As the trees leaned in comfortably around her, creating a canopy above her head, she meditated a bit on Snape. He’d killed Dumbledore, loved Harry’s mother and died with Voldemort still believing the lies he’d told him. She’d never liked him since he’d placidly stared at her with her teeth growing down over her bottom lip and icily told her that he noticed no difference but mixed in with the dislike was now a healthy dose of respect for the man who’d hoodwinked Voldemort so thoroughly. 