Prologue: It's been said that Professor Severus Snape's body disappeared after he was killed by Nagini during the Battle of Hogwarts. What if someone brought him to a state-of-the art muggle hospital before it was too late?

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I'm a volunteer at a hospital. My job is to help patients who come in and don't seem to have any family support or who come in under mysterious circumstances. If I remember correctly, it was a Thursday night when I got a call that there was a John Doe who needed my help. Older male. Snakebite victim. No identification or cell phone. Only distinguishing mark was one indistinguishably faint tattoo on the inside of his left forearm.

After they got his condition stable with blood transfusions, stitches, and antivenin, they called me.

He was still unconscious when I got to his room. I quietly set my bag down and moved closer to the bed to get a good look at him. He looked awful. His longish, black hair was still matted with blood in places. The dark circles around his eyes contrasted with his pale skin. I wondered what had happened to him. The attending doctor had said he was a snakebite victim, but what the hell kind of snake rips at a man's throat?

I shuddered a little and took a seat in the chair next to his bed.

On top of the usual hospital room smells of disinfectant and trauma, there was a slightly smoky smell coming from the plastic bag containing his clothes that sat under the chair. Normally, I never like to go through someone's things without consent, but part of my job was to try to find out who he was. For all I knew, he had family and friends who were frantic to know he was okay.

His clothes were long and purplish-black, like robes. Lots of buttons. The hospital staff hadn't bothered with the buttons at all. To save his life, they had cut everything off of him. Which was kind of a shame because everything looked well-made despite the blood, dirt, and holes singed in places. Robes. Was he a priest? Had he been at a costume party? I didn't see any tags indicating brand or size. I estimated that the tattered and bloody remains of his shirt and pants seemed to be about a size large. I filed that information away for later when I would need to bring him a change of clothes.

No wallet. No phone. No money.

I put everything back into the bag and tucked it under the chair again. Then, I opened my book and began reading.

Sometime around sunrise, I heard him gasp. I was at his side in an instant. I was used to this moment for some the patients I help. They wake up, sometimes screaming, because the last thing they remember is whatever hell brought them here. He was starting to move his hands towards the bandages on his neck, but I stopped him by gently holding his hands. His dark eyes locked onto my face and I said a variant of the usual spiel I tell patients when they first wake up:

"Hey, it's okay. You're safe, but don't try to move yet and don't try to talk. You're in a hospital. Your condition is stable and I'm here to help you. Whatever happened to you is none of my business and if you're in any sort of legal trouble, I don't care and I'm not going to get any authorities involved unless you need help from them. If there is anyone you need me to notify about you, just let me know and I will take care of that for you if you give me the information. All you have to worry about right now is getting better. Okay?"

I let go of him. He didn't move and I started to say the same thing again in other languages, but he made a faint gesture that it was unnecessary.

He looked away from me to study the room. He noticed the tubes and wires and machines hooked up to his body that were monitoring his condition. Then he brought his gaze down to where my hand was touching his. How did that get there? He slowly turned his hand over and did a small squeeze on my hand.

Then he closed his eyes again and slipped back into sleep. I took a look at the tubes and bandages to make sure everything looked all right before I went home.

What the heck happened to this guy?

The next day, when I got to the hospital, he was already awake. I quietly murmured hello as I entered the room and set my bag down.

"I brought you some herbal tea," I said. "It's nothing special. It might help with your throat."

I poured a cup for him and placed it on his tray. Then I poured one for myself and took a mouthful and swallowed. He reached out, took his own cup, unsteadily lifted it toward his face to take a dubious sniff. For a moment it felt like the floor dropped out from under me as his dark eyes locked onto mine and he gave me the harshest critical stare.

Then, as if waking from a vision, he made an effort to smile that almost succeeded. He took a sip, grimaced, looked at me again, and then politely took another sip. Then he set the cup down with a sense of weariness and disappointment that seemed decades-old.

"Uh, if there is some kind of tea you would prefer, I will be glad to get it for you." His lips moved. I set my own cup down and I grab a notepad and pen.

"Here. Write it down."

I put the paper and pen in his hands. He fumbled a little with the ball-point pen, then quickly wrote some words in a list.

Doing that tired him out. He let his hands drop back onto the bed, turned his face away, and sighed. Then he fell asleep again.

It took 20 minutes of research and two trips to different herb shops on opposite sides of town, but I got everything on his list. After a quick stop to buy an electric kettle, a strainer, and a teapot, I returned, triumphant, to his bedside.

He was still asleep when I got there, so I put the herbs within reach, filled the kettle with water and plugged it in so that all he would need to do was press a button. I made sure he had spoons and cups and a small towel.

Then, my heart feeling oddly heavy about leaving his side, I went home for a while to take care of my own life.

The last bit of a glorious sunset was fading to darkness when I returned to the hospital. The night shift nurses had just settled in and one of them called me over.

"Have you figured out who he is yet?"

"Not yet," I say. "Has he said anything?"

"Not a peep," she replied, shaking her head. "And no one has called looking for him. Not even the police."

"Well, that's good, I guess," I shrugged and continued to his room.

When I got there, his bed was inclined a few degrees and he was propped up on some pillows with a cup of tea, or whatever those herbs brewed up, in his hand. The smell of the concoction was not unpleasant. I noticed as he made a slight nod of welcome that the unsteadiness in his hands was gone and the skin around his eyes looked brighter.

"I hope I got you the right herbs."

He nodded again, still careful about the wound on his neck.

"Glad to hear it." I said, putting down my bag. "I brought you a few more things. Here is an electric razor, not that you need it yet. And a mirror. And a proper toothbrush and toothpaste, and some lip balm." I set the things on his bedside table.

"I also brought you," I say, slightly nervous for some reason, "a comb and a brush and some detangler. Would you let me take a look at your hair?"

He gave me an odd look, but he set his cup down and made another small nod. Then he sat back and closed his eyes.

I sat halfway on the bed and gently touched his hair. It was soft and still had a glossy, black sheen. It had been washed clean of blood by the nurses, but no meaningful attention had been given to caring for it.

I carefully ran my fingertips along his scalp to see if there were any sore spots. He did not flinch. So, I separated a section on his left temple and started working the comb through, starting at the ends. It was even longer than I thought. I was glad I brought detangling spray.

As I worked, he gently turned his head so I could reach more of the back. I worried about his neck wound, but he didn't seem to mind. In fact, at one point I glanced down and saw that he was lying there with his eyes still shut, actually smiling. I smiled back, just to myself, and kept going.

After the knots were all gone, I put aside the comb and got the silver-handled boar-bristle hairbrush I inherited from my grandmother. I have to admit, I've wanted to do this for a long time. Starting at the top of his head, I made long, slow strokes with the brush. Root to tip. Gently. His hair fell naturally into a middle part, so I arranged it into shiny, straight locks next to his face on the pillow. Maybe tomorrow I would bring some hair ties and braid it so it wouldn't get tangled again, I thought as I reluctantly put the brush away.

Then I turned back and studied his face.

He looked so peaceful. Elegant. Handsome. I noticed the dark circles under his eyes were completely gone now.

He opened his eyes, looked at me, and sighed. I was only inches from his face and I could smell the tea on his breath. How rude of me to get so close and stare! I started to back up, but he reached out and took my hand. Still staring into my eyes, he raised the back of my hand to his lips. Then he closed his eyes again and kissed my hand. After a moment, he let go, then sank back onto his pillow. He was asleep again.

I gathered my things.

"Good night, sir." I whispered. Then I left.

The next day, he was sitting up even more. A shaft of morning sunlight was falling through the window and onto his hair and shoulder. He looked content and radiant and I felt a long-forgotten sensation somewhere near my heart as I walked over to set down my things.

I suddenly remembered the state he was in when he first got here and my throat caught. I turned away for a moment, embarrassed at my sudden urge to cry.

His hand caught mine and he turned me around with more strength than I thought he had. I don't remember whose decision it was for me to sit next to him on the bed, but suddenly there I was and he had my chin in one hand while he wiped my tears with the other.

His eyebrows furrowed and he looked at me with concern.

"I'm just really glad you're doing better." I say, quietly, putting my hand on his, where he was still touching my face. Then it occurred to me: this meant they would be discharging him soon. And then what?

"Uh. Weird question, but uh, when you're all better, do you have any place in particular to go?"

He looked away and his eyes turned cold. He took his hand away from my face as he shook his head, no.

"Oh! Well, to be honest, I have an extra room in my house, ever since my roommate moved out about a month ago. It's not a mansion or anything, but it's peaceful and you're welcome to stay with me while you get better… you know… if there isn't someone else out there looking for you?"

He looked back at me and shook his head, no.

I added "I know this is weird. I don't even know your name. But it will take months for the agencies to find you a bed in a shelter. I can't stand the thought of you on the streets alone. I mean, I'm not going to pry into what happened to you for you to wind up here like you did, but the least I can do is keep snakes away from you."

He startled and almost cried out loud. But it came out as a bloody cough.

"I'm so sorry! Here… let me get your tea."

I grabbed tissues and handed them to him to wipe the blood off his lips. Then, I put more of his tea into his cup and sat back down on the bed next to him.

Today's brew was a little different. The color seemed to swirl a little. It must have been a trick of the sunlight and the tears still in my eyelashes.. He took the cup from me and drank it in 3 gulps. Then he set down the cup and laid back against his pillow and just looked tired. He gazed out the window where the morning sun was beginning to cloud over.

I stood up.

"I said the wrong thing. I'm sorry. I don't mean to upset you. About anything. Anyway, you're welcome to stay with me for a while, but of course you're not obligated. Think about it, please. I'll leave you alone." I turned towards the door and took a step but the loud rattle of a teacup stopped me. I turned towards him, but came no closer.

He set his cup down again and reached a hand towards me. He looked like he didn't have a friend in the world and something inside me just broke. I strode back over and took his hand and let him pull me onto the bed next to him. Somehow, I found myself curled against his chest with his arms wrapped tight around me.

I felt him kiss the top of my head. And then again. I tilted my face more towards him.

He kissed my forehead, the bridge of my nose, the tip of my nose, my cheek, then my chin, the side of my mouth.

My lips.

Then my lips again.

I kissed him back, so softly.

I pulled back so I could look into his eyes again.

"So that's a yes?"

THE END

(unless people think I should continue)