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Chapter 2

"Blimey!" her fellow waiters looked on in sympathy, "How many ruddy times can he change his order?!" Throwing her pad and pen on the counter, she checked her watch. It was almost five, another hour and she could return to her flat. Just one more-

"Dacosta!" She cringed as her manager closed in on her. "Why are you just standing around?" The tiny red-faced man looked ready to expire, the sweat practically pouring off of him.

Checking through the window into the dining room, she finally answered. "I only have a few occupied tables, besides I'm waiting on a customer's order."

"But you were just back here for table 37." He had snatched the ticket from her fingers and adopted a look of pure panic.

"Yeah well the wanker changed it again," at his condescending glare, she retorted, "after seven minutes of incoherent mumbling and indecisive babble. I've had it up to here with him." She dropped her hand from her neck and sighed, the couple weren't horrible just taxing, but after the long day her patience was gone and she just wanted to leave.

That hope was dashed faster than it had been birthed.

"Well turn that ticket in and get back out there. Take over tables 2, 16, and 14 as well, Sharona just quit and they've been left sitting far too long."

She tried to be understanding, but as she entered her flat at seven, she just couldn't. Forgetting about her guest, she slammed the door and kicked off her trainers. Dropping her handbag on the coffee table, she made her way into the kitchen.

Finding the note from Barton, she made sure to skim over it. As with the past five days, he'd used her spare key to take care of the man within. The news was consoling. There was a longer moment where he was lucid and the bleeding had nearly stopped. This was the best thing that had happened all day.

Carefully, she peeked into her room and noticed that his face was taut and his sleep looked more fitful. This time she noticed the lines creasing his face had become more prominent, making him look older and more guant. It appeared that his troubles had caught back up with him.

Had she been an air-headed twit, or perhaps an American, she might have pitied him. Having her own problems, she only hoped that there was something he had to help him make it through, perhaps someone to look after him.

Deciding to leave him be, she left the room and called Patrick. He was certainly disappointed about their canceled date, but he did try his damnedest to not let on that he was. Orla knew he was trying to be understanding, but she just couldn't deal with other people tonight. Not after the abysmal day she'd had.

No movie was worth the torture. Not when the rest of the world would be flocking to the cinemas to see it.

Besides, Patrick would try too hard to make today better... resting at home was just fine with her. So, using the few tricks she'd picked up from her mother, she cracked open a box of spaghetti and a jar of pasta sauce while placing a pan of hamburger over the stove. Time to use her limited skills and make a simple meal that she enjoyed.

There... there it was again, a soft gentle noise that was highly familiar. If only the haze would leave, it was highly inconvenient. Well, actually, it was more than just the haze. Most joints were severely stiff and limbs practically were unmovable. The lethargic-state was probably caused by the heaviness all over, that seemed to even permeate the mind.

It blurred everything except a pitiful weakness that was evident, and an acute ache that was building into a full-fledged pain.

Severus Snape hadn't felt like this for many years, and would sooner be damned than let anyone know.

As his consciousness strengthened, his worries and thoughts took over: Was the war still going on? Had Potter failed? What was the state of the wizarding world now? Had he failed?

Annoyed by these thoughts, he focused on trying to sit up. His limbs still felt too heavy and the hint of a strong headache was emerging. An agitated sigh was all he could voice at the moment, and even that seemed rusty.

The soft scratching noise he'd been hearing stopped, the silence uncomfortably obvious. There was no way he was at Hogwarts, or any hospital for that matter, the chaos would be ubiquitous. Meaning no silence. His heart began pounding and his breathing, while labored, increased.

Had he been captured?

A sigh reached his ears, or was it a gasp? Even to his muddled ears he knew it to be definitely feminine. His first thoughts turned to the one woman he had loved, still loved. Lily? Could he have died and she come to care for him?

Was the pain recompense for all the sins he'd committed against others? If so, he deserved it, and certainly not the presence of his beloved... he would never deserve that. But, he would relish in it, in the tiny piece of heaven – no pun meant, for Snape would never practice something so ridiculous – he was allowed to indulge in.

Severus tried to call out to her, but it came out a hoarse croak instead. Usually such a lack of control would have been embarrassing, the weakness absolutely humiliating, but it was the furthest thing from his mind. Trying to open his eyes once more, the haze cleared and he saw light. At least, he assumed it was, things were still blurred.

Groaning at the concentration it took to keep his eyes open, he tried again. "Li..ly." It was definitely coherent that time, but so weak sounding. He hardly recognized his voice-

A flash of red entered his vision, he held his breath in apprehension. The blurred mass swayed before his tired eyes in a movement immediately recognized: hair. Had he been able to, he would have wept with joy, collapsed at her feet, and poured apologizes straight from his pathetic bleeding heart.

After sixteen years, Lily had returned... to him. Or, for a blissful few moments, he had believed.

"Bloody hell, you are awake." It was a soft voice, melodious – or maybe not. There was a slight Irish slur to her words, not a native but certainly exposed. This was not Lily's voice; Snape's heart clenched at the realization and he tried to pull himself back together. "Can you sit up?" he closed his eyes, blocking out the offending figure. "Feel like talking?" Another shake of his head.

Of course it had been too good to be true, he would never be worthy of her presence again. He felt sick with his disappointment, or perhaps from his ailment, he really didn't care.

"Well, alright, that's to be expected. You know, you're quite lucky, you should be dead." This stranger had no idea how badly he wanted to be, Merlin knew he should be. So why wasn't he? What had possessed this witch to help him? "Those bites were rather nasty," right, Nagini, "I was starting to really worry. A week with little progress is not encouraging."

Why did she continue to speak? It was agony to him. He just wanted the miserable twit to leave him be, to have let him die.

A sudden cool touch upon his forehead startled him. Severus's dark eyes shot open, and he caught the blur that was this mysterious witch leaning over him, hand upon his forehead. "Well, your fever's dropped. Definitely an improvement." The feeling was gone, but he didn't close his eyes. Instead, he attempted to give her one of his familiar glares, the effort surprisingly difficult.

It didn't seem to deter her though, for he could make out the figure moving and felt a weight settle at the end of the bed. Damnable girl! Seeing as her form wasn't becoming any clearer, he quickly shut his eyes and turned his head from her.

"Things will still be rough, but you've made it this far, right?" It was as if she were trying to keep her voice annoyingly gentle for his sake. "Hopefully your color returns soon; despite your improvement, it isn't encouraging with you looking like an inch from death's door."

His taciturn attitude didn't seem to bother her, for she stayed far longer than he'd liked. "Do you feel like eating?" Once more he shook his head, but honestly he was ravenous. "Very well, you should eat but if you think you could wait till morning-" The disagreement must have shown, because she emitted a light chuckle. "Alright, rest another few hours. I'll make you something light and wake you. Is that acceptable?"

There was a playful lilt to her question, was she mocking him? His ire was raised as he remembered all the others who had mocked him, she would probably be no different. He nodded tersely... or maybe just stiffly. Knowing how weak he was, it was probably just a ruddy-head bob.

"Sleep well then. I'll be back later." Thankfully the weight beside him was soon gone. There would be no need in trying to sleep because he slipped right back into it, back into the sweet oblivion that he preferred. If only it could have been permanent.

He was blissfully dreamless, but waking still came too soon. Things were again hazy as he attempted to wake. Her voice cajoled him to the world of the living, but he fought it. Fought the disappointment that would surely follow.

And it did.

The blurred red once again made his heart clench, but he killed the hope faster than this stranger could. And it would have destroyed him to not hear Lily's voice from the red-head above him.

It took a bit, but she finally started to come into focus. "Good morning." Ah, so that white spot was an obnoxiously large smile. Her... gray, perhaps they were blue, eyes held a mirthful glint. "So, it won't be very tasty, but it should hold you over."

She indicated to the bedside table where he assumed was some kind of soup. Fantastic. He sighed and looked up toward the white washed ceiling, being a patient had never sat well with him, he hated the waiting and he hated the weakness.

"Would you like help sitting up?" Instead of answering, he begrudgingly pushed himself up. It took so much effort; she tried to help him, but he managed to shoot and effective glare and finally got it. He tried to not let his lack of breath show. Merlin, was this all he was capable of?

She offered up a small smile, a quirk of her full lips simply added his dislike of her. Passing him the bowl and standing, she started to leave but then turned on her heels, her curly auburn hair swung over her shoulder. "By the way, my name is Orla, just in case you need something. I'll be back in a bit."

He finished his food in complete silence, and gently placed the bowl back on the end table, before laying back down. He hadn't meant to fall back asleep, but it happened. He awoke to sunlight flickering in through the window, lighting up a surprisingly sparse room. Figuring it had belonged to the woman, Orla, he expected a ridiculous amount of belongings and an obnoxious collage of colors. Silly feminine embellishments covering every inch. Instead, the sunlight hit upon white walls and gave a warm glow to the wooden dressers.

No pictures, nothing personal.

Pulling himself into an upright position, which still took much effort, he finally took stock of himself. Despite the lack in strength, he at least seemed in one piece. Everything took effort, his vision may have cleared, but his limbs still felt like lead. A burning in his neck made him raise a hand to inspect. There was a bandage securely around the wound.

Voices drew him from his thoughts and he watched the door, apprehension making his stomach clench. When the door opened he thought his heart would stop, until Orla stepped though. Her smile dominated her face upon seeing him, the wizard following her appeared several years her senior.

He smiled as well. What was there to bloody smile about?

"Good morning," the newcomer said, "Orla was right, you certainly look better than a week ago." Shooting a rather stern look at the young woman, her face fell and she slowly stalked out of the room. "I've only heard of one other incident quite like this, good thing too. This venom is highly unheard of. You were nearly a goner when Orla happened upon you."

Approaching the bed, he pulled a vial out of his bag. The color was familiar and, after being passed it, so was the consistency and smell. It was the antidote Arthur Weasley had been given. He quickly downed it and passed it to the elder wizard.

After running a hand through graying hair, he held it out to Snape. "I'm Gerald Barton, a retired medi-wizard."

Several seconds passed before he accepted the offered hand. His voice still rather raspy. "Severus-"

"Snape?"

"Yes." Brown eyes seemed to harden and the man nearly went ridged. "Rumor had it that you'd disappeared. Harry Potter said you'd died."

"And I should have," he replied rather icily as he withdrew his hand. It was a tense minute as they glared at each other-... Until finally the words sunk in. "Potter's alive?"

Barton nodded. "The boy nearly died, along with many others, but he's finally gone for good." Severus closed his eyes as a sigh of relief sounded, well it was a tremendous weight off his shoulders. The action apparently wasn't lost on Barton. "He claims that you were a hero, most of the wizarding world believes that he's delusional."

He what? That boy was trying to convince everyone that he wasn't a bastard? Taking this with a grain of salt, he instead dreaded running into the boy again. Potter now knew some of his most personal secrets, that didn't sit well with him.

The elder wizard had been speaking, but he'd hardly noticed. That was until he got into Snape's face. "I know this girl's father, both are dear friends of mine. I don't care what side you were on; I might not recognize you, but your reputation is really what concerns me. If you harm her in anyway, I'll hex you till you wished you had died. She's like my daughter."

Snape's brows furrowed, trying to catch up to this threat. Was he speaking of one of the students- Orla, that was what he was rambling over?

"I," he began rasping, "have no interest in Ms.-..." That's when he realized he didn't know her surname. He truly didn't care, but calling her "Orla" seemed too personal and he didn't care for her enough to want to.

"Dacosta."

"As I was saying," he said coolly, "Ms. Dacosta holds none of my interest. I couldn't be happier to leave her alone and remove myself from her company."

"And I as well." Severus already hated this man. As thick headed and judgmental as all the other brainless dolts in the world. "Sadly, you have to remain under bed rest for a few days yet." The silence continued again and he hoped that he'd just get the point that he was done.

His interest was quickly regained when Barton pulled out something from his bag: there was Snape's wand in his tanned hand. "It's astounding that it survived your apparation." Indeed it was, there didn't seem to be a single dent in the wood. The medi-wizard set it down on the bedside table, then turned his hard brown eyes back to Snape. "I've placed wards around this flat, even if you have strength to cast, your magic will be weakened."

Turning to leave, he stopped at the door. Snape was fuming inside, couldn't the bugger just leave?

A hint of curiosity softened the other man's face as he asked, "Where were you trying to go?"

Raising one dark brow, he answered honestly. "No idea, I must have done so unconsciously."

"Or being near death made you leave your rationality aside." Snape glared, he didn't like the sound of that. Losing his control wasn't something he found reassuring, actually it was ruddy annoying. The fact that he couldn't even remember doing so was just more humiliating. "No witch or wizard would dare apparate while so grievously injured, or panicked, it leads to disaster."

"I'm aware."

Barton's gaze hardened again. The curiosity was gone as his hand turned the door handle. "Don't bring up anything about the wizarding world to Orla. She's been rather sheltered-"

Scoffing, which wasn't good for his dry throat, he couldn't contain his disbelief. "Are you telling me that she knows little about the war?"

Was that shame in his eyes? Snape caught it, even as brief as it was. "Yes, it was her father's choice not mine."

"As if making her ignorant is better for her."

"Again, I'm not her father. Just try not to bring it up." Opening the door, he finished with, "I'll stop by again in a couple days, by then you should be well enough to leave."

Finally he was gone. Ignoring the drone of their conversation in the other room, he glanced at his wand. Was it really over? Was he gone, Potter had truly finished him? It was... surreal. The trouble would never be over and abusers of magic were everywhere, but the brunt of the storm was gone.

At least Voldemort's followers would be too busy running to cause any problems at the present time. Aurors would be crawling every inch of the British Isles for the cowards. His thoughts turned dark again. When they found out he was alive, would Potter's word be enough to keep him out of Azkaban? Dumbledore was now gone, he was the only one to defend him before... the remains of the order saw him as a traitor still. Not to mention he had to worry about running into surviving death eaters.

How many had died because of his actions? How many more would the world mourn because of events he sent into motion?

"What is it the Americans say? Penny for your thoughts?" There she was, in the doorway, interrupting his musings again. "Oh don't give me that look, I'm only joking." Placing something white on the bed, he realized that it was his shirt. "Gerald's wife is amazing, your clothes are just like new."

If she had his shirt- that's when Severus realized that he was bare from the waist up. Of course she couldn't see his slight discomfort, he wouldn't let her. "Give her my thanks."

"Of course. Now I think proper introductions are in order, after all you are staying in my flat. I'm Orla Dacosta, and you are?"

"A complete stranger."

She gave a small laugh, genuinely amused. "Very well stranger, are you hungry?"

"No."

"Don't lie," she said with an eye roll, "What do you feel like having? I can make more soup, unless you feel like something more solid?"

He wanted to tell her to stuff it, that he could eat whatever the hell he wanted... but he'd be damned if she saw him sick. "I guess a broth will do." Going to hand her the bowl from the night before, he realized it was gone. How had he noticed?

She paused before walking out of the door. "What were you doing in the park? What happened to you?"

In a typical Snape fashion, he crossed his arms and managed a glare that would've caused his students to practically faint from fear. "My problems are none of your concern. I thank you for your care, but we are strangers and I intend for us to part that way, Ms. Dacosta."

The smile faltered for the first time since he'd woken up. She turned back to the hallway, but she didn't move. "Well can I at least have a name, other than "stranger", to call you by?"

Sighing, he relented. "Snape."

She offered a slight smile, nothing compared to her earlier ones, before leaving. When she did, he grabbed his shirt (the action nearly made him dizzy because he moved too fast) and pulled it back on. The next few days were going to be long... too long. He couldn't wait to be back on his own; he, at least, would be without annoying company and couldn't make himself feel weak.

Only a few more days and he could be alone again.