Broken

Disclaimer: Unfortunately I own nothing you recognise

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II. - Comes from some other beginning's end

She stood wrapped in shadows at the edge of the Forbidden Forest, looking over towards Hogwarts.

It was cold. Outside and ... inside herself.

Standing here felt like standing at the brink of life itself. Not even the rosy tinge of the evening sky smoothed the harsh contours of the castle, so forbidding, yet the only shelter now, it seemed.

She stared with unseeing eyes at the grounds where the final battle had taken place.

So many died.

Some of them quick.

Those were the fortunate ones.

Left were those whose vital force dwindled and petered out agonisingly slow.

Or those who lay screaming their pain into an uncaring sky, while around them the battle raged on.

The ground had been slippery that day, she remembered. At first, for a brief moment, she had wondered why. There had not been any rain. But then she smelt the blood, sickeningly sweet. Even now the bile rose in the back of her throat as she remembered the putrid stench.

To her left she knew, were the burned down ruins of Hagrid's hut.

And beyond that the Whomping Willow. She could hardly discern it in the gathering gloom.

Snape.

No. I won't think of it now.

But the memories came rushing back, unbidden.

We ran.

The Shrieking Shack.

The horribly wet, gurgling sound.

The wheezy voice whispering, pleading: "Look ... at ...me."

The hammering of her blood in her ears.

The life that fled from his black eyes.

She turned around and threw up.

~~~

Professor McGonagall looked at Harry with narrowed eyes. "And where exactly did you, find this map?" she asked.

"Er, here, in this office. There's a hidden drawer at the back of this."

Harry pointed at Dumbledore's old, battered desk.

"I was looking for some...things...and somehow happened to push this carving of a lion's paw on the edge of the desk. The drawer opened and there it was," he finished somewhat unsettled by McGonagall's furious glare.

"Mr. Potter, did it cross your mind - even for one tiny second - that this ... thing could be full of dark magic and could put us all in grave danger? Did you check it for any spells, hexes, curses? Did you not learn a thing from Albus' fate with cursed objects? And why, pray, did you not tell me at once what you had found in my office?" she bellowed, her voice rising in volume with every word she uttered.

Harry blanched, nervously fingering his glasses: "I'm sorry ... I meant no harm. When I found it, I simply put it in my pocket and forgot all about it till yesterday when I came across it again. I discovered it the day we learned about Hermione's parents ...."

Professor McGonnagall sank back into her chair, suddenly looking old far beyond her years, lines deeply carved into her thin face, the fury gone.

"I simply forgot ..." Harry repeated miserably

"Yes, I remember that day, too," she whispered softly.

~~~

It was a ramshackle old house on the outskirts of Leeds, surrounded by equally dilapidated buildings with gardens, which were a paradise for all kinds of weeds, cluttered with rubbish and rusty old cars. Grubby children played in the dirt, scattering and disappearing suddenly behind crumbling garden walls when the Aurors approached.

The shattered windows stared menacingly down at them, but the door opened surprisingly easily, evincing only a sad creaking sigh. Inside it was gloomy. Musty- smelling dust rose with every step they made.

"Lumos," one of them muttered.

They stopped short. Footprints. Dark. Bloody. So the anonymous letter they had received the other day was not some twisted cruel joke. Something terrible had happened here.

They looked around, not daring to go further in. The hall was shrouded in shadows, grey light filtering through dirty windows, which were half-covered with yellowed blinds. Some broken bits of furniture tried to keep themselves erect, leaning drunkenly against grimy walls. The wallpaper hung down in shreds. Three doors led off the hall. One was broken down, clinging desperately to one last hinge. It seemed to lead to the parlour. Another door on the left was clearly the one that led down to the cellar. Next to the stairs appeared to be the kitchen.

And then they saw it.

Right at the end of the hall.

Someone gasped.

At the landing, almost hidden in the gloom, lay a horribly twisted form from which a red stream had cascaded down forming a pool of congealed blood at the bottom of the stairs.

"Shit." Auror Jordan rasped. "That looks fucking bad."

"What do you think?" one of the others inquired, his voice squeaking high on the last syllable. "Seems like the house is empty?"

"Yes. Seems to be. But can't be sure. So let's check this first."

Jordan turned round to a tall dark-skinned man.

"Prester, please, check the back garden. Ribald and Grambling, you two search the ground floor. Michal and I will check the first floor."

The Aurors dispersed knowing they were to look for anything that might shed some light on these circumstances. They touched nothing, as the Muggle authorities would likely arrive soon and their visit must not be detected."

With this he strode to the stairs and made his way gingerly up. Michal followed reluctantly.

The body was so mutilated, so destroyed, that it was almost impossible to tell whether it was male or female. It lay on its back, empty eye-sockets staring blindly at the ceiling the face a horrible mask of pain and mortal fear. Some curling strands of long, chestnut hair clung to torn bits of scalp. The left arm hung at an unnatural angle down the stairs.

Michal followed its length with his eyes.

"Oh, my god!" he gasped.

Jordan turned questioningly round. Michal faintly nodded towards the shattered limb.

The hand was missing.

When they found it, they also found the second body.

It was an equally horrifying sight. The missing left hand lay on top of the other body, its index finger pointing at something, which was cut deeply into, to the skin of the dead man's chest.

Jordan knelt down next to the broken form on the ground.

The words stared accusingly up at him.

YOU brought this on them - Mudblood!

He felt sick, bile rose in the back his throat. What madman, what cruel animal had done this to these poor people? Who were they that they had to suffer such a horrible death?

A faint glitter caught his eye. There was a ring on the mutilated hand. A wedding band. Maybe it could give the answer to who this people were? He took the ring.

Graham 5/10/1979.

Graham.

Something stirred at the back of his mind, tickled in to being by this name. Frantically he took the left hand of the male body before him. Yes, there it was. The other wedding band. He pulled it from the ring finger.

Laura 5/10/1979.

Graham and Laura.

"Michal, look at these rings. Graham and Laura. Why does this sound so familiar?"

Michal shrugged.

"Hm, I've no idea..." But then the blood left his face, and he stared wide-eyed at Jordan.

"Oh, no, no, no!" he stammered. "Jordan, this is the body of Graham Granger, and the one on the landing is his wife Laura!"

~~~

There is no painless, gentle way to tell someone that they had lost their loved ones.

Harry had been the one who had told her.

He had sat down heavily next to her.

She had looked up from a book with a welcoming smile, brushing back a curl of her auburn hair which had fallen into her gold-flecked hazel eyes.

He would never forget how this sweet smile had faded when she looked at his face.

"Harry, what is it?" she had asked frowning, feeling a cold hand closing round her heart.

"Hermione. I'm so sorry ...." Why did it have to be him who had to deal out this brutal blow only a week after the Grangers had come back from Australia, only one short week after the end of the war?

"Harry, please, what is it?" she had pleaded, eyes wide and fearful.

He had tried again.

"Hermione. I'm so sorry... your parents are dead. Death Eaters killed them."

No. No, no!

This is a lie. This is not true.

"Hermione, say something, please," he had begged

"How?" she had finally whispered, staring numbly at her hands.

"I'm not sure ..." he had replied haltingly.

"Tell me! Everything! I have a right to know everything!" she had spat at him, suddenly furious, her eyes blazing.

So he told her.

Everything.

YOU brought this on them - Mudblood!

And then the pain had set in. Excruciating, devastating, searing pain.

She had cried in his arms, until she could cry no more. For them and for all those who had suffered in this war and ... even for the broken man who lay in a bare, forlorn back room at St. Mungo's, still fighting for his life.

After that she had never spoken of her parents again, or about the victims of the war.

Her eyes had changed that night.

Crushed faith, shattered dreams, lost hope and something unbearably sad looked back at you now, when you spoke to Hermione Granger.

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A/N A thousand thanks to my beta, Celta Diabòlica.

To be continued

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