It's not him that she's frightened of, not truly; but that doesn't stop her from flinching when he snaps at her, though her chin juts up stubbornly. Maybe that was the Gryffindor in her, refusing to be cowed by Severus Snape snapping at her in his pajamas at near four in the morning.

His relief is palpable, if only because she knew him well enough to monitor the subtle changes in his expression.. and that, in turn, makes her feel ridiculously safe. He didn't seem worried that she was some sort of broken chit crying in his guest bedroom. He didn't seem concerned for her health and hadn't threatened to drag her off to St. Mungo's (yet) as Harry had done the one time she'd confided in him about her dreams. He just seemed..

Relieved. Annoyed, but it was four in the morning. Maybe a little understanding.

"You were there," she blurts out, before she can help herself, petting Crookshanks absently. She can feel herself blush as she fumbles around for words, shuddering. "Not.. not that it was you, it was him, but he was you and you were going to --" Her lower lip trembles and she looks to the ceiling to fight a sudden spate of tears. She'd never shared her nightmares with anyone, not truly. Not in detail. But she'd put her foot in it this time and the last thing she needed was Severus Snape thinking he was the demon who haunted her dreams.

"It was just a dream. I didn't mean to wake you."