Snape stared at his Pensieve, his mind filled with thoughts. He had an inkling of a feeling that one day the memories he was currently making would also be deposited with the memories already swirling within it. He blinked and looked away from it, casting his eyes towards the armchair before the fire. As usual, Hermione was curled up in the leather upholstery, scribbling furiously with her hair twisted and clipped out of the way, a spare quill tucked into the jumbled mass of curls.