Snape sat hunched in front of the fire in his rooms. The flames burned low in the grate, as misty visions of snow danced before his eyes, a warm body held tight to his chest. The feel of arms around his waist.

The boy had been exhausted and Dumbledore had rapidly removed him, taking him away. Snape had been taken by Shacklebolt to the hospital wing where Poppy had prescribed potions and food. He had not seen the boy there.

He had released himself after waiting for more than an hour.

Dumbledore's office was empty. Fawkes had been there, and had flown to his shoulder as he had swayed in the doorway. But he had pushed the bird away. He did not want his warmth.

A house elf had appeared in his quarters insisting he eat.

Now he sat in front of the fire. His limbs no longer responding to his mind. The glass in his hand slipped from between his fingers and smashed on the tiled floor, the golden liquid spilling out. His breathing was slow and quiet. Sounds were becoming distant and far off.

A dark body was spilling itself into his lap. A voice was calling to be gentle. Arms were passed round his chest, squeezing his thorax and drawing him closer to another. His limbs regained their strength. He gripped the boy close to himself, a sob breaking in his throat as he sunk his head onto the shoulder in front of him.

"You idiot!" he breathed.