A/N: If you're looking for a disclaimer its in the first chapter, I won't be doing one in every chapter, so it applies to the whole story. I'm not sure I like the way this chapter turned out, but we shall see. Anyway, on with the story:

Chapter 2 – Shattered

The funeral was meant to be a small affair, only a few close friends and relatives. Apparently though, she had more close friends than she thought.

Her mother's sister had come, of course, all the way from Whitby. She stood opposite Hermione clutching her four year old son. It was obvious from the look on the boy's face that he didn't really understand what was going on; Hermione envied him.

Mrs. Weasley stood to Hermione's left crying silently. Hermione wished she would stop, she wasn't sure she could handle any more tears. Harry stood to Hermione's right with a hand upon her shoulder offering her a strength that she couldn't seem to find in herself. Ron stood just on the other side of Harry. His face was set, blank, eyes staring down at the pair of caskets waiting to be lowered into the ground. The rest of the Weasley clan stood all about them; Hermione was shocked that they had all come, even Percy.

Others, many who she hadn't seen in months or even years, had come to show their support as well. Many of her fellow Gryffindors had come; house loyalty seemed to run deep even after graduation. Neville, Seamus, Parvati, and Lavender had all come – she knew she hadn't spoken to Parvati or Lavender since graduation, except for casual greetings when they met in public. She was certain that Dean would have come too, had he still been alive. Even looking at her friends she was unable to escape the fact that death had touched them all – the absence of Dean almost screamed more loudly than the two caskets before her. It reminded her that her parents would no longer be able to attend any such functions either.

She tore her attention from the empty space where Dean should have been and looked at her co-workers. Three men and one of the women from her team had come to show their support and, grateful as she was, she hated for them to see her like this. She was certain that she looked nothing like the strong leader she normally showed them.

Despite the numerous friends all about her, Hermione felt her gaze drawn to the group who stood furthest removed from the two caskets. Four of her former professors stood watching the proceedings and Hermione found herself even more shocked by one person's presence in particular than that of Percy. Dumbledore had come, but she'd almost expected that. McGonagall too had graced the mourning party with her presence, but Hermione had always been among McGonagall's favorites, so really that wasn't terribly strange either. Nor was Lupin a surprise, he'd practically become family after third year. They held some strange bond, each thirsty for knowledge and feeling somehow shunned by the world around them. Severus Snape, however, she had certainly not expected to see.

Though both she and Snape were members of the Order of the Phoenix they hadn't really interacted since her graduation from Hogwarts. Even in her school days they had never held a favorable view of each other, let alone done anything that might have been considered courteous or nice for one another. So why now, in her hour of grief, did he choose to arrive in some show of support? She decided her mind was too heavy with grief to give this ample consideration at the moment, yet she let her gaze linger upon the four professors.

There was something about them standing there, they seemed genuinely sad. Not only sympathetic and sorry like most of the rest of the guests, but truly saddened by the passing of her parents, and she loved them for it. Even Snape seemed subdued, and that was probably what shocked her most of all. His face didn't show any emotion, it was as stony as ever, but just for once she saw in his eyes the façade slipping away. It gave him away and she was stunned to see that he too was somehow affected by her parents' passing. Somewhere in the back of her mind she made note of this slip in his icy exterior, there was a chance it may prove a useful tool at a later date.

All too soon Hermione found herself dropping a single rose upon each of the caskets as they lowered into the ground. It seemed terribly surreal, and her mind was having difficulty accepting that the pair of coffins contained her beloved parents. She could feel a distant anger welling inside of her but she pushed it back. Not here, not now. Later, perhaps, when she was alone she would let it out. She could release her anger then, alone in her apartment. She imagined breaking something, imagined the sound of shattering glass upon the hard linoleum floor of her kitchen. A small manic smile crept upon her lips as a singe tear fell from her eyes.

She was dimly aware of Ron moving to stand beside her as he dropped a rose upon each grave as well. She felt the weight of a comforting arm he threw across her shoulders and the reassuring pressure as he drew her closer to him. Briefly she entertained the idea of jumping into the graves after her parents, but she was brought quickly to her senses as Ron pulled away and began leading her from the graves.

The reception afterwards seemed to drag on for hours. Hermione's gaze remained riveted to the photos of her parents that sat upon a table in the front of the room. Other random objects were laid carefully about it, scraps of their lives, each object begging to tell a piece of her parents' story.

She was so focused on her past that she was unaware of the footsteps approaching her from behind. She emerged from her memories as a hand fell upon her shoulder. Hermione turned expecting to see Harry, Ron, or any of the Weasleys. The shock on her face must have been evident when she saw who it was for she briefly saw the corner of his mouth twitch as though he were half tempted to smile.

His hand dropped quickly from her shoulder to his side, satisfied that he now had her attention. She couldn't help but stare at him, eyes wide with wonder, still glistening with unshed tears; she didn't think he'd ever touched her before, not voluntarily. There was something strange about him doing it now.

"Professor Snape?"

"Miss Granger, I would like to offer my condolences."

If possible her eyes widened even more. Snape wasn't supposed to care, and if he did he wasn't supposed to admit it, not to her; it was a constant in her life that she clung to desperately. To see him now, offering her pity, she almost hated him for it. How dare he change now, now when she needed something familiar, something consistent, unchanging?

She registered somewhere that she had been staring at him too long for one of his eyebrows was now arched in silent question. Hermione's tongue seemed to fail her. She nodded slightly and lowered her eyes, willing herself not to cry. Why now did he choose to speak to her, to look at her as though she were something human? She had always presumed she was little more than a nuisance to the temperamental man, so what had possessed him to even come? Whatever gratitude she had felt for the man during the service seemed to have vanished.

This man was a spy for the light, he should have known, he should have been able to stop it. She could feel her temper flaring, and she knew deep down she couldn't really blame Snape, it wasn't really his fault, and she that angered her all the more.

She looked back up at him, thirsty for revenge, half begging him to give her a reason to take her anger out on him. There was a strange look in his eyes she noticed, like he wasn't really looking at her, more like he was looking in a mirror. She'd never seen that look on his face. Really she wasn't sure she'd seen him look any way other than pissed off in her whole life. It was unnerving. And apparently he thought so too for he turned to go.

She wasn't sure what possessed her to ask. She hadn't thought about the words before they came out of her mouth, but some part of her had to know. She didn't even know what she'd do with the information. But she knew that he knew, and that was enough to make her ask.

"Who was it?" Hermione's words hung in the air and Snape stopped. The rest of the guests seemed to disappear into the background. She was so fixated on his reply that she didn't notice Harry and Ron standing not too far off, watching the interaction closely.

Snape turned slowly, hesitantly even, if Snape had ever been hesitant about anything in his life. There was a look on his face that told her he knew where this was going and he wasn't at all pleased about it. "Who was what Miss Granger?"

There it was again, the condescending tone. Hermione wasn't sure he'd meant it to sound that way, she doubted really if he knew how to sound any other way. It wasn't his tone that bothered her though. No, what bothered her was that he knew exactly what she meant and he was avoiding it. How could he even attempt to deny her this small courtesy after what she had been through! He was going to make her say it, to acknowledge it out loud and she was tempted to slap him for it.

"Who killed my parents?" It was a quiet question, but it demanded an answer. Snape looked, for all the world, like he wanted nothing more than to turn around and deny her the information she so badly craved. Something in his eyes, however, told her he wouldn't.

"I don't know exactly who it was, but I know vaguely who was involved." He spoke resignedly in hushed tones that reminded her of oil or silk, she couldn't decide which. Hermione looked at him expectantly, her empty eyes imploring him to continue. He heaved what might have been a sigh had it been anyone else, seemingly resigning himself to the fact that he wasn't getting away without giving her names. "I have no way of knowing who was on the mission, but I know Draco Malfoy and Millicent Bulstrode were involved in the planning."

Hermione felt as though the world had dropped out from beneath her. Her childhood rival had helped hatch a plot to murder her parents. She'd always considered him harmless, annoying, arrogant, selfish, and down right cruel yes, but harmless. She half wished Snape had refused to tell her, or at the very least given her names that she could not so readily put faces to.

Hatred bubbled up inside of Hermione consuming all thoughts of grief. Snape seemed to notice, "Please Miss Granger, don't do anything rash." There was something in his voice that told her he'd wanted to say more, make a dig about her house perhaps? About the Gryffindor tendency to 'act before they think.' She wished he had said it so she would have had an excuse to hit him.

She didn't respond. she stood silently staring at him until he turned and walked away, back towards one of the hushed conversations going on in various corners of the room. Back to eat little finger sandwiches and sip at coffee while others talked of death as though it were little more than the weather.

There was a storm brewing inside Hermione. The glass of wine she held tightly in her hand was shaking, her knuckles turning white around the stem of the glass. Its blood red contents of sloshed slightly from side to side, and it was only when Harry attempted to pry the glass out of her hand that she became aware of the presence of her two best friends.

She looked up at the pair with a manic glint in her eyes that mixed strangely with emptiness. Harry and Ron glanced at each other and Hermione noted the worry on their faces as they turned back to her but she didn't care.

"I'm going to get them. I'm going to make them wish they'd never been born. I'll kill them, God help me I will."

She let the wine glass fall from her hands and shatter on the hard wood floor at her feet, not caring as the red wine splattered her legs and her shoes. The boys said nothing; they stood and stared at Hermione as if they were looking at her for the first time. They wanted to ask who 'they' were. They wanted to believe that she was simply making empty threats, that Hermione could never kill anyone no matter what the circumstances. But as she turned from them and stalked out of the room they weren't so sure.

As Ron watched her go Harry looked down at the pool of red wine at their feet; the wood would be permanently stained if someone didn't clean it up soon.

A/N: Well, I realize this is slightly shorter than the first chapter, but I hope I haven't disappointed. As always reviews are greatly appreciated. I know its still kinda slow and boring… but it should pick up soon… like I said. Lots of exposition to get though.

I would like to thank my one amazing reviewer, you made my day, I hope you know that. :gives Natalie Garner a cookie: you rock!

Until next time!

-Heden