Archive of Our Own

Potter's Wanderings

Harry couldn’t believe it. After everything Snape did, there she was, lying on a bench with her head cradled in the bastard’s lap, looking happier than he’d ever seen her.

This can’t be right, the saviour of the wizardly world argued. Hermione would never do something like this.

And yet, even after rubbing his eyes raw underneath round glasses, he could still see them sitting comfortably on the bench. Snape’s hair falling limp and greasy over Hermione as he leaned down for a - I’m gonna be sick - kiss, their forgotten ice-cream cone falling and rolling down the slope.

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Weasley's Thoughts

As her eyes ran over the figures lying in a tangle of limbs, nakedness and torn clothes on the floor of a long abandoned classroom, down in the bowels of Hogwarts, Ginny had to admit, if only in the intimacy of her mind, that asleep, naked and supposedly sated Hermione Granger and Severus Snape made quite the beautiful sight.

Merlin, they’re something to behold… Even Snape, she realised as the professor stirred without waking and snaked his large hand up over Hermione’s abdomen to cup her breast.

Fuck! Don’t wake now! You’re too beautiful sleeping.

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Ending

Neville ran faster than he ever did, dogging hexes and curses left and right, when, as he took yet another corner, he saw them - Hermione and Snape.

Her lying still in a pool of her own blood. Him kneeling by her side, his fingers brushing away mattered curls.

For a second Neville thought about forgetting all about Voldemort and the war raging on all around him, and helping them.

But suddenly an anguished, dead voice could be heard whispering, ‘There’s nothing you can do here, Longbottom. She’s,’ the voice broke with tears, ‘…dead. You carry on where she can’t!’