It's A One Time Thing It Just Happens A Lot.

Enlightened

Snape sat quietly by her bed, his arms resting on the back of the chair he was straddling; his chin propped on his arms as he watched her sleeping. He'd taken off his robes earlier, and now he sat with just his black coat on. It still buttoned to the neck despite the warmth in the infirmary.

Meg lay flat on her back. A large bruise decorating her right temple. He could see where she had a gash under the bruise. Poppy had closed it, but it still looked sore. Her eyes were closed and her skin was very pale. There was no hint of colour in her face, just a very light smattering of freckles standing out across her nose.

Snape didn't move, didn't take his black eyes off her. And he had no intentions of doing so until she woke and told him what the hell she'd been playing at.

She'd been found by some First years that had immediately panicked and starting screaming that she was dead. They had screamed enough to alert Mr. Filch who had come quickly; and it had taken him only seconds to call the Mediwitch.

Snape had been the last to hear. He hadn't known anything till he'd gone down to the staff room after the last class of the day. Remus was there with Rolanda and Pomona Sprout talking quietly.

Rolanda had asked him how she was. His puzzlement telling them he didn't know. Remus told him quietly that Meg had fallen down the stairs and was in the ward with Poppy. He'd not waited to listen to the rest, just turned and left.

He'd come straight up and listened to Poppy telling him exactly what had happened, how she'd been found and that she was still unconscious. He'd moved across to sit silently by her bed, and he was still here now several hours later.

He knew every aspect of her face, knew the outline of her lips, the feel of her skin under his fingers. He had seen her so angry she'd looked capable of self-combustion. He'd seen her sad and crying. He'd seen her laughing and joking. He'd seen her spitting sharp, witty retorts back at his own sarcasm. He'd seen her acting childishly and spoilt. He'd seen her when she was mean and crabby; but he had never seen her this silent. Even when she was quiet, she wasn't this silent. If she was marking she'd hum her way through the scrolls. If she was eating, little sighs of satisfaction could be heard. He had never seen her this quiet and it unnerved him.

Snape was a solitary man. He disliked invasions of his privacy but most of the time she'd seem to know when he needed to be alone and she'd take herself off to the library or for a walk. Or else she'd kidnap Longbottom and whisk him off to the kitchens telling him she needed him to cook for her.

That was something he couldn't understand; the relationship she'd built up with Longbottom was completely beyond him. He'd asked her once what she got from being Longbottom's friend, she'd joked at first, saying that when he owned a string of restaurants she'd never have to worry about where to eat again. But then she'd just smiled sadly at him and stroking his cheek she'd said; "I'm not his friend for what I can get out of it; friendship doesn't work like that, Severus. I'm his friend because I enjoy his company. Neville has friends, but he has no one who can understand..." She'd nearly said more but she'd refused to carry on, instead she'd very neatly distracted him by nibbling on his ear.

He watched her now, 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 shutdown 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 heal her faster.

He frowned and stretched the aching muscles in his back. In the last several hours he'd gone from worry to anger and then back to worry 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.