A/N: Okay so this was a little story that flitted through then stuttered to a stop and wouldn't let go, Waterboy-ing any thought that dare encroach on the prominent thought position. I had to get it out so I could clearly edit the next chapter of MoW, which is in the final stages as I speak. This is set after the seventh book, disregarding the death of Albus Dumbledore in HBP and others in DH, of course. The Horcruxes have been destroyed, the man of evil banished for good, casualties cut to a minimum and the whole of the epilogue and Snape's death ignored. I hope you enjoy and, as always, please review.

He'd begun the day as he would any other, sitting up, sighing, showering, dressing, sipping hot coffee while flipping through his read of the time, and then resigning himself to teach. He checked every button profusely, half wanting to be late. The clock said he had two minutes before he made his grand entrance of the year, starting his class as he would every year. But this year was different, the Dark Lord had been dead for a year, McGonagall was now Headmistress and he was comfortably just teaching. No longer was he running between masters, his own will forgone and his own life forfeit.

Albus Dumbledore had retired after the battle, stating his purpose as the protector of the school had now expired. He lived out in the middle of nowhere, in a cottage not unlike the one McGonagall resided in during summer holiday. He kept in touch through Ministry protected owls. His twinkle could almost be seen through the looping handwriting.

Kingsley Shacklebolt had taken the position of Minister, filling the role quite well. His office was actually visitable. He had set out laws and banned the word Mudblood, which was supported by the survivors of the war and surprisingly by Lucius Malfoy, who claimed to have been under heavy curses to maintain his loyalty. He was, of course, lying, but you couldn't tell the jingling members of the Wizengamot.

Most of his hated students were slated to return, a special finishing class set up for them. Most of his advanced Potions were the Trio, Draco, Longbottom. A small class, but still containing one of the most clumsy of students. How the boy made it to this class was beyond him.

The clock chimed, which meant he'd need to make his grand entrance soon. Gathering himself from the depths, he twisted the door handle, stepped into the hall and began his path to the door.

She hadn't actually planned on coming back, running around in the wilderness, chasing fragments of a madman's soul and destroying them sapping her strength. She was glad to be back to normal with Ron, who agreed their wartime feelings no longer applied. Harry had his sights set unwaveringly on Ginny, who was as ready as ever to be Mrs. Potter.

She wasn't the same though. Sure they had all changed, war had taken it's toll. War, though not directly responsible, had taken her parents. She had been foolish to think they'd be safe in Australia. She only recently learned that their deaths happened while she was busy dancing with death in the tent with her best friends. She found out their parachutes had failed during a sky dive, the odds so staggeringly slim she thought for sure they were mistaken. She had a ceremony for them last month.

She had been silent the entire train ride, focusing on the sounds of others, committing their laughter to her memory, hoping she'd never have to deal with the pain of war again. The feast wasn't much different. She participated in conversation only when spoken to and reacted only to her dearest of friends. She had gone to bed early, truly feeling extraordinarily tired.

The next morning, waking up in her dorm bed, she almost felt like she was home. She smiled for the first time since the news of her parents death, joining in without being called upon. She dressed in her normal robes, brushed her hair into a loose ponytail and headed off to class. It wasn't until she was halfway to Potions that she realized she'd left her book on her bed. She rushed back, grabbed the book and Disillusioned herself, running without abandon down the hall. She paused at the door long enough to catch her breath and remove the charm before entering.

Everyone had already begun. She'd have a detention, that much was certain. She slid in next to Neville and began. They were making Dreamless Sleep Draught today, a fairly simple concoction.

It wouldn't be so bad today, everyone was quiet, listening intently to his words, their equipment out before he'd even made his entrance. Finally, they were up on their game. He noticed a seat empty, Granger wasn't there. Hmm...already tardy? What a way to start the year. He billowed into the room as usual, setting them to the task of their potions, turning to write down ideas for a potion he was brewing in his spare time. He was almost sitting down when he noticed his ink wasn't there. So the students get on their game and he slips off his, huh? He sighed, saying simply, "Continue.", before stepping swiftly into his office. He located his ink amongst his syllabus, he forgot he had been going over things meticulously last night.

He quickly reentered the classroom and saw Granger had deigned to join the class. He opened his mouth to reprimand her, but was caught off guard by the vicious mistake Longbottom beside her was about to make. He switched his reprimand to the boy, saying loudly, "Longbottom!"

She had just caught up with Neville when she saw him begin to skip a step, she reached up and touched his hand, about to tell him what went in instead, when a sharp, "Longbottom!" made her and Neville jump. Her jump mingled with his made his ingredients spill, the bubbling cauldron swallowed them. She recovered from the sudden appearance of their Professor to shove Neville away from the cauldron. He slid off the bench and onto the ground with an "Ow!"

The boy had added the damned--Oh no...

He ran forward, about to cast a protective charm when the cauldron exploded, coating them both. He couldn't remember what happened. Whether the burn of the potion or the sinking feeling or the blood curling scream happened first he did not know. All he knew was darkness.

Professor Snape had run forward, about to shield them, when the cauldron burst, an almost flame like burn radiating through her. A shard of the cauldron must have hit her chest because she was short of breath, her vision fading, somewhere near someone screamed. She tried to speak through the haze but her mouth tasted like blood.

She woke up to the sound of someone crying. Her eyes were heavy and it took her a while to open them. When she did all she saw was fog. She brought herself to her feet, touching her head. It wasn't throbbing, neither was her chest weighing her lungs down. She stepped forward, remembering that someone had been crying. She squinted against the fog, trying to place herself, but only finding more fog.

He was still laying on the ground, his head clear, but his body somewhat weak. He sighed and shook himself. He felt like he did after a particularly good dream, languid and relaxed, unwilling to wake. Something was tugging at his left sleeve. He turned his head and saw a little girl. She could be no more than seven, long bushy brown hair and curious brown eyes gazing at him in desperation.

"They're coming, Mister! You gotta help me!"

He knew her, he knew that voice and that face. Especially that hair. She tugged again and he found himself wanting to stand. He did so, arching a confused brow when her small hand gripped his larger one tightly. She looked genuinely frightened. She was staring off into the fog that surrounded them, pointing.

"Whom, may I ask, is coming?" he asked, trying to see what she was pointing at.

"The bullies. They don't like that I can do stuff..."

He frowned. "What stuff?"

She looked up at him but quickly looked away. "I can fly sometimes, and I can change the color of stuff when I'm angry. Dad says I'm special and Mum thinks I could have powers. Billy Langston doesn't like me...Mum tells me he's jealous." She finished, shaking when three shadows appeared out of the fog, moving towards them. One was a tall boy, but no older than her, the other two were about the same height, menacing forms.

"Callin' on the teachers now, Granger?!" said a teasing voice, a slight bit of laughter gracing the tones. "Could never stand up for yourself. Too bad Mister teacher can't hurt us here...in your mind."

They flew forward, but he stood in front of them, guarding the girl. The shadows got darker, trying harder. He looked to the girl, cowering on the ground.

He fought against the fiends, trying and failing to keep them from advancing. The girl was still crying, curled up and shivering. He was angry that she had given up that easy.

"Stand up this instant!" he ordered, the shadows beating against his chest, it didn't hurt per se, it was more like a lingering pressure. The tears clouding the little girl's eyes cleared and she stood. She watched in fascination as he acted as shield. "Tell them to go." He demanded, the pressure increasing. She frowned at him.

"Go away!" her voice had no power, no force. He shook his head.

"You must mean it, tell them to go."

She stared at the shadows, shaking her head, tears running anew. I can't. They won't listen to me."

He growled, shoving the shadows away from himself again, their swirling, diving black mass slamming into him even harder.

"Stop that. You can do anything. They can't hurt you if you don't let them...now tell them to go away."

She bit her lip, stared at the shadows then screamed so loud he thought his ears would burst.

"Go away!!" the beating shadows ceased immediately, the fog clearing some, there was a playground, a normal muggle playground. They were standing in between the swings and the monkey bars, the former swinging slowly with a wee-woo type sound. As he looked back at her smiling so wide, her hair flying around her head, her buck teeth and muggle clothing, he remembered.

"Good job, Miss Granger."

She brightened even more, stepping towards him, before disappearing. He stared around the playground, confused. Where had she gone? Why was he here? Where was he? The fog descended again, consuming the playground and the sound of his boots crunching along gravelly sand.

The crying got louder the closer she got, until she saw a little boy, black hair flying around his face as he tried to avoid attacks. A large black shadow was over him, the form of a man, callously beating him. She screamed, "No!", as she ran forward, scared for the boy on the ground. The hulking shadow stepped back, seemed to glare at her and reach for the boy. She picked the boy up first, holding him to her as she glared back at the shadow.

"Leave him be! Pick on someone else!" her voice screeched to the figure, forcing her will. The creature had the nerve to laugh, knocking her to the floor and the boy with her. The figure hit her again and she skidded away from the two. Her back hit something solid and she winced. Standing, she rushed forward again, shoving the shadow away from the boy, unable to find her wand. The shadow opened what she supposed was his mouth and boomed at her.

"Stay away from me, girl!! This is my son and I will do to him what I please!"

She narrowed her eyes at the shadow. "You will not hurt him anymore. I won't let you."

The shadow laughed again, grabbing her by the throat. He started to choke her and she fought. She kicked out, punched out and spat, but the thing was too strong. She gasped for air. Suddenly the boy stood, waving his wand at the figure.

"Leave her alone!! She had nothing to do with this, father! It's me you want, isn't it?!"

She was tossed to the ground again, hitting her back hard. It hurt more than the last time and she felt the air whoosh out of her. The boy was keeping the shadow at bay with his wand, a determination about him. The shadow spoke to the boy.

"Fight me, will you? The one who puts a roof over your head, food in your belly, clothes on your back?" He reached for the wand but was rebounded when the black haired boy jutted it at him. "Your mother's dead, boy! There is no one here to help you. You are alone."

The boy crumpled a little, his wand lowering. He couldn't see her anymore, not where she was on the floor. He let a tear fall from his eyes and his knees made a thud on the floor, his wand rolling away from him. The shadow moved forward with his hand raised. She ran forward.

"He has me!" She proclaimed, grabbing the boy's hand. He stared at her, hope in his dark eyes. "And I won't leave him." The boy smiled at her promise, looking to his father's shadow with anger and strength.

"I don't need you. I can take care of myself and I don't need you anymore." Without warning, the figure disappeared a mad glare on it's face, clearing the fog. They were in a large foyer, the wood cold underfoot. The boy was still holding her hand, but he jumped on her and knocked her to the ground, his legs around her waist, his arms around her throat and his head near hers, crying.

"Shh..." she said, patting his back lightly. "It's alright now...he's gone. Shh...it's okay."

The boy sniffed and looked at her. His black eyes were shiny with tears. He had an abnormally large nose for such a young kid, but she suspected he'd grow into it.

"Who're you?" he asked, touching her hair.

"I'm Hermione. What's your name?"

"I'm Severus. My mum says I'm named after her father."

She almost dropped the boy in shock. Severus....but that was...."What's your last name?" she asked, brushing the hair away from his face.

"Snape."

In shock, she gasped. "But I--"

The boy disappeared as quickly as she had seen the shadow go, leaving her arms cradling nothingness.

Headmistress McGonagall and Madam Pompfrey stood on either side of Snape's bed, looking down at the man. Himself and Miss Granger had just arrived at the Infirmary, both completely unresponsive to either spells or potions. They seemed to be in deep sleep.

"Poppy, be honest...have you ever seen this before? Heard of it, even?"

The matron looked at the other woman somberly, sighing as she looked to the young girl sleeping.

"Not in all my years, Minerva. It wasn't even in my schooling. For all intents and purposes, these two are merely sleeping, but if they were sleeping, even under the aid of a Sleeping Potion, a simple Ennervate would wake them..."

"That won't work on them I'm afraid, because this is much deeper than either of you realize."

Turning, both women jumped. Standing there in all his usual quirkiness was Albus Dumbledore, his hands folded behind him, a twinkle in his eye.

"You know what's happening, don't you, Albus?" Minerva asked, seemingly accusing. Her eyes were narrowed, her hand curled into a fist to stop from pointing.

Albus merely smiled, stepping in between the two afflicted people, his hands touching either of theirs. He looked over his shoulder for a minute at Poppy, then looked back to the two on the beds.

"The potion wasn't in its complete stage, it was lacking in many things. When it exploded, their were only three places to go. To the floor, where it could have been avoided, cleaned and potentially forgotten about. Or to the only two people in place around the cauldron; on Severus, or on Miss Granger here. It did the latter. Assuming this potion still held some of its sleep qualities, then this potion touching their bare flesh seeped into them, putting them to sleep."

He looked up to the two women, stepping away from the prone forms and to them instead. He clasped his hands behind his back again, pacing.

"If I am correct, then they are sleeping. Sleeping in a waking dream. I have seen one such case before, if you remember it, Poppy....the Kyzetsky Incident."

Minerva frowned, unfamiliar with the name. Poppy nodded, her eyes taking a hopeful look. Minerva shook her head.

"The what?"

Albus nodded to her. "Let me explain. The Kyzetsky Incident happened in 1843, somewhere near Feltwell. A man," he nodded to Severus. "a Potions Master, was making a Dreamless Sleep potion. He and his wife had been on bad terms when she had drowned in the river south of town. He mourned for her and blamed himself for her death. His friends had been checking on him from time to time, knowing his depression would worsen when he was alone. One day they found him in his lab, seemingly in a deep sleep on the floor. The cauldron had exploded and he was badly injured. They took care of him, nursed him. For two weeks he had been asleep, fed by a liquid concoction his friends had created. When he woke, he spoke of lucid dreams, being barraged by memories of his wife. He said he had entered his subconscious mind, able to move and speak by will. He had gone through three trials. He named them afterwards, long after he had recovered and resumed making potions."

Here Albus paused, taking the seat Poppy offered them all and sipping from the tea she had made. Minerva was wrapped in the story. She had sat down, had taken the tea, but had no intention of drinking it. She fidgeted.

"What were they called, Albus? These three trials?"

He sipped from his cup again, letting it be soaked into his tongue. This infuriated Minerva, who took a mad sip from her cup, then let the glass clank together loudly as she focused her stare on him. He smiled and surrendered. He did love his games.

"The first was called The Youth. This was described as a challenge, where the dreamer would face a fear from their youth, if they passed the test and succeeded in banishing the fear, then they were free to move to the next." He paused again, drinking his tea. Then he began again. "The second was called The Regret. This was said to have been where the dreamer faced something they regretted, something they wished they could change. As with the last, if they conquered their regret and moved on, they could move to the third." He took yet another sip, swirling the liquid in the cup. "The third was named simply Forgiveness. As you can probably discern, the dreamer had to forgive themselves the guilt they felt. For Kyzetsky it was first his brother, who had tormented him as a child, his argument with his wife before she left, and his guilt over her death."

Minerva nodded, her eyes straying to the pair on the beds. "Kyzetsky passed his tests and survived." she muttered, looking back to Albus. "But Kyzetsky was one man, a man with a certain set of fears, regrets and guilt. Severus has had a busy past, full of all those things. Miss Granger has as well. Both faced Voldemort, both sustained losses in youth and in adulthood. And what is more..."she began, downing her cooling tea and setting the cup down. "...both are suffering from this potion. They are suffering together. Are their subconscious minds connected, merging perhaps? Are they seperate and facing their owns battles or mingling in each others, swirling their thoughts and issues together?"

Albus shook his head, all the eyes focusing on the two. "Either. But knowing the nature of this potion, the basic point of what the sufferer undergoes would suggest they are merged, two minds facing one equal enemy...themselves."

A/N: Thank you with all the appreciation in the world for reading and please REVIEW!!! Tell me what you think.