"You know, I have not been able to put you from my mind, Severus," she said softly, her fingertips caressing his face. "It's like you're a part of me now, like I've found something that I was missing and didn't even realize was gone. You make me whole."

He smiled and turned his head into her hand, gently kissing her palm. He'd never felt so warm and content as he did now, with her nestled into his arms, her head on his shoulder, that magnificent hair spreading like a fan across the pillow they shared. He ran his fingers through her hair, smiling as the coils of ebony wound themselves around his fingertips, ensnaring his hand as surely as she had ensnared his heart.

He shifted slightly, and pulled her tighter against him, his breath ruffling her hair as his body responded to her presense. "I'm glad I found you," he whispered into her ear, "I'll never let go…"

"Severus?"

He glanced around, looking for the source of the voice, but there was no one there. Good. He turned back to her, smiling again as she wrapped her arms around him, twining her fingers into his hair and pulling his head down so she could kiss his lips. He snaked his arms around her waist, swaying gently, dancing with her to a sourceless music.

Dancing? I thought we were in bed…

"Severus."

He shook his head to dislodge the detached thoughts and voices that were threatening his peace of mind. The world was perfect just now, and he didn't want to think about anything else. 'If this is a dream,' he whispered into the hair of the woman sleeping in his arms, 'I don't want to wake up.'

"Severus Snape!"

His eyes popped open, and for a moment he was disoriented, looking around. This wasn't his room, and… he shifted uncomfortably, not quite sure why he felt so stiff. He was in a chair, not a bed. He blinked, and looked up at the source of the voice. Who--?

Dumbledore. Severus put his head back down on the mattress, willing the headmaster to go away. He was busy dreaming about… His head popped up again, and he stood so quickly that he nearly knocked over his chair. Eyes wide open now, he backed away from the bed where Hannah still lay sleeping. "It's not what you think, Headmaster," he began hastily, trying to shove his thuoghts into place and separate memories from dreams. "We were just…"

Dumbledore lifted a hand, and held a finger to his lips. "Come over here so we don't wake her," the older wizard whispered, and Severus cast a glance at the sleeping form, her head turned to the side to reveal a tantalizing expanse of neck.

Severus shoved a hand through his hair and followed Dumbledore across the room. "Really," he was insisting in a desperate whisper before they even reached the end of her bed, "there was nothing untoward…"

Dumbledore shook his head. "My dear boy," he said softly, his eyes twinkling even in the scant moonlight of the hospital wing. Moonlight? What time was it, anway? "What you were doing was your business," the Headmaster was saying. "You are an adult, as is Miss Ichalia, and if the two of you did decide to do something 'untoward' as you put it, it would not be my business to interfere. However," he smiled, his eyes twinkling even brighter, "I do not believe for a moment that either of you would even consider such a thing here, where a student might wander in at any time. No, Severus, I trust your judgement more than that." Dumbledore reached out and patted Severus' arm. "I simply wondered if you knew you had fallen asleep there?"

Severus was glad for the darkness, as it hid the worst of his furious blushing. "No, Headmaster," he replied quietly, glancing over at Hannah again, "I didn't realize I'd fallen asleep. We were talking, and I guess…" I must have dozed off, he thought, frowning. I hope I didn't offend her…

Dumbledore was nodding. "Why don't you go get some real sleep, Severus? That chair can't be all that comfortable."

Looking back at the headmaster, Severus shrugged a bit. "I don't… She didn't want to be alone," he said quietly, feeling oddly as though he were betraying her, despite how openly she had admitted her fear.

Dumbledore smiled kindly. "Very well, then, she shan't be. I'll stay with her, though I must insist that you go find your bed, Severus. It's after one, and you look as though you could use a bit of real sleep. Don't worry, if she wakes I'll tell her I ordered you to go."

Severus considered protesting, but decided against it. He'd never once refused a direct command from Dumbledore, and he wasn't about to start now over something so trite. "Good night, then," he said softly, sparing one last glance for the sleeping woman before setting off towards his chambers, his thoughts drifting back to the dream he'd been having before Dumbledore woke him.

I wonder if it means anything, he speculated, but only briefly. Disgusting suggestion, that such a vulgar dream could actually have a meaning. Even Sybill Trelawney would probably tell him, in a misty and faraway voice, that the dream's meaning was perfectly clear. It means you are a lonely and frustrated man with far too tenuous a grasp on reality, he told himself firmly, and it was that thought which carried him to his chambers.

He hadn't intended to take the time to undress before crawling into his bed, but the walk had been somewhat invigorating, and by the time he reached his rooms, he was awake enough to feel he'd sleep better if he didn't try to do it in his robes. Besides, if he slept in them, he'd have to change them before classes tomorrow anyway, as they'd be far too rumpled to pass for anything approaching appropriate. He barely let the door click shut before he was peeling out of them, laying them neatly over a chair and snatching his nightshirt from beneath his pillow. He shook out the grey flannel and pulled it over his head, smoothing it down, and wincing slightly as his hands hit an unexpected firmness.

And how did you fail to notice that, Severus Snape? He grimaced in the dark and turned back the bed covers, trying to put Hannah from his mind. Trying with little success.

What does it matter if I think of her? he found himself asking. It was a good question. What did it matter? It doesn't matter if you think of her, but you are a grown man, not some rutting teenager, so do keep your thoughts a little more pure. That was not a question he'd really wanted an answer to, but there was a facet of his mind that did not differentiate between true questions and rhetorical ones. And another facet of his mind that could never let well enough alone. You live a life of solitude and abstinence, it said with infuriatingly rational calm, there is no harm in enjoying in your dreams what you have never enjoyed in your waking hours.

Bloody hell. Even his own mind was plotting against him tonight. Shut up, he thought sourly, aiming the command at whichever parts of his mind might be considering joining that little debate. Just let me go to sleep. I have a class tomorrow… There was something to the various sources of the arguments that was akin to a class snickering while the teacher's back was turned, but he ignored it with as much dignity as he could, given that it was his own thoughts trying to sabotage him. One voice, though, surprisingly logical and unjudgemental, dared to express itself, though. You might well appreciate the foresight if you put a towl on the bed before you go to sleep, it suggested. Severus muttered something aloud, something incomprehensible as he settled into his pillows. A stiffening, though, convinced him that there was logic to that thought, and, the next morning, Severus was quite glad he'd dragged himself back out of bed and retrieved a towel, and folded it twice over the sheet before he finally settled down to sleep.

The persistent buzzing of his alarm awoke Severus the next morning, and as he pulled himself out of bed, he couldn't help but note that that was the most restful night he'd spent in years. He was aware that he'd been dreaming, though he couldn't remember a scene of any of it since he'd come to bed, which was likely just as well. Stretching, he glanced at the clock before heading off for a bath, and muttered a vehement curse at the time that he saw. He'd overselpt by close to an hour!

Deciding that the bath was expendable, he snatched up a clean change of clothes, dragged a comb through his hair, brushed his teet quickly and was stalking towards the dungeons within moments of waking, not even bothering to make his bed first. He made a quick inventory of his lesson plans and the materials he'd need for them, and then was off into his supply closet, his bright mood from earlier already turning foul. As he busied himself stocking the cabinets for the day's lessons, he found his mind wandering, slipping to Hannah yet again. You're fooling yourself, old man, thinking that she cares for you, he told himself firmly. He didn't listen. He was far too engrossed in his (rather boyish) fantasies and the stocking of his cupboards, and he didn't even notice when the doors to the dungeon classroom opened.

"Severus?" asked a familiar voice, and the sudden presense of another surprised him so that he banged his head on the cupboard door and stifled a curse as he backed out to see who the invader was.

"Minerva," he said stiffly, lifting a hand to his head and wincing slightly.

She tsked and swept over to him, "Let me see," she ordered, moving his hand aside, and he submitted to her brief, cursory examination. "Just a bump," she pronounced, and he jerked away from her. I knew that, he thought sourly, but the other professor didn't seem to notice his grumpiness. Taking a step away from him, McGonagall reached into her pocket and withdrew a handkerchief, casually wiping her hands on it. That casual act caught his eye, though, and for the second time in as many days, he was transported back to his own years as a student at Hogwarts.

"Mr. Snape?"

Severus looked up from his writing into the firm, yet kind face of Professor McGonagall. She was leaning close to him, a hand on his back. "Yes, Professor?" he asked softly, wondering what she might want. Some students might have been nervous to have her address them, but Severus was a stellar student, and he rested easily knowing that he'd done nothing that should invoke her displeasure.

"Stay after class, please. I'd like a word with you."

He nodded, confused but amicable. Even having been asked to remain after class, he was reasonably confident that there was nothing she would be scolding him for, but just in case he went through the class again, trying to find any point she might be calling him to task over. He'd handed in his homework, which was properly completed, and if it wasn't up to par he had no pangs of guilt that it was from lack of effort on his part. He had not been the most gifted during today's lesson, but neither was he the worst at it; his matchbox, at least, had no legs like so many of the other students' did. He'd not been talking during class, which was more than he could say for his Gryffindor classmates—that foursome had become almost inseparable in their first month at Hogwarts, and in any given class, they were likely to be found whispering; Severus, however, had no real friends, so that was not a problem with him. No, he could think of no reason she would be assigning him a detention (and she would have likely announced it to the entire class anyway, had she been going to; Professor McGonagall was not particularly sympathetic to the feelings of her students when they were breaking rules), so he put it out of his mind until the bell rang.

Chairs scraped against the floor, and the sounds of books and parchment being gathered was punctuated with the laughter and chatter from three dozen students who had been deprived of communication for the duration of a double period of Transfiguration. Severus gathered his books and parchment as well, but he took his time, and the only person who seemed to notice that he was staying behind was, of couse, Sirius Black. Severus hated him already. Him and that git, James Potter.

"Someone's in trouble!" Sirius sang, his voice carrying a note of triumph.

James paused and joined Sirius, his messy hair tumbling as he laughed. "What'd you do this time, slimeball? Leave grease smears on the doorknobs again?"

"Come on, you guys, we're going to be late." Remus Lupin looked half-starved again, but he was the only one of the four who had half a lick of sense as far as Severus was concerned. In fact, Severus thought he could almost like Remus if it weren't for the company he kept.

When the class had cleared out, Professor McGonagall shut the door firmly and returned to her desk, beckoning Severus to come closer.

"Yes, Professor?" he asked, his voice barely audible. Severus was already developing the soft speech patterns for which he would someday be infamous, but that was still a quarter-century into the future.

"Severus, I had hoped it would not come to this, but I'm afraid I must bring it up. Have you had a bath today?"

Severus blushed hard, and developed a very sudden interest in the floor beneath his shoes. "Yes, ma'am," he mumbled, trying desperately to wish himself away from the Professor's gaze.

McGonagall sighed softly. "I was afraid of that. Well, Mr. Snape, your… efforts in that respect are not satisfactory. I have complaints every day from those who sit near you, and today I was rather forced to agree with them. One of this school's requirements is that you come to class well-groomed, and that includes properly bathed. Now, I want you to go back up to the Slytherin Tower and bathe again, properly this time, and then report to me. What is your next class?"

Severus had closed his eyes and was trying hard not to cry out of humiliation, knowing that if he did, it would only make the situation that much worse. "History," his voice was barely a whisper now, "with Professor Binns."

McGonagall made a note and nodded briskly. "I will tell Professor Binns that you will not be coming to class today," she told him, "and after you have bathed, you come find me, and if I find your condition acceptable, I will write you a pass to the library."

"Yes, Professor," he whispered again, still staring at the floor.

"And Mr. Snape, there will be a detention the next time you come to class unbathed, and I will be taking points away from Slytherin. You don't wish to explain that to your House, do you?"

Eyes wide open now, and affixed to McGonagall in horror, Severus shook his head. "No, Professor," he whispered.

"Very well, then. Off with you."

"…take one of her classes today. She has the lesson already planned, and it should be easy enough. Severus, are you listening to me?"

Severus blinked and looked at McGonagall, who had put away the handkerchief and was holding out a folder to him. "Yes," he lied, thinking quickly about the part he had actually heard. Taking someone's class. He opened the folder and saw Hannah's handwriting. "I'm taking Hannah's second class today," he said, closing the folder and laying it aside. "The lesson is already planned and in that folder."

The look Minerva gave him made him feel eleven years old again; she'd not believed such rot back then, either. "Very well," she said, and turned to leave, then paused. "Severus," she asked, "do you feel well? You look more…" she trailed off, as though looking for a word.

More filthy? He supplied mentally. More greasy? Slimey? Uglier, more morose, bereft of life and hope and happiness? Good of you to notice, my dear, you see, it's that woman whose class you were just discussing with me. She has my insides all knotted up, and that's not to mention what she's doing to certain appendages, but that's neither here nor there. Tell me, Minerva, do you think she feels something for me besides pity? I can't seem to reach a conclusion, and I've been batting that question around all night, which likely accounts for part of my appearance. "I'm fine," he said aloud, and she nodded. That, at least, had changed. There was a time when she would have demanded to know what had him so distracted, but somewhere along the way she had decided he was a man, a grown man at that, and had the right to be miserable if he wished it.