He shot up, desperately gasping in air.

Before even collecting his thoughts, Severus was affronted with the realisation that something was not as it should have been. It didn't take long to identify what it was either. Instead of his one old friend, he was gawked at by several faces.

Minerva. She had not been welcoming when Albus first brought him in as the potions professor—he was not her favourite student, nor was she his favourite professor—but over the years, she had developed a soft spot for the young curmudgeon, and he her. That was, until he murdered the beloved headmaster. Upon noticing her first, he relaxed, recognising the presence of a friend. Then he braced himself minutely, worried about her opinion of him, not being sure she knew of the circumstances that lead to his infamous betrayal.

There was another voice, asking him about something trivial, like how he was feeling. It was Draco, but his exact words didn't quite register. Severus still needed a moment to gather his wits before he could engage in reluctant, forced conversation.

After taking a quick assessment, he determined that he was incredibly sore all over, though not in the type of pain associated with severe, untreated injury. In theory, he had been out for at least 3 weeks in order to make a full recovery. It was impossible to know with certainty, but based on his achey, fatigued muscles, it was likely that it had been much longer. Taking into account the extended time and the lack of his mate, he thought it reasonable to assume that Lucius had not been able to wake him as he was supposed to. It was foolish to have trusted him in the first place. This time around had been much worse, and the man's role in the war had been more publicly known. Why either of them actually believed that he would be a free man was astounding.

For all he knew, it could have been years and they were only now finding him. However, a short survey of faces indicated otherwise, as everyone looked more or less as he remembered. Minerva hasn't aged a day since he first met her when he was eleven; she always looked the same. Old. Draco also hadn't changed, though perhaps he seemed healthier now than in the last few years.

Ugh… Potter.

Then he saw her, staying back in the corner. Almost as if she were hiding.

Ms Granger…

Hermione.

As if he had been entirely cognizant during the length of this obscure experience, he remembered everything. It wouldn't have been accurate to say that the memories came rushing back to him, because he remembered living them in real time. He had been, for all intents and purposes, fully present throughout.

They were lovely memories too; they made him feel warm and whole. Until he realised they weren't real and he couldn't have that. Not with her.

Not that he wanted them with her. The idea was preposterous. She was twenty years his junior and his student. Former student, perhaps, but a recent one nonetheless. He wouldn't otherwise be nearly as turned off by the idea. Not once had he given it nor her a thought until now, but even in this brief second in which they locked eyes, he truly saw her for what she was. She was brilliant; she was smart, brave and, in her own way, very beautiful. Upon first seeing her standing there, he wanted to go to her. But she wasn't his to go to. And he was positive that she wouldn't want to be. What she must have thought of him at that moment! It was mortifying.

He couldn't deal with this right now, not with her there, not with Potter and Draco and Minerva. So he left.

He finished cleaning off the salve from his neck last. He would have preferred to shower properly, but he was famished—weak from not having eaten in Merlin knew how long—and without a doubt, Minerva would be on her way. With the little imp. Though hopefully one of them would have had the good sense to leave Potter behind.

There was a stir in his wards. He felt the shift announcing someone at his door. There was no question as to who it would be, but they shouldn't have made it that far without him. While muggles saw the house as it had always been, no one ever came up as they were… encouraged to move past. Magical folk were able to see the house, which was fine as most did not know where he lived anyway, and those who did should have been able to get through the gate—with a deterring zap—but not up the steps. He wondered how it was that they could even make it onto the porch when they should have been preoccupied with their quickly elongating front teeth—inspiration for which he, coincidentally, owed Ms Granger. That, and trying to get back from the small fishing village in South Korea, which was where one charm in particular was meant to have sent unwanted visitors. It must have something to do with the young woman's previous experience here, he thought.

Not that they weren't capable of stripping down most of the wards, and perhaps they had done so when first looking for him, for they were both exceedingly competent witches. However, it was highly unlikely that they would have been able to dismantle the entirety of his protection. There were only two wizards who would have been able to break through all of his layers. One for sure, and Albus made a point of showing him just how easy he found it when coming to visit after his first year working at the school. Severus had attempted to keep the nosy codger out, but he would have needed to reapply each and every bit because Albus did not simply bypass the barriers, he annihilated them.

He never tried keeping out the Dark Lord. It wouldn't have been successful, and it would have been problematic.

On his way down to the first floor, Severus saw them through the narrow glass window; Minerva was gesturing to the door and Ms Granger—not Hermione—was shaking her head. When she finally relented and was about to knock, he swung the door open, causing the little witch to jump back slightly. There was no point in arguing and demanding they leave; he hadn't the energy to deal with the stubborn crone. Under no circumstances though would he verbally invite them in, therefore, he left the door ajar and retreated to the sitting room. It wasn't easy, but he moved as quickly as he could so he could settle himself on the couch without them there to witness his pain while doing so.

"How are you, dear?" Minerva asked once the other disappeared into the kitchen. He didn't appreciate anyone making themselves at home in his house, but it was preferable to having her presence before him.

He scoffed back at her. "Dear?" As much as he did care for her, he never understood the woman's outward affection for him. Not hating him would have been enough.

"Severus…"

"Why are you here?"

"Because I worry about you."

"You do not."

"I do too, you git. You know I do."

He avoided her prying eyes and glanced involuntarily out into the hallway, as if capable of seeing into the kitchen from his seat. "Why is she here?"

"Oh, I think you know, Severus." He shifted uncomfortably, though more from pain than any awkwardness. "How much do you remember?"

"All of it."

"All of it?"

"I believe so," he answered. He hoped there wasn't more that he had yet to remember. He already couldn't look at the piano without feeling his member twitch; playing the instrument was definitely out of the question for the time being.

She smiled warmly. "Excellent."

"Nothing about this is excellent, Minerva! Nothing!"

"I think you know what this all means."

"It means nothing," he growled.

"Don't be a fool about this."

"I'm not. I'm being realistic."

"Being realistic? About not wanting that beautiful young woman in there?" He bit his tongue—physically—not wanting to give anything away. "Alright." She stood rather abruptly and made her way through the room. Instead of turning down the hall to the right, she turned left. Toward the front door.

"Where are you going?"

"Well, if you refuse to talk to me…"

"Aren't you going to take your pet?"

"She's not mine, Severus." Her implication was very clear.

"Minerva." For once, he really did not know what to say. He was exhausted, starving, incredibly sore, and in no mood to discover what it was that the seductress wanted from him, nor was he confident that he'd be able to repress his urge to give in. "You can't leave her here. You brought her, you must take her back with you." The idea that he didn't know what would happen when confronting her terrified him.

"You needn't be afraid," she voiced intuitively. "Play nice, dear."