Chapter 4

…*~*J*~*…

For an entire week, Hermione persuaded herself not to reenter the dreams of her professor. Much as she wanted to, it would be wrong to neglect her friend, and Harry needed her help. The fate of the Wizarding War was resting on his bony shoulders, and whatever Hermione could do to better his chances, she gladly would. Of course, Severus Snape was important to the Order, too. His work as a spy could very well mark the difference between victory and defeat. But he'd had twenty years more practice than Harry. No, she told herself sternly, Harry needs me more.

That didn't mean she couldn't think about the Potions Master, of course. When she found herself alone, between books, and when she wasn't worrying about the war to come, Hermione's thoughts always turned to him. At first, she imagined how he would react if she told him the truth. Of course, if she was realistic at all, that was not a confrontation she wanted to have. It was easy to pretend, however, and she often found herself doing just that. What if he came to me just like in that dream? she would think. Or, What would he actually say if I told him that I wanted him? But it was no use. These thoughts always turned to lonely skepticism. He would never accept her outside of his dreams. Even if it was really her he wanted, as opposed to a woman in general, what could possibly make her think that he would want to be with her in truth? She was his student, for Merlin's sake. What would people think?

It doesn't matter in the dreams. We can do as we please and no one will ever say a word.

The day of the Order meeting, Hermione was beside herself with anxiety. Much as she wanted to see the professor, would that really be wise? After what had happened last time… Hermione's eyes unfocused at the memory. What if that were to happen again? She was terrified and excited by the notion all at once. He's an accomplished Legilimens, you daft twit! What if he saw into your mind? Perhaps it was not worth the risk. Besides, seeing him would only make her want to dream with him again, and she really shouldn't. One night of the week really isn't so bad, she told herself. Oh sure, Hermione, just one night of tortuous nightmares for Harry. But that's worth it if you enjoy yourself, right? She scoffed angrily at herself for such foolishness. Of course, Professor Snape is having nightmares every night, now. Hope rose within her at the promising argument, but she quickly smothered it. You've made your decision and it's no use second-guessing yourself. Besides, the more you dream with him, the more complicated it will all become. That was true, if nothing else was, so she dropped the issue from her mind.

The meeting stretched on and on as Hermione paced in the hallway at the top of the basement stairs. She had not allowed herself to wait for him in the kitchen this time, but surely there could be no harm in passing by him in the hall. It wasn't as if they would have a chance to speak, after all. She couldn't possibly give herself away.

When the stream of Order members leaving the house commenced, Hermione's heart caught in her throat. What a fool she must seem, standing there in the hallway, waiting for him. What possible reason could she have for doing so? And yet, she couldn't seem to force herself away, foolish as it was. She needed to see him.

The stream slowed to a trickle and Snape had not appeared. Finally, after five minutes of idle pacing, which she had resumed in her anxiousness, she was certain that he would not be coming. After all, the spy did not attend every single Order meeting. There were bound to be a few where he was absent. Her heart sank painfully in her chest, leaving it hollow and disappointed. She swallowed, staring at the front door as if willing him to visit anyway, just because he wanted to. But that was a bit of silly foolishness and she chastised herself for being stupid. Turning away, she jumped back in surprise to find the man in question right before her. Sneaky devil! "Professor!" she gasped, staring up into his eyes as if there was something more that she might say. He seemed quite taken aback; an odd expression on a face customarily so controlled. They both hesitated, as if waiting for the other to say something until, finally, Hermione came back to her senses and swept past him, mortified. She heard the slamming of the front door before she'd even reached the stairs.

That night, it was harder than ever to keep herself from dreaming with him.

…*~*J*~*…

What the bloody hell was that!? Severus inwardly raged. He had humiliated himself, staring down at her in as much confusion when she'd merely been startled to see him there! And what had he expected?! That she somehow knew there was something between them? That there, in fact, was something between them, after all? Well, there was a thought. He stopped his pacing to consider. Could his dreams about her stem from some unacknowledged tension that he was too stubborn and blind to recognize? Don't be a fool! Yes, he was, indeed, a fool; a hopelessly besotted old… Oh no. No, not besotted. I am not besotted with that bushy-haired brat!

What a fool! Letting one stupid dream have so much power over him... If he was besotted, he ought to dream about her more, but he hadn't had so much as a glimpse of her for more than a week. It was like having all of the negative symptoms of obsession and none of the good. No, oh no, not obsession. I am certainly not obsessed! Perhaps the thing to do was simply to put her from his mind. She had been a comforting thought—and nothing more—but he could not afford such luxuries. There was a war at hand and it would not do for him to keep drooling after some schoolgirl all the while. There. That was it. He simply wouldn't dream about her ever again.

Two days later, he was singing a different tune. Much as he had promised himself not to dream of her, he was still disappointed when he didn't. How was he supposed to force the chit from his mind when all he could think about was why he hadn't dreamt of her again?

Perhaps it was time to try another tactic. Clearly, this one was not producing the desired results. An opposite approach might be just the ticket. After all, objectifying the girl could clear his head of any emotional foolishness while satisfying the urges of his body all the same. Yes, he decided, that was exactly what he'd do.

Severus climbed into bed earlier than usual that night and faced the ceiling with a heavy sigh. Was he really about to do this? Oh, as if it's the most despicable thing you've ever done! Frowning, he fought off the part of him that felt guilty about it and pinched his eyes shut. Conjuring pictures of her face and body only brought back that swell of shame and Severus angrily leapt out of bed. Heading straight for his liquor cabinet, the old Slytherin didn't both with a tumbler. Instead, reaching for the whiskey, he brought the mouth of the bottle right to his lips and drank deep for several seconds. There. That should crush what's left of my principles.

When the whiskey finally ramped up his heartbeat and clouded his mind, Severus climbed back on top of his sheets. Reaching a hand between his legs, he gently coaxed a dozing interest into flame. He sighed, physically and mentally prepared, and closed his eyes. He could see her face, her legs, her luscious breasts, and the delicate curve of her collarbone. Your student! a voice in his mind insisted. No, not my student. Just a woman.

But she is your student.

Well, she won't be for long. Severus gasped and drew on that thought. It was true! And when she's not… His mind conjured images of her standing in the hallway at Grimmauld, those dark pink lips parted in surprise. How would those lips look wrapped around his cock? Delicious. He thought about that day in the kitchen, when he'd trapped her against the table. The way she smelled. He'd been so close that had he leaned forward, their bodies would have touched. Severus groaned at that thought, remembering the way he'd dreamt she'd feel. The soft cotton of her dress clung to her body, showing off those magnificent breasts. Her face was flushed and her expression dazed as she stretched out on the couch. Those perfect thighs rubbing together in secret arousal. He wanted to be the one to satisfy that urge.

Severus cried out, coming hard as he imagined pleasing her; her innocent face contorted with ecstasy at his hands. And then, panting into the night air as he came down from his orgasm, the fantasy was suddenly gone. And he was cold. Loneliness consumed him as it had not in some time and he belatedly understood his folly. The quenching of his long-stagnant arousal had not been the addiction he'd incurred. It had been that comfort she had offered; something denied him for so long. And as he lay there all alone, sated and spent atop his sheets, he had never wanted her more.

…*~*J*~*…

Two nights before the next Order meeting, Hermione succumbed to her own desires. She had been arguing with herself all week, but it just couldn't be avoided forever. The longer she denied herself, the more desperate she became; like a beggar who had never known hunger before. She needed to dream with him again. And so, tempting fate, she tossed back the vial and promptly collapsed atop her sheets.

The scene that enveloped her was one of panic. Everywhere, there were people, giants, werewolves, and monsters of every kind. And they were running and shooting hexes at each other from every angle. On instinct, Hermione ducked and reached for her wand, but it was not there. It was then that she recognized the castle in the distance: Hogwarts. They were at Hogwarts. If Professor Snape was having nightmares about a war on Hogwarts' grounds, that could not possibly be a good sign.

And there he was, the man himself, casting curses and dodging spells with the rest of them. His face was angry and his robes swept around him as if caught in some invisible current of magic. She was in awe.

When he caught sight of her, his concentration dropped, but no one took advantage and he remained unscathed. Suddenly, it seemed as if attacks were coming from everywhere and Hermione's professor ran toward her. "No!" he cried, shooting off hexes as he did so. And then he did the strangest, most irrational thing. He threw himself on top of her, curling his limbs around her as if to shield her from a blast. It seemed as if they were being pounded by various spells and physical blows and Hermione knew it was time for a change of scene. Remembering her reading, she closed her eyes and told herself that they could Apparate from there; that the Wards had been let down. And she grabbed his hand and took him to the first place that came to mind: Grimmauld Place.

They landed on the staircase near Mrs. Black's portrait and Hermione marveled that this particular part of the house was what defined it in her mind. It made sense, she supposed, as the old harridan's anti-mudblood screaming was what made her dread visits to the Black residence.

Professor Snape was staring down at her with a look of intense concentration and Hermione startled. She had not been alone with him in so long and now here he was, studying her, waiting for her to say something. It was just like the other day in the hall, except that she was up a flight of stairs. In fact, the bedroom that she shared with Ginny Weasley was on the very next landing. She could take him there. But she had never been the one to act first. Usually, she simply allowed his fantasies to play out with her as a willing participant. Initiating fantasies of her own seemed almost like a trespass. And yet, there she was, taking his hand and leading him up the stairs.

He followed readily, greedily, his eyes tracing down her curves. The room was exactly the way she had left it and part of her secretly admitted that she wanted to have a memory of him in here to think about when she couldn't get to sleep at night. Hermione led him to her bed and he sat down, leaning back on his hands and staring up at her. "Miss Granger," he drawled in a questioning tone.

"Professor?" she responded, stepping forward to stand between his knees.

"Is this supposed to be your bedroom?"

"It is my bedroom," she answered with a grin, catching his chin in her hand. He turned his face into her palm and caught the tender flesh between his teeth before lifting a hand to her wrist and pulling her slowly down onto his lap. They were face to face; wide brown eyes meeting calculating black ones. Before she could so much as blink, they were under the covers together, naked, and he was between her legs. The dome of blankets cast a deep blue hue across their faces as he met her mouth in an anxious gasp. Pale arms wrapping around her frame, he clung to her desperately as he sought to connect them once again.

Hermione whimpered as he pushed himself inside of her once more. The pain was biting, but the ache it quenched was even greater and her head fell back in ecstasy. She wrapped her legs around him as he sought relief against her skin. He was panting hard into her hair, his mouth barely brushing the skin of her neck. Hermione moaned. He was here, now, and she didn't ever want to let him go.

This was not the frenzied sex of the previous two encounters. Her professor was clinging to her and moving slowly as if they had all the time in the world. She found the gentle rhythm oddly pleasant in a way his urgent thrusts last time could not have been. It sent hot flashes across her skin as pulses of desire echoed every gentle move he made. At first, she did not understand why his passion seemed so much more subdued. And then he kissed her neck and squeezed her in his arms, and at last she understood. He was not simply enjoying her body as she had originally thought. No, it was much more than that. Even if it was only a dream, her heart soared and her pulse quickened as the Head of Slytherin House made love to her.

Hermione lifted herself to meet the thrusts of her professor, gasping when the resulting shock of pleasure was doubled. She began to meet him thrust for thrust, whimpering as the friction fanned a fire in her groin. Her professor pulled away to meet her eyes, clearly shocked to see her behave this way. "Please," she begged when his motion slowed, and it was as if a switch had been flipped. His eyes caught fire and he growled low in his throat, grinding hard against her, only barely quicker than before. The fierce desire in his eyes was like kindling on the fire deep inside and she was soon squirming beneath his touch, desperate for some way out of this sweet torment.

"Yes," he growled in a voice harsh with passion. "Come for me," he told her, the eagerness in his voice and in his eyes. "Hermione."

Hermione's breath hitched at the sound of her name on his lips and a joy filled her with sudden urgency that seemed to break apart her seams. Suddenly, she was bursting into flames, surges of hot pleasure pulsing in violent waves of ecstasy. She hardly heard herself cry out in harsh surrender to the force of her release. And as she came down, he was pounding into her with such intensity that she thought she might explode all over again. His mouth was slack and his eyes were fixed on hers in an expression of aching desire. This time, when he cried out, she knew what he was feeling.

He was cradling her head in his hands as they panted into the darkness beneath the sheets. Hermione would never forget the way he looked at her. Then, before her very eyes, the dream changed shape again. She was curled up by his side, sheets drawn up under her arms as she toyed with the hair on his chest. And they were no longer at Grimmauld Place, but in a room she did not recognize. It was dark and sparse and everything the Potions Master's bedroom ought to be. She remembered the way she had wanted to see him in her own bed and thrilled at the thought that he might have been thinking the same. For a moment, it almost felt as if he had woken up and she was there beside him. The thought made her lonely, somehow. After all, whenever he did wake up, he would be all alone.

And so would she.

…*~*J*~*…

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