Hermione stood from the armchair she was occupying and, with a wave of her hand, sent it back to its original position in front of the fireplace. Angry, she walked out of the room and didn’t look back until she reached the door. She turned just in time to see Snape slump into the armchair she had been sitting in, his head dropped into his hands. Her anger dissipated like fog in the morning sun. She was hurting him, the one person she could count on. How could she? How sick was she really, that she was starting to turn into someone who lashed out at those closest to her?