A/N: There actually wasn't that much to edit in this one. I am pretty happy about that. (Though this one doesn't have that much theory in it either.) I hope you like it.
Severus apparated to the first place he could think of. Very few people knew of his cottage in Scotland, so he decided upon that as the best place to lay low. He knew it would be just foolhardy to try to contact any members of the order right now. He wouldn't dare contact them for a few months, until he was sure that the portrait of Dumbledore had awoken and explained what really happened. Until then, he would stay in hiding, protect Draco, and absorb as much information as possible from the Death Eaters. He wondered if Potter would believe the portrait of Albus. At the thought of his name a deep pain wrenched in his gut.
A voice startled him out of his reverie. It was Draco. "Sir, what are we going to do now?" "Draco, we lay low for a while. We only leave this area if summoned to the Dark Lord." He did not yet want Draco to know of his true loyalties. Not unless he was absolutely sure that Draco wanted none more to do with Lord Voldemort. "Sir, is this your place?" Draco asked. Nodding, Severus answered, "Yes, it is a little known vacation spot, which the Snape family has had for a couple hundred years. We need not worry about being found. The only one who ever knew of this spot is dead." The only other person that had known of that spot was Albus himself. His heart ached inside for the fatherly figure to him through him, though he showed no outward appearance of it. He turned to Draco, "Come," and led him inside.
Inside was a small entryway, and just beyond that was a large living area. On the back wall was a fireplace. On either side of the room there were doorways. One lead down a hall with two bedrooms off it, and the other led into the kitchen. He escorted Draco to his room. The walls were a dark shade of green, a typical Slytherin color. The bed was full sized with a black comforter on it. There was a window looking out onto the hillside outside the house. One wall had a bookshelf, though it was scarce of books. Noticing that Draco was injured, he proceeded to heal Draco, then himself. Both of them had nasty scratches and bruises, though no more. Leaving Draco, he headed to his own room. He had a few spare sets of robes here for whenever he was to visit. He quickly transformed a set of them to fit Draco, and tossed them on Draco's bed, wordlessly. As he went back into his room, he observed it. It had been a while since he had been here. The walls of his room were black. The bed was king sized and had a green comforter on it. On the wall opposite the door, a massive bookshelf stood. It was full of books. They were all of Severus's personal collection. He was an avid book reader, and spent much of his time reading. He sighed. With the Dark Lord's second rising, and trying to steer Draco away from the dark arts, and protecting Potter's ass, there would be no time for reading. How he wished he had never made the foolish choice of becoming a Death Eater. He tore himself away from his thoughts. Now was not the time for these speculations.
He strode out of his room. He went into the kitchen where he looked in the fridge. Amazingly enough, this place had a fridge, though it was magic modified. The fridge was a handy little creation that muggles had invented. The fridge was charmed to keep food permanently fresh. For instance, you could have made a stew 15 years before and put it in that fridge, and it would still be good. He grabbed some items for a salad out of the bins at the bottom of the fridge. He prepared a salad for himself and Draco, not having the energy to fix anything else. He handed the salad to Draco, and they ate in silence, neither of them wishing to speak of the events earlier.
Exhaustion weighed heavily on them and both retired to their rooms vowing to talk more about it tomorrow. Severus picked up a worn book from his shelf. It was a one of a kind book. It contained every potion ever invented, and each time a new one was invented, it was added into the book. He had read it many times. Albus had given it to him when he had agreed to become potions master of Hogwarts. His heart ached, though he couldn't cry. So many years of hiding his feelings left him unable to display emotion in that way. For a while he just stood there reflecting on all the good deeds that Albus had done for him in the years past, then at last put the book on the shelf, and put the memories out of reach of Voldemort. He had a job to do, and as he slid into bed, he vowed to himself, and Dumbledore's spirit not to fail on the pains of death.
A/N: Reviews make the author happy. Happy Authormore inspired author. More inspired authormore chapters written hopefully.