Chapter Nine

Hermione fought back tears as she trudged up to her dormitory room. It was five minutes to seven, and she knew she wouldn't make it to the Potions classroom on time, but most likely neither would Severus. Professor Snape! Not Severus! she berated herself. Honestly. One half-asleep kiss and you think you're in love with the man!

I'm not, am I? I can't be in love with Professor Snape. Severus Snape. Hm. Hermione Snape. Oh stop it! Stop it stop it! She yanked a brush through her hair, not even seeing her reflection in the mirror that hung on the wall in her room. "Not so hard, dear," it said to her. She rolled her eyes and put the brush back down, then went to change into jeans. She really should say something to the authorities about how very sexist it was to make all the girls wear skirts with their uniforms. A lot of private schools nowadays had the option of either skirts or trousers for the girls. Perhaps she would write a letter tomorrow, and research who she should send it to.

Her tie also came off, but she kept her sweater vest and robe on as she knew it would be cold in the dungeons. She felt quite hot, though, as she made her way down there. Her cheeks were flushed and she felt sweat along her hairline. Perhaps she would remove her robe once she arrived. Because she certainly wasn't nervous. The reason her hand slipped on the doorknob wasn't because her palms were sweaty, it had just been well-polished. Her heart leapt because she wanted to do well and earn the letter of recommendation from Professor Snape, not because she was anxious about seeing him.

She was several steps into the Potions classroom before she realized she had entered without knocking. Bullocks, she thought, and winced against the tirade she was sure to come.

It didn't. "Evening," Professor Snape said calmly from his desk. "I have a few things laid out for you already," he said, rising and gesturing to the student desk nearest his own where a cauldron and some of the more commonly used tools sat, "but I wasn't sure what you wanted to work on this evening. I'll leave it up to you to find the other necessary items."

"Wait," she said, taking a few steps toward him. "I get to choose what I want to work on?"

"Yes, that is what I said," he replied somewhat impatiently. She watched him sit back behind his desk, dark robes swirling with his graceful movements.

"Well…" She fidgeted with the strap of her bag. "What needs to be made?" She was having a hard time concentrating; he hadn't commented on how she had entered without permission, or how she was eight minutes late! What was going on?

He sighed dramatically and listed off a few potions he said Madam Pomfrey needed. "That should get you started, but when you come back on Friday evening, I want you to have an idea of what you'd like to brew." After that he would say no more, only looked down at the papers he was grading, the circles of red corrective ink like lip prints on a starched, white shirt collar.

Hermione watched his hands for a moment, the way they moved as he curved an S or boldly stroked the top of a T, but then realized she had to turn her attention to potion making. After setting her bag on a stool, she gathered some ingredients from the rear cupboard. She decided to make a cooling gel as she'd heard Hagrid was about to start the third years on salamanders. She had a feeling they would need it.

Her robe was discarded within minutes and the sleeves of her white blouse rolled up so she could work more easily. Amazingly, it seemed Professor Snape noticed she was too warm and conjured a fan to blow on her from the corner. "Thanks," she said softly, but he just nodded without looking up at her. Odd, she thought. Odd, but… nice. Even if he does regret kissing me, she felt her cheeks burn with blood just beneath her skin at the thought, at least he's being decent. It's more than I ever would have expected of him. She added crushed dried lacewings to the simmering cauldron, then let her mind wander as she stirred it, glancing at her watch every so often so she would know when two and a half minutes had passed. He said he shouldn't have kissed me, she thought, yet he's still being nice to me. Did he really mean it? Is he trying to throw me off again? Or did he just say he was sorry for kissing me, but really wishes he could do more? Do I want him to do more?

Hermione considered this for the umpteenth time that day. He's certainly not what anyone would call gorgeous, but he isn't bad looking either. I like his hands. His hair could be nice if he'd put some effort in. Skin, too. I like how he moves, so graceful, as if he owns all he sees. He can command it, too. He's very bold, almost… noble. So tall. And his lips… He's actually quite pleasant, or he can be. She dropped in shredded dragon scales and watched them float on top of the pale blue liquid in the cauldron. What would he say if I asked him how he felt about me? Do I even want to know? What if he says he despises me? It's not as though I'm unused to being despised by him, that's the way it's been the past seven years, almost. What can it hurt? At least I'll know. But what if he says he is attracted to me? What if he asks me the same question about him?

She strained the scales out of the cauldron and walked to the side of the room to dump them in the bin, mind racing. Okay. If he says he hates me, that's fine. I'm used to that. If he says he tolerates me, or something like I'm a good student, that's fine too. If he says he fancies me, or something of the sort… well, I'll tell him I sort of feel the same about him. Because I do. Right? The sieve was placed gently back on her desk. Her hand shook slightly. Right. I sort of fancy Professor Snape. Oh, Merlin, I fancy Professor Snape! What am I thinking?

Okay. Okay, I'm just going to ask him. She checked on the potion; it was fine for a few minutes. Here goes.

x.x.x

Severus watched Hermione – No, Miss Granger! – step up in front of his desk. Bloody hell, he thought, I'm not sure I can deal with this right now. "Sir?" she asked timidly.

"Yes?" He set his black quill down and folded his hands in front of him, then looked up at her, meeting her soft brown eyes. Her skin seemed to glow, and a pretty blush spread over her cheeks. Oh, Merlin, he moaned inwardly. Why does she have to be so beautiful?

"I… I was just wondering…" She clasped and unclasped her hands, then stuck them in her pockets. She swallowed, and he watched her delicate throat contract and relax. Was she trembling?

"Yes? Are you all right?" He couldn't help the hint of concern that crept into his voice. How could he not care about such a lovely creature?

"I wanted to ask you… What do you think of… of…" She faltered, letting her gaze drop to the surface of his desk. "Of me, I mean, my, potion?" Her eyes met his once more. "Was a cooling gel a good… good choice?"

"Certainly," he replied in what he hoped was a calm manner. "Hagrid has just started his third-years on salamanders. I'm sure it will be needed for the burns they are certain to sustain."

She gave a shy smile. "That's what I was thinking."

To his surprise, he smiled back. "Was there… anything else you wanted?" he asked as she turned back toward her desk. Me, perhaps?

"No, thank you," she murmured, not looking at him.

"Hermione," he called. She whipped her head around. Bugger! "Miss Granger." She seemed to relax a bit at that. Lovely. Now what?

"Professor?" Her hand was stretched out, about to grasp the corner of her desk, but it trembled in midair, waiting.

"Call me Severus." Where did that come from? "We are both adults, and I see no reason why we should not use one another's first name, ah, at least in a professional relationship, of sorts, as we have here."

Was that a smile that twitched at the corner of her mouth? "All right. If you'll call me Hermione."

"Very well… Hermione." Oh! Permission to say it out loud at last!

"Severus," she said with a smile and a nod. He nearly shivered. The last time she'd said his name, her lips had been brushing his. You can't think like that, he told himself sternly as she returned to her potion. You scared the poor girl half out of her wits doing that. She can't even speak coherently tonight around you. Yet… it seemed there was something in her eyes when she came to ask about the potion. As if that wasn't really the question she wanted to ask at all…

He forced his mind back to the quizzes he was grading, and they both worked silently for another half hour, until: "Severus?" He jumped at her voice.

"Yes?"

"Could you hold the funnel still while I pour this into vials to cool?" She was putting on protective mitts so she could handle the cauldron without getting burned.

"Why don't you just spell it to stay steady?" he answered automatically.

"Oh." She looked a little hurt. "I… I suppose I could do that, yes."

His heart lodged itself in his throat. You idiot! Would it kill you to be nice? "Actually, I'm nearly done here. I suppose I could assist you." He saw her put her wand back on the table and give a nervous smile to the floor as he rose and went to her. They made short work of measuring out the potion into small glass vials, and Severus helped her clean her tools and return the jars of ingredients to the cupboards.

"Thank you," she said when they were done. She put her robe back on as Severus flicked the fan out of existence, and she slung her bag over her shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow."

As she started toward the door, Severus put his hand on her bare arm, just above her wrist. "Hermione." She froze and looked up at him. "Ah, good job tonight. As usual."

"You… you mean my potions haven't really been dismal?"

"Nothing you do is ever dismal," he said almost tenderly. How he wanted to move his hand up and cup her cheek, to kiss her so sweetly… She took half a step toward him, her lips slightly parted, light from the torches on the walls glimmering in her hair, bringing out the gold flecks in her eyes. He cleared his throat and stepped back, dropping his hand to his side. "See you in class."

"Yes," she said softly, letting her eyes linger on his face for a long moment before going out the door and shutting it carefully behind her.

Wednesday afternoon couldn't come quickly enough for Severus.

x.x.x

Something was definitely different about him, Hermione thought at breakfast the next morning. She'd hardly been able to stop thinking about him since last night. She shivered at the recollection of his hand on her arm, his body so close to hers… Though he had stepped back when she had come nearer. It seemed no use to even think about pursuing him. He didn't hate her, obviously, and wasn't totally indifferent to her either – they were now on a first name basis, in private, at least – but he just didn't seem interested in her like that. Besides, he was her professor. Nothing could ever happen.

Which was fine, of course. Hermione had had crushes on professors before. Crushes were harmless. They were a part of growing up, and let you know you were alive and well. She remembered, with some embarrassment, her first teacher crush: she was eight and absolutely adored her teacher, Mr. Tinsley. Alex Tinsley. He was in his mid-twenties and had a mass of curly blonde hair, like a halo. His eyes were robin's egg blue, and crinkled at the corners when he smiled, which was often. Hermione had been heartbroken when his young wife showed up on Valentine's Day with cupcakes for the class, though all was forgotten upon the sight of pink frosting with white sprinkles.

She wished things could be solved so easily now. As she toyed with her toast, Hermione imagined what the world would be like if everything could be resolved with sweets. A friend hurt your feelings, but made it up to you with biscuits. You were dumped, and your ex brought you chocolates. A war would call for an army of bakers to disperse all the bad feelings with sugar and butter and cream.

"Hermione?" said Harry's voice to her left. She was jolted out of her imaginings. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she said.

"You've been saying that a lot lately. Are you sure there's nothing on your mind that's bothering you?"

Ron, oblivious, as usual, shoveled down his eggs across the table from her.

"I'm sure. Just schoolwork, that sort of thing."

"Not Snape again, is it?" Harry asked.

At this, Ron perked up. "Yes, how is the old bat? You've been spending an awful lot of time with him."

Somehow she was able to choke out, over the pounding of her heart and the blockage in her throat, "Well… It's not really my fault, you see. He keeps telling me I've… I've messed things up and makes me come back to, er, fix them." Her hands began to shake; she dropped her fork on her plate and clasped her hands in her lap.

"There there," Harry said, patting her shoulder and yawning hugely. "Perhaps you'll be lucky and he'll let you off early in the year with your letter."

"Hm," was all she said, finishing the last of her orange juice in one gulp. "Are you doing all right, Harry?" she asked softly when she had seen Ron turn to Seamus and strike up a conversation about – what else? – Quidditch.

"Yeah, I'm all right." He pushed his food around on his plate and Hermione noticed he had hardly eaten anything. "I'm just…" He paused, then leaned closer to her. "Don't say anything, but I'm… I've been having nightmares lately." His voice dropped even lower. "Bad ones."

"But Harry, that's terrible! Is it… Could it be Voldemort?" she whispered. The cheerful morning banter of the Great Hall seemed to fade around them. "It's happened before, you know, and – "

"No, this is different," he said, cutting her off. "These are… memories. I know they're real, even though I… I can't remember them in the daytime. If that makes sense." He looked down at the table, his eyes unseeing, face blank. "They're of the night my parents died."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said compassionately, her own problems forgotten as she turned her full attention to her best friend.

"Everything's so clear, so… stark," he continued in a hollow, faded voice. "But that's not all." He met her eyes briefly, then his gaze returned to the tabletop. "There are other dreams… nightmares. They're horrible. I watch the people I care for die – Ron, you, Dumbledore, Ginny, Hagrid – and I know, somehow that… that I caused it. Through betrayal, an accident… I don't know." Harry rested his head in his hands, one palm covering that famous scar.

"You don't think… they could be telling of future events, do you? Like the one you had last year about the door to the Department of Mysteries, or about the snake and Mr. Weasley?"

"No, they're not. I don't know how I know, but they're different, somehow. The feeling sort of reminds me of… This will sound odd, but the feeling you get when faced with a boggart. It's weird."

"That is weird," Hermione mused softly. "Do you think you should tell Dumbledore?"

"No. It could just be that I'm having a bad streak of nightmares. I don't want to trouble him with nothing."

"Hm. All right. I'll go to the library tonight after classes and see what I can find out. Perhaps Voldemort is sending you these dreams. Do you think?"

"It's a possibility." He looked and sounded so tired, she noticed suddenly. Hermione realized that she had hardly paid her friend any attention for days.

"I'm sorry I didn't ask about it sooner," she said gently, laying a hand on his arm. "I feel really bad for not even noticing anything was wrong."

He rested his hand on top of hers and met her eyes, his bright green meeting her soft brown. "It's all right. You've been busy, like you always are, and I – "

"That's no excuse. You're my best friend, Harry. I… I love you." She gave him a small, shy smile, which he returned. "You're like my brother."

"I love you too, Hermione," he said softly, looking a bit surprised at the words that came out of his mouth.

"Oy, Harry! What's that dive called, you know, that dive?" Ron asked loudly. Harry and Hermione broke their contact immediately and concentrated on their breakfasts. "That wos-is-name, the Seeker from the Falcons did at the cup this year?" He sighed heavily. "I wish we could've gone again, but there was no way Dad could get tickets and…"

Hermione tuned them out, as the conversation no longer held any interest for her. Her mind was already churning about what Harry had told her. She resolved to go to the library immediately after classes to research nightmares, any definite known causes, and any cures that could be administered. Perhaps she would even drop by for half an hour during lunch…

x.x.x

Severus had survived his Advanced Potions class Wednesday afternoon; he could say that much. The classes he'd taught earlier in the day had gone just fine. Everything was normal, or as normal as first-years ever were. The fourth-years after that had worked quietly and things had gone smoothly. But this class period…

To begin with, he'd dropped the chalk when writing notes on the board. The thin line of white had split right in the middle, leaving a bit of dust on the stone floor. Not bothering to repair it, Severus had picked up the pieces and continued on as usual, thankful that the seventh-year advanced class was mature enough not to make any comment.

If any other professor had dropped and broken their chalk, no one would have paid any heed. But Severus never dropped things. Ever. In his profession, if he dropped something, the results could be damaging, occasionally even fatal. If Severus Snape dropped something, especially in front of a class full of students, something was seriously wrong.

That something was sitting at the rear of the room, diligently taking notes, quiet as ever, yet absorbing every word he said, every ingredient he wrote on the chalkboard, every move he made. He felt her eyes on him more than ever today, and couldn't stop thinking about her. Even as he lectured, as he passed out worksheets, as he strolled the aisle between desks checking to make sure the potions were progressing well, somewhere in the back of his mind, the thought of Hermione danced like a snowflake on a crisp, starlit winter night. Her name on his lips, the feel of her arm beneath his hand, the memory of her mouth against his, the way her fingers moved, so gracefully, when she worked, when she wrote...

He jerked himself from his thoughts and realized he'd been standing at the back of the classroom, staring over Hermione's shoulder watching her copy down his notes from the board. He blinked several times and tore himself away from her hands, her neat printing and the smell of her hair and stalked up to his desk. "Ten minutes left," he said, whirling around to face the students, crossing his arms over his chest. "I suggest you finish your notes and begin cleaning up." Students began shuffling papers into their bags, cleaning their quills and taking their cauldrons to the side of the room to wash them out at the sinks. He followed Hermione with his eyes until his view was blocked by a Ravenclaw boy, then sat at his desk with his hands folded on top.

"Don't forget to label your potions," he called over the slight chaos of the last five minutes of class. "Miss Abbot! Five points from Hufflepuff. You are not dismissed until I say you are dismissed. Sit down." He glared at her and she sat, meekly, blinking back tears. Adolescent girls are so ruddy sensitive! he thought. Then he saw Hermione walk by and pat her comfortingly on the shoulder. Severus strained his ears and kept his eyes trained on her lips. He could barely make out what she said: "Don't worry, it's only five points. You can make it up in Herbology tomorrow, right?" Miss Abbot sniffed and nodded, flashing a weak smile at Hermione as she returned to her own desk.

Is there nothing she can't do? Severus wondered, toying with a quill pen on his desk, running his short fingernails along the spine of the feather, knitting the edges back together. Top marks in all her classes, Head Girl, a Prefect the two years before that, numerous adventures with Potter and Weasley, the names left a sour taste in his mouth even though he hadn't said them out loud, and who knows what else? Comforting, I suppose, and being a good friend. My exact opposite. Well... not exactly my opposite. I earned high marks in school as well. I had a few adventures when I was her age, though I did nothing heroic.

And look at her. He couldn't keep from looking at her for very long, and now he gave her a lingering glance which she didn't catch as she was fumbling in her bag for something. Beautiful. Graceful. Talented at whatever she turns her hand to. I love how she – but he stopped. Love? Had he thought "love" in connection with Hermione Granger? Surely not. Surely not about a student. But… did he, really… love her? No, he thought, firmly. Not love. I barely know her. But perhaps… Oh, bloody hell! I think I'm beginning to fall in love with her!

The clock on the far wall clicked into place – 2:30. "Dismissed," he said, not looking up at the scraping of stools and banging of books being shut. The door opened to the corridor outside and the sound of dozens of students either on their way to another afternoon class, or those happier sounds of students who were free for the rest of the day, drifted into the classroom. At last the noise died down and the door clicked shut. He sighed heavily, grateful that he was finished teaching for the day. As he rose, however, he glimpsed someone at the far end of the room. It was her! He sat down again, and tried to appear composed.

She walked down the aisle toward him. "Professor – Severus? Sir?" she asked uncertainly.

"Severus is fine, Hermione," he said softly, "as long as we're alone." As long as we're alone. It sent a tremor through his body.

"All right," she whispered, stopping a foot in front of his desk. Her books were clutched to her chest, her bag hanging heavily on her shoulder. "Sir, I mean, Severus, do you remember… when I made the Sweet Dreams Syrup for one of my, er… detentions?"

His heart leapt to his throat. He could barely speak. "Yes." Oh good Merlin. She couldn't know about that, could she? There was no way! She couldn't know that he had…

"I… was wondering if you still had any. You see, I… I've been having nightmares, lately, and the bit of research I did at lunch said that the Syrup could be used occasionally to give some relief to a person suffering from bad dreams."

"That is indeed its intended purpose," he replied.

"Could I get some from you, or do I need to go to Madam Pomfrey?"

"I really don't think that is a good idea, Miss – Hermione." He laced his fingers together and rested his elbows on the arms of his chair. This would take some getting used to, and he would have to be careful not to call her by her first name in class.

"Why… why not?" She met his eyes and he nearly jumped at the shock of it. She looked so earnest, her chocolate eyes so warm they could just melt into his.

"I…" What was he supposed to tell her? I dreamt about sleeping with you the last time I took it? "One simply must be very careful to take the correct dosage. Too little produces no effect," Oh, if only that had been what happened to me instead of what did happen, "and too much can have, ah, adverse effects."

"I understand Sir, Severus." Each time she made the mistake, she dropped her gaze to the floor, though if she was embarrassed of calling him by his first name or simply by the mistake itself, Severus couldn't tell. "I'll be very careful."

He wanted very much to ask what she had been dreaming about, but knew that was too personal of a question. He wouldn't like it, he knew, if she asked him about his nightmares. Not that he would ever share those with anyone. They'd been bad, lately. He'd been having two or three a night and was unable to get more than three hours of sleep at a time, no more than four or five hours a night total, for weeks.

"All right," he relented. "I still have some in my rooms. If you'll follow me." He stood and walked to the door, looking over his shoulder at her. "Coming, Hermione?"

x.x.x

"Coming, Hermione?" His words echoed in her mind. His rooms, she was going to see his rooms? As a Gryffindor, she didn't even know where they were located.

"Ah, right." Somehow she unfroze her feet and they carried her to the door. He was holding it open for her! Like she was… a lady. "Thank you," she said softly, slightly awed. After closing and locking the door behind them, Severus led her a short way down the hall to a door past the Potions classroom. She'd never noticed it before, but she'd never had any reason to venture further than the classroom when she'd been in the dungeons. He tapped the doorknob and muttered a few words, taking the wards off, then opened it and stepped through. She stood dumbly in the corridor, not having been invited in. It wouldn't have been proper, anyway, a female student in the private rooms of a male professor.

Through the door, which he had left open a couple of feet, Hermione could see rows and rows of books on shelves all around the room. There were a few free-standing cabinets that held potions and his personal supply of ingredients, and it was at one of these he stood, removing a vial from a middle shelf. To the right of the door were two armchairs facing a fireplace, a coffee table in between them. There was a door to the left of the fireplace, which she assumed led to his bedroom, and straight ahead was his desk, neat stacks of papers and books piled carefully on top.

"There you are," Severus said, appearing rather suddenly in front of her. In one hand was a vial of purple syrup, which he gave to her. In his other hand he held a measuring spoon. "Take this, also. I've made a replica and given you the copy, so I shan't go without," he said before she could protest. "Make sure not to take a drop more than will fill the spoon."

"All right," she said softly, taking it from him and putting the vial and spoon in a side pocket of her bag. His fingertips were soft against hers as their hands brushed and she felt his eyes on her for a long moment before she looked up again. "Thank you very much, Severus," she said, looking into his eyes.

"You're welcome. I'd like the vial back, when you're through."

"Of course."

"You know the effects? The instructions?"

"'Sleep will take the drinker of the potion moments after it is imbibed,'" she recited. "'In those few moments, the drinker should concentrate on something he or she finds pleasant, and once REM sleep begins, he or she will start having sweet dreams about that subject.'" She still held his gaze. His eyes looked so gentle, so… tender. Merlin, could he really care for her?

"Hermione? Would you like to come in for a bit?" he asked quickly, as though thinking too much might ruin the invitation.

Her eyes widened for an instant as her heart tried to leap out of her ribcage. Come into his private rooms? What? Why? The questions were on the tip of her tongue but she didn't want to be rude; instead she said, "Oh… Well, thank you, but I, um, have Advanced Herbology in a few minutes. I, er, need to… get going." She would have loved the chance to explore his bookshelves, to sit and talk with him in one of the cozy-looking green armchairs by the fire, ask him everything she'd ever wanted to know about Potions… But she was afraid of what she would do if she was left alone with him in such an intimate setting. She might do something stupid like ask him to kiss her again, or touch him tenderly on the knee, or hold eye contact for a few seconds too long. She didn't entirely trust herself, and that scared her more than anything.

"Oh. I see." He actually looked rather crestfallen. "Well, go on to class then." His voice had taken on a hard edge and his eyes had grown cold once more.

"Yes, sir. Severus. Thank you for the potion." She turned and hurried down the corridor, her footsteps echoing off the cold stone walls. Hermione realized that she missed him already.

x.x.x

Stupid! Why a girl like her would ever want to come to your rooms, would ever want to give you any more mind than a… a cockroach! Of course she wouldn't. You're just the greasy old bat of a Potions Master, no one likes you. No one has, not for years and years, and you don't even deserve it. You didn't deserve that look in her eyes when you touched her arm last night, or the way her lips trembled just now when you said her name. You don't deserve anyone to look at you like that, you never have and you never will. You disgusting old man, how horrible to even think of entertaining the thought that a girl like Hermione Granger could love you! No, best to stay in your dungeons, amongst the rats and the insects, the places where cold water drips and stone ceilings sag, a place formerly used for torture. It's no more than you deserve. Torture. The well-deserved torture of a Death Eater, a spy, a murderer. Best to be ignored, shunned, thought badly of. Best to remain tormented with the thought of those rosy cheeks, those petal lips, that long pale throat, that gorgeous mass of tangled brown hair, those sparkling coffee eyes, those small, graceful hands, that little waist that will never accept your arm around it. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

x.x.x

Somehow Hermione had succeeded in keeping thoughts of Severus at bay for the remainder of the afternoon. She paged through some books she'd checked out of the library at lunch time as she ate supper, finding various spell and potions that could be used to counteract nightmares. There was very little on what actually caused them, but she wouldn't give up so easily.

After supper she compiled a list of the various ways to combat bad dreams. She would take it and the vial of Sweet Dreams Syrup and spoon to Harry soon. But… it couldn't hurt to try a little of the syrup herself, could it? Hermione rarely dreamed, and what she did dream usually made very little sense. It would be interesting to see what her mind, when affected by the potion, would come up with. Before she could change her mind, she transfigured a quill on her bedside table into a small white jar no taller than her finger was long, measured out a spoonful of the potion, and poured the purple syrup into it.

A few minutes later she was in the common room and managed to get Harry alone by replacing his spot across the chessboard from Ron with Neville (who looked rather nervous, but sat nonetheless). She led him to a quiet corner and took the vial and spoon from her robe pocket. "I got this from Madam Pomfrey earlier," she said. Hermione didn't think it wise to tell Harry it had come from Snape; there was no way he would take anything the Potions Master had brewed, just as Severus would never have given her the potion if he'd known it was for Harry. "It's Sweet Dreams Syrup. Do you know what that is?"

"Not really, but I can guess. It gives you good dreams, right?"

"Exactly. Take a spoonful of this just before you go to bed. Concentrate on something you want to have pleasant dreams about as you take it, and keep thinking about that thing until you fall asleep. It should just take a minute, so don't drink it until you're in bed, okay?" He nodded and put the things in his pocket. "Make sure not to take more or less than a spoonful. There are about four doses in there." She felt guilty, for a moment, about taking one of the doses for herself, as Harry certainly needed it more than she did, but it was too late to do anything now. "It should help you get at least a few good nights of sleep."

"Thanks Hermione, I owe you one," he said sincerely, resting a hand on her shoulder.

"No problem." She took out the list and handed it to him. "Oh, here are a few other ways to deal with nightmares. I listed the exact effects of each of them, what they are, all that. Look them over tonight and tell me if anything appeals to you. The spells should be no trouble to perform, once I find out how. The potions will be a little harder to get, but we'll figure something out."

"All right, sounds good." He glanced over his shoulder to find Ron beating the stuffing out of Neville at chess. "I'd better go and rescue him," he said with a lopsided smile.

"Indeed," she smiled back. Harry stuck the paper in his pocket as well, and they passed the remainder of the evening playing chess and talking. This is nice, Hermione thought. I've missed this.

When she was in bed at last, Crookshanks on the pillow next to her, her legs bare beneath her "Mind the Gap" t-shirt, Hermione reached through the curtain to pluck the small white jar from her bedside table. What do I want to dream about? she wondered. Her mind immediately leapt to the answer: Severus.

She sighed heavily in spite of the fact that there was no one around to hear her save Crookshanks. He mewed sympathetically, then rolled onto his back and fell asleep, snoring gently. "You're a lot of help," she said, poking him in the stomach. He twitched, flicked his tail, and resumed snoring.

Hermione examined the little jar. The syrup within glinted tantalizingly with the light from her wand. Dreaming about him won't help anything, she thought. If anything, it'll make it worse. Already I can't stop thinking about him. What is there to gain if he shows up in my dreams? Nothing. This is ridiculous. A stupid infatuation that can never be acted on for a variety of reasons. Drinking this will only make it worse.

Decisively, she spelled a lid onto the jar and returned it to her nightstand. Her roommates would think it some sort of cosmetic potion; they wouldn't even know a simple sleeping draught if it bit them on the nose! Well, that's that, she thought.

It took her a long time to fall asleep.

x.x.x

Author's Notes: Ooooh, angst! Bwahaha! I'm thinking maybe two more chapters, maybe three, before this story is done. However, a sequel is already beginning to form in my mind, so do not despair! More Severus/Hermione angst to come!

Yes, I know this is late again. I could give a variety of excuses, but I won't. It's up now, at least, and I hope you enjoyed it.

If you ever see any mistakes, from spelling to something not in accordance with the canon to something like Hermione having Charms on Monday in one chapter, then on Thursday in another chapter, please fell free to tell me about it so I can fix it!

I think everyone will like the next chapter! (I won't say any more about it, though.) Thanks for reading, see you next week!

References:

I keep meaning to say this, but keep forgetting. The way I describe Hermione's eyes, brown with amber flecks, chocolate with specks of gold, etc., comes from another Severus/Hermione fanfic I've read… I just can't remember which! I think it's Pawn to Queen, by Riley, but I'm not positive. If any of you know for sure, please let me know. I just thought it was a different, interesting way to describe her eyes, and I liked it.

Review Replies:

Alianne: Your review made me laugh! I was happy too, though. The slowness is fun, yes. Thanks!

Fujutsu: Aww, thank you! More sweetness is to come in the next chapter.

Courtney: Thank you! – Gets right on with writing chapter ten –

Jinxd n cursed: Thank you so much for calling my Severus in-character! That's one of the best compliments I can get! Honestly, I think he might be getting a little out of character, but hey, any fanfic in the world presents the characters as "out of character." Anything that's not canon is. Oh well! Thanks again!

Cithara: They are indeed quite blind. They both think the other doesn't like them, and they both think nothing can ever be done about their feelings. How fabulously frustrating! Thank you!

Jessi: Mm, awkwardness… Gets you all fluttery, doesn't it:D Thank you!

Transylvanian: Thank you! I can't wait to write more!

Natsuyori: Cute indeed! Thanks!