This is just a little filler while I try to get over my writer's block - after all, I did promise more regular updates ;)

caeria - so am I... Ah, Albus always does things for a reason, and that's all I'm going to say. I'm glad you like my story!

Natsuyori - Snape is oh-so-deliciously-fun, isn't he? I'm glad you like this version of him!

The Great Green Leaf of Peril, Transylvanian - thanks for reviewing!

EDIT:at one of duj's suggestions, I have altered the interaction between Malfoy and Snape slightly, nothing extremely noticeable. Thanks duj!


A flickering light illuminated the pale, angular face, framed by somewhat greasy dark strands. It provided a backdrop for shadows, but all was still except for the tap of a quill.

Severus Snape was dawdling. He never dawdled.

He never tapped quills either. The professor gave the writing tool an accusatory stare, then put it down and swept the pile of essays to the side. Loathe as he was to admit it, he had nothing desirable to do. How pathetic. It was a Sunday afternoon and he was holed up in this gloomy, lightless dungeon doing nothing. He contemplated striding through the corridors for a breath of fresh air and stood to leave before he remembered that it was Flitwick's shift that day.

Bugger it all, he'd have his stroll anyhow, Flitwick or no Flitwick.

With a pang, the Potions master was reminded by a pile of scrolls in the corner that he should have been researching ancient spells that led a direct line to the current weakening spell, for it was far from completed, but he found that the urge to leave the suffocating chambers overrode his sense of responsibility.

Which is probably why you bear that dreadful mark on your left arm, Snape thought. He checked and rechecked his wards before making his way through the corridors. Impulsiveness is overrated.

It wasn't that he was trying to condone his adolescent self though, of course not, he was merely mulling, analysing, dissecting… just like Dumbledore had instructed him to.

Oh bloody Merlin, now he was reassuring himself with Dumbledore's random mumbo-jumbo?

"You'd better take that back Malfoy!"

Snape was startled from his thoughts by an enraged yell – he assumed that the voice's owner was just around the corner by the sheer volume of it, and thought he had quite a good idea of just who the owner was.

"Well it's the truth, Potter," a sly voice retorted. "I can't fathom what a person with an ego as big as yours is doing cavorting about with a mudblood and a blood traitor."

"Oh, you're going to regret that! Expelliarmus!"

"Harry, don't!" this voice was feminine. Undoubtedly Potter's sidekick Granger. Snape's footsteps lengthened, propelling him swiftly down the corridor. No matter how urgent the matter was, though, he simply refused to run. How embarrassingly undignified.

He rounded the corner just in time to witness a blond, slender figure dodging Potter's attempt. The young Malfoy instantly raised his wand, but instead of pointing it at the Boy Who Lived, he surprised everyone by aiming his next spell at Hermione Granger instead.

"Potter, Malfoy! Cease this foolishness immediately!"

Everyone paused for a moment, uncertain as to who had spoken, then realisation dawned and all six pairs of eyes turned as one to the dark, menacing figure that darkened the corner – Professer Snape.

There was an abrupt flash, and everyone's hands rose to shield their faces instinctively. Snape thought he heard a decidedly familiar voice – Weasley's – shouting, "Protego!" There was a cry, and then all was quiet.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor and Slytherin each!" Snape roared, surveying the damage. There was none visible to him, but he was quickly proved wrong when his burning gaze came to land on a bushy-haired figure on the ground.

"Potter, Weasley, kindly deliver Miss Granger to the infirmary," he instructed in deceivingly silky tones, and after an awkward pause, the two boys complied without a complaint. "Malfoy, stay behind, I want a word with you."

The boy nodded, and with a practiced flick of his wrist sent his two cronies lumbering away. The pair stood in silence. The only thing breaking it was Weasley's hushed, angered whispers as they walked away, "Probably siding with his precious Slytherin protégé, that greasy git is. 50 points… from us! Honestly, he started it all, didn't he Harry?"

"Well, Malfoy? I trust you have an adequate enough explanation for your actions today."

The Slytherin shifted uncomfortably under his Head of House's gaze. "He started it." was finally all he came up with.

Snape gave a deep sigh before waving his wand to summon a Silencing Charm to shield them from nosy ears. "I am aware that the Headmaster gave you implicit instructions to act as you usually would so as not to arouse suspicions, but instigating a scrap with Harry Potter is not what I would call laying low. In fact, much as it pains me to say so, attempting to befriend that bespectacled nuisance would probably be more of a benefit to the Order."

Malfoy scoffed and crossed his arms, "Firstly, I did not 'instigate' it. Secondly, my father is wary enough as it is without me having to actually hang around that ponce."

The Potions Master half-heartedly quirked a brow at his godson's less than courteous choice of vocabulary – but he found that his attention was on the injured little know-it-all instead of where it should have been. McGonagall would have his head on a platter if she ever found out that he had been in a conversation with Malfoy rather than tending to her precious little bookworm.

"Fine. You would, however, do well to add the word 'discretion' to your ever expanding dictionary, Draco. Now, shoo."

"And you, dear godfather, would do well to learn the word 'shampoo'" the boy gave him a charming little smirk before sauntering off. Quite maddening, the lad was.

"Ten points from Slytherin for that, Mr. Malfoy." He arched a dark brow when the blond head faltered, then turned as if to protest. But, probably thinking better of it, Malfoy gave a little huff and turned away.

Draco, Snape mused, as he headed for the infirmary, was a tolerable companion, intelligent too, if he'd allow himself to show it. Snape was relieved that he had chosen the way of the Light instead of following in his father's footsteps. In his footsteps.

His tall, lithe figure arrived at the Hospital Wing in virtually no time at all. It seemed, however, that Madame Pomfrey had her work cut out for her. It was crowded and noisy in the normally hushed room, and Snape stood with his brows furrowed until he remembered what day it was – April Fools'. Ruddy school children.

"Ah, Severus," someone greeted from behind him. He whirled to face the person, although there was no need to, really, he'd recognise that jovial old voice anywhere. "I was planning to visit Miss Granger here, to elaborate on a few details we discussed from an earlier meeting, but I see there is no need now that you are here. She is in far more capable hands." The Headmaster gave him a little wink before bumbling off again.

What was that doddering old fool scheming on now? Snape's mood darkened considerably as he stalked down the aisle, glaring at each bed's occupant as he did so. Bothersome little dunderheads, going around and ruining his day by starting fights all over the corridors, and now he was saddled with an injured student. Pah. It was no wonder they did so dreadfully in Potions, when they opted to stroll about searching for potential sparring partners instead of studying. Really, children these days had no common sense at all.

"Potter, Weasley!" the pair literally jumped at his bellow.

Madame Pomfrey immediately came bustling out, as if his call had been some sort of catalyst in an explosive potions reaction. "Honestly, Severus! Shouting the place down when there are patients practically overflowing the room!" she gave him a reprimanding frown before rushing over to Hermione's bed. If he hadn't felt any regret before, she had taken good care of that.

The Healer tutted and sighed as she fussed over the unconscious girl. "Now, now, what have we here? What happened this time?"

"Er – well, she was hexed," Ron offered helpfully.

"And I suppose your shield was a tremendous help," Snape commented snidely, gliding closer to the two boys. "I take the lessons are going well with Professor McGonagall?"

He was certain now that he wasn't mistaken that he had heard the weak 'Protego' coming from the Weasley boy when the Gryffindor's whole face flushed a deep and rather unattractive red. What empathy he felt for Minerva at the task that had fallen at her feet. "Now, enlighten me with your side of the story whilst Madame Pomfrey tends to Miss Granger."

Harry and Ron exchanged uneasy glances before the more courageous and, he daresay, brighter of the two spoke up. "Well, Ron and I, we were looking for Hermione because he wanted to… erm, apologise to her after a row they had earlier. We found her right in the corridor you saw us in, and they were barely talking when that prat Malfoy came along –"

"Language, Potter."

"– and started sneering and calling us names."

"That's when you walked in," Ron added.

"Oh dear," said Madame Pomfrey, causing all three to look at her inquisitively. "Was there a flash when Mr. Malfoy hexed her?"

"Er… yes," Ron answered.

"She's been hit with a Conjunctivitis Curse." Madame Pomfrey announced gravely.

Snape's brows furrowed further at the statement, and he turned to glower darkly at Harry and Ron, clearly implying that it was their fault he now had a wounded Gryffindor under his patrol. "Return to your common rooms, now! And detention with Filch at eight o'clock sharp tonight."

"But, Hermione –" Ron stammered.

"Miss Granger is not your problem at the moment," Snape hissed, his eyes narrowing dangerously as he pointed towards the doorway. "Out. Now."

There was a pause during which the air practically vibrated with hostility; then, finally, Harry moved, breaking the tense atmosphere. He stalked angrily out, with his redheaded friend close at his heels.

The Potions Master only had a brief moment of triumph, however – he had only time to sneer before a plastic cup was thrust under that infamous nose of his.

"Give that to Miss Granger," Madame Pomfrey ordered, before she rushed off to another patient. What? Him, feed a student? Snape frowned at the medicine in his hand and shot a hesitant glance at that bushy-haired nuisance. Really, he could just leave it on the bedside table, and later she could…

"Severus, what are you waiting for? It needs to be administered swiftly!" that sharp voice filled his head again as a familiar plump figure bustled past.

Wretched, bossy, commandeering witch. Reluctantly he drew up a chair and sat next to the girl's bed. Her eyelids were fluttering weakly, and she seemed coherent enough to swallow the purple-tinted liquid.

Snape sighed and intoned her name as he held the cup to her lips obligingly, managing to look bored and irritated at the same time. Her eyelids flickered some more – drawing his attention to her fawn colored eyelashes – and he had to call her name again to get a reaction. It wasn't however, the reaction he had been expecting. Those entrancing eyelashes stilled, then clenched painfully before a hoarse cry left her lips, and a hesitant arm rose to shield her eyes. "It-it's too bright. What's wrong with my eyes? I can't…"

She tried to rise, but got tangled up in the stark white sheets and tumbled to the ground instead. Foolish girl. Snape settled the remedy down onto her bedside table before standing almost lazily to help her up. "You've been hit with a curse, Miss Granger," he murmured flatly. "Get up before you make a spectacle of yourself."

"I – what curse?" her chest rose rapidly as she struggled for breath. She still looked quite frightened, so he attempted to help by steering her to the bed and flinging the blankets over her.

"A Conjunctivitis Curse. Drink this."

Once again, he held the cup against her lips – but it almost spilled when a pale, slender hand lifted blindly, groping the empty air until it rested on his. He winced, but kept his grip steady as she guided the drink towards her mouth. His hand looked so old, so weathered and imperfect under those fair, delicate fingers. Lovely white innocence against a backdrop of wizened, undesirable experiences.

"Thank you, Professor…" the hand faltered on his when she finished drinking. He swore that it lingered for a second or two before dropping limply to the bed, but perhaps it was only a lonely man's delusions. He cleared his throat and offered another cup. "Sleeping Draught."

She finished that too, and soon enough, the effects began to show as her mass of curls sunk peacefully into the pillow.

He should return to the dungeons.

He should continue grading papers.

He should make some more progress on that spell… but there was time.

Oddly, Severus Snape found that he was for the first time going against his valued common sense and opting to stay by the know-it-all's side.

He really shouldn't be. But she looked so serene and lovely and perfect.

There was time.