When Severus left Granger's house some four hours later, his stomach and, subsequently, bladder were full of tea and its by-products, his pockets were laden with miniature copies of notes they had made during their brain-storming session, and his mind was loaded with food for thought.
The only thing that seemed definite was that when Granger had turned the stone, something had parted from Severus. She'd told him that she had definitely seen a shape or a shade, which she'd thought at the time to be his ghost, and that from time to time, she kept seeing it in her house at night. The shade didn't seem to be malevolent, nor did it attempt to bring Granger any harm. The expression on Granger's face, when she spoke of that shadow, puzzled him in a way he didn't like, but when he asked her about it, she couldn't say anything definite. It also seemed indisputable that his newly found Necromantic affinity was rooted in the Resurrection Stone incident. They'd compared the dates. His first Sign of Contact had appeared roughly four days after the stone-turning.
Apart from this, nothing seemed clear, and the questions multiplied exponentially the more they speculated. They'd outlined several courses of action and determined a few sources of information, but even now it looked like unless they found something which could be considered a breakthrough, they'd be going round in circles.
There was another thing: a strange sense of contentment that Severus had first attributed to the distraction of being immersed in an exciting project.
The excitement was still surging through his blood when he reached his home, offering afterthoughts and additions to their notes, fishing book titles out of his memory and panning out further actions, but the contentment melted off him and gave way to the fatigue and unrest that had been his companions for the last few months. Now that the contrast was sharp, Severus was finally able to fully understand the abnormality of his recent state.
He brewed a little, read, and drank more tea. He even went as far as weeding his herb bed by hand, but nothing seemed to be of any help.
Frustrated, Severus went to bed early and soon succumbed to uneasy sleep full of the same disturbing not-quite-nightmares and things he couldn't remember, things that left him sick and anxiety-ridden in the morning.
Next morning, he woke up with a purpose. He cast a silent Tempus spell. Barely six and nothing to do. He'd scoured his own library for anything on Necromancy weeks ago, and though his finds were saddeningly few, it was worth a try to let Granger have a go at them. She seemed to have a way with books. Perhaps she might cast a new look over old things.
Grabbing his copy of their notes, the books and the wand, he set off.
Severus opened the front door of his house to an icy, bright Autumn morning. Judging by how quiet and still the air was, it was still too early even for a business visit. He Apparated to a spot a few hundred yards away from Granger's small house in its tiny Muggle neighbourhood and decided to walk.
The place where she lived was nothing memorable. Just a small village that had been home to dozens of generations of fishermen and smugglers. Its Magical part had vanished long ago due to sea erosion, and it was one of the few places that hadn't been submerged in touristy attractions, yacht clubs and rampaging holidaymakers since it offered no great views nor a gracious descent to the beach.
Snape suddenly caught himself wondering why she lived there alone and, subsequently, wondering why he was wondering at all. As far as he remembered, during those first couple of years after the war when the hype over the winners of the battle of Hogwarts was still high, she'd appeared in the papers always joined at the hip with the Weasley boy. Whatever had happened to him?
Severus shook his head, mentally berating himself for such supercilious thoughts. After a few minutes of walking, he realized that he was feeling much better. Strange. Seashore air? Hardly. Why was it?
All too soon, Granger's little house sneaked up on him from around the corner. It wasn't shabby or old, but didn't have a touch of individuality or face to it. A few shrubs and bushes that hugged the house were underwatered and overgrown, and the small front garden looked neglected. Hermione Granger had obviously a few things on her mind, and her own dwelling was way down on her list.
His sense of contentment and odd wholeness was growing as he approached the house, of that he was certain now. Could it have something to do with the fact that whatever part had been ripped from him in the process of turning the Resurrection Stone, had taken abode in this house? Severus pondered it for a few seconds, rubbing his chin, but then his eye caught something eerily familiar.
The note was somewhat sloppy, but the luminescent quality of the material was unmistakable. Another Sign of Contact. Strange that it had appeared here, judging by the list of all known Necromancers that Avery had managed to procure and owl him the other day. Maybe it had to do with his recent appearance? But then he realized that there was something else that was unmistakable. The writing. It could have been written in haste or in distress, but there was no way he would take his own spidery penmanship for anyone else's.
Severus felt his heart jump up and beat somewhere in his throat for a second and then sink low. He was suddenly cold and hot at the same time.
Where am I?
Only three words and the world of meanings behind them. Severus didn't like a single one of these meanings. He instantly felt helpless and insecure and longed for the safe confines of his home with a ferocity that he hadn't experienced since those first few months after he had been released from St. Mungo's.
For a painful second, he considered Apparating home right then and there, his mind reeling with various what-to-dos. And this was when the door of the small cottage opened.
Severus was faced with a very excited Hermione Granger. He instinctively hid the note behind his back, and only then did his brain catch up, and he remembered that she wouldn't have seen it anyway, but the gesture itself would probably be noticed. Which was exactly what happened. Shit.
"Professor? I wasn't expecting you so early, but... What's that behind your back?"
"Nothing of interest to you," Severus barked none too friendly.
"I'm trying to help you here, and if it's anything I need to be aware of, then—"
"You're trying to help me because my ordeal is your fault entirely."
"And you're here at seven in the morning not because you're so put upon, but because your misery does so love company. So quit making me feel guilty; I already am, and there's no use piling it up."
He had to give it to her: reducing her to tears with a few well-appointed jabs was no longer an easy sport. He liked that.
Severus gritted his teeth and pushed inside right past her.
"Do come in and make yourself at home," she said, folding her arms across her chest as he plumped for the armchair by the empty hearth.
"Are you Floo-connected?" Snape asked a propos of nothing.
"Not exactly. I have an off-limits route to Headmistress McGonagall's office, and that's it."
"Playing a hermit all by yourself here?" He gave the small sitting-room a once-over, noticing the books neatly stored in a rack, notes and bookmarks sticking out of them merrily. She'd obviously been busy.
"That's really none of your business." She bristled.
Interesting. Somehow, it almost felt like it was, but Severus decided to let it pass for the time being.
"To answer your demand, in my hand there's a curious note. Have you heard of Signs of Contact?"
"Yes, I know what they are. But I don't see anything."
"You shouldn't. You aren't a Necromancer, after all."
He must have said it with a great bit of haughtiness, because she pressed her lips together, and in her eyes, something like slight envy jabbed at him.
"Don't covet these powers, Miss Granger. They aren't of any great use," he said in a reconciliatory tone.
She took him up on his silent offer of peace gladly and nodded.
"Who's it from?" she asked, sitting down in a chair in front of him.
"From me," he said simply. "It says 'where am I?', and I must say, these are the most ominous three words I've read in a long while."
"You could have told me right away." She sounded pouty.
"I would have if you hadn't started plundering me for information right on the doorstep."
Miss Granger gave him a meaningful look, and Severus rolled his eyes.
"Let me see it," he asked suddenly, realizing that as of yet, he hadn't seen the Stone.
"See what?"
"The Stone, of course."
"Oh. Yes, sure." She got up swiftly and ran upstairs on light feet, unnecessarily reminding him how young she still was, as compared to him and his old bones.
The Stone was oddly pleasant to hold. Black, smooth, about the size of a dove's egg. It felt soothing to roll it around in his palm, to finger it. The crack, cause by the Sword of Gryffindor was barely identifiable, and the Deathly Hallow's signs weren't there at all. Severus snorted in surprise.
"Yes, I thought of it, too. The sign. Harry said it was distinct when the stone appeared from the Snitch."
Severus had, of course, already heard the story at least three times by now. Harry Potter dropped it in the forest, couldn't be arsed to go back and look for it, leaving such a valuable and dangerous artifact in the open. Well, not in the open, literally. Maybe leaving it in the open would have been better for him. Who else but guilt-tripping 'scientist' Granger would have had the bright idea of summoning his soul from the realm of the dead?
"This is curious," Snape said in a way of carrying on a conversation, but his mind was off somewhere else.
"I think this may be due to the fact that the Deathly Hallows have fulfilled their destiny. The Wand has been put to rest in Dumbledore's grave, and the cloak..." Her voice went down to a whisper. "Harry says the cloak's started to become a bit frayed at the edges, and sometimes it shows shapes."
"So, you think the stone has also run out its due and is no more a Deathly Hallow?"
"This is the tricky part. If it weren't connected with Death, and I'm positive that the Signs were not there when I found it, shouldn't it have lost its powers as well? And I shouldn't have been able to split—"
"Split?"
It was only a single word, maybe even just a slip of the tongue, but when it hit his ears, he felt like someone had suddenly cast an extremely strong Disillusionment Charm upon him. Cold trickles of ugly understanding spread throughout his body. Split. That's what had happened to him.
Granger stared at him as if he were decomposing right before her eyes.
"No, sir, don't think whatever you're thinking! It's just a guess! An unfortunate word choice! I really and honestly don't know what happened when I turned the stone, and what that being that's now haunting my house is!"
He believed her, of course. But was in no mood whatsoever to put that balm of knowledge onto the sores of her guilty conscience.
Snape got up and pushed the warm, smooth stone into her hand, looking like dignity in misery personified for all he was worth. Without a word, he left the small house. As his feet carried him away from it, he thought he heard the sound of sobbing.
His second-to-last personal meeting with Voldemort, the one that has simultaneously given him hope and a feeling that his fate was also somehow sealed, was on his mind for the rest of the day. It had been clear then that some kind of resolution to this war had been imminent. Most of his Death Eater brethren hadn't had a single niggling thought that it might have been anything other than a sweeping victory. Except, perhaps, for Lucius, but he had always had an agenda of his own. Maybe Avery suspected it, too, but as usual, he just went with the flow. The rest of them were beyond their wits with excitement. And that was why it was only Severus who had noticed that the Dark Lord had started losing it.
It must have happened just when Granger, the Boy Wonder and the Ginger Pain destroyed the Diadem.
Severus had offered him a Strengthening Solution. Of course, it didn't strengthen anything, but by then, Snape had 'proven' to be so loyal that even water with a fancy name attached to it would have had a placebo effect on the Dark Lord.
"I'm sssplit, Severuss," Voldemort had said to him then, slumped in his throne at Malfoy Manor. "I'm ssplit and I feel them, the partss of me. This hass to end soon."
Severus had bowed and left with a heady mix of horror and hope in his head. The Dark Lord had never been known to be so trustful that he'd show weakness to a lesser being like Snape. It could have been a good thing, but it could also have meant that Snape was already one foot in his coffin in Voldemort's books.
And now this feeling of mingled horror and hope had returned in the form of a single word. Split. He'd finally reached a certain level of clarity about his predicament, but it gave as much hope as it took away.
Split. Part of his soul was wandering somewhere, and he was unwhole, unbalanced. The feeling was horrible, as if there was a steaming hole in his gut, except that he didn't feel the pain of it. The pain, the single unmistakable sign that one was still alive. And Severus didn't feel it.
He had an urge to run outside or at least open every window in the house and let the evening light stream right in, for as long as it was there, and then be replaced by moonbeams.
Suddenly, he was hit with a cold realization. He shouldn't go to sleep. Somehow, somewhere, the most prominent danger lingered behind his closed eyelids.
With a feeling of great resolve, Severus went to brew himself a pot of coffee strong enough to make hair grow on Granger's inquisitive face and planned to stay up all night, sifting the remainder of his library for any scraps and bits of useful information, and then he'd go to Granger first thing in the morning. The profound sense of contentment he'd felt earlier when he stayed at her house was, probably, the last vestige of normalcy in his life.