Hermione didn't know she was moving until her back hit the stone wall opposite Snape. She didn't realize she was breathing heavily, either, until he glanced up concernedly. She clamped a hand over her mouth.

She couldn't remove her eyes from the tattoo writhing on his left forearm. Snape quickly shook his sleeve back down, and shrugged into his cloak in one swift movement.

"Return to your dormitory, Miss Granger," he muttered briskly, tucking his wand within his robes. "We'll continue these lessons tomorrow."

Hermione opened her mouth several times before finally pursing her lips and nodding. He watched her retreat entirely before he stepped into the Floo.

Dust rose in clouds around his feet as he stepped out of the fireplace at Malfoy Manor. He was one of the last to arrive. He bowed low and suppressed the disgust that rose at the sight of the men he'd last seen with their pants around the ankles.

"Severus," the Dark Lord hissed. "You bring no treat this time, I see."

Snape bit his tongue before responding. "I'm afraid, my Lord, that the old fool has kept a considerably close eye on his precious Mudblood ever since. To bring another would have been…begging for trouble."

The Dark Lord waved away his explanation and addressed his followers at large. "I have news, my friends," he hissed, and every masked man stood to attention. Wormtail, unmasked and cast beyond the immediate circle, stood tall and proud and Snape had no doubt that what they were about to hear had to do with his interruption of the last meeting.

"When we last met—and dined upon that delectable Mudblood—" he murmured, flashing a gruesome smile at Snape, "you might recall that I was summoned away. That summons was to deal with progress made in a project I've been nurturing."

His voice was harsh and he breathed in, pausing to let his words sink in, before continuing dramatically. "I have a theory, my friends, and it is that the Ministry of Magic would be quite…accommodating if only we approached them correctly. Well, I have indeed found the weakest link, as it were. She will prove to be a great ally."

He gestured towards a short, squat figure by the fireplace who emitted a nauseating giggle and offered a wave, revealing a sliver of pink sleeve. Snape bit the inside of his cheek, but found himself unsurprised. Dolores Umbridge always struck him as a little twisted upstairs. He nearly groaned, though, with fear at the travesty this meant for the Wizarding World. The Order had most certainly just lost a fair bit of footing. He wasn't thrilled to be the one to share this news.

A murmur of excitement sounded around the circle, and Voldemort allowed it. He revealed in it. It was their first break through in a while, and they would savor it.

"How's about a little celebration?" the Dark Lord hissed, beckoning Wormtail with his hand. The latter immediately through open the doors to the hall and disappeared around the corner momentarily. He returned moments later with a woman, bound and gagged, a bag over her head.

Wormtail shoved her to her knees directly before the Dark Lord and removed the bag. Snape vaguely recognized her as a Ministry employee. She was young—probably fresh out of University—and at the sight of the horrid serpent-like man before her, she began writing against her binds. She couldn't have stopped the scream that burned her throat even if she tried. Snape fought the intense urge to avert his eyes.

Voldemort swooped down beside her, chuckling. "I'll make you a deal," he hissed. Behind him, the Death Eaters cackled. "I'll let you live for as long as you can keep from blinking."

The woman's eyes widened, and her chest heaved as she gasped for breath. As the seconds passed, she seemed to barely notice the cries that escaped beyond the gag—she was so focused on keeping her eyes open. Snape gave her credit. She'd managed to withstand about thirty seconds, her screams now reverberating off the high ceilings.

And then she blinked.

-BREAK-

It was well past midnight when Snape Floo'd back into a pitch-black office. Tbus, it surprised him thoroughly when he lit the lanterns only to find Albus Dumbledore twiddling his thumbs idly behind the former's desk.

"Ah, Severus," the Headmaster sighed. "How was the meeting?"

Snape busied himself with Scourgifying the remaining blood which hinted as to the night's proceedings. "Splendid," he sneered. "We all had tea and indulged in pastries."

When the blood was gone, Snape collapsed wearily into the chair in front of his desk usually reserved for students. The role-reversal irritated him.

"I see you had a visit from Miss Granger," Snape sighed at last.

Dumbledore nodded deeply. "The girl is worried about you, Severus. I see you've proven to her there's something still human inside you, even if it is deep down." His tone was light and cajoling, but Snape resented it.

"She needn't worry," he said simply.

Dumbledore cocked an eyebrow and eyed Snape's freshly cleaned robes. "Needn't she?"

Snape shifted under his gaze. "Not my blood."

The Headmaster nodded. "I surmised as much. And whom was the object of Voldemort's torment tonight?"

Snape winced at the name, but eyed his elder carefully. "Another nameless Ministry drone."

Dumbledore narrowed his eyes. "There is no such creature."

Snape scoffed, and abandoned his chair. To relieve the stress of the night he'd endured, he took to pacing. "In this war, there are plenty. And that little girl was certainly one of them." Snape stumbled in his step slightly. "She might've been all of twenty-one years old, this one. He's getting them younger now."

Snape rounded on Dumbledore, prepared to defend his insensitivity, but he the object of his anger age immensely before him. Immediately, his anger dissipated.

Dumbledore was prepared to let Severus rant. He thought, perhaps, it was a part of the younger man's healing process and if that was the case, who was he to tamper with it? Dumbledore knew, better than most, that these "nameless Ministry drones" hurt Severus more than he cared to admit, and the more they dwelled on that pain, the worse the nightmares became.

Snape deposited himself back into the wooden chair and leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees. "There was some information though, Headmaster."

Dumbledore imitated his employee and touched his fingertips together beneath his chin. "Please, continue."

"They've secured an ally within the Ministry, and a strong one at that. A powerful one."

Dumbledore held his breath and restrained from shaking his head only with difficulty. "Dare I ask whom?"

Snape lifted his eyes at this and laughed mirthlessly. "Dolores Umbridge."

The Headmaster weighed his answer. "And there was no evidence of an Unforgiveable being used?"

Snape smirked. "She was as nauseating as ever. There was no Imperius there."

They were each distracted by their own haunted thoughts, but they came to the same conclusion. The Wizarding World was indeed in more jeopardy than ever before.

-BREAK-

The grass beneath her back tickled Hermione's skin, which was a disturbing contrast to the searing agony between her legs. She could blame the lustful Lucius Malfoy for the latter. And as he began to use his teeth on her breasts, she found it impossible to keep from screaming.

And then someone was shaking her shoulder violently, as if to tear her arm away from it. "Hermione!"

She awoke at last. The burning in her throat told her that the shrieking hadn't been dreamt, but had been very real indeed. She swiped at the cold sweat that beaded her forehead, gasping in huge mouthfuls of air—she just couldn't get enough.

Her eyes eventually found the source of the voice that'd woken her. Ginny was perched on the edge of Hermione's bed, her face pale and pinched with uncertainty.

"Again?" Hermione whispered, but it was pointless; the entire dormitory was awake and holding its breath. Each girl had their eyes on her and their covers drawn up to their chins.

Ginny nodded, and waved away the apology she knew was coming. "Hermione," she said cautiously, "that's the third time this week. I…I dunno, I thought they were stopping!"

Hermione let her head fall forward and warmly welcomed the cold cloth that Ginny pressed to the back of her neck. "They were," she whispered. "I don't know what's rustled them up again. Perhaps I'm just stressed."

That was only half-true. Sure, she was immensely stressed—her workload was the heaviest it had ever been and since her return, all of her Professors insisted she received extensions on her homework. This made her even more devoted to finish on time.

But it wasn't merely that which coaxed the dreams. It'd been a week since she'd overheard the Order discussing the infiltration of the Ministry, and the betrayal of Umbridge. No one had to tell her that this spelled disaster.

She hadn't meant to eavesdrop. She'd Floo'd to Grimmauld Place in order to find Professor Snape—he'd missed a training session, and she wasn't pleased—and when she heard the low murmuring from behind closed doors, she couldn't help herself. Now that she knew the truth, half of her was glad because she could prepare herself.

The other half wish she hadn't overheard.

Snape was furious, initially, but Hermione found it easy to ignore him. She'd instead focused her attentions on the Headmaster who she knew wasn't about to beat around the bush just to keep her out of the loop.

Dumbledore had given in. The Order wasn't sure this was wisest decision—she was young and still an unofficial member and she certainly had her own problems to focus her attentions on—but they held their tongues.

Snape had smoldered in the corner, disapproving entirely but not willing to voice his objections. It was odd, Dumbledore's acquiescence.

One would think he knew about their private lessons.

And so the week resumed, as did their lessons, normally only now, they had something to work towards, a tangible goal. And Hermione was thankful for that much, at least. It was nice to have a goal on the horizon and a deadline closing in on them. It prompted Snape to challenge her like he might not have if the timeline allowed it.

But with this news came an onslaught of fresh fear that Hermione tried so hard to smother. It was stupid, really—nothing new had happened, not to her directly. And yet, she couldn't shake the tremors that rattled her nightly, nor the visions that haunted her, whether conscious or otherwise.

Presently, Hermione swung her legs over the edge of the bed and slipped into the pair of boots she kept by her bed in case of emergency. She clutched her wand and bid Ginny a restful remainder of the night, promising to head straight to the Hospital Wing for a batch of Dreamless Sleep but having no such intention.

Instead, she took to wandering the halls, which was sheer impropriety she rarely allowed herself. She'd broken more rules than she could count in her seven years at Hogwarts, but they seldom included roaming the halls after hours. It was a simple misdemeanor that had an innocent rebellion to it.

As she neared the dungeons, she wondered vaguely how she got there, or long it had taken her. Shrugging to herself, and then feeling ridiculous for doing so, she trudged forth and felt increasingly more daring the closer she drew to Snape's office. That sense of devilishness evaded her when she saw the door was ajar, and the light was on. It was nearly three. He had no business being up. Which could only mean one thing.

He was returning from a summons.

They'd been coming so frequently as of late that Snape was interrupted nearly every night. Hermione approached wearily, wand aloft, and paused outside the door. At the sound of gasping, all rationale fled and she charged the office.

For years to come, Hermione would thank whatever unearthly force drew her to the office that night. It took her a few moments to locate her Potions professor, who lay crumpled on the floor in a pool of his own blood.

"Professor?" she cried, before blasting her stupidity. Of course he wouldn't answer—there was enough blood on the floor for several transfusions.

She covered the distance between them as quickly as her sleep-deprived legs would allow and collapsed to her knees beside him. The blood was cold, nearly congealing beneath her and she wondered how long he'd been lying here helplessly.

Hermione flipped Snape onto his back gingerly and tore off his soaked outer robes. His formerly white buttoned shirt was now the purest of reds and she tore at that, too, looking for the abrasions.

She found them.

Along his stomach was a series of horrendously deep cuts. Hermione counted five in total and the horridly dark part of her mind made the connection to the scraping of fingernails.

Snape lay still as stone and Hermione frantically felt for a pulse. She willed herself to breath when she felt one—it was weak, but it was there. At a loss for what else to do, Hermione screamed, "Accio dittany!" more loudly than intended, but it got the job done. A vial of it landed in her hand and she applied it generously to his wounds. They stitched themselves together but they were so deep, it took nearly half the vial to close completely.

Even still, he'd lost a tremendous amount of blood. Hermione tried to Renervate him several times to no avail. Finally, she elevated him into the Floo before stepping in behind him.

"Hospital Wing," she cried.

As they were lifted and spun and compressed on all sides, the thought crossed her mind that now, at least, she had new fodder for nightmares.

Author's Note: Please review everyone! I love reviews almost as much as Christmas, which I love a lot.