WARNING, this fic will be graphic and contains some forced situations.

So, just to establish the fic, this takes place before their 7th year, totally disregarding HBP and maybe more… It won't be long, but I have had this little plot bunny hopping around my mind for a while, so I figured I'd let it out on the page. Anyway, for those of you following Clash of the Conjurers, I know! I'm sorry! I'm going to update soon! That just… wasn't what I was inspired to write today… I hope you enjoy this little fic, though!

And if you do, Please Review!

…*~*J*~*…

He wasn't eating again.

Hermione watched as Harry picked listlessly at his porridge; his scar standing out like a flame against the drained pallor of his skin. They were getting worse.

She and Ron had been trying all summer to convince Harry to confide in them about his nightmares, but he only pretended they didn't exist. Didn't he understand that they were a team? That his friends were there to help him? That he didn't have to go it alone? Well she was no fool, and if he wasn't going to allow her to help him, he really couldn't blame her when she found a way to do it on her own.

When Harry finally took his porridge to the sink and left the room, Hermione waited a minute in guilty anticipation. She really should not have been as nervous about this as she was, considering her motives. And yet, the secrecy of the matter did require a bit of sneaking on her part. It wasn't as if she were unaccustomed to sneaking; just that she had never had cause to do so around her friends. After a moment, sure that Harry was not about to reenter the kitchen, Hermione took her own empty bowl to the sink and made her way around the table to Harry's vacated place. There, just below where his head had been bent in weary torment, was one long, dark hair. She breathed a sigh of relief and gently plucked it from the table to examine. The ease of her success wrought a laugh from her lips and she practically skipped from the room. But just as she leapt over the threshold, who should appear but one exhausted-looking Professor Snape? And she smashed right into him.

"Damn it Granger!"

"Sorry!"

She stepped aside to let him pass and found, to her horror, that the hair was gone. Shite!

He sniffed the air as he passed, wrinkling his nose in disgust. "A bit early to be preparing for your N.E.W.T.s, don't you think?"

Hermione was momentarily taken aback. It was true that she had already begun preparation for that ultimate goal at the end of this coming school year, but what on earth gave it away? "Excuse me?" she asked, baffled. Most of her mind was occupied searching his robes with her eyes for that lost hair.

He raised one eyebrow in mockery. "You reek of potions, Granger. I am well familiar with the scent." Oh gods, was it that obvious? No. Only someone with a nose as large and practiced as his could have smelled her secret. No one else seemed to notice.

Hermione smiled helplessly up at him and shrugged her shoulders. "Are you really surprised?"

He snorted slightly at that and seemed to accept her answer, sweeping past her into the kitchen at last. To her disbelieving relief, he slipped out of the long teaching robes and draped them over a chair as he headed toward the sink. Thank Merlin for summer heat! She didn't have a moment to spare for second thoughts as he rifled through one of the cabinets for a glass. Practically leaping over to his chair, she turned the robes so that she could see the front and ran her finger along the fabric in search of that one, dark hair. One glance at Snape showed him inspecting the glass and raising his wand to it.

"Scourgify," she heard him mumble. Then the sink was running, filling his glass up with cool water. And there was the hair! She grabbed it as Snape was turning around and leapt through the kitchen door, narrowly missing Kingsley Shacklebolt as he swaggered in for the upcoming Order meeting. Before any other obstacles could rob her of her painstakingly acquired prize, Hermione dashed up to her room, pulled the cauldron out from under her bed, and threw the hair inside. Immediately, the steaming brew turned the proper shade of deep maroon and Hermione sighed in relief. Phase One was now complete!

Now she had only to wait for nightfall.

…*~*J*~*…

It was two in the morning, but Hermione was too nervous to sleep. She stared down at the parchment where she had made her calculations. Two hours of dreams for every ounce of potion. 64 ounces of potion. Harry's nightmares—according to Ron (a dubitable source at best, taking into account his own deep sleep)—began around two or three in the morning. On a good day, Harry generally woke up around nine in the morning. Supposing that she needed to remain within the dream until he woke of his own accord, she could assume that that would require up to seven hours. Therefore, she should drink three and a half ounces of the potion. Now there was only to do it. Well, it certainly wouldn't do to linger in hesitance and allow his nightmares to overtake him. So, with that in mind, she finally measured out the correct quantity of potion and downed it in two disgusted gulps. Well, it wasn't Polyjuice, but the sweet, milky taste of the brew still made her cringe.

Before she knew it, she was suddenly falling, and everything around her screamed of panic. The very air was dark and twisted, writhing like snakes as she fell into its midst. When she hit the ground, she felt no pain.

The arena of his nightmares was a grand hall with an arching ceiling into which she now stared. The marble tile was freezing at her back, as if sucked of heat by a Dementor's kiss. Suddenly, she became aware of screaming, as if a veil had been lifted and she was seeing clearly at last. The anguish was tangible and seemed to rip through her very heart. All around, Death Eaters came into view, surrounding her and the figure beside her on the floor. Finally, she looked at him. And he was not Harry.

Hermione Granger had seen some horrors in her young life, but nothing before this point could compare to seeing Severus Snape thrashing violently beneath the torturing hands of Death Eaters and pleading for his life. The unprecedented image was so unnatural and unexpected that it lashed her with fear and pain for the creature who was her professor. She was terrified.

Then, without warning, his eyes met hers. And it was as if a trigger had been pulled. "No!" he shouted through the haze of cackling Death Eaters. Suddenly, he was standing among them, pointing his wand down at her, and she was the one screaming, very much in pain. 'You shouldn't be here!' his thoughts attacked her, though his lips refused to move. 'Stupid, meddlesome, foolish girl!' She wasn't sure if he meant 'in the room' or 'in the dream.' 'Your senseless bravery will cost you your life!'

'Do it!' another voice screamed over the others. Its icy hiss sent a shiver down her spine, like the caress of an evil tongue.

And then her Professor's lips did move, and he raised his wand. She knew what was happening before it could happen, but she was powerless to stop it. 'Avada Kedavra!' There was a flash of green and a feeling of nothingness before everything went black.

…*~*J*~*…

Hermione stared down at the empty vial that had rolled across the blankets in her slumber. Snape's hair. "How could I have been so stupid?" It had been Snape's hair on his robes. How many times was she fated to pluck erroneous hairs from peoples' robes for potion purposes before she finally learned her lesson?

She took a deep breath and suddenly the tension in her shattered with a terrible sob and she collapsed back against the covers. What she had seen in Snape's dreams could not be unseen. The horror of it still seemed to echo on the night air. Somehow, she had gotten past the famous Occlumens' shields and seen a side of him that he showed to no one. It was beyond disturbing to know what her professor would look like tortured senseless by his fellow Death Eaters. But more than that, she now knew that Professor Snape had nightmares too. That behind his stubborn, proud façade, the unsung hero of the Order of the Phoenix was deeply afraid of his own increasingly likely demise. Somehow, knowing that made him seem so… human. It made her uneasy. Though she had always respected and even admired Snape for what he did for the Order, she had never quite realized what that actually meant. Now, it was painfully etched behind her eyelids in vivid detail. She could not forget it.

Nor could she forget the way he'd pointed his wand down at her, cursing her in his mind as he obeyed his dark master and murdered her on the spot. She shivered. Even supposing that it was a nightmare and that he was seeing his own worst fears, his unhesitating resolve was cruel and painful. It twisted in her stomach, because she knew that even though it wasn't real, it really was. Somewhere, right now, the man who had stared unblinkingly down at her as he killed her with two words had just had a terrible dream in which he'd been forced to do just that. And he hadn't hesitated.

…*~*J*~*…

It took another week to brew the potion again. She kept the one with Snape's hair just in case, but was afraid to even consider using it again. This time, she was more careful about the hair she chose, sneaking into Harry's bedroom and stealing it off his pillow. She didn't need another disaster, like last time.

This experiment was far more successful. Inside of Harry's mind, she felt the torment and overwhelming fear that she had sensed from him in the past several months. And there was an anxious feeling of responsibility that made her heart ache. She landed in a graveyard—presumably the graveyard where Voldemort had returned just over two years ago—and all around her were Death Eaters. She took a moment to wonder ironically at the similarities between Harry's dream and that of their professor. But as Voldemort neared the boy, she knew she had to stop him before he spoke. Concentrating very hard, as her readings had told her to do, she imagined the Hogwarts grounds in springtime and the way the giant squid liked to sunbathe in the shallows. Voldemort struggled to remain, but quickly tumbled away as she conjured up memories of the Trio together, laughing. She suggested Harry play Quidditch and watched him soar across the Hogwarts lawn. And when the darkness threatened to interrupt, she banished it quickly and brought Ginny into the dream. Peace wafted over the windblown grass and Hermione sat back to allow the rest of his dream to unfold.

Every night for a week, she did this, and she noted that her best friend seemed much improved. His complexion had a healthy glow, the bags were gone from beneath his eyes, and he was eating again. When they talked together, he laughed. When they worried, he stood strong. He had finally regained his confidence as the leader they so desperately needed him to be.

But something seemed wrong. Something was bothering her, in the back of her mind. And it wasn't until the next Order meeting that she realized what it was. They were allowed to sit in on this one, as they often were when there was nothing of consequence to report, and Hermione noted with increasing unease that Professor Snape seemed to be studying her. Did he know what she had done? That she knew what he had dreamed? That she had been there? Or was that still her secret?

…*~*J*~*…

That night, Hermione sat on her bed, staring down at two identical vials. One would take her into Harry's dreams, as it had done every night for a week. The other would take her back into her professor's mind, and even the thought of that made fear prickle at her nerves. But she had grown more confident the more experience she had controlling Harry's dreams. And part of her felt that she had unfinished business with the professor. Perhaps, if she were able to help him, too, she would no longer feel so helplessly forlorn. After all, if it was in her power to soothe the man, shouldn't she do it? And maybe… if she were able to bring him peace… maybe next time… he would hesitate.

The same dark chaos reigned when Hermione fell to the cold marble floor, but the sounds were immediately apparent, and he noticed her the moment that she landed. It almost seemed, strangely enough, as if he had been waiting for her. Then, the visions of Death Eaters around them seemed to blur and their shouts dimmed to faraway cries as he reached toward her with one weak arm across the floor. All her plans to dissolve the hall with daylight and remind him of a bird's song on the breeze fell by the wayside with that one gesture, and she reached for him as well.

When their hands connected, the scene disappeared with a snap and they stood in darkness, their arms wrapped around one another. And he wept into her hair. For a moment, she was merely unnerved by this unprecedented display of emotion from the austere professor. But then, remembering that he was safe in his own dreams, she felt a surge of something akin to triumph. She had freed him! Happily, she hugged him tighter against her. It felt weird to be so close to Snape, to feel his body against her own. Somehow, it was different from hugging Harry or Ron. And she knew without a doubt that he never would have allowed this in reality. But here, the rules were different.

Hermione's hands rubbed soothing circles on her professor's back through the soft wool of his coat, and then snuck upward in awe to touch his hair before returning to the bare skin of his shoulders. He was heavier than she would have expected, she realized as her back pressed into the sturdy cushion of a large mattress. When he lifted himself to look down at her, cold dungeon air wafted across her naked breasts. Before she could register surprise, he was kissing her neck and pressing his bare body desperately against hers, kneading her breasts with long fingers as he kneed his way between her thighs.

She looked down in horror as he thrust himself inside her, and she suddenly felt the piercing pain of sex as he broke past her virginity and began to fuck her slowly atop the bed. She started to panic, grabbing his arms, but before she could tell him to stop, his mouth came down on hers, swallowing her objection with a kiss. The reality of what was taking place began to dawn on her as he thrust harder and faster against her and moaned into her mouth. Then, suddenly, with one last thrust, he froze above her, crying out. And upon his face was an expression so vulnerable in such an opposing way to the agony and sadness she had seen before that she was mystified. It was ecstasy. And as he came, he met her eye, and suddenly she was waking up in her bed at 12 Grimmauld Place, shivering.

…*~*J*~*…

A little on the weird side, I know, but I hope you enjoyed it anyway ;)

Please leave a review :} it really makes my day!

:} llorolalluvia