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She shouldn't be out here. Hermione Granger did not break the rules; at least, if Harry wasn't in danger she didn't. Yet here she was, wandering the halls at 3 AM in her lavender nightgown, her bare feet padding near silently on the dust trodden stone floor. She wished briefly that she had a sleepwalking problem. There was hardly any room to punish a sleepwalker, and it'd give her a real reason to be out wandering. Hermione didn't have any reason, other than the hands that reached for her in her nightmares, white-hot and ugly. They followed her in the waking world too, heavy footsteps never far behind her, sharp whispers, shadows at the edges of her imagination. Her parents had forced her to go to a muggle therapist over the summer after she had stopped talking altogether. It was difficult, cobbling together the most sane sounding version of the battle at the ministry. The therapist had believed her anyway, appalled that a grown man had attacked a teenager and no one seemed to know about it.
He had diagnosed her with PTSD, scribbled down a list of SSRI's for her to try and pressed into her hand from his too-new leather chair. Hermione had promptly shoved it at the bottom of her bag and never looked at it again. She didn't much like Dr. Parretti. He was an unusually thin man with perpetually crossed arms, beetle-black eyes, and the thinnest lips she'd ever seen. He always looked at her with a disinterested air, like she was something to be studied, like he'd never had the pleasure of diagnosing someone so young with PTSD. She wasn't supposed to have it. Nothing was supposed to addle her brilliant mind. Nothing could rob her of her potential, the future her teachers always assured her was waiting for her. PTSD was reserved for broken adults and soldiers, but she'd be lying if she didn't already know this war would be won by teenagers.
It wasn't like the wizarding world recognized her diagnosis. Hermione had thought of telling Harry, but decided against it after imagining how he'd respond after losing Sirius and a mass murderer living in his head. Instead she had decided to carry it in secret, revealed only to Crookshanks in the safety of her drawn bed curtains. I should've taken those pills, Hermione thought as she paced, running her hands through her unruly curls. If she took them that would be an acceptance of her condition, and that was something she couldn't handle. It was easier to pretend that she was managing fine on her own, to lose herself in the stale parchment of her textbooks, to keep going as best as she could.
The nightmares were unavoidable. She'd already drained the vial of dreamless sleep Snape had given her, but she wasn't about to ask for more, especially since he had warned her of it's addicting effects. Her dormitory was filled with Lavender's snickers and Parvarti's endless questions. It helped to roam. If she stayed still for too long, Dolohov would emerge from the corner of her room and split her in half. I ought to ask Harry for his cloak. Or steal it, she thought absentmindedly, approaching a shadowy alcove when a leather-gloved hand clamped down on her shoulder.
Hermione whipped around faster than she thought capable, raising her fist to drive into the face of her attacker, only to be met with the bemused face of Severus Snape. He caught her wrist before she could break his nose, letting out a low chuckle at her outraged expression. "Miss Granger. I do not need to inform you that you are not permitted to be out of bed at this hour."
A strangled noise came from the back of her throat, a thousand excuses racing through her head before her body decided it was better if she burst into tears. Severus stared at her, unsure what to do while the sobs racked her small body. He sighed and pulled her into his chest, wincing as her tears immediately soaked his robes. Hermione only cried harder, pressing her face into the hard wall of his chest, inhaling the strong scent of herbs, freshly plucked eucalyptus, black coffee and some other earthly smell she couldn't quite place. At least he didn't smell like potions ingredients.
"I'm sorry sir. I know I'm not supposed to be out of bed, I just couldn't- well, I was afraid, er- I didn't want to be in my dorms anymore, I-," Hermione babbled, clinging to the surprisingly soft fabric of his teaching robes.
Snape gently pushed her away from him, but allowed her to keep hold of his arm in the hopes that her tears would stop sometime soon. "Come with me, Miss Granger."
She stared back at him, waiting for his usual stream of insults. He snorted, and started striding towards the dungeons, robes billowing behind him. She followed reluctantly, unsure what terrible punishment awaited her at their destination. They walked together in silence, Hermione desperately trying to keep up as he navigated the dungeons in the dark, trying to keep her mind from inventing horrors lurking in the shadows. Finally they reached a portrait of a nymph reclining in a babbling stream, the stars winking above her as she watched the pair curiously.
"Manticore," he murmured, the portrait swinging open to reveal his surprisingly cosy quarters.
Hermione stood in the doorway, every bone in her body telling her she was not allowed to be here. Severus didn't notice, shedding his outer robe and tossing it on the arm of the emerald green couch. She took a tentative step forward, bracing herself as if alarms would blare if she was caught in a teacher's private quarters. The door swung shut behind her, forcing her all the way into his sitting room.
Snape looked up at the sound of her feet thudding to the ground, noticing immediately that she was shivering in the damp cold of the dungeons. "I don't bite you know," He said, casting a warming charm.
"Everyone thinks you do," Hermione said, standing perfectly still.
"Would I have taken you here if I did?" Snape stepped closer to her and she flinched, but he only offered her a knit blanket, a garish orange thing, decidedly out of place here.
She took it reluctantly, drawing it around her shoulders like a shroud. "Why did you take me here? I can't imagine you're allowed to have students in here."
Snape smirked, the fireplace erupting behind him with a flick of his hand. "No, I'm afraid not. However, you're safer here and I doubt that you would've gone back to your dormitory if I forced you to."
Hermione sat gingerly on the far end of the couch, absentmindedly stroking the velvet. "I suppose you're right."
"Would you like a cup of tea, Miss Granger?" He asked, already heading to the small kitchen across the room.
"That would be nice," She replied, studying the room curiously. She never imagined what the professors' rooms were like, let alone Snape's. I expected something a lot creepier than this. Not an armchair made of skulls creepy, but at least some pickled eyeballs, She thought, stifling a giggle as she imagined a room closer to Dracula's than her surly professors. It was warm, the couch and armchairs stuffed with pillows, all a shade of mint. The only picture on the mantelpiece was a muggle photograph of an unsmiling woman, her hair the same oily waves as Snape's. A small desk stood in the corner, a cheery shade of yellow that should've appalled Snape. An army of plants stood watch over the various stacks of parchment and open books, framed on either side by bookshelves groaning under the weight of leather bound tomes. She itched to run her fingers along their cracking spines, but thought better of it.
"I assure you Miss Granger, most of my books will not be so kind to you. My tastes are far darker than the restricted section," Snape said, gently setting a steaming mug in front of her.
"I'd like to read them anyway," Hermione said stiffly, fighting the urge to roll her eyes.
Severus settled into the armchair across from her. In the firelight she could see the dark stains on his tunic, the blood dried black in menacing streaks across his pale face. His gaze turned cold when he realized what she was doing. "It is rude to stare," He said, glaring at her.
Hermione paid no mind. "What happened to you? Were you with Vol-"
"Do not say his name!" Snape snarled, clutching the arms of his chair with white knuckles. "I was summoned. Not that it is any of your business, Miss Granger. Why were you out of bed?"
"Whose blood is that?" Hermione glared back, fighting the urge to slip her hand into her wand pocket.
"Answer my question and I'll answer yours," Snape said coolly, watching her carefully.
"My nightmares. I can't stand to be alone up there. I keep seeing Dolohov. Everywhere. It feels like it's happening all over again. My chest aches, I can feel my ribcage tearing open. I can't control it. It helps to walk," Hermione rushed, the words coming easily in the dimly lit room. Maybe it was because she needed to tell someone. Maybe it was because she knew Snape wouldn't pity her. Maybe it was because she wanted him to understand.
Snape nodded, taking a sip of his tea, closing his eyes for a moment to savor the bitter taste. "A death eater failed this evening. Fortunately, it was not me. The dark lord thought it prudent that he be punished."
Hermione mirrored him, though her tea tasted of nutmeg, cinnamon, and cloves. "It doesn't hurt you? To watch another suffer?"
"Contrary to what your idiotic friends may think, I do have a heart. Though I cannot afford to feel for those among our ranks. I remember every one of their faces. I don't sleep either," Snape said bitterly, cradling his head in his willowy fingers.
"I'm sorry," Hermione said weakly, unsure what to do with his unfamiliar vulnerability.
"There is no need to apologize, Miss Granger. The war began long before you were born."
"I am still sorry, though. All this is new to me. I can't imagine what it's been like for 20 years." She watched as he lifted his head to meet her gaze, something inscrutable in the dark depths of his eyes, though it was gone in an instant.
"If you need to get away- If you cannot sleep or it becomes too much, you may come here. I am not fond of teenage emotions but I'd rather you be here than be alone. There are many in this world keen to hurt you, Miss Granger. It would not do to tempt them," He said awkwardly, clearing his throat.
She could feel the familiar stinging already. What was this? He cared about her? He wanted her safe? It could be a trap. At this point she didn't care. She felt safe here, tucked away in the dungeons. He didn't ask many questions, didn't press her, didn't ask anything of her. "Thank you, sir."
He nodded, turning his attention to his tea. "I expect you to complete your apprenticeship duties as well. You may brew here if you wish."
"I can go back to my dorms now. It'll be morning soon," She said, but she wanted to stay here beneath the lives of her classmates, hidden away with the miserable man before her.
"Very well. I will escort you."
The journey from the dungeons to Gryffindor tower was far too short, dawn chasing them through the silent hallways, the portraits whispering as the Gryffindor Princess tramped alongside the feared Potions Master. Filch was nowhere to be seen thankfully, and they arrived at the Fat Lady without one glimpse of the gruff old man or his menacing feline. Hermione turned to thank Snape but he had already vanished, the only trace of him the lingering scent of Eucalyptus. She fell asleep as her roommates stirred, and for the first time in weeks she did not dream.