On the Run

Hermione swam, faster and longer than she'd ever thought possible. It was both amazing and frightening to know what she was capable of with this new form. Much of her was dazzled by how strong she felt, but just as much was disgusted by her thirst for blood and her flight from everything she'd ever loved. Oh how badly she wanted to go back!

She was outside the old city of Calais before she realized where she was. Water streamed from her clothes as she climbed from the sea and onto an empty dock. Night had fallen hours ago, so there was little danger in giving herself away by sunlight. But it was still conspicuous for a young woman to be standing on an abandoned dock at night soaking wet.

I'll just steal a few clothes, she thought, making her way toward the city proper. Hermione wrung out her hair and kept to the deeper shadows to avoid drawing any more attention.

It was easier than she thought to tear the lock from a shop door. A little voice in her thoughts reminded her to be quick. Even if she hadn't broken a window, the silent alarm would go off if the store had motion detectors. She would have to be fast and less than picky. Find clothes that somewhat fit and were dry... that was the only objective.

The Ministry was at the front doors of Hogwarts faster than one could say Quidditch. Three senior Aurors and a handful of trackers had arrived in the entrance hall within moments of being Flooed by Professor McGonagal. The new headmistress was more than a little dismayed at the events of the last twenty-four hours as she explained them in greater detail to her guests.

"Miss Granger has run off and so has Professor Snape. And yes," she huffed, holding one hand out in front of her to stop the questions. "They are both vampires, Miss Granger having more recently come into the lifestyle. And on top of it all, Headmaster Dumbledore is dead."

"Have you any idea who could have broken the headmaster's neck?" asked the most senior Auror, a hard-looking Scottish man by the name of McHonneh.

McGonagal rolled her eyes and turned to sweep up the stairs toward the second floor. "Well, it's obvious, isn't it? Why else would Severus Snape flee Hogwarts? After all, Dumbledore sent the trackers after his mate."

The Great Hall was quiet as most of the students filed in. Few really knew what happened, but most could understand that it was bad. Professor Flitwick had draped the windows in black cloths bearing the school crest and Dumbledore's chair had been moved to a place of honor on the dais.

Cedric sat between Ron and Harry at the Gryffindor table, and neither McGonagal or Sprout would make a move to send him to his own table. His blue eyes were glassy and distant. He couldn't forget what he'd seen in the Head's office or who had made it look that way.

"D'you think she'll tell what really happened?" Ron asked as the teachers began to gather at the front of the hall.

"No. But it doesn't matter. The entire school saw Herm-" Cedric's voice cracked and tears made his eyes sparkle like glass. "Saw what she did. They'll figure it out."

Harry pushed a glass of pumpkin juice toward the older boy. "People have been saying Snape was a -- you-know-what forever. Now they've just got proof."

"And the trackers are here. They'll find him then stick him in the sun to burn up as punishment for what he did." Ron nodded his head firmly, as if his statement settled the matter.

Cedric brushed his bronze locks from his face and rubbed his fingers at his temples. A dull throb had begun over his left eye as the new Headmistress of Hogwarts got up to speak.

"My dear students, we have suffered a great loss today. Our beloved headmaster, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, has died." She paused as a collective gasp ran through the hall. Several of the older girls began to sob. "Professore Dumbledore was murdered by someone at this very school. The Ministry would have me lie to you. To tell you he went peacefully on his own into the great beyond. But that is not so. He was murdered by Severus Snape."

The Slytherin table stood in defiance. One or two of the younger students yelled out in fury. Their Head of House would do no such thing! The older students simply squared their shoulders and filed from the room, Draco Malfoy at their head.

Night turned into day turned into night. He had long ago forgotten what it felt like to be on the run. But now he had something to seek and something from which to run. The trackers would be after him as soon as Potter and his friends reported Dumbledore's body. And Hermione would be far ahead, looking to put as much distance between them as she could.

And so, Severus Snape ran with the speed of a man with hellhounds on his heels. He had to find Hermione before the trackers did. Before she lost herself to the bloodlust of the curse he'd laid upon her.

But most of all... he had to find her because he loved her enough to stop the stars in the sky.

As the sun came up, Hermione stuffed her wet clothes in a garbage can and tied her hair up in a thick elastic. She had to find a hiding place quickly or risk being spotted. And that just couldn't happen.

For an instant, she wished she could feel her maker's arms around her once again. She longed for the warm darkness of his presence in her mind. It felt as if it'd been so much longer than a few days.

Oh, Severus, she thought, feeling an ache spread through her stomach. She'd felt the call to Cedric's blood, but she loved her maker. It was a love she couldn't understand and that she couldn't explain. But it was a love she wished she had right then.

It was lonely running from everything and everyone. Now she missed them more than she could say.

"Severus," she whispered as she crawled beneath a crumbling bridge as the sun climbed high in the sky.

It was barely discernible. A soft sigh on the breath of the wind. The rustle of a insect's wings during a torrential downpour. The whisper of a small child in a crowded room of screaming adults.

Yet he heard it.

The sound of her voice was water to his parched heart. There was just an inkling of her in the recesses of his mind, but it was enough.

Snape grasped onto the lilting music of Hermione's thoughts. It was more than he dared to hope for. She was alive. She was well, and she wanted him.

His legs kicked up as he put on a burst of speed to follow her. She could be found, she could be kept safe from the instincts raging inside her.

"I'm coming," he shouted to the waves crashing against the shores he raced toward. He could only hope she would open her mind enough to hear him.