Somewhere, dimly, Hermione realized that. But in the moment, it felt so real, and she could hardly control her reactions in her sleep. She'd retreated to her actual room in Spinner's End for the night, the cat and mouse game with Snape having resumed with vengeance. It seemed like unless they were actually sleeping together, they were doomed to be on each other's last nerve.
She regretted that decision now; even sleeping in his bed, facing his cold shoulder, had kept the nightmares at bay. Now, she was assaulted with them. Each one embodied a fear she had - but this one was the worst. Or at least, it felt like the worst.
In her nightmare, Hermione was face to face with Severus Snape - except, it wasn't him. She could recognize that it wasn't him, the sneer on his face wasn't anything close to the sneers he'd worn at Hogwarts. She thought by now she knew each and every one of his expressions, but this one was too cruel to be imagined. Slowly, he raised a wand and pointed it at her, and a face that she knew emerged from the darkness. Voldemort, behind him, pulling puppet strings.
"It was a fun game, Granger, but you've outlived your uses," Snape-Voldemort drawled, the wand hardly wavering. Hermione found she couldn't speak, couldn't scream - she was fighting for air, something was choking her and there was nothing she could do. Her hands raised to her throat, she fought for breath, the image of Snape going black as she --
She screamed, finally, but the sound was unexpectedly loud - she was awake and screaming in her room, not in her dream, her blankets on the floor having kicked them away, her hands fisted in the sheets. Crookshanks was hissing from a corner, and all Hermione could do was mumble a muffled spell to light the candles and bury her head in ehr hands.
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Somewhere, dimly, Hermione realized that. But in the moment, it felt so real, and she could hardly control her reactions in her sleep. She'd retreated to her actual room in Spinner's End for the night, the cat and mouse game with Snape having resumed with vengeance. It seemed like unless they were actually sleeping together, they were doomed to be on each other's last nerve.
She regretted that decision now; even sleeping in his bed, facing his cold shoulder, had kept the nightmares at bay. Now, she was assaulted with them. Each one embodied a fear she had - but this one was the worst. Or at least, it felt like the worst.
In her nightmare, Hermione was face to face with Severus Snape - except, it wasn't him. She could recognize that it wasn't him, the sneer on his face wasn't anything close to the sneers he'd worn at Hogwarts. She thought by now she knew each and every one of his expressions, but this one was too cruel to be imagined. Slowly, he raised a wand and pointed it at her, and a face that she knew emerged from the darkness. Voldemort, behind him, pulling puppet strings.
"It was a fun game, Granger, but you've outlived your uses," Snape-Voldemort drawled, the wand hardly wavering. Hermione found she couldn't speak, couldn't scream - she was fighting for air, something was choking her and there was nothing she could do. Her hands raised to her throat, she fought for breath, the image of Snape going black as she --
She screamed, finally, but the sound was unexpectedly loud - she was awake and screaming in her room, not in her dream, her blankets on the floor having kicked them away, her hands fisted in the sheets. Crookshanks was hissing from a corner, and all Hermione could do was mumble a muffled spell to light the candles and bury her head in ehr hands.