She was having a nightmare and nearly whacked Snape in the face as she flailed, kicking away the blankets. Her legs gleamed under the moonlight with sweat; she stank of it, actually. "Granger?" he asked tentatively as Crookshanks sank down beside him.
"She can't hear you," said the cat while licking his mistress's fingers. "She has these every night. Once or twice, she'll wake up to vomit. A few times she's messed herself." The young woman threw back the covers and ripped off her damp gown.
Her underwear was soaked and the fabric reeked of urine. "They're frightening to the point of her being unable to control her bladder." Snape looked away from the cat's knowing eyes—he probably knew that Snape had known the feeling too many times as a side effect of the Cruciatus while he suffered the seizures—and watched her dart into the bathroom, slamming the door. Retching was heard and soft crying followed. The water kicked on, pipes rattling and whining; she continued to cry and sob.
He wanted to comfort her, despite the fact she was annoying as hell, but couldn't figure out how. He stared at the door, willing for her to appear. "Let her cuddle you," suggested Crookshanks. Snape let his lip curl at the idea but was secretly pleased; he had wanted to brush her as long as he could remember.
The bathroom door opened and she stepped out, nude. She was beautiful, her body glistening, free of any hair or signs of her horrible nightmare; her hair was damp and fell around her face in damp curls. Her nipples swelled in the cold air of the room and she slid into a pair of black, flannel pajamas before slipping back into the bed.
He whined and inched closer until he was pressed up against her soft, curvy form. She wrapped her arms around him and sniffled, burying her face in his chest. He nuzzled her hair, wanting so very much to be human and stroke her hair.
"I'm sorry I woke you," she whispered, her body shifting against him. His cock was rock hard as her soft thighs rubbed against his side. Hermione smelt wonderful, light and airy; he preferred her scent to the heavily-perfumed ones he inhaled at the school on a daily basis from his female students.
"You're a good boy, Darcy," she whispered, kissing his forehead. He let his tail start to thump. When he lifted his head, she was laughing so hard, there were tears in her eyes. But she was smiling and, by God's grace, she was gorgeous.
Her entire face glowed and he wanted to stroke her cheeks, see if they were as soft as they looked; her smile was white and slightly crooked and reeked of the spearmint toothpaste and mouthwash she probably used; and she was relaxed against his side.
She stroked his ears until he was a puddle of goo and he couldn't deny it felt amazing; his ears, as a human, were extremely sensitive to the touch as well so he hardly touched them. "I just hope Severus is alright," Hermione whispered into his neck. He tensed for a split second as he remembered who he was.
He wasn't Darcy, the injured stray Hermione had taken in; he was Severus Snape, Animagus, Dumbledore's spy, Potions Master…ex-Death Eater. He let her stroke his face but detached himself with Occlumency from the pleasant sensations.
He thought hard about his human form. He was thin, not to the point of disgust but naturally so; he was pale as parchment; his hair was lanky and oily from the fumes he worked over day after day; his teeth were crooked; his voice was probably the only thing decent about him. He was tall, freakishly so; he was about to Hagrid's shoulder. He was scarred beyond belief.
His personality was even more off-putting than his appearance. He was snippy and "cranky all the time" as Minerva had called him on more than one occasion; he was anti-social and hated people. He was cold, mean and sadistic. He was evil, disgusting and pathetic.
He watched the angel beside him, her eyelashes casting soft, blurred shadows across her cheeks, her pink mouth parted slightly in relaxation; her hair fanned around her like a damp halo.
She had an arm and a leg thrown over him; his back had healed surprisingly well in the few hours he had been there. She slept peacefully. He rolled to his side and then kicked away from her.
Crookshanks watched him.
"She doesn't know, does she?" said the cat.
Snape shook himself and scratched the blankets until he felt satisfied before settling down. He met the cat's yellow eyes. "What do you think?" he asked sourly as he laid his head on his paws.
The cat yawned and stretched out his back. "You're going to turn back eventually," Crookshanks replied as he settled down in the crease between the two pillows. Hermione rolled onto her back and let out a snore.
Snape shook his head.
"I know. And I have no idea what I'll do when I do," Snape mumbled, closing his eyes. He was half asleep when Crookshanks spoke again.
"I've always like you more than the redheaded idiot she chased after during fifth year," said the cat, licking his paws.
Snape narrowed his eyes. "Weasley is a complete dunderhead; although his brothers, the twins, are very much talented with explosive devices like fireworks."
"They have their own shop." To be honest, Snape was half-listening. "You'd make a good match for Hermione." Crookshanks gave Snape a sly look.
"Me? And her?" Snape gasped out, his face warming.
If a dog could blush, he certainly would be. "That's absurd. I'm nothing but vile and dark and cold and she's light and innocent and warm…we would never work. I'd smother the light that she has."
Crookshanks shrugged and curled up to sleep; Snape stared at Hermione until his eyelids drooped. Satisfied with his lack of thought, he lowered his head and fell asleep.
You'd make a good match for Hermione.