Alright, there's enough chapters now to just put the general stuff here.

I have dyslexia. So, that explains a lot of what is to come. I love reviews and if you're going to leave a hate message please let me know WHY you disliked my story. That would be super helpful. :)

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Severus Snape wakes from a blackness that felt centuries old but from a sleep where he got very little rest while within. He wakes to a room of black and cold while his body radiates the fire of severe injury and the weakness of the slipping hands of death. He doesn't want to wake because the moment he does he knows he's alive which is something he did not want to be. He panics because he knows he's breathing, he can feel the raising and falling of his flesh against whatever fabric lay over his skin. He panics because he doesn't know where he is but to be alive in blackness was not calming for him at all. He moves his arms and yes they work so he pushes up but quickly finds himself back down on the cushion as a disabling shot of pain jolts through his left hand and embeds in the curve of his elbow. He squeezes his eyes and bites his cheek as a low groan rumbles from his chest. Still, he thanks the blackness that he hadn't hit his forehead for that would have meant he was in a casket which would have been worse than anywhere else he could have ended up. Being buried alive was always a fear of his but thankfully that was not the case this time... He's grasped his wrist as the sharp pain pulses and he'll quickly register the fabric of the tightly wrapped bandage that's present under his fingers.

Pushing through the pain he's so well trained to sift through, he slows his breathing as he lifts his left wrist… Instantly his eyes widen as he looks upon a bandaged three-fingered hand; a damage that he doesn't remember obtaining and whose discovery will jolt him upright, yelling out in some mixture of pain and fear as he pushes himself up. Nothing escapes his throat but he doesn't realize this in his panicked state and if he were to retell his mindset of that moment later, he'd maybe explain how he was running from his actual hand. He was running back to his fingers, running back to the Shrieking Shack, running back to that last day before that last school year when he was back in his armchair with a hard shot of fire whiskey and a good book on that perfect summer afternoon.

In reality, he's run from the bed, but a sharpness rips through his skin and as he crashes back onto the floor and against the cold metal bed frame he finds he's ripped all but one needle out of his skin. It's a clear tube on a metal pole that he follows down from the clear plastic bag that hangs above him and into the notch of his right arm. The IV is on wheels and when he moved, so had it. The rest of what was attached hang limply like vines or chains that were used to hold the body in its prison state. Looking away from where he woke he uses the pole heavily as he climbs up onto his feet. He's such a weak and sloppy mess that he pushes the wheeled pole along as he stumbles to a stand, focusing on the black words on the clear plastic bag.

Elixir of Ice

A healing IV drip. He smiles like a fool because he knows this potion. He knows the way his toes slide on the floor and he recognizes the knock of weak knees. Like many heavy muggle and magic pain ailments, this elixir calmed the entire body and created a strong numbing, drunk effect in the mind. He looks around in a better light, his hand going to his chest where he found himself repelled by the bandaged disfigurement for the second time and in response stumbles away from himself again with a sudden jerk. As he looks up his eye catches a floor length mirror that sits in the corner of the room and slowly he limps his way over to it, stopping right before stepping into the reflection. His breathing is slowing and with his weight leaning on the cold steel pole that he relies on to keep him up Severus Snape takes the heavy step. He hears the squeaking of the wheels echo in the room, his feet are cold on the bare stone floor, his breathing holds as he takes the step and stares at himself as he was just then. He's dressed in a hospital gown that covers his body but even with only the moonlight from the glass strip of the skylight window he is able to guide his eyes along the many moon white scars. Some he knows, more he doesn't... He's stepping up, standing with his bare feet slightly apart he slowly raises his hand looking down only after the reflection raises with him. The hand is only his first three fingers, his ring finger and pinky were gone at the bottom knuckle and the entire hand is wrapped in a clean, bright white bandage. He feels his heart rate start to pick up again and his vision swayed so he put his hand down and his forehead against the cold pole as he breathed in heavily, trying his hardest not to vomit.

It takes a minute of self control before he can look again, blinking a few times before sliding his sweat drenched forehead to another, colder part of the pole. Feeling overheated, his mouth is dry but he's shivering because he's so very cold. Straightening up to a balanced-enough stance he raises his good hand and pulls the string of his grown allowing the fabric to fall. He stands naked in the night, his malnourished, pale body glowing in the blackness and he walks up to himself, his eyes looking over before landing on his throat. It was more than just his throat... Deep, serrated scars reached down onto his chest and there was a still healing scar on his stomach that wasn't from the snake as it was far to new and fresh. He looks down, touching the thread of the sewn stitches. What did come from the snake were the scars on his cheeks and that which were scattered in sharp lines down his jaw and as well on his arms. His left arm forearm was bandaged while his right bares the scars of the few defensive blocks he had made against the snake. The highest of his scars he can see cuts up from his collarbone, travels over his neck and ends right below the back of his cheekbone. He remembered that bite. He remembers how the poison spit before the bite landed and he remembered the burning in his eye and the poisons fiery agony. He leans forward and tilts his head as he looks into the reflection of his eye. His pupil looks off, like some of his iris overflowed and dripped down into his socket. He frowns as the closeness also shows his ripped lips and chunky, flesh missing jawline. Straightening back up, he opens his mouth but when he tries to speak his voice is a hiss of air and fire agony. He tries again to say something, anything, but what he thinks cannot be pulled up while rejected movements and pain coursed through every attempt. He gives up quickly and looks elsewhere.

Another wave of panic races his heart so he steps away from himself, his eyes shooting around the space looking for the door. His body was growing heavy under his weakness, but his heart won't stop racing in his chest and the adrenaline that rises is numb and manic. He needs a plan he realizes and he'll hyper-focuses on his path to this. He's in a hospital room, yes. He can tell by the line of cabinets and style of countertop storage. He saw an extra wheelchair against the wall along with a set of black leather chairs by the heavily draped window. He quickly finds the hamper of folded stacked hospital clothes behind the door of a tall, boxy closet and pulls out a set. With grit teeth, he pulls on a set of drawstring pants and after that he'll grunt his way into a light green scrub style, shirt, using the button sleeves to accommodate the IV he wasn't ready to take out. He will find his wand in the drawer at the side table and tucked it into the tightly tied pants that sat loose on his overly skinny hips. He's noticed his malnourishment and would have counted his ribs if he hadn't been staring at his throat. He takes a brown fabric bag that he found under the sink among another basic cleaning products and then he puts in three reserve Elixir bags that he finds in a cold box off the sink. From shelves, he finds emergency high dose anti-infections and pain medications that probably should have been locked up but weren't, as well as a few sets of bandages and tape.

With his IV secured by another wrap of a bandage he groans as he lifts his hand above his head, his shoulder stiff and pained, he drops the handles of the bag on one of the pole hooks. He collapses onto the bed out of breath and shivering from the sweat that layered his body and the pure adrenaline that pumped through him in waves. Now, the door. With heavy, slow steps he limps his way there and shakes the locked handle. He bites his cheek and thinks as his shoulder rests against the door. There's no handle, there's a slot for his fingers and after that he finds the door is a sliding door, a door that is locked and shakes when he tries to open it. With a heavy sigh he closes his eyes and envisions the lock releasing. The door clicks and he grins to himself as he cracks his eyes open. This time when he pulls the door slides away and slowly, using the pole as his support he shuffles his way out the room and into a cold, dark hospital hall. Indeed he's in a hospital wing but not at St. Mungo's… it's another hospital.. Not the Hogwarts infirmary nor is it any private clinic he's ever visited… He doesn't know this hall, but he knows the smell of disinfectant and understands the basic hallmarks. Quiet as the grave, there are many other doors like his and all of them are closed which prompts him to shut and lock it behind him. He wasn't coming back and he figured there wasn't a need to expose his exit any earlier than he needed to.

He chooses to go right and travels down the candlelit corridor nearest to the wall, checking behind him with every few steps taken. He'll have made it through two turns before stopping as a shadow cast on the ground from a sharp right turn and he hears the sound of approaching footsteps entering the hall he shared a corner with. Quickly pressing his back against the wall he listened to the oncomers heels and he'll hold his breath and watch the break in the hallway as the humanesk shadow grows darker and darker. Soon, a mediwitch steps into view before turning straight to the right and away from him. He waits for her to turn the next corner before stepping from the shadows and continuing on, taking the corner into the hall she had come from. He'll find stairs and make his way downward from the floor marked three to the ground floor that's far more lit but empty except for a man in a security style robe whose eyes bulge when he sees the shuffling, struggling patient.

"Hey!" The male guard called from behind his desk. "Hey, you can't just leave?!"

He kept going towards the door, keeping his back to the man who he heard rushing around the desk and when he felt the hand drop on his shoulder he turns and with nearly all he has, he shoves his palms into the center of the man's chest. The wizard if that's what he was, was forced off his feet and away from Severus who quickly pushed through the large glass doors that opened for him and apparated away the moment his foot touched the hard black tar and cool outside air.

..

The Burrow.

He almost laughs as he stands on the edge of the forest as he sees the rebuilt home standing where its always been, cast in the light of the full moon and looking immaculate as always. Still tall and crooked, still jagged and uneven, rooms grew off the edges like crystals as windows dot each floor. It's not long now until he's safe and can finally sleep with some sort of comfort. He travels the space between here and over there on legs of swamped swallowed feet and ethe closer he gets the more he feels its warmth and siren song of welcoming. Life. There are people awake though the house is quiet and dark and until now he hadn't planned on how he would conduct things if any conversation were to occur. With a heavy breath that told tales of his pain, he collapses against the threshold and doesn't think of what to do next... He was exhausted to the point of not feeling anything but the primal need for sleep so he slams his good hand against the door, cracking his fist off the wood several times..

There's silence and then the door opened and he grins sarcastically as he pushes his way in and past Arthur Weasley.

"Who… Severus? Oh, Merlin!"

He says nothing, but waves his hand which summons the quill and parchment from the nearby desk that he uses to write his note. With a wave down he'll drop the paper into the hands of Arthur as he turns and starts up the stairs.

Asylum

Asylum is an old code word used by the Order for when a member needed a place to heal, so Arthur wouldn't refuse the man but followed behind each struggled step that made up the tall and twisting staircase.

"Severus… Where… where have you been?" Arthur whispered.

Nothing, but he knows Arthur doesn't know that he doesn't have a voice to answer with and didn't understand how tired he really was. Arthur never tried to stop the man that ascended his home, nor did he tell him to halt… Maybe it was because whoever it was was truly hurt and Arthur could tell that whoever they really where, they would just fall over backward if he paused for even a moment. This was Severus's final push and last mountain, his hearing was going in and out as he pulled his way up the thin, uneven staircase and at one point, his foot misses a step and his knee collapses but he'll push himself back up and slide along the wooden wall without any of Arthurs help. His eyelids have dropped and he travels blind knowing where the door is because this isn't the first time he had climbed a feat like this, but when his hand lands on the wall where the door should be he opens his eyes. Indeed, he's standing before a wooden wall instead of an expected door but when he heard Arthur clear his throat, Severus looks over to see the man with a meek expression motion upwards. He follows, looking further up the stairway where he sees the green door he knows so well just above him.

His heart skips as he realizes this wasn't the same staircase… because this wasn't the same house. His throat becomes just a little bit tighter as he takes the next three steps up which must have caught Arthurs attention because he waved his hand in a motion that opened the door for him.

"Go on." Arthur pushes and Severus will give the man a nod before he turns away from the owner of the room and slides his way into the darkness of the space. Arthur would wait a moment before pulling the door closed and he'd lock it from any outside intrusions before turning and starting down the stairs.

Now, alone in the room that looked so much like the one before it, Severus Snape recalls what he can. He knows nothing about what happened to him after the snake. He remembers it so deeply that he still feels the tearing of skin and the burning venom. Slowly, he pushes the pole to the bed with him and sits down on its edge taking a moment before raising his eyes and reading the time on the small tableside clock.

12:34 am.

He shuts his eyes and grips the edge of his bed with both hands.

1,2,3,4.

His fists tighten on the blankets.

Make a wish.

…..

There are other occupants in the many rooms of The Burrow. Ginny Weasley still lives at home simply because she plays too much Quittach to want to spend money on somewhere she was never at. Her mother loves it as her only daughter is still under her roof and she spoils her with every return. George lived at home and did nothing much because he was utterly shattered over the loss of his brother. The family had removed Remus from The House Of Black and he lived there full time and even worked part-time at Luna's shop and with George at the twins joke shop. Harry had promised to come by that night for dinner and he was to bring the renegade Weasley with him. Ron was never around much these day, he always said that he very busy and he saw his family less than the rest of the children which was odd but was something he also refused to talk about. Ron was there though for this family dinner, a smile on his face and light conversation in the air, him and Hermione laughing as looks are exchanged passively over the table occasionally. Luna smiles as she holds the hand of her boyfriend Nevill, who had this Friday off from the castles restrictions. Charlie, Fleur and their baby had in a bedroom when Severus arrived and were planning to stay until after dessert and coffee knowing nothing about the man. They sat together with little Victoire on her fathers lap as mother fed the giggling toddler. Percy, who sat next to his brother and played with the child, came through right as the table was being set but would leave before coffee and cake sighting he had a girl to visit with a small, bashful smile.

There's nothing special about the night, nothing different or annually planned, the Burrow just acted like a candle on a regular basis. Bright and always warm with constant waves of use, right now things were very busy which is how Molly loved it as much as she missed it. At the counter now, she's is trying very hard not to make herself obvious as she packed a tray to deliver upstairs. Though no one was awake last night, the house was alive now as food and drink were shared and conversation passed. Severus had played his normal shadow self and remained in the healing room with the door closed and silent through the entire day and had yet to show evidence of his presence once. There was a moment where Molly had entered the green room only to see the sleeping man still in the bed, laying on his side with his back to her, she approached quietly and touched his shoulder. She told herself she had too. If she hadn't, she probably would still be thinking his arrival was merely something she dreamed. She almost got away with her deviancy and was almost out of the room with the tray in hand before Ron spoke up above all the others.

"Mum. Where's that going?"

The kitchen quiets as eyes turn to Molly who gave a meek smile and gestured to the tray of food and drink.

"Well… It's going.. Upstairs."

"To who?"

They were her children and always would be… but they were no longer children and that was something she had to keep in mind. Stiffly, she nods her head.

"It's for Professor Snape."

To explain energy to someone who couldn't feel it, this room could have been used as a prime example, for the moment Molly said this name the space became irrefutably colder.

"S… Snape?" Neville asked and Molly gave an apologetic smile.

"I thought he was dead!" Ron's hand slammed against the table.

"That was speculation!" Hermione corrected as she lifted from her seat. "No one knew what happened to him when he was taken. They thought those people worked at St. Mongos but no…. They just.. Left with his body."

"But, I thought he was dead." The child came out of Ron as he tossed his fork onto the table.

"No." Arthur stated, hushing the boy and his foolish behavior, "He's alive. He's been here since about midnight last night and he's been here the entire day."

"Why didn't you tell us?" Charlie asked at the same time as George and the father shrugged before going back to his potatoes.

"Because no one asked."

Taking this distraction as the room lit up in conversation, Molly slipped out of the kitchen.

...

And indeed Severus had been asleep. He had slept on heavens pillows in the janky small room with one window. He didn't hear a thing and won't be woken until a soft hand shakes him. First he jumps because he's stirred but then jumps again when he realizes it's Molly who stands before him now which triggered the wash of memories from the last night.

"I.. I didn't mean to startle you." She said softly as while he eyed her, she eyed his wrapped hand he avoided leaning any support on..

Where he had felt pain before, the accelerated drip made it so he could not register such distractions during his travels but he feels it now though he notices the bag he's attached to is totally full. He had so much pain. Pain in his entire left arm, and pain in his legs. He had pain inside around in his abdomen and a furious pain that swelled in his throat.

"We umm.. Well, Arthur and I saw what you were hooked up to and we didn't see how another dose would do you harm… We slowed your dosage than what it was… You have two bags left…. Oh, Severus.." Her voice broke as she adjusted on her feet and moved closer, "Where have you been?!"

He doesn't respond, and he doesn't get angry at her anger because she doesn't know he can't.

"Severus… You're free to stay here…" She lowered herself before the man, a more serious tone in her voice. "But you need to tell me what happened."

He looks at her, his oil ink eyes against bloodshot white flashes in the dark room that surrounds him. Slowly he leans forward as he tilts his head to the side, questioning her as he lifts his right hand and places his palm on her forehead. With a gasp Molly grasps her throat, her fingers clutching the spaces he feels his most discomfort and strain. She sounds like the one time he tried to talk. His voice a whistle and wheeze, his throat constricting in rebellious ways. He'll release his magic and drop his hand.

Slowly, Molly's hands fall from her throat her face filling again with color.

"You can't talk…" She whispers and he shakes his head no.

"What's the last thing you remember?" She moves closer to him, "What do you know of after the war?"

Again he lifts his hand and lands his flesh upon her crown but this time she sees what he had.

The first person perspective of the snake. The fangs, the poison, the hatred. She hears the jaws snap in her ears and the tearing of flesh and vessels, she shutters and falls away from him before she can see anything else..

"Severus.." She doesn't quite know in what emotion to say his name with but stands here with a shaking hand over her mouth.

"You've been missing… for five years…. We all thought..."

He would swear by Albus and Merlin together that if it wasn't for that drip of total relaxant he would have had a melt down all over again. Actually, he figures the fact he's been so calm all this time was based just on exhaustion and drugs alone. It was nice, and he promises to turn the dose higher as soon as she leaves. He looks from her to the full bag of Elixir of Ice before looking back to Molly. He nods slowly before taking the cup of milk off of the tray and downing the entire thing before drinking all of the water in the other glass.

"You're thirsty. Did… you just wake up? I mean, before here… Do they know you're here?"

Too many questions for someone who can't say anything but first he nods as his eyes land on the food and he realizes how hungry he really was. He then shakes his head no as he leans over, taking the bowl of porridge with a weak grip and would take small bites that he had problems forcing himself to swallow. Molly watches as he gives up, spits food into a napkin that he puts back on the tray next to the bowl, eyeing the empty glasses.

"I'll.. I'll get you more." Molly rose to her feet. "I'll...be right back... Don't... don't leave."

She left the man with a curved eyebrow but he'd lay down instead of rising, determined to be back asleep soon, but not fast enough where he'd wake with his mouth desert dry.

…

Hermione chose to stay the night mostly because she wanted to see a sign of her old potions master. She knew Molly and Arthur wouldn't lie but no one in the house except for them had seen him. What if it wasn't really Snape? Ronald had brought this up quite a few times and he was right.. They didn't know.. She had passed the green door three times that night, the last time around 2 in the morning when she just couldn't sleep and was heading downstairs. The green door was still closed and she thought back to her childhood as she passed it. She had never gone into this room as it was always locked so she wouldn't attempt now. She just passed it a bit slower and tried to hear anything from within. She couldn't hear anything so she continued on. The house was asleep, or so she thought.

She'd land on the ground floor and turn into the kitchen with a yawn that turned into a choke when she looked ahead of her. A shadow form with the energy she knows so well is sitting on the counter, shoulders bent, a flash of eyes coming from behind strands of oil back hair. She stands frozen, but the teacher's eyes will fall from her and slip back over to the stove that she will see for the first time is lit and warming a liquid in a small black pot. When he tilts his head, the moonlight catches his profile as his eyes hold on the spoon his fingers twist slowly through the liquid.

"Professor Snape."

He glances her way only using his eyes before his head nods and his attention is back on the stove. She sees at his side that the moon flickers against the metal of the IV pole and she'll follow the clear tube, and yes… indeed it's attached to the side of his unclothed arm.

"I ummm.. I didn't mean too…."

His head is nodding casually, the definition in the layers of black comes clearer the closer she approached. She stops behind the fridge in some sort of awkward hiding as she watches him for a moment.

"I was just getting some water." She says as casually as she can as her hand slips onto the fridge handle, his eye raising to her again before dropping.

She was being foolish, she scolds herself as she pulls out a collected ice tray from the freezer and places it on the wooden topped island fixture. She was a woman of the Ministry now not a child at a classroom desk. She had no reason to act like a scared mouse in front of a cat so she steps out and walks over to the cabinet at his side. She gives him a curt nod before pulling open the cabinet door and taking a deep brown mug from a high placed shelf. He doesn't help her, though he watches her as she comes inches from him. Still, she can't help but almost doubt he's there.

She could smell the scent of blood and sweat and notices his clothing is not anything that she had seen before on him. A hospital shirt. She glances down and notices his trousers are light blue/green and are held by a wrapped string that lay limply over his leg. He was also barefoot but she noticed that from a distance. He's wearing a black bathrobe that hangs open over everything but then she takes her eyes away because she knows she's staring. She'll back away as she takes the cup and would place it on the island besides the ice. He hadn't said a word to her but she feels his eyes weighing as she tries to ignore him. She looks up and sees he's moved on and is watching the pot again as she turns back to her cup of water.

"I'd expected that you would have at least said, hello."

When she looks up he's already looking at her, his eyebrow quirked. "Nevermind."

Her cheeks flame red as she sees him smirk, an almost mocking smile and her stomach flips and shes about to look away when he raises a shadowed hand that's wrapped with fingers missing up to the robe where he pulls away the layers of fabric, tilting his head and exposing the scaring she hadn't willed herself to look at.

"So you can't talk." Her shoulders loosed as the pot begins to boil. "And your fingers… All from the same…."

She takes a step back as he slides off the counter, landing in a rather weak kneed stance. She watched him stare at her before nodding and turning his back to her, walling her out and telling her to go... She'll stand in the darkness of the kitchen and watch him wave his hand, using magic to move the pot from the burner to flowing into a cup of his own before that good hand lifts the mug by the handle. She watches until he turns back and sees her still there, his arm hooking around the metal pole using his wrist to guide it. He walks past her and she moves out of his way as the pot lands itself quietly in the sink

...

That night he's panicking. Not because of Hermione Granger or the encounter in the kitchen or even about the fact he's here at all. The IV bag is nearly empty and after this he only has 24 hours to get everything sorted out. 24 hours if he doesn't turn the valve again...

Sobriety means facing the world in which he returned to that up until this point he hadn't thought about once. A world where Hermione is stronger than he, a world where five years had passed and everyone assumed him dead. He panicked because he had no idea where he came from or what side those people who saved him were on. He woke in a hospital but left through magic, never once seeing anything he could recall as distinguashable which was his fault. He knew better than that... He'd force his way through another panic because he knew he would go through withdraw alone and silent and now regretted how quickly he had been running his drip but knew slowing it down was something he'd never end up doing… Soon after the bag is empty he will start shaking and the pain of all his injuries will envelop him in a sharp, fiery few days of dissociated agony. He knew all of this because he knew Elixir of Ice was addicting and addiction was something that was not a foreign concept to him… This brought up another point...He was over a decade sober... whoever saved him didn't know not to use such triggering treatments on him... Coming here was wrong, he realized while still knowing he couldn't have gone home because that's where everyone would have searched first... He had no answers and no direction and no plan at all, he was alone and still so very cold...

He never wanted to be alive… Living wasn't the plan... It had even been discussed at length a few different times... But he was breathing… he was awake in The Burrow and didn't know a single thing about of what was or what had passed. The blackness became the coffin he feared when he first woke and he thought of all of this and more as he sipped his tea that night and twist the valve on the bag just a smidge more open.