Hermione has been coming to uneasy terms with her crush on Snape for awhile now. The first time she watched his elegant hands decanting potions ingredients and wished that he would caress her like that, she had freaked out, faked an emergency, and left the lab. Now, almost a month later, she's either with Snape, or fantasizing about Snape.
Hermione dresses in warm flannel pajamas, a bathrobe, and slippers for her sleepover with her potions Professor. When she steps out from behind the portrait, he is already waiting for her. Snape gives her a once over, nods curtly in approval, and sets off down the corridor without a word. Hermione has to nearly run to keep up with his long stride. Which is hard in bunny slippers.
She is out of breath by the time they reach the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey is waiting for them. She has made up a bed for Hermione. "Alright, dear," she says, "In you go."
Hermione removes her robe and slippers and crawls into bed. Snape conjures a comfortable chair and pulls it up next to her. He sits down, adjusting his robes and making himself comfortable. All the while madam Pomfrey is hovering over them, concern and disapproval mingled on her face.
Snape just ignores Poppy, hands Hermione the vial of dreamlike clouds. "Drink," he says.
Hermione takes it from him, unstoppers it, and tips the contents into her mouth. It tastes slightly peppery, but not unpleasantly so, and has the consistency of a souffle. She swallows the whole thing in one gulp and passes the empty vial back to her professor.
"Does it taste bad?" he asks her.
Hermione shakes her head.
"Good," he says. "You'd be surprised how many people won't take a perfectly effective potion because it tastes bad."
Hermione nods.
"When you become afraid in your dream the potion should activate. You will then become aware of the fact that you are dreaming. When that happens, you have a choice. You can try to change the course of the dream, or you can wake yourself up. I suggest waking yourself up for now. The most effective way I have found is to squeeze my eyes shut in the dream and then open them as wide as I can."
Hermione nods, wondering how she is going to be able to sleep with Snape sitting next to her all night long. She feels a wave of exhaustion then, and yawns.
Snape gives her an apologetic half smile. "I put something in there to help you fall asleep, just for this time. I thought you might be a little wound up."
"Thank you, Professor," Hermione says, already drifting off to sleep.
Once her breathing has evened out, Snape casts several charms on Hermione to monitor her heart rate, breathing, blood pressure, brain activity, and temperature.
"Let me know if her vitals change," Poppy says to him before leaving. "I'll come check on her in a bit."
Snape nods, opens a book in his lap, and settles in for the night. Once Poppy has left the room he casts several privacy spells to alert him when she returns.
Every night, Hermione is back at Malfoy Manor. Every night, she's tries desperately to escape. Every night the death eaters find her. Tonight is no different. She runs frantically from room to room, looking for a way out. She can hear them closing in on her. She looks around for a place to hide. Then a peculiar sensation overcomes her. She looks around her and says aloud, "This isn't right. None of this is right." Then, "I'm dreaming. Snape gave me a potion. I need to wake up and tell him it's worked." Hermione squeezes her eyes shut, takes a deep breath, and opens them as hard as she can.
Snape has moved from his chair to the edge of her bed. He is bent over her, one hand on each side of her. Hermione opens her eyes and finds herself staring into Snape's black gaze, his faces inches from hers. He is so close she can't help herself. Before he can lean back she puts her arms around him and buries her face in his neck.
The thought that he should refuse her embrace is a moth trying to fly through the hurricane of emotion Snape feels when Hermione is in his arms. It flutters helplessly for a breath before being torn apart as Snape sits up, gathering Hermione firmly against him.
"Thank you," she says into his neck, "It worked. Thank you." The sensation of her lips moving against his neck makes it impossible for him to reply, so he just holds onto her.
Hermione is experiencing a feeling of relief so profound it feels like an existential epiphany. The relief of escaping from her nightmare, compounded with the relief of finally being in Snape's embrace is so overwhelming she can barely breathe. They are sitting up in her bed now and he is holding her tightly against him. His five o'clock shadow is rough and real against her cheek. He smells like spicy incense, and when she speaks against his throat, he tastes like salt, and cinnamon, and something dark and familiar she can't quite identify.
It takes every shred of self control Snape has left to disentangle Hermione from his embrace. "No!' she protests as he has to grab her hands in his and unwind them from around his neck. "It feels good."
"Yes," he says firmly. "Too good." He puts on his stern Professor expression and tries to stare her down. When that doesn't work he stands up and moves back to his chair. The look of disappointment on her face almost breaks his heart wide open. He also starts getting a wave of longing from her. It mixes and mingles with his own hollow desperation for her touch, and almost drives him right back into the bed with her.
He closes his eyes. "Get your thoughts organized, Miss Granger," he says quietly.
"Why?" she asks quietly.
"Because I am still your professor."
For a moment she looks as though she will challenge him. He gets a wave of consternation and hurt feelings from her before she slams her guard back up.
"Tell me about the dream," he says gently, and she does.
Snape sits quietly for the rest of the night, watching Hermione sleep. On the outside, he is a stone. Inside, he is a hurricane of conflicting emotion. Up to this moment, despite his attraction, he hasn't allowed himself to fantasize about her. Now that he has felt her soft curves pressed into his side, her lips on his neck, he doesn't have the willpower to resist the images any longer, and they flow unchecked through his mind. He wonders how many more times he will be able to turn her down.