Chapter 2: Aftermath

"What happened?" Hermione said as she followed Harry into Ron's bedroom. "Did they set a date for the trial?"

He shook his head. "Still gathering evidence."

"Evidence? What kind of…"

"Geez, Hermione. Give him a second to catch his breath."

She shot an irritated glance at Ron, though her annoyance faded as she turned back to Harry. His face was even paler than usual, his movements sluggish as he sat down on the bed.

"Sorry," she said, struggling to control her impatience. "We can talk about it tomorrow if you want."

He shrugged. "Not much to say, really."

"Not much to say? Harry, you were gone for 14 hours!"

"Knowing the Ministry," Ron said, "he probably spent most of the time just waiting around."

"Yeah, when I wasn't signing autographs."

Harry grimaced, clearly uncomfortable with his newfound fame. The trip to the Ministry had been his first public outing since the battle – Hermione could only imagine how much unwanted attention he'd received. Really, it was a shame he hadn't asked her and Ron to come with him. If nothing else, they could've at least provided a buffer of sorts.

"But you did speak to someone, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I talked to Kingsley."

"Did you tell him about the memories?"

"A bit." Harry hesitated, plucking at a loose thread in his trousers. "I told him the truth about Dumbledore, which was the most important thing. Some of the other stuff… I don't think Snape would want…"

"Professor Snape," she corrected automatically.

"Professor?" Ron snorted. "Wasn't he sacked?"

"Only because the other professors thought he was loyal to Voldemort."

"Either way, he's not a teacher anymore."

"Maybe not, but I still think it's nice to…" She trailed off, realizing that Ron had a point. Whatever Snape chose to do in the future, it seemed highly unlikely that he'd ever return to Hogwarts.

"Anyway," Harry said, "I don't think he'd want me sharing some of those things."

"I know, Harry, but if that's what it takes to keep him out of Azkaban…"

"He's not going to Azkaban."

There was no point in questioning him any further. He spoke with absolute conviction, making it clear that in his mind, at least, the decision had already been made. She knew then that he'd stop at nothing to keep Snape out of prison. Granted, he might not want to reveal anything too private, but if it came down to that, he'd do what needed to be done.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"What you saw in the Pensieve…"

He shifted his gaze to the wall, his expression guarded. "What about it?"

She'd heard what he'd told Voldemort, of course. Snape had been loyal to Dumbledore, having switched sides for Lily Potter's sake. He'd done everything in his power to save her, and when that had failed, he'd sworn to protect her son instead. Why?

Because he'd loved her.

It seemed simple enough, yet Hermione still had numerous questions. To think that Snape had cared for someone so deeply, a devotion that had changed the entire course of his life? She had no idea how to reconcile that with the man she'd known. That Snape had been cold and unyielding, never seeming to give a damn about anyone.

Then again, that wasn't exactly true, was it? He'd certainly given a damn where Harry was concerned, reacting to even the smallest transgression with harsh words or punishments. Granted, some of that could be chalked up to mutual dislike, but what about the rest of it?

"I know you don't want to tell us what you saw…"

"It's not that I don't want to," Harry interrupted. "It's just private, you know? I mean, he only shared those things with me because…"

"Because he had no other choice," she finished for him.

"Right. We would've lost the war if he hadn't done what he did."

She hesitated, recalling that horrific scene in the Shrieking Shack. Vividly, she pictured Snape's agonized expression, his mouth twisting as he'd uttered his final words.

"Look… at… me…"

In that moment, none of them could've predicted his survival. He'd spoken with the desperation of a dying man, a flash of perfect clarity after a lifetime of concealment. But what did it mean? She'd been trying to figure that out for weeks, realizing that for one fleeting moment, Snape had revealed the truth of who he was.

"How's your mum?" Harry said, turning his attention to Ron. "Have you seen her today?"

Ron shook his head, his expression grim. "Tried knocking on the door this afternoon. She didn't answer."

They'd been at the Burrow for nearly a month, though it might as well have been the day after the battle as far as Molly was concerned. She still spent most of her time in the twins' old bedroom, looking like a ghost on the rare occasions she came out to check on Ron and Ginny.

Arthur was grieving, too, though he seemed to find solace in work. He left before sunrise each morning, not returning until well after nightfall. Ron's brothers were coping in much the same way. Bill and Percy had returned to their jobs a couple days after the battle, while Charlie had quickly escaped to the continent.

As for George…

"I'm starving," Ron said, obviously eager to change the subject. "Hermione, do you think you could…"

"There's pizza downstairs," Harry said.

"Really? Thanks, mate."

Hermione shook her head, keeping her thoughts to herself as Ron left the room. True, it was rather obnoxious that he still expected others to cater to his needs. But he'd had to grow up in other, infinitely harder ways, which made her feel like she should cut him some slack.

"How's Professor Snape?" she said as soon as he was gone. "Did you hear anything?"

Harry yawned, lifting his glasses to rub his eyes. "Still at St. Mungo's. Kingsley says his condition hasn't changed much."

"Are they sure he's not…" She trailed off, remembering the last time she'd seen Snape. His eyes had been fixed on the ceiling, his expression blank. Even when the healers had shown up to transport him to St. Mungo's, he hadn't reacted, lying so still he might as well have been carved from stone.

Harry shook his head. "It's not that he can't respond. Just… doesn't want to, I guess."

"Do you think I made a mistake?"

"What do you mean?"

"He wanted to die. Told me to leave him alone and let him die."

"Yeah, well…" Harry hesitated, giving her hand a little squeeze. "No point in feeling guilty about it. You did the only thing you could do."

"Maybe," she said, "though if he never comes out of this…"

"If he doesn't, you shouldn't blame yourself. Really, you shouldn't. You've given him a chance to put the past behind him, to live in a world where he won't have to serve Voldemort or Dumbledore, or…"

"A chance to live for himself."

"Right. It's up to him whether he takes that chance."

"What if he doesn't?"

Harry shrugged. "Then he's an idiot."

Hermione opened her mouth, only to close it again as Ron returned. He had a half eaten slice of pizza in one hand, his expression cheerful as he plopped on the bed in between them.

"What'd I miss?"

"Nothing much," Harry said as he got to his feet. "I think I'll go see what Ginny's up to."

"Harry, wait!"

"Yeah?"

"I…" She trailed off, realizing she'd run out of excuses to keep him around. "Um, just… tell Gin she'll have the room to herself tonight."

"Are you sure?"

Harry didn't bother to hide his hopeful expression, which made her feel terribly guilty. She nodded, watching him make a futile attempt to straighten his hair before he hurried out of the room.

"'Mione?"

She jumped, startled by Ron's voice as it broke the awkward silence. "Yeah?"

"C'mere."

"Um, I was just about to go down and get some pizza."

She heard him sigh, resisting the urge to flinch as he laid a hand on her back. He moved to sit beside her, his forehead wrinkled in consternation.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing! I haven't had dinner, that's all."

It was a lie and they both knew it, though Ron was gracious enough not to point it out. He sat there quietly instead, waiting for an explanation she didn't know how to give.

"Nothing's wrong," she said more firmly. "It's just… things have been a bit weird since the battle, you know?"

A shadow passed over his features, reminding her that he'd been struggling, too. Unfortunately, they seemed to be coping in opposite ways. He obviously craved closeness, while she desperately needed space. That was why she'd spent the last three weeks looking for any excuse to keep Harry around. It was the only way to maintain a little distance without hurting Ron's feelings.

"I know," he said. "I just want everything to be okay between us."

"Everything's fine."

This time, he chose to believe her, sighing in relief as he pulled her into his arms. She didn't resist, parting her lips ever so slightly as his mouth covered hers. Really, this wasn't so bad, was it? If a bit of snogging was all it took to make him feel better…

"Ron!"

Hastily, she pulled away, yanking her top down as she did so.

"Sorry," he said. "I just thought… you know, since we're together now…"

"We are together," she interrupted. "But let's slow down a bit, all right?"

"Okay."

Before she knew it, they were kissing again, though this time, Ron made more of an effort to restrain himself. He kept his hands in her hair, his touch so gentle that she began to relax. She let him ease her onto her back, sighing softly as he brushed his lips against her neck.

Yes, this was much better. If he could just…

"Ready?"

"Ready for what?"

"You know," he whispered, his breath suddenly hot in her ear. "Ready to shag."

"Ready to shag?" She shook her head, pushing herself into a sitting position. "Didn't I just tell you to slow down?"

"If you want a bit more snogging before we…" Ron trailed off, his expression bewildered. "I mean, I don't know how long it takes to warm girls up, but if you tell me what to do, I'll be happy to do it."

"Warm girls up?!"

Only then did she realize that "slow down" meant something quite different to Ron. He obviously assumed they were on the brink of having sex, though she had no idea how he'd come to that conclusion. Wishful thinking, perhaps? Either way, he certainly hadn't consulted her on the matter.

"I'm not ready to do that, okay? Not tonight, and not anytime soon."

She hadn't meant to be so blunt, but it was too late to take it back. Ron looked crushed, his mouth opening and closing several times before he managed to respond.

"I don't understand. I mean, we've already waited so long…"

The truth was, Hermione didn't understand it either. It just felt wrong somehow, even more so in light of Ron's growing impatience. Was it really just a matter of not being ready? She wanted to think so, though deep down, she knew it was much more complicated than that.

"Look, I just don't feel like it, all right? I'm sorry."

Ron didn't respond, nor did he tell her goodnight as she turned and left the room. He glared at the wall instead, reminding her of a petulant child.

Perhaps that was the real problem. She couldn't shake the feeling that she'd outgrown him somehow, like the right moment had already come and gone. But how was that possible? Just three weeks ago, she'd been kissing him in the middle of battle, oblivious to anything but him. She'd loved him fiercely in that moment, utterly convinced that he was everything she'd ever wanted.

What had changed in just a few short weeks? More importantly, how could she get back to the way things were before?

She made her way downstairs, resisting the urge to cry as she curled up on the couch. Suddenly, she felt tired, so very tired, weighed down by the strained silence that had permeated the Burrow ever since the battle. She didn't know what she'd expected after Voldemort's defeat, but it wasn't this.

Would it ever get easier? She hoped so, though she had no idea how to make that happen. All she could do was close her eyes, haunted by Ron's disappointed expression as she drifted off to sleep.

Blood. So much blood. It seeped into the floorboards, bright red torrents still gushing from the wound in Snape's neck. That terrible scream still echoed in Hermione's ears, though the gurgling sound that followed was infinitely worse.

"Take… it. Take… it."

She moved forward, conjuring a flask as she did so. And then there was nothing to do but retreat back into the shadows, watching helplessly as Snape clutched at Harry's robes.

He wasn't her enemy. She knew that now, though deep down, she supposed she'd known it all along. How had she known? She struggled to answer that question, even as Snape's battle came to an end. His hand dropped to the floor, twitching once before it lay still.

Harry didn't cry. None of them did, though she heard someone sobbing in the distance. Who was it? Did it matter? They had to go. Voldemort was calling… they had to go.

But as she turned to leave, it wasn't Voldemort's voice she heard. It was Snape's.

"Look… at… me…"

He hadn't said those words to her. He'd directed them at Harry, pushing them out with his last, gasping breath. Still, the memory was enough to make her glance back over her shoulder, followed by the strange sensation that she'd never truly seen Professor Snape before that night. She'd certainly never seen him the way he was just then, his features slack, lying utterly still in the semi darkness. Was that how he'd looked when he'd slept? What had he dreamt about?

But of course, he wasn't asleep. He was dead. There was no point to her newfound curiosity, nothing to do but leave him behind. She turned away, Ron's hand clutching hers as he pulled her into the tunnel.

"Don't go."

Again, she heard Snape speak, though these words were quite unlike the others. His voice was soft yet strong, no hint of the painful rasp she'd heard before. She tried to turn back but it was too late. Ron wouldn't let her go, his fingers woven tightly through hers as he dragged her back toward the world above.

"WAIT!"

Hermione jolted awake, her breath catching on a sob. She pressed a hand to her swiftly beating heart, struggling to orient herself with her surroundings.

"All right, Hermione?"

She jumped, only to sigh in relief as she spotted a familiar figure at the foot of the stairs. As usual, Arthur was dressed for work, his face in shadow despite the pale gray light that crept in through the windows.

"Fine," she said. "What time is it?

"Half past five. Do you need anything? I can make you some toast."

She shook her head, remembering his last attempt to make breakfast. He'd insisted on using a Muggle toaster, producing slices of charred bread that had been hard enough to chip a tooth. As for what had happened with the blender…

"Thank you, but I'm not really hungry."

He nodded. "Well, I best be off to work then."

She waited for him to leave before she trudged upstairs to take a shower, still shaken by her nightmare. Of course, it was far from the first one she'd had, but why did it seem like they were getting worse? She felt like she hadn't had a good night's sleep in weeks, not helped by the issues she'd been having with Ron.

By the time she got out of the shower, she felt a little better, taking a minute to fix her hair before she slipped into the sundress she'd borrowed from Ginny. She even put on a bit of lipgloss, something she hadn't done since long before the battle.

"Wow."

Until then, she hadn't realized how much she'd been neglecting herself. She stared at her reflection, unable to remember the last time she'd worn anything other than old jeans and a ratty jumper. Her hair looked better than it had in months, thoroughly brushed and woven into a neat braid.

Despite that, she was unnerved by her appearance. She'd lost more weight than she'd realized, her features almost gaunt. It didn't help that she was unnaturally pale, her skin almost translucent from lack of sunlight.

Sunlight. That was her problem. She hadn't left the Burrow in weeks, hadn't even bothered to step outside since their arrival. Really, it was no wonder she looked unhealthy. She'd shut herself up like a prisoner, oblivious to her surroundings as she'd struggled to get through each day.

Was this why Snape had looked the way he had? Try as she might, she couldn't deny the resemblance.

Greasy old bat.

Unlike the other students, she'd never called him names, though she had wondered why he didn't bother with his appearance. Now she understood, realizing that things like taking care of his hair probably hadn't even occurred to him. He'd been too busy dealing with the war, determined to keep himself alive until the very end.

Survival. That had been her focus too, a mindset that still persisted despite Voldemort's defeat. She'd grown far too used to living in hiding, ignoring trivial matters in favor of more urgent concerns.

Slowly, she picked up her wand, adding a touch of color to her cheeks and lips. She erased the dark circles under her eyes, though she chose to leave the angular shape of her face intact. It made her look older, more mature, a change she was already beginning to like. True, it wouldn't hurt for her to gain a little weight, but she didn't need a glamour for that.

With that thought, she headed to the kitchen, fixing herself a plate of eggs and bacon. She could only finish half of it, but… well, it was a start.

The time for survival was behind her. Now was the time for recovery, shifting her focus to all the little things she'd nearly forgotten. Plenty of rest. Regular, healthy meals. Perhaps even a bit of fresh air?

That, she realized, was what she'd been missing most of all. How long had it been since she'd had the luxury of moving freely throughout the world? When was the last time she'd gone somewhere simply because she'd wanted to?

Suddenly, she felt claustrophobic, the heavy silence of the Burrow seeming to press in on her from all sides. What had once been a refuge now felt like a prison, one she couldn't have been more desperate to escape.

"Accio quill and parchment!"

Went out for a bit, she scrawled hastily. Back before dinner.

The moment she stepped outside, all the tension seemed to drain out of her. She breathed in the scent of fresh greenery, sunlight warming her skin as she stopped to pick a few flowers. They were quite lovely, really, cornflowers mingled with pale pink peonies. She conjured a ribbon, tying them into a makeshift bouquet.

"So," she said to herself. "Where shall I go?"

She turned on her heel, her thoughts focused on Diagon Alley. But then a stronger, more insistent vision appeared in her mind, whisking her away to somewhere else entirely.

"Visitor or patient?"

He wouldn't want to see her. Why on earth had she bothered to come?

"Well?" The Welcome Witch scowled, glancing past her at several new arrivals.

"Um."

He wouldn't want to see her, but she needed to see him. Maybe it would help her understand…

"I'm sorry, Miss, but can you hurry up? I've got vermin coming out of my ears here."

"Visitor," she said hastily. "I'm here to see Severus Snape."

"First Floor."

Unlike the reception area, the Dai Llewellyn Ward was unnaturally quiet. Only her own footsteps pierced the silence, reminding her that she was an intruder in this place. Really, what was she thinking? Maybe she shouldn't…

"Good morning! Are you here for Mr. Snape?"

She jumped, caught off guard by the healer who'd just materialized from the closest room. Snape's room.

Her heart pounded furiously, her mind assaulted by unpleasant memories. She cringed as she remembered Professor Snape's harsh words, his insults, the cold, contemptuous way he'd looked at her no matter how hard she'd tried to please him. Eyes full of ridicule. Eyes full of disgust.

"Look… at… me…"

Eyes full of suffering.

"Yes, I…" She cleared her throat. "I'd like to see him."

"Brilliant." The healer smiled, tucking a wisp of silver hair behind her ear. "You're the first visitor he's had."

"Really?"

"Well, other than those fools from the Ministry. Why they keep bothering him with all their questions is beyond me. The poor man can't even speak!"

"I'm not here to bother him," Hermione said hastily. "I just want to see how he's doing."

The healer nodded. "Go on in, dear. I'm sure he'll be happy to see you."

Hermione doubted that, though she knew it was too late to turn back. She took a deep breath, her body rigid with tension as she stepped through the doorway.

"Oh."

To her relief, Professor Snape had never seemed less intimidating then he did just then. His usual black had been replaced by a white cotton robe, matching the pristine bandages around his neck. His hair appeared to be freshly washed, swept back from a face that was thinner, more gaunt than she remembered, cheekbones etched in sharp relief beneath crescents of thick black lashes.

"That's okay," she whispered to the healer as she turned to leave. "I'll just come back when he's awake."

"Ah, no need for that. Mr. Snape? Mr. Snape!"

"No, please…"

She cringed as Snape's eyes snapped open, darting around the room before they fixed on her. With that, she knew he was neither unresponsive or oblivious to his surroundings. His gaze was sharp and alert, the corners of his mouth turning down in a barely perceptible grimace.

"Mr. Snape, you have a visitor."

Before she could react, the healer left the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

"Hi," she said after a moment, desperate to fill the awkward silence. "I… um, I brought you some flowers. I mean, I don't know if you even like flowers, but I saw them when I was walking outside the Burrow, and I just thought…"

Snape gave the bouquet a passing glance, his dark eyes returning to her face.

"That's where I've been staying for the past few weeks. The Burrow. I didn't have anywhere else to go, really. My parents…" well, I won't go into all that. I'm sure you don't want…"

She trailed off, searching his features for some sign of emotion. Boredom? Annoyance? Pure, unadulterated hatred? She saw none of those things, only that same inscrutable stare.

"I know you can't talk," she said, "but there must be other ways for you to communicate. You can still blink, right?"

He fluttered his eyelashes, giving her what she could only interpret as a sarcastic look.

"Good. How about once for yes, twice for no, just like we did on the night…"

Suddenly, his feelings were all too clear, his jaw tightening as he shifted his eyes to the ceiling.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I mean, for bringing it up, not for saving you. I can't apologize for that, even if… do you want me to stop talking about this?"

He blinked once, slow and deliberate.

"Well, why don't I tell you about the books I ordered the other day?"

Again, he responded with a single blink, looking somewhat more relaxed.

"Let's see," she said, encouraged by his response. "I got all my seventh year textbooks. Not that I'm planning on going back to Hogwarts, but I thought it would be good to familiarize myself with the material. I've also ordered some magical history books from other countries – China, Egypt, India, the United States. I've always been interested in other cultures. You know, how their practices differ from ours? I might like to study that more seriously someday."

She paused, searching his face for any sign of boredom. Instead, he looked expectant, almost as if he wanted her to continue.

"Of course," she said, "I'd have to actually go to those places to study them properly."

Snape made a tiny, barely audible noise, which seemed to be an expression of agreement.

"Have you ever traveled?" she asked him. "Well, I guess you haven't had much of a chance before now, but you'll be able to do whatever you like once you've recovered."

His jaw tightened again, reminding her that the future must seem frightening from his perspective. Why hadn't she set his mind at ease to begin with? Here she was, rattling on about books and travel, while he'd probably spent the past few weeks dreading the possibility of imprisonment.

"I know you must be worried," she said quietly, "But you're not going to Azkaban. Harry's doing everything he can to get your name cleared. He's been interviewed by the Ministry, and…"

She trailed off, startled by the abrupt entrance as the healer bustled into the room.

"All right, dear. Visiting hours are over."

"What? But I just got here!"

"Mr. Snape is feeling tired."

"How did you…" She shook her head, spotting a small object in Snape's palm. Clearly, he did have ways of communicating with the healers, which he had no problem using if his visitor tread on dangerous ground. For a split second, he almost looked smug, though his face quickly smoothed out into that same inscrutable expression.

"Right," she muttered, trying not to sound peevish as the healer ushered her out of the room. "I guess I'll see you later."

Overall, Hermione thought her visit with Snape had gone well. That was especially true now that she knew he'd had a choice in the matter. He could've summoned the healer much sooner, yet he hadn't. He'd only done so when she'd brought up a topic he clearly wasn't ready to hear about.

Really, she should've known better. The night he'd almost died was obviously painful to recall, as were the memories he'd chosen to share with Harry. She'd just have to be more careful in the future, sticking to whatever subjects he seemed to find tolerable.

"Where'd you go yesterday?" Ron asked her at breakfast the next morning.

"Nowhere, really. Just took a walk."

"Really?" He hesitated, clearing his throat rather loudly before he continued. "Well, look, I did want to apologize. About the other night, I mean. I wasn't trying to rush you."

"It's all right."

"If you need to wait, I'm okay with that. Will you just… can you tell me when you are ready? I'd rather not try again unless…"

"Sure," she said, managing to flash him a little smile. "I can do that."

He grinned back, obviously relieved that things were okay between them. Perhaps they were, at least for the moment, but she couldn't help worrying what would happen in the future. What if her feelings didn't change anytime soon? Would he still be patient after a few weeks, a couple months…

"Hey," he said, interrupting her thoughts. "How about a game of chess?"

"Oh, um, can we play later tonight? I have plans this afternoon."

"Plans?"

He looked confused, though to be fair, she could understand his reaction. It had been weeks since she'd attempted to do… well, much of anything, really.

"Yeah," she said. "Thought I'd go down to Flourish & Blotts. I forgot to order that Arithmancy textbook I wanted."

"Hermione, we're not in school."

"You're not on the Quidditch team either, but that doesn't stop you from playing all the time."

"That's different."

"Oh?" She raised an eyebrow. "How so?"

Ron shrugged. "Quidditch is fun."

"To you, maybe. Personally, I'd much rather…"

"Speaking of Quidditch," Harry said as he wandered into the kitchen. "Do you want to go down and check out the new broomsticks?"

"Sure." Ron paused, stuffing a last piece of toast in his mouth. "Hey, Hermione's already headed that way. Why don't we all go together?"

"Great! I'll see if Ginny wants to come."

Hermione sighed, unable to think of an excuse to avoid the outing. How could she explain that what she really wanted was a little time to herself? They wouldn't understand, especially if they assumed she was planning to visit Diagon Alley. Shopping was a social event, after all, the type of thing they'd always done together.

Of course, they did everything together. That was the problem. They'd been cooped up in the same house for nearly a month now, and before that… well, life on the run hadn't left much room for personal space.

"Ready?"

She nodded, trailing behind her friends as they headed for the Apparition point. Taking Ron's arm, she turned on her heel, closing her eyes against the dizzying whirl of shapes and colors.

"So," Harry said when they'd reached their destination. "Where to first?"

"Quality Quidditch, of course."

Sighing in resignation, she followed them into the shop. She'd never understood what was so fascinating about broomsticks, but they examined them for what seemed like hours, followed by a lengthy discussion with the shopkeeper. He persuaded Harry to sign several pieces of merchandise, thanking him profusely as he set the items back on the shelf.

"I'd be happy to give you a share of the profits."

"Um, that's really not necessary."

It was Harry's embarrassment that gave Hermione a reprieve, his cheeks crimson as he hurried out of the shop.

"Hey," Ginny said. "How about some Fortescue's?"

They headed to the ice cream parlor, which had recently been reopened by Florean's niece. If she was saddened by her uncle's death, she didn't show it, flashing each of them a cheery smile as she handed them their cones.

"So," Harry said a few minutes later. "Where to next?"

"Um." Ginny hesitated, shooting a quick look at her brother. "We thought we'd go check on George."

Harry nodded. "We'll just meet back up later, then."

"You sure?" Ron said.

"Of course," Hermione said, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Give George our love, all right?"

"Okay."

Inseparable. That word was usually meant as a compliment, but it wasn't necessarily a good thing. True, it had been unavoidable toward the end of the war, when relying on each other was often a matter of life or death. But now? She couldn't help but notice the way Ron glanced back over his shoulder, his expression anxious as he and Ginny disappeared around the corner.

"So," Harry said, flashing her a little smile. "Flourish & Blotts, then?"

"It'll probably take hours to find what I want. Isn't there something else you'd rather do?"

He shrugged. "I really don't mind."

"I know, but…"

"Are you Harry Potter?"

They both turned around, coming face to face with a rather large group of girls. None of them could've been more than 13 years old, their little faces bright with excitement as they waited for confirmation.

"Um, yeah," Harry said.

"I knew it!" one of the girls screeched.

"He's even more handsome in person!" exclaimed another.

A third girl stepped forward, visibly trembling as she thrust a copy of the Daily Prophet at Harry's chest. It had been published the day after the battle, his tired yet triumphant face emblazoned across the cover.

"Mr. Potter, may I have your autograph?"

Swallowing her guilt, Hermione seized the opportunity she'd been given. She slipped away without Harry's notice, her heart pounding as she made her way out to the London street. Only then did she feel like she could breathe freely, every muscle in her body seeming to relax.

She loved her friends. Really, she did. But she also needed time to herself, something she hadn't fully realized until her visit to St. Mungo's. Doing something on her own… making choices without having to consult Harry or Ron…

That, she supposed, was why she hadn't told them she'd gone to visit Snape. It was her choice, after all, not theirs. True, Harry would understand, but Ron? She didn't need his input, didn't feel like dealing with his confusion and snarky remarks.

If that meant she had to lie to him? Well, so be it. She had a right to her privacy.

She turned on her heel, closing her eyes as she Apparated to St. Mungo's. This time, she didn't hesitate, passing quickly through the reception area on her way to the first floor.

"May I help you?" the Welcome Witch called.

"No, thanks. I know where I'm going."