She hadn't expected anyone to come to her aid; a part of her still thought she was at her flat in Diagon Alley where she'd sound proofed all of the walls with specially tailored spells. No one would hear her scream there. But at Snape's house, things were different - walls were thinner and she hadn't bothered with her wards the evening before, just collapsing into bed haphazardly.

Unsteady footsteps raced down the hall and her door slammed open; Hermione barely had a moment to prepare herself before the exact figure of her nightmares (looking much less put together, to be fair) was inside, wand raised. She flinched away from that, peering at him through red eyes. Of course, he wouldn't know about her dream - he'd only see her frightened of him.

And while she'd stopped crying, she wasn't in any condition to explain as she cowered under her sheets. Crookshanks, at long length stopped hissing and crossed the to the bed, curling around his mistress as Hermione hiccupped in an attempt to get herself under control and explain.

"It was.. I was just...," she gestured around her hopelessly, searching for an answer that made sense without sounding as pathetic as I had a nightmare. If it was enough to bring him here, he probably thought that she was in trouble or that something had attacked.

At the end, she breathed out a long breath, curling her knees up to her chest and hugging herself. "A dream. It was just a dream." Only marginally better than admitting she had a nightmare, but hey. You win some, you lose some.