"Ah, Severus! You're early."

Severus spun around to see the tiny woman precariously balancing three brown paper bags in her arms while she fished for something in her pocket. Suddenly envisioning the bags flying everywhere, Severus reached for two of them, relieving her of the burden. "Only by five minutes," he protested slightly as she apparently found what she'd been searching for—a key, which she shoved into the door and turned.

He had sent an owl to her that afternoon, asking her if it would be all right for him to come by around six, and she'd sent the owl back, once again disbelieving of the method of delivery, but assuring him that six would be fine. That had been around one, when Severus had first stumbled out of bed, his head reeling from the after effects of beer and the late night. After receiving her reply, he'd promptly fallen back into bed, awakening again at four. After a shower, he'd made his excuses to Lupin, who had looked marginally disappointed, but told him to have fun. He'd not, of course, told the werewolf exactly where he was going.

"Early is early," she replied, but her eyes were sparkling. "Come in. Have you eaten already?"

"Erm, no, but I really—"

"Fantastic! Then of course you'll stay for dinner?" she was ushering him inside, quite an accomplishment for a woman who was a good foot shorter than he. "It will be ready in an hour," she promised.

"I suppose it wouldn't hurt…" he replied, but his mind screamed at him. What are you thinking??

"Excellent! Just leave the bags on the counter and make yourself comfortable, and pardon me for a minute while I change… been at work all day."

He looked at her clothes for the first time, and nodded blandly. She was wearing black slacks and a white shirt, and he didn't see anything wrong with it, but supposed she had her reasons for wanting to change. She deposited her bag of groceries onto the counter, and ducked under his arm, heading towards a doorway, leaving Severus to stare after her. She was a bundle of energy that would have made Aislinn look like a laze-about.

"There are glasses in the cupboard above the sink," Autumn was calling through the half-ajar door of the room into which she'd disappeared. "And you can see what's laying around. I have cola and orange juice and there might be a beer or something in the fridge. Or have some wine. Aislinn said you liked a good wine, but I don't know how she'd know. She wouldn't have known a good wine if it bit her."

Severus snorted softly, and looked around the kitchen, not moving. It was clean-looking, but cluttered and largely mismatched. A collection of pots hung on the wall, some steel and some cast iron and some a brilliant cobalt blue, and all of them looking somehow like they belonged together. A jumble of handles stuck out from the top of a rose-painted jar, and Severus lifted a few of the utensils, shaking his head to see knives and forks mixed in with spoons and spatulas. The rug on the floor was green, the tiles beneath it yellow, the countertops looked as though they had once been white but were stained in many places. He ran a finger across the counter, though, and didn't even feel a film of grease. "If she knew I like a good wine, it's because I told her," he commented dryly, though part of his soul pricked at criticizing his beloved Aislinn. But it isn't really criticism, is it? It's one of the reasons you loved her.

Autumn emerged again, this time in blue jeans and a red shirt with the bold statement 'hottie' across the front of it. For the first time, Severus was struck by the curves she possessed, her breasts compared to waist compared to hips. There was a soft roundness about her that he felt himself stirring to, and quickly pulled his attention back to her face. She was raking her hair into a high ponytail, an oddly scrunched band on her wrist, nearly half the locks falling out of the bottom of the gathered hair as she wound the band around it. She plucked a clip from her mouth and shoved it expertly into the hair at her temple, then shoved the other one into place as well, securing all her hair away from her face.

"Would you like some wine?" she asked, sidling into the kitchen and opening a drawer. She pulled out a corkscrew and placed it on the counter, then crouched, opening a lower cabinet to reveal two neat shelves of bottles. Severus was marginally impressed. "I'm cooking with pinot grigio," she told him, glancing up at him, "but like I said, it will be an hour before I have dinner done, so if you want a nice red or… hrm." She plucked a greenish-tinted bottle from one end, then slid over to the stove, bending once more and pulling a skillet from another low cabinet. She placed it on the stove and turned the fire on under it, then opened the refrigerator, pulling out a tub of butter. Almost casually, she selected a turning fork from the collection in the jar and used it to remove a glob of butter from the tub, placing fork and butter in the rapidly heating skillet. Severus watched, entranced, as she reached into one of the brown bags she'd brought home and pulled out a package of pale meat.

"What's that?" he asked curiously, and she grinned up at him.

"Turkey," she replied, peeling away the plastic covering and rinsing the meat in the sink before glancing at the skillet again. She held her palm over the surface of the skillet, so close that Severus was sure the butter was spattering her hand, and then, apparently content with the temperature, she dropped the turkey into it. It sizzled, and she turned to wash her hands, then began applying a collection of powders to it. Salt and pepper, obviously, and something else he had to squint at to read. Garlic powder. Why would anyone powder garlic? He continued to watch her as she flipped the turkey over, and powdered the now cooked side, the other side now sizzling in the skillet.

"Make yourself useful and open that bottle for me, please," she pointed with her fork at the bottle she'd retrieved from the cupboard and the corkscrew on the counter beside it. He nodded, his eyes still on her as he twisted the corkscrew into the cork and pulled it out deftly, placing the bottle on the counter again.

"If you'll tell me how much you need, I'll…" he trailed off as she grinned at him and picked up the bottle, then poured a liberal splash into the skillet.

"If you want to help," she said, "you can slice onions. Here," she reached into the jar of utensils again and came up with a sharp-looking knife, which she offered him, the blade against her arm as she extended the handle towards him. He took it, and she pointed at the end of the counter. "There's a cutting board there," she told him, plunking a lid onto the skillet and adjusting the heat, then reaching into another bag and pulling out half a dozen fist-sized onions. "Just in thin rings." He picked up one of the onions and turned it over speculatively.

"You do want me to peel it first…?" he asked, and she paused, standing on her toes and peering into a bag. Her head turned towards him slowly.

"Have you ever seen a recipe that called for the onion skin?" she asked, sounding genuinely curious. "I haven't. So I thought it went without saying."

Severus snorted softly. "I wasn't aware you were using a recipe, Miss…"

"Autumn," she replied, a two-syllable dead end to the line of questioning. "And my recipe is here," she tapped her right temple with a finger, and smiled sweetly. "And yes, Severus, peel the onion before you slice it. And chop off the ends, too."

He was about to protest as she hopped up onto the counter suddenly and rose to her knees so she could reach a top shelf, but by the time he could formulate words, she was already down again, a bowl in her hands. She offered him the bowl, and he frowned slightly. "I could have reached that for you."

She shrugged. "I reached it just fine," she replied. She moved the bags to the other end of the counter and began digging around in one, then came up with a bunch of herbs and a triumphant smile. She reached for a colander that was hanging on the wall behind the stove, and dumped the greenery into it, then washed it under a stream of water in the sink. "Pardon me," she said, reaching around him, and he stiffened as she brushed against his back. She, however, didn't seem to notice as she took a second cutting board from the wall and then returned to the other end of the counter.

For a moment, Severus was entranced again watching her. Where he was carefully slicing the onions into thin rings, he noticed that her approach with her knife was much more haphazard, with her taking care only initially in removing the stems and then the knife moving in a flurry of chops that quickly decimated the pile of herbs to a small paste of green. She used the flat side of the knife blade to scoop up the herbs and then lifted the lid to the skillet, adding them to the now-simmering wine. With a sweep of her hand, she deposited the cutting board and knife into the sink, then peered into one of the bags again. She started pulling out a medley of vegetables, pulling them out of their bags as she set them on the counter. He was still on the third onion when she had a salad completely assembled, having, to Severus' horror, used her hand as a cutting board for the vegetables. As she placed the bowl in the refrigerator, though, he couldn't help but admire the sure way she moved about the kitchen. He didn't precisely approve of her methods (and this was brought to light again as she haphazardly dumped a collection of spices, oil, vinegar and sugar into a glass measuring cup and beat it vigorously with a fork) and the kitchen was looking increasingly like a hurricane had blown through it, but there was something appealing about the way she was preparing everything.

He watched as she pulled out another skillet and set it on the stove, then added another lump of butter in largely the same way she'd done the first time, and then reached for the bowl of onions he'd been slicing. He was still working on the last one, but that didn't seem to faze her as she dumped the bowl into the skillet and stirred the onions into the butter. She placed the lid on it, then reached into the counter above the sink and retrieved a pair of wine glasses. "Pinot grigio?" she asked, indicating the remainder of the bottle she'd used on the turkey, "or something else? I have a couple of Merlots, and a pinot noir, and some phenomenal Beaujolais…"

"Phenomenal?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as he deposited the last of the onions into the bowl she'd returned to him. She nodded enthusiastically.

"Fantastic," she asserted. She was kneeling before the cabinet again, and she had a second bottle of the pinot grigio in her hand, and a stopper, which she shoved unceremoniously into the opened bottle. She gathered them both and placed them in the freezer.

"Perhaps some of the Beaujolais, then," he replied, watching as she bent once more to retrieve the bottle. She handed it to him, and he reached for the corkscrew again, opening that bottle as well while she moved away from the kitchen, gathering an armful of trash as she went and depositing it in one side of the sink. Her fingers flitted over the stove, and, after a series of beeps, she nodded and seemed satisfied.

"Come on," she urged, picking up the two wine glasses and leading the way into the living room. She placed the glasses on a cocktail table then was off to a cabinet, which she opened, and her fingers flitted over it as well before a soft music flooded the room. She touched a plate on the wall, and the lights dimmed. Severus poured the wine while she padded barefoot around the room, lighting candles.

As he settled onto the sofa, he had an opportunity to really study his surroundings for a moment. The room was decorated in shades of violet and blue, not a combination he would have chosen, but it had an ethereal feel to it that he could appreciate at least. It was neat, and mostly uncluttered, though small oddities were tucked onto tables and shelves, drawing the eye around the room. One wall was covered with candles, small tea lights that twinkled from within glass sconces, providing a soft glow. There was a small black fountain with a spinning ball of blue marble floating on the water, and a vase of small white flowers behind it. A small sidebar in the corner held a number of small blue jars, and another vase, this one full of incense, sat to one corner. An interesting mortar and pestle made of a seashell sat near the back of the shelf, and he wondered if it was merely for decoration. There were dragonflies and butterflies adorning nearly everything that didn't move, and, though his initial reaction to that was one of disdain, the things grew on him slowly.

Autumn settled onto the sofa, distracting him from his perusal of the room. She leaned forward to pick up her glass and lifted it in a silent toast. After a brief hesitation, he let his glass clink against hers, and wondered idly what he was drinking to. It hardly mattered, though, as the smooth, sweet red wine washed over his tongue, and he sighed contentedly.

"I'm glad you came," Autumn said softly. "And I'm glad you decided to stay for dinner."

Severus laughed lightly. "I wasn't under the impression that I had much choice in the matter," he said dryly, taking another sip of the wine. "You're very nearly as persuasive as Aislinn was."

Autumn laughed softly. "You obviously don't know me yet," she commented, lifting her own glass to her lips. "Else you'd know that I'm much more persuasive than she ever was."

Severus chuckled softly. "And modest."

Tucking her feet underneath her, Autumn turned slightly. "Why should I pretend to be modest about something when I know it's a strength of mine? I taught Aislinn to be persuasive. She didn't have it in her to try and convince people to do things they didn't want to do. Entirely too easy-going."

He raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he asked mildly.

"Really. She was a veritable doormat when I met her. So desperate for someone to like her that she wouldn't assert her preference for a variety of tea." Autumn swirled the wine in her glass thoughtfully. "She always wanted whatever made her easy to get along with."

"I guess I never knew that side of her," he commented neutrally, though his mind was spinning, trying desperately to remember if she was that easy-going as a student. He couldn't make the judgement one way or the other. "How long did you know her?"

"Mmm. Let's see. I was still working on my Masters…" She frowned at her wine and sipped again. "Maybe eight years?"

"Eight years? How old are you?" The question was out of his mouth before he realized it had entered his mind.

Autumn looked at him, her mouth twitching with humor, and she laughed. "How old do you think I am?"

He studied her for a moment. He'd initially thought she was younger than Aislinn, but he supposed that might be because of her height. Or lack thereof. It was difficult to look past her hair and clothing, but as he did, he noticed that there was a depth to her eyes that he did not associate with the bright-eyed optimism of youth. As for how old, though… "I have no idea," he conceded.

"Thirty-three," she replied. "Shocking, huh?"

He studied her again. Hell, she was closer to his age than she was to Aislinn's. "Quite," he replied, his eyes lingering on her face for a moment. She really was very pretty. He hadn't realized that before.

"How long did you know her?" she asked.

Severus hesitated for a moment, briefly considering whether or not to admit that he'd known her when she was a child. It would be easy enough to say he'd met her in September for the first time, and even if it wasn't quite true, it would be close enough. And it would mean he could avoid the questions it would raise to admit how long he had known her. "Fifteen years," he replied, finally deciding on the full truth.

"Really?" It was Autumn's turn to be surprised "She really was just a child then, wasn't she?"

Severus nodded. "Eleven, I'd guess."

Autumn regarded him scrutinizingly for a moment. "How old are you?" she asked, frowning.

He laughed humorlessly. "Older than you."

"Hrm," she mused softly. "How does a man know a girl who is half his age?" she asked, sipping her wine again.

"She was one of my students," he offered. "One of the first ones I saw from their first day of school until graduation."

Autumn nodded. "And then she went back to teach there and you met the adult version. Interesting."

Frowning over the top of his wine glass, Severus watched her carefully. "That was not a logical conclusion," he commented.

"Aislinn told me she was teaching, and she told me you also taught there. Or, told me that there was another teacher there that she fancied."

His heart suddenly clenched. Of course, he'd known on some level that it was true, that Aislinn fancied him, but to hear it from someone else, and now, it was enough to make his breath catch. He tried to steady his hands, but they shook.

"You fancied her too, then," Autumn said softly, setting her wine aside. She took his glass as well, and placed it on the table beside hers, then took his hands between hers. "She spoke well of you," Autumn offered. "She thought a great deal of you."

He opened his mouth to reply, but there were no words on his tongue. Closing his mouth again, and swallowing hard, he didn't protest as she moved closer, leaning against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, taking comfort in her warmth and softness. She snaked an arm around his waist, and held him.

"You're hurting," she observed. "I suppose it was difficult for you, wasn't it? You hadn't the luxury of all those months to get used to it."

He drew in a shuddering breath, trying to keep his emotions under control. "It was a shock," he murmured. "I didn't know where she was. I didn't know anything was wrong. I should have… been with her," he whispered.

Autumn reached a hand up, laying it against his neck. "It wouldn't have changed anything," she said softly. "Only made it more difficult, for the both of you."

"What do you mean?" he asked. "I would have stayed with her the entire time… I would have…"

"You would have made it more difficult for her to let go," Autumn said firmly. "She held on as long as she did for her friends. Until we'd all released her. She needed to be told it was all right to give in," she whispered. "She didn't need another reason to cling to life."

It took a moment for the words to sink in, and when they did, he stiffened. "How can you say that?" he hissed. "What kind of person says a friend didn't need another reason to live?" He tried to disentangle himself from her, and she moved back to the other side of the sofa, a sad smile on her lips.

"She was in pain, Severus," Autumn said softly. "And every day she lived was one more day of suffering. They could have prolonged her life for another six months, maybe a year, had she gone into the hospital. And there was always that slim, seductive chance of survival. Very low, but a chance." Her eyes were shining behind a curtain of unshed tears. "Aislinn didn't want to live the remainder of her life in a hospital," she whispered. "She said she would rather live two weeks surrounded by those who loved her than two years hooked up to machines and tubes."

Severus closed his eyes, trying to block out what he was being told. He loved her. Why hadn't she wanted him there? Why?

"And it took us so long to let go," Autumn continued. "I didn't want to let go. I wanted her to keep fighting, because… because I'm selfish, and I wanted her here. I wanted it to be like it always was." Her voice was cracking now, wavering with emotion, and Severus was fighting off waves of emotion himself. "But that was what she needed, in the end. I was the last one to let go."

"She could still be alive," he whispered hoarsely.

"She would be miserable," Autumn replied firmly, and he felt hands on his again. When he opened his eyes, he saw that tears were streaming freely down Autumn's face. "She was suffering, and she would have continued to suffer. She needed us to tell her that it was all right; that she didn't have to be strong anymore. That we loved her, and she could stop fighting." There was a lump in Severus' throat, and he couldn't swallow around it, and couldn't speak around it. "She was afraid you wouldn't let her go," Autumn whispered, and it was like a knife driven into his heart. "She was afraid she couldn't let you go."

She placed her hands on his face, and, before he knew what was happening, she was drawing his head to her lap, cradling him against her. They shifted, and she was holding him, caressing his face and shoulders, and he stared blankly at the wine glasses on the table. There were no tears on his face, and none in his eyes, though he didn't know why. He felt like he should be sobbing again, but he was too miserable, hurting too deeply even to cry.