Chapter 12: Nightmare

Severus didn't see the butterflies when they first appeared. He was looking down, trying to tuck Akilah's tail back into his pocket so he could leave without her being seen. When she suddenly started trying to climb out of the pocket, hissing, he wasted several seconds trying to get her back into it before he looked up. By then, the house colours had already started to separate out.

He was on his feet by the time Potter landed on his back on the floor. His wand was out an instant later, but which of the slightly blurred red blobs was his target? Where was - Hermione's wand was out, and something was flashing gold between him and her. "Incend-" she said, raising her wand... and then her eyes went wide and she uttered a terrified shriek.

Every fluttering coloured blob burst into flames. He ignored them. He wasn't sure how exactly he got over the table, but he was on his feet and running when she collapsed, crumpling into a little heap of black robes and waving hair. Students were beginning to crowd around her before he reached her, and he pushed his way through to kneel beside her.

Hermione's eyes were open and fixed, an expression of terror on her face. She was breathing, however, and there were no obvious signs of physical trauma. "What happened?"

"The gold butterfly landed on her hand." The person kneeling on her other side was Harry Potter. He lifted one of her small, limp hands and turned it, showing a small burn. "The moment it touched her she went stiff and screamed. Was it poisoned, like the scarf?"

"I doubt it." For the second time, Hermione and a crisis had them exchanging at least a few civil words. Would wonders never cease? "Pick up her wand. It will get broken if it remains on the floor."

The boy did so, without so much as giving him a filthy look. Could he actually be maturing? "A curse, then?"

Severus touched the tip of his wand to a spot just above her heart, muttering a complex incantation. After a moment, the nature of her affliction made itself known to him. "A curse. She needs to be moved to the hospital wing immediately."

Potter nodded as Minerva McGonagall appeared beside him, her thin face creased with distress. "I'll run ahead and tell Madam Pomfrey we're coming."

Moving Hermione to the hospital wing took precious minutes, and by the time they got there Severus was in no mood to accommodate the fluttering and repeated questions of her friends and teachers. "Shut up!"

Silence fell, as everyone from Minerva to Poppy to Ronald Weasley stared at him reproachfully. "The Night-Fear is not a particularly complex curse," he said sharply. "Miss Granger has been trapped within her worst nightmare, and would, if the curse were not broken, remain so until she died of dehydration. She - "

"Can you help her, Severus?" Minerva asked, looking down at the limp body.

"I can. It's not a particularly difficult curse to break. I will, however, require absolute quiet. Poppy, get everyone out of here, pull the curtains around the bed and do not, if you value Miss Granger's continued sanity, allow anyone to interrupt me."

"But we want - "

"Your friend is suffering all her worst terrors, Mr Weasley, and will continue to do so until you go away."

Potter showed actual sense for the second time in the last twenty minutes, dragging the two Weasleys away. A moment later, the curtains were closed around them and he was able to cast a Sound-blocking Charm that enclosed them in a bubble of silence.

She looked small and defenceless, lying on the high bed; the firm curve of her stomach seemed the biggest part of her, drawing his eyes and making him feel oddly helpless. Trying to ignore it, he moved to the side of the bed, sliding a hand under her neck to tilt her face up to his. "Legilimens," he whispered, allowing the spell to draw him into her unguarded mind. Physical contact heightened the connection, and soon the outside world vanished from his senses.

It was cold.

As the spell unified their thoughts to the point where he could truly 'enter' her nightmare, the first thing he registered was the cold. Then the stone under his feet and the smell of fresh blood and mildewed stone. Sight returned next and he found himself standing in what was almost certainly a room, but one too large for him to really discern its boundaries. He was standing amid the shattered remnants of several statues made of white marble - an arm lay by his feet, and directly in front of him was a shattered torso, its head severed and lying beside it.

The place was eerily quiet. It wasn't until he moved towards the nearest marble body that he heard a faint, pitiful whimpering. It came from directly behind him and he turned... and then he realised, abruptly, the significance of those broken marble bodies. Not statues.

Chessmen.

The animated chess set was larger than he remembered it - naturally, since this version had been drawn from the memory of an undersized child of twelve. The squares were a good three feet across, the pieces rising as tall as Hagrid in places. Broken bodies surrounded the board, and that was puzzling... wizarding chess pieces didn't actually destroy each other, and it made no sense that she would fear them doing so.

Then he saw the human bodies. Ronald Weasley first, crushed under the mangled remains of a black marble horse, with blood leaking from his ears and nose. Harry Potter, further on, his chest a broken ruin, lying in a puddle of blood. One of his arms vanished under the round base of the bishop which had taken him, clearly crushed flat by the weight. Both were in their teens, not the children they'd been when they'd faced the real enchanted chess game.

Near the middle of the board, on a white square, Hermione was on her knees, one arm clamped across her swollen belly, the other covering her mouth. She was crying, tears pouring down her face, but the sleeve pressed against her mouth muffled her sobs to the faint whimpers that had drawn his attention. He approached the board slowly, moving silently by habit, watching her as she rocked back and forth in what he recognized as sheer terror.

She was trapped, he realised. As long as she didn't move, she was safe - the game could not progress until a move was initiated. The moment she stepped off her square, however, or ordered one of the other black pieces to do the same, she would be vulnerable. And she had told him herself that she was no good at chess.

"Miss Granger." He spoke without intending to do so, moving closer to the edge of the board.

She jumped, almost toppling out of her square and then dragging herself back from the edge with a soft wail of fear. "P-Professor?" she whimpered, looking around frantically until she saw him. "A-are you really here?"

"Yes, I am really here." He had seen that same helpless, bewildered fear on the faces of the Death Eaters' victims. He'd hoped never to see it again. "You were the victim of a curse, Miss Granger. The Night-Fear. Are you familiar with it?"

She nodded uncertainly. "It t-traps a person inside his or her n-nightmares..." She looked around her at the gigantic stone figures, arm wrapping more tightly around her stomach. "I told you I still had nightmares about this," she whispered. If the room hadn't been so quiet, he never would have heard it.

"You did." He tried to step onto the board, but couldn't. No invisible wall blocked him, no force pushed him away... it was simply impossible for him to join the game. "Miss Granger, there are two ways to break this curse. The longer way involves lifting the curse from the outside... a time-consuming process which would leave you trapped within this nightmare and perhaps others for what will seem like days or weeks of subjective time. The only other way requires you to free yourself from the nightmare by completing it or defeating it. In this case, I suspect you must play your way out."

"I can't!" She cowered away from him, covering her face with her free hand. "I can't, I c-can't! I'll make a mistake, I always do... it'll kill me if I move, just like it k-killed Harry and Ron!"

"Mr Potter and Mr Weasley are well and probably getting in everyone's way in their usual idiotic fashion," Severus said firmly. "This is not real, Miss Granger."

"But what if they hurt me? Or my baby?" She gave him a pleading look. "If I d-die in the dream, it could kill both of us, couldn't it?"

"... yes." Perhaps he should have lied to her, told her she was in no danger - but no, that was the way Dumbledore would behave. She had a right to know that the danger was real. "Wait a moment, Miss Granger. Let me look at the board."

She really wasn't a chess player, he realised, looking at the board. The unfinished game furnished by her imagination had scattered pieces fairly randomly across the board. He could see a dozen openings for either side - Hermione herself was under threat from a bishop she probably hadn't even seen. The first move would have to block it or remove it completely. Which shouldn't be difficult - the white pieces were as disorganized as the black. "Miss Granger," he said, pitching his voice to convey reassuring calm. "Do you trust me?"

That wasn't what he'd meant to say.

"Yes, of c-course," she said, her fading sobs still making her voice catch as she looked up at him. "Will you h-help me?"

"You are not, as you said, good at chess. I am. I will tell you what to do." The grateful look on her face was oddly pleasant. So few people were ever grateful for the help he gave them. "First, advance the pawn to your left one square."

"But won't he get taken?" she asked nervously.

"Probably... but you, Miss Granger, will not. Move the pawn."

"Yes, Professor." For once, the girl didn't question him further. Frightened tears were still trickling down her face, but she ordered the pawn forward in a clear if tremulous voice.

Had he really been playing against Minerva McGonagall's enchanted chess set, it would have been harder. But they were in Hermione's mind, and she was the one animating both white and black pieces. It wasn't long before the white king removed his crown and cast it aside in surrender, and the other pieces froze in place.

Hermione didn't move.

"Miss Granger?" She was standing at the edge of her square, shaking so hard he could see it from a dozen feet away. "The game is over. You may leave your square."

"I'm scared," she whimpered, inching one foot slowly forward. "I d-don't have my wand - what if they g-grab me?" Despite her obvious terror she moved, stepping off her square and crossing the next slowly. Her eyes darted around, trying to watch every chess piece at once - and they were moving, he realised, although by the rules of the game they shouldn't. Each piece turned slowly on its square, watching her, and as she realised that, she sped up, hurrying towards him and the edge of the board.

There was a faint grinding sound, as a dozen round stone bases shifted, each chess piece moving to the edge of its square. He hoped she didn't hear the faint wet noises as a certain bishop shifted on the crushed remains of Harry Potter's arm. Whether she'd heard it or not, she heard the others, and she broke into a stumbling run. He found himself - without ever having intended to move - at the very edge of the board, his wand out and ready even though he knew that a dream version of his wand in someone else's dream might be worse than useless. But he was there, and when she tripped over the raised edge of the board in her frantic attempt to escape, he caught her. She was shaking so hard he was surprised she'd been able to stay on her feet. She clung to him as he stepped back from the board, burying her face in his chest and sobbing hysterically.

If she were a rabbit, her heart would have burst before she took a step, he thought, holding her awkwardly. She wasn't just afraid, she was terrified to the point of complete hysteria, and yet she had still obeyed him, followed his instructions and then steeled herself to leave the board.

He'd often mocked the renowned 'Gryffindor courage'... to him, it generally seemed to be a combination of lust for glory and simply being too stupid to recognise danger when it presented itself. But Hermione... he frowned, sorting back through his memories. She had been shaky and tear-stained when found in a bathroom with an unconscious troll in first year, he remembered that, though Potter and Weasley had been triumphant. She'd been as white as a sheet in the Shrieking Shack, and her voice had been unsteady. At the time he'd been too angry to realise it, but now... and more than once, during the series of skirmishes leading up to the confrontation with Voldemort, he'd seen her hands shake and heard her voice break as she fought ferociously to protect her friends and allies. He had never given it thought before.

He looked down at her, frowning a little in surprise. All he could see was a lot of wavy brown hair and one black-clad shoulder pressed against his ribs, she was standing so close to him. Again, he'd always simply equated her with Potter and Weasley in his mind. The three of them sought out danger, ergo, they were typical stupid, courageous Gryffindors. However, Hermione clearly wasn't too stupid to fear danger... her pathetic, snuffly sobs were indication enough of that, even if she hadn't been clinging to him like a frightened limpet to a particularly reassuring stone.

"Miss Granger," he said, much more gently than usual, giving her back a little pat. "Calm yourself. You are safe now."

Her sobbing got quieter, but didn't cease. Nor did her grip on his ribs - which was tight enough to impede his breathing slightly, had she been holding on to his actual body and not a dream-representation of it.

What was he supposed to say? He wasn't very good at being comforting - he didn't know how. His older Slytherins generally found a pat on the shoulder and some helpful tactical advice soothing, and the younger ones could usually be consoled by the application of a peppermint and a handkerchief. This was definitely outside his ken. He shifted uncomfortably and felt the firm bulge of her stomach pressed against his side. Aha. "Miss Granger, control yourself. This level of agitation cannot be good for the child."

Had he ever referred directly to their child before? He wasn't sure, but he didn't think so - not in conversation with her, anyway. That might be why she looked up at him with a startled expression before she nodded, drawing a shuddering breath and wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "I'm sorry," she whispered, pulling away. "I'm all right now."

The scene around them began to fade as the nightmare - and the curse - started to lose hold. Looking over her head he could see the chess pieces moving behind her, abandoning all semblance of a proper game as they crowded towards the edge of the board. But she couldn't see them, and before they could reach her, she woke up.

He withdrew from her mind, breaking eye contact hastily. His hand was still tucked around the back of her neck as she blinked, stirring and looking up at him. Her lashes were wet and there were tear-streaks on her face, even outside the nightmare. She wasn't crying now, though... she even managed a small, wobbly smile. "Thank you," she whispered, looking up to meet his eyes again.

Since her visit to his office four months before, she had had his emotions in a hopeless tangle. Being angry was the simplest approach, but he had found himself unable to sustain unfocused anger for long, and instead had found himself disquietingly absorbed with the girl. Coming to the conclusion that she loved her child had added even more confusion - he had never had any intention of having children himself largely because he had never believed any woman could love and value any child of his begetting as a child should be valued. After that first afternoon, he'd pushed thoughts of the child's actual conception aside. The thought of being... sexually imposed on by the delicate little Gryffindor Bookworm was simply impossible.

Now he looked down at her, as she lay almost in his arms, as if she were a stranger, not a student. He saw a young woman with a cloud of waving brown hair and soft brown eyes, small and fine-boned, with a very faint scar running along her jaw and more on her slender fingers. The marks on her hands came from years of Potions and Care Of Magical Creatures classes, he suspected - the one along her jaw had been a hex that had come within a hair's breadth of blasting away the side of her head. There were the faint beginnings of lines around her mouth and eyes, prematurely etched there by years of tension and fear. Only the untidy masses of loose hair still made her look young... like Draco, like the wretched Potter boy, she had had her youth stripped from her long ago by the war. He simply hadn't wanted to admit it, of them or of her.

He had only been staring at her for a moment, his mind racing, when he was pulled out of his thoughts by something bumping his hand. Not the one he was withdrawing from the back of her neck, the other one. He looked down, realizing that he had rested it on the most convenient surface... and that he had just felt her baby, their baby, moving. Even as he looked, he felt it again, a gentle bump against his palm.

He yanked his hand back as if it had been burned. "Thanks are unnecessary. Taking you to St Mungo's for such an easily removed curse would have been a sheer waste of time." He straightened up - his back twinged a bit - and moved away from the bed. For the first time in months, he was angry at her for what she'd done. She wasn't a naive girl... she was a young woman, extraordinarily brave and very attractive. She could have sought out almost any man that night. To have settled on him could only have been an act of mockery or of pity. "Next time, kindly spend less time dithering and finish your spell before a cursed object actually touches you."

She flinched, her eyes filling with tears again. "I'm sorry," she said quietly, looking away from him as she wiped her eyes hastily with the back of her hand. "It won't happen again."

"See that it does not." His hand twitched. He could almost still feel that gentle bumping against his palm. "You are more than capable of deflecting a more serious curse than that one. I have seen you do so."

"Yes, Professor." She looked down . "I'm... uhm... I'm sorry for falling apart like that, in the nightmare. The grabbing you, and so on."

"You seem to be making a habit of it," he said, giving her stomach a pointed look. The jibe was automatic - he'd been using the weaknesses of others against them since before she'd been born or thought of. Anger was the usual response, although tears were a regular alternative.

Hermione looked at him as if he'd hit her. Dazed, at first, and not quite believing it had happened... then her face went red and her eyes filled again. She looked away from him, her hands spreading defensively over her stomach in that gesture she never seemed to know she was making. "I'm sorry," she whispered, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. "I won't do it again."

Severus watched her as she struggled to pull herself into a sitting position, feeling suddenly guilty. He would much have preferred shouted defiance or angry tears... even wounded sobs would have done. He could still be angry in the face of any of those. But apologizing to him, after he'd deliberately hurt her... "I believe you are fully recovered," he said, and it came out sounding sharper than he had meant it to. "I suggest you brace yourself for an avalanche of fussing."

He lowered the wall of silence around them and opened the curtains. Approximately four seconds later, Hermione was being hugged by both Potter and Ginny Weasley, while the male Weasley hovered at the end of the bed and patted her ankles encouragingly. All three were inquiring anxiously as to whether she was all right, while Madam Pomfrey elbowed her way in amongst them to mutter diagnostic spells and wave her wand anxiously over Hermione's abdomen. McGonagall and Lupin were both hovering anxiously at a small, dignified distance.

It would be the perfect time to slip away, before he had to put up with more tiresome emoting. Nevertheless, he found himself lingering until Madam Pomfrey had announced that all was well. It was, of course, mere annoyance with the sloppy sentiment which made the sight of Potter's arms around Hermione so irritating, along with the way Weasley was pawing at her legs. At least Miss Weasley had the decency to fuss quietly, and to offer her friend a hanky.

Frowning, he turned to go... only to be stopped by an impertinent hand on his arm. He glared at Lupin until the hand was removed, but the werewolf only smiled his lopsided smile. "Aren't you forgetting someone?" he asked.

Severus blinked, then remembered. It had, after all, been a busy day already and he wasn't used to having a pet. Scowling, he accepted the return of the young Kneazle, who had been showing a deplorable lack of taste in allowing Lupin to hold her. She seemed pleased to be returned, however, snuggling into the crook of Severus's arm affectionately. He stroked her, glancing again at the bed. "Miss Granger."

As usual, his voice silenced most others. She looked up at him, a woeful expression on her face that made him feel guiltier than ever. "Yes, Professor?"

"Your vulnerability to this particular attack displays a potentially fatal flaw in your ability to defend yourself," he said, drawing himself up and sneering just a little. "You will, therefore, present yourself in my office tomorrow evening at seven." He gave Lupin a disdainful look. "Clearly, I will have to take your training in hand myself if future interruptions of breakfast are to be avoided." He turned and swept out of the hospital wing before any comments could be made. His authority had been properly re-established, and that serious weakness in her tactical abilities really did need to be addressed.

Of course, it would take more than one lesson. Probably dozens. He would have to see her, talk to her, just the two of them, for hours. What had possessed him?

In his arms, Akilah started to purr.

Hermione leaned gratefully against Harry's shoulder, and he hugged her tightly. She'd seen him and Ron die hundreds of times in her nightmares, but this time had been especially horrible, and it was reassuring to feel his heart beating against her arm and his breath ruffling her hair. He was finally getting comfortable with the idea of hugging, probably mostly thanks to Ginny.

"Miss Granger."

She flinched, looking up at him nervously. He sneered, but the vaguely kittenish creature in his arms - was it a Kneazle? - detracted a bit from his usual intimidating air. "Your vulnerability to this particular attack displays a potentially fatal flaw in your ability to defend yourself," he said, and she blinked in surprise. The anger that had been in his voice just a second ago was gone, replaced with his usual faintly snotty tone. "You will, therefore, present yourself in my office tomorrow evening at seven." He gave Lupin a disdainful look. "Clearly, I will have to take your training in hand myself if future interruptions of breakfast are to be avoided."

With that he swept out, and Hermione was left staring at the door with her mouth slightly open.

He...

But...

That...

It was a minute or two before she could put together a coherent thought. She'd never thought she'd miss the rude, abrasive, favourites-playing facade he'd maintained through their first six years, but compared to the prickly, unpredictable, hot-and-cold-by-turns Snape she had to deal with now...! He'd been marking her written Potions work with scrupulous fairness, albeit by his usual harsh standards, but whenever she actually spoke to him face to face he seemed to veer wildly between being furious with her, seeming almost concerned about her and trying to shove her firmly back into a proper 'student' role.

She could understand that last one, sort of. But as for the rest - no, she had no idea what was going through that brilliant, sarcastic head. Nor could she imagine why he wanted to see her in his office. What was he going to teach her - how to play chess? And if he was so angry with her, why would he give up his own time to teach her to defend herself?

"Hermione, are you all right?" Ginny asked anxiously.

"I'm... yes, mostly." She managed a small smile. "It was just... very scary. I'm glad it's over."

"Yeah, well... we're going to try harder to find whoever's doing this," Ron said, squeezing her ankle gently. "I mean, I know we haven't found anything out yet, but we will."

"Definitely." Harry scowled, hugging her a little tighter. "Don't worry, we won't let anybody hurt you or the baby. Even if we have to keep Shielding Charms on you all day long."

"Yeah." Ron nodded. "Hey, do you have any idea what it is Snape thinks you need to learn? I mean, you fought in the war and you hardly even got hurt, how much better do you need to get?"

"I don't know." Hermione shook her head. "If it keeps me from having that nightmare again, though..." She shuddered, leaning her head against Harry's shoulder again before sitting up. "But I'm fine now. Uhm... I do need to..." She looked pointedly at the door to the hospital wing's loo.

Blushing, Harry and Ron hastily let go of her. Ginny grinned, and helped her off the high bed. "Mum says to get used to that."

"I know." Hermione sighed. "I'll be right back." She headed for the toilet with as much speed as she could manage... she really did have to go... but she did pause by Professor McGonagall on her way past. "Could I... er... talk to you later?" she asked very quietly. "Privately?"

Professor McGonagall blinked and nodded. "Come up after dinner," she said just as quietly. "The password is ergastulum."

Hermione mentally translated the Latin and snickered. "I'm sure it feels that way," she muttered, continuing towards the loo.

Ergastulum - a workhouse for slaves or debtors.