I own nothing you recognize. I simply play in JKR's universe for fun.
When your muse is rolling, go along for the ride.
Heart-to-Heart Talk
Hannah took the children, including Emily and Jonathan, to the far end of the Great Hall. Fred and George had promised to tell them bedtime stories. Ron shot the twins a warning look. No one had better come home with nightmares or worrying about monsters under the bed.
Snape was busy talking with Dad and Malfoy. It was a good time to talk to Hermione, who was waiting for him by the doorway.
They walked to the grand staircase and sat down. Hermione was two steps above him.
'She looks so good,' he thought. "She looks like she's been happy."
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Ron looked up at Hermione with one question on his mind that was burning to be asked.
"Snape?"
Hermione laughed.
"Of all of the wizards in the entire world, why did it have to be Snape?"
"Do you want the whole story?" asked Hermione, her eyes dancing. "It's very romantic. You'd be surprised just how romantic and dead sexy Severus Snape can be when he's trying."
"Urgh," groaned Ron. "I don't need to think about Snape in those terms."
"Those are terms that apply," insisted Hermione, "Along with brilliant, saracastic, inventive, resourceful, sensual, stubborn, and tempermental. He gives great….
"What?!!!"
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"Foot massages," finished Hermione, the sound of her laughter echoing through the vast chamber.
Ron ran his hands through his hair in aggravation and gave a rather sour chuckle.
"He's just the last person on the planet that I would have expected you to wind up with," said Ron, shaking his head.
"I certainly wouldn't have predicted it," said Hermione, suddenly serious. "We were both refugees living in exile. We ended up working for the same company and he transferred to Vermont. We talked and it evolved from there. We have more in common than you realize. I love him."
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Ron had an almost irresistible urge to pace that would not be accommodated by sitting on the stairs. He had to settle for shifting restlessly.
"Now, are you ready to talk about Harry?" asked Hermione, an eyebrow raised in a suspiciously Snape-like manner.
"Yeah," replied Ron.
"Do you understand what was happening with him?"
"I didn't understand at the time," said Ron unhappily. "I was up to my arse in Death Eaters. Bellatrix was throwing everything she had at me so she could get to her master. I couldn't stop to watch what was going on between Harry and Voldemort."
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"I didn't see it," spat Ron. "I didn't care what all those researchers said at the Department of Mysteries. I didn't give a damn about the hearings in front of the Wizengamot or their findings. They could have climbed right into a handbasket and gone straight to hell for all I cared. I couldn't believe that Harry was turning into Voldemort. He'd held out so long and it was almost over."
"I didn't believe it until last year when I saw the memory in the Pensieve." There was raw pain in his voice. "Snape's memory. He sent it to Dad."
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"Severus sent his memory of our last encounter with Voldemort to your father?" asked Hermione, somewhere between surprised and stunned.
"With instructions to use it where it would do the most good," added Ron. He ran his hand across his face. "I didn't want to watch. I resisted for almost six months. It was Percy who convinced me that Snape couldn't tamper with his own memory in a Pensieve."
"Percy?"
"Department of Mysteries," snorted Ron. "He's become an expert in Pensieves, memory spheres, and those brains in the tank."
"What are those things?" asked Hermione with a shudder.
"Don't ask."
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"I finally looked in the Pensieve," said Ron, looking up at her. "I watched you running to take on Malfoy, just like we planned so Harry could get close to Voldemort. Voldemort shouted something at Snape and he turned to hex you. He missed, deliberately, and nailed Goyle instead. In all the confusion, you scored a hit on Malfoy and his face melted off. It was brilliant to see."
"It was horrible," murmured Hermione. "I never wanted to learn spells like that, let alone use them."
"But, you did it because it was necessary," said Ron. "Just like with Harry."
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He sounded so sad, so terribly regretful as he said the words. Ron looked away.
"Harry was staring at Voldemort," he said. "That link between them was wide open, wasn't it?"
"Yes," whispered Hermione, putting her hand on Ron's shoulder.
"Harry was trying to pour love through the link to overwhelm him with emotion," said Ron, his voice trembling. "Voldemort was fighting by throwing hate back at him."
"You saw it?"
"Harry's eyes," said Ron, horrified. "They were turning red. Flashes of green and red. The red was winning."
"His eyes were solid red when I killed him."
"Voldemort won."
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"No, he didn't," said Hermione. "Harry was prepared to die." She threw up her hands. "None of us expected to live through that last fight. I was the least able fighter of the three of us. I was sure I wasn't going to come out alive. All I really wanted was to make it count for something."
"I saw the look on Harry's face at the end," said Ron. "I think he knew what was happening to him."
"He looked horrified," said Hermione, her voice quavering.
"He was horrified because Harry knew he had lost to Voldemort," said Ron, confidently.
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"I thought it was because of me," said Hermione, wiping away moisture from her eyes. "Harry thought I betrayed him."
Ron handed Hermione a handkerchief and took her free hand. His eyes sought hers.
"Do you believe that I could read Harry's facial expressions better than just about anyone?"
Hermione nodded, not trusting her voice.
"He realized Voldemort was going to possess him," said Ron. "This time, it would be for good. That's why Harry looked horrified. That's why Harry turned to you. He knew you were the stronger of the two of us and you wouldn't let it happen."