Daylight. Hermione’s eyes fluttered open, and she moaned softly. She definitely did NOT want to get up today, but unfortunately for her, it was Monday. She groaned. Double Potions first period.


Hermione dressed quickly in her school uniform and robes, donning an extra sweater because it was still a bit chilly out, and gathered up her book bag, overstuffed as usual. She tried, to no avail, to stuff a few extra books inside but ended up only worsening her poor bag’s condition as a few stitches in the seam split. A wave of her wand, and it was back to normal. Hermione sighed and slung the bag over her shoulder, gathering up the remaining books in her arms.


Heading down to the common room, Hermione noticed that there were very few people left. I must be running really late, she thought, and hastened down to the Great Hall for breakfast.


She sat down, greeting Harry, Ron, and Ginny with a cursory wave, and proceeded to drag out her Potions book and bury her nose in it, trying to squeeze in every last detail to prepare for the end-of-unit exam today. She groped absentmindedly for a piece of toast, but instead came up with Harry’s hand. Blushing as she realized what she’d grabbed, she dropped it and snagged the only piece of toast left that wasn’t on Ron’s plate.


Hermione jumped as the first-period bell rang, signaling the students to get to their classes. She hastily gathered up her things and rushed down to the dungeons after Ron and Harry, shouting goodbye to Ginny, who was headed for Charms.


Hermione skidded into potions just before the bell rang, and as she expected she heard a cold drawl from the other end of the room.


"Ten points from Gryffindor for being tardy, Granger."


Professor Snape was glaring maliciously down at her from the head of the room. Hermione could feel his gaze still on her as she went to her seat, and it left uncomfortable prickles trailing along her neck. Usually she would have taken her books out and tried to use the last few minutes remaining to her for studying, but she decided she didn’t want to push Snape over the edge, not when this exam was so important. She instead got out a quill and ink and sat patiently for the test to be handed out.


Half an hour later, Hermione was still struggling with the third question. Newt’s blood, newt’s blood . . . What did the bloody book say about newt’s blood? The answer came to her as quickly as it had gone, and she scribbled it down furiously, tongue between her teeth.


Meanwhile, Severus was watching Hermione take the test with much amusement. Oh, how he loved to see the little nuisance struggle. The mudblood had zeal, though; he’d give her that. He pulled out a spare scrap of parchment and wrote lazily:


The mudblood may not be so incompetent, after all.


It was a habit of his, writing down little thoughts that came to him here and there. He had done it for such a long time that it happened almost without thought. He looked over the other scribbles above this most recent one.


She could use a good hair potion . . . not that I’d make her one.


How she manages to infuriate me as she does is a mystery. Perhaps it’s that mudbloods generally aren’t that intelligent.


The size of her teeth absolutely astounds me. I should have a word with Poppy about the quality of her shrinking spells.


Severus furrowed his brow. All of his recent musings seemed to be about Granger . . . He shook himself. This was much too odd to be true, and yet, here they were . . . Fighting the impulse to burn the parchments, Snape twitched, and shoved them in his desk. Well, that just ruined my fun, Severus thought bitterly.


Finally, finally, Hermione emerged from the Potions classroom with Harry and Ron. Normally at this point she was wringing her hands with worry and expressing very loudly her concern that she had failed miserably. However, she was feeling a bit odd this morning . . . Perhaps even a tad under the weather. She had spent the last twenty minutes or so of class covertly studying the Potions master, for reasons unknown even to herself. She found that although at first glance his eyes were empty, devoid of any emotion, one could detect a small twinkle in his eye on occasion, and that there was a tiny streak of grey near the front of his hair that actually served to give him a sort of dignified look. Hermione mentally reviewed these points of interest in half-interest, half-disgust. In a fit of pique, mostly at herself, Hermione huffed out a loud breath and began to walk at twice the speed, causing Ron and Harry to exchange worried glances.


"Women," Hermione thought she heard Ron say, in a knowing voice.


The rest of the day passed without event; Hermione could have sworn she felt Snape’s gaze upon her all throughout lunch and dinner; however, whenever she chanced to glance up at the staff table, he was concentrating on either his food or something another teacher had to say. She shook it off and instead chatted lightly with Ginny on subjects of no import, such as how Arnold, Ginny‘s Pygmy Puff, was faring.


However, Hermione’s lighthearted facade ended once she went to bed. She tossed and turned, rumpling her bed sheets so badly that she had to get up and remake them, to a chorus of disgruntled moans from Lavender and Parvati. Once she was in bed again, Hermione began to pick apart her thoughts, carefully examining each one to see if it was the cause of her distress. She couldn’t figure out just what it was that was bothering her, but she was disturbed to find that more than one thought was centered on her Potions professor. Mentally chastising herself just for being so damn weird, Hermione rolled over and finally fell into an uneasy sleep.

Daylight. Another groan escaped Hermione’s lips. Friday. At least there was no double Potions today. She didn’t think she could take two hours of the strange half-torture she’d been experiencing over that last few days. She went through the motions of getting ready, but her mind wasn’t in it. She was busy thinking about the dream she’d had last night.
She was locked in Professor Snape’s classroom . . . But he wasn’t there. She began to beat on the door . . . It was past curfew, she didn’t want to get in trouble. Becoming frantic, she started picking up cauldrons and hurling them at the door, screaming, pounding, anything to draw somebody’s attention. All of a sudden, one of the dented cauldrons on the floor turned into Snape, lying on the floor and bleeding. And her last thought before she woke had been "Oh, God, I killed him . . ."
Hermione ran smack into Lavender on her way out of the dormitory. "Sorry, Lav . . . I was just thinking about . . ." She trailed off, not wanting to disclose the details of her rather disturbing dream. She scurried off, leaving a very disgruntled Lavender to stare at her retreating back. The rest of the day passed in a positive blur. Hermione managed to get through Potions, but she cold still feel that strange electricity trailing down her neck and spine. She tried desperately to shake it off, but it was there like an ever-present rain cloud over her head. She was glad when dinner finally arrived. Hermione found herself huddling down over the table with Harry and Ron between her and Professor Snape. Maybe if she couldn’t see him . . . But she could still feel it there. Yet, as much as she wanted to avoid Snape, a tiny part of her couldn’t help but want to see him. It was all so very strange.
This is starting to get annoying. Is it even happening? Or am I just imagining it? Merlin, I’m going crazy . . .
Hermione wondered briefly why she was letting this get to her so much. It had been going on for, what? Five days? But it was there, and she couldn’t help but let it bug her. Especially with that horrid dream last night. What had that been about? Her mind was positively spinning. "I need some sleep," Hermione murmured to herself as she climbed the stairs to the girls’ dormitory. She undressed slowly and then collapsed onto her bed, yanking the curtains shut. As she fell asleep, her only thought was, This had better work . . . I had better not dream of . . .
Snape was standing over her as she worked on the most difficult potion of her life. She was completely frazzled, and she wasn’t sure if it was because of the potion or the fact that Snape was standing a foot and a half away. She began to stir the potion the way the book told her to, only when she glanced back at the text to ascertain that she was doing it correctly, it had disappeared. And Snape was laughing softly, and then he spoke . . . "But you know how to do this potion, Granger . . . Don’t you remember, in your second year? Polyjuice should be old hat for you . . ." And she glanced down at the cauldron, and sure enough, it had turned a murky khaki color. She looked back up at Snape and felt a sharp dart of pain in her scalp. He had plucked a few of her soft brown curls and was dropping them into the potion. It turned crimson, and he laughed softly again. "The Polyjuice always turns the color of the soul of its donor. Red, Granger? Yes . . . Fiery, passionate . . . Not something I’d expect from someone so delicate . . ."
She awoke with a start. It had to be around midnight. That dream . . . It disturbed her. Hermione realized as she sat up that the sheets were all tangled around her and she was drenched with sweat.
Why do I keep dreaming about him?
Perhaps you’re trying to tell yourself something.
Tell myself what?
Ask yourself that.
That’s what I’m doing!
Maybe you like him.
ARE YOU CRAZY?
You are if you like him.
Hermione threw back the duvet and clambered out of bed. This had to end. She dug through her nightstand drawer until she found a bottle of a special potion she’d brewed awhile back. It was Veritaserum, but a less complex formula that allowed one to question oneself. She unstoppered it and took a tiny swig.
Instantly she felt herself divide, as though her personality was splitting into two separate ones. She focused the direct bit, the one that would be asking the questions.
Why do you keep dreaming of Snape?
I feel a strong attraction towards him.
Why?
He’s tall, dark, handsome, stoic . . . Intelligent, and he reminds me of a Bronte hero.
How long has this been going on?
Since third year.
Is it a serious feeling?
Yes. Completely.
Hermione fell back onto the bed, panting. That was enough. She’d learned all she’d needed to learn. Unfortunately, she felt as though she’d been too honest with herself. Was it true? Did she have romantic feelings for Snape? Well, of course it’s true, you ninny, you took the Veritaselfserum. And she had been thinking of Professor Snape quite a bit lately. Okay, maybe a bit longer than that. Since third year, you dolt! God, I’m a mess. How could I have fallen for Snape? This is completely ridiculous.
And with that last, completely disconcerting thought, Hermione fell asleep, the effects of the Veritaselfserum taking its toll on her weary body.
***
Meanwhile, somebody else in the castle wasn’t falling asleep so easily. He had just had the oddest, most unwelcome dream . . .
He was standing over Granger as she worked on a most difficult potion. She seemed frazzled, and he couldn’t tell if it was because of the potion or the fact that he was standing a foot and a half away. She began to stir the potion the way the book told her to, only when she glanced back at the text, it had disappeared. And he was laughing softly, and then he spoke . . . "But you know how to do this potion, Granger . . . Don’t you remember, in your second year? Polyjuice should be old hat for you . . ." And she glanced down at the cauldron and saw, as he had, that it had turned a murky khaki color. Granger looked back up at him and grimaced. He had plucked a few of her soft brown curls and was dropping them into the potion. It turned crimson, and he laughed softly again. "The Polyjuice always turns the color of the soul of its donor. Red, Granger? Yes . . .Fiery, passionate . . . Not something I’d expect from someone so delicate . . ."
Snape crossed the room to his washbasin, splashing cold water on his face. He was completely unnerved. Where had that dream come from, and what was it supposed to mean? In the dream, he’d called the mudblood "fiery . . . passionate . . . delicate?" He shook his head as if to clear his senses. Dabbing at his face with a towel, he returned to the bed and sat down on the edge. Severus felt as if he was going crazy.
Oh, Gods. I am going crazy.