Author's Note: thanks for the reviews, and better yet, all of you who are following along! It's lovely to know I am doing this for more than just me. In this chapter and beyond, the italics represents Severus' thoughts. I'm not sure if that was clear before, and I think it can get slightly muddled here. Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading! Enjoy!

Part One: Coming Home

Chapter 2: At Long Last

"Still I hope and pray

Still I hope and pray

Through each weary day

For it brings the night and dreams of you."

-Ingrid Michaelson, "I'll see you in my dreams"

He felt, with terror and dread, the too-familiar lurch in his gut as his feet were pulled out from under him. He felt the pull of the invisible rope around his ankles drawing him upward, and the rush of blood to his head as his body was inverted. The muscles in his abdomen and arms ached with exertion as he struggled to right himself, to protect himself. Even in his dreams, he knew how this ended.

"Lily?" He whipped his head around, searching. Where was she? She had been there just a moment before... hadn't she? He craned his neck, struggling to find her, but all the onlookers—or their legs—blended together before his eyes.

"Lily," he called, "help! Please, Lily!" He stretched, trying to reach his wand, but it had fallen from his pocket and onto the grass, just out of reach. He called for her yet again, searching.

And then he heard it. The laughter.

It began slowly then crescendoed, until he was surrounded by the horrible, mocking sound. It was everywhere, surrounding him, dozens of students and teachers and more, cackling cruelly at his crisis. He saw all the usual tormenters who haunted this dream regularly; Potter, Black, Lupin. And there was Moody, too, and Fletcher and the Carrows. Several Weasleys cackled in the background, including Harry's friend, and the crowd continued to grow. His robes fell, inside-out, over his face and he was grateful for the cover as tears welled in his eyes. The laughter grew even louder, even more horrid as his underpants were exposed. Then, the laughter stopped. He heard angry yelling. Lily! He thought, she's here! He pulled them hem of his robes up slightly, peeking out from under them, looking toward the sound of the shouting. Lily? He searched out that familiar shock of fiery hair. Lily...

But when she turned, it wasn't Lily's face staring back at him, contorted in anger and concern. No, she was taller, curvier, with a familiar halo of bushy brown hair...

Gasping, Severus sat up in bed, fisting the blankets and clutching them to his chest. He heaved, gagging at the horrible, contorted memory. All the versions of this nightmare, and he never stopped waking up covered in sweat, ready to vomit. Sucking in air, he stumbled out of bed and into his tiny kitchen, fumbling wildly in the dark for a glass. Finding one, he reached for the firewhiskey and the glass slipped, shattering on the granite counter under his fingers. Cursing, Severus unscrewed the firewhiskey's lid with one hand, hardly noticing the blood oozing from the cuts on his other. Still shaking from his nightmare, he sank to the floor in an exhausted heap, cradling the bottle and breathing long, shuddering breaths. The cool stone floors soothed him, and he soon found himself lying flush on them, the gnarly scars on his bare back cooling against the dungeon floor.

When his breathing finally returned to normal—thanks in no small part to several long swigs of firewhiskey—he allowed himself to think about his nightmare. This was not the first time that students or Order members had been in this dream, partaking in the most humiliating moment of his life alongside James Potter and his friends. These versions of the dream were the worst, when his colleagues and fellow Order members, whom he was supposed to trust, taunted and belittled him along with his childhood enemies.

But this was the first time it wasn't Lily who came to defend him in the end. Granger? What the hell is that about? He shook his head to clear his thoughts. It was just coincidence, she was on his mind because he had been so surprised to see her the day before. This modified version of his nightmare was just that; one more way his fucked-up mind would find to haunt him.

But as he drifted to sleep on the cold stone floor of his kitchen, drunk and hurt and bleeding, he allowed himself to hope, just for tonight, that it meant at long last he might have an ally.

After an unfortunately long lunch spent feigning interest in Sprout's latest harvest, Severus wandered back down to his classroom in the dungeons, anxious for a moment of peace and quiet before this afternoon's double potions lesson with the Slytherin and Gryffindor seventh years. More like triple potions with all these extra returning students he grumbled to himself, scowling. If he were being honest with himself, he would have recognized that the true reason for his irritability was neither large class sizes nor Sprout's incessant prattling at the head table. It was not even the dull ache that last night's firewhiskey binge had caused in his head today. No, he was dreading another uncomfortable encounter with Granger, especially after his dream the night before. In spite of himself, he was feeling somewhat softer toward after she came to his aid in his dream.

Severus shook his head violently to clear his thoughts, then reeled when his hangover caused the room to spin. Snap out of it, Snape, he scolded himself, it was only a dream. Still, the anger he had felt at the sorting was gone, replaced with the usual mild hatred he felt for all the students. Good, we are making progress. See, your life can get back to normal, too. Snape scoffed at his own thoughts. His life had never been normal.

As he settled in behind his desk, prepared to spend a few quiet moments with his book, he was distracted by the soft rustling of paper. He looked toward the noise and right into the eyes of Hermione Granger, sitting at her usual desk in the front row with a worn tome open in front of her. He drew in his breath sharply, his mouth hanging open. She simply smiled her small smile and returned to her own book without saying a word.

He didn't know what to do. He had no cause to punish her for being early to class, and she had done nothing wrong except make him feel anxious and extremely uncomfortable.

But what was worse, he could seem to make himself look away from her. He was oddly entranced by her as she slowly turned the pages of her book. He hadn't noticed until just now that she looked thinner since the war. He wasn't surprised, knowing that she and her companions had lived on very little when they were on the run from Voldemort. He couldn't help but think she looked good—older—this slender. Her brows were furrowed in concentration, but her face still appeared kind, and her full lips pursed in a way that made Severus quite nervous. His eyes traveled down her dark waves and touched on her breasts, which strained against her blouse with each breath. He wanted... No! Fuck, Snape, she's a student! Severus tore his eyes away from her, kicking himself for his thoughts. Get a grip, you idiot! Remember who she is, who her friends are.

Severus wanted to say something to her, something to convince himself that he hadn't just been ogling her, something mean and cruel and sharp and something witty and charming... no! He wanted to scare and intimidate her and make her laugh and punish her for catching him off-guard. But he was unable to form any words, so he remained silent and angry behind his desk, feigning interest in his own book, while he snuck frequent glances at the witch on the other side of the room.

An hour later, the room was hot. Steaming, in fact, and overcrowded with teenagers and cauldrons and one very irritable potions master. The warm September afternoon did nothing to alleviate the muggy heat, though the tiny windows at the top of the dungeon walls had long since been opened.

The students had removed as many layers as was decent, working only in their uniform shirts and trousers. Severus watched from the front of the room, robeless himself and fighting the urge to unbutton his own shirt a few inches for fear of exposing his heinous scars. He was exhausted and frustrated and aching from his night spent on the kitchen floor. And the lesson was going poorly.

"Scourgify!" He yelled, vanishing yet another student's work. "Start over, Clemmons," he ordered, causing the pale Slytherin boy to yelp and run for the cupboard of ingredients. The heels of Snape's boots clicked across the stone floors. "I expect much, much more of seventh year students." He spoke sharply. "All of you need notable improvement if you even hope to pass your N.E.W.T.S." Good, they look frightened. I will show these little brats exactly how scary the real world can be.

Returning to his desk, Severus looked across the steamy classroom at the students. Fuck, it's hot in here. The heat was making him short-tempered, even more so than usual. He twisted his neck around, trying to stretch out the painful kinks from his night on the floor, caused by yet another version of the same horrible dream. Mentally, he chastised himself for his inability to cope with an event that happened so long ago. Grow up, coward! Much worse things had happened to him since that day in his fifth year. Severus mindlessly touched his throat through his collared shirt, fingering his long scar, as if to remind himself that that was true. Yes, much, much worse things.

And the girl. As if it weren't enough that she had haunted his dreams, now she was sitting right in front of him, her cleavage exposed from her open shirt as she leaned over her cauldron. Oh, Merlin. He rubbed his hands over his face, willing himself not to look. Hermione reached and twisted her long hair off her neck, the hem of her shirt riding up and exposing her stomach. Severus nearly growled. As if to punish her for drawing his attention this way, he raised his wand and quickly emptied her cauldron from across the room.

"Granger!" he barked, knowing full well that her potion had been perfect, "start again!" Hermione stared down at her empty cauldron, mouth open in shock. A fierce blush overtook her face, and she raised her eyes to his, full of angry confusion. Swearing under her breath, she stood from her chair and crossed the room to the cupboard of ingredients, hastily gathering a new set. "Five points for swearing," he told her as she passed his desk.

Satisfied with himself—That will keep her away from me and out of my dreams!—Severus sat back in his chair, stretching his sore muscles. He vaguely wondered at his own age, how ten years ago, sleeping on the floor wouldn't have phased him. Now, he felt like he'd been hit with a nasty curse, and the steamy heat wasn't helping. He glanced at Hermione collecting her materials again, stretching on her toes to reach the top shelf. Her uniform skirt rose, exposing the backs of her pale thighs. Severus' breathing quickened as he watched. What would it be like to run my fingers up those thighs? She continued to reach, her skirt inching higher. I don't think I can take much more! Despite his better judgment, Snape crossed the room to help her reach the elusive ingredient. Hovering behind her, he reached over her head and easily plucked the tiny bottle from the shelf. Startled, Hermione turned in surprise, and they were suddenly very close. Too close.

"Are you a witch or not, Miss Granger?" He asked quietly. Though he meant to sound sarcastic, his voice came out huskier than he would have liked. "Perhaps in your time away, you've forgotten how to use a simple summoning charm?" He watched her blush and felt a pang of remorse for his cruel words.

"I'm sorry, Professor Snape," she whispered, staring at her feet. He held out the offending bottle to her, and when she reached for it, he did not let it go. What are you doing, Snape? For a moment they both held it, and when her fingertips brushed his, a few purplish sparks snapped in the air. What is this magic? He gazed at their hands in wonder. What is she doing to me?

A sudden crash interrupted his reverie. A Gryffindor boy had dropped a glass vial, the contents of which were now foaming, bright red and noxious, across the dungeon floor.

"Nelson!" Severus barked. "What the hell are you doing?!" The students scattered, shouting and running for the exit as the smelly red foam chased their heels. "Out!" Severus ordered, pointing to the door. They wouldn't be laughing if they knew how hard it is to get ride of this stuff! As the last of the students evacuated, he knew his class was finished for the day, and more disappointingly, he thought, so was his time with Hermione.

Until he turned around, and she was still there. What is she doing?

"Miss Granger," he warned, employing his most menacing voice, "did you not hear my instructions to leave the room?"

She tilted her head as if she was considering his words, and without providing an answer, turned and began muttering spells under her breath. Severus watched as the noxious foam began to retreat from their feet, folding in on itself, appearing to shrivel as it dissipated. He could hardly believe his eyes. Merlin, that's some powerful magic. Not to be outdone, Severus followed suit, the two of them working side-by-side to clear the room of the rancid red foam. He couldn't help but notice that her side was clearing more quickly. He tried to focus on his spell, but found himself still distracted by her exposed chest, her long, wild hair.

When the foam was gone and Hermione made to collect her things, Severus suddenly did not want her to go.

"Thank you for staying, Miss Granger." He forced, swallowing his pride. He was sure that the gratitude he felt did not reach his voice. "Of course, I could have handled it alone just fine." Well now she knows you're a conceited bastard, good going.

Hermione smiled at him, an occurrence he was growing to appreciate. "It was no problem, Professor. It really does reek, doesn't it?"

Severus smiled in spite of himself. "Yes, it really does. Come, I'll see you out." He followed her to the door and up the dungeon stairs, leading her with one hand, the other hovering awkwardly inches from her lower back. He wanted to rest it there, but he did not want to scare her. Besides, his intentions were less than noble. But his internal struggle ended when she slowed on the steps and his hand made contact. It surprised him at first; he stiffened, afraid to move. But Hermione kept climbing the stairs, seemingly unphased, so in a rare moment of bravery, he left his hand on her lower back, feeling the muscles move beneath it.

In the nook at the top of the steps, she turned, so close again, and still smiling. He felt...warm. He wanted to say something, but he couldn't think. She was close, and he could see right down her blouse. He stared at her, prepared to lose the moment, when voices came from around the corner, carrying clearly to their ears:

"Merlin, he's horrid this term!"

"Why did he even come back?"

"He obviously doesn't want to be a professor!"

It took Severus a moment too long to realize that the students were talking about him. He caught Hermione's eyes, still just inches from his own, with a look of surprise, and he held her concerned gaze as the voices continued:

"What an arse!"

"Fuck that Death Eater!"

He normally wouldn't have cared to hear what his students really thought about him; hell, he would have relished in it. But to be here, sharing this moment with one of the few people who knew about his life more than anyone else... it was humiliating.

"I can't believe he's still here. He was on you-know-who's side!"

"Death Eater! I wonder if he has the mark still?"

"I heard he nearly died in the war."

"I wish he would have!"

Hermione gasped. He wasn't surprised at their words. He didn't care. But then why was it so horrible to hear, standing here, watching Hermione's face contort in anger at the remarks of her peers?

As the students erupted in laughter, Hermione burst forth from the nook in the wall, hollering and cursing and flinging sparks from her wand.

"You lot should be ashamed of yourselves! Show some respect, you ignorant, insolent, spoiled..." Eyes blazing, she flung a curse after each word, sending the group fleeing down the hall. "Shoo, all of you!" She cried, sending more sparks after them.

Flushed and shaking, she looked to her professor. She wanted to say something kind and comforting, something to make him know that it wasn't true, that she was glad he had lived. But when she turned to him, he had already gone.