Coping With Loss

Chapter Three – Coping with Loss

Night had fallen in the run-down area of London where two boys sat at the window, awaiting the arrival of their best friend. Any moment now she would be escorted back by Kingsley Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin.

It was an unusually clear night, unobscured by the thick mist that clung to Great Britain since the Dementors had started breeding. The few intact streetlamps illuminated the empty street below.

Two hours had passed since they first took the seats nearest to the window, occasionally looking outside. The friendly banter about the reason their normally-so-punctual friend was late – her book bag finally bursting because of the thousands of books she tried to cram in it – had died down some time ago. All that remained was an uneasy feeling of foreboding.

~o~o~o~

The old grandfather clock struck midnight, waking the dark-haired man out of his uneasy sleep. The whiskey bottle was lying in his lap; the glass had fallen to the floor, spilling the last of the liquid. Severus Snape stood up; his legs and back protested, but he had learned to ignore pain. With a swish of his wand, the remains of his late evening indulgence cleared themselves away. Alcohol helped him sleep, kept the nightmares at bay. Occlumency could only help to a point. He was able to repress certain images, memories of revels and night time raids, he couldn't, however, stop the image that kept plaguing him – Dumbledore's kind blue eyes pleading with him.

Dumbledore had been the only one who understood him. The old headmaster had not only always believed in his loyalty, he had also treated the young teacher with gentleness, something that had been foreign to Severus. And he wished almost every night that he had never made that vow.

Mentally shaking himself, he made his way up the stairs burying all thoughts of his deceased mentor in the deep recesses of his brain. If he dwelled too long on things like that, he would lose his focus. He needed to be on high alert now that he had the girl to look after. One moment of inattention could cost her life and possibly the war.

The picture that met his eyes as he pushed open the door to his former bedroom made his breath catch. Hermione had obviously made herself comfortable when she became aware that Severus had left the room. She had changed out of her clothes and was wearing one of the nightshirts she had found in the closet. Her wild mane spilled over the pillows. The sheets were tangled around her legs, and Severus could see the back of one thigh and hip. He stared at the exposed expanse of flesh.

His chest constricted painfully. Emotions he had thought himself incapable of were all growing at a rapid speed. Longing, protectiveness, desire, admiration... all bubbled to the surface. One look at the young woman in his bed like that had broken the ice that had covered the lake of his feelings for two decades. For one so unused to feeling something other than annoyance or contempt, the experience was frightening.

Severus stumbled back out of the room and collapsed against the closed door. He had to get himself under control, needed to clear his head. Getting his broom out of the kitchen, he left the house in a rush.

~o~o~o~

A loud screeching woke the two boys out of their slumber. Mrs. Black was yelling profanities, but was soon silenced by a whispered spell. Harry and Ron looked at each other in silent understanding. Wrapped in the ever-useful Invisibility cloak, they made their way out of the room and down the stair, stopping every time the old floorboards creaked and moaned.

They could hear hushed voices and then something that sounded like sobbing before the people disappeared into the kitchen. The boys crept to the closed door, pressing their ears against the wood. The people on the other side were apparently trying to keep their voices down and listening to Shacklebolt's report. Occasionally they could hear Mrs. Weasley's strained voice interrupting.

Dread overcame the boys. "We don't know if anything happened to her," Ron tried to reassure his friend, who had sunken to the floor. "Hermione knows more spells than anyone."

But if he was honest with himself, he was as afraid as Harry was. Even someone as powerful as their Hermione would not stand a chance against fully trained Death Eaters. "Come on; let's get back upstairs. There's nothing we can do now."

Harry didn't move; he remained on the floor his head buried in his hands. Suddenly the door was pushed open, and a ginger cat with a squashed face emerged. "Crookshanks!" Ron exclaimed loudly, not caring if he woke the whole house. Surely that meant that their friend was okay, why would her familiar be here otherwise? Only seconds after Ron's relieved shout, a grim looking Remus Lupin walked up to Harry.

"Hermione?" Harry's one word question was met by a shake of Remus' head. He reached down and drew the boy to his feet, then motioned for Ron to follow them into the kitchen. Arthur Weasley conjured to chairs for them to take while Molly stood abruptly and left the room in tears. No one needed to say anything, the sadness and helplessness in the room was tangible.

"Is she dead?" A blunt question, asked without preliminaries.

"We don't know for sure," Remus answered, trying to gauge the young wizard's reactions. "We went to pick her up..."

"She is dead, boy," Alastor Moody interrupted. "They had better know the truth. This is war. You're doing them a disservice, if you give them hope like that."

"You know very well that we didn't find a body," Shacklebolt injected hotly. "She may still live for all we know."

"Don't be ridiculous; the house was in ruins. Even if You-Know-Who's scum didn't kill her, the tons of concrete she was buried under surely did," Moody snarled. "The faster they learn to accept the truth the better."

"But..." Ron tried to speak through the lump in his throat, "didn't you send people to look for her. What if she was injured but got away, she could have Apparated... or..."

"The were no traces of the girl, and I will not send out valuable forces to search for someone who is dead." That said the self-appointed new leader of the Order of the Phoenix stood and excused himself, leaving behind five desolate men, two of whom had started crying silently.

~o~o~o~

It was a beautiful, star-strewn night, a soft breeze caressed his face. Severus Snape took a deep breath, clearing his mind. The rough surface of his emotional lake slowly became still; a little ripple would disturb the water every time he thought of the girl, hopefully deep asleep and safe.

He had flown onto the roof of an old vacated office building overlooking the city of Newcastle. It had been his refuge since he was a child. Whenever his father had started lashing out at him, he would come here. Thoughts of his father made the familiar anger rise in him. He hated the man with a vengeance although Tobias Snape was long dead. And yet, Severus Snape had in many areas of his life become like his despised father. He was just as sour and treated people with the same lofty cruelty. Even with the similarities between them, there was one thing Severus would never do – violate a woman.

True, he had killed and tortured, but he had never raped, hexed or beaten a woman. It had earned him many punishments, but he couldn't and wouldn't do it. His mother's pleas and her soulless eyes haunted him as much as Dumbledore's did. He saw her in every victim... He would never strike a woman, never.

Taking a last look at the sleeping city, he mounted his broom. The sun was already rising, painting the sky a pale pink. He needed to return to Hermione. If the young bushy-haired woman could forgive him one day, he would put his past to rest.

~o~o~o~

The atmosphere at headquarters was loaded with sadness and despair. After Hermione's supposed death, another problem had arisen.

"Nothing. He won't speak to anyone, not even Ron or Ginny," Molly informed her husband, two oldest sons and the assembled order members, Remus Lupin, Nymphadora Tonks and Minerva McGonagall. Since the night of Hermione's disappearance, Harry had locked himself in the attic. He refused to talk, refused company and had consequently not been seen by anyone for the last week. The only sign of life was the disappearance of the food that was placed in front of his closed door every evening.

The two youngest Weasleys felt as if they had lost two friends. Ginny had spent two nights in front of Harry's closed door, pleading and begging. He didn't acknowledge her. Ron was crying himself to sleep almost every night. He had hoped he and Hermione would get closer living together in one house. In his time with Lavender, he had realized that Hermione was the one he wanted, had wanted for a long time. Now it was all too late. He missed her.

"Mum," Bill ventured, "what if Hermione is still alive? Maybe we should search for her, check the neighbourhood, Muggle hospitals and hotels."

"Kingsley and I already did," Lupin answered. "He contacted some Muggle, who questioned the neighbours. No one saw anything."

"Okay then, I'll go check the hospitals. Charlie, you coming?" Bill stood waiting for his younger brother. Together they left; after all doing something, however useless, was better then sitting around idly.