Oh, she had gone too far this time. There was no going back. Now it was personal, and he didn't even know. How could I have been so stupid!? She had taken advantage of her professor, plain and simple. They were involved now. And yet, they weren't.

But they were.

She had gone about it all wrong! Now she knew she had to be with him, but she couldn't start anew without concealing this entire episode from his keen eyes. And yet, how could she start anything with him, anyway? He was her professor! It was all a big mess. And he didn't even know! That was the worst part. She had gone and ruined everything that ever could have been between them, and he didn't even know she'd done a thing. For all he knew, he'd begun having dreams about a student. Did he fancy her? Why didn't he seem more guilty? Maybe it wasn't as personal as it seemed.

Oh, but it was. Their last dream together had not been about relief. They hadn't just had sex. They'd made love to one another. And he had initiated that. Gods, he had made her come, and it was so much more amazing than she had ever imagined it would be. He had been so gentle, so caring. He had wanted to pleasure her, to watch her break apart as she had seen him do. The thought sent a shiver down her spine. She could still picture the raw ecstasy in his eyes as he'd watched her come apart beneath him; the way he'd thrust against her with a passion that her image had inspired.

Thinking about the dream made a fire sparkle deep inside her. She stretched out on the bed, closing her eyes to better remember the blurring details. She had revisited the memory so many times that she wasn't sure what was real and what she'd made up in her head. Of course, none of it was really real, was it? Oh, but it was.

If she concentrated, she could still feel him against her, pressing slowly into her as he kissed her neck. His calloused fingers felt so forbidden against the soft skin of her breasts. No man had ever touched her there. And she wanted more. She wanted to feel his hot tongue against her collarbone, his long hair tickling her cheek. She wanted to bury her fingers in that infamous hair and hold him tight against her. She wanted to never let go.

Warding the door to the bedroom she shared with Ginny, Hermione decided to experiment. The other girl was downstairs fawning over Harry, anyway, so she was unlikely to be interrupted. Still, she was hesitant. She'd never done this before.

Closing her eyes, Hermione imagined that her hands belonged to her professor. She started off slowly, teasingly, sliding her fingers up the length of her other arm. She pictured the ardent fire in his eyes as her fingers danced uncertainly across the exposed skin of her throat. Her breathing grew heavy as she let those fingers slowly dip down, caressing her collarbone, itching to cover her breast. But still she teased herself, shyly building the suspense as she pictured her professor. When she finally cupped herself, Hermione gasped aloud, arching her back with desire. She pinched the prominent nipple through the fabric of her dress and let her other hand slip languidly down between her legs.

Did he think she was beautiful? Did he want to touch her again? Did he think about the dreams as often as she did, touching himself with desire? She gasped to imagine that he did. Slipping one finger beneath the waste band of her knickers, Hermione was surprised to find herself so wet. She moaned at the contact, allowing herself to wonder what Severus Snape would think. Intellectually, she understood that her tight, wet sheath could provide the perfect pleasure to the over-critical man. She had seen firsthand how his normally scowling features fell slack with ecstasy as he entered her. She moaned at the thought, exploring her tender flesh and imagining it was him.

She remembered how he had wanted to watch her come. What would he think if she told him she'd touched herself to his memory? And did he touch himself to hers? Her fingers found a sweet spot and she groaned. He was on top of her, rubbing against her, thrusting his tongue into her mouth. He was overcome by desire, knowing it would hurt her, but wanting her anyway. Hermione was beginning to pant. By some instinct, she rolled onto her stomach and rubbed herself against her hand. She imagined him sitting in the corner, watching her display, telling her that when she came it would be his turn. She imagined him stretched out in his bed (the bed he had shown her in his dreams) touching himself at that very moment and thinking the exact same thing.

She imagined walking up to him at the next Order meeting and telling him then and there. Maybe he would be excited by the truth. He had to be. There was something deep between them that he couldn't just deny. And when she told him the truth, he would have to be aroused. He would know for sure that she really wanted him. That her body could be his if he only said the word. And maybe he would. Maybe he would whisk her away to some romantic place. Or maybe he'd be impatient. They could steal away to her bedroom here. Right here. And he would cover her body with his; too aroused to be patient. And he would distract her with kisses as he pressed between her thighs, seeking her moist entrance with desperation and thrusting deep inside.

Hermione cried out into the empty room, pressing hard against the heal of her palm. The fire inside of her flared hot, rushing through her veins in pulsing shocks of pleasure. She rocked against her hand until the sensations died away, leaving her limbs weak and tingly and her mind unnervingly clear. Immediately, the shame of what she had done fell over her. The poor man didn't even know that she had done this to him, and here she was fantasizing about him. She had used him. She had taken advantage. What sort of pathetic twit would he think she was if he found out? He would be revolted!

Hermione groaned and rolled onto her side, pulling her knees to her chest and squeezing her eyes shut against the shame. What have I done? she wondered. What have I gotten myself into?

…*~*J*~*…

The next Order meeting found Severus contemplating his hands and ignoring what everyone else had to say. A certain bushy-haired Gryffindor sitting on the opposite end of the long table had all of his attention. She had been silent the entire time, hardly moving, almost as if she were aware of his scrutiny. Of course, that was absurd. This whole thing was absurd! It had gone too far, and he didn't know how to reign it in.

What would the girl think if she knew about his dreams? They had become so real to him that it felt like an invasion of her privacy, somehow. It was almost as if he were carrying on a secret love affair with her. But that just wasn't true. She had become the unwitting object of his newfound desire, and she would be disgusted if she knew. And would she be wrong? What sort of lecherous old fool was he to dream about the girl? She was his student, half his age, beautiful and talented and smart. She had a brilliant future ahead of her and he would be lucky to survive the War. Even if he did, he would never live up to the prodigy everyone expected her to be. It was ridiculous even to consider. To her, he would always be the greasy old Potions Master, patronizing everything that made her beautiful and angering her friends. It was best he put her from his mind.

And yet, when the meeting was adjourned and she did not leave, Severus found himself accepting Remus's offer of tea. He just couldn't bring himself to leave her presence quite yet. After all, their time was running out. There would likely be only one more Order meeting before the next school year began. And then it would be no more dresses.

Not that he only liked her for her dresses…

Oh, Merlin, I'm pathetic.

As Remus handed him a steaming cuppa, Potter said goodbye to Albus and strode right over to Hermione-Miss Granger! "I dreamt about you again last night, 'Mione," he said. Something about the way the girl froze at his words made Severus tense with suspicion as well. Remus was asking him about the semester to come, to which he gave an appropriately succinct response, all the while listening to the girl's reply.

"Oh?" she said, sounding vaguely interested as she hid behind her own hot cup of tea. "What was it about?"

Potter shrugged. "Not much, really. We were practicing for our Potions NEWT."

Mr. Weasley snorted his pumpkin juice at that. "Sounds more like a dream 'Mione would have," he said.

It was alarming to see the girl blush. "Well," she huffed, seeming at a loss for something to say, "perhaps it's your subconscious mind trying to tell you that it's about time you took your studies seriously."

"Merlin," said Weasley, "I'm sorry, Mate. It's bad enough having 'Mione tell you that all day. Now your subconscious wants in on it, too?"

"Hermione's right," Remus interjected. His sudden involvement in the Trio's conversation effectively drew Severus into it, too. Quelling an unexpected surge of nerves, he took a long sip of his tea. "Your dreams often bring up the subjects you've been avoiding during the day," the werewolf explained. "It's natural for you to be concerned about your NEWTs."

"Actually, it was a pretty pleasant dream," Potter responded with a frown. "I'd much rather dream about Potions than… some other things." There was an awkward silence before the boy spoke again, seeming to want to steer the subject away from the uncomfortable topic. "Anyway, it's strange. I've dreamt about a different subject every night this week. It's like I'm following one of your study charts, Hermione. Almost like you're planning my dreams, yourself…"

As if on cue, the girl yelped in pain, evidently having spilled hot tea in her lap. Severus was very still. Suspicion prickled the back of his neck as heat rose to the surface of his skin at the very thought. He had had dreams of the girl, too, of late. Dreams that had helped him overcome his own nightmares. It was almost too coincidental. But maybe he was just being paranoid.

"As thrilling as this conversation is," Severus drawled, standing in reaction to a sudden need to escape, "I have more important matters to attend to." Setting his nearly empty cup on the saucer, the Potions Master swept from the room.

He was nearly to the front door when a sudden thought made him stop in his tracks. He turned to inspect the stairway, terrified when he found it identical to the one in his last Hermione dream. Of course, that was perfectly explainable. Although he had never given the staircase much thought, he had certainly passed by it enough times to reconstruct it in a dream. What he hadn't observed for himself, however, was the room at the top of the first landing.

For a solid minute, he was frozen in place, staring up at that door in terror and curiosity. He had to know, but he didn't want to take those steps to do so. Everything hinged on such a simple thing.

Oh, what sort of fool am I? Was he really so desperate that he was now hoping to believe his dreams were somehow real? What did he expect to find? That Miss Granger was some sort of brilliant dream-Legilimens? That she was a nightwalker who could step into another person's mind? Even he didn't know how to do that and he was on a level with the Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore.

And yet… the door was there. The answers were kept behind it. All he had to do was climb those stairs and look inside, and he would know for sure. Every second that he waited made it more likely that the occupants of the kitchen would let out and he would be caught in the act. He had to do it now. Or never.

Severus's wand hand twitched; a nervous tick of his. The question was: did he really want to know?

…*~*J*~*…

Thank you all for your patience and support! I'm sorry it has taken me so long to update this fic! I was trying for the longest time to focus only on my WIP "Clash of the Conjurers," but apparently I just can't do that. So… instead… I decided I'll just have to juggle stories, and that includes this one! I hope you've enjoyed this update, a big thanks to everyone who has reviewed, and please let me know what you think! It really keeps me going. Thank you!

LOVE

:} llorolalluvia