Broken

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I own nothing you recognise.

Purple shreds of clouds chased over the harsh face of a full moon. Far below, trees were whispering among themselves; the wind rustled and sighed through leaves and impatiently tugged on branches.

A slender doe stepped cautiously into the moonlit glade, ears pricked and eyes opened wide.

Beneath the branches of a great oak, a dark figure hid in the shadows, watching the tentative progress of the doe, step by halting step, pausing and warily sniffing the night air, then another step.

"Sectumsempra!"

A high keening shriek filled the night. Small animals fled headlong in wild panic from the glade. Screeching birds rose in a flurrying flutter of wings from their resting places.

The doe's legs buckled; dark blood splashed over the ground, splattered on grass, and sprinkled leaves, pooling round her body, seeping through the soil and thus sanctifying this place.

Deeper shadows emerged from under the lingering darkness of the trees, striding to the centre of the little clearing in which the doe lay dead. Cold moonlight washed over their glittering silver masks. Thirteen formed a circle round their sacrifice; thirteen held up their hands, offering the doe's life essence to the Mother of Shadows.

Forty-nine other equally black-clad Acolytes then appeared and stood in an outer circle around the little group in the middle.

"I summoned you, my Brothers and Sisters, to watch this holy sacrifice and to receive the blessing of our Eternal Mother, in whose arms we finally shall find sweet comfort and everlasting bliss," a deep voice intoned.

"Her enemies however shall find only agonizing pain, cold darkness, and utter despair in perpetuity!"

A low, menacing rumble greeted this announcement: "Mors certa, hora incerta, dei mater umbrae!"

"Children of Shadows, we delivered just punishment to blood traitors, Mudbloods, and non-believers alike. But there are still many left who will not yield, who will not accept Her reign," the deep voice cried out.

"My Brothers and my Sisters, tonight you shall go forth from this sacred place to mete out Our Mother's Holy Wrath to the unworthy, so that She may reign over this land of Britain unquestioned and unconquered for ever more. Mors certa!"

"Hora incerta," the congregation chanted in answer.

Ten Acolytes of the inner circle, each the leader of a small group of Death Eaters, or Deadly Shadows, as they now called themselves, individually approached the dark figure who had led the ritual, and whom they called the Speaker, at the centre of the circle. He murmured a new assignment in each member's ear that would mean certain death to at least one unsuspecting Mudblood, unwary blood traitor, disobedient believer, or obstinate non-believer.

Then one black-clad figure after the other Apparated from the clearing, until only the Speaker and two others remained.

Those two knelt down, lowering their hooded heads. Two voices, one male, one female, rose in unison:

"Speaker, you bade us stay behind: thus we await your command and humbly seek your blessing."

The Speaker laid one hand on each bowed head.

"My faithful friends, our Eternal Mother spoke to me last night. You two are truly blessed; you shall become Her Inquisitors. Wherever you find the faithless, hunt them, capture them, and... question them, so we might uncover the secret plans and movements of our enemies. Use every conceivable means to obtain this information. And you may rest assured, the more... ah, dolour you deliver, the greater is the chance of their redemption."

Suddenly the Speaker gripped the sides of his head with his hands, murmuring, "Ah, the pain... I must leave, children. Do that which Our Mother asks of you."

He Apparated in a swirl of black and silver, leaving the newly appointed Inquisitors behind.

*

"Well, what do you think?" The bigger of the two climbed to his feet, stretching his back.

"Uh, I think, he's completely off his rocker, but... he's... useful for our own ends," the other, slighter one replied.

She also stood up, brushed the dirt from her robes, and stretched.

"He's a complete loony. 'Mother of Shadows', I ask you, what ridiculous crap. But he inspires the multitudes, doesn't he?" she went on.

"Oh, yes, he does. You have no idea. They hang on every word he utters, as if it was some holy writ. Come to think of it, for them, it might be just that."

What a lucky coincidence it was that I ran into him in that shabby little pub in London, when the numbers of our followers were almost nil. How absolutely delighted was I, when I discovered... A smirk crossed the man's face.

At that time, the Speaker was delivering a speech to the patrons, about them being the true children of the Great Mother, that they would be redeemed, that they would be rewarded for their trust in Her. He told them, that their Mother needed their faith, their blood, their commitment and their undying love, so that She may vanquish Her enemies, who were trying to destroy Her, and with Her, all the Wizarding World.

I witnessed their reaction to him. Shuddering he thought back to the scene that was playing out before his inner eye. It was absolutely frightening. If he'd pointed at some unfortunate being in the vicinity and said 'kill', it would have been torn to shreds.

"By the way, does he know, Cerastes?"

"I think not. And this fact will give us absolute dominion over our enemies in the end, I'm sure."

"Well, well, well... nevertheless, we should be vigilant, or he might get out of hand... his thirst for blood seems to be quite indiscriminate. We have to protect our own... and finally lead the pure bloods back to power again; on that, I think, we both agree?" the woman inquired.

"Yes, we absolutely do, Aranea. But let's get back now. It's getting awfully cold, and I'm far too old for such nocturnal nonsense," Cerastes replied.

~~~~~~

"What? Snape's alive?" Harry exclaimed, gripping one of Hermione's hands. "Why... I mean, how...? Yes, yes, I know, we didn't find his body, but... but... I saw him die! Where is he? And how do you know...?"

Hermione rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Well, if you stopped pouring out questions, you might get some answers, you know?"

"Er, yes... right. - Sorry."

The others crowded eagerly around Harry and Hermione; only Ron stood back, scowling. Oh? The greasy git of the Dungeons made it? Ugh, and everybody seems to be thrilled about it. Not me, to be sure. He's a killer, no matter what the others say...

"Come on, let's sit down over there, then I'll tell you all about it."

Hermione waved them over to the round table in one of the recesses. Only Ron stayed behind. Nobody noticed. Hermione's tale often was interrupted by 'ohs' and 'ahs', but eventually they all knew how Snape had survived, through his own exertion and equally due to Hermione's timely help.

"Ah, this also explains your encounter with the Death Eaters later on," Harry said. "I've always wondered why you went back to the Shrieking Shack again, after we had left."

Across the table, Professor McGonagall considered Hermione over her reading-glasses.

"I wonder...," she mused, "why you did not tell us back then that he was alive?"

Hermione turned her head and looked out the window, as if the answer somehow hid near the horizon.

"Well..." she replied, turning back, and starting to scrutinise her hands instead, a slight rosy tinge colouring her cheeks. " I... I though, he needed some privacy and... and I was afraid that people... might not... be so forgiving considering the circumstances of Dumbledore's death and all that..."

"You mean, you thought you had to protect him from us?" Harry asked incredulity palpable in his voice.

"No, not from you at any rate. Well, you see, it was... the week when... when..." She closed her eyes. "When... you know... the murder... happened..." A single tear appeared at the corner of her eye and slowly rolled down her cheek.

"Oh... oh!" Harry exclaimed. "Of course. Right. I'm, er, sorry." Bugger, what a complete moron I am...

With a disapproving huff, Molly Weasley stood up and offered Hermione her hand.

"Come, poor lamb, let's get over to the fireplace... do sit down and don't you trouble yourself."

Molly gave Harry a look that spoke volumes. At least he has the decency to look crestfallen.

"Here, dear, have a cuppa," she said offering a scalding-hot cup of tea to the younger woman who had snuggled up in a high-backed, softly cushioned armchair.

"Well, then," Molly murmured, "I'd better leave you alone now. If you need something, I'll be just over there."

She pointed vaguely in the direction of a sofa in red and gold tartan.

Wrapped in silence, Hermione stared with unseeing eyes into the flames of the crackling fire. Her friends who still sat at the round table in a recess of the office, except for Ron and Molly, began to talk about the stunning news they had just heard, their murmuring voices providing a highly appreciated background to her recollection of the dark... stranger who once was her Professor.

~~~~~

Three days ago, he had opened his eyes. The young Healer, who one of the nurses summoned quickly, had asked him whether he knew where he was. He had frowned and then he had slowly shaken his head.

"Well, Mr. Snape, you are at St Mungo's. Good to see you back among the living," the Healer had told him with a warm smile.

"You fought a tremendous battle against many enemies: some really nasty venom, countless dark spells and, last but not least, a life-threatening loss of blood. We did what we could, but without your own potions and your incredible will to survive, we would have lost you. Oh, and it was really ingenious to cast that hibernation spell... absolutely ingenious..."

"M - My potions?"

"Yes, yours. We found them in your robes. It looks as if you suspected you might be bitten by a snake or another highly venomous animal," she replied to his hesitant question.

"It was... it was one of the options, the most... obvious one..." He frowned again, the vertical line between his dark brows deepening.

"How... did I... get here?" he finally asked, flinching. Apparently, he could not speak without pain.

No wonder, the comfortably plump Healer thought, it hurts just to look at his torn neck...

She told him then what she knew of how he happened to be in St. Mungo's, followed by a vivid description of how Harry Potter had vanquished the Dark Lord and thus spared all of them a truly dark and surely terrible fate.

So the annoying Boy Wonder had actually succeeded in killing one of the greatest wizards the Wizarding World had ever known...

*

Hermione had not turned up immediately when they informed her about Snape's recovery, not sure about how to approach him, or even why or if. She had visited him every now and then during his affliction - out of a sense of duty; at least, that was the justification she gave herself for doing what she did.

Wasn't he the one who saved their lives on numerous occasions? The one who sacrificed most of his adult life to the Cause and was so obviously tormented by... guilt, regret... or...? One the other hand, he wasn't a pleasant man to be around, the cynical, vengeful bastard, who had been cold-hearted enough to kill Dumbledore... Oh, yes, she knew why he had had to do it, but still...

Now, from the door of the recreation room, she watched him, opposing feelings still warring inside her.

He stood, oddly rigid, with his straight back turned to her, looking out of the French windows over the unkempt lawn dotted with the occasional tree in the inner courtyard. Mirrored in the glass she could see his face, half hidden behind some strands of his dark hair.

Is there some silver threading through his hair now? Yes, but his face is the same, angular and sharp, and he badly needs a shave. There's something odd... why is the left corner of his sensitive - oh, what am I thinking? she chided herself, - his really quite unspectacular mouth, drawn down? Uh... this scar is heinous.

He had felt her stare and watched her warily in the mirroring window scrutinising him.

Auburn hair, a disaster really... slim, not tall, no, but... good proportions. Soft, hazel eyes. Dark, feathery eyebrows. Freckles. Freckles? Well, no rose without a thorn... Somehow familiar...?

Hermione crossed the room and stopped one step behind him, hesitantly lifting her hand to... touch...? No. She checked herself, closing her hand, which still hovered in mid-air.

"Prof... Professor Snape?"

Slowly he turned round; his left eyebrow lifted enquiringly, his fathomless dark eyes claiming her gaze.

"Yes...perhaps...it depends on...who wants to know," he drawled in a low rumble.

Her hand dropped to her side.

Oh, Merlin... his voice... velvet stretched over sharp stones...

She involuntarily flinched. The corner of his mouth twitched.

"Ah, I see... We've met before?"

"You don't know me."

No wonder, I'm sometimes not... familiar... with myself. Ten years older, and an ornamental scar into the bargain...

"Should I?"

"Well, actually, yes. I'm Hermione Granger, sir."

For a split second, his eyebrows arched.

Granger?

He remained silent for some time, scrutinising her face, which made her slightly nervous, he noticed.

Still the Terror of the Dungeons, am I?

"Ah, well... What happened?" he finally asked.

"Oh, a rather unfortunate encounter with some Death Eaters, one of whom knew an interesting curse I've never heard of before, or since... and I was a bit too slow with my defence. I was distracted, because I was worried about y..., well, um, that's rather beside the point, and... and anyway, I'm beginning to ramble, which must be quite tiresome for you... so, uh, that's all of it then..." A faint rosy tinge had crept into her cheeks.

"Undeniably. As I've come to understand, you saved my life and that was the implication of my enquiry, which was, in fact, quite obvious. Why would I be interested in your personal plights?" His lip curled.

"Yes. Indeed. Why would you?" Some things really never change...

"Ah, forget the how; just enlighten me on the why, as in: why are you here? Looking for some kind of gratitude? Well, you're welcome to it, even though I think you should, truth be told, start working on your meddlesome personality," he went on, as if she hadn't said anything.

That he had managed to hurt her, he saw during the fleeting moment she winced.

"You're right - as you always tend to be," she replied. "Next time I'll just leave you to die."

Turning on her heel, Hermione left the room, head held high.

Snape turned back to the window, resting his forehead on the cool windowpane and closed his eyes.

I'll never learn... He drew a deep, shuddering breath. Why, for Merlin's sake, am I still alive?

You know why you're still alive, you pathetic fool, a sneering voice replied, you were not man enough to die.

He hammered his fist against the window-frame. Some treacherous primeval part of him had not wanted to perish, had struggled on, had made him cast that damned spell, which had kept him alive long enough for Granger to save him.

I am not worthy of living. All those... things... I had to... I did... I murdered the people I loved most. For that alone I deserve to die a hundredfold. I was so sure, so absolutely certain I wouldn't survive!

But why, another tiny, yet unrelenting voice asked, did you then take those potions with you?

Damn, he thought in desperation, didn't I crave for death and its sweet nothingness? No more guilt, no more anguish, no more shattered dreams and unfulfilled hopes, only an eternal empty void... but now...

Realisation hit him like a lightning bolt.

Simply to die would've been too... easy, indeed a gift, not a punishment.

Thus, I have to go on, carrying the burden of knowledge of what I've done and of what kind of man I am, never being forgiven. The verdict is to live, and not only to live, but to live with.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N 'Mors certa, hora incerta, dei mater umbrae', is Latin for 'Death is certain, its hour not, divine Mother of Shadows'.

Kudos to my ever reliable beta, Celta Diabólica.

To be continued

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