Severus remained frozen at his spot as he watched Hermione staring at the tip of her cigarette, as if in a haze. She took a long draw, bringing the tip close to her lips and exhaling as the smoke rose lazily into the sky, her eyes closed softly as she breathed it in deeply, enjoying the taste as the smoke filled her lungs and clouded her vision, making the world blur in shades of grey and blue. She was breathtaking...

She was dangerous and broken, she barely remained him of the woman she once had been. Her arms, once so strong, looked so fragile now, peeking out of those too-long sleeves of grey robes. The ritual dress she was dressed in barely outlined her silhouette. She reached her hands in front of herself as if she was seeing them for the first time in her life. She reminded Severus of the tree once young and full of green leaves and now damaged by a forest fire. It just todd in the middle of nowhere, stripped of its bark and reduced to a burnt husk.

He could see that her heart still beat, he could see those beautiful brown orbs flitting about and looking at everything around her, searching for something she never knew existed before. She shivered from the cold and hid her dirty feet under the robes. He heard her breathing heavily, as though in deep exhaustion. But her lips curled up into a faint smile as she gazed out into space.

He was mesmerized by her.

But something happened as he watched her. Her entire posture changed. No longer was she the young woman who fell in love with books and knowledge. He saw the Mad Fury before himself, brave and dangerous in her determination. He wanted nothing more than to run up to her, to cover her from cold, to remove her from this horrible place she should not belong to. He had sworn to protect her, and here she was, sitting alone among death and destruction. She needed nobody's protection.

"Granger..." he said lowly, as if afraid that anything louder would shatter her concentration. His body swayed forward as if to reach out for her, but he quickly caught himself.

Potter however did not share Severus' sentiment and precaution, so he ran past him to Hermione only to be grabbed by the scruff of his shirt by Snape's hand and pulled back.

"You stay there, you fool," he growled.

He didn't understand.

Potter struggled to break free, but Severus held him tightly with one hand and glared threateningly until he relented. His face reddened as a look of anger spread across Snape's features. He turned around.

"She's seeping darkness, don't you see?!" Hissed Snape, glaring menacingly at Harry who was oblivious to the situation.

"How can we help her? What are we going to do? How can we save her?!"

"Slowly and carefully, Auror Potter."

Potter looked at him in despair.

"I won't leave my best friend here!"

"I'm not telling you to, I'm just saying that you'd better stay away from her for now. It's a matter of mere seconds until she snaps... Or collapses. Both perspectives are highly likely."

With a heavy sigh, Potter nodded. Snape let go of Potter's shirt and he rubbed his neck in embarrassment, turning his gaze away from his former professor.

"Are you okay, Professor?" asked Potter in a worried tone. Snape merely nodded stiffly, glancing in the direction of the shack.

"Go inside. Try to find other captives. I can feel the remnants of Fiendfyre still lingering in the air, so be careful. Don't do anything stupid..."

Harry hesitated.

"Are you sure, there could be anyone still alive there? We broke the wards surrounding the shack and the rest, apparently, had been done by Hermione, but... Other victims? I don't want to believe this. We gathered with Balkanian Aurors to rule this operation and for six months we haven't found any traces of..."

"Potter, I refuse to listen to your nervous blabbering, I've been there with you fools all the way, so there is no need to enlighten me about the course of the operation. Go and make yourself useful!" He snapped and pushed Harry towards the building. "Now get lost! I'll deal with this myself." He added, pointing a finger at Granger. "I'm sorry." He muttered as an afterthought and he strode off into the distance, his strides growing longer with every step. His head hung low. Of course, Potter had every right to worry about his friend. His only remaining friend, Snape reminded himself. Did she know that Ron was dead? Did she have any idea? What had they turned her into? How many of her wounds remained unhealed? He clenched his jaw, trying to contain his emotions, yet his hands balled up into tight fists. They all failed her, brave and stupid Gryffindors and one Slytherin too damaged to even contemplate the idea that it was not his fault in the first place.

And now, Granger, of all people...

He remembered his sleepless nights which he spent in the library of Grimmauld Place where he barricaded himself together with Potter and the portraits of Dilys and Phineas Black in a vain attempt to find at least a faint sparkle of Hermione's magic. Every night, he came home late to an empty house. Sometimes he slept there, on one of the old couches, covered with blankets, drinking tea with Phineas. The old man used to talk to him about the past, their school days, the adventures and troubles they had gone through. He mocked him in a branded Slytherin manner for feeling old and hopeless.

"She's the Head Auror, Severus, she is not that easy to crack." Phineas used to tell Snape while sipping on his brandy. "It has been a long time since the last incident with our precious Gryffindor, have some faith in your friend."

Phineas had been a good listener, but Severus couldn't shake the image of Hermione's tortured face as she stood amongst death. He cherished his support but did not believe the words he was saying. Snape knew too well what was going on in Death Eater circles to even hope for anything. He had seen the scars on his own skin because he was both, the victim and the killer. That did not stop him from trying to help Potter find Granger.

The entire charade with the remaining Death Eaters and their vague attempts in overcoming the Balkans, and after that, the rest of Europe, made Snape sick to the stomach. He did not believe one jota that a few of his former brethren and some treacherous European Ministers could succeed in their thirst for power, yet, when young Muggleborn witches all across the Peninsula started disappearing, he suspected that something might be very wrong. He could sense it in the air. Muggleborns were vanishing. In Romania, Bulgaria, England, France... They seemed to be spreading rapidly. Even in Italy, Germany, Switzerland, Belgium and Denmark. Everywhere... All those poor girls. So, when Hermione burst into his office one day six months ago, with Gryffindor's determination shining in her eyes, and proclaimed that she was going to lead the rescue mission on behalf of foreign intelligence, he barely kept himself from swearing at her out loud. Not that she was a stranger to his temper. It just went against every fibre of his being to allow her to take such risks. He wanted to grab her by her shoulders and give her a good shake until she listened. However, when did Hermione actually take someone else's opinion into consideration? Too stubborn, too brave and too sure of herself. As she stood before him, determined as ever, staring up at him with resolve burning in her chocolate brown irises, he thought he understood why. He was so like her once upon a time.

That night, two weeks later when he returned home, the fireplace was blazing with flame and sparks flew everywhere. A strange smell lingered in the air as if someone was trying to grill some steak but failing miserably. He sneezed repeatedly as he hurried to the kitchen, only to find Hermione playing a house witch near the stove. Snape stood in the doorway, observing the scene. Her hair was dishevelled, her face flushed, but most importantly, her cheeks were smeared with flour. Something definitely had been baking in the oven and judging by the smell, it was an apple pie. She seemed completely unaware of his presence. His kitchen table had been already adorned with plates of fresh bread, vegetable salads and a bottle of red wine.

"Granger, care to elaborate what on Earth are you doing here?!" He inquired in bewilderment.

"Snape, dinner's almost ready," said Hermione without looking up, her voice full of excitement. "Give me just five more minutes and be a dear and open that bottle of Sauvignon!" She waved her wand over a pot on the side counter, stirring it rhythmically. Then she lifted the lid and checked on the steak when it began emitting a wonderful aroma which wafted throughout the room. She sighed in contentment before returning to stirring the sauce with great vigour.

Severus stared at her in astonishment and dutifully dragged himself to the table. It was an interesting feeling, he caught a stray thought rushing through his mind, to return home to the aromas of homemade food and someone who's been waiting for you. The thought disappeared as soon as it appeared, however, and he shook his head and focused his attention on Granger instead, who sat opposite to him, busying herself with loading both of their plates with food and giving one to Severus. He took a deep breath and tried to remain calm.

"So, why are you here? Not that the dinner is not acceptable and the wine is quite satisfactory to my tastes, but..."

Hermione chewed down her mouthful of potato salad and looked straight at Severus.

"I'm leaving for Albania tomorrow, I came to spend a pleasant evening with you, to say goodbye and to ask you to place the protective runes on me...I cannot trust anyone with that, only you." She finished and looked back at her plate.

There was silence in the room for a moment, neither of them spoke or moved. After a while, Severus placed down his fork and stared back at her. Only now the inevitability of the situation began to dawn on him.

"Just in the nick of time, Granger," was his only answer as he rose to his feet, sent the dishes to the sink to wash and beckoned her to follow him into the living room. He would pour all his power into those protective runes he drew down her spine to keep her from harm, he would walk her to the door and wish her safe travelling... Yet, he would forever remember his last words to her etched into his mind. Just in the nick of time.

So, now he stood there, amidst the debris, and death, and ashes, and watched as Granger uncurled her frozen legs from beneath her and stood up, staggering. She was trembling and her knees were wobbly. She clutched onto the edge of the steps to steady herself and swayed, then, slowly, her hand slid off the surface and she took the first step. She stumbled yet moved down the porch. When her toe touched the icy grass and hit itself against a sharp stone, an expression of almost childish resentment appeared on her face. She continued moving, walking forward, her hands reaching out blindly for support, dragging her feet along as they struggled with the slippery and freezing ground.

Hermione almost reached her goal when yet another stone made her slip on its wet surface and she nearly collapsed into the arms of Severus who ran up to her. She clutched at his shirt desperately, gasping for air. Severus wrapped his arms around her waist and shoulders, supporting her weight, his heart pounding hard inside his chest as she lifted her hazy gaze to look up at him.

"Just in the nick of time, Snape," she rasped before finally giving in to her inhuman exhaustion and letting the darkness welcome her... Severus carefully wrapped her unconscious body into his warm winter cloak and gently lifted her into his arms. For a moment, he held on to her tightly, afraid to let go lest he lost this fragile, vulnerable being, fearing she might vanish once again. With slow, careful movements, he carried her across the grass and shouted in the general direction of the shack:

"Potter, hurry up, we need 's and quickly!"

With those words, Snape turned on his heel and Apparitted with Hermione to London.