(Disclaimer: See beginning)

So here's the next chapter, this has been reworked as well and beta'd (thank you Emilia Wolfe and McGonagall's Bola). I hope that this flows better now. Your feedback would be very welcome. I hope you enjoy the chapter :)

Last time:

She continued to watch him as he slowly got up from his seat and made his way to his storeroom in the back of the class. She pushed her hair forward to block her face, so he wouldn't see her. He seemed to pause just as he was opening the storeroom's door. One long arm came up to touch his right shoulder carefully and when he pulled back, there was a dark gleam on his fingers.

Hermione's eyes widened in shock. Is that blood?

Chapter 2

Severus watched Miss Granger's retreating form, and released a grateful breath. He'd thought she'd never leave. For a second, he was sure that she would try and stay after to talk to him about earlier. All throughout the lesson, he could practically see the questions bubbling in her mind, as she stared at him. Unfortunately, because of her blatant staring, he was also sure that she caught his small stumble from his storeroom, and knowing her quick mind (he reluctantly admitted that), was able to put two and two together.

He could almost see the recognition in her eyes when he got back to his seat, and he, once again, cursed Albus. It was completely unnecessary for the old man to confirm the terrible trio's suspicions, regarding what he did on behalf of the Order. What business was it of theirs? If anything, letting them know the truth about him and the Order, just made them liabilities. One only had to look at the fiasco they created at the ministry last year as evidence of this. On top of that, that same day, Potter had nearly blown his cover in that toad's office, with his "code talk", that was neither subtle nor clever. His only saving grace had been that Umbridge was an idiot, and his godson hadn't been paying attention.

Now, thanks to Albus, he had to deal with another member of that Gryffindor trio mucking into his business. Staring at him with those accusing eyes. Perhaps he could obliviate the chit. Albus would be upset with him, but he'd get over it eventually.

"Ah, if only," he sighed, slumping forward to lay his head down on his desk, exhaustion and pain finally getting the better of him. The dried blood from his shoulder cracked with the movement.

He should probably get some kind of Healing Draught for that, before it decided to split open again. While he was at it, he also needed to retrieve a muscle relaxant and a pain duller from his stores…It was too bad he would have to actually get up from his comfortable chair to do so, though. Glancing toward the storeroom, and calculating the amount of steps it would take to reach it, he decided the effort wasn't worth it at the moment, and sat back into his chair. He'd get there eventually.

He turned to the pile of homework his last class had handed in, and started to shift through it. A majority of it was mediocre trash as usual, full of half answers and no creativity. On a whole, it was barely passable. Then there were the few papers (Longbottom immediately came to mind) that were completely horrendous, full of ink blots, crinkles, and answers so completely wrong, he wondered how the near-muggles even managed to sneak into the school. His headache grew just looking at them. Still, there was the small handful, no more than two or three essays, that were actually worth reading.

Of course, one of those papers belonged to Miss Granger, though he was loath to admit it. Why was he always coming back to that irritating witch today? He picked up her paper to read through, rolling his eyes when he saw, yet again, that it went past the required length. Honestly, did the girl think that he had all day to read her homework? That hers was the only paper he had to work on? He was tempted to just fail her on principle. He had told her a thousand times to only submit the required length. No more, no less.

However, if he was honest, the girl's work was at least intelligent enough not to make his eyes bleed, like the other useless shit he was forced to read.

He marked a giant, red E on the upper right hand corner, before even reading it. He knew that it would be a decent enough paper, possibly even one worth an O, but if she didn't want to pay attention to the instructions, then she deserved the mark down. It served her right.

Besides, as a "loyal" servant to Voldemort, he couldn't afford to give her anything more. She was after all a Gryffindor, Muggle-born and worst of all, Harry Potter's best friend. The girl never stood a chance in his class.

His Slytherins, on the other hand would all pass. Even Crabbe and Goyle, who made Longbottom look like Merlin at times, would. Draco would come out on top, getting an E or an O, partly due to him being Pureblood royalty, and partly due to him actually being good at Potions.

Then again, Severus had been tutoring the boy since he was old enough to hold a ladle straight. It would have been embarrassing if Draco hadn't been any good. He had thought, fourth year, that he would one day be Potion Master material, but that had been before the Dark Lord's return, and Lucius' descent into madness.

Lucius...Severus sighed, resting his head back down. Lucius was proving a major irritation as well. His old friend was clearly no longer thinking straight, his mind losing the battle against the Dark Mark's influence. He's short stint in Azkaban was probably the cause of that. And while Severus mourned for the loss of his brother in arms, even more unsettling was the fact that Lucius seemed determined to drag his son down with him.

The original plan that Lucius had shared with him, was to wait until Draco had graduated from Hogwarts before he was allowed to carry the Mark. It would be hard to hide such a thing with thousands of nosy little eyes, constantly watching after all. At least, that's the reason Severus gave. He had hoped that they would stick with this plan in the long run. It made the most sense, and it gave him enough time to find a way of getting Draco out of Europe and safe.

Now Lucius was pushing Draco to take the Mark on his seventeenth birthday, and there would be no turning back for the boy after that. He would be in the thick of it with the other inner circle Death Eaters. Because he was a Malfoy, he would be invited to all the revels, and as a man, expected to participate in them. He would be expected to murder, or rape, or torture if the Dark Lord demanded it and it would kill him.

The stress from the pressure was already taking a large toll on his godson. It was plain to see, if anyone would actually care to look. Every day he grew quieter, more withdrawn. His hair, though still put together, was no longer kept to the immaculate Malfoy standard. His skin was even paler and his eyes were circled with dark bags, dull and empty. It was as if the life were slowly being leeched out of him. He no longer antagonized Potter or his friends anymore either. Hell, he could barely even look at them without cringing. At times, Severus swore that the boy was about to cry, but the Malfoy pride wouldn't allow it.

Severus knew his godson. Underneath the snobbery, the arrogance, and the prejudices, he had the potential to be a good man. The ingredients were all there. They were just being poisoned by the ravings of two bloodthirsty maniacs. Yes, at times he was a prat, even Severus had to admit that, but he was not a killer, and he deserved a chance to prove that he wasn't like his father.

A chance I never got, his thoughts took a darker turn, and Severus had to reel them back before his emotions got the better of him. For now, he needed to find a solution to his Draco problem. He had a little over two months to find an answer, and time was slowly slipping through his fingers.

Severus finally got up from his seat to retrieve his much-needed potions. One blue, to help deal with the after-effects of the Cruciatus curse and one yellow, to help relieve his pounding headache. He felt the wound on his back twinge in pain and decided to grab a small healing potion as well. Nothing big, just something that would keep the stab wound, courtesy of Bella, from reopening again.

He had no intention of bleeding out on his classroom floor, for all his students to see. Though, the realization that he did common human things, like bleed, might be more disturbing to them than actually seeing a person die of blood loss. The little bastards.

He tossed back each vial, breathing a sigh of relief when his headache disappeared and his body finally relaxed. He flexed his right arm, rubbing the back of his shoulder to make sure the wound was well and truly healed. It was still sore, and would likely scar, but it was, for the most part, healed. That's all he cared about.

A flash of green light flared from the fireplace in his office, quickly followed by the voice of the headmaster.

"Severus, are you there?" Albus called. Shit, the report.

Pinching the bridge of his nose with an aggravated grunt, Severus made his way to his fireplace, rapidly putting up his privacy charms. "Yes I'm here. I apologize for not stopping by your office last night…I was…more tired than I thought."

Albus' face appeared in the flames. "That's quite alright, my boy. I assume, that you had nothing too urgent to share."

"You're correct. Bella was her usual suspicious self, and Lucius is still selling his son's merit to the Dark Lord. He's moved Draco's initiation up to his seventeenth birthday, probably sooner."

"I see." Albus sighed, pausing to think. "And is he still not talking to you?"

Severus pressed his forehead against his mantle. "He blames me for his father's lower position and consequently his family's misfortune," he said quietly. Honestly, he had no idea how to approach Draco any longer, much less gain his trust. Not when those grey eyes of his looked at him with such disdain. Severus would never admit it to anyone, but it stung seeing one of the few people he cared about turning against him.

Albus must have heard the disappointment in his voice, or maybe it was just because he knew his Potions professor so well, but he replied in a comforting tone. "Give him time, Severus. He is just worried about his father."

"Yes, well, that's not likely to change now. Not with the way Lucius has been lately."

"Is there nothing we can do for him?"

Severus ran a hand through his hair, pushing his pain down. "He's gone," he said with an empty voice. "Not even Cissy can get through to him anymore."

A deep sigh escaped from the headmaster. "Very well, we will plan accordingly. Was that all?"

"Yes─wait, no. There was something else I got from Pettigrew." Severus bent down, closer to the flames. "The Dark Lord has acquired a few journal pages. It is only a few scraps a paper, but whatever information they hold has excited him greatly."

"Do you know whose journal they come from?"

"No, but they mentioned someone I'm unfamiliar with, a Fera Rosier─," At the headmaster gasp, Severus looked sharply at the fire. "You know her."

There was no reply at first, and for a moment, Severus thought that the headmaster had already abandoned him, to rush off somewhere, but eventually his face reappeared. "Yes…yes I do. Are you sure that he does not have the whole journal?"

"Yes, I'm sure of it. Though, he does seem positive that it will only be a matter of time before he has the journal as well. But Albus, what is so important about a witch's journal?"

"I'm sorry, Severus, but I must go. I need to make a few inquiries, but if Tom is seeking what you say he is, then we are, indeed, in grave danger." With that Albus closed the floo connection, leaving before Severus could ask him what he meant.

I hate it when he does that. For now, he would just have to wait until Albus was ready to share whatever he had learned.

Voices drifted down the hallway, letting Severus know that his next class was on its way. Moving back to his classroom, he shook himself to clear his head. He took his place in front of his desk with a straight back, arms crossed. The pain, his problems, the mystery of the journal pages, all those worrying thoughts were pushed to the back of his mind as the next round of children took their seats. He would have time to ruminate over them later. The mask was back on and he was ready to play his part again.

"Silence!" his voice snapped, "…turn to page 394."

So preoccupied with the mystery of her Professor's injury and her upcoming Charms project, Hermione completely forgot about her sleeping issues and the weird dreams that had been plaguing her. So, as her head hit the pillow that night she was completely unprepared for what was to come, and her mind offered little resistance, as yet another dream pulled her deeper within its depths.

Hermione opened her eyes and found she was in that room again. A chill crept down her spine, as she took in the questionable décor. There was little to no light, except for the small glow provided by the dozens of melting candles littered across the floor. Piles of bones were pushed up against the walls haphazardly, and weird pictures were carved into the stones above them. In the very center of the room was a gothic style, stone altar, that had grotesque pictures painted on the sides of writhing bodies covered in crude flames. Dread filled Hermione, as her eyes took in the familiar features of the young woman who was currently stretched out across the top. Her hands and feet were pulled tightly back by large metal manacles.

The low light made it difficult to get a good look at the lady, but what Hermione could see was appalling. The woman's blonde hair was matted and caked with dirt, her clothes were in a similar fashion of disarray: ripped, bloodied and soiled. Bruises were scattered throughout her arms and face and her eyes were covered with a dark blindfold. Hermione knew that whatever was about to happen, would not bode well for her.

The door to the room creaked open, startling Hermione. A man in a dark cloak limped into the room. In his hand, he carried a simple leather bound book. He surveyed the room, grunting his approval, before setting the book down on the altar beside the woman. Even though the book looked simple and unassuming enough, there was something about it that just felt…off. Even from where she was standing, Hermione could feel the…wrongness emanating from it. Without preamble, he ripped the blindfold off the woman, leaning over her with a vicious sneer.

"Wake up, dear daughter. This is your final chance to tell me…" the man said. Unlike the other dreams, his words weren't spoken in English, but some other dialect that Hermione could strangely understand, but not place.

The woman blinked rapidly, gazing around the room in a daze, before finally landing on the man standing beside her. Her eyes narrowed in contempt. "Father", she spat. Her words, too, were in that unknown language.

The man grabbed her hair and yanked her forward. His eyes glistened with rage. "I know you have had a breakthrough with your research, daughter. In fact," another sharp tug, "I would not be surprised if you had already been able to create it."

As the woman turned away, Hermione felt the room shift, until she was the one laying upon the altar in the woman's place, now. Panic welled up within her as her mind screamed at her to fight, to find some way to get of here, but her body stayed still. Her lips began to move on their own accord and she found herself saying, "I have done no such thing."

The man's face twisted with fury. He grabbed her face, and forced her to look at him. Pain radiated through Hermione's head at the rough treatment, but again her body made no effort to resist. She felt something battering into her mind, shuffling through her thoughts roughly, before pulling out again. Apparently the man couldn't find what he wanted to in her mind, either.

He leaned further in until all Hermione could see were his angry grey eyes. "You were always too willful a child to know what was best for you. I allowed you far too many leniencies," he tightened his hold, squeezing her tender cheeks, "I should have known that reasoning with you would prove fruitless. Your mind has become distorted, diseased, from cavorting with that filthy Muggle."

Hermione felt her eyes widen a fraction in surprise, causing the man to smirk. "Oh yes, I knew about your little affair with that urchin all along, but I let it pass. You were always a curious thing, and I thought, 'surely this too is just a mere curiosity, an experiment'. But you never discarded him as you were meant to. You continued wallowing in such grime, shaming your family with your whorish dalliances. Even still, I kept my silence, as you were useful after all, and your research was very promising. So, if you wanted to pollute yourself with such garbage, I would allow it, as long as I could profit from your research. And now, after all I have done for you, after I have turned a blind eye to your repugnant behavior, you would deny me!"

"It is not MY behavior that civilized witches and wizards would think to be repugnant, but yours! You are nothing more than an unenlightened, barbarian!" She screamed at him, indignation thrumming through her chest.

"Ungrateful girl! They are scum! Filth! Entirely beneath us, and you would have done well to have remembered that…" he stopped to collect himself, "But, it is no matter. I will not have to endure your reprehensible acts much longer, nor will I be denied what I seek. You will be a dutiful daughter. One way or another."

"If you think that I will break, you are wrong. I will never tell you where it is." Though Hermione had no idea what it was or where it could be.

The man stepped back grabbing the book, opening it to reveal blank pages. He held it open above her head with one hand. The pages were only centimeters away from her nose. "Perhaps you will not," he calmly replied, pulling an odd colored knife, with a bone handle, from his waist with his other hand and pressed the tip against Hermione's chest, just above her heart. "But I will find what I seek."

He began chanting in an odd language, one that Hermione couldn't understand this time. The tones were harsh and guttural, the sounds nearly painful against her ears. As the man's voice rose in volume, the pages of the books darkened to a near black. Fear gripped Hermione as black ooze slowly fell from its pages, drawing closer and covering her face in an intense, flash of burning heat. She tried to scream but the ooze quickly covered her mouth forcing its way down her nose, her throat, suffocating her. It was too much, the heat, the pain, it was everywhere, consuming her, it was─

Hermione jerked awake, grabbing her throat as she took in a deep, beautiful breath of air. As her burning lungs filled with the sweet breeze of oxygen, she shakily sat up in her bed. Her hands flew to her face, still expecting the searing pain to be pulling at her flesh but her fingers only touched soft, cool skin. "Oh, thank God," she whispered, tears of confusion and frustration leaking down her face. It was just a dream. It was just one of The Dreams again. You'll be okay, Hermione, you'll be okay. Just let it pass.

The young witch roughly wiped at her eyes. Damn, how could I have forgotten about them.

Squeezing her eyes, Hermione pushed the remnants of that horrible dream away and struggled to regain the composure the memories stole. Untangling herself from the covers twisting around her legs, she left her bed and shrugged into a small robe. She needed to move, to get out of there, or do something, anything that could help banish all these depressing feelings and memories, that were still swirling around in her head. Without a backward glance, she left Gryffindor tower, too troubled to care about getting caught.

For an hour, Hermione wandered the lonely corridors of Hogwarts, letting the chill of the night seep into her bones and settle her. Thankfully, her heart was no longer beating like a galloping horse, and the burning in her chest had subsided to a dull ache.

Allowing her feet to take her where they willed, she eventually found herself in the third floor corridor on the other side of the castle, looking out of a window towards the Forbidden Forest. Leaning against the window frame, she looked out to the trees and allowed the peace of the castle to settle her thoughts.

Tonight's dream had indeed been an odd one. Never had they felt so…real before. It decided something for Hermione, though. She was going to find someone to talk to about her dreams. She simply couldn't ignore it as unimportant anymore. At first, she just assumed that the dreams were a manifestation of her stress from her extra course load. The prisoner, unable to escape and under constant pressure to crack, the man hunting her down and imprisoning her: it all seemed like pure symbolism to her, taken straight from a Muggle therapy text book. Tonight, however, was different. The dream had been too real to discount, and when that black…stuff had poured down onto her face, she had felt the pain, she had felt it suffocating her. She had FELT it, like it was really happening. That had never happened before.

But what did it all mean? Were the dreams just a figment of her imagination? If they were, then what did that say about her? God, she hoped they weren't; she didn't want that kind of messed-up stuff buried in her subconscious, but if they weren't from her mind, then where were they from? Were they real? She certainly hoped not. She wouldn't wish that torture on anyone.

Glancing up at the moon, Hermione released a breath, as she attempted to get her thoughts in order. She raised an arm to brush her hair back in impatience, when a blur of color down the hall caught her eye.

She whirled around, her wand firmly clenched between her fingers, as she looked up and down the corridor. There was nothing there. God, Hermione, you really are going off your rocker.

Deciding that it would probably be best just to head back to bed, she turned on her heel, and began the long walk back to her rooms. Halfway there, a hazy feeling of warmth enveloped her, her mind clouded, and her eyes glazed over in a trance-like state. Sluggish thoughts consumed her, as the need to move pushed her legs forward. She had to go somewhere. Someone was waiting for her….someone….

Her feet moved of their own volition, taking her to the ever important place that her foggy mind insisted she find. She couldn't resist the pull. She walked along corridors, down stairs and past classrooms, until she was deep within the castle's dungeons in an area that she had never seen before. Her feet finally stopped in front of a dark wooden door that clicked open at her approach. The sound echoed through the lonely hallway.

Hermione continued forward, stepping into a small library of sorts, that was covered in dust, cobwebs and books─so, so many books. They were everywhere. Crammed into all the shelves lining the walls, in piles surrounding and on top of the desk and scattered on the floor. They covered the room, but Hermione paid them no mind; their presence didn't even register with her. She only had eyes for one book that was perched atop a thin wooden pedestal. Thick metal chains crisscrossed around its cover, as if they were trapping something within. Still, the book itself was beautiful. Its leather binding looked supple and smooth, with only the smallest hint of wear along the edges. On the cover was a very ornate picture of an owl rising from a lotus flower. Hermione eagerly traced the gold lines with her eyes. It was familiar in some way, but her addled brain couldn't remember why. Still, it called to her.

Its so beautiful, so smooth…just one touch….just one…Mesmerized by the beckoning beauty, Hermione reached out to glide her fingers over its cool surface, only to draw her hand back quickly when she felt a sharp pain against her skin. Clutching the wounded digits to her chest, she looked down to see tiny drops of blood leaking from the tips of her fingers.

A numbness, like ice flushing through her system, spread through her hand and into her body. A rush of noise filled her ears, voices and screams tumbling around in her mind like crashing waves. Suddenly, a bright light coated the room, and its luminosity was so intense that it seared her eyes.

"Stop, please, stop!" Grabbing her head, she stumbled back, knocking over a stack of books as she fell to the ground, hiding herself in a ball on the floor from the voices and the light, but it was no use. There was no getting away. It was all too much and soon her body was falling limp, as she passed out.

Deep within the halls of Lestrange Manor, Voldemort sat on his throne. In his cold hands, he held a small locket that bore Salazar's crest etched into the center. The locket, golden only moments before, was now glowing a sickly green. Its magic hummed as it warmed his palms, and he released a terrible chuckle.

His familiar slithered to his side, wrapping around his legs affectionately. He dropped a hand, to pet her head in return. "Nagini," he hissed, "it is time. The book has finally been opened."

A/N: Ok so this one I didn't change around that much. Was it okay? Let me know if you liked it or not. All feedback is welcome and a great help :)

Up Next: Severus comes back on the scene and finds a surprise at his bedroom door...