Hi all. It's been, what, almost seven years! It was never my intention to abandon this story (or any others), and my most sincere apologies for doing so, but man, LIFE can get in the way hey?! I've since levelled up from one to two children, completed my Bachelor's and am partially through my Master's so life is still hectic as all hell, but I'll absolutely endeavour to finish this story and my others. Re-reading my writing as a now 26-year-old is an actual horrifying experience, and I'm a bit appalled at what I thought was publishable as a sleep deprived 20-year-old. Obviously, age brings experience as well as changing ideals, so I am unsure if my stories will continue in the same vein that they were originally set out in. I'm just along for the ride. This chapter is incredibly short, I just wanted to get something up to get me in the writing spirit. I hope it's enjoyable, as it certainly was not worth waiting 7 years for ;)
Severus Snape woke up with a pounding headache and a crick in his neck. He stretched his legs from his half-sitting position, and moved his head from left to right, trying to loosen the stiff muscles. He blinked a bit, adjusting to the faint light of morning that pierced through the threadbare curtains of his living room. Water, was his first coherent thought, and after locating his wand hidden a bit too far up his robe sleeve, he quickly conjured some into a two-day old coffee cup that was mercifully empty. His head was throbbing, and he was unsure what had possessed him to spend the night sleeping in his armchair. I'm getting too old for this, he thought with a sigh, standing up slowly and grimacing as a sharp pain shot through his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his hooked nose with long, pale fingers, and waited for the pain to cease, before setting off in search of a Hangover Solution, or at the very least, a blasted Headache Potion.
Fifteen minutes later saw Severus back in the same armchair, sans headache but still perturbed. He stared blankly at the empty fire grate, brow furrowed and lips slightly pursed. His body had followed familiar paths, muscle memory working without the need for cognitive thought, and the Hangover Potion had been found and downed. Severus's eyes had scrunched as he swallowed the fetid liquid, hating the intensity and subconsciously making a note to try to improve the flavour the next time he had a free moment. As the potion worked its magic and the headache receded, and the dry throat found some lubrication, Severus's memories of the previous evening flooded back, drowning whatever relief he had momentarily discovered.