Deep Bruises of War (Finnished)

II Master of Turtures

Dead silence surrounded her the very moment she crossed the threshold of the castle. Hermione stood in the middle of the Entrance Hall and looked around. So many years, so many memories. Unfortunately those kind and cheerful, had almost faded away. The dark reminiscences of death, sorrows and disasters filled their rightful place changing the young witch's mood permanently into pensive.

The light have won the war. So she's been said so many times since. But how many souls had to be consumed by the always starving machine of victory? She already knew the prize, even though Hermione wasn't able to to decide if it was appropriate to pay.

The girl stared at the huge hole in the ceiling of the hall. Only spells prevented the cold, foggy weather to conquer the castle for itself. But steel it was freezing inside. Colder than she remembered.

"Damn the chimneys" she thought.

Most of the fireplaces couldn't be put into use, for many chimneys got ruined during the Battle. Hermione blinked and shook her head slightly, to bring herself back to earth. She had a meeting to attend and was already late because of some travel perturbations. Minerva should understand, she already send the older witch a patronus to announce her delay. But what about the man she was meant to work with? He was never much of a patient or easygoing type of a men. He actually usually made his best to underestimate everyone he could reach, even if there was no good reason to justify such a rude behaviour. They called him a git, a bastard sometimes. They called him names which she wasn't able to pull back to her mind any more. He was always more mean to her and other Griffindors, than to the rest of directly hated students. Among other things that seemed weird about Severus Snape, Hermione never managed to fully understand this one. Why them? Why Griffindors? Harry said that there was a pretty good reason, but he never wanted to explain it to her as he swore Snape not to.

She remembered how their opinion about this tough men changed rapidly a few times during school time. Her own evolved eventually into aloofness and deep respect. He was a hero, actually, a real one. Not the kind worshipped by crowds, nor the one whose portraits and statues would be enthusiastically placed in public space. He has been a Death Eater ones. His figure cast a long shadow of mystery and unease on the people he approached. No one, accept Harry knew for sure which side he actually took in both wars. He has been admitted not guilty of any crimes by Wizengamot. The First Class Order of Merlin has been forced on him.

Yes, Hermione always saw it that way. For him it was not a prize, nor the award for his great devotion. It was a forced courtesy he never considered himself worthy enough. She was watching him in the Ministry on the offering of their Orders. He had the same expression on his face as she had on hers. Deep frustration and a feeling of strangeness, all that amid others cheerful laughters and chating.

She came to hate small talk and silly giggling of the parties. It was odd to her, how well her friends did after all those horrors of past war. Maybe she was always damaged? Why else would she feel such unspeakably awful emotions when almost no one did? She stared then at Snape bluntly, finally finding someone with a very similar problem. What a mess did he lived? She stared. But he never gave a sign that he noticed nor he looked back.

She saw how displeased he was by her late arrival the moment she gave him a quick glance.

"I am really sorry, Headmistress for the time lapse. It was beyond my will. The train had to wait at a station for some ridiculous reason."

"Yes my dear, I know, I've already sent me your patronus" Minerva smiled at her kindly. "Please, sit down."

Hermione reluctantly took the only free chair in the room. The whole time she felt his cold look at her back. Eventually she sat next to Potions Master trying to avoid the look of wizards grimaced face. At least he remained silent for now.