I do not own Harry Potter or anything contained within those lovely, glorious books. J.K. Rowling does, not me.
Authors note- This chapter is rewritten, reviews welcome.
Chapter 1
It was a relatively ordinary night. It was calm, clear, and quiet. I had just gotten out of the bathroom after a long soak in the tub while reading the Daily Prophet. I never had time to read the paper before ten pm or so any more. The Ministry had kept me so busy lately brewing potions, antidotes, and salves that I hardly saw the light of day anymore. I went into work at five am each morning long before the sun had come up, and I was usually home after nine pm, well into twilight. Normally I would just trudge off to bed. It was nearly eleven at night. I had tomorrow off, but I found that if I didn't stick to my normal routine I'd be temperamental for the next few days. My colleagues were under enough stress already, they didn't need me barking at them and nearly ripping their head off because I was cranky.
For some reason though tonight was different. I wasn't tired at all, nor did I just want to lie down until I feel asleep. I felt restless, and somewhat wired with anticipation. It was almost like I knew something was amiss somewhere. Not that there was a day when something wasn't happening anymore. Daily attacks had been occurring since dear Professor Dumbledore had passed on. No, not passed on, was murdered. By my soulmates own hand nonetheless. I still can't comprehend what happened that night just a few short weeks ago. I thought that things were different now. That he had finally gotten over his sordid and angst ridden past. I guess I was wrong.
I walked down stairs to my kitchen to make a pot of tea when I heard what I though was an injured animal cry. Always the animal lover, I walked towards the back of my house and my herb garden to investigate. Slowly I opened the door, noting that the cry was getting fainter. I expected to find some injured cat, instead there on my back door step was Severus Snape.
He was horrifically injured. In reality he should have been in St. Mungo's or any hospital at any rate. Even then his prognosis would have been grim. I silently chided myself, he couldn't go there. Common sense dictated that I call an Auror or the Ministry immediately, yet I couldn't bring myself to do that. Especially after I saw the words etched into the flesh of his arm where his dark mark used to be: traitor. So he had gone back to spying. He was being honorable then. That still didn't excuse murder. Carefully I levitated him into my home. I had taken to carrying my wand at all times. I felt safer somehow this way. I brought his limp and lifeless form into my workshop. Normally I used this for personal potion brewing and for my research and experimentation, but right now it was a makeshift infirmary to care for my former love.
I will be the first to tell anyone that I am no healer, but after about two grueling hours I had gotten his wounds to either heal up or at least stop bleeding. He still had many open cuts and burns but at least they weren't as life threatening. His breathing was still terribly shallow. It would be a miracle if he made the night. After I finished bandaging the last wound I carefully levitated him again and brought him upstairs to my room. The guest rooms were shut off and distant from my own room. If he took a turn for the worse I wanted to be close by to try and save him. He winced and let out a weak cry as I set him down and covered him. It was the first movement and noise he had made in nearly two hours. For about another hour I sat by the bed till I could keep my eyes open no more. With that I hexed out the candle on the nightstand and carefully eased myself into the chair next to the bed, being particularly careful not to bump or jar the bed. I moved as closely as I could though. I suppose I rationalized it to myself as wanting to make certain that he was breathing alright, in reality I just wanted to be near him for the first time in sixteen years.