Dream

~*~

An arm rested heavily across her abdomen, securing her in a cocoon of warmth. Deep, soft snoring lulled her senses. She felt a great sense of peace - all was right with the world.

Hermione cracked opened her eyes. It felt very strangely familiar in this dark unfamiliar room, in this unfamiliar bed. She turned her head back to see her bed partner, but she could only see his faint outline in that near-dark room. There was a fireplace with glowing embers, but this threw little light into the room. Not enough to see her bed partner by.

She felt the arm around her tighten, and the snoring stopped. A soft sigh was released into her hair. "Now this is an unusual set of circumstance," crooned a sleepy, silky baritone, "what have you done to my usual set of nightmares? Are they taking a break tonight?" The man sounded somewhat amused. "Frankly, my dear, I've not had this type of dreams for some years now."

Hermione blushed, but she doubted that the man could see her.

"Oh? And what type of dream do you think this is?" she retorted.

"Well," he murmured into the nape of her neck, eliciting a gasp from Hermione, "the rather naughty type, I'd imagine."

Hermione giggled and turned to face the man. His arms were still loosely wrapped around her, with his thumb gently stroking the small of her back. Hermione was mildly relieved that she was still in her nightgown. The man had on a pair of long-sleeved silk pyjamas, which invited her to stroke the silky soft fabric, warmed by his skin. Answering to temptation, she placed her hand on his chest and whispered coyly into his face, "What makes you think this dream is going that way? I don't even know who you are."

"Does it really matter, love?" he whispered, "I'm usually plagued by night terrors and here you are with me. An oasis of peace in the storms of my nightmares."

"Ah, so you are a poet, then," she teased him. "But I can't just simply get naughty with a stranger, now can I?"

"I suppose not. But I find that these preliminaries are usually unnecessary in dreams of this sort."

"Is that so?" she smiled, "I'm afraid I must disagree."

"There are few people in the world that would dare disagree with me about anything, my dear," he remarked in an imperious tone, with perhaps a tinge of amusement towards her impertinence.

"Indeed?" she raised her eyebrow. "That implies two things," she continued, somewhat playfully. "One, that it is better to agree with you because to deviate from your views will result in terrible consequences for those who dare disagree with you. Or two, that most people find you too terrifying to disagree with you. Both implications are rooted in fear. So, it begs the next question, stranger: Are you someone that I should be afraid of?"

The hand at the small of her back suddenly stilled and Hermione could feel the man stiffen. In the next instant, the man had rolled away from her and was sitting with his back against the bed's headboard, crouching - his elbows on bent knees, and his head in his hands. Startled by his sudden movement and body posture, Hermione remained where she was, staring at him.

"I'm beginning to think this dream is not what it appears to be," he said cautiously. "Perhaps you are my subconscious manifesting itself as an angel, sent to torment me."

Hermione was confused at where this dream was going. Tormenting him? What was he talking about?

"It would make sense, you know." He continued morosely, "After all, what are nightmares but the manifestation of one's deepest fears?"

Nightmares? Fears? Who was this stranger sharing her bed? Slowly, so as not to startle the man crouched into himself on her right, she sat next to him, and pulled the thick quilt over the two of them.

"I don't understand what you're talking about," she sighed, putting her arms around the man's shoulder, "and you're confusing me. Tell me why you think this is a nightmare."

For a while, the silence was broken only by the breathing of the couple on the bed.

"You asked me if you should be afraid of me," he began quietly, "the thing is, you should. Everyone does - everyone that matters anyway. It's in their eyes...they all look at me and I can see their fear - wondering if the rumours about me were true, wondering if one day my vile depravity would manifest itself in something so terrible that it would justify those rumours about me. And the truth of the matter is... the truth is, I fear the same thing."

A pause, as he turned to face her, "The truth is, I am a man living a life tainted with darkness. My very living is a nightmare. I don't deserve any reprieve in pleasant dreams," he spat.

He looked away from her and stared straight ahead. "The best I can hope for is dreamless sleep, but even my dreamless sleep potions are not able to ward off the nightmares my eyes have seen and the deeds my hands have done. I carry the guilt of my actions and my conscious is burdened to the extent that I am plagued by terrors in my sleep. Nothing can atone for my past transgressions. They are unforgivable!"

Hermione felt such great sorrow for the man; she didn't know what to do. Her head told her that she should be wary of him, for he was clearly unstable, but her heart could empathise with what he said. She sensed his deep remorse, his loneliness, his fear, his torment. She just felt compelled to care for this sad creature who knew not what it was to know peace or comfort. She began to soothe him by stroking his bare back in silence.

"I am not afraid of you," she said to him after a while. "I don't know why, but I feel safe with you. I know that you'll never harm me. In fact, I sense that you've been watching over me and protecting me for a time now." She didn't know how she knew all that, but as she spoke, she realised that it was the truth. Perhaps it was the in the warm cocoon of security she felt when she woke up in his arms, or something in her subconscious, or something else altogether - she didn't know. But she knew that this man was important to her, and that his wellbeing mattered to her.

"You don't know me," his voice was almost inaudible. "I've done terrible things in my past. I have tried to atone for them, but it is never enough. It's never enough! It'll never bring them back. It makes no difference - I can't bring them back..." He started sobbing and all Hermione could do was to hold on to the man as he poured his grief and remorse into her shoulders.

After a time, his sobbing subsided. Hermione pulled him down so that he could lay his head on her lap. After making sure that the quilt sufficiently covered him, she started stroking his long silky hair. Silence reigned for a time, and peace enveloped the pair.

"I'm glad you are only a dream, I would never have allowed you near otherwise, you know? Nobody has seen these secret pains I endure. I would not have anyone tainted with the darkness I carry." He gave a self-depreciating chuckle, "I am King Midas, but everything I touch loses its beauty and light!"

Hermione continued stroking his hair thoughtfully. When the echo of his last statement died out, Hermione spoke softly into the darkness, "Ah, but what if I am Queen Midas, and that everything I touch becomes lovely and fair? Would not my light overcome your darkness?"

She brightened her tone to chase away the melancholy that was threatening them, "And I have touched you a fair bit tonight."

The man in her lap began a low chuckle that grew into genuine mirth. As he laughed, he sat up and embraced Hermione. He sighed into her hair, and whispered into her ears, "Thank you, my dear." He pulled back to look into her glinting eyes, "You may only be a dream wraith, but you have fortified me, even if only for tonight."

He stared at her for a moment, and cupped her cheek with his hand. Hermione gave him a smile and leaned into his warm hands.

"I wish..." he began.

"Hmm?" she prompted.

He gently stroke her cheek with his thumb, "I wish what you said would come true - that you could replace my darkness with your light."

He leaned closer to her, "I wish you'd replace my nightmares every night - it would somehow make things more bearable."

Inching closer, he whispered, "I wish... I wish you were real and not merely a woman in my dream."

Hermione was greatly affected by the man's proximity and words. She felt a surge of emotions causing her heart to beat wildly as he neared. Unconsciously, her right hand reached out to touch the man's cheek. The man drew in a sharp breath and moved closer... closer... ever closer to her, and so gently, so lightly brushed his lips on hers. Like a butterfly's touch, her mind told her. At the soft touch of his lips, Hermione was overwhelmed with a frisson of tingles. Her heavy lidded eyes closed slowly, as she breathed in a lungful of his scent - Like an exotic spice market, she thought amusedly. She brought her other hand up to the back of the man's head to stop him from moving away and assaulted him with a more forceful kiss.

The man did not need a second invitation. Hermione was soon light-headed from the sensations of kissing this man, and soon found herself pinned underneath him on the bed. By this time, both Hermione's hands have travelled to the stranger's back and she was clutching him to herself. The stranger had one hand in her hair and another in between her shoulder blades, holding up his weight with his elbows on the bed.

When Hermione finally came up for air, she started blinking to adjust to the bright light that suddenly flooded the room. Her eyes widened when she saw who the stranger was.

"Pro... Professor Snape?" she cried, staring at the man who still held her intimately in his arms.

He looked equally stunned as he asked, "Miss Granger?"

~*~

Hermione woke up suddenly to find herself staring into Crookshanks yellow eyes staring right into her face. Her part-Kneazle was mewing as he nudged her face. Hermione was back in her own four-poster bed in the dormitory she shared with Lavender and Parvati.

She sat up and Crookshanks got off her lightly for her to settle back into the pillows. He then settled himself on Hermione's lap contently and began purring the instant her right hand landed on his head. Her dream! Her mind brought her to the sensations at final sequence of her dream. Wow. She had never had her breath kissed out of her like that before. And by Snape, of all people! "That's why its called a dream, woman," she rolled her eyes, swept her unruly hair out of her face with her left hand and leaned further back onto her pillow with a huff.

As far as dreams go, Hermione mulled, it belonged to the "weird" category. It wasn't technically a nightmare - although Ron might disagree. Snogging Snape didn't exactly belong to the "sweet dreams" variety either, she mused. However, it was only a dream and she had probably visualized Snape's image after the kiss because of last evening's remedial with the 3^rd Years. Nat had complained that Snape was especially vicious to them during their Potions class yesterday, setting a rather difficult potions assignment which caused her to spend some time before she slept last night musing on the problem. Yes - that was it. Her subconscious had probably inserted the Professor's face because that was the last thoughts she had before going to sleep. And besides, the man in her dreams was in the shadows most of the time - it were the Professor, wouldn't his image be seen early into the dream? Anyway, it's only a dream. It didn't mean anything. What are the chances that all that what the dream-man said was real? No point giving it any more thought. Right?

"Honestly, Hermione!" she admonished herself, "it's only a dream - nothing to get worked up over."

Honestly, it was not as if she had a crush on her Potions Professor or anything - because she didn't. No, Lockhart did not count - she was thirteen and she didn't know better then. But Professor Snape - he wasn't even her type! Not that she had a type. Don't forget that he was her Professor for goodness' sake! He was mean to her ever since she came to Hogwarts, although she admitted that he had become less severe to her peers since last year. Then again, all the Professors treated the older students very much differently than they did the younger ones.

She shook her head to clear it of those unproductive thoughts. Turning to look at the alarm clock by her pillow revealed that it was half-past six. She had to get up soon if she were to meet Ron for breakfast. She was to meet him in the Great Hall as he had Quidditch practice that morning. Since the start of October, Harry stopped meeting her in the Gryffindor common room to escort her to breakfast. His Head Boy duties added heavily to his responsibilities, so she had assured him with a twinkle in her eyes, that "she was a big girl now, and walking that little distance to the Great Hall all by herself in the mornings was within her capabilities, thank you very much!"

Harry had thanked her for her thoughtfulness, but she had mixed feelings about it. On one hand, not meeting Harry and Ron in the mornings reduced the time she spent with her best friends. On the other hand, expecting Harry to make his way to the Gryffindor tower every morning, from his Head Boy room a good distance away, just to escort her to the Great Hall was impractical. It wasn't as if she didn't have daily opportunities to meet up or chat with the two boys.

She pushed Crookshanks out of her lap. She slipped on the nightgown's matching crimson robe, grabbed her toiletries, and padded to the girls' bathroom. After performing her morning ablutions, she changed into her school uniform and robes. Returning to the dormitory for her satchel, she checked that her roommates were awake too. No sense in having House points deducted for tardiness, right?

By the time she met Ron for her toast and marmalade in the Great Hall, she had put the strange dream aside. Besides, it was not as if she could tell anyone that she snogged the insufferable Potions Professor in her dreams last night, now could she?