Snape is inordinately pleased with the progress his protégé is making. She is blossoming under his direction, and devouring new knowledge at an alarming rate. He is also becoming more and more concerned for her well being. The matter of the threats made to her person still hasn't been resolved, in spite of his best efforts, and he is becoming truly alarmed. Whomever is behind the threats is a serious opponent, and has taken countless steps to stay well hidden.
And then there is the other matter. Hermione's nightmares. The charm wakes Snape at least once, sometimes multiple times, per night. The charm, as Snape explained to Hermione, is not overly sensitive. Hermione awakens from sleep literally terrified for her life almost every night. Snape dutifully checks to make sure she is still in her dormitory before going back to sleep, sometimes only to be awakened again.
He desperately wants to say something, to help her, but he has been ruthlessly denying himself. It is none of his business. It is information he shouldn't even have. Hermione knows he is a Potions Master. If she wanted to, she could come to him for calming drafts and dreamless sleep. She could brew those potions for herself, come to think of it, in her sleep. The fact that she clearly hasn't made any attempt to help herself is driving Snape insane with worry.
To make matters worse, his worry is making him irritable and, combined with the lack of sleep, his impeccable self control in his lessons with Hermione begins to slip. He catches himself snapping at her, making snide comments, and generally being vile and arrogant.
She handles it well at first, retreating into herself a little, but otherwise not acknowledging his change in temperament. But as the days creep closer to Halloween, and his temperament doesn't improve, Hermione stops asking him her usual litany of questions. It's a relief for Snape at first, not to be bombarded with question after meticulous question about every fucking detail of every fucking step of every fucking potion. But when the questions stop, the quality and precision of her work falters.
Two days before Halloween, Hermione is stirring a particularly complicated potion and her motion is ever so slightly off, causing a slight discoloration on the top of the milky brew. Snape sees the consternation on her face, and he is relieved that she has noticed the problem. But when she doesn't correct it, he reaches out to grasp her hand and fix it for her, before the entire solution is ruined beyond repair.
When his hand grasps hers, Hermione's whole body jerks violently away from him. She drops the stirring stick, and it promptly disappears into the rapidly deconstructing potion. Snape knows a lost cause when he sees one and promptly vanishes the entire mess. Then he turns to his protégé.
Hermione has put a full two meters between them. She is trembling like the whomping willow in a typhoon and making a heroic effort to get herself under control. She is frantically wiping the tears away from her face with Snape's embroidered handkerchief, but they just keep coming. Her carefully constructed mental barriers have slipped as well, and Snape is getting a barrage of disorganized emotion from her usually meticulous brain. The overriding emotion is shame. She thinks this is her fault, he realizes. Fuck.
Snape approaches Hermione carefully, conjuring up a stool behind her with a flick of his wand. She is gulping in big breaths, obviously struggling to get her weeping under control and failing miserably. When he is close enough to touch her, he places a hand on her shoulder and gently pushes her down onto the stool. She complies, but keeps her face buried in his handkerchief and refuses to look at him.
Snape takes a corner of the soaked handkerchief between his thumb and forefinger and tugs. She lets him have it, but covers her face with her hands. He dries the handkerchief.
"Hermione," he says, in the softest voice he can conjure. "Look at me."
Inexplicably, she does. 'Why do I still want to trust him?' Hermione thinks as she lowers her hands to her lap and looks up at Snape.
"I don't know, sweetheart, but it's a relief to hear that you do." He takes her under the chin with the tips of his elegant fingers, and proceeds to dry her face with the handkerchief. When more tears spill onto her cheeks, her patiently wipes at those, too. All the while he is speaking to her in the gentlest voice he can manage. "I am a vile, repugnant man, Miss Granger. You've known that from the day I needlessly terrorized Mr. Longbottom just to make a point. I am also a bully, and a grouch. What happened today is not your fault. I am highly stressed at the moment, and I also haven't been sleeping very well, as you may have guessed." Hermione looks mortified at this. She's obviously put two and two together.
"Also not your fault." Snape says, reproachful of the new wave of shame he is getting from her. The tears keep coming. He keeps wiping, his fingers holding her steady and keeping her from turning away.
"Your well being is important to me, Miss Granger, and as such I will endeavor to improve the deplorable way that I treat you. But- what's that muggle saying? Something about new dogs and old tricks?" This gets him a tiny smile from her, and his heart leaps in his chest at the sight of it. "Do you think you could try to meet me in the middle? I'll try not to be an asshole. Can you try not to take it personally when I am?"
Hermione nods. The tears have stopped flowing now, to Snape's intense relief. When he lets her chin go, he gets a wash of disappointment at the loss of contact from Hermione. It mingles with his own disappointment.
"Miss Granger," he says, still taking care to speak softly, "Can you stop broadcasting your thoughts now? I'd like to have a conversation with you about a sensitive subject- without invading your privacy any further."
She nods and closes her eyes. He takes a seat in front of her and listens to her breathing deeply for several minutes. He literally can hear her putting her guard back up, her thoughts and emotions sound like a radio station fading out along an abandoned highway. He finds that he regrets the loss, is disturbed by that fact, and files it away for future thought.
When Hermione's thoughts are firmly her own again, she opens her eyes and looks up at him. He sits elegantly on a stool in front of her, his usually impassive face full of concern. His face isn't handsome, but it is striking, and elegant, and, in Hermione's opinion, beautiful when he isn't sneering or scowling. She blushes a little and is glad she has her thoughts well organized and protected again.
Snape watches Hermione open her eyes and look at him again. Her face is swollen and her eyes are red. But her expression is resolute and controlled. She is learning. It makes him proud. He raises his wand to her face, pauses, and is relieved when she doesn't flinch. He casts an anti-inflammatory spell.
Hermione breathes out softly. "Thank you sir."
"It's the least I can do," he says. He watches her for another breath or two. Her gaze is still wary. Snape realizes it's going to take some time to make her feel safe again, and is furious with himself. "I want to ask you about your nightmares," He says, finally, trying to sound apologetic. It isn't a tone he usually takes, and he doesn't know if he can pull it off.
Hermione doesn't like where this is going, but decides to let it play out. She can see he is genuinely concerned. "What about them?" she asks.
"How long have you had them?"
"They started after my delightful vacation at Malfoy Manor," she snaps, her eyes blazing a little.
"I sorry that happened to you, Miss Granger. One of my greatest regrets of the war was that I didn't get to kill Bellatrix myself. All though, I'll admit, there's a certain poetic justice in Mrs. Weasley having done it."
Hermione nods, but doesn't reply.
Snap continues his questioning. "Is there a reason why you aren't taking anything to help you sleep?"
"Drug myself up?" Hermione snorts. "Yeah, I tried that. Calming draughts wear off too quickly and you can't take dreamless sleep more than once a week. And anyway, they made me lose my edge."
"So does not sleeping." Snape says.
Hermione shrugs.
"I want to try and make you a different kind of potion," Snape says. "If I am successful, will you try it? Once?"
Hermione nods.
"Thank you," says Snape, clearly relieved. "It's past ten, you need to go to bed."
"Yes, sir," Hermione says, smiling a little and getting up from her stool. Then, "Do I still look like I've been crying,"
"No," says Snape, barely biting his tongue back in time to avoid adding, 'You look beautiful.'
"Good," says Hermione, "Because I told Ginny she could hex you if you ever made me sad."
"You think I don't know how to counter a bat bogey hex?" Snape says blandly. "Forgive me for not shaking in my robes. Get some sleep, Miss Granger."