Unlikely Connections

Chapter Three - The Partners Square Off

He paced his bed chamber, furious that he could not sleep as a result of the evening's events. A glance at the mantle clock told him that it was nearly four in the morning and that breakfast was a scant few hours away.

He had spent a good portion of the night making swift, impotent strides around his office, then his bedchamber, and then his office and his bed chamber via the small entranceway that connected the two. His temper had ranged from anger, to frustration, to furious puzzlement, and back to anger as he marched throughout his chambers, surprised that he hadn't worn patterns in the thick carpet.

What impertinence! his mind screamed. How dare she! The presumptuous little twit!

Leave it to a Gryffindor, he mused, settling fitfully in a straight-backed leather chair next to his wardrobe. Leave it to a Gryffindor to be so ridiculously uncontrolled and bow to some silly whim of romantic fancy.

At this, he rose from the chair and scoffed aloud. Romance! Not even he would connect himself with anything mildly romantic, and yet this simpering little know-it-all found it within her rights to smother him when he had been so foolish as to keep her from falling on her stupid behind. He should have just let her break her bony little bottom.

The nerve of her, thinking she could just plaster herself against him and be so damned ... hormonal! Who does she think I am, some 17-year-old? Some sex-driven, slobbering boy, itching for a wild grope? Who does she think he I am, Harry bloody Potter?!?

Just what was she playing at? he wondered. What could possibly be gained from kissing me?

Much to his vexation, she warranted nothing but full marks on her homework, her potions were superb, her classroom demeanor, while not unassailable for his wicked tongue, was usually polite and gratingly respectful. What could she possibly have wanted to kiss him for? What good would it do her?

Unable to support the idea that even she didn't know the answer to that question, he threw his black brocaded dressing gown over top of his black satin pajama bottoms and strode purposefully from the room. Perhaps the crisp air of the Astronomy Tower would clear his head of the frustrated anger.

****

She clawed at her hair with both hands, hoping the tug on her scalp would clear her head. What in the world would possess her to kiss anyone, let alone SNAPE? She racked her brain, but could find no clear explanation, aside from the idea that she had been struck by an absolutely unforgivable fit of momentary stupidity.

She was not under the delusion that he would let this pass unnoticed. He was not the sort of person that would, in the idea of preserving both of their dignities, quietly punish her for her inappropriate behavior and then pretend that it had never happened. Oh, no, not Snape. He would most likely relive it in excruciating detail, moment by moment, in front of her entire Potions class, possibly even the entirety of Slytherin House. He would make her out to be simperingly in love with him, stripping her of every ounce of her self-respect in slow, agonizing stints. And house points to boot if she got angry and retaliated. From every possible angle, she could not have been in a worse pickle with Snape.

She hugged her arms around her knees, bracing herself against the chilly night wind. She often came out here to sit on the battlements outside the Astronomy Tower at night when she needed to think. The stone was cool against her back, the wind brisk against her face, and the view from the top gable incomparable. She always came here and sat just to the left of the outside of the window that stood in the middle of the staircase to the tower. She looked out over the lake and sighed. She was in for a doozy.

Her mind raced as she watched the trees of the Forbidden Forest wave gently in the breeze. Why? she asked herself incessantly. It wasn't as if Snape were charming. Or even approachable. Hell, he was like a huge, looming bat that swooped around the school, reveling in humiliation and anger. He was disdainful, rude, and completely unbearable. She hadn't even kissed a boy of her own age -- someone she fancied -- and yet she had kissed a completely horrid man old enough to be her father.

The worst thought, in her opinion, was that he had merely glared at her. He had stood there and regarded her as if she were a prehistoric bug on a slide, whose behavior needed to be reasoned out. The man must have ice in his veins, she growled inwardly. I mean, all right, we hate each other. And sure, I was only there because I had detention. But for God's sake, I'm an 18 year old girl, and I may not be gorgeous but I'm certainly not repulsive, and I was kissing him! He could have at least kissed back. What kind of man would just stand there when a girl was kissing him? Old git. Probably the only kissing he's had in a while.

At this, she shook her head, as if to rid it of that thought. Horrified at herself for pondering Snape's kissing habits (or lack thereof), she resigned herself to the fact that the view and cool air simply would not solve her problems tonight. She swung her body, clad only in a short, white cotton nightgown and her knickers beneath it, back through the window and started down the tower steps.

She hadn't bothered to wear a dressing gown or borrow Harry's invisibility cloak. As Head Girl, she was allowed to roam the halls whenever she pleased, as long as she didn't cause any trouble or disturb Peeves. In fact, in these dangerous times, both McGonagall and Dumbledore actually encouraged her to patrol the halls at night if she was restless. During these nightly sojourns, she had never encountered anyone, not even Mrs. Norris, so she didn't bother to attire herself in anything substantial. On a whim, she decided to take the long way back to Gryffindor Tower. The very long way, she chided herself as she went three floors down and out of her way so that she could walk by Snape's office.

She walked easily down the halls, in no great rush to get to bed despite the fact that it was just after four a.m. As she neared the hallway where she had been only hours ago, she slowed her pace, softened her steps. She crept, soundlessly, up to the door of Snape's private office. She held her breath and pressed her ear against his door. She was actually surprised that she didn't hear any noise. After the way he had treated her, she expected him to be in a towering temper, pacing his office like the great bat-like, vampire thing that he was.

With a smirk at her vicious thoughts she turned back towards Gryffindor Tower and started the walk back towards bed, not troubling herself to be quiet. She had not even gained two steps from the office when she plowed headlong into something somewhat soft and found herself on her backside on the floor. Clutching her nightgown over her more private parts, she found herself staring up into Snape's face, which was looming several feet over her head.

He had been so surprised at her presence outside his office that he hadn't bothered to clutch his dressing gown around him, which was now hanging open. Her jaw hung open a few inches, her mind barely processing the site of Snape in satin pajama pants and bare-chested beneath his dressing gown. She scrambled to her feet and moved around him, clutching her nightgown even closer to her body.

He sneered at her for a moment, knowing she had no idea that by seizing her gown in that manner, she was actually revealing more of her underlying figure rather than less. They both stared at the other for another second or two, Hermione with widened eyes, and then strode away without a backward glance, as if they had never seen one another.

****

She had successfully managed to avoid Snape for the remainder of the weekend. In fact, she had managed to avoid everyone for the rest of the weekend. The only person who actually saw her face in those two days was Harry, who had timidly appeared at her door on Saturday afternoon, holding a tray of sandwiches, soup and tea. "To combat the cold rain," he had said with a grin.

She had noted (gratefully) that there was only enough food on the tray for one person. He had not expected to be invited in.

After a few shy knocks, he had stood in her doorway, blushing slightly at her attire and backlit by the crackling fire from the common room, and mumbled that he had noticed that she had missed breakfast. And lunch.

If Harry was curious as to her sudden disappearance, none of it showed in his voice as he handed over the tray. "I thought you could use something to break your studying," he said, grinning once again. She hadn't invited him in, as she wanted desperately to be left alone with her thoughts.

"Studying?" she questioned vaguely.

"Yeah, everyone basically figured if you weren't out here stopping Ron and I from charging into trouble of some kind that you must be studying. I admit, I thought that October was a bit early to start studying for N.E.W.T.s but ..."

He trailed off with a knowing glance as he saw understanding beginning to dawn on her face. Harry could tell something was wrong and was handing her a reason not come out of her room for the rest of the weekend.

Tricky, Potter, she thought, very tricky. Well done. She had smiled weakly, gesturing to a stack of her normal bedtime reading, saying, "Well, you know me ... study, study, study ..."

He could tell her heart wasn't in it, but he had merely nodded and said, "That's our Gryffindor girl." He then leaned over the tray, close to her ear, and whispered, "Tell me about it when your ready."

She smiled genuinely this time and nodded as she shut the door behind her. He really is very thoughtful, she admitted to herself as she set the tray of lunch down on her desk. Slightly hungry though she was, she didn't eat. She hadn't slept either. When she had arrived back in her room at nearly four thirty that morning, she had sat down on her bed and ran over the events of the day in her head.

Not coming up with any great resolution, she had spent all day lying on her large four-poster bed, toying with the midnight blue satin coverlet, not bothering to change out of the thin nightgown she had been wearing when she bumped into Snape. Just what had she thought she was doing?

She had berated herself with the question all day ... alternating between periods of anger at herself, anger at him for his lackluster reaction, and utter disappointed disgust at the whole situation. And she still had four days worth of detention with him! Thank God she had the entire weekend to steel up her composure bfore that happened.

She flopped down onto her bed, furious at herself, and stared at the ceiling. She ran her hands absently across the lace neckline of the gown as she considered the absurdity of the situation. Hermione Granger was not prone to these moments of losing one's head. Hermione Granger was solid, quick-thinking and clever. Hermione Granger, the real Hermione Granger, was not this silly person who ran around kissing horrid teachers simply because she couldn't think of anything better to do. Hermione Granger ......... had finally passed out into exhausted sleep.

Her mind, however, was racing into fitful dreams.

She stood in the midst of an office, lit only by the flickering of the roaring fire. She was dressed in a long black gown that scooped low in between her breasts in the front. Raising a delicate hand behind her, she could feel that the back of the dress dipped all the way to her waist. Her riot of honey-colored curls was swept away from her neck, save a few that had escaped along her temples. Long, heavy drops of diamonds swung gently at her ears. A quick glance in the mirror across the office from her showed that she looked absolutely stunning.

But where was he?

She could feel his presence in the room even if she couldn't see him. Allowing her gaze to wander, she heard a soft rustle of material. He had emerged from a door that she guessed led from his bedchambers. He was swathed in black twill pants hanging low on his hips, buckled with a thin silver belt of Celtic knots just tight enough to keep the garment from falling to the floor. His prominent hip bones and lean, lightly defined stomach were visible. He was shirtless, showing light whirls of raven hair dotting his lower stomach, thickening into a deep thatch just above his waistband. He was carrying a brocaded dressing gown carelessly over his left arm. His long ebony hair was pulled low and away from his face with a thin silver ribbon. A double hoped glinted from his left ear, reflecting the fire in wavering strips of light.

Her heart pounded mercilessly in her chest as he tossed the dressing gown aside and crossed the room in measured, unhurried steps. He drew so near that she could feel his breath on her face as she stood beneath his towering height. A slender, almost elegant hand rose to her throat and ran gently along her body, tracing the wide scoop of the gown. When his finger skimmed the creamy skin of the top of her breast, she took in breath audibly, gasping at the feeling of his skin on hers. His deep black eyes caught the cinnamon brown of hers.

A wicked grin smoothed itself confidently over his face just before he grasped her arms and pulled her to him roughly. His mouth demanded hers, tongue plunging into her mouth, , tasting, exploring. She surrendered to the excitement coursing through her veins as he kissed her, his hands roaming across her body.

With a steadiness that was absolutely brutal considering the power with which he kissed her, he pushed the dress from her shoulders. The fabric flowed down to pool on the floor. He bent his head to her exposed breasts. As his mouth covered her chest in hot, agonizingly patient strokes, she fisted her hands into his hair, leaned back her head and whispered his name.

"Severus . . ." It escaped her in between gasping breaths.

She had spoken the name aloud in her sleep and it was that exhalation that woke her. She sat up, startled to find her heartbeat leaping and her body gleaming with a fine layer of sweat. Furious at her elevated bodily state at a simple dream, she threw her dressing gown across her body and stormed towards the prefect bathroom. She needed a good long cold shower.