Broken

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I own nothing you recognise. The scene between Snape and Voldemort is almost entirely borrowed from JKR. No infringement is intended.

He ran.

Find him. Find him.

Curses cracked and boomed around him like lightning and thunder. The ear-splitting sounds of harsh voices shrieking powerful spells and counter-spells filled the air.

He ran, his heart hammering against his rib cage, gulping for air like a drowning man, hurling himself over the treacherous ground, churned up by many feet, which had been trying to reach friend or foe, trying to flee and find shelter or raking its surface in the last throes of death.

Shit!

His foot caught on a crumpled body whose chest was a gaping dark-red cave and he almost fell, thus escaping another hex flung at him from nowhere.

Looks like tonight everyone's intention is to kill me, he wryly thought, searching frantically for cover. Which doesn't come as a great surprise actually ...

There, a few paces to his left on a knoll, he saw a dense coppice. He veered towards it and threw himself on the ground behind a small hawthorn, trying to get control over his laboured breathing.

He looked around, observing his surroundings through narrowed eyes. In every direction the battle surged back and forth like rugged waves of a deeply agitated, dark and hostile sea. Shadowy figures performed an insane hellish dance, highlighted in brief bursts of garish light from spells, curses and hexes.

Snape groaned. How in Merlin's name could he find a way through this melee unhindered and unhurt? How could he find Potter in this chaos? Yet he needed to find him, urgently. Who else was there with just the slightest chance to stand up against or perhaps even vanquish the Dark Lord? If Dumbledore had been right, there wouldn't be anyone else - only the insufferable Potter brat. Where could he be? Maybe he was in the castle or at least near it? Not knowing where else to look he first crouched, checking his bearings, and then sprinted towards the looming castle walls, barely dodging several hexes directed at him.

~~~~~

Harry sat in thoughtful silence, gazing through a window of one of the bays in Dumbledore's former office. His unruly jet-black hair stood in all directions, his glasses somewhat askew on his straight nose. He was tired and a drilling headache was building up behind his green eyes. Curled up in the window recess, he tried to conserve what little body-heat he still produced in his exhausted condition. Behind his slight back a heated discussion had stopped quite suddenly. Everyone in the room seemed to draw a deep breath, gathering his or her own thoughts. For hours they had argued, theorized and generally tried to figure out the hidden meaning of the map he had found in Dumbledore's desk. Everyone came up with different ideas, but none of the offered explanations was convincing enough. Why for Merlin's sake were the names of some towns and villages trying to hide? Some notations seemed to have vanished entirely. What was the meaning of this?

Harry sighed and turned to watch his friends.

Professor McGonagall stood behind Dumbledore's big desk, her fragile frame hunched over the map, scrutinizing every aspect of it once more. Arthur Weasley hovered behind her, looking rather helpless. Slouched in his favourite place, a high-backed and softly cushioned dark-red armchair, George was embroiled in a private argument with Neville Longbottom. His gangly younger brother paced up and down in front of the hearth, murmuring something about 'strategy', 'war camps' and 'ambush' while scratching his patchy goatee, which he had tried to cultivate for some time now.

No, not only friends, Harry mused, they're family.

*

"Hey," said Ginny, who had strolled over to Harry. "You look quite done in. Is something wrong?"

"No, no...everything's just fine. I'm simply tired, that's all."

he replied with a crooked smile, looking up into her face, which was full of cares now.

"Really, everything's fine."

"Um, why don't I believe you then?" she queried with a frown. "You look like something a dog chewed on for a while..."

"Oh, such a lovely image!" he laughed, flashing a wide grin.

"But you're right - as always, I might add - there's actually something bothering me. What if someone planted that damned map there as a decoy for me or some other member of the Order to find? To lead us astray? To finally lure us into some deadly trap while we were trying to find out what secrets it holds?" He sighed. "Wish we could ask Snape if this thing was already in the drawer or if it was actually his - but we can't. He's dead. Dead and gone."

"In fact - he's not," said someone who had just entered the room in a gush of wintry air.

"Hermione!" Harry cried.

At that Neville jumped up, crossed the room in three hurried strides and enfolded Hermione in a bear-hug only to be jostled aside by Harry who hugged her in turn, then held her at arm's length to scrutinize her face.

"Hey, it's great to have you back! How are you?"

"Oh ... grand!" she said, smiling slightly.

Harry turned to Ron, who hovered somewhat undetermined at the back of the room.

"Oi, Ron, look who's there! "

Ron haltingly strolled over and mumbled, "Hullo, 'Mione, ... er, sorry, ... I meant ... Hermione ..."

Exasperated, Harry rolled his eyes.

*

After they were through with hugs and 'hellos', they all settled down round a table near the fireplace. Professor McGonagall ordered some tea, laced with a bit of Firewhiskey, 'just to warm the old bones', she grumbled, slightly embarrassed, when she noticed the enquiringly raised eyebrows of Molly Weasley, and some scones. While Hermione sipped her tea, the others filled her in. She, in turn, told them about her mission to an isolated village which was supposed to be a hiding place of some Death Eaters. But the buzz proved to be unfounded. Bill, who had been with her on this trip, would join them later; first, he had to attend to a 'private matter'.

Ha! ' Private matter', my arse, Ron thought, not a bit envious, oh no. The private matter is Fleur, no doubt.

They chatted about this and that for a while until Harry suddenly asked,

"Er, by the way, what was it you said when you came in?"

"I said, 'He is not'," she replied with a detached smile.

"Who is not what?"

"Snape's not dead."

A stunned silence followed.

~~~~~

The wizened old Healer contemplated the emaciated man on the bed who tossed and turned in his sleep.

Sometimes he had heard him murmur, sometimes he had heard him cry out loud, sometimes he had seen him clench his jaws as if to suppress any sound which might otherwise escape.

Six weeks he had now lain unconscious, caught in this dark web of terrible dreams.

They had done all they could to save this man's life, fought down dark magic, applied salves and made him drink strong potions, used nearly every known healing charm on him - and yet they had almost lost the battle. How Snape had managed to stay alive long enough to reach St. Mungo's was still a mystery to the old Healer.

At first he was not happy with his task. Snape deserved to die. Wasn't he the one who had killed Dumbledore, even if it was on the headmaster's own orders? Wasn't he a Death Eater? Well, perhaps not anymore. But once he had been one. What cruel deeds might he have committed in that time? Who knew?

But then he had watched his patient closely, a man seemingly deeply wounded in his soul, fighting a losing battle against nightmares which haunted him, tears streaming down his face in his troubled sleep, whispering Dumbledore's name, begging forgiveness; or shouting, "No, no, you can't make me do this, please, don't make me do this, please don't ask this of me..."

Only once had the healer found him sleeping untroubled. As he turned to leave the room, satisfied that his patient was resting at last, he thought he just might have heard a sigh.

"Lily..."

~~~~~

All of a sudden a wand pointed directly at his face. Snape skidded to a halt, raising his own wand in an attempt to protect himself.

"Impedime ....oh! It's you!"

"Prote... !" Snape stopped short, as he recognised his opponent's voice.

"Ah, ... it is you .... Lucius," he panted. "Well met ... almost... except for the circumstances."

"Severus, I was looking for you. Our Master awaits you at the Shrieking Shack - at the double! I have no idea what he wants of you, but be...on your guard; he's in a... a black mood."

Snape questioningly raised one eyebrow.

"Oh, is that so?" he drawled "Well, thank you for...telling me in advance."

With that Snape Apparated in a blur of midnight-black.

~~~~~

He didn't Apparate directly into the Shrieking Shack. A few paces from its door he halted, drawing a deep shuddering breath.

Well, looks like time's running out for you, he thought bleakly, while patting his coat to make sure his wand was within reach. He noticed that his hands trembled. What was it Marcus Aurelius, the Muggle Emperor had said? - 'It is not death a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live.' - Come to think of it I seem to fail in both respects, don't I? he pondered, a wry smile curling his lips.

Then he squared his shoulders, strode to the door and entered, abandoning all hope.

*

"Ah, ... my faithful servant. So you've come at last," the Dark Lord greeted him. The room was only dimly lit; dust covered every surface. Next to the Lord Nagini coiled and swirled, floating in her enchanted sphere.

Oh, how I hate snakes. Snape could hardly suppress his disgust. Of course, it would never do to show his dislike of Nagini. Instead he smiled thinly.

"My Lord, I'm honoured to be called into your presence. Yet, I think I would be of greater value for our cause elsewhere. Our enemy's resistance is crumbling -- "

"-- and is doing so without your help," Voldemort replied. "You are an accomplished

wizard, Severus, but we are almost there, even without your help."

"Let me find Potter. Let me bring him to you, my Lord. Please."

"Oh, I don't think so ... you see, Severus ... I have a problem."

Voldemort stood up, drawing the Elder Wand from his robes. He eyed Snape, a red gleam in his slitted eyes.

"Somehow it doesn't work for me, Severus. Do you have any explanation why that is so?" he said softly, while scrutinizing the wand intently.

"My...my Lord?"

"No? You have no idea? Well, I think, I can solve the riddle for you. You know, Severus, the wand responds to his true master only..."

"I ... I do not seem to understand. You have performed extraordinary magic with it."

"No, " replied Voldemort. "Even though I am extraordinary, the wand has not revealed the power it has promised."

Voldemort began to move through the room. His building rage radiated from him in almost visible waves.

Snape did not speak.

What does he want of me? How can I placate him? I have to play for time. But how? he thought frantically, not looking at Voldemort.

His dark eyes were fixed on Nagini, coiling and uncoiling, in her protective sphere.

"My Lord, please let me find the boy. He might be accidentally killed by one other than yourself - let me go and find the boy," Snape tried again.

Voldemort stopped only inches away from Snape.

"I said no!" he hissed.

Snape's eyes snapped to Voldemort's face in sudden fear.

"Severus," leaning in, Voldemort's thin lips almost grazed Snape's ear, "the Elder Wand will only obey the wizard who killed its last owner. And... it was you who killed Dumbledore, so - while you live, the Elder Wand cannot truly work for me."

Snape quickly stepped back, eyes widening in recognition of the mortal danger he was in. He fumbled for his wand, but it was too late. The sphere with Nagini encased his upper body in a rush and he heard Voldemort hiss a command, which could only mean "Kill".

Nagini's venomous fangs pierced his neck, almost crushing his windpipe. The poison dashed through his veins, searing and burning like molten lead. The room tumbled around him, losing all clearly defined contours, dark veils narrowing his vision. He tried to stop the fountain of blood gushing from his torn neck, but could no longer lift his hands high enough. His legs buckled, and he crashed to the floor.

Suddenly Potter was with him.

~~~~~

With trembling hands Hermione reached out to pass Harry a flask to gather Snape's memories, her gaze fixed on the dying man's face. His features looked as if carved from white marble, his prominent nose pinched, his dark eyes dull and sunken. Like a proud bird of prey helplessly grounded with broken wings, she thought.

"Look ... at ...me." She heard his heart-rending plea. Then his hand thudded to the floor and he closed his eyes.

*

He had closed his eyes. That was the reason that made her come back to the Shrieking Shack. An other one was what Harry had told her about Snape's memories. He wasn't a murderer. He was and had always been on their side.

And he had closed his eyes, not stared empty-eyed at the ceiling...

*

About an hour later, when she finally reached the room in which Snape lay, she discovered that he had moved slightly. One of his hands now rested on his chest, curled around his wand. She knelt next to him. The bleeding had somehow stopped, but still the pool of blood around him was shockingly vast. How could anyone survive this? Haltingly she put her hand to his face. Was there still some body-heat to detect? No, his skin was cold and clammy. The wound in his neck made it impossible to check his pulse there, so she reached for his wrist. Pressing her fingertips down, she tried to find a heartbeat. Nothing. Wait - no - yes, there it was again. A dull thud. Then another. There was definitely a pulse, faint, sluggish, few and far between, but a pulse. What, oh, what to do now? Somehow he must have been able to cast a spell, something that had put him in a hibernation-like state, but he needed help.

At once. Quick.

She fumbled in her pocket. Yes, there it was: the little light-blue stone she had found on top of her pillow one day during their hunt for the Horcruxes. A note had been attached to it, saying, "Use it in dire need. It will get you to St. Mungo's at once." The script seemed vaguely familiar.

She pressed the stone into Snape's hand and activated it with her wand. Snape vanished at once, leaving only the pool of blood on the ground.

Hermione sighed. They can surely help him. But - will they help him? When they recognise him they might not try very hard to save his life, she thought with despair.

Suddenly her face lit up.

Yes! There is still something I can do.

With that she sent out her Patronus to St. Mungo's. He could explain about Snape until she had time to look after him herself.

*

When she Apparated several hours later she was in need of a healer herself. After leaving the Shrieking Shack, she was ambushed by some straggling Death Eaters. One of them had cast the Senex curse, which she could not quite avert.

Now she stood in a bare back room at St. Mungo's, considering the lean, dark-haired man on his lonely bed, who was still a mystery to her. She was glad she had saved him, but knowing what she knew about his life, she was no longer sure she had done him a favour.

~~~~~~~~~~

A/N Again many thanks to my beta Celta Diabólica, who is a constant source of good advice, inspiration and encouragement.

To be continued

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