A/N: The Potter Complex round 1; main prompt: create a story using time as a main theme title prompt use: loss; personalised prompt: can only include characters not in Harry's year at Hogwarts

When Severus was a child, time had been something to pass. It was something to wait out, to make it through. Everything would eventually come to an end if he could only wait long enough. He'd gotten damned good at waiting. He'd had to. Seconds, hours, years—all were nought but measures of time to exist within until they finally ceased to matter at all.

At an early age, Severus learned that time could be both a loyal friend and a cruel, ruthless enemy. When he was with Lily, time widened to make space for the both of them to share. Together they could pass the time with ease, with laughter and smiles, with a short glance and a tug on the other's shirtsleeve as they ran towards a tree and sat beneath its branches, away from the scorching sun. When he was at home, time narrowed. It passed in short, explosive bursts. The smell of whiskey hanging in the air, a shout, the sound of a bottle as it hit the wall. The glint of lamplight off the shattered glass lying on the floor. The crack of a hand against solid flesh. The pounding in his chest, the tensing of his shoulders. Severus sitting frozen, back flat against the wall, his head in his hands. Shutting his eyes to his father's hands and shielding his ears from his mother's cries until he was old enough to stand between them. Dodging blows and staggering back when he didn't quite manage. Covering the bruises until they faded and the scars until he almost forgot they were there. It was strange, how so many moments happening so quickly in front of him, to him, could pass so very slowly. And how the catch of rough fabric on red, raw skin could throw him right back to where he'd been.

Spying was not a matter of bravery, but of time—a weapon one could not afford to lose. One which had to be handled with care lest it slip through your fingers and leave you with hollow words and empty actions. Lest it leave you less than nothing. A worthless shell tossed around at the will of another. And so Severus had learned how to use the precious resource wisely. Lurking and listening in the light and the shadows for a scrap of intelligence to drag back from a false master to the one he truly served. Always watching. Always waiting. Spying did not reward haste in action. Insofar as it could be called a profession, it was one of patience, of restraint; of caution, and of calculation. It was a waiting game, and he knew how to play better than anyone.

When the moment to act arrived, it required a quick mind and an even quicker tongue—for the Dark Lord did not reward delay in response. When one had the misfortune to fall under the personal attention of his gaze, or to be caught within the snare of a curse from his pale, bone-like wand, the only way to duck, to unravel oneself from the wire, was to say the right thing. What the right thing was depended on the moment, and it depended on all the moments that had come before. The weight of the past and the present and the future to come. The pounding of his double-crossing heart as the words spilled from his mouth in the right order at the right time to the right ears. It was a delicate balance to walk, and he could not afford to stumble. To lose the artfully crafted and oh so brittle trust of the man who was barely a man at all anymore.

The man who had just slashed his wand through the air and set that godforsaken snake at him.

Time was measured not in moments, but memories, Severus thought. And this would, by all appearances, be his last. Bared fangs gleaming white in the dim light of the Shrieking Shack. Sinking into his flesh with a horrible squelching crunch that would haunt him for what was looking to be a very short eternity indeed. Venom coursing through his veins as blood poured from his body.

Red. His blood was a deep, true red, pooling against his pale skin and the remains of his robes, flowing in errant streams away from him across the cold stone floor. He had always had a fondness for red. It was bright. Bold. It knew its purpose and it never failed to serve. Even now, he couldn't help but stare as he was left alone with the macabre painting for which he had personally supplied the palette. The pain was like nothing he had ever felt. Stabbing, burning, tearing from deep within his very bones. The crimson fluid left a sticky, grimy feeling against his skin while he could do nothing but stare, his vision going in and out of focus.

He could do nothing but wait. Time was growing short and his memories had nowhere to go. Potter. He had to get his memories to the Potter boy. The boy must die. This was all happening out of order. Memories, Potter, time, death. That was how it was meant to go. He hadn't expected to outlast the war, but he had expected to serve his duty. His vision blurred for a moment, the world spinning and the air growing warm and heavy as the ringing in his ears grew louder and louder until suddenly it stopped. His vision cleared.

Green. From a distance he could see her eyes and they were growing nearer. They were beneath a mop of messy dark hair. Potter's hair. He could feel his memories leaking out. Abandoning him once and for all as the life ebbed from his body, each breath harder than the last. His time had come at last. He croaked out the words in a choked whisper and watched as Granger passed Lily's son a vial, watched as the silvery blue liquid flowed into the glass as his hands grew slack and loosened their grip on Potter's clothing. It was time to stop holding on. The waiting was almost over.

"Look…at…me," Snape said roughly, his dark eyes boring intently into the outline of Potter's face, searching until the boy's eyes met his own and blocked everything else from his sight. The red of his blood, the blue of his memories, the grey of the stone were all eclipsed by the green of his eyes. Her eyes. He was drowning in red and sinking into green. The colours merged, and a final image flashed before his eyes. A lion, leaning down; and a serpent, rising up. Their eyes met.

Time stopped.