Beyond Grasp

Hermione wasn't one for wandering in the early hours, but with the NEWTS under a week away, sleep was a rare luxury. She would, of course, pass. She walked near the forbidden forest where the shadows could hide her. She wasn't too sure what she was hiding from. Beyond Hogwarts gate she could see two dementors swirling about in some demonic dance. She suddenly stopped in her tracks as she saw a lifeless lump curled on the ground a few meters ahead of her, barely visible. Snape.

He could hear the footsteps coming to a swift halt. Wishing desperately that he could reach for his wand to stop the onlooker witnessing what was happening to him. He was too numb to feel that his wand wasn't there. Lucius would never risk being struck in the back. Snape was numb with pain. He didn't fear death at all; it would after all end the contract he had made with the devil. Devil was a mere euphemism.

She knew it was him. There was no doubt about that. His robes were mere shreds clinging, terrified, onto his body. His hair was moist with a mixture of blood and rain. He wasn't moving. Hermione feared the worst. She approached him with care.

He knew instantly who it was when she approached him. Deeply inhaling her scents: a unique mixture of lilies and red liquorice. He tried to open his eyes. Failing, he moaned.

She was a little startled to hear anything come from him. He was still alive. Just. She fell to her knees next to his head. She took off her robes and laid it over his limp body. She gently brushed the hair from his face with one thumb. He shuddered under her touch. A lump rose in her throat as she came to terms with what her mind was saying. He was dying.

Her touch was innocent. It was the first touch he had felt all night that didn't cause him pain. Her touch didn't make him feel hatred. He wasn't sure how it made him feel, but he knew he didn't want her to leave. He didn't want to die alone.

She took his hand and stroked it softly. Something caught her eye, the Dark Mark. It was as black as coal against his skin. It was burning. She traced it with her finger as he flinched. He was a Deatheater. She was anything but scared. She didn't know how to react, but she knew that she couldn't leave.

His breathing got heavier, irregular. He could still feel her touch more strongly as he, himself, began to fade. Every heartbeat that managed to pound caused him pain. He heard her breathe in deeply. She was about to speak. Although it hurt him, he made all the effort to hear her.

"Promise me you'll dream of me and I promise I will join you soon."

He gasped.

She lowered even closer to his ear, "I love you."

He died, kissing an angel.

She cried, kissing her last love.