Dream

~*~

"So how did the detention go last night?" asked Ron, draping an arm around Hermione's drooping shoulders at breakfast the next morning.

"It was okay, I guess," Hermione gave him a wan smile and shrugged in reply, knowing that Ron's polite greeting was not an attempt to get any details out of her. In truth, Hermione was still a little unsure about how her detention went last night, and was not up to discussing it with anyone.

She grabbed her spoon and turned her attention back to her porridge, diverting Ron's attention back into a discussion about the up-coming Quidditch match between the Slytherins and the Ravenclaws that afternoon. Whilst Ron was preoccupied in a discussion with the other Gryffindors about the strategies each team would likely use, Hermione's mind tried to make sense of the puzzle that was her detention.

The detention had begun as she had expected it to. She had anticipated that Snape would begin with his usual barbs and sarcasms, so she had steeled herself from causing further aggravation to both herself and the man by keeping silent. In fact, she had kept her silence up until she added that keluak oil into the dreamless sleep potion.

When confronted about her actions, her iron-clad hold on herself was suddenly let loose, and she found herself uncharacteristically (or characteristically, Ron and Harry would argue) illuminating Snape about the potion ingredient, as if he were one of her 3^rd Year remedial students!

Then, Merlin! Instead of exploding into his usual dark temper and berating her for her impertinence in correcting him, the Potions Master sat down in front of her, his marking forgotten, and had asked her what else she knew of dreamless sleep potions! Honestly, at that moment last night, she swore she'd entered some alternate universe, where she'd half expected a TV crew to appear out of the woodwork and tell her to "smile, you're on Candid Camera".

After that bewildering question the Professor asked her, they had then begun a strange dialogue about dreamless sleep potions and whether immunity to the potion could be built up. He had quizzed her on her extensive readings and research into the matter and had asked whether it was possible to tailor-make a dream sequence.

Challenged, she had replied as best she could - that yes, there was a possibility of becoming immune to the potion, as according to recent research, dreamless sleep addicts seem to need a higher dosage in order to experience dreamless sleep. And tailor-made dreams were still a possibility; in fact, Zanzibar Xerxes of the Persian Potions Institute created the dream-dye potion that changed the colours people dreamt in, just in the last decade.

From a discussion about variants to dreamless sleep potions, they had digressed to the key ingredients in potions affecting dreams, and from there, to dream symbols in both the wizarding and muggle viewpoints. They delved into an in-depth analysis of Freud and Jungian differences in attributing meaning to certain dream symbols, and skimmed briefly on the more risqué dream symbols - during which Hermione got very uncomfortable, especially since she had just dreamt of her Professor in a very compromising position the night before. However, Hermione managed to school her features sufficiently and maintain a cool demeanour, and was convinced that Professor Snape never knew how much he had featured in her recent dream.

By the time she had bottled and labelled all fifty bottles in the crate, it was past 11pm and she was exhausted both physically and mentally. Although brewing the dreamless sleep potion was not difficult, the bottling and labelling of the bottles had to be done by hand, which was tedious work. Added to the mental workout she had in her first lengthy civil dialogue with the Professor, she was almost ready to fall asleep where she stood.

Civil dialogue - not quite a quiz, but not really a conversation either, she snorted mentally. Still, Ron will probably freak out if he knew that Snape was capable of holding a civil dialogue with a Gryffindor without resorting to deducting House points when there's a disagreement, she mused as she glanced towards the Chaser whose arms were now draped over her chair.

After Hermione cleared up the worktable, it was almost midnight. Due to the lateness of the hour, the Professor had told her that he would escort her back to the Gryffindor Tower. Just before leaving the classroom, Snape had pocketed a bottle of the potion, explaining that he needed to test the potion for its efficacy before he could deliver the crate of dreamless sleep to the Hospital Wing. Along the way towards the Tower, they had walked in silence, with the Professor's hand at the small of her back, guiding her through the long, dark corridors of the castle.

Bone deep with exhaustion, and fighting tired eyes, she was glad for her Professor's escort to the portrait of the Fat Lady. She was sure that had the Professor not accompanied her back, she might have dropped off into a sleeping heap somewhere along the corridors. Vaguely, she remembered that the Fat Lady had tsked at her for coming back so late past curfew, but had conversed a little with her Professor. She remembered having said goodnight to Professor Snape and stumbling into the Common Room, climbing the stairs to the girls' dormitory and somehow managing to change into her sky-blue flannel cat-print pyjamas and falling dead to sleep.

Didn't even take the time to brush my teeth - what would mum say? she snorted mentally, turning her wandering attention to Seamus who was currently explaining how the October weather and strong winds expected that afternoon would adversely affect the lighter members of the Ravenclaw Quidditch team more than the heavy-set Slytherin team.

~*~

Up on the dais, where the High Table was, the Head of Slytherin looked surreptitiously towards the senior students at the Gryffindor Table. The usual Quidditch crowd seemed to congregate around the Gryffindor Captain, hanging on to his every word, whilst the Captain himself had his arm draped across Miss Granger's shoulders, talking rather intimately with her.

Hmm...perhaps there is something going on with the two of them after all, he speculated snidely, which is just as well...

Severus Snape hated Saturdays.

And it did not help matters that when he got up that morning, he was feeling quite refreshed and alert. No, it did not help his surly mood at all knowing that Miss Know-It-All Granger was proven right, again. As usual, the dreamless sleep potion she'd brewed the night before was flawless, and, as a matter of fact, vastly superior to the recipe he had used. And all because of the addition of two drops of oil from a potion ingredient he was unfamiliar with. He rolled his eyes, taking another sip from his cup of Turkish coffee that the house-elves had brewed to perfection.

It irritated him to some extent that he was shown up by a pupil, even if it was by one of his best pupils. Fortunately, he had no audience when Miss Granger had so kindly elucidated the origins and properties of the oil to him, otherwise he might have to remind her in no uncertain terms of her place.

Pity, he sneered.

To add to his annoyance, because of the potion's efficacy, he truly had dreamless sleep last night - no screams, no terrifying visions, no nightmare. And no Dream either. (Yes, his exquisite Dream of the night before had been elevated to deserving initial caps, thank you very much.) But then again, he did not put too much stock into having a recurrence of the Dream - it was only an aberration, and something he quite undeserved.

Enough! Enough of that unproductive maudlin thought! He admonished himself, buttering a piece of toast efficiently. His task completed, he took a cleansing breath, bit into the buttered toast, and re-directed his inner thoughts. Hmm...Keluak oil. Worth looking up after breakfast, before the Quidditch match this afternoon.

Snape knew that all his naïve students believed that when it came to potions, he knew all there was to know about it. Frankly, he had never corrected their erroneous belief and had instead encouraged that preposterous notion.

Although he may have graduated from the Merlin University at top of his class, and then became the youngest person in the last 50 years to attain the title of Potions Master, he never rested on his laurels; for the study of potions was a vast one, covering topics as diverse as ancient potions, potion ingredients, potion techniques, modern potions and a whole host of other research in the field. Even being well-steeped into the world of potions as he was, there were always new ideas, ground-breaking discoveries and new research being published. For the sake of both his teaching and interest, he had always kept a finger on the pulse on current developments in the study of potions.

He was quite familiar with Modern Potions Of Our Time, the text Miss Granger referred to the night before, and chances were high that he had a copy of it sitting somewhere on the shelf in his private library. Somehow, he must have missed reading the article about the improved recipe for the dreamless sleep potion - Merlin knew that what with teaching, lesson preparations, marking, Housemaster duties, spying for Dumbledore and his weekly Death Eater duties, he had barely the time to pursue his own reading interests - and not just those in potions research. He had hundreds of potions books, journals and documents accumulated in his private library that he'd hardly read from cover to cover - most of them had bookmarks sticking out, marking the pages to articles he was interested in, or potions research that he was focussed on, and he lived for the summer holidays when his teaching duties were non-existent to luxuriate in researching and publishing his research.

And then there were his other books that marked his eclectic reading habits - Muggle and Wizarding literature, History books, books on philosophy, charms, psychology, transfiguration, military strategy, alchemy, politics; books that reflected his voracious appetite for knowledge; books that counterbalanced his personal interest in the subtle Art of potions.

At heart, the Professor was a scholar, and were it not for the circumstances in the war that led him to throw himself at Dumbledore's feet, he knew with certainty that he would still be engaged in academia, and probably be teaching in the Potions department at the Merlin University, so that he could immerse himself in his relentless pursuit of knowledge. Not that he had any great love for teaching, but he fancied that students reading Potions at the university would already have some competency and interest in Potions, and he need not contend with teaching dunderheads, the like of Longbottoms or Goyles or Summers.

Well, if wishes were horses --, he chewed his toast contemplatively.

He took another quiet glace towards the brunette, who was no longer at her seat, but was now seated with a group of 3^rd Year Gryffindors, engaged in an animated discussion. He was rather surprised last night by her maturity and composure in the manner which she'd served her detention. But he was even more amazed at the confident way she had dealt with his brusque intervention in her method of brewing the potion.

Their conversation after that was the highlight of his night. He had seen the glint of excitement in her eyes as she launched into a lengthy, but coherent explanation of the long-term effects of dreamless sleep on its users, and was bemused that she was able to quote chapter and verse regarding certain research into tailoring the dreamscape. He was impressed with her comprehensive readings with regards to the topic of dreams, and could hold her own in their discussion of abstract ideas of dream symbols. He was a little disappointed to find that Miss Granger was not at all self-conscious or embarrassed when discussing Jungian ideas about sexual dreams and he took it as evidence that she did not carry a tendre for him. Not that he had led them into an in-depth discussion on sexual dreams, mind - he was after all, a male teacher, and she a female student, and they were both alone in the potions classroom; he would never insinuate anything inappropriate with her, as long as he was a Hogwarts teacher, and she in her Hogwarts uniform.

Which is just as well, Severus, that you put that foolish notion of the Dream aside. There are more at stake here than dreams and wishes!

Which lead to the main reason for his dark mood that morning: It was Saturday.

And Severus Snape hated Saturdays.

For contrary to popular belief, Death Eater meetings were not held at Voldemort's whims and fancy - no, Voldemort may be a megalomaniac, but he was a visionary, a strategist and a systems man at heart.

If he were a man and if he had a heart, Snape sneered.

The truth was that the evil genius knew that effective armies are well-oiled machines and discipline and rituals were required to maintain a high level of mental alertness and motivation in the ranks. Therefore, the Dark Commander-in-Chief had instituted a four-hour long weekly programme on the least disruptive night of the week, for the purposes of motivating the troops, information dissemination, and training in the Dark Arts.

Thus, after much deliberation, Saturday night was picked for the implementation of the Death Eaters' Training programme. Weeknights were deemed unsuitable as most Death Eaters held regular day jobs, and going to work excessively tired would doubtlessly rouse the suspicions of nosy colleagues. Besides, Sundays allowed the Death Eaters to sleep in without unnecessary questions - time that allowed the rank and file to recover from their training and the inevitable disciplinary measures meted out. More so, as tougher training sessions have begun in earnest from the start of that year.

Holding the meetings on Saturdays also allowed the dark minions greater ease in coming up with air-tight alibis for their whereabouts, which would be extremely difficult to do, if the witches and wizards were expected to drop whatever activities they were engaging in to Apparate to Voldemort's unplottable lair. Most Death Eaters merely transfigure an object to their likeness to put into their beds, creating a perfect alibi for the hours between midnight and 4 am - time that was unlikely for checks by the Ministry, without rousing the wrath of the wizarding community at large.

The careful structure of the army was organised and supported by a full-time elite squad of wizards in Voldemort's employ - his most trusted core of officers. Like Lucius before his untimely demise, these officers were rich enough not to need employment, so they were able to use all their resources in overseeing recruitment, organisation, training and strategic planning.

On a level below this elite squad were the Specialists. All the members in this group were masters in their magical fields, and their duties in the Dark Army included training the troops as well as acting as advisors to Voldemort in his strategic planning. Most of these specialists were employed by either the Ministry of Magic or by private enterprises, but were underappreciated by their employers. Voldemort was able to entice these people to join his cause with promises of power, prestige and purpose, as many were dissatisfied by the incompetence of Cornelius Fudge's management of the Ministry of Magic.

Needless to say, Severus Snape was a member of the Specialists, heading the Potions training department.

The largest group in the Army was of course, the ground troop. In the three years since Voldemort's official reappearance, Dark army had quadrupled its ranks from the 33 Death Eaters in all of UK who managed not to be thrown into Azkaban, into what it was today. Again, unlike popular belief, Slytherins do not make up the bulk of Death Eaters in the ground troop - the loyal Hufflepuffs and brave Gryffindors did. Instead, most of the crafty Slytherin and intelligent Ravenclaw Death Eaters were involved in the operations side of Death Eater activities.

Voldemort's strategy was to employ the best traits of the Death Eaters, as revealed by Hogwarts' Sorting Hat. Also, it helped Voldemort greatly that the ministry nincompoops were so focussed on scrutinizing his sly Slytherin members to even consider that he had dark wizards from the other three Houses in his ranks.

Snape shook his head. He knew the set up of Death Eaters intimately, having spent the last 3 years quietly observing its operations and deconstructing its philosophy and mission - if only he were able to identify exactly who made up the army. He had reported all that he knew of the Death Eaters and their activities to Dumbledore; but unless he could correctly identify its individual members, it was difficult for Dumbledore's Order to monitor and spy on the key members of the Death Eaters.

Spying had been made harder for Snape since Voldemort's second rising, as the Dark Lord had become extremely obsessed with the security of his army. Voldemort was convinced that his first defeat by the Boy Who Lived was due in part to traitors within his rank. In addition, his army had been decimated by the trials after his defeat, wherein some of his Death Eaters had betrayed their brethrens and had given their names to the Ministry in return for their own freedom. Although none of his 33 returned Death Eaters would ever admit to betraying the others, Voldemort was not interested in repentance, but in his typical amoral mentality, had re-exerted his dominion over them through an initial example of excruciating punishment for the each of them, and had them, through a rhetoric of forgiveness, promises of rewards for faithfulness, and threats of severe torture for betrayal, had reinstated all 33 Death Eaters once again into his favour, in order to forge his new Army.

Therefore, the new Dark army had strict regulations about the wearing of the Death Eater masks and robes at all times, to prevent individuals from being known to one another. Also, Death Eaters were put on a need-to-know basis on most operations, and even in the training of the Dark Arts. Snape did not even know the name of the Death Eater he reported to for his training assignments - he only referred to his superior as "3"; nor did he know the identities of any of the Death Eaters he trained. Snape himself was known in the organisation as "7", an irony he could not help smirk at. Only the Dark Lord was able to identify the Death Eaters through their link with him and their Dark Mark, which was also used for mobilising his troops whenever the Dark Lord needed their services.

As expected, the tight security hampered Snape's ability to gather as much information as he would like. Also, in order not to blow his cover, he was duty-bound to provide Dark Arts training to the Death Eaters. Fortunately, because he was a trainer, he was able to provide Dumbledore the Dark Arts syllabus the Death Eaters had to be trained in. This was extremely useful information for the current DADA instructor and the Order for them to come up with counter spells and defence training. Regrettably, Snape was not able to get the full syllabus, as Voldemort was also guarding the training manual remarkably carefully. The toll of 3 years' worth of weekly spying, training and keeping up appearances frustrated him greatly, and he longed for the war to get on quickly. Staying in this 'limbo' state was draining him significantly - a battle would ensure that the weight he carried would soon be over. And frankly, at this point, he neither cared whether he lived to see through the war.

16 hours to go before my personal hell begins, he sighed. Well, off to the library then.

The Head of Slytherin got up from his chair, nodded towards the Headmaster, and with robes billowing, left the High Table towards the exit of the Great Hall.

He did not see a pair of amused grey eyes following his form out of the doors.