All that you recongnise as JK Rowling's is hers alone - I'm just playing with the product of her brilliance!

Second Chances

Chapter 1 - Encounter

Phoebe was walking home from work, she was a little late tonight. Normally, she would have been home about twenty minutes ago, before it got dark, but today she was almost out of light. She would ordinarily have taken the long way around the block as it was the safest way to go, however, as darkness was imminent, she had decided to cut through the narrow alleyway. This particular alleyway cut in a sort of lopsided T shape through the large block of derelict flats, with one of the arms emerging significantly closer to her house; it would shave at least ten minutes off her journey home. She would regret her decision.

Before entering, she peered down into the darkness: not that she could see the full length of the thoroughfare ahead of her, but just to allay her own sense of foreboding. The streets weren't known for their safety after dark regardless of whether she took the shortcut or the long way home, so the thought of reducing her time on them and arriving home sooner had its appeal.She swallowed and decided to just get it over with - quickly.

Phoebe stepped into the shadows, treading lightly and quickly extending her arm to the side and tracing her fingers lightly on the rough old bricks that formed the exterior walls of the aged buildings until she reached the intersection. Glancing both right then left and noting to herself that the alley was indeed empty,she turned on the spot to face the right hand direction. Phoebe looked up toward the top of the building, mentally noting there were about five stories looming above her. She could not see the sky through the smog and frowned to herself. She missed the stars, it had been a long time since she had seen them. Her eyes glistened in the dull, almost non existent light, then she abruptly closed them, huffed a deep breath and opened them again. The darkness seemed more dense in this confined space and it was quite cool. An odd prickle travelled down her spine, but it was not the temperature that made her suddenly shiver. Every nerve in her body seemed to be on edge, tingling - and she suddenly felt this was not the most intelligent thing she had done of late.

In the distance she spied the glow of light from the street lamp. If she could just make it there, everything would be fine from then on. She frowned again, it seemed a long way away. Phoebe went to take a step, but suddenly she stopped, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end, she whipped her head around to survey the passage behind her and then the way she had come…maybe she should turn around: but there wasn't any obvious danger. She noted to herself that the path back remained clear and somehow seemed brighter, and then turned her head toward the street lamp, but it too was clear, as far as she could see. Rolling her eyes at herself and taking a deep breath, she shrugged off her paranoia; she was wasting time, and it was getting darker by the minute. "Just bite the bullet and go," she urged herself.

When she was only several metres away from the street, she broke into a anxious trot, and a few meters further she let out an audible sigh, muttering a relieved, "Nearly there," to nobody: yet someone answered.

"Yes, you were," came a man's voice ominously, as he stepped out in front of her from the street and moved toward her menacingly. Phoebe stopped dead. Her heart rate increasing immediately and she began to step backwards instinctively as he neared her.

"What do you want?" she blurted out in a shaky voice, although in the back of her mind she knew of only two things a man such as this could want from her; probably both.

"Here!" Phoebe panicked, shoving her handbag towards him, gasping as the man drew threateningly close despite her retreat.

"Yes, that as well…" came the man's sinister response, snatching the bag from her outstretched hand. Phoebe's mind registered shock as he threw it to the corner of the alley and lunged at her, grabbing her by her wrist.

Phoebe struggled against his hold, prompting him to seize her other wrist. He was so strong. "No!" she yelled at him, casting around for some way to get out of the situation. He was so strong.

The man flung her against the wall, and she hit the back of her head on the hard bricks letting out a scream of agony. As he released her right wrist, she brought her hand up to the back of her head groaning loudly at the throbbing pain. Her vision swam for a moment and she gasped in a breath, momentarily feeling as though she might pass out. Her head felt tender and already she felt the beginnings of a lump growing under her hair. She then felt her attacker pulling at her blouse beneath her open coat, hearing and feeling it tear open at the buttons.

"NO!" she screamed again, louder this time, and whipped her free hand around and slapped her assailant across his face.

The man recoiled slightly at her blow, but then straightened, a frightening snarl screwing up his features. Phoebe sobbed in fear, knowing instinctively that she had only managed to provoke her attacker into further violence. She tried to pull away from him, clawing at his fingers that held her, but he still maintained a painfully tight grip on her left wrist. She saw it coming but could not do anything to stop it. The man brought back his arm and punched her hard in the face. The force of the hit sent her crashing once again into the brick wall, and she sank down to the footpath, holding her face in her hands. It hurt so much that she could barely breathe. Something dripped onto her hand; she was bleeding.

Suddenly she felt her legs being yanked out from under her until she was lying flat on the ground. Evidently he hadn't finished with her yet. He was tugging at her legs, at her clothing. He was going to rape her and she knew she could not prevent it.

Phoebe mustered some courage from somewhere deep and shoved him with her hands to try to push him off, crying out desperately, "Stop!" At least she wasn't going to make it easy for him, but…

He was so strong.

She felt his hot breath on her face as he pushed her hands to the ground above her head and held them there with one of his own and pinned her legs to the ground with a knee in her thigh. She was now helpless, completely at the man's mercy.

"Please… don't," she begged in a whispered sob, appealing to his conscience for compassion, tears rolling from her eyes and mixing with the blood from the large gash on her cheek which travelled in discoloured rivulets down past her ear. But the man merely sneered nastily at her pleading, an expression of deranged excitement only growing in his eyes.

Her sobs turned to wails and Phoebe closed her eyes, inconsolably resigned to the inevitable.

All of a sudden, Phoebe caught an unfamiliar phrase, forcefully spoken. Her eyes flew open to witness her attacker thrown from her, the expression on his face displaying pure shock as he crashed forcefully into the opposite wall of the alley in a flash of red light.

Phoebe was aching all over, and more than a good bit petrified, but quickly forced herself to sit up, tugging at her skirt to restore her modesty. 'What just happened?' she thought confused. She glanced over to her assailant and to her relief Phoebe saw that he lay unmoving along side the far wall. 'How did that happen?' she again questioned briefly. She began to inch away from him regardless, but a tiny movement at the entry of the alley startled her. She looked up and saw another man - the owner of the forceful voice, she decided. He seemed to be wearing a long cloak, and all in black, although the darkness made it difficult to tell. His stance bespoke rage, and his arm stood out rigidly from his body clutching a wan---a stick. She blinked stupidly. 'I must be hallucinating,' she thought. Phoebe returned her hands to her battered face once more. She was starting to hurt again; beginning to feel dizzy and somewhat sick.

Phoebe sensed the new man arrive next to her and felt him as he put a hand on her arm. 'Well, the man was real, at least,' she reassured herself.

"Come, you must not stay here," came a deep, silky voice. He helped pull her to her feet by supporting her elbows, and Phoebe discovered he was quite tall. She saw, as the light from the street lamp briefly fell on his face, that he had shoulder length dark hair and dark eyes. She also noted, without judgment, that he had a hooked nose.

Phoebe observed that her attacker had not yet moved from where he fell. 'He must be unconscious,' she thought. She suddenly felt her head become even more dizzy and was beginning to sway dangerously. She reached behind her to the wall for support: instead the dark man caught her deftly around her waist. This action drew her attention to her blouse which was gaping wide open and she clutched at it to hold it closed, but as it was torn the edges continued to slip from her shaky fingers. He observed her attempt and she saw him withdraw the same stick he had brandished earlier. She heard him mutter something under his breath, and her blouse instantly repaired before her eyes.

Phoebe gasped, confusion and panic setting in; she pushed the man away, her eyes wide, her arms searching frantically for the wall for support. When they found the cold, hard, rough surface, she shuffled along it trying to get away from him, but was hampered by her feet which felt heavy and refused to do what they were told. And she was beginning to feel alarmingly sick now.

Phoebe barely registered as he cursed impatiently to himself. Then he stepped towards her. "Stop. Allow me to help you!" the voice commanded.

"How the…what? How…?" Phoebe's voice shook with fear, thoughts failing to form sentences in her month. Suddenly the man on the ground stirred. Phoebe's panic increased; she swore and tried to run.

The dark man reached out and grabbed her wrist. She tried to fight him off; tears of desperation running down her face, "No…" she cried, but... he was so strong. She stumbled, her knees giving way beneath her. She cowered, sobbing on the footpath; She could not prevent the assault, she may as well just let him have his way.

The dark man's hands, still grasping her wrist, held her, preventing her from slumping completely over. "Stop this! I will not hurt you. We must leave, come!" that commanding voice again, although with a bite of impatience this time, like a douse of cold water.

Phoebe felt his strong arms slide around her waist again and struggled to regain her self control. 'This man is a different man, he hasn't hurt me. No, this man saved me!' An ounce of reason crept back into her mind. She would allow him to lead her away and she will deal with the other stuff later.

Phoebe submitted to him, allowing the dark man to assist her to stand and leaning against his body, he quickly led her away from the alley and down the street; his arms supporting her all the way.

They did not stop until they were three blocks away. The man sat Phoebe down on a step. She had been complaining about needing to throw up. As soon as he had straightened himself after setting her down, she did indeed throw up - all over his shoes. He immediately took a step back from her, Phoebe noticing his sigh of distaste and exasperation, though she felt too ill to really care just then. She sat there with her eyes closed, shaking, pale and sweating for another couple of minutes, breathing deeply.

She assumed it was the shock and pain of her injuries that had caused her to feel physically ill, as it seemed to be subsiding now; she felt the cool night air swirl around her face. She lifted her head and saw that the man was standing a little way off with his back turned to her. He seemed to be keeping watch. Phoebe moved her hand to her face to feel the damage and exclaimed softly at the pain. The dark man, alerted by her sound, approached and stood next to her.

"Do you feel better now?" he asked, his deep voice filled with interest, though not necessarily concern.

"A little," Phoebe replied weakly. "I'm sorry I was sick on you," she added, horrified and apologetic.

"No matter, I have cleared it up."

Phoebe now noticed his shoes were spotlessly clean again. She felt a little uneasy about it for some reason, but the sound of his voice speaking again wiped the detail from her thoughts.

"We should be going." Phoebe thought he sounded vaguely like a dinner guest making a polite departure. "Do you live near here?" he continued.

Phoebe hesitated… she wasn't sure she wanted this man to know where she lived. "Yes," she eventually conceded.

"Show me. I need to get you somewhere safe so I may attend to your injuries," he urged.

"Attend?" Phoebe queried, unsure of what he meant.

"Come… now is not the time. Which way to your house?" he said, more urgently this time.

Phoebe had a bad headache developing and didn't feel up to arguing. "This way," she said, indicating with her hand.

The dark man helped Phoebe up once again, supported her with his arm, and together they headed in the direction Phoebe indicated.

Phoebe was very aware of his warm body against hers, his breathing even and controlled in contrast to her own rapid, shallow breaths. She was glad his steady, strong arm was supporting her, as she was trembling and felt sure if he let her go she would crumple to the ground in a heap. She huffed out a sigh, and felt the man grasp her a little tighter, as if he suspected she was likely to do just that.

Ten minutes later, after a few turns, they arrived in front of her house. Phoebe reached habitually for her handbag which, to her distress, was absent from her shoulder.

"I don't have my bag; the keys are in there…" she flailed.

"I do not need the keys," the dark man answered nonchalantly.

"…he'll have my address and keys and everything…" Phoebe worriedly continued until she registered what he had just said, "…what do you mean you don't need the keys?"

The dark man moved up to the door and brandished the stick again. Another soft murmur and the house door swung open gently. Phoebe watched this somewhat convinced she was seeing things that weren't real … but then again …

"How did you do that?" she asked, getting nervous again.

"I am a wizard; it is magic."

Phoebe's jaw dropped, but she was ushered inside the house before she could refuse. "What…a wizard? Oh my God, really…? Show me!" she said, rounding on the man as he shut the door behind them. Phoebe knew she sounded stupid and disbelieving, but she needed to see again.

"Momentarily," said the man, a little impatiently this time. "Here, let me see your face."

Phoebe reached for her face, her cheek throbbed and had swollen significantly and her lower lip stung as her fingers brushed over what felt to be a split.

"Do not touch," the dark man ordered, taking her hand in his to prevent her disobeying him, "you may cause them to start bleeding again."

He led her to the couch and crouched down in front of her, stabilising himself by resting one knee on the carpeted floor. He placed his fingers under her chin and lifted her face gently toward the light so that he might examine it properly. "There is not too much damage, I can easily heal these," he announced, then he retrieved his instrument and pointed it toward her wounds…

"No! Don't… what are you doing with that… stick?" Phoebe exclaimed, trying to bat it away and leaning away from him. She was becoming fearful once more.

"Wand," the man corrected with exasperation, lowering the instrument, a slight crease on his forehead. "Believe me…" the man then spoke calmly, his silky voice seeming to contain a hint of menace, "… if I wanted to hurt you, you would stand no chance against me." He had finished this statement with what seemed like an almost perverse pleasure.

Phoebe looked up to his glinting dark eyes with alarm, taking in a sharp breath. "But you don't?" she questioned, with a kind of uncertain pleading.

"No, I do not," he answered, curtly, any evidence of a menacing tone or malevolent glint now completely absent.

Phoebe breathed a relieved sigh, but with her unease abating only a little, she sought further reassurance from the man. "It would help if you were more forthcoming with me, you know."

"Indeed," the man drawled. "Well, you wanted a demonstration of magic… so here it is." He lifted his wand toward her again.

Phoebe was somewhat taken aback by his brusque tone, and she found herself unable to find another reason to evade his adamant offer of help. "Well, will it hurt?" she queried, surrendering to him, lowering her hands.

The man contemplated for a few moments then answered, "It sometimes burns a little or tingles, but no, it will not hurt."

Without waiting, he directed his wand toward her individual wounds, and once again, muttered a few incomprehensible words. He was right, it did both burn and tingle, however it did not hurt.

Tentatively, Phoebe touched her face where she knew she'd had injuries, it no longer stung and the skin felt smooth once again. He had healed her!

"Are you injured anywhere else?" he queried.

"He threw me into the bricks," she said, reaching for the lump she had felt begin to grow beneath her hair at the back of her head.

Again he took hold of her hand to prevent her from touching. "Let me see."

Phoebe twisted in her seat and allowed him to kneel on the couch beside her to look closer.

It stung as he parted her hair and she flinched. He placed a hand on her upper arm momentarily to encourage her to remain still. "You have a gash here also," he explained, "keep still." A moment later and the stinging had disappeared.

The man moved back to face her, "Any others?"

"No that's all… thanks." she replied quickly. She did not want his attentions on the bruises she was sure were developing on her upper thigh and groin area.

Phoebe noticed he had a small frown on his face, and as she looked into his eyes, she was momentarily overwhelmed by the intensity of his gaze. Eventually she was able to flick her eyes away from his and observed that his expression now appeared satisfied.

"Any bruises will heal with time, it is only cuts and grazes that require attention," he informed her.

Phoebe blinked in surprise, 'Did he just put a distinct emphasis on the word 'bruises'?' She looked back to his face. He was no longer looking at her, but did seem to have a smug look on his face. Phoebe looked away again, confused. 'It's almost as if he just read my mind,' she thought, but not really believing it was possible. Her head gave a throb and she made a small groan and rubbed her temples, forgetting altogether about the incident.

The dark man had flicked his eyes back over her, "You have a headache?" he queried.

She nodded.

"It should dissipate within an hour or so, as will any swelling. If the pain is really bad I can make something for it, though," he offered.

"I'll be fine, it's not that bad." They sat in awkward silence for the next several moments.

"So, um … wizards really exist then?" Phoebe asked, although it was more of a statement than a question.

"It seems so," came the lazy reply.

They were both silent again, Phoebe not knowing what next to say, although 'Wow!' was echoing around her head.

Finally she decided on, "Thank you... for everything you did tonight... I couldn't have stopped him on my own," she said, hesitantly looking to him, and fighting back a few threatening tears at the frightening memories of the early evening's events.

"Yes, I know," he replied gruffly, though quiet, staring at a point over her shoulder, then flicking his gaze directly to her eyes, "Think nothing of it."

But Phoebe thought a lot of it. She managed to get control of her emotions and gave him a small smile.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Phoebe said, suddenly remembering her manners and standing up to go into the kitchen. The vertical movement left her momentarily dizzy and her head throbbed painfully, she gasped and reached out suddenly for something on which to support herself, gratefully finding the man's outstretched hand. The man then quickly stood along side her and steadied her further with his other hand on the small of her back.

"Sit… I will get the tea, stay here and rest." Phoebe sat.

Next thing she knew, the man returned from the kitchen with steaming hot tea, in just one mug. He was not gone nearly long enough to have prepared it the regular way, she was sure.

"I must go," he announced as he handed her the tea. "As you said earlier your handbag contains all your details; I had better retrieve it." He looked vaguely in the direction of the alley. "I will not return it tonight," he continued, "I have somewhere I need to be. However, I will be sure it gets to you."

"Oh… um…" stammered Phoebe, as she turned to place the mug on the coffee table. "Well… thank you… but," Phoebe went to rise but he placed his hand on her shoulder.

"I will show myself out," he said. "I recommend you take things slow this evening."

"Okay, but wait…" she called to him as he moved toward the door. "I don't know your name. I'm Phoebe, Phoebe Hansen."

The dark man stopped and turned back to her. "Severus Snape," he said, inclining his head. In the time it took Phoebe to nod in reply, he had proceeded to the door, opened it and was gone.

Phoebe rose slowly and walked to the window. She heard a faint pop just before she opened the curtain, but when she looked outside to watch him walk away, he was nowhere to be seen.