A/N:

Dear readers, thankyou for your wonderful comments and encouragement. I wasn't sure whether to contine with this, but there really is nothing more motivating than putting a chapter out there and receiving lots of feedback. My mind went into creative overdrive, so that I now have some great ideas for turning this into a proper story.

I'm a slow writer, and I'm back to working full time as well, so I apologise if it takes me a while to update. There is one way you can make write faster though: Keep clicking that review button, it really works!

Very special thanks to Mark Darcy for beta reading and debugging my English, to Fede88 for translating this for Italian readers at lightning speed, and to ZairaAlbereo for honest criticism and hours of fruitful discussions.

2 Wounded at Midnight

In plain sunlight, there was nothing eerie about the Shrieking Shack. It was just a skew-whiff, run down building, not exactly inviting, but certainly not sinister. And yet, for some reason she could not quite identify, Aurora could not bring herself to open the door. Reason told her that, because of what she was about to do, there should be nothing on the other side of that door, no body, no blood, nothing scary. Perhaps it was superstitious, but she decided she preferred not to find out. And so she remained outside, as she turned the intricate dials of the silver device dangling around her neck.

She had never used a Time Turner before. It was the most wondrous experience imaginable. With each turn, the sun approached the horizon to the east. She watched, fascinated, as it disappeared, the sky darkened, and the stars sped across the firmament, heading in the wrong direction. When the position of the constellations indicated midnight, she stopped spinning the dials, still standing outside the Shrieking Shack, hesitantly, and wondering how exactly to proceed. She was abruptly pulled out of her contemplation as the door flew open, almost hitting her in the face, making her jump deeper into the shade of the building.

A moment later, the shadow of a tall, thin figure appeared, stalking away from her, and the door closed with a bang. The creature had a bald head, as white as ivory, and long, bony fingers that did not look like they belonged to a living being. A massive snake was curled around its shoulders. When she realised who it was, a cold chill ran down her back. It was him, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the most evil and dangerous dark wizard of all time. Aurora felt the urge to Disapparate on the spot, but, thankfully, he had not noticed her. When he disappeared into the forest, she breathed a sigh of relief. And then she realised what must have just happened inside the shack. Severus – This was her moment to act.

She wiped clean a small corner of the grimy window with the sleeve of her robe, to allow her to peer inside. The scene that presented itself to her there, illuminated by the faint glow of someone's wand, nearly made her heart stop.

The news of how and where the headmaster had died had spread like wildfire amongst the crowd gathered in the Great Hall. She had picked up the crucial bits from the conversation of a group of students sitting across the table, and it had made her feel so faint and nauseated, that she had needed to leave the feast, and retreat to a place of fresh air and solitude. But seeing it with her own eyes was so much worse. Severus was lying on the floor, convulsing, in a puddle of his blood. His hand was desperately clutching his neck. 'He must be in so much pain,' she thought, and it broke her heart.

Harry was kneeling beside the dying man, his two friends standing behind him. She watched as Severus gave his memories to the boy who, consequently, would live. Impatiently, she waited for the kids to leave, but they just stood there and watched, shell-shocked by what they had just witnessed, or unwilling to help because of their hatred for the wizard on the floor. She wanted to run inside, shake them, and tell them to go get Madame Pomfrey. But she knew that she must not allow them to see her. And so she waited. With each second that trickled by, her anxiety grew, until it reached almost unbearable levels. Severus had stopped moving, and was lying stretched out with his eyes closed. What if she was too late? What if he was already dead? The voice of reason inside her head told her that it would be all right, that since there was no portrait, she must have succeeded. But her heart did not want to listen, and was beating against her ribs like a desperate little bird trapped inside its cage.

Finally, the children disappeared somewhere at the back of the room. Was there a back door? Relieved from her enforced idleness, Aurora stormed inside, the little vial of phoenix tears at the ready. She dropped to her knees beside Snape's prone form, and undid the collar and tie of his robes with shaking hands, exposing the deep puncture wounds in his neck, from which blood still trickled in a steady flow. She let a few drops of the pearly liquid drop onto them. When they touched his skin, they sizzled, evaporating into silvery smoke, and the wounds simply disappeared. Amazed, she let her hand stroke along the perfectly pale skin, which now was miraculously intact, and marvelled at the healing power contained inside the little vial. There were a few drops left, which she poured into his half-open mouth, before sitting back, and waiting with nervous anticipation for him to move.

* * *

If anything, Severus Snape was surprised at how easy it was to die. Admittedly, the pain that spread from his neck throughout his body was horrendous, but soon that, too, would be over. The only thing that mattered was that he had accomplished his mission, albeit with his last breath, and delivered Dumbledore's message.

And so, with one last look into the green eyes of the young wizard bent over him, he allowed himself to let go. His muscles, until a moment ago seized up and twitching uncontrollably from the poison coursing through his veins, now felt limp, and he had lost command over them. His senses, too, seemed to have shut down, but the image of those green eyes persisted in front of his inner eye.

Only now, they belonged to a beautiful young woman with flaming red hair. Her face was beaming, and her laughter, light and pure as bird song, reverberated through his head. How grateful he was that it was her, accompanying him on this last journey, rather than any of the other faces normally haunting his dreams. He felt weightless and dizzy, and his head was spinning. It was as if he was dancing with her, twirling and twirling, silly and worry-free like two children.

Finally, the pain stopped, and was replaced by a pleasant feeling of warmth. He could feel gentle hands touching his neck. She was actually touching him! It was wonderful, and he just hoped that she would stay there for all eternity. He could also taste something sweet in his mouth. Was it possible? Could she have kissed him? Eager to find out, he realised that he could actually move his eyelids again, or at least he had the illusion that he could, and decided to open them to take a proper look. When he did, soft light flooded his pupils, and, slowly, the blurred figure in front of him came into focus. But once he recognised her features, he was dismayed.

"No... Not you..." he croaked.

He had still counted her amongst the living, and it pained him to see her here. Another life lost. Somehow, he felt as if he was to blame. She didn't look good. Her hair was dishevelled, her face ashen, and her eyes seemed puffy. He only hoped that she hadn't suffered.

She looked at him, slightly offended, but didn't say a word.

He cleared his throat to regain command over his voice. "How did you die?" he inquired, still sounding a little hoarse.

At those words, she suddenly broke into laughter, a laughter that sounded unexpectedly light-hearted.

"I'm not dead, Severus, and neither are you."

What? He started to feel irritated. What was going on? Where was Lily, and what was she doing here?

"What the hell are you doing here, Aurora?" he growled.

"It's marvellous, isn't it? The healing power of phoenix tears..." she chirped, while holding up a small vial he recognised as belonging in his office.

Before he could protest, she had put another bottle to his lips, and poured its content into his mouth. He had no choice but to swallow, in order to avoid choking. And if he needed anything more to convince him that he was, in fact, alive, the metallic taste of Blood Replenishing Potion did just that. His eyes were shooting daggers at her.

"Merlin's beard! Can you not let a man die in peace?" he snapped as soon as he regained his breath.

"And here I was, thinking you would be grateful..." she replied with a trace of her own dry humour. "Never mind... I'm sure a Potions Master like you could brew something up to get you where you want to be with less pain and more dignity. At least now you have a choice..."

He wasn't sure he wanted to have that choice. He had just made his peace with the world, and was not at all pleased to find himself thrown back into it. For a moment, he remained silent, while he tried to remember what he had been up to just before, and what he was supposed to do next.

Ah, yes. There still was a battle to be fought.

"Here, drink this," she said, pulling out another bottle from her robes.

He quickly snatched it out of her hand, before she had a chance to assault him with it, and took a look at the label.

"What gave you the right to raid my potions cupboard?" he scolded, but in a tone that bordered on conciliatory. His own Strengthening Draught - This, he approved of. He uncorked the bottle, and took swig from it, before offering it to her. "You look like you could use some yourself."

She vigorously shook her head, a look of disgust on her face. "No thank you, I'm perfectly fine."

"Suit yourself," he grumbled, and, with a shrug, downed the remaining potion.

What followed was a long, awkward silence. She still hadn't answered his question, and he couldn't imagine why a member of staff would stroll into the Shrieking Shack while Hogwarts was fighting the battle of battles. Why on earth would she waste those precious phoenix tears on a Death Eater, to save him from a fate they surely all had hoped for?

Years ago, he had shared a certain degree of intimacy with the attractive young astronomy professor, but he had always wondered what she saw in him, to give herself to him so willingly. And surely, just like the years of working for the Order, that no longer accounted for anything? But now, that question was the least of his worries. He had given Potter his memories, an act of utter desperation that made him cringe now that he remembered it. It should not be too late to stop the boy. He had to get back to his office to intercept Potter before he could use the Pensieve that Dumbledore had left him. Then he would be able to carry on with his original plan.

Finally, he was feeling well enough to get up. He reached into the pocket of his robes to check for his wand, and was pleased to find it still sitting in its usual place. There was a moist, sticky feel to the familiar rough wool of his coat, which made him realise that he was covered in blood, his own blood. He reached for his wand again, this time removing it from his cloak. As he cast a cleansing spell, he was pleased to see that his powers had not suffered. Phoenix tears were a marvellous substance indeed. He still felt a little stiff, and his muscles were aching, but he managed to stand up in one swift motion, and walk towards the door with no more than a slight limp.

"No, no, no, stay here!" she commanded, "what do you think you are doing?"

He turned and stared down at her with a contemptuous glare. "My job," he replied in a tone of stating the obvious.

"You don't understand, Severus. I travelled back in time to save you. You were – I mean, everyone thinks you're dead. The kids saw you die. You can't go out there, and just walk back into Hogwarts as if nothing happened. Besides, before the sun rises, Harry will have killed your dark master, and he won't need your help."

It seemed to take him a moment to fully process the information. Aurora looked up at the towering form of dark wizard standing in front of her, feeling her skin erupt into goose bumps under the intensity of his gaze. She couldn't recall when she had last been this close to him. She stood up, getting herself to eye level with him.

"Are you insinuating that you came back from the future?" he asked suspiciously, his eyes narrowing almost imperceptibly. "Would you care to explain how you achieved such a feat?"

Instead of answering his question, she just pointed at the intricate silver pendant dangling from its chain around her neck.

"A Time Turner? Where did you get that?"

"From your office, it was right under your oversized nose," she replied with a smug smile.

A trace of surprise registered on his face. He closed his eyes, and pinched the bridge of said nose between his thumb and forefinger.

"Damn that sly old fox..." he mumbled. "Did Albus send you here? Has he found another puppet to do his bidding?"

Aurora felt like she had to defend the old wizard. "I came of my own free will."

"Why? Why me? Were there no other victims worthier of saving?"

"Are you really that daft, Severus? Surely a man of you intellect should have worked it out by now."

"Let me guess... So that you could continue pestering me?"

"Do I really have to spell it out for you? Because I love you!"

He flinched, as if he had been slapped. Aurora cringed inwardly at her own words, embarrassed by how ridiculous they sounded, once she had actually pronounced them. But at the same time she felt relieved at having said it. There it was, out in the open. At least she would not be left wondering for the rest of her life about 'what if'. She wished he would just come back with a sarcastic retort, but he simply looked at her. The probing glare of his black eyes was as uncomfortable as the silence. If only she knew what went on in his head. She could tell there was a lot going on, too much probably.

"What do you expect me to say, Aurora?" he finally spoke. "That I love you, too? I'm not capable of love. Don't make yourself unhappy. You should have left me to die."

She tried not to show how hurt she was by those words, but her cheeks were burning, betraying her best efforts. And at the same time she was afraid, afraid that he would just turn to leave, that she would never see him again.

"Well, you're free to start from scratch, Severus, start a new life. Do you really want to become a lonely bastard all over again? I could come with you, keep you company..." She was glad that she had managed to get that out without her voice shaking.

"Absolutely not. You know I don't enjoy company," he replied coldly.

"There was a time when you seemed to enjoy mine..."

"You heard me, Aurora. I may have had weak moments in the past, but this is not one."

How was it possible that a voice so deep and velvety could deliver words that felt like stabs with a knife? Was that really how he felt about their past affair, about those same memories that she still cherished as the best time of her life? Did he really feel that it was no more than a moment of weakness, a mistake? She had always blamed his difficult role as a spy for his cold behaviour towards her, attributed it to his sense of duty, and the constant danger that he put himself in. But what was his excuse now? Here she was, having just saved his life, willing to follow him wherever he might go, and he had just dismissed her feelings for him and used them to wound her. She felt almost physically sick, her knees felt weak and there was a painful knot in her chest. If only she had some of those phoenix tears left, to stop the haemorrhage inside her heart. But all she had was another bottle of his potions, and she wondered why she had even brought it here. Putting on a brave face, she pulled the little flacon out of her pocket and handed it to him.

"I wish you good luck then, Severus," she said coolly, meeting his eyes without blinking, even though inside she felt like a lamb led to the slaughter.

Snape looked at the item in her hand questioningly, before taking it from her with a curt nod. He raised one eyebrow, as he studied the label with an expression of disdain on his face, and finally slipped the objectionable article into his pocket.

Then he turned on his heel, and, in a whirl of black robes, was gone.