Hermione was not on the front lawn. She was on the lake. She had frozen it over with a thick sheet of snow and ice; she stood there, wand in hand, dripping in golden sparks that swirled around her, alighting on each curl and curve in her hair. There was a wide, crooked pink swath in the snowy ice, and with a lurch Severus recognized the two mutilated bodies on either side of her. She had clearly burst out of Hogwarts with little regard for herself or the corpses she stood beside. 