He slid down the wall and crumpled on the floor. His hair hung, gently obscuring his long-fingered, potion-stained hands, which covered his face, pressing desperately in as if to ground himself.

He sobbed quietly, as if afraid to show weakness. The soft sound of him weeping filled the dead corridor, and she hurt to watch.

He was alone, painfully so, and she knew that she would never, could never tell anyone about this moment, this precious, broken moment. His tears.

Dark robes made his too-thin figure blend in with the darkness of the wall, the shadows of it, and in that instant, she wished all the torches would blink out, to let him cry in the dark; the black on black on lightless void.

She realized that he was very young, and he looked very young, quietly lost in the black on black.

He continued to sob, as if his pain would never end, and she would not leave him, would not leave him to cry alone in the dark, even if he was unaware of her presence.

His shoulders shook minutely, and Hermione watched silently, unable to speak as Severus Snape broke.

–-------

When she hears of Fred Weasley's death, she doesn't cry. She says, "I see," and goes to her room. The click of the lock is heard and she doesn't come out for hours.

When she hears of her parents' death, she doesn't cry. She screams and rages, destroys things and dry-heaves until she can't anymore. (Pale-faced, she moves on.)

When Crookshanks, her beloved Crooks, dies, she doesn't cry. Alone, she sobs and sobs, but her eyes are dry (and she almost can't bear the silence).

She never cries.

He watches her; he couldn't say why, but somehow her beautiful brokenness is fascinating- the intricacies of irony in her lies captivate him.

She dies; wrinkled, hair spattered with grey. She falls asleep at her desk and eventually, her chest stills.

He doesn't move to wake her.

Later, he'll swear he saw a teardrop tracking down her cheek; relieved.