2:18 AM

Evelyn's heart pounded as she ran in the haze of smoke, Severus' voice still ringing through her ears. She prayed silently as she ran, hoping that Severus and Harry would be alright, that they would make it back to the house. As soon as she approached the spiral staircase, which was through the door on the right side of the long corridor, she knew that she would never get down it, for people were thundering down the stairs in hordes.

For a second panic almost overwhelmed her, but then she realized that did not need to use a staircase. Evelyn continued down the corridor instead, for the spiral staircase was situated in the middle of the long corridor. The smoke was getting thicker, and Evelyn was having trouble getting enough oxygen. Her lungs fought every breath, and her head started to spin from exertion. The corridor seemed to stretch forever, and the window at the end looked so much further than she had initially thought. A chunk of burning wood fell from above. She did not swerve around it in time, and tripped over it, sliding across the wood floor, bits of embers beneath her. She stood up, terror making her heart pound, and in the haze of smoke stamped out the hem of her dress, which had caught fire. Her boot did not seem to make a sound in the roar of the fire that was quickly descending from the floor above, for the old wood that rested in the stone frame of the building was dry and caught in an instant. The explosion in the far end of the corridor had helped the progression of the blaze greatly.

Clumsy feet and a drunken haze of smoke. These were the two things that Evelyn seemed to know. The rest was a blur. She was feeling dizzy and sick, and she almost forgot why she had run to a window when she reached it. After a second of confusion, she pulled out her wand and somehow mustered the strength to break the window with a bombardment charm. The smash barely rose above the sound of chaos, and the cool air poured in on Evelyn. Down below, the first floor jutting over it, the river Thames rushed by. Evelyn tried not to look down at the dark water that was taking away bits of ash raining down from the sky, and she concentrated with all her might to shift to her animagus form. The smoke was still thick even with the window open, for it was pouring off the floors above, and Evelyn could not seem to get a breath. Nor could she change forms, she soon found. She tried again, and again, fatigue pulling her further from wakefulness. She felt her legs wobble dangerously, and in one single moment of clarity, she understood that she would not have the strength to change shape, let along fly, for birds needed immense amounts of oxygen to remain airborne. She vaguely recalled that that was why she had not flown through the corridor, opting instead the run.

Evelyn put her wand into her deep dress pocket to free up her hands. She took in a deep gasp of smoky air, and closed her eyes. Thinking of Severus and his steady, dark eyes, she jumped.

Stinging smoky air rushed by. Evelyn would have screamed but was unable to breathe. As soon as she was falling she opened her eyes, unable to help herself. The water below her feet reflected the image of the fire, and then the picture was broken as she plunged into the dirty, chilly river. She struggled, trying to reach the surface. Her eyes opened in the gloom, and she looked up through the water to see the unearthly glow of the flames above. She frantically moved her arms, but her hands in water were not like her wings in air. She had no place in the water, and knew all too well she had never learned to swim. The rush of the river kept her under, and with her body screaming for air Evelyn took a gulp of water, and then everything started to become black. Blacker than Severus' eyes ... black like the river ... black like McTavish's soul.

Then an arm was around her, and as the darkness pressed in on her brain she thought sluggishly of Severus. She was pulled toward the orange light, up to the surface of the filthy water where the smoke hovered over like a blanket. She expelled a huge spout of water, blinded by the smoky air and the river water in her eyes, and the strong arms pulled her to the bank, laying her on the ashen ground. It seemed like forever before she registered what she was seeing. Sparks floated over the river like fireflies, and as her vision came into focus she searched for Severus. But he was not there.

Instead, Samuel Hearne stood before her, dripping wet in his ragged clothing.

"You can't swim? You jumped in a river, and you can't swim!" he barked at her angrily, and all she could do was cough and splutter. "Bloody good thing I'd been paying attention and saw the flames, which of course meant you three were up to something! Well you did do a damn good job of destroying the potion, at least. Top half of the blasted building's just about gone, of course, and the wards on top of it all, after an explosion like that! That had to be Kendrick's lab that did that."

He let out a string of curses, looking horrified that the place he had once researched in was going up in smoke, and yet at the same time, rather awed.

"T-Thank you for saving me," said Evelyn hoarsely, sitting up weakly. They were just outside the gates of the Potioneer's Society, the people pouring out through the opening to get to the other side of the fence, travelling as far away from the falling chunks of debris as possible.

"Do not expect to be so lucky again," he warned her, looking relieved that she was alright.

"HEARNE! HE DID THIS!" shouted a voice a few feet away, recognizing Evelyn's saviour. "THAT TRAITOR!"

The blood drained from Hearne's face, and he looked quickly to Evelyn.

"Go!" she cried, and he disapparated on the spot to cries of anger from the crowd.

Billows of steam had obscured the area for a moment as the many wizards and witches around pulled out their wands and started dousing the fire from a distance, to little effect. It was exactly the opportunity Evelyn needed, and while she was still wobbly and coughing violently, she was well enough to stand. She got up and stumbled through the crowd, and when she dove into an alleyway she reached into her pocket for her wand so she could disapparate. Her fingers met only wet fabric.

She closed her eyes, holding back tears, picturing her wand at the bottom of the Thames where it likely was being swept along mercilessly. Suppressing a violent cough, Evelyn again tried to shift into her animagus form, but she failed once again, lacking the strength. She searched wildly around her, but no way presented itself. She would simply have to run. Coughing and spluttering, jogging through the street and feeling like she would collapse any moment, she prayed that Severus and Harry were alright and waiting for her.

***

2:30 AM

"Hold on, sir," Harry muttered as Snape wheezed slightly on the floor, his hands curled around the towel, which was stained with crimson. It had been steadily soaking up the blood for some time now.

Harry shivered violently. The powder was working fast. Very fast. Harry looked up at the little phial, his heart pounding.

"She'll come, sir," Harry whispered shakily.

Snape did not reply, but stared up at the ceiling. After a moment, he looked at Harry, staring intently into his eyes.

"P-Potter," he said, his voice shaking with pain, sounding faint. "I never ... never finished saying what I meant to that night, the night of the cave-in, with the parchment."

Harry looked away.

"I know what you were going to say," he said, hating the bitterness in his voice.

"You do?" asked Snape, his ghostly face riddled with confusion, and Harry thought perhaps he saw a trace of fear.

"You were going to say I remind you of my f-father," Harry said, his voice shaking with both disappointment and anger. "That's why you were ignoring me."

Silence fell between them. And Harry knew he had been right. Harry did not meet Snape's eyes, despising himself.

"Harry, look at me."

The voice was so gentle, Snape's words so soft, that Harry almost did not hear them. The words were calm, and kind, but he was afraid to meet Snape's eyes, and find out that he was right all along.

"Harry," said Snape again, almost pleading.

Slowly, Harry lifted his eyes from the floor. When he met Snape's gaze, he did not see what he had expected to. There was no loathing. There was no anger.

"I used to see James Potter, Harry," he whispered. "And then I got to know you."

A twang of confusion flitted through Harry. He did not speak, but waited for Snape to continue, for he seemed to be taking a great deal of effort to get the words out.

"When we went back in time the first time, I started to see someone else. I started to see you ... Harry, just Harry. Not James. But now ... now the more I see of you, the more I see ... Lily. You r-remind me of your mother. You are so much like her. More than you could ever imagine. It makes me miss her so much."

Snape blinked a few times, but did not break his gaze with Harry.

"I see so much of Lily in ... in you," he said shakily. "More every day." He sighed, looking ashamed of himself, and he looked back at the ceiling. "That was why I began to avoid you. It wasn't so much my position as a spy, but that I saw her in you to such a degree that it reminded me of everything I did not have, and all of the awful things I did, even though you forgave me for them. It hurt to see so much of her in you, knowing that I am the reason she is not here. However directly or indirectly."

Harry was stunned. He could not think of a single thing to say back, but Snape continued.

"I am a coward, Harry. An awful coward."

Shock hit Harry hard when he saw that Snape was shaking slightly, not out of pain, but from trying to keep his emotions under control.

"And I l-loved her," he confessed suddenly, his eyes tightly shut, his voice low and hoarse. "From the moment we met, and she never knew. I n-never told her. I was a coward even then!"

Understanding washed over Harry. Here was his answer, here was the real reason Snape had not talked to him. Here was why Snape had hated him from the beginning, why he had tried to peg Harry as another James Potter for so long. It was easier. It hurt less. And then another bolt of clarity hit Harry, and he finally saw why Snape's loathing of his father had lasted so long. James Potter had not stolen Severus Snape's best friend, as Harry had initially thought. He had stolen the girl he had loved, the girl he had wished had fallen for him the way she had for James.

"I forgive you," Harry said suddenly, his voice catching slightly. Surprising even himself, he leaned over and carefully hugged Snape, who froze in shock.

Harry could not help but understand Snape's hatred, even if it had not been right, because Harry too had experienced the bitter disappointment of not being loved. Maybe not in the same way as Snape, but as he tightened his arms around his Professor, all Harry could think of was when he used to lie in his cupboard as a very little boy, pretending that Aunt Petunia loved him too, just so he did not feel so alone.

It took a moment or two, but Harry felt one of Snape's shaking arms return the embrace. They stayed like this for a few seconds, and then Harry let go, sensing Snape's growing weakness from his injury.

"I promise I will not do that to you again," muttered Snape softly. "I will not ignore you. You deserve more."

"I do?" Harry asked without thinking.

"Yes."

***

2:30 am

Evelyn's world was fuzzy around her. Her clumsy feet tripped over a cobblestone jutting out from the dark road and she went crashing to the stone. Her hands were skinned, and for a moment the pain grounded her, erasing the spinning in her head. Her fatigue was growing, and she felt like at any moment, her heart would burst from running. Even so, she pushed as hard as she could, knowing she still had a long way to go.

***

2:41 am.

"Sir?" whispered Harry.

"Yes?" croaked Snape, whose chest heaved. He was doing worse. Harry was beginning to become frightened.

"Should we leave a note for Evelyn, just in case?" he asked, worried she would not get there in time.

Snape looked at him for a moment, contemplating.

"It could not hurt ... just ... just in case."

Harry grabbed a piece of spare parchment and the ink and quill, setting it down on the floor so he could write by Snape.

"I'll tell her what's happened," Harry muttered, writing with a steady hand that had long disappeared. Snape too was slowly disappearing, for time was running out, and the powder grew closer to the moment when it would activate fully.

"Tell her I will be alright once I see a healer," muttered Snape, coughing weakly.

Harry nodded, and added a few more sentences.

"Can you think of anything else to say?" Harry asked, hating the way his voice shook.

"A million ... things," Snape said, taking in a sharp breath mid sentence and clutching at the splinter, still embedded in him. "But we haven't time for that."

"What do you want to put, then?"

Snape paused, and then held out his right hand.

"I can write it," he said steadily despite the way his hand shook.

Harry placed the loaded quill in Snape's hand, and set the parchment beside him. Carefully, Snape wrote, still lying on his back, trying not to disturb the splinter. It took a long time, but Snape finished the message, and rolled it up. Sensing that what his professor had written was not for him to read, Harry placed the note upon the table. Harry shivered violently, but this kind of shiver he was sure was not from the powder, but from his fever.

"How are you feeling?" muttered Snape.

"Worse," Harry said, feeling the cold sweat dripping down his back and trying to ignore the burning pain that was snaking down his arm and to his chest.

Snape let out a rattling cough, just like those Harry too had been plagued with since the smoky fire. Snape gave a moan when the pain from coughing hit him, and he clenched his teeth tightly as the splinter was jarred. Harry looked at the towel that was placed upon the wound, Snape's hands weakly clutching it. Blood stained much of the material now. Despite the splinter remaining to plug the wound, Snape was still bleeding fairly impressively.

Harry felt a cold kind of fear crawl into his belly, and the fatigue in his body was almost too much to fight. Cautiously, he lay down on the floor, side by side with Snape. He could hear his breathing, which sounded strangely irregular. Harry inched closer. Snape made no move to stop him, and so they lay there in the darkness, their sides touching slightly, neither acknowledging the fear that was hanging in the air as time slowly ran out.

***

2:47 am.

Evelyn broke into a run again, gasping for air as she sprinted down Tower Street. She could see her home, and she was at the door, reaching at the handle with fumbling fingers. It swung open, and she tumbled into the room at last.

A note lay on the table. There was blood on the floor. But these things Evelyn hardly noticed at first, for as she fell to her knees she wished with all her heart she had perished in the fire rather than come back to find them gone.

Sobs wracked her body, and she lay curled up on the floor, staring at the stains in the wood, dark and terrifying. Despite the fact that she wished to melt into the foundation of the house, and into oblivion, the blood stared her in the face. A flutter of fear rippled through her, and so she stumbled to the table and reached for the note, hardly daring to read it, but she had to know what had happened. Her fumbling hands unrolled it, and after wiping her eyes as she tried to control her ragged breathing, she began to read. Harry's writing was obvious, and she knew immediately it was he who had written the first part of the note. She had to breathe deeply to steady her hands enough to make out the words.

Dear Evelyn,

We escaped the fire and came back through the tunnel, but right at the end part of it collapsed. Professor Snape was behind me, and a huge splinter caught him just below the ribs. We had to use the powder because if we waited for you he would have died. We left a little bit of powder in case you came, but this note here is our explanation in case you were too late. Professor Snape said to tell you that he will be alright once we get him to a healer. Healers in our time can do wonders. He wants to write to you a little bit, so if I do not get to see you Evelyn, I am so sorry, and I will miss you so much.

Sincerely,

Harry

Evelyn's heart leaped into her chest when she saw Severus' handwriting a ways below Harry's, barely legible and messier than she had ever seen it. She drank his words like they were the elixir of life, all the while trying to keep her tears from smudging the ink.

My dear Evelyn,

I am so sorry. I would rather have died than leave without you, but Potter insisted that you would not want me to die for you. I think he is probably right. I could write a thousand things to you, but there is not enough time. So I can only say that I am very sorry, and that I love you so much. I just wish I could say it in person, because it never seems to sound right on paper. I promise I will be alright. For you. But that will not stop me missing you, and searching for some way for us to be together again.

All my love,

Severus

Evelyn stood up from the ground despite the fact that her legs seemed to want to never move again. Giving in to sobs she set the letter on the table once more, and then looked around the room again, as though she believed he was merely out of sight. But the blood on the floor was the only evidence besides the letter that Severus had once been here ... that his heart had been beating steadily beside her during those long days spent in the darkness, tunnelling for the lives of so many. Evelyn could not help but think of how ironic it was that the very thing that was meant to save the wizarding world was what had brought hers crashing down.

She paced back and forth in the little house, not knowing what to do with herself. Eventually she sank down to the ground by the folded quilt in the corner. Her clothes were still damp from the river. Shivering slightly, she wrapped the quilt around her shoulders. It was the quilt Severus had slept with while he had been here. It still smelled like him, and she buried her face in the soft material, trying to wish herself into his arms.

The sun was rising when she finally stood up, having not gotten any sleep. Evelyn swayed slightly with the quilt around her shoulders, taking another glance around the room, her way suddenly clear. She would have to leave. It was not safe in London for her anymore. The smell of smoke was on her hair still, and it reminded her of all that had happened. Of all that she had done, and the ghosts of a past that would always haunt her here.

Evelyn sighed when she remembered she did not have a wand. Her eyes searched for something to protect herself with, and then it came to her. Up on the mantelpiece was a box that still held Ellery's wand. She had not buried it with him, despite it being traditional. It was one of the only things she had left of him, and she was glad now that she had kept it. It would be hers now. Carefully, she took it out of the box, waving it. It felt warm in her fingertips, and she knew it would serve her well.

She dried her eyes, and rolled up Severus' quilt, tying it with a piece of rope. Evelyn grabbed the little bag of coins, and put them in her pocket. A few pots and cooking things made their way into the things she was gathering. Then, quickly, Evelyn lit a small fire, and she fed pieces of parchment into it, watching as their carefully constructed plans turned black and crumbled away, gone forever. The flames were stamped out, and with a wave of her wand the trapdoor was sealed permanently, the cut wooden hatch melding with the floor once more until she could not even tell where it had been. Evelyn then latched the shutters on the window, and strode to the door, the rolled quilt on her back and the thin metal pots clanking. She glanced around the room for a second, from the cold ashes left in the fireplace to the place where the trapdoor had been, to the three empty chairs around the table and the empty jar devoid of flames that sat on top of it. This had been home, once.

Evelyn turned around and opened the door, shutting it behind her for the last time as she fled the city, knowing that the only place that would ever be home again was where Severus was.

***

Hogwarts, 1992

12:01 PM

Harry felt the soft carpet beneath him and the warmth of the embers in the fire glowing and washing away the blackness that had filled his vision for some time. He stared up at the ceiling, feeling feverish and weak, his shoulder aching. Snape lay beside him still, unmoving, but alive.

They were back. They had returned. Here were Snape's quarters. Here was Hogwarts. Here was safety. Here was home.

Harry leaped to his feet, almost falling as he stepped on the phial, which had returned with them. It shattered beneath his feet. He stepped back, staring blankly at the shimmering pieces of glass. He shook his head to clear it, and then began searching for the powder that Snape had thrown into the fire to talk to Dumbledore before they had left. He found it on the mantelpiece and threw it into the flames. It turned green, and with reckless abandon he thrust his head into the emerald fire.

"Madam Pomfrey's quarters!" he shouted, and he went spinning off through the floo.

He knew it had worked when he saw the soft armchair and the stack of files on the side table.

"MADAM POMFREY!" he shouted into the room, hoping that she was there.

He saw a pair of slippered feet come flying into the room, and Madam Pomfrey knelt down at the fireside, wearing her dressing gown.

"Mr. Potter, you have returned!" she cried, looking relieved, but worried at the same time. "What is it?"

"We just got back, and Professor Snape is hurt," Harry said, trying to make his words clear as fear overwhelmed him and his head spun. He quickly described the wound so that Madam Pomfrey knew what to bring with her immediately, and where they were.

Harry pulled his head from the fire, stumbling back slightly. Madam Pomfrey was going to be there in a few moments, and he sank to the ground beside Snape, glad that Dumbledore had told her what was going on, for he had no energy to explain.

"Madam Pomfrey's coming," he told Snape. "You'll be alright."

It took him a moment to register the fact that tears were pouring down Snape's face; he turned his head away from Harry.

"Sir?" Harry muttered, embarrassed by the show of emotion, and frightened at the same time.

"She is not here," he said hoarsely, and Harry knew that he was not talking about the matron.

Harry knew not what to say, but hesitantly, he put a hand on Snape's shoulder. He looked up sharply as the flames in the fireplace turned green, and Madam Pomfrey stepped out. She knelt down by Snape immediately.

"Severus," she said, looking at the wound with the calm expression of a Healer. Her expression turned to alarm when she saw his tear streaked face. "What happened, Potter?"

"It'll take too long to explain," he muttered, shivering. "I'll tell you later."

He stood back, watching the scene unfold, not paying attention to the pain in his shoulder and the spinning in his head, both of which had grown worse as his fever continued to rise

"This is blood replenisher," said Madam Pomfrey, holding up a cup of potion to Snape's lips. She lifted his head slightly so he could drink it.

When he had drunk the potion, Madam Pomfrey took the blood soaked towel away from Snape's abdomen, examining the splinter.

"I am going to remove this now," she said. "It will hurt a great deal."

Snape jerked his head slightly, not seeming to be paying much attention to her. The tears still trickled down his cheeks and into his hair. He did not even seem to care that Harry and Madam Pomfrey were seeing him cry, which shook Harry to the core. What had made Snape completely lose it like this? In his mind Harry heard once more the words Snape had said when Harry told him he would likely die if they waited for Evelyn. "Then I'll die!" he had said. It was then that it occurred to Harry that maybe Evelyn was more to Snape than a friend.

Snape shuddered badly as the splinter was pulled from his flesh. Madam Pomfrey hastened to undo the buttons on his robes, opening them to get to his shirt. The white material was soaked with blood, and she pulled the shirt open to get to the wound, exposing Snape's heaving chest and stomach. His skin looked so pale next to the bright red blood. She waved her wand, and a greenish light came from within the gaping wound, which did not heal over. Harry could only assume that it had healed the internal wounds. He then watched in awe as she waved her wand in complex patterns over the hole in Snape's flesh and the skin around it, uttering what sounded like a chant to Harry. Snape's stomach absorbed the blue light from her wand, and Harry saw the skin on either side of the wound ripple toward the centre and bind together once more.

"Will he be okay?" whispered Harry.

"Yes," said Madam Pomfrey, "He will need plenty of bed rest, and I must monitor him closely, but the worst is over. There was no major damage to any of his vital organs, and he did not lose enough blood to put him in a great deal of danger. If he moves too much however, what has healed may open up again."

Harry made to open his mouth to ask a question, but both he and Madam Pomfrey were surprised by a quiet sob. They looked down at Snape, who had his eyes shut tightly.

"Severus, are you still in pain?" Madam Pomfrey asked gently, her eyes crinkled with worry. "Do you have any other injuries?"

He shook his head weakly.

"We left someone behind," Harry said in a low voice when Snape did not explain. "We met her last time we went back earlier in the year, and she was going to come to the future with us this time, but Professor Snape got injured and we had to come back without her. He wanted to wait for her."

Madam Pomfrey did not reply. She sat in silence for a second, the lines on her face becoming more prominent. Then she pulled a handkerchief from her pocket, and gently wiped Snape's face, which was covered in grime from the tunnels. He did not resist. Harry studied the look on Madam Pomfrey's aged features. It was a look of tenderness ... soft, kind, but sad. It made him think a little bit of the way Mrs. Weasley had looked at Christmas, when Harry had come downstairs with the Weasley children and been surprised he had presents. He had seen that look on her face a lot during the two weeks he had been at the Burrow, and it occurred to him that such a look was indicative of the love a mother has for a child. That was how Madam Pomfrey looked as she sat by Snape's side. Harry had a feeling that she understood Snape's reaction better than he did. But then again, she had known him longer, Harry supposed.

"Severus, I need to take you to the hospital wing," she said gently, waving her wand and making a stretcher appear.

He nodded, looking miserable. She helped him to shift onto the stretcher, and levitated it up into the air.

"Come along, Potter," she said, her eyes still on Snape. "I think you've been through a bit much tonight to be sleeping in your dorm."

He stood up, not mentioning his shoulder. It could wait. She had been so shocked by Snape's state that she had not noticed Harry's. Quietly, he walked behind her, Snape's prone form floating beside her on the stretcher.

Harry's heart pounded with the fear that Evelyn had been killed. He wondered what had happened to her. Surely she had not perished in the fire? Had she gotten the note? Regret poured over Harry, and as he watched Snape shaking on the stretcher he felt a pang of pity for the man. He was still amazed, and shocked at how Snape had reacted to Evelyn being left behind. It made him wonder what Snape had written to her in his portion of the note, the part that Harry had not read.

Madam Pomfrey raised her wand once they left Snape's quarters, and Harry jumped when he saw a silver flash go shooting down the corridor. He did not know what it was, but his teeth were chattering too badly for him to ask as another wave of feverish cold washed over him.

They arrived at the hospital wing in good time, and Harry felt like he could not take another step. He followed Madam Pomfrey to the bed that she helped Snape onto. He lay there, staring up at the ceiling, looking simply awful. His eyes were dry now, however. The crusted blood on his shirt made him look like a ghost, and the splinter had left a scar that was visible by his ribs, his torso still exposed.

Just then the doors burst open, and Professor Dumbledore entered the room, wearing a dressing gown and looking very concerned.

"Poppy, how is he?" Dumbledore said sharply, walking toward the bed to see how Snape was. "Thank you for alerting me. I have been up all night wondering when they would return."

Harry decided that the silver flash must have been the message Dumbledore spoke of, but he was too tired to ponder it.

"Severus will be alright," said Poppy. "I do not know what happened yet, exactly -"

Harry blinked dazedly as a shiver went down his spine, Madam Pomfrey's words seeming to trail off into nothing despite the fact that her mouth was still moving. He was dizzy, and everything was beginning to appear to his eyes like a picture on a telly with bad reception. The world rocked beneath him as his shoulder gave an awful throb, and the picture in front of him faded into nothing. As blackness pulled him under he heard the surprised, but muffled cries of Dumbledore and Madam Pomfrey as he fell into darkness. He was just barely aware of a pair of hands catching him before he hit the floor, and then he knew nothing more.