Note: Thanks again to every reader! I'm not sure how much I like this chapter yet. I may revise it a little, then again, maybe not. Getting busy—trying to keep up on posting at least weekly! Cheers.

It was already a bad idea to take a dreamless sleep potion. Nonetheless a borderline overdose. Snape gradually shook himself from slumber as the searing sensation from his heart to his head pounced on any more rest he could attempt to get. No longer could he wait for Lily in his dreams. Dreaming was his one masochistic, selfish action. But getting rest was a health concern. When Snape realized the screaming was not coming from inside his blank head, he leapt for the door in the dark, lighting candles along the way.

SS

"N-n-no! NO!" Hermione shrieked, clawing at the arms holding her down. She writhed and struggled against her shaking self. Swollen shut, her eyes dared not open. "No…" she breathed. A mixture of sweat and tears trickled down her face.
"Miss Granger," a deep voice called from what seemed like miles away. The voice had an odd, calming effect. She pulled her eyes open. Slowly coming into focus was Snape standing over her bed, pressing her shoulders into her pillows. She took a few deep breaths.
Snape let go and tried talking to her again, "Miss Granger. You are suffering from a side effect of the potions. If I may take a guess: nightmares?" he quirked an eyebrow. Hermione breathed slowly and rubbed her temples. "Dream—Just a bad dream--? Real…It felt--" Air refused to fill her lungs.
"It is not surprising to have…vivid dreams when under the influence of strong potions. May I ask, of what nature were your dreams?" It had been a week since the start of the new potions; a week of almost nightmares, but none this bad. It must have been the middle of the night: Snape was wearing black, elegant pajamas that were desperately trying to escape the robe he had tied around him. She coaxed her eyes away from his satin-y collar.
"I--" She sat up, "Harry. The Weasleys--" Snape eased a pillow behind her back. "I—thank you…sir." She would rather lean on him, to feel the security of someone's arms around her. She was scared of a nightmare, for heaven's sake! How child-like…What in Merlin's name was coming over her?!
"Your dream?" Snape drawled. He looked pale and worn thin, not like his normal porcelain. Hermione wanted to ask him how he was, what was wrong. She ached to apologize, she felt like such a horrid burden: a tumor on the dungeon walls. However, they both accepted it as it was. Both had agreed to this treatment: Snape for an uncharacteristic experimental potions journal, and Hermione for…for what? She wanted to heal. She admitted to herself that she was indeed selfish enough to want to heal. No, she did not regret trying to sacrifice herself for Snape. But she was worried that she could not live with her new, altered future. And still, she did not want to know why she had sacrificed herself in the first place.
"Miss Granger?" Snape breathed, he sounded annoyed. He was tired, that much Hermione knew.
"Sir, I'm fine. I'm sure I've kept you up enough--"
"Contrary to your self-sacrificing and sentimental beliefs, Miss Granger, I am asking you this with the intention to fix it in the next batch of potions. Unless you are masochistic enough to like to suffer through night--"
"I beg your pardon, sir?"
"The sooner we solve this problem, Miss Granger, the sooner we are rid of each other. So, if you please," he snapped. His words cut through every nerve.
"Harry and the Weasleys died," she mumbled, "they were attacked. The house was burning…"
Snape studied her face hurriedly. The tears and sweat had dried on her face. She hated the tight feeling on her skin.
"What did you say?" he hissed.
"All my friends, everyone like family to me died, alright?"
"Granger--"
"I know it is in no way a rational dream because He Who Must Not Be Named and his loyal followers are gone, nor is it a flashback, because it never happened--"
Quickly, Snape rose out of his chair. He felt his breast pocket.
"What is it, sir?"
"That was no dream--"
"Wha--"
He thrust the paper at her.

Severus,
I regret to inform you that at 1:23 a.m. Mr. Potter and the Weasley household were brutally attacked by an unknown source. It may not affect you, but Miss Granger will want to know.


Sincerely,
Minerva M.

"No…" Hermione breathed, letting the letter fall on her lap, "no…"
"Miss Granger--"
Hermione snatched the short parchment from her lap and began to crumple it, mutilate it.
"Miss Granger," Snape grabbed her wrists with gentle force, "there is no reason to bring harm--"
"My friends--" her voice crawled up her throat and stopped on her tongue. "No…" She gasped for air.
Snape knelt down and got to her eye level, "There is nothing you could have done--"
"They were my friends! Do not tell me—don't—don't—W--w--hether or not you and your cold heart know the feeling of friendship, do not tell me how to understand my friends' deaths!"
Snape let go of her wrists with an almost disgust. "It may interest you to know that you are not the only one who has lost something," Snape snarled. "I will leave you to your grieving."
Hermione rolled over on her side and listened to Snape's distant footsteps. She wept for her friends. She wept because she wanted Snape to hold her and tell her is would be okay. Weeping would do no good, but her heart burst open, flooding her veins with ice.

HG

Snape slammed the door of his room. Gods, what was he going to do? He did not know how to deal with emotion, he detested it. Yet in front of him had been a girl twisted and torn, and no potion could cure that. He knew all too well the custom-made torture that heartbreak was. He caught a glimpse of red hair before his eyes; his side seared. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he adjusted his robe. All of the sudden, all he wanted to do was aid the curly brown hair wrestling with itself in the room down the hall. He shook his head. Stop. Anything to stop Granger's incessant crying.

SS

When she woke again, Hermione's face was swollen and her nostrils felt as though they had been glued together. A strong golden light crept through her curtains; it must be at least midday. Pulling on a dark grey robe, Hermione slowly opened her door and found the sitting room. A small fire was lit; a few open books lay stranded on an end table. Half finished tea sat on top of one of the books. She felt the mug: it was still warm. She sat down in a dark green armchair and pulled her legs up to her chest.
A door closed, she jumped. "Oh, you're awake." Snape said curtly.
"Sir—Sir, I'm sorry--" her voice seemed out come from her nose, not her throat.
"Severus," he said, almost annoyed. She could not tell.
"Sorry?"
"Severus, Miss Granger. I am not your professor. You do not have to call me Sir, if you do not wish. And I assume, by way of your comment last night, that you were trying to hurt me. I believe you have found out more about my past then you would ever let on."
Hermione blinked, she felt caught. She knew about Lily Potter for the longest time. But know some sort of bile was rising up in her throat and she needed to crush it. She gulped.
"I—I—Hermione…"
"Hm?" Severus raised an eyebrow. He stood completely still in the corner of the room from which he entered.
"If you are not my professor, then I am not your student, S—Severus," Indeed she felt she had outgrown saying "sir," yet his name felt weird in her mouth, like a bite too big to chew, or a new and sour taste in her mouth.
"Hermione," he nodded, "You--"
"I—I know. I'm sorry—I didn't mean to hurt you. I was just hurting so bad, I--"
"Miss—Hermione, losing someone close to you is always an unfortunate thing. But rarely is it the complete end of the world." Snape sounded forcibly calm, almost at an attempt to be comforting; he was standing incredibly still.
Hermione silently nodded. She bit her lip, a tear fell down her cheek. Then another, and another, until a storm had overtaken her eyes. She shut the world out, she curled up tighter in the chair.
"I—I'm never this e—e—emotional--" She pulled her hands through her hair. "Per—haps it's—another—side—effect," she had trouble breathing through her sobs. A pair of hands found hers burying her face and woven in her hair. Severus pulled her hands away from her face. He gripped them tightly, warmly.
"Perhaps," he said coolly. They looked at each other. Hermione stopped crying, Severus stopped thinking. After three heartbeats he looked down at their hands. She was trembling. He had entwined their fingers. Stop. Control. Stop. He let go and backed up. Hermione looked terrified.
"Y-you should get back to bed, there will be a revision of the potion soon."
"I'd like to stay out here. M-my room is just so…Confining. I haven't seen the outside in ages--"
"There are still no proper windows here--"
"I know."
Severus straightened up. "I will be back in 15 minutes. Do as you wish." His shields were going back up; he clasped his hands behind his back. "The potion is most likely to make you drowsy."
"I'll live," Hermione was already scanning the shelf of books next to the chair she was sitting in. Snape nodded tightly and left.
Hermione's soul sighed a congested, tired, sad, hurt, confused, terrified sigh.

SS

He had to carry her to the couch. Well, in fact, the couch across the room was closer than her bed. She was too light, Severus thought. When was her last, real meal? He looked across the room at Hermione. Her mouth gaped open, she snorted a little, ringlets curtained her face. She twitched a little, too. Snape rarely had spare blankets, but had conjured a fuzzy, borderline itchy, grey one. He was trying too hard to control his emotions, his thoughts. It was, perhaps, the first time he ever wished he could possess a skill like painting.
Rising quietly from his chair, Snape headed towards the door. She was most likely going to sleep for another three to five hours. He needed air, he needed to clear his head, he needed to gain control.