You are the one fixed point in a changing age. There's an east wind coming all the same, such a wind as never blew on England yet. It will be cold and bitter, Watson, and a good many of us may wither before its blast. But it's God's own wind none the less, and a cleaner, better, stronger land will lie in the sunshine when the storm has cleared. – Sherlock Holmes in His Last Bow, by Arthur Conan Doyle
"Go!" Hermione shouts when Harry looks like he's about to stop, to turn back. "Go, Harry, I'll be right behind you just…"
For once in his life Harry listens, and leaves her in the dimly-lit dusty Shrieking Shack, with the corpse of their potions professor.
Hermione hopes rather desperately that Harry is wrong about the 'corpse' bit, and so she falls to her knees in the pool of blood and fumbles in her beaded bag for the last vial she has left, her most precious possession. It seems somehow appropriate to use this here, now, on this man.
She stares into his eyes and feels the familiar tug of Legilimency, yanking her into his mind. The comforting chaos that is Snape's mind surrounds her, flashes of images and colours and sensations bombarding her senses.
Severus! Severus Snape! She calls out, and after what feels like only a moment, he materialises in front of her. Hermione launches herself into his arms and he clutches her against him for a moment before pushing her back.
Hermione, you have to go! If you're in my mind when I die…sweet girl, don't let me pull you along!
Just a moment longer, Severus, she whispers. I have a vial of Second Chance, if you want it.
The tall, pale figure of the Headmaster stares at her, stunned. She's giving him a chance to live. Not a guarantee, no, but a chance, if he wants it. If he truly desires, in his heart of hearts, to survive, the Second Chance will ensure it.
In his mind, he takes a deep breath.
Give me the potion, Hermione, he breathes, and pushes her out of his mind with the last of his strength.
The whole exchange has taken less than a moment, and his heart is still beating, if barely, by the time Hermione is able to fumble the potion into the ragged hole in his throat, and into his half-open mouth.
She wants to wait, oh how she wants to wait and see if he will take the chance she's given him, but there's no time, not if all of their hard work is to amount to anything, not if she wants to see Voldemort defeated. So she kisses his forehead, the most physical contact she's ever had with him, although they've been so deep into each other's psyches that they might as well be one person, and pushes her own emergency portkey into his hand.
"Be safe," she whispers, and a moment later he's gone.
Several hours later, after Voldemort has died, after the dead have been tallied – but for one conspicuously missing corpse – Hermione makes her way out of the great hall. She's told Harry that she needs some time alone and he's agreed to keep his silence, and he watches quietly from the entrance hall as she disapparates.
She arrives at her parents' abandoned house a moment later. The silence is oppressive, and Hermione tries not to make any noise as she strips off her filthy, battle-worn clothing and showers the dust and blood and ash off her skin. Finally clean and dressed in fresh clothes, she makes her way to the master bedroom, where she curls op on her parents' bed in the safest place she knows. Before she falls asleep she feels a heavy arm fall across her body, and she smiles as she drifts off to the first restful sleep she's had all year.