A/N: repost.

Disclaimer: not mine.

Hermione Granger had the Dark Mark, making her a Death Eater, one of the Dark Lord's personal servants. In her case, it could also mean a lot more. Not only was she the friend of Harry Potter, the focus of the Dark Lord's hatred, she was also a female. In any dark circle, inner or otherwise, that could mean a lot. After all, he had been a Death Eater... and his actions had followed suit. While love was... discouraged... within their ranks, lust was another thing completely.

Hermione let her sleeve fall, yet again hiding the evil design that was permanently fixed on her arm. She stopped yelling and shaking, her anger momentarily sated. But her gaze continued to be fixated on him, her hazel eyes piercing his soul. (A/N: I don't know if they're hazel, if it says otherwise, please correct me. But hazel seemed right for her.) Severus, wanting to break the tense silence, decided it was his turn to comment.

"Mi... Hermione?" Severus, for only the second time in his life, was unsure of what to do, the first having been realizing his parents' sardonic wishes for him to follow in their footsteps, and become a Death Eater himself. What am I supposed to do with her? I certainly can't send her back to her room, not in this state. Damn woman. Severus...you just called her a woman. I suppose though, that she is. No child can go through hell and back and remain a child. But what am I... I can't take her to Dumbledore at this time of night. Mc Gonagall neither... the old bat wouldn't know how to deal with this anyways. I suppose that only leaves the option of her staying here... damn. "Hermione, please stay here for a moment. I need to make arrangements. I cannot have you sleeping on the desks." Hermione only raised an inquiring eyebrow at this statement. Her adrenaline rush had left, the anger gone, leaving only questions.

So tired... I cannot believe I did that... I completely lost it... I need to be more careful... strange though, that it would be him... I can't think. Too tired...can't sleep though... this is the Potion's classroom. Severus' classroom. I'll figure it out in the morning...

"I've put some blankets on the couch... oh." Severus stopped, realizing that Hermione was sleeping on the desks. Great. Now I'll have to... where is my wand? Upon realizing that he had left his wand back in his quarters, Severus let out a sigh, and proceeded to pick up the figure lying before him and carried her to his quarters, where he placed her on the sofa, and covered her with a green blanket that was so dark, it almost appeared black. She looks so innocent, so fragile... and yet, she's proven herself to be anything but. Realizing what kind of thoughts were starting to run through his head, he quickly left to go to his own bed, and once again cocooned himself in the shadows of sleep.

Mmm... soft... how did I get here? The stirring creature wondered briefly. He must of brought me here... this blanket... it smells like him. Like magic... not like how Harry smells though... this is muskier... sadder. Wait. How can something smell sad? That doesn... despite her attempts, sleep overtook her slender body, once again flinging her into a violent surge of dreams. (A/N: according to fanon, people can smell like magic, especially Harry.)

OoOoOoOo (time change.)oOoOoOoO

"Noooooooooo! You can't! I can't! You can't make me do-"

"Hermione! Wake up! It's just a nightmare! Hermione!" Hermione awoke, finding Severus holding onto her arms, shaking her conscious. It took her a moment to figure out where she was... but the dream was all too real. Sadly, she replied,

"No it's not."

"Yes, it is. You were asleep."

"Severus..." Hermione would have wondered why she was calling him Severus, but she was too dazed to think about things that now seemed so menial, like the fact that her cruel and callous Potions teacher was now sitting beside her on the sofa. "It's not just a dream. Why do you think I wanted the potion? My nightmares are real." Shuddering, Hermione continued- she ached so much to tell anyone, for someone to understand, that she couldn't stop now. "Its all real. The things I've done... I'm not allowed to be sorry and move on... every night... it happens, over and over. It won't just stop. I'm trapped. Every night, I writher in pain as I feel the mark being put on my arm, and as I am crucio'd, in an attempt to make me tell them more about Harry Potter. Every single damn night, I experience the everlasting anguish of telling them exactly what they want to hear, giving in, giving up. Every night, I am alone, and there is nothing, no one." As she finished, she pulled the blanket tighter to herself, realizing the possible consequences of her confession.

Taking in a deep breath- he would need it, Severus began. "I always knew my family was dark... it was simply a fact of life, similar to how you knew in your younger years that magic did not exist. In the same fashion, I did not realize that there was any other way of living until I came to Hogwarts. But being in Slytherin does not help to convince one that they are able to achieve a life outside the realms of evil, and having Lucius Malfoy as a cohort somewhat worsens the situation. Slytherins have never really had friends- it's always been more of a business-type relationship. The ironic thing is that Slytherins are actually quite trustworthy- they always do what is best for themselves."

Hermione interrupted. "They? Aren't you a Slytherin?"

Severus pondered his phrasing. "I was. But I don't quite fit the classifications anymore. I'm a bit more aware of the dangers of power than I once was. Nevertheless, I did once sought after power, and chose to take it in the form that was required of me. Both my family and Lucius can be quite... persuasive... when they choose to be. Or chose, I should say. My family is dead." Severus saw that Hermione was wondering if she should voice any commiserations, but irrupted her thoughts by continuing. "I do not sorrow for them. They were family by blood alone... a bit like Potter and the Dursleys." Seeing Hermione's combined glance of confusion and shock, he replied wryly, "Despite popular belief, I do not hate your friend. In many ways I actually understand him... I simply despise his relations, and of course, his heroic angst." Inwardly, Hermione chuckled- she understood that comment quite thoroughly- she had to deal with Harry's anger more often than most people in the school.

"On the eve of my seventeenth birthday, I was initiated into the group. If you did not know, Wizards are considered adults at that age. Quickly, I lost my lust for power- a Death Eater does not have any power- they simply follow orders. I was shaken by the cruelty committed by the other followers, those who were Death Eaters for more sadistic reasons than mine. That is when I went to Dumbledore. Still, the things I witnessed in those years hardened me, preparing me for my reentry into that malicious group as a spy."

Severus looked hard at Hermione, almost as if daring her to look away, and at the same time, pleading her not to. "You might have become a Death Eater, and you might share certain experiences... but I gave in from the beginning. I have nothing, no one. Every night I am alone, and I relive not only the horror of what I did- but the fact that I was driven by not so nearly a noble cause as yours in becoming one."

Hermione couldn't decide what to do. She wanted so desperately to reach out, to try and slake this man's sorrow, but the desire was conflicting with her impressions of him. Snape wasn't exactly the hugging kind. Finally, her need to comfort, and to be comforted won out, and she tentatively placed her hand upon his arm and looked into his eyes, attemping to transmit her feelings to him. Severus willed himself not to show the shock he felt at Hermione's touch. A barrage of ideas and emotions raced through his mind, overcoming his sadness for a moment. Possibly because the most prominent one was that there seemed to be a chance that Hermione Granger did not hate him, that she might even like him... well, maybe that was stretching things a bit... but Gryffindors always were an unpredictable lot.

Oh my... I'm touching him. My hand is on Severus' arm and he's not pulling it away. This is so surreal. I wonder if... nah.

Her hand is on my arm. She's touching me. What the? It's so... warm...

He's so cold... I wonder if... Hermione! This is Severus! What the heck are you thinking? Ok, so you like him... but come on! You should not think those things about your teacher! There's no way he would ever reciprocate... Severus saw Hermione blush furiously out of the corner of his eye and turned to look at her directly. He's looking at me. Damn, I'm blushing. Wait a second; he's looking at me funny. Like...what if?

She's blushing. Does that mean that... no. It couldn't be. First of all, I'm the greasy Potions teacher. Secondly, she's 20 years younger than me. (A/N: she's 17, he's 37, as a guess. she's in seventh year, remember?) Third, she's a student. Forth, she's Harry's friend; the golden trio hates me. Fifth, she's held a grudge against me ever since I gave her an A- on a test. Sixth, her and that Weasley boy, the youngest one, are practically jumping on one another half the time. Seventh, I have a terribly unattractive nose. Eighth, I really am a greasy git. It's caused by the flame-retardant potion I put in my hair. One can never be too careful with Longbottom as a student. Ninth, she thinks I tried to kill Harry during a Quidditch match several years ago. Tenth, she's been furious with me ever since I made fun of her teeth. But... she's touching my arm.

What is going on in that head of his? He's still looking at me funny... I'm still touching his arm...what if...

What if...

People do really strange things in the wee hours of the night. The lack of sleep prevents you from you from thinking logically. Most of all, the darkness is entrancing, and things shift into a seemingly alternate reality. Hermione and Severus both glanced sleepily, wonderingly at one another. Ever so slowly, their faces crept towards one another, until there was barely any space between their lips, and neither was breathing, afraid to move, fearing that if they did, the dream would end.