said. She managed to rent a nice house in the suburbs."

"Well I'm happy for her."

"Me as well, I just wish she were closer. It would make talking to her easier." Orla took one look at the picture and back at her cup.

Her guest cleared his throat and her eyes lighted on him. "Who was the boy from yesterday?"

To this she smirked, he never stopped acting like a second father when it came to certain things. "Patrick Turrill, my boyfriend. He's got a job at posh French restaurant. With how good he is I won't be surprised if he makes head chef soon." This seemed to appease him, she hoped he knew she was smart about who she dated. A job was a must.

"Well I must go, give me a call if our patient worsens." They both stood and she walked him to the door.

"Please give Elizabeth my love and tell the boys I said hello."

"Oh I will, you'll have to visit and tell them yourself soon."

"Of course. Goodbye Gerald." He gave a warm smile before leaving.

After cleaning up the tea remnants, she started a late lunch and went back to her room. The man was still out, but that was fine for now. The same could not be said for her room. It was horribly unorganized and she used the brief time to clean. Not very exciting, but she refused to give this man a heart attack so shortly after he recovered.

It was a somber way to spend a gorgeous afternoon, but necessary.

Patrick stopped by after his shift and the two sat on the couch and talked. He was very curious about her relationship with Gerald and laughed at his foolishness once she told him.

As usual, he made dinner and they sat together indulging in a bottle of wine he'd bought for her birthday. It was a great evening, she thought, as they popped on a movie afterward.

"Sorry about yesterday," he apologized again. She was turning the volume down as he brought their wine glasses. "I've never... well you know."

"It's alright, I was stressed too." She cuddled against him as the film started. She didn't hold it against him anymore. "Let's just put it behind us and enjoy tonight."

During the movie he pulled her feet into his lap and massaged them as well as her calves, making jokes about how the actors were "mental" and the plot was "a blooming joke". His half-serious jests were accompanied by a feminine snickering which pulled a handsome smile on his face.

Pulling her into his side, he turned the telly off as the credits rolled. "Well I'm glad to see you didn't get too burnt yesterday."

Snorting, she pulled the neck of her blouse to the side to reveal pink shoulders.

"Never mind," then a snort, "At least, this time, your freckles stand out more than the burn." Sure enough, the light dots all along her shoulders were a seasoned brown that she wished her skin could mimic.
They continued teasing each other till her clock said half ten. Cursing the upcoming week, she kissed Patrick goodbye and remade the couch so she could sleep.

Checking again, there was still no change in the stranger, so she readied herself for bed. She hadn't been down long when she swore she'd heard a muttering.

Shooting upright, Orla waited for several minutes with bated breath. Nothing else came though, and she slowly sank back down with disappointment. She'd sworn that the sound had slid from the open room that was currently occupied. So she waited several more minutes in hopes of hearing more.

I'm well aware Snape dies in the Shrieking Shack, but this is obviously AU and the reason he ends up where he is shall be explained later. Also, I apologize ahead of time but I'll be using BOTH movie and book details as it's been years since I've read the books and I've seen the movies recently.

As I said before, if characters get OC or I get details wrong please tell me. Criticism is encouraged as long as it's polite and not trying to tear it apart. I've put a lot of time into plot and characters, so while not the most interesting of chapters there is more to come. Besides, comments make my day.

But I hope you guys enjoyed it!