The moment we arrived, Severus nearly collapsed with fatigue, but Andromeda bustled him into the sitting room to wrap him up in a thick quilt in an effort to soothe his tremors. While she prepared tea, I quickly fed Teddy, changed his nappy and laid him in his cot for a nap. Once I knew for sure he would sleep, I made my way downstairs to peer discreetly around the corner and into the kitchen, spying Andromeda placing a cup of tea in front of Severus.

He was desperately trying to keep the quilt bunched around him and still grip the cup of hot liquid with shaking hands. Several times I thought it would spill, either on him or the quilt, but then he would close his eyes and moderate his breathing; while it didn't halt the trembling fingers, they did shake less once he was focused. Taking a small sip, he swallowed and grimaced. If his throat was as parched as his lips were, it was a wonder he was able to manage anything at all.

Standing in the shadows, I was caught between a wish not to intrude and overwhelming curiosity. Was Severus aware of where he was? What was causing his tremors? Was he just cold, or was there some more sinister cause? And those questions were just the tip of the wizard's hat. Just as I was about to say something, Andromeda glanced up from the table and gave me a minute shake of her head, so I remained silent.

She moved to one side of the kitchen then returned to Severus and placed a small plate of cut-up banana in front of him. "Do you think you could manage a few bites, Severus?"

Severus stared at the food, turned several shades paler than he already was, and launched himself to the sink, retching violently. My sides hurt just to hear him, so I sidled up beside him in case he fell. When it was finally over, he fumbled for the tap, turned it on and splashed water in his face and rinsed his mouth out. He let his head and hands dangle over the sink for several minutes.

"Better?" I asked, and made the mistake of placing my hand on his shoulder.

He wrenched himself away, his red-rimmed eyes glinting. "I told you I don't know anything!" he screamed. "I don't know where it is. I don't even know who you are!"

I glanced at Andromeda for guidance on how to proceed, catching a pained expression on her face. She tapped her thumb against her bottom lip—a sure sign she was thinking furiously about something—and upon arriving at what she deemed a solution, she spoke. "Severus, do you know why you are ill, why you're unable to retain anything in your system for very long?"

He whipped his head around to glare at her. "It's that bloody potion, isn't it? I need it. I don't want it, but I need." His fingers flexed convulsively, the ragged nails digging into his palms.

Andromeda gave Severus a look that brooked no argument. "You may think that now, especially since your body is trying to cope with the lack of certain chemicals, but trust me, you are better off without them."

"Trust," he snarled, and I had my hand out, ready to stop him if he made to lunge. "That's what they said as well."

"Yes, well 'they' were one dose away from killing you!" she snapped. "I don't think you realise what sort of danger you were in, Severus. Many of your normal bodily functions were starting to shut down. Now, we at least have a chance of reversing the damage, but it's going to be hellish the next few days as you wean yourself off that potion."

Severus looked as if he were going to debate the issue, working himself into a full strop, when his eyelids fluttered and he collapsed.

I tried to catch him, honestly I did. But he was so thin, he slipped through the circle of my arms and slid to the floor with a thud. It would've been comedic to witness if the man hadn't obviously gone through hell in recent weeks. As it was, I dropped to my knees and, with Andromeda's help, hoisted him up enough to drag him to the sitting room and lay him on the sofa. Andromeda retrieved the quilt from the kitchen floor and covered him with it, swiping at the sticky strands of hair that clumped against his wet brow.

"It's starting," she murmured, placing the back of her hand on each of Severus' hollow cheeks.

I had an inkling of what she was talking about, but I wanted to be sure. "What's happening?"

"Withdrawal," she said on a sigh, and let her fingers drift to the side of Severus' neck. "His pulse is rapid."

"What do we do?"

She rose from her seat and pulled me away from the sitting room and into the kitchen. "Unfortunately, we can't give him any potions or use magic on him—since I have no idea what they gave him, I don't know what the side-effects might be. Great Aunt Cassiopeia Black was a Lotos-Eater back in the day, and her parents tried everything they could to wean her off the 'midnight oil'. The Blacks are a paranoid lot to begin with, but Merlin, it was terrible when it came to Cassiopeia. That's how she died—she was convinced someone, or something, was after her cache, so she stuffed most of it in sticky buns and ate them."

"Bloody hell," I muttered.

Andromeda nodded. "I remember I was allowed to see her once, before the end." She shuddered. "Remus, you need to think about this, really think about this. If you help Severus, you'll have to commit to him full-time. He'll be extremely ill, psychotic and possibly violent. And it will come in waves at first, then a constant state of instability. Teddy can't be around that. How will you care for him?"

I pinched the bridge of my nose and sighed heavily. Damn my bleeding heart. I was torn between regret for having rescued the man and feeling guilty to the verge of martyrdom. Should I have just left him there, knowing that wizarding society rarely, if ever, thought of him, and then only as someone long dead and gone? If I had known what freeing him would entail, would I have still left him there in that room to die… alone? Merlin, just remembering the unnerving sightless stare of that golem made my chest tighten and my throat clog. But what about my son? My flesh and blood? How could I put him aside to care for a…

What was Severus to me?

A colleague, as he had said before? We worked at the same school together, briefly. We were members of the Order of the Phoenix; both of us spies, though my work had little cause to be remembered other than infiltrating various werewolf groups. Severus, on the other hand… I knew that he had spied for Dumbledore since before actually becoming a professor, but if even a fraction of what Harry had told me was true, it was a wonder that the man hadn't collapsed with exhaustion or gone completely around the bend trying to keep his loyalties hidden. That was the whole of our professional work together—barely enough to consider us associates, let alone 'colleagues'.

A friend? Not by any stretch of the imagination. The only time he tolerated my presence was during my year of teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts—a curt or clipped 'Lupin' during meals in the Great Hall, and snide comments hinting at my affliction when presenting me with the most potent formula of the Wolfsbane potion to date. Hardly winning examples of a bosom friendship.

Definitely not a lover or partner—did Severus even think about sex? Ever? When I'd known him, he had seemed more inclined to snarl at anyone that came near him than... well, anything else. I scarcely believed that anyone had ever made it past the permanent sneer etched on his face. I remembered Regulus latching onto him when he had begun school, but I thought Severus had seen him more as Sirius' little brother, than an actual individual who might have fancied him. In our first years, Lily had defended Severus against James and Sirius, but he had appeared more irritated with her interference than anything remotely grateful or affectionate. Was Severus even capable of affection? From what I had observed of our mutual past, I greatly doubted it.

So why was I contemplating helping this acerbic bastard through what I sure would be the rockiest road to recovery ever?

"Please."

I was pulled from my ruminations by the soft plea. I followed Andromeda's gaze, which was focused on the wizard moving restlessly on the sofa.

"No… I don't know anything. Help me!"

Severus' soft whimpers made my heart lurch, and I had to bite my lower lip to keep from tearing up. Was it pity that had compelled me to help this man? Maybe, but not likely. I was never one to pity anybody, especially since I hated having that sentiment directed towards me. My brain was about to burst from the whirling conflict, when Andromeda placed her hand on my arm and offered a resolution.

"The worst of it will last about a week, if I remember correctly. Teddy and I can… well, we can take a holiday of sorts." She gave me a small smile. "Yule is next week and Harry's been begging us to come and visit for longer than a day. Going to London would serve a dual purpose; we can stay with Harry, and you can take care of Severus."

Panic edged its way up my spine. I had never been away from my son for that length of time. "What if—"

"I have raised children before, Remus," she reminded me with a laugh. "And trust me. You'll be so busy caring for Severus, you won't even notice that we're gone."

It really was the perfect solution, though I still felt the urge to cling to Teddy at the mere mention of them going somewhere without me. But if what Andromeda was saying was anywhere near what would actually in store for the broken man lying in front of me, I knew I wouldn't be able to care for him and my child at the same time.

She patted my arm and moved towards the staircase. "You can meet us in London next Monday. Severus too, if he's able."

My eyes widened, realizing a very important fact. "Harry! He doesn't know Severus is alive!"

"And he shouldn't, not until Severus is more himself," Andromeda cautioned. "Harry, dear boy that he is, is very impressionable and takes things to heart. If he knew that Severus was alive, but not well, the next thing you know he'd be here with you, wanting to help. With their history, even with his memory loss, it might work against Severus, and it would certainly upset Harry. There's no point in agitating them both to no purpose. It's best to wait until Severus is well again, and let him decide if we wishes to tell Harry—or anyone else, for that matter—of his 'very much alive' status."

I nodded; she was right, especially concerning Harry. I could imagine his confusion and dismay to find that someone he had respected, and to whom he owed such gratitude, might not even recall the boy's name. "All right. I'll send Harry an owl to let him know that you're coming. I'm sure he'll be thrilled."

Andromeda nodded. "I'll go upstairs and pack."

I sat down to compose a letter to Harry, telling him that Andromeda and Teddy were coming for the holidays, and that I would follow in a week's time… hopefully. As I tied the missive to the leg of our barn owl, Mallory, and watched him fly off, I had an overwhelming sense that things were about to get a lot more hectic.

Within the hour, we'd received Harry's reply and Teddy and Andromeda were on their way to London. Harry, of course, was elated to have them there, but the minute they were gone, I missed Teddy fiercely. I missed Andromeda's comforting presence too, but I keenly felt my son's absence. I busied myself by tidying up the spare bedroom across the hall from mine, to avoid dwelling overmuch on what had happened and what Andromeda had warned me was to come.

Sometime in mid-afternoon, Severus awoke from his fevered dreams and sat up, his arms and head dangling between his legs, looking very much like he'd had a hard night of drinking with no Sober Up potion in sight. He drank the glass of water I gave him, but proceeded to throw most of it back up. Just as I was about to coax him to drink another, I spied a sheaf of paper on the kitchen table.

Glancing over the parchment, in Andromeda's clear handwriting, I saw that it was a list of symptoms I could expect Severus to experience over the next several days—tremors, dehydration and disorientation amongst them. She had also named some foods that I should have on hand that he would be able to tolerate: bananas, yams and rice topped the list. Reminders to keep him hydrated were scattered throughout, including mention of a nutritional potion in the refrigerator on the second shelf that she had made just before she left. I was not to use it unless Severus was unable to hold down a glass of water in twelve hours.

A hacking cough from Severus made me look over to where he stood at the kitchen sink again. "All right?"

He sent me a glare and spit in the sink. "Brilliant," he said flatly. "I think for my next act, I'll carve out my own heart with a spoon."

I didn't mean to chuckle, it just slipped out. His scowl made me smile, the opposite of what he was going for, I'm sure. My good humour didn't last long, though; the fatigue was setting in and I needed to get him upstairs. "I have a room ready for you if you'd like to lie down," I offered. "I'm sure you're knackered."

He looked taken aback for a moment, then with a nod he straightened, ran his fingers through his stringy mess of hair and followed me up the stairs. When we reached the door, I opened it and led him inside. "You should be comfortable here. There's a loo down the hall, first door on your left, and my bedroom is just across the hall."

Severus studied the room, as I expected him to. He may have lost a great deal of his memories—even some that pertained to me, if I were to hazard a guess—but at his core, he was still a cautious person. Perhaps his childhood had been darker than I knew. I doubted seriously that he had any recollection of the events at the turn of the war and his part in Dumbledore's death. That was for the best, I thought. Had Harry not told me of Severus' true part in the war, I wouldn't have been so forgiving when I found him at St. Mungo's.

Or, maybe his perpetual suspicion had something to do with our school years, the way he had been treated and behaved in turn. The constant overwhelming guilt that I carried—including having turned a blind eye all those times Sirius had decided he was bored and used Severus as a means of entertainment—threatened to consume me, to the point that I felt as if there were something cold actually crawling across my brain. I shuddered. No, I wouldn't start down that path, at least not while Severus had no recollection of the events. My penance, long overdue, would start when the wizard currently peering into the closet understood why I must make amends.

"This room is adequate," Severus announced a moment later. He perched on the edge of the narrow single bed.

I smiled hesitantly. I honestly didn't know how to deal with this calm version of Snape. I was used to the scathing vitriol that was apparent in everything the man did or said. The next few days would prove whether, beneath that placid exterior, the sarcastic bastard was truly absent, or if it was merely lurking, waiting. I was not looking forward to watching him go through withdrawal.

"There are a few charms I can set in place, if you would like, to prevent injury to yourself once the tremors set in," I told him. "I know I have a hard time the morning after a..." I snapped my mouth shut. I had completely forgotten that this Snape did not know of my lycanthropy.

Severus arched a single brow. "Morning after?" He crossed his arms and gave me an assessing look. "Are you an alcoholic?"

I couldn't contain the snort of laughter that escaped. If only that were the case. "Ah, no. While I like the occasional Firewhiskey, I don't indulge often. Plus, alcohol tends to interfere with the potions I'm taking."

His gaze narrowed. "Epileptic seizures, then?"

Merlin, this was difficult. I really want to avoid telling him the whole of my 'furry problem', so as not to complicate the situation any further. "I have... a condition that affects me from time to time. It leaves me drained, aching and... well, unfit for even the most basic of activities for a few days after an attack."

Severus' eyes ran down the length of my body and he frowned. "You seem fit."

Resolutely, I shoved down the annoying itch of warmth invading my limbs that his intense perusal had aroused. "My last attack was about a week ago, so I'm not feeling too awful at the moment. Plus, the Healer at St. Mungo's dosed me with a powerful painkiller just before I found you." Tentatively, I showed him my left hand, the joints red and swollen. "Long term, they tell me that this will only get worse, though."

Abruptly, Severus rose and took my hand in his, turning it over and running his fingers along mine, pausing briefly over each gnarled knuckle. I had to clench my teeth to stifle the whimper that clogged my throat. But his soft strokes against my pained flesh were gentle, almost compassionate, if such an emotion could be attributed to Snape, of all people. If I jerked my hand away, I was sure he would see it as a rejection, a dislike of his touch.

The truth was much more complicated than that, however.

The dearth of affectionate contact that my infection enforced upon me had been devastating. To a small child, a parent's love is everything and it forms a basis for future relationships. So, when the pats on my head ceased, when the loving embrace of my mother stopped, when the stink of their fear invaded my nostrils, I knew it was because of what I had become. I remember weeping all night and into the early hours, wondering what I had done to earn the look of pity from my mother and disgust from my father after a transformation. I remember them fighting, often, about how to properly care for me. I was nine when I overheard my father tell my mother that I should have been 'put down' after Greyback's bite. He hadn't meant for me to hear, of course, but things between my parents had changed after that argument. I rarely saw my father after that night. I had always hated the disease that made me different from other children, but his words and subsequent absence left a gaping hole in my heart that had never been filled. Rejected, I responded in kind and soon learned to shun physical contact, even going out of my way to avoid large crowds so that I wouldn't accidentally bump into someone.

That had all changed when I was accepted at Hogwarts. James had been the one to figure it out first, guessing that my chronic illnesses were too regular to be chance. Sirius and Peter, once they learned the secret, were especially chuffed to have a werewolf amongst them. They had made my life enjoyable, whereas before, it was merely tolerable. That was when I realised how starved I was for physical affection. I had loved every pat on the back, every ruffle of my hair, every embrace they bestowed upon me, despite knowing of the affliction that made me a monster a few days out of every month. It fanned my anger towards my father, wondering how a couple of young wizards with more balls than brains were so easily able to love and care for me, while he had proposed having me killed.

It had been so easy to fall in love with Sirius. He had personified life and laughter in everything he did; he had been my brightest star and my darkest moment. His rough and tender love for me always took my breath away. Sometimes I still had nightmares about the expression on his face as he was pulled into the Veil; dreams that filled me with astonishment, panic, and grief. I suspected that Harry did too, though he never told me—I could see it, though, the slight edge in his eyes the morning after such a dream. A glance between us, and it was as if it were happening all over again. I had to pause on such occasions, remind myself that I had things worth living for, that I couldn't go where Sirius had gone.

Dora, too, had been so easy to love. She had the same passion about life and all its mysteries as Sirius. It was a wonder I had lasted so long against another member of the Black family. Teddy was much like her, a fact for which I was grateful. As I laid him in his cot of a night, I always told him how brave his mother was—both in fighting and in loving me, how beautiful she was and how very kind. There were bad days, of course, days when I missed her infectious vibrancy, how she would always prod me out of a black funk. But I knew she was safe now—firmly inserted in our hearts, and safe from the pain of life.

This new sensation was troubling, though. For all the years that I had known Severus Snape, I had thought him a bitter, antagonising, dark man. Now, I was being forced to reassess my impressions of him.

Severus stopped with his fingers over one particularly painful spot. "Tell me, when do your symptoms peak?"

"Almost immediately after an attack," I replied, my voice unsteady. I wanted him to keep my hand in his, and if answering his questions would do that, I'd tell him anything he liked. "The joints swell to the point I cannot walk or hold a cup."

He frowned, alternating his stare between my face and hand. "You have gashes across your face; elsewhere on your body, too, if I'm not mistaken. Your 'illness' cycles monthly."

I held my breath, positive he would make the connection without me revealing a thing, waiting for the stench of fear to permeate the room. What happened though, astonished me.

"I cannot cure this," he said regretfully, touching a particularly deep gash across my nose that ended at the top of my upper lip. The tip of his finger lingered there, stealing any ability I had to breathe. Then his hand dropped and he caressed the bent shapes of my fingers. "But, I can cure this."

"What? You know what this is?" I rasped, vibrating with anticipation.

He continued to stroke gently, rubbing slightly to ease a knot of muscle at the base of my thumb. "I remember…" He closed his eyes for moment. "… Antonin."

"Dolohov?"

His eyes opened and he nodded. "No mind, only rage and depravity."

He tried to concentrate again, but it was too much for him and he swayed forward to collapse against me. I caught him, my arms wrapped around his thin frame, dragged him over to the bed and watched him sprawl limply on the mattress when I let him fall. Worried, I felt for his pulse: rapid, but not overly so. His skin was a bit clammy, so I divested him of his shoes and socks, and manoeuvred him under the covers. By the time he was situated, I was breaking out in a sweat and my joints were complaining in a loud chorus. I glanced at the clock: half-past seven. No wonder the man was exhausted.

I had seen or heard no word up until that point of any mischief at St. Mungo's. Either the still unknown 'they'—who could be anyone from Ministry officials to rogue Death Eaters—believed the golem to be the real Severus, or they had seen through the deception, but truly didn't know what happened to him. Otherwise, I assumed, they would've been on our doorstep in no time. I took one last look at Severus, his limbs twitching as he slept, and closed the door. I set a ward on the room that would alert me if his condition changed—for the worse or for the better—and shuffled to my own room to drop myself face-first on my bed with a groan.

It had only been six hours since I had laid eyes on Severus Snape, and already my bones, muscles and spirit were weary, taxed beyond endurance by his presence. Nevertheless, as my eyes closed, I honestly felt I wouldn't have it any other way.