Unlikely Connections

Unlikely Connections

Chapter One - The Overture

He covered the distance between them in barely three strides, measured and sleek, with precision that could only be accomplished through complete bodily control or impatience. Or both.

He dodged the tables full of bubbling cauldrons without so much as a break in his stride, his eyes never leaving her face, which was currently sculpted into a pouting scowl. He leaned down so that his face was barely a foot from hers; she could feel his breath hot on her nose and cheek as he spoke, his voice smooth and cold, like a thin layer of silk covering steel. "Tell me, Miss Granger, why it is that for seven years you have conveniently ignored the fact that I am Potions Master and professor of this class, and not you?"

As he leaned forward even further, closing the distance between them to a scant few inches, she realized why he did not have to demand authority in his classes: the sheer strength and total assurance in his voice struck awe and fear into his students immediately. And that didn't even take into account his physical presence.

He was an imposing figure, standing at least four inches above six feet with wide, sharply angled shoulders, unrelieved by the severe black of the frock coat and robes that bragged of a myriad buttons down the front. The relentless and brutal lines of his clothing reinforced his physical appearance of some kind of scowling god figure, ready to throw out punishments at the slightest provocation.

However, after a year and a half of quiet, background work for the Order of the Phoenix, Hermione had seen the Snape that was not merely a bundle of resentment and disapproval. She had seen a bitter and unforgiving man who took his anger out on any warm body within his vicinity. After two years of working alongside one of her teachers, she saw him as a real person, outside of his classes. And for the first time in her academic career, Hermione Granger stared back at one of her teachers and was not impressed.

"Perhaps," she responded icily, returning his glare step-for-step, "it's because you insist on letting your juvenile temper terrify your students. I, on the other hand, notice why people struggle in your class. Someone has to instruct them."

The class around the fuming professor and insolent student had fallen completely silent. The normal chatter of sideline conversations and clangor of classroom activity had halted and waited, with an audible intake of breath, for the response to this heretofore unheard of phenomenon - Hermione Granger had insulted a teacher.

Without even so much as a twitch in his face to belie the anger that bubbled up in him as a result of her petty and impudent verbal slap, he spoke. "Fifty points from Gryffindor . . . for your impertinence . . . and five days worth of detention. To finally teach you your place." He turned and strode back to the desk at the front of the room, robes billowing ominously behind him. He spent the rest of the class correcting papers with an anxious, nearly gleeful smile on his face and never raised his eyes to his students.

She, however, spent the rest of the time fuming. She continued with the process of making the Calming Potion, being inattentive to say the least. Despite the fact that she was butchering her class grade for the day, she never took her eyes off of his face, arrogant smile and all. If her eyes could have burned holes in his skin, his body would have been riddled with pock marks.

At the end of the class, much to the dismay of Harry and Ron (who had been poised for a thoroughly enjoyable explosion on Hermione's part), she walked easily to Snape's desk and placed her flagon of the translucent teal potion in front of him, resisting the urge to give him his satisfaction and toss it in his face as she so desired to do.

It might benefit him with the results, she thought angrily as she gathered her things and stormed out of the dungeon.

****

It was the chance he'd been longing for over the past seven years. His first and, undoubtedly, his only chance to show Hermione Granger that she was not the only clever student in Hogwarts and that she must learn when to hold her tongue. Severus's ego fairly salivated with anticipation of thrashing her ridiculously high self-confidence. Hermione Granger, resident know-it-all, would finally be taken down a peg or two.

He scribbled a note on some unused parchment near his desk and fairly bounded to the Owlery to send an owl to Granger. He would not give her the satisfaction of delivering himself or by messenger. She was to know who was in charge here.

****

There was a great tapping at the common room window as Hermione sat in one of the squashy old arm chairs near the fireplace of the Gryffindor common room. She preferred to spend her evenings here, out from the silence of her single room, reserved for the Head Girl. The bustle of the common room was friendly and familiar.

She sat rereading Hogwarts, A History, still trying to work off the frustration of today's Potions class. She looked up and saw a great tawny owl rapping its beak madly on the window, begging to be let in from the torrential downpour now lashing the leaded glass windows of Gryffindor tower.

Hermione rose to let in the poor creature, which shook its feathers indignantly, obviously annoyed at being sent out in this weather, and then thrust out its leg. She noticed a small note attached which she removed and read, scowling at the dark, slashing script contained therein.

Miss Granger, in view of your inexcusably rude exit from my class, I was not able to arrange the terms of your detention. You will report to my private office directly following afternoon classes this Friday and will remain until I have been satisfied as to the results.

Professor S. Snape

She crumpled the note angrily and threw herself back into her chair.

"What's the matter, M'inee (pronounced 'My-knee')?"

She turned quickly and noticed a pair of bright eyes shining from the chair opposite her at the fire place. She hadn't even noticed that Harry had entered the room. "Snape," she grumbled angrily. "He's giving me detention on a Friday afternoon! He wouldn't tell me what I would be doing or when I'd be done, and he got a god-damned bird from the Owlery just to tell me. Arrogant bastard."

Harry chuckled gently at her outburst. "Well, hon, can't say I'm surprised." He chuckled again at her outraged face, and then continued, "The great-and-goodie-goodie-know-it-all Hermione Granger finally gives him an opportunity to do something other than give her full marks and you think he's going to waste it? You've got to be barmy." Harry smiled gently as her face softened.

"I suppose your right," she said, and then chuckled. She began to raise her book again.

"However," he continued, noticing her change in spirits, "I don't envy you that detention. I wouldn't be surprised if he kept you there until next term."

Hermione laughed softly in response, dropping the book and brushing away the stray water droplets the owl had left on her school jumper. Her robes were draped over the back of the chair she had been sitting in and she kicked her shoes underneath the same. She then strode over to the couch where Harry had relocated himself. She lay down next to him ungracefully and allowed her head to drop with a soft thunk onto his lap. Harry's face reddened at her current position, but she charged on, unaware of his blush.

"He just makes me so .......... ARGH ......... FURIOUS!" she roared, causing some shaky looking first years in the far corner to jump at the noise.

He stared down into her face, flushed with anger, and mustered up a sober expression. "I could always throw a hex at him during next Potions lesson for you ...?"

****

The rain was still pummeling Hogwarts as Hermione strode purposefully into the Potions classroom on Friday afternoon. The ill weather did nothing to improve the chill in the air as she moved through the corridors near the dungeons. She had no doubt that the looming feeling of dread beginning to sink into her good mood was a confirmation of Harry's notion that Snape would keep her until doomsday if he could. The man was absolutely insufferable and she wasn't sorry in the slightest that after seven years she had finally gotten up the gumption to tell him off, the great evil git.

A thousand rather ill-conceived insults clouded her mind as her scowl deepened, creating ugly lines across her forehead and mouth as she realized that Snape was not there. She had certainly taken her time from the Herbology greenhouses, stopping into Gryffindor Tower to change into some more comfortable Muggle clothing (it being technically the weekend already), then at the girls' toilet to wash her face and hands, compose her hair, and slick on a little extra lip gloss. She then stormed at herself for giving a damn what she looked like when she was only going to see Snape.

It has been nearly 20 minutes since classes ended, she growled to herself, there is really no excuse for his abysmal tardiness. She was nearly ready to leave him a scathing note saying that when he deigned to return he could summon her from the Head Girl's room when she suddenly remembered what his note had said.

"Blast," she whispered, realizing with horror the error that befallen her. She rummaged around in her bag for the note he had sent last night and read hurriedly.

"Blast!" she shouted loudly as she stuffed the note back into her bag.

He had told her to meet him in his private office, not the one attached to the classroom. She had been so angry with him for assigning her detention on a Friday that she had not read the note properly.

She started off from the Potions classroom at a galloping run, whizzing through the three corridors and up the two large flights of stairs between the dungeons and Snape's private office. She failed to dodge nearly a dozen Hufflepuff first years who insisted on detaining her to ask if she had really told off Snape or whether it was just a rumor.

After trying to break away at least twice without success, she snapped, "Ten points from Hufflepuff ... for ... making the Head Girl late for detention," and scurried away.

She arrived at Snape's office, panting with the sudden exertion and clutching at a stitch in her side. She quickly snatched at her clothing, trying to rearrange it, and composed a contrite apology, which hung on her lips as she poised her hand to knock.

"You're late," groused a stern voice behind her. "Decidedly so."