Hermione marched with her classmates to the beat of some unheard funeral drum. At long last she was going to see the man she loved. With dread, she hoped, no she would ensure, that it wouldn't be the last time she could lay eyes on his elegantly strong visage.
This time of meeting, however, would be unlike any other. She tangled her shaking hand in Harry's in order to steady herself and gain his strength. When she met Severus this time, it would be on opposite sides. In the crowd of students, Hermione felt that she alone knew the battle was not black and white, as it appeared. She could feel the light glowing at Severus' core, dying in the shadow he cast to the world. Likewise, she could feel the seed of darkness, revenge and despair, growing inside of her brilliantly painted façade. No one, not one of them there, was simply evil or good.
That was, aside from the one man she would be certain to destroy by the end of this night: Voldemort.
Snape's mind was a marble obscurity. He would ensure that no one, not even himself, could feel the anguish upon first sight of his beloved looking at him with such hatred. Even if it was a falsehood, he could not bear to sear the image into his skull, his heart, and yet… he couldn't bear to lose what may be his last chance to admire the angel that had saved him, albeit briefly, from the demons that tormented his soul. He needed to see her. Gods, in this moment, now and hereafter, he needed to see her.
Snape stalled after he strode to the front of the Great Hall. He looked out the grand windows, surveying a quiet, natural world outside that knew nothing of the raging storm within.
He turned, "Many of you are surely wondering why I have gathered you here this evening. It has come to my attention that Harry Potter was sighted in Hogsmeade." He let the whispers begin. "Now, should any student attempt to aide Mister Potter, they will be punished in a manner consistent with the severity of their transgressions. Any person found to have knowledge of these events that fails to come forward will be treated as equally guilty."
He began his movements forward, suppressing the urge to call out to her, 'Hermione, Hermione…' He continued his talk as his eyes scanned the crowd.
Her pulse sped up to meet his anguished cries. Despite his skill of the mind, he had failed to muffle his heart. So much so that she had missed the words he was speaking until, "…I invite you to step forward. Now." She did not know if the deafening silence was real or brought on by the blood pumping in her ears.
It was then that Harry released her fingers to step forward, drawing a collective gasp from the crowd.
Hermione felt her fingers grow cold as they dangled in air. They reached outward and upward seemingly begging for Severus to grasp them. His head tilted back in the surprise of the gesture, the moment. There was no hate in those amber eyes, only fear. And that fear shook him to the core.
He had lost himself so much in that second, in her eyes; that his instincts did only return once Potter had finished his speech. At the boy's words, "…tell them!" he arched his wand in response.
That was when Minerva took a step forward, blocking the boy who lived and sending hexes he'd thought only belonged in circles of Dark Arts. At first he felt relief. Relief that he needn't put Hermione's life in danger, relief at not darkening his soul with further blood lost from children, relief at not harming the boy he had worked so hard to protect, relief at not dying before he could express… there was so much he wanted to express. Then, there was frustration. Frustration at being placed in this position, frustration with Dumbledore for leaving every single soul in the dark sans his own, frustration at battling one of the toughest witches he had known and, yes, admired. Frustration of always being just out of the reach of the light, yet striving for it with all his might. Enough. This act was through. He looked to Hermione once more, the only truth in his world.
The chamber, Severus' deep vibrato echoed within Hermione as she watched him swirl into something of a black snow and disappear through the window, the gust of his exit extinguishing the lights. In the darkness, her fingers still reached towards the place he once stood.