Author's Note: Here's fifteen, that angsty age that JK Rowling as left the trio in. Enjoy, and review if you wish. I think sixteen will please everyone. I'm aiming to post it tonight. By the way, the fic is back to PG 13. I think that's the best rating.

He bent over her, watching her sleep. Her breath was so light, hardly there. It didn't matter that Voldemort was gone, that everything was calm again. He wasn't willing to lose her. She was his star amidst the darkness they lived in. If this was the end, he didn't want to leave without saying goodbye. Severus took her hand, and uttered the magic word.

She was standing on the platform, the wind whipping her hair. He watched her linger behind as the students pushed forward onto the train. Harry called out to her, sensing her hesitation.

"Come on, Hermione! It's time to go." She shook her head, the wild mane of auburn hair flowing in the wind.

"Hold on, I forgot something in my trunk."

"I bet it's a book." She heard a smirking voice. It sounded exactly like Ron.

She turned, and smiled knowingly at the tall dark figure in front of her.

"Hello Severus. I told you we would meet again." Her voice was beautiful, sanding through the rough edge of his stature.

In his dreams, Severus looked into the familiar face.

"Potter's waiting." He reminded her briskly. He hated goodbyes, but he had to see her again.

"So are you." Her charming smile warmed him. She swayed on her feet a little from side to side apprehensively, her hands pressed in her jacket pocket.

He sighed, and fiddled with his robes. She'd never seen him do that before, and it fascinated her. She knew what was coming as much as he did.

"I came to say goodbye." Her smile faded, and she glanced at a pebble by her shoe. Picking it up, she toyed with it.

"So this is it." Her eyes locked his, and she touched his face lightly. The train whistled in the background. She drew her hand back, and turned. Realizing that they were waiting on her, her face flushed and she ran; a light step he hadn't imagined her to possess. He watched the train as it rolled away in a puff of billowing smoke.

----

Harry awoke in the hospital wing, the sun blazing through the windows.

"Harry!" Ginny shrieked, catapulting at him. Ron grinned. She reminded him of someone, but he couldn't place it.

"You did it Harry! I'm so proud of you! We're saved!"

Three beds away, Snape rested his head in his hands. The sounds of his least favorite students rejoicing made him miserable.

"A knut for your thoughts." The sweet latte eyes smiled up at him. A spark of hope lit his heart.

"My thoughts are worth more than that, Miss Granger." She laughed. That man would never leave his sternness behind.

"He's been worried sick about you. We all have been." Madame Pomphrey appeared to her left. "You're free of the curse, child."

She looked down. Under the white hospital gown, all the bruises were gone. Her ribs no longer showed, and her skin had color again.

"It's over?" How it had happened, she had no idea.

He nodded, and turned away. Totally perplexed, Hermione turned to Madame Pomphrey. The nurse busied herself with clearing off the table by the bed. She retreated, leaving them alone behind the curtain.

Severus wiped his eyes. He would miss her smile in the mornings, her intellectual opinions over their simple meals, her warmth, and her charm. There was no use dwelling on it any longer.

"Sir." She had a worried frown on her face, and his heart ripped at the thought. As cruel as it was, he wished he had let the dementors get him.

"Miss Granger." She took his hand, and didn't want to let go. He bent over her, and Hermione was afraid to breathe. If she did, the world would shatter, and she would wake up from this twisted dream to realize that it was all gone. He placed a soft kiss on her forehead, and that was it. Before she could react, he was gone. She sobbed behind the curtain while her friends rejoiced on the other side.

----

Severus swept into his rooms that night. For the first time, he felt the icy bite of the dungeon. He placed his wand to his head and withdrew a long strand of silver, then thrust it bitterly into the pensieve.

He attempted to settle back into normal routine. Behind his carefully composed mask, he taught his classes, letting sharpness back in his voice. Let them bitch about it, he snarled internally, they have no idea what suffering feels like.

She sat in her place on the third day after Voldemort's defeat. It unnerved him to see her sitting on the Slytherin side, in the only open space. She tried so hard, in vain, not to look over at her friends. They had no clue who she was, and when he called on her for the first time, she answered without meeting his eyes. Potter and Weasley did not notice.

Somewhere in the back of the classroom, he was sure, she was there. I know I'm crazy, he thought, but isn't insanity healthier than what I'm living in now? His quarters were empty. He found himself spending his time pouring over the pensieve, listening to her laugh fill the hollow rooms, and echo off his heartbeat. Somewhere off in the Gryffindor tower, she awoke in the night.

"Good night." She whispered, and no one answered. She recited potions, waiting for sleep to hit and warm her with memories. It never did.

And life carried on, oblivious to the two suffering souls it possessed. Before they realized it, the snow fell gently, bringing with the cold the season of love. Think of the irony, he thought as he continued down the hall, taking away points feverishly and blowing his nose.

She sighed and glanced into her closet, expecting skeletons. The beautiful dress shone back at her.

Think of the irony.