Hermione slipped away from the crowd as soon as Ron had rejoined them and walked through the entrance hall, now torn apart by war. It was strange, to stop just outside the great doors and look out over the courtyard before her, where so many tragedies had only just occurred. She started to walk, not really paying attention and lost deep in her thoughts. She didn't stop until the swishing of something moving quickly through the air near her head made her duck. She was only just in time to avoid the branch that lashed out at her. Jumping back out of the reach of the flailing limbs of the tree, she stared. Her wandering feet had brought her to the whomping willow. She did not want to be there, near that tree that held so many memories for her. Images flashed before her eyes; a huge black dog dragging Ron through the tunnel beneath the tree; Wormtail escaping as a rat running through the grass; Remus Lupin being exposed to the moonlight and becoming a werewolf; Snape unconscious . . .
With a jolt she remembered that Snape was in the shrieking shack, only a secret tunnel-length away from where she was standing. She forgot the pain in her chest that came whenever she thought of Lupin and Tonks and Fred and all the others who had given their lives only that day. A strange, inexplicably strong urge to go to the shrieking shack seized her. She reasoned with herself, questioning her own sudden, burning desire to visit the place. That place was where she had, together with Harry, disarmed Snape with so strong a spell that he had flown back and hit the wall, which knocked him unconscious. That place was where she had found out, along with Harry and Ron, that Sirius Black was an innocent man, and that he was Harry's Godfather. That was the place where Ron's rat, Scabbers, who had been in the family for years and was a beloved pet, had suddenly transformed into a small, watery-eyed man with a pointed nose who turned out to be the guilty wizard responsible for the death of Harry's parents. That was the place where, many years before she or Harry or Ron had been born, James Potter, Remus Lupin, Peter Pettigrew, and Sirius Black had stayed together as Prongs, Moony, Wormtail, and Padfoot during the full moon. The shrieking shack was a place full of memories, and no matter how strange or even happy they were, considering all that had just taken place, Hermione thought of those memories as sad things. The shrieking shack. That was the place where Snape had died.
"Accio stick," she said, pointing her wand at the ground around her and watching as a stick flew through the air and into her outstretched hand. Everything was bathed in a glorious golden light, as the sun had just risen. Yes, a wonderful thing had happened just as the sun came over the horizon; Harry Potter had dueled and killed Tom Riddle, or Voldemort. But when she thought of all the still, pale faces of those who had died fighting, Hermione was unable to call the day beautiful, no matter how much splendor the sun was throwing over everything.
She found the special knob on the tree and prodded it with the stick, paralyzing the willow. Then she got to her knees and crawled through the hole between the roots and made her way through the tunnel for the second time that morning. Earlier she had followed Harry and Ron and they had watched as Voldemort killed Snape under the impression that if he did, the elder wand would belong to him. But the wand had not been Snape's, so it had not become Voldemort's. They had watched as Nagini, the huge serpent pet of the dark lord's, had attacked the man who had once been their potions master, the man they had hated.
"Lumos," Hermione said, raising her wand to light the tunnel before her as she moved away from the opening and away from the sun. It had bothered her to see Snape die, but not because she wanted him to live; she hated him, but she did not like death, and for such stupid reasons as for a wand. The blood of Severus Snape was the last spilled over the elder wand, adding to a list of much blood taken in the past. And then, Snape had given Harry his memories, and Harry had seen them in the pensieve in what had once been Dumbledore's office. He had shared with Ron and Hermione, only moments before, the true life of Severus Snape. And the man they thought they had known and hated was suddenly a hero. Hermione didn't want to see his body, lying in the shrieking shack, and yet she didn't seem to be able to will herself to turn around or go back and flee from the place.
The tunnel sloped upward and opened into the room. And there, from the mouth of the tunnel, the pale face and dark robes of the man she had called a traitor and who had lived a double-life for Dumbledore, was visible. She stopped, not knowing why she had come here, not knowing why she did not simply turn and leave, not knowing what she had been thinking leaving the castle to come and see this. She was in control of her own legs again, and yet she seemed unable to move anywhere but forward. She crawled out of the tunnel and got slowly to her feet, averting her eyes and staring at the floor on the opposite side of the room as the body.
At last she couldn't bear not to look anymore and she turned and let her gaze fall on the man on the floor. His eyes were open and held the vacant stare that had come as his life left. His mouth was closed firmly and resolutely, and the blood had ceased to trickle from the gaping wounds in his neck. Even if the snake hadn't been poisonous, its fangs had ruined Snape's throat and it was the wounds that had killed him, not the poison. Not knowing why she did it, Hermione knelt by his side and stared into his face. The way he had looked into Harry's eyes as he died . . . she knew he had wanted to look upon the eyes of Lily Evans, the only woman he ever loved, until his eyes could see no more. Hermione sighed. Lily Evans, a girl who, simply by being herself, had inspired in a boy she called friend a love that would last until the day that he died, and would continue in him even after she had died. It was the reason Snape had saved Harry those countless times, it was the reason Snape had turned away from the dark lord, it was the reason that Snape had, for Dumbledore, returned to the dark lord as a spy for the good side, and it was the reason Snape had given Harry his memories; love for Lily Evans. Hermione wondered if she would ever be the catalyst for such love to spring up in a man.
She found herself pitying Snape even more as she thought about it. But then her thoughts switched to Ron. Did he love her like Snape had loved Harry's mother? Was it everlasting, unfaltering love and devotion that he had for her or was it something less? She wanted it to be nothing less than what Snape had had for Lily. But it was less and she knew it; they were only seventeen and still too young to truly love each other that way. Hermione loved Harry and Ron both so much, but it wasn't that kind of love. She loved those two as family, as friends, not the way that her parents loved each other. Not the way that Arthur and Molly Weasley loved each other. Not the way that Lupin and Tonks had loved each other. Not the way that Snape had loved Lily Evans. Having never really thought about it before, Hermione was lost in wondering over the subject of true love for a while, so long that she even forgot that she was staring down at the face of a dead man.
When she woke from her reverie, she realized what a sorry state Snape was in. Wondering what was causing her to do it, she reached for the beaded bag she had stored in her sock and pulled from it multiple small bottles of potions and rags. She used a water-soaked rag first, wiping the blood from Snape's neck. It was the strangest thing in the world for her to do, but she did it as a sleepwalker—almost unaware of her own actions and not consciously deciding to do them. When she looked down at her hands next she had set the bloody rag aside and now held one soaked in a solution with healing properties. She raised her hand and blotted the solution in his wounds. Why? Why was she doing it? She knew in full that he was dead and healing potions would not help him return. But she felt obligated to do it, and her will was too weak to stop herself, so she continued to tend to his wounds as if he could recover.
When she was finished his neck was much cleaner before, and it would have been normal had there not been deep gashes and fang marks cut into it. Pulling a white gauze bandage from her bag, she held the edge at the front of Snape's throat, just under his chin. Then she wrapped the bandage around his neck lightly but with slight pressure just once so that it would hold the end of the cloth beneath it, and she lifted her old potion master's head with one hand and wrapped with the other. She wrapped his wounds as if he was alive and breathing and she needed to make the bandage firm and with slight pressure to keep the wounds from bleeding, but also as if he needed to breathe so she couldn't wrap it too tight.
Feeling like a coroner preparing a dead person to be buried, she finished the wrapping and lifted his cravat and the proper pieces of his clothing, redressing his throat and buttoning his shirtwaist all of the way up. It hid the bandage and made him look almost alright. She looked over his face again when she was done and then realized that his eyes were still open. She swallowed, reaching up and brushing his eyelids gently downward, closing them carefully. She wanted nothing more than to stop touching him, but had to do it slowly so not to poke his eyes or brush any other part of his face. She pulled her fingers away from his face, but as she did she felt his eyelid twitch beneath her fingertip. Covering her mouth with her hands to keep from screaming, her bag fell from her lap and she snatched her want as she jumped back, one hand still clamped over her mouth to keep from shouting out in fear.
The man did not move. Having been convinced that he had twitched, she watched him apprehensively, but then wasn't so sure. Had she imagined it? Did she wish he was still alive so much that she had allowed herself to give in to her hallucinations?
She took a deep breath, still watching him, and edged forward, the hand that held her wand feeling along the floor until she found her beaded bag. She pulled it back to her. One hand was still clamped firmly over her mouth, and she removed it slowly. Her lips trembled as she watched him. Her whole body trembled. Surely she had imagined it; he was dead. A terrible thought came to her. No, he couldn't be an inferi, could he? She bit her lip and grasped her wand tightly in her hand. But Voldemort was dead and there was no way anyone else could have found him and put the enchantment on him. Many of the death eaters were dead, and those who lived were all fleeing and being caught by the ministry's aurors. No, he could not be an inferi.
Hermione bit her lip. The Malfoys were still at Hogwarts. But no, Narcissa had lied to Voldemort and told him Harry was dead, Harry had told her. And Harry had told everyone else at the castle, including Kingsley, who was the temporary Minister of Magic. The Malfoy name had been cleared by Narcissa's lie to her master and by the fact that she and Lucius hadn't fought in the battle and had instead searched for their son. Perhaps they had been cowardly and Draco's mother had only lied so that she could go to the castle to find her son, but she had saved Harry's life. Hate them as she did, Hermione was grateful that Harry was alive so she had not argued when Harry said that they should go free. Kingsley Shacklebolt had seemed unhappy with Harry's desire, but had given in grudgingly with a dire warning said straight at the Malfoys' faces; "If any of you lot mess with the dark side of things again, the Ministry will not be this lenient. As it is, your"—he had pointed to Narcissa with his wand, almost threateningly—"lie to the dark lord is the only reason you are free. Do you understand?" And the cowards had nodded and backed away, clinging to each other and trying to melt into the shadows in the corner. Satisfied, the Minister of Magic had left to take care of other duties.
Having gotten lost in her thoughts, Hermione was now brought back to the present. She blinked a few times as the sunlight found its way in through the cracks in the walls and the places where the boarded-up windows weren't quite covered. She looked down at the body before her, having remembered its existence for the first time. With a shriek she jumped back once again, clutching her bag in one hand and her wand in the other. She pointed the wand at the man on the floor and stared, wide-eyed. He didn't move. But that wasn't enough. She was convinced that she had felt his eyelid twitch earlier. While she wasn't paying attention and had been lost in the past, something had changed. He had moved. He had to have moved.
His eyes were now open. She stared down at him, paralyzed. Shocked, afraid, curious but apprehensive, she could only stand with her back pressed against the wall and stare. It was like that for five whole minutes; Hermione standing tense and waiting, her wand ready, watching the man who was supposed to be dead. He did not move.
Hermione's breathing was even. Her face was calm. She was ready for action on the outside, but her head was swimming. Questions flew to her mouth, but she did not speak because she knew she wouldn't get an answer. He was dead, after all, right? Biting her lip nervously, she approached him slowly, wand still held at the ready. Having tucked her beaded bag in her pocket, she reached out and closed his eyes again with a brush of her fingers. This time, she did it swiftly, though just as gently as before. She stepped back quickly and watched his face, transfixed. His eyes remained closed for the longest time, and she was beginning to truly hope she had imagined it all when his lashed fluttered suddenly and then his eyes flicked open again. She had half expected it, half wanted it to prove she was still in her right mind, but was still so shocked that she barely got her hand over her mouth in time to stop a gasp of surprise from leaving her lips.
She stared at him, wide-eyed. "P-professor Snape?" she asked in a whisper. She felt foolish to be talking to a dead man but also terrified that he might answer her. Then, after a few moments had elapsed in silence, she let out the breath she'd been holding. She had relaxed too soon however, because he did answer. Not with words, but he blinked slowly and turned his once-vacant stare her way. Even just shifting his gaze and blinking seemed to cause him great pain. Hermione noticed with a jolt that his eyes were no longer vacant and dead-looking; they were dark and bright as they had been in life. Whimpering quietly in fear, she took a step towards him. "Professor?" she asked again, just as quietly as before. His eyes followed her movement as she approached him and leaned down. She did not touch him and was tense and ready to jump away and shout a jinx in a moment. He stared at her. Their eyes met and she stared into the black orbs, searching, beseeching.
Hesitantly, she reached out and pressed two fingers to his neck just beneath his jawbone so not to touch the place his wounds were hidden beneath his collar. A pulse, faint but existent, warmed her finger. She drew back, staring at him, her mouth open in shock. "But y-you're d-dead," she breathed. He just stared at her. He seemed unable to do more than blink every so often, either too weak or in too much pain to do more. But he was glaring, and she got the feeling that he would have snapped something about obviously being alive if he could speak. They stared at each other for a few moments and the silence was no longer tense, it was almost comfortable. Then, Snape tilted his head to the side, towards her. She started in surprise at his movement and then searched his eyes. Taken aback, she gaped; they looked to be a dark chocolate-brown rather than black. He didn't speak, but they had a conversation with their eyes. There was gratitude in his eyes, she was sure of it. But was it possible? Could the cruel Professor Snape really be grateful to anyone for anything? And could he be grateful if he was dead?
No, Hermione scolded herself inwardly, or course he wasn't dead. His heart was beating. He was blinking now and then. And his brow creased and he seemed to be concentrating hard on something. It was as if he could hear something that she couldn't. Hermione listened hard but heard nothing other than the birds, which had begun singing outside of the shrieking shack, and the light breeze as it caressed the world outside and whined against the side of the shack. Was that was he was listening to? She had looked up to the window as she pondered, and now looked back down at his face. He looked into her face for a moment and then his eyes closed and stayed that way. She didn't really feel attached to him, but for some reason the idea of his dying cut her to the core, especially now that she'd seen him alive.
"N-no," she whimpered as she reached forward and pressed her fingers in the same place beneath his jaw once more. But he appeared to be resting or unconscious, for his heart beat on. Relieved, she leaned back and watched him for a moment before standing. She mouthed the words to a complicated spell, saying it in her mind, and pointed her wand at him, raising it a bit. He rose with it, lying on thin air as he would have lain on his back on the floor or on a board. She directed him towards the tunnel and he floated through the air smoothly and slowly.
A matter of minutes later she was walking towards the school with Snape floating along beside her. She made it to the entrance hall before Ron found her. He grinned and said, "God, 'Mione, where've you been? I was going mental looking for you and . . ." he trailed off when his eyes found Snape and his nose wrinkled in dislike. "What'd you bring him in here for? Is that where you went? Bloody Hell, Hermione."
"Where's Madam Pomfrey?" Hermione asked without answering his questions.
Ron looked abashed. "Er, what? I mean, I think she's in the Great Hall, but . . ." he jerked his thumb over his shoulder at the large doors behind him and stopped talking when his girlfriend walked away without a second glance at him, their dead potions master floating along beside her.
The school looked different than when she'd left it. All of the Ministry workers had left and taken the injured to Saint Mungo's. The dead had had their wounds cleaned much like Snape, and their families had taken many of them away, and very few remained. Madam Pomfrey was talking to Professor McGonagall but neither looked very deeply interested in their conversation. Hermione understood; both women had much more important things on their mind. They didn't notice her until she walked up and then both woman stared, stricken, at Snape. They looked to Hermione for an explanation.
"He's alive," she said meekly.
Madam Pomfrey was at his side in an instant and felt for a pulse. Her eyes widened. "Merlin! Minerva, help me get him over her in the corner?" and the two older witches took over while Hermione explained. She changed the story a bit, making it sound as if she'd gone back to retrieve his body and he had twitched. After she found that he was alive was the time she had supposedly cleaned and bandaged him. The school nurse undid Hermione's careful work just to be sure, but upon hearing what Hermione had used to help him she nodded; she could do no better. They rewrapped his neck and laid him on the ground. More than one curious bystander had come to see Snape's body and soon the news spread like wildfire that he was alive, though in critical condition.
Ron came over as soon as he heard and gaped at Hermione. "Blimey, 'Mione, what did you do to him? We watched him die!"
Professor McGonagall gave him a stern look and he withered beneath her gaze. "Mr. Weasley," she said calmly, "it would be much appreciated if you did not speak so brazenly of death, especially when the one you speak of is still living but very close to slipping away." Ron nodded, his face as red as his hair. Hermione felt the same way she had when he returned to Harry and her after deserting them; furious and disbelieving that he would do or say such a thing. She held her tongue, though, and chose not to retort. Turning her back on her boyfriend, she was surprised when Professor McGonagall said, "Miss Granger, would you accompany me and take this poor man to Saint Mungo's?"
Hermione nodded after a moment. "Of course."
She looked at Ron, who gazed quizzically at her for a moment. Then she put her hand on the older witch's arm and they were sucked into the crushing darkness, appearing a moment later just outside of the empty shop that was the secret entrance to the wizard hospital. They were inside and at the desk a moment later, Snape floating alongside them yet again. The witch at the desk informed them where to go and they made their way to the proper floor and then the right part of the floor. Snape was taken to a large corridor and then they were ushered through a door in the corner and into a small room. He would get a room to himself because he was in critical condition. Hermione explained how Snape had gotten injured and how she was sure he'd been dead, retelling her slightly adjusted story of what happened when she was alone in the shrieking shack. Then the two witches were dismissed as a small group of wizard healers entered the room to look at Snape more closely.
Professor McGonagall led Hermione to a small room off the side of the hall they had walked down and they sat in the chairs. It was a waiting room, and it was completely empty besides to two of them. Hermione was not at all surprised when her favorite professor turned to her after a moment's silence and asked quietly, "Would you please recount things exactly as they happened?"
Sensing that her teacher knew that there was more than what her original story entailed, Hermione recounted her experience, starting with how she had slipped away from the Great Hall and left Ron because she needed some time alone to think. When she had finished, having given every detail, the older woman pursed her lips and stared into the distance. "Professor," Hermione asked quietly after a while. The thoughtful witch turned to look at her. "How do you think . . .?" Hermione looked hopefully up at her elder; perhaps the teacher knew.
"I believe—and this is only just an idea—that perhaps for the same reason that Potter lives, Snape lives." Seeing the confused look on Hermione's face, she explained, "Potter accepted that he would die and he put himself into the position to die for those that he loved, in the hope that it would save them from the same fate."
Comprehension dawned on Hermione's face. "And Snape died for someone he loved just as Harry did—or, would have—so love protected him like it protected Harry, because love is the only thing that Dark Magic can't overpower," she finished.
The Gryffindor head of house nodded. Then she changed the subject. "While I am sure most others are content to know only as much as Potter told Voldemort during their last duel about Snape, I am curious, how did Potter know these things? And what are the details?"
So Hermione explained that as well. When Professor McGonagall knew just as much as Hermione did about everything, the two fell silent, and no sound broke it until the door opened and the healer in charge of the group who had been tending to Snape walked in. At his entrance, the two witches rose from their seats. "If you would follow me," The healer said, nodding to the door. They walked out into the hall. On the way, he explained, "His wounds are terrible. It is as if death tried to take him, but couldn't. Now," he sighed deeply, and the Hermione noticed the older witch glancing at her out of the corner of her eye, "I believe that his protection will only go so far, whatever it may be. He will die if he gives up. His only hope would be phoenix tears."
Professor McGonagall stopped walking and the healer stopped too, turning to look at her. Hermione slowed to a stop, turning to watch the two of them. "You're sure there's nothing else?" McGonagall asked.
He nodded. Then he pointed across the corridor, which they had entered, and said, "You know where his room is." Then he lowered his voice, but Hermione still heard, "He doesn't have much longer." And then, to her horror, his voice acquired an almost teasing tone and he added, "Unless you carry phoenix tears with you, of course." Then he was very serious and finished with, "In which case I would have to confiscate them for the good of the poor people within these walls." He walked away.
Professor McGonagall stared coldly after him. Hermione was shocked that he would be so blatantly humorous about death and that he had suddenly become so serious and menacing about the tears. She sighed. "What I wouldn't give to have Fawkes back here with us," she said quietly. Professor McGonagall nodded gravely. Then she led Hermione to the room where Snape was lying in a hospital bed. Everything was white; the sheets, the walls, the ceiling, the floor, the doors, the window panes, everything.
The older witch closed the door behind them and they approached the bed, one on either side of the unconscious man. Hermione was on the verge of tears, seeing how far Snape had come since she'd thought him dead. But Professor McGonagall shook her head. Reaching into her robes, she withdrew a small glass phial and inspected it. Hermione stared at the bottle, which was full of a gleaming, translucent liquid. It could have been water. "What-" Hermione began, but the professor held up her hand for silence. She set the phial on the desk beside the bed and reached up, carefully undoing the bandages at the dying man's throat. Hermione was dying to ask questions, but stayed silent. When the wrappings had been taken away from the grotesque and gaping wounds, the professor set the cloth on the bed and grabbed the flask. She uncorked the phial carefully and held it over Snape's neck. Then she tilted it so that two drops fell into each gash in the sensitive skin. The witch placed the cork back in the bottle and held it in her hands.
Before their eyes, the wounds began to heal. Before one whole minute had elapsed, all of them had closed and all that remained as proof of them were several lines of pink, new skin; scars. Hermione stared, transfixed, until the scars were all that was left and it was over. She looked up at her head of house and whispered reverently, "Phoenix tears."
The professor nodded. Seeing the questioning look on her student's face, she nodded down at the glass phial in her hands and whispered, "Dumbledore saved Fawkes' tears in this. He filled it to the brim and then took no more from the bird. They were in his office and he told me of them only days before his death. I have kept them on my person since, because though they would be safer within the walls of Hogwarts, I always feared that I would have need of them but would be unable to summon them fast enough."
Hermione nodded. She looked down at the scars on Snape's neck one more time before Professor McGonagall rewrapped the cloth around it, making it look exactly as the healer's had left it. "Won't they suspect?" Hermione asked quietly.
The older witch nodded. "They would be foolish not to. However," she straightened, no longer leaning over the bed, "they will not find out the truth." She raised her eyebrows at Hermione, who understood. "I trust," she went on, just as quietly as before, "that you will speak of this to no one, not even Potter and Weasley. To own a phoenix as Dumbledore did is one thing, but to collect its tears and keep them as a personal possession and not turn them over to the Ministry to go to Saint Mungo's is considered a crime."
"I won't say a word," Hermione breathed, the gravity of the situation hitting her.
The older witch nodded. Then she looked lovingly down at the phial in her hands. Almost, Hermione thought, as if she were saying goodbye to it. Hermione was shocked when Professor McGonagall held out the flask to her. She didn't take it, but stayed frozen where she was.
"Miss Granger," the professor said, a smile lighting her face, "Potter and Weasley want to be aurors, I believe?" Hermione nodded. "And Mister Longbottom plans to take over after Professor Sprout leaves," Hermione had never heard this before, but it made sense. The older woman continued, "And while you have never voiced your desired future to me, I have a sixth sense, perhaps a bit of a Dumbledore-given-hunch, that you will need these. Use them wisely and carry them with you always. You can keep them in that beaded bag that always seems to have what you need within it," and she winked at the last part, pressing the phial into Hermione's hands. Hermione lifted it and stared at it for a long while before taking her bag from inside of her robes and placing the flask within before putting the bag back into its secret pocket. "Use them well," Professor McGonagall said quietly. Seconds later the healer they had spoken to earlier walked in.
"Have you said your goodbyes?" he asked.
The professor nodded. The healer looked suspiciously from one to the other, obviously having expected tears from at least the younger of the two. "He was not a close friend," McGonagall said after a while. She turned and looked at Hermione. "Come," was all she said, and they walked out of the room.
When they were a distance from the now-closed door to the room where Snape lay, McGonagall said quietly, "I'm afraid I must ask you not to look back, no matter what they say or do." She offered Hermione her arm. Hermione took it, nodding. They were at the entrance to the hospital when a door behind them burst open and the healer yelled, "Wait, he's healed! Come back and tell us what you used!"
Neither looked back, and as soon as they stepped out of the door and onto the crowded muggle street the professor turned and they were enveloped by crushing darkness and then they were back in the Great Hall. Hermione realized for the first time that they had apparated right into Hogwarts. The professor seemed to read her mind. "I lifted the enchantments for the Ministry's arrival and the families' departures with their children and their deceased members. I have yet to set them again." And then she turned and walked to speak to Madam Pomfrey, who was standing in the same corner where they had left her, wringing her hands and looking nervous. She greeted McGonagall with a loud gasp of, "Minerva!" and they were involved in a serious conversation at once.
Ron, and now Harry, who was awake and back in public, found her and began questioning her right away. She told them her remade story of what happened in the shrieking shack and explained that Snape was in Saint Mungo's and it was unclear whether he would survive or not. When the boys were finally satisfied with her answers, she was able to breathe again and she could stop worrying that she might let it slip about the phoenix tears. Harry and Ron were planning on coming back to the Burrow and they wanted her along. She went and told Professor McGonagall and then the three of them grasped hands and were momentarily consumed by smothering darkness before their feet hit the ground just outside of the protective boundaries near the Burrow.
Hermione started talking about going to Australia to fix her parents memories so they knew who she was, and Ron and Harry were already discussing their future as aurors. The three of them walked back together, Ron and Hermione holding hands and Harry with his arm around her. Hermione's hand strayed to the secret pocket inside her robes and she let her fingertips brush the phial of phoenix tears before putting an arm around Harry and kissing Ron on the cheek.
Okay, thanks for checking out my story! This is my first Snamione (and my first fic ever) so please be kind, but I'd love it if you left me a review! I know where I'd like to take this story, but there are still some points that I have yet to work out. Thanks again. Love you all! ~Taelr