Hello dear readers, I hope you realise what's happening here... the second upload in as many weeks? Believe you me, I am just as shocked (possibly more) than you are. anyway, enough of my babbling, I hope you enjoy this next installment, things seem to be moving along quite a bit here, and I think I'm in love with this chapter.

Severus paced the the threadbare carpet before the hearth in his now empty living room, the ringing of the door that he had just slammed in Miss Granger's face still resonated amongst the stone walls. You pushed her away you pathetic sod, he thought to himself. It hadn't been intentional, Severus noted, but apparently some habits died hard and being a spy through two wars and having the only woman that you ever loved killed by one of your masters apparently didn't bode well for one's social proclivities. He stared blankly into the dying embers before him and searched for something, something that told him that his actions toward Miss Granger were just. Regrettably, the coals held no solace. He backed away from the fireplace and conceded defeat to the whim that so often pulled near the back of his throat. He begrudgingly uncorked a rapidly emptying bottle and leaked a good measure of the carmel liquid into a waiting glass that already contained a ring of the substance, sticky from age, at its bottom. Down in one, the firewhiskey left a burning path in its wake. He grimaced and let a steadying breath pass over pursed lips. Surely he could drink himself into believing his own foolish delusions. She is getting too close Severus told himself, she is prying, it's a clear violation or your privacy. She doesn't care about you, it's just another puzzle to her. Sitting on the sofa, and taking the bottle with him, he continued to imbibe, hoping to chase his unsure feelings, that hinged on guilt, away but as more of the drink began to settle in the pit of his empty stomach, a single word itched at his left temple. Trust.

Hermione had been sitting up in her bed for hours, heavy, dusty tomes spread from lap to toes. Her eyes stung from passing so quickly over the pages for so long. She had already raked through Magical Draughts and Potions, Curious Maladies of Men and Marsupials, Magical Waterplants of the Highland Lochs, A Healer's Guide to Beguiling Afflictions, a book that no longer had a binding, and was well into One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi when a curious idea popped into her head. It seemed that over the years, each and every avenue of her research led down one particular corridor. A corridor within the library to be more precise. A corridor that required the written permission of a professor to pass through. There was no way around this beast, Hermione surmised, that would allow her to circumvent the library's restricted section. Her research was to be exceedingly advanced, highly in depth, and probably focused greatly on dark magic, all qualities that would disallow a book's placement in the greater stacks of the library. She sprung from bed and tied her dressing gown tightly around her waist, marching determinedly to the headmaster's office for the second time that night. It wasn't until she had passed through the portrait hole that she realised how ridiculously she was behaving. It was nearly two o'clock in the morning and, while she would love to get a crack on furthering her reading, she couldn't be sure that Professor McGonagall would be awake. She highly doubted that she shared Dumbledore's sleep habits. No, she reassured herself, she could wait until morning, but there was no doubt that she would be waiting outside Minerva's office to intercept her directly after breakfast. For now, she would retreat to bed. So, she crawled past the portrait of the fat lady, scurried up the spiral staircase to the girls dormitory, and opened the door to her private chambers. Once under her heavy covers she stared up at the canopy above her. She fluffed her pillows, turned over thrice, stuck a leg, and then two out from beneath her blankets but for some reason, she knew sleep would not come to her easily on this night.

An empty bottle hung precariously in his hand that lolled off of the side of the sofa. He had been mulling her over for a while now and knew that there was really no going back, so to speak. He knew that she wouldn't back down from finding the cure to his bloody affliction and that there was really no use stopping her. There was, however, the giant roadblock in his mind that would not allow himself to help her anymore than he already had, for if he helped that would mean that he would have to talk to her, which would mean that she might start to see him as a human being rather than a superior, and there would be none of that. Severus stopped for a moment and faltered in his logic. If he was to help her further, and they had to talk, that would mean that they would, in turn, spend more time together. He liked being around her, she smelled pleasant and it gave him plenty of opportunity to steal glances at her… No, he crapulently reprimanded himself, she is still, in a manner of speaking under your care. No more of those thoughts, he needed a clear head if he was to tackle the beast that was Hermione Granger's meddling mind. Sod it, he was too drunk for that, his head was far from clear, and she did have rather nice breasts.

He could feel his eyelids increasing in heaviness as they slid over glassy, stinging eyes. A momentary thought of panic coursed through his veins as he knew that he was falling asleep but there was little that he could do to stop the inevitable. His eyes shut and blackness overcame him. In time, a vision of his living room bled into his pane of view. He looked down at the floor and noticed that his feet were bare and the stone beneath them was uncharacteristically warm. He moved his shoulders, shrugging the tension from them, and he saw that the buttons of his frock coat were undone. He could hear a fire crackling and popping loudly upon the grate and could smell its musty smoke infused amongst the air. Who had made the fire? Surely not he, there was nought a bit of bark upon his unsoiled palms and he didn't seem to have his wand on hand. Then he heard it, a whisper of a voice from a good ways off behind him. He thought he interpreted his name. It couldn't be, for the voice was not that of the Dark Lord nor Albus Dumbledore, who tended to hold the sole speaking parts in his dreams as of late. His dream self was unceasingly logical. But again the voice graced his ears. He was sure this time that it was his name he heard and so he tried to turn around, but couldn't. "Would you like the chocolate biscuits with your tea?" the voice came again, it was warm and familiar.

"Yes please." came his automatic response, although he knew not to whom he was speaking and he hated chocolate biscuits. He could hear the sharp clatter of his bone china and the clanking of a silver spoon onto a metal tray. Then, small, lithe foot steps padded slowly up from behind him and moved to circle the sofa, placing the tea set on the ottoman. Hermione Granger turned her face to him, the planes of her cheeks ruddy from the warmth of the fire, odd strands of her unruly mane were alight with the glow from the flames. Her face played into a delicate smile, a smile just for him. This wasn't a nightmare at all, if this was what his dreams were to hold in the future, he thought, he wouldn't mind this...condition after all. He might even find some delight in this respite of sleep.

"So, Severus," her voice was like honey, sweet and slow, and the s's of his given name slipped from her tongue like silk. She sat across from him and leaned in close, placing her palm boldly on his knee, wrapping her fingers around the sides of his thigh. She stared directly into his eyes, her chestnut meeting his pitch. Severus had to swallow hard to maintain any modicum of focus. "I thought we might discuss my project. You see, I believe that I'm getting quite a bit closer to the final solution." her hand had traveled further up his leg and made languid ministrations near his inseam.

"Oh." he managed to choke out through a thick throat.

"But I'm not quite there. I need you to trust me." she lowered her chin, feigning a pout, but her voice was stern and unyielding.

"I...I don't know if I…" he stammered, his usual silky tenor gone.

"I have a set of questions for you." a twinkle shone in her eye but it wasn't her eye anymore, hers were like toffee but the ones that he was staring into were a nearly electric green.

"I don't really want…"

"It's the only way that I can help you."

"Alright."

"Good, then, when you fall asleep, how soon do the nightmares start?"

"Almost immediately, I suppose. Although I think I may be..." She cut him off.

"And who do they usually include?"

"I'd rather not…"

"Severus, I'm trying to help you." she had used his given name again but somehow it wasn't the same. The s sounds seemed sharp and far from the delicate noises that he had heard her utter before.

"The dark lord, Albus, that bloody snake." he answered tentatively.

"And now me?"

"And now you. But I'm not sure this is a nightmare." he met her eyes, the eyes that were not hers. She let a chuckle escape through a small grin. She turned to put her empty tea cup on the tray. He swallowed hard and lowered his gaze to his bare feet, not knowing what she was about to do. When Hermione turned to him once again, she wasn't Hermione at all. Her unruly, umber hair had turned a vibrant red that hung in sleek sheets to her elbows. Her skin shone alabaster, but the eyes that bore into him now were the same ones that he saw in Hermione before.

"You've forsaken me, Severus." the voice stung his ears like a thousand nettles and set a fire in the pit of his stomach. He felt like vomiting.

"Lily, I...I...I don't…" he couldn't form a thought, he could hardly breathe. Absolute shock rendered him speechless. She clambered onto his lap, Hermione's robes stretched too tightly upon her frame. She placed her hands beneath his chin, angled his worried face up to hers, and stared into his eyes. Her touch stung like ice upon hot skin, her flesh lacking any suppleness that it might have had in life. He strained to resist the urge to place his hands on her waist and pull her to him, this was not Lily, this was black magic, a creature born from poisonous delusions. He shook himself into resolve and stared her dead in the face, a small knit settling between his shadowed brows. Then a green light, blindingly bright, burst from her core, filling the room and causing her to scream. The shrill highs filled his ears and threatened to make them bleed. He knew he would not soon forget that sound.

Severus sat bolt upright, his breaths coming in frantic, struggled heaves. He tried with all of his might to not be sick but to no avail, he emptied his nearly vacant stomach onto the floor next to the sofa on which he was sprawled out. Severus wiped his mouth, realising that morning had come and the light that streamed through his living room window hit his eyes like spotlights on a stage, blinding white. He looked down to his chest, his frock coat was open, an act that he did not recall doing, and he could see that his white shirt below was soaked through with sweat. He implored his gaze to drift further, down his torso, past, his legs, to his feet, which lay bare before him.

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