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.
Lolita by ChanellaBella
Chapter Notes: Thanks SO much for all the lovely reviews, everybody! So, here's the second chapter . . . Enjoy!