WHAT: That's what Snape would like to know!
WHEN: Starting Halloween night
WHERE: An alley with a tent and a tiny fire
Severus was drunk. Again. He was getting drunk more and more since his encounter with Black. He wished someone would come see him, even if it was only to arrest him. He deserved it, anyway. He had slain their hero of old. He had dashed the hopes of the Boy Who Lived. He was simply wretched. Similar feelings of rapidly declining self-worth were his fancies of the early morning hours.
Suddenly, a werewolf limped to him, looked imploringly at its hind leg and whimpered. Rolling his eyes drunkenly, Snape snarled, "Don't run a free health clinic, fella, now go."
The wolf growled a bit at him, glanced at its leg and whimpered again. Though still drunk, Snape wondered at the wolf's single-minded focus. It was a terribly Gryffindor attitude, really. Making the connection that would have made no sense to a sober mind, he implored, "Lupin?"
The wolf nodded, and glanced at his leg again. "You hurt your leg? C'mere." The wolf did as he was told. Feeling around the gash (which went straight to the bone, sure enough), Snape sighed. "Can give you potions to help, but I can't use my wand much. They'd find me." As he said it, he unstoppered a few bottles. "This'll help the skin mend before the mornin'," he said of one, pouring it down the wolf's throat. "This'll decrease the blood flow t'the area." The other was poured down the throat. "And this'll stop the pain." Down went the third. "This," Snape said of the bottle he held in his own hand. "This is scotch. Muggle scotch. Cheap Muggle scotch." He guzzled a bit. "Want some?"
The wolf shook its head and lay itself down to sleep. Rolling his eyes again, Snape stood. "I'll get you a blanket, your highness." After doing as he said, he sat again by his fire and moped about his wasted life.