Broken

Disclaimer: Unfortunately, I own nothing you recognise.

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Her hand touched his arm. Snape suppressed a sigh. The irritating little know-it-all had come back.

Not easily discouraged, obviously.

"Don't do this to yourself," she whispered. "Don't."

He turned around sharply, his dark gaze probing her concerned eyes, brushing her hand from his arm.

"What do you know of me?"

Then, all of a sudden, his shoulders sagged and he averted his eyes.

"I'm... Why are you still here?"

"I'm not sure."

Hermione half shrugged and turned away to watch some sparrows hopping listlessly through the drooping, shrivelled leaves of one of the trees outside in the courtyard.

"Maybe because I... sat with you through your nightmares."

He looked up sharply.

"They were fever-induced, no doubt," he muttered.

"I don't think so."

A fleeting shadow crossed her face, he saw, leaving it strangely vulnerable. For a short while, a poignant silence fell between them like gentle rain. When she spoke again, it was so soft that he had to lean in to hear her.

"It... it eats you from inside; tearing like a wild animal, all sharp teeth and claws. Sometimes it's like a knife, thrust deeply and then slowly, ever so slowly turned. It never stops."

Smiling bitterly, Hermione closed her eyes for a second.

"It is a lie," she continued, hugging herself, as if to fend off coldness only she could feel.

Snape's eyebrows quirked and he inhaled audibly, but he didn't speak.

"You see, there are things time will not heal..."

He bit his lower lip and flinched; she seemed so very far away and lonely, even though she stood near enough for him to feel her body heat. He would have reached out to her, if he could remember how.

"You know, then."

She moved to stand in front of him, only inches away. Their gazes locked.

"I do."

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

Hermione?"

She came back to herself with a start. Looking up, she saw Harry hovering next to her armchair, a worried expression on his face.

"Hey, you were light-years away. Are you alright?" Uh, what's wrong with me? She's clearly not alright - and I feel somehow... elated? Am I going mental?

"I - I think so," she answered frowning. "What's the fuss over there?"

"Oh, er, Bill came in. Molly said not to bother you... However,"- Bugger, does it always have to be me? - "there's... bad news we need to talk about, I'm afraid." He shrugged apologetically.

Hermione grimaced, and then stood up with a sigh to follow Harry, who had turned to join the others at the round table again.

"... mutilated like the six others the Aurors found in the last two weeks," Bill was saying.

"Who's doing this? Death Eaters?"

"Well, that's at least what the Aurors at the Ministry think, Ron," Bill replied.

"Hm, but what do you think? Maybe somebody we all know has a hand in this..." Ron sneered.

The words 'somebody with already blood-smeared hands' hovered unspoken in the air, but were nonetheless understood by all present.

"What? You don't mean... Snape?" Hermione slowly shook her head and frowned. "What's wrong with you? I told you he's at St Mungo's?"

"See? Did I say 'Snape' anywhere along the line? But his name's the first that pops up anyhow, eh? Just think about it, has anyone been watching Snape all the time?"

Neville wrinkled his brow and nodded thoughtfully at this.

"Maybe," Ron huffed, "he just went out now and then, hanging out with his Death Eater buddies and killing people on the way. Who knows? You can say what you want. I still think he's nothing but a killer!"

For a split second, an unbelieving silence followed Ron's declaration. Neville looked faintly surprised; the others displayed various states of shock on their faces. Then a tumult of angry voices erupted, everyone speaking over the others.

"What?"

"You don't mean..."

"Are you ..."

"...that!"

"Ron!"

"...mental?"

"Silence!" Professor McGonagall's commanding voice rose over the din.

Almost at once, all of them quietened down, barring the occasional mutter under someone's breath. Only a red-faced Ron stood, still fuming, at the head of the table.

"Mr Weasley," Professor McGonagall said with a long-suffering sigh. "Will you please settle down? This will get us nowhere. Let us talk this through calmly."

The others murmured their consent and watched Ron expectantly. Harry even stood up and made a hesitating step towards Ron, asking him with a gesture to calm down.

"Hey, mate, y' know better than that, eh? We all know why he had to act the way he did. Even if we're not... enthusiastic about the way he handled things, I don't think there's an actual reason to suspect him..."

Professor McGonagall nodded. "And, as Miss Granger already has explained to us, Professor Snape was unconscious until quite recently."

Ron shook his head, lips pressed together.

"Sorry, but you won't convince me," he then forced out. "He's... he's... not to... ah, I don't know!"

He turned and stalked from the room, banging the door shut behind him.

"Oh, my," Harry groaned, running his hand through his already mussed up hair. "What's gotten into him?"

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

Those who remained discussed what to do next. They decided that Bill and Mr Weasley should contact the Aurors who were investigating the gruesome murder cases all over Great Britain. Perhaps they could work together, exchange information and maybe shed some light on the mysterious incidents.

Bill had then told them of a rumour he had heard in the Ministry. People spoke in whispers about a sinister cult, all the while throwing furtive glances over their shoulders as if terrified of being caught speaking about it. The words 'blood', 'sacrifice', 'body-snatching' and worse spread among the fearful staff. They were convinced that no one was safe any longer.

The members of the Order could not put a finger on it, but Harry and Hermione were not the only ones who had a gut feeling about a link between the murders, the new cult and perhaps even the map. It was essential to look into this affair closely. To do this, they had to split forces. Professor McGonagall would do the research about ancient blood cults from all over Europe, and Hermione would look into recent developments. Harry and Ginny suggested visiting the sites of the different crimes to get a first-hand picture of what had happened there. Perhaps they would find something the Aurors had overlooked. The others would try to figure out a pattern to the vanishing landmarks on the map and their assumed connection to the murders. They hoped Ron would assist them, if he should ever stop sulking.

There was only one problem left: Professor Snape.

St Mungo's administration had informed the Ministry of Snape's whereabouts as soon as he was transported there.

Hermione had known Snape was at the top of the Aurors' 'most-wanted-list'. She had also known there was not enough time to inform Harry about Snape's situation and to ask him for help. Therefore, Hermione herself had to intervene on Snape's behalf; immediately she dispatched a letter to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, explaining the circumstances of Dumbledore's death and Snape's role as a double agent. Aurors then interrogated Dumbledore through one of his portraits (there was one in the Department of Wizarding History) and he confirmed Hermione's evidence.

The Wizengamot had kept silent about Snape, mainly because it was not certain he would survive his severe injuries, and because if he did he would be of great value for the pending trials of captured Death Eaters. They had to protect their prime witness. Thus, a private hearing 'in absentia' was conducted, with the result that the Wizengamot sentenced Snape to probation. The killing of Dumbledore was interpreted as 'assisted suicide' under duress and exceedingly abnormal circumstances.

The Order of the Phoenix had not the slightest doubt that Snape was in grave danger; not only from those who would disagree with the verdict once it was know to the public, but also from those straggling Death Eaters who would definitely try to achieve what their former Master had left undone. Maybe even the new cult was after Snape, who knew?

So, what to do about him?

It fell to Hermione to enlist him in their task force. No matter what other people - and unfortunately this included Ron - thought, in the present situation the Order could not afford to do without a powerful and accomplished wizard such as Snape. They also needed to find out what, if anything, he knew about the map.

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An owl reached Snape at St Mungo's one lonely Friday afternoon during teatime. It was a tiny, slightly dishevelled, brown owl with great yellow eyes. It hopped confidently from the windowsill to his left arm, held out its leg and hooted questioningly.

An owl? With a letter? For me?

He carefully took the scroll and offered some breadcrumbs to the little bird. It somewhat condescendingly took one or two of the crumbs and then perched on his shoulder. He frowned. What an impertinent little thing. When he opened the letter and saw who had signed it, he knew why the bird was so irritating. It was her bird.

Granger.

He cupped his still-unshaven chin with his long-fingered hand and scratched at the stubble.

What does she want now? A meeting? What for? Oh. Urgent things to discuss? Urgent for whom? Certainly not for me...

However, he was intrigued. The annoying know-it-all had definitely changed - if for the better only time would tell. His thoughts wandered back to their encounter in the recreation room. A senex curse had hit her, she had said.

Interesting.

This was a rare curse, because it had serious disadvantages for the one who cast it. A curse, no matter which one, could not be cast without a price to be paid by the caster. The senex curse, he knew, not only aged the target of the curse to the point of death, but also randomly took life experiences from the caster and left him with great blanks in his memory. Sometimes it subtracted special skills as well. The moment the curse was cast those life experiences and skills would become an integral part of the target's personality, although tempered by his or her character. At least, that was the theory. All known victims had died only minutes after the curse had hit them.

Except Granger.

Should he go out and meet her? On the one hand, he was not much tempted to leave the shelter of St Mungo's and its soothing seclusion from the worries of the world. On the other hand, nothing was lost if he should really meet her again. He could always leave if she bored him or annoyed him. Fleetingly he wondered what the 'urgent matter' could be, but mostly his thoughts were occupied by the look on Granger's face when she had spoken to him about feeling ... guilty.

Annoyed at himself, he shook his head, then took up a piece of parchment and scribbled an affirmative answer to her request. The little owl fluffed its feathers, fully aware of its importance while Snape attached his letter to its leg. When he was done, the tiny bird fluttered out of the window into the darkening sky.

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

The Wizarding café was situated near the river Thames. From its arched windows, one could watch ships sail majestically by. Little boats hurriedly wound their way between larger vessels. Now and then, a horn signal hovered in the air. Sea birds raucously rose and fell as the breeze carried their feathery lightness. On silky-blue water, sunshine glittered like molten silver and gold. Beyond the river, on the other bank, trees burst in the first light green of an early spring.

Inside, the café was comfortably gloomy. Dark wooden beams supported the low ceiling and rested heavily on white washed slightly crooked walls. On the wooden floor, carpets in warm colours were spread at random. Small round tables with cosy chairs were generously arranged through out the room. A lively fire breathed its most welcome heat from a wide fireplace. In the air, the scents of cinnamon, hot scones, black coffee and old wood mingled.

Snape had chosen a table in a recess where he could watch the entrance. She was late. Impatiently he began to drum his fingers on the tabletop. All right, he was too early. Anyway, where was she? Why had he come at all? The collar of his robes chafed his still tender neck. It had not helped that he had shaved either. His skin felt raw. His nerves too. Where was she?

The instant he decided to leave, the door to the café opened and Hermione came in, exactly at the appointed time. Framed in the doorway she hesitated a moment to adjust to the gloom inside. The light of the low afternoon sun embraced her silhouette in a golden hue. His heart skipped a beat. She looked around, saw Snape, and presented him with a dazzling smile. His heart skipped another.

What's wrong with me? Obviously, I'm not as well as I thought I was...

He scowled. She came over, still smiling, and sat down across from him.

"Professor Snape, how good of you to meet me."

"Yes. I wonder why. I'm probably still under the influence of some of the potions they made me drink at St Mungo's."

Her eyes sparkled with suppressed amusement.

Irritating.

"Oh, I'm glad to see you, too."

He cleared his throat.

"Well? What do you want? I'm not going to waste the whole day on your whims."

She still smiled.

Very irritating.

"Very well, then." She cocked her head and

His scowl deepened.

"I'll try not to take too much of your time."

Hermione then launched into a description of all the things that had happened during the weeks of Snape's coma. She told him about the Order's views on the murder cases, and described to him in detail what the Order had planned to do next. After that, she asked him about the map.

Snape slowly shook his head.

"I don't know whether it was in the desk while I was... there. At least, I never came across it during that time." He narrowed his eyes. "It could've been deposited there later, but it is also possible that it's been in the drawer for ages."

"Hm." She pursed her lips and then sighed. "It would've been too good to be true if you had known something about it." She paused. "However, there's something else I need to tell you."

Hermione filled him in on the new cult and its supposed connection to the murder cases.

"You see?" she finally said. "The... the Order's mission is not fulfilled. The Wizarding world is not yet a safe place for all wizards and witches. We have to go on with our task, don't you think?" She leaned in eagerly, searching his face for a positive answer.

"Oh, stop that pompous crap," he sneered. "There's absolutely nothing we have to do."

His gaze held hers.

"Approximately twenty years of my life I've given to the so-called cause. Moreover, I nearly lost this very life while working for the greater good. I owe nothing to the Order, or to anyone else for that matter," he snarled.

She lowered her gaze and contemplated her hands. The smile on her face had long since gone.

"There once was a time," she said simply, "when you would've rather chosen the right way, instead of the easy one."

She raised her eyes to his again and saw, for a fleeting moment, the hurt in their deep blackness.

This time, he lowered his gaze, his face an expressionless mask once more. Then his left eyebrow quirked and he turned his head to look out of one of the windows. Thus, some minutes elapsed in silence. When he turned back, he looked as if he had finally discovered that fate was inexorable.

"What do you want?" he asked for the second time that afternoon.

"Please, help us," she replied, smiling again.

This awakened a warm glow in his chest.

Odd.

"Professor McGonagall said you could stay in your old quarters if you want."

"I will think about it. Nothing promised. Another cup of tea?"

"That sounds wonderful."

He was not at all sure if she meant the offered tea, or what he had said.

*

An hour before Snape entered the café, two other dark-clad figures, a man and a woman, had come in. They had settled down at an unoccupied table in the back of the room. After they had ordered tea, the balding man had cast a disillusionment charm, for they preferred to remain unnoticed. Deeply embroiled in their conversation, they had not noticed Snape at all when he had come in. However, during a short lull in their discussion, the slender blond woman had languidly let her gaze wander around the room. Suddenly she had leaned forward and grabbed the forearm of her broad-shouldered heavyset partner.

"Cerastes, don't turn around, but I think, I see Severus Snape sitting at one of the other tables," she hissed.

"Don't be ridiculous, Aranea. Snape died three months ago."

"Then that man over there's a very convincing copy."

Cerastes threw a furtive glance over his shoulder.

"Oh, bloody hell, you're right, it's him."

He arranged himself so as to have a better look at Snape. From the corner of his eye, he saw that Aranea had pressed her lips together in cold fury.

"I'll kill him, the double-crossing son of a bitch," she snarled.

"Hush." Cerastes warningly held up a hand. "I know exactly how you feel, but please try to calm down. Be patient. Your time will come, you'll see. But for now, let's wait... I'm curious what Snape's up to this time..."

He had barely stopped talking when the door opened and Hermione came in. They watched her walk over to Snape.

"Ha, it's already getting interesting," Cerastes whispered. "I wonder what Snape wants with St Potter's little Mudblood."

Sitting too far away, they were not able to overhear what Snape and Granger had to discuss. However, it was evident that this was not merely a social call. Cerastes and Aranea knew very well that here a situation had presented itself to them which they could probably use to their own ends. They watched and waited patiently. Finally, the Mudblood got up, said something to Snape and left the café. Snape leaned back in his chair, deeply lost in thought it seemed.

"C'mon, Aranea," Cerastes whispered urgently. "This is our chance to add a priceless gem to our collection of dead Mudbloods."

Aranea grinned wolfishly in answer. They got up and hurriedly left the café to follow the Granger girl.

*

Snape came out of his reverie with a start. Something had distracted him. But what? He frowned deeply. The door had opened and closed. Granger. Then a second time. Nobody. Oh, shit. He jumped up. Something was very wrong. He rushed out of the café into the gathering darkness of the early evening. In which direction had she gone? Left? Right? Bugger. He decided to go right. He ran along the empty alleyway, the sound of his hurried steps echoing from the surrounding buildings.

Light that pooled around street-lamps only temporarily relieved the growing darkness in between. No one to be seen. Wait. Over there, two or three hundred paces away, he noticed a sudden bright flash. Had someone cast a spell? He doubled his speed, his heart hammering in his chest. But when he finally reached the spot, nobody was there. However, he detected the distinctive change in the air, which inevitably followed the use of magic. Someone had Apparated and someone else had cast a Shielding Charm. Obviously, Granger had tried to protect herself, but she had been abducted nevertheless. Something in his chest contracted.

What to do now?

Once, you would have chosen the right way...

The die was cast.

This time he would not be the prey.

This time he would be the hunter.

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A/N Without my beta, Celta Diabólica, where would I be?