AN: They belong to JK. All mistakes are mine.
After the fall
Holding the thin flame out ahead, Hermione slipped further down the narrow passageway, her palm pressed against rough pages. Every few steps, she caught a glimpse through the shelves to the darkened bookshop and the dusty windows.
They had passed by earlier that day, shouting and raining destruction on the long abandoned shops. Fire roiled over cobblestones, leaving blackened streaks that remained even in the driving rain.
Silence had fallen, but she dared not go out.
It was painfully warm, the dust was stifling, and the unmistakable sound of a doorknob turning was followed by the crash of shattering glass.
Cold wind rushed through the broken window, sending parchment and leaves tumbling down the aisles. Struggling between choking and gasping aloud, Hermione blew out her candle, clamped her hand over her mouth, and backed deeper between the shelves.
Rough pages dragged against her sleeves, and she could see her faint shadow tremble as she drew her wand.
A sharp crack and a boot heel grinding pulverized glass into wood – then stopped.
Her eyes level with a book's edge, she watched as a tall figure stood in the entryway, carefully brushing glittering sparks of light from their cloak.
"Miss Granger."
Her heart lurched at the sound of her name, her nails digging half-moons into her palm. The figure focused on one last patch of dust, straightened their collar, turned and strode straight toward her.
He repeated her name.
A book on the floor laid splayed open, its pages turning furiously in the wind and in the distance something exploded.
Back flat against the wall, Hermione could only watch as the shadows drew back at the stack's end.
Standing with arms folded, unarmed, was Severus Snape.
Even as she raised her wand, he extended his hand, saying simply, "Come with me."
Her voice failed at first. After all, it had been days since she had spoken, weeks since the castle's fall…
Severus stepped closer, hand outstretched in a gesture familiar from a lifetime ago. Her breath returned even as her heart seemed to halt as she returned in kind.
His eyes sharpened before he wordlessly turned, led her through the stacks, and out into the pouring rain.
Later, in a windswept field long gone to weed, Severus told her the small, wooden horse was a portkey, and he would soon follow.
It was years since it fell, and still she waited.