A one time thing {Severus Snape}

Chapter 14: Enlightened

He watched her now, carefully, his dark eyes scanning for slight movement or improvement. Poppy had told him it was just a matter of time and she'd wake up. Her body was using the shut down of her brain to recover itself. Her bones, although Poppy had knitted them together, would take a while to settle back and while she slept it helped her faster.

He frowned and stretched the aching muscles in his back. In the last four or so hours, he'd gone from concern to anger back to concern again; he'd told himself he was just used to her, but it was more than that, it was more than being used to her. He couldn't imagine spending the rest of his life not having her there to annoy and infuriate him. He didn't want to imagine waking up each morning and not have her moan about how cold his rooms were.

He still couldn't accept she had meant it when she had let it slip that she loved him. He couldn't accept it and to some degree he even resented it. He didn't want to be loved, not by her, not by anyone. And he didn't want to love in return; he fought it, every step of the way, but as she lay there now, so close to dying on him, he realised he did love her. And that made him resent it even more.

For a long time now he'd been in perfect control of his life, perfect control of his feelings. His years as a Death Eater had left him with more than nightmares and self- loathing; they had left him preferring his own company and resenting the happiness of others. Then Voldemort had risen again and once again his nightmares had become reality. He knew what he had to do. He remembered those events as if they were burnt on his brain; the same as the Dark Mark was burnt into his skin. Remembered Potter lying in that bed, that idiot Fudge from the ministry refusing to accept Voldemort had returned. Dumbledore's expression when he'd asked if he was ready.

He hadn't been ready of course; nothing could ever get you ready for something like that. But he'd gone, and willingly, knowing that even if he had died it wouldn't atone for his sins. But he'd remained alive and things had pretty much rolled on the way they always had, life carried on.

He lifted his head and reaching out a hand he carefully brushed a lock of her hair that was lying on her forehead. He did love her. He'd realised that the moment he'd seen her lying here so motionless, so pale, no signs of the life force that usually ran through her.

He'd almost panicked, almost. He'd just stopped himself from grabbing her and trying to shake her into waking up. The flow of emotions that he couldn't ever recall having to deal with before had swept through him. He'd had to ask Poppy to repeat everything she'd said to him. His brain had at first refused to comprehend anything past her lying so lifeless.

And then anger had hit him. He'd been angry that she had affected him in this way without him even realising it. Angry with himself for feeling this way. His anger had swung back and forth for quite a while. Until finally, as time crept past and there seemed no difference to her state, he had realised that this time she might be leaving him for good. Desperation had kicked in slightly, his usual logic fled as he contemplated life without her.

He was selfish. He knew it and he wouldn't deny it.

"Not his friend for what I can get out of him..." her words echoed around his brain, he knew that the start of their relationship had been built on friendship, but even then he'd been selfishly planning her downfall. He wanted her and he was going to have her. But it had backfired painfully. He'd fallen into his own trap; he'd fallen for her.

She'd crept in when he wasn't looking and staked a claim on his heart. And it annoyed him as much as it scared him. He didn't for one moment think he deserved her love; he didn't deserve her friendship either. But it scared him to think that he felt for her something he didn't even know he was capable of. And it scared him because he was vulnerable now. Love wasn't an emotion he knew anything about. He didn't know how to control the feelings that assailed his senses; not the physical ones, those he could deal with easily. It was the emotional feelings that made him feel weak. That he'd been reduced to this; sitting by her bed because he was scared he'd loose her. Scared that maybe she'd see him for what he truly was. Scared he'd loose her so soon after finding her.