It was a warm autumn, the trees were just beginning to turn and the air swept dry, lingering summer scents up the tower. The sun-baked stones of the parapet were still hot under my dry palms, and I rubbed them over the rough rock fondly. The sunset signaled the start of my work day, the golden streaks amongst the pink expanse an invitation to the hiding stars and the students. The night's lesson plan ran quickly through my mind as I bent to raise the telescope's tripod, my hair falling tangled over my eyes. I brushed it back and gazed around my paradise again.

This was my home, my nest in the sky. Voldemort didn't exist up here, neither did my family, my marking book, or any other of my problems. It was a perfect night forming before me, and I fiddled with my prized telescope again, my fingers dancing in anticipation. Tonight would be a long night for me, for after the students left the real work would begin, my passion coolly ignited like the frigid flames of the stars burning so far away. It may seem sad that my dearest companions were burning balls of gas, but they had been there to admire and with whom I could have one-sided conversations since a long ago childhood.

A click, followed by a rasp caught my attention. The trapdoor shifted up, and the grayed top of Dumbledore peeked over.

"Professor, would you care to accompany me to the Great Hall for dinner?" He smiled at me, in the fatherly way he treated all of his broken-winged foundlings. I didn't want to break my serene meditation and preparation for the overwhelming cacophony of the Hall.

"Thank you, Headmaster, but I think I'll stay here tonight." I smiled back, to soften my words, hoping he wouldn't insist.

"I'm afraid I insist." There was that damned twinkle. I sighed. There was no way around it.

"Why?" I could feel my evening slipping away, through my fingers like peaceful waters disturbed.

"The students have not seen you in weeks except in classes, nor have the teachers except at faculty meetings. I cannot have a professor seen as aloof from the rest of the school, we need to stand together." I knew it was true, though I didn't like it. Even Snape came to meals regularly, though how he grumbled. The Headmaster had quite cruelly redesigned our teacher's quarters as to be bedrooms only, and no place to hide one's self away. If we wanted to relax, it had to be in the teacher's lounge, forcing us all to be social. Likewise, our offices were for working, and poorly equipped for enjoyment. Filch had been on cloud nine the day he went around stealing our comfortable chairs and cozy décor. There was a theory between some of the staff that he had set up a palace down there with all of our furniture, but I knew Dumbledore would never allow that.

I had escaped, though. I had my tower, which only infrequently was occupied by students trying to complete charts and diagrams. Dumbledore was still there, gently boring holes through my brain with his all-knowing eyes. I followed him back down the trapdoor, lifting my robes so they wouldn't catch underfoot and send me down the ladder to land on my backside down below on cold, hard floor as they had done so many times before. He took my hand in a gentlemanly fashion as I neared the bottom to ease my dismount, and my feet hit the floor softly, robes settling in a black swish.

The hall between my office and my bedroom was little bigger than a broom closet, and if I took the door on the left, it would lead to my bedroom, and same way the door on my right would lead me to my office. We didn't take either door. Another trap door sat below the ladder up, and it revealed another ladder down further to the main stairs that wound a dizzying circle. We didn't speak much, just pleasantries and being British, spoke of the weather.

As predicted, the Hall was madness, children talking and eating noisily. It was not that I didn't like children, it's that I liked my privacy better than ruckus. Predictably, I was guided to a seat on the end between McGonagall and Snape, in other words between a rock and hard place. They were both, in their own ways, good people but they couldn't keep their claws out of each other long enough to have a civil dinner. This was going to be a long night.

Less than an hour later, all my fears had come true. I sat as far back in my chair as possible to avoid the angered voices that came in volleys from either side, rasped words about something as silly as a Quidditch game. The migraine that blossomed was expected, and I pressed a shaking hand to the back of my head from where the pain seemed to sprout. I needed somewhere cool and dark, and most especially quiet. This brightly lit room of chaos was already sending my stomach churning.

I shoved my chair back, and could feel the blood draining from my face as the world grayed a moment. It passed, and I sent an apologetic look to the Headmaster on my way out, but his eyes were glazed over, deep in thought. Snape and McGonagall had hardly noticed I had left. Oh well, no one to call me back, and I escaped the Hall and wound my way around to my tower's base. The pain was overwhelming, and I slide down the wall at the base of the stairs with my eyes closed.

I have no idea how long I sat there, or if I slipped off asleep, but I woke with a start when the tower door clicked open. The pain lingered full force, and my sight was blurry. I saw a man who crouched before me, his deep voice indistinct and his words lost in the fuzz of my mind. With careful hands he drew me up by my forearms and tipped my face up towards the light. There was a murmur, and I wanted to sit back down, my head threatening to implode in on itself, every nerve wound tight to the point of breaking. I could feel his hands turning me around, and a gentle finger press against where my neck met my skull. A sob escaped me, and he stopped. The inviting wall met me again, and I leaned against it once more.

" . . . Madame Pomfrey. . . " I heard two words clearly come from him, and my delicate insides heaved when he picked me up with a grunt. The light fabric of his robes felt very rough against my face, and I could feel my dangling feet bounce with everyone of his steps.

The light was terrible inside the castle halls, and when he finally delivered me to what I presumed was a hospital wing bed, I emptied my stomach in the first receptacle offered. A woman cooed and scolded me at the same time, and I ignored her. The man closed the curtains, creating a dark space, and opened a window above the headboard. The woman poured something simply awful down my burning throat, and I felt the sickness recede, leaving only a painful migraine.

The two voices mingled in conversation, the female instruction an apparently unwilling male. Warm hands touched me again, touched my neck and shoulders in firm, swift movements and the awful tension drifted away under his ministrations. These went on for I have no idea how long, but the man would have had my purring if I hadn't been otherwise distracted. Finally, a cloyingly sweet potion was lifted to my lips, and I drained it.

Minutes passed, my hearing and sight became more focused, but the urge to sleep overrode it all. I looked around the room. Madame Pomfrey seemed satisfied, but had the suspicious look of someone who was going to give me a piece of her mind later. The identity of the man sitting unconcernedly on a corner of the bed sent my eyes as large as saucers. Severus Snape? I drifted back against the bed as blissful sleep captured me. . .