Unlikely Connections

Chapter Four - Assuming the Position

Her sleep had been broken again the following night with dreams of him, this time even more feverish (and graphic) than the first. She couldn't think straight, couldn't see straight, and had constant visions of herself and Snape engaged in some very illicit 'extra-curricular activities.' And the worst part of the visions ended up being that she just couldn't shake the fact that a part of her (a very small part of her) was desperate to see what happened next. The plain and simple fact was that she just didn't feel like Hermione Granger anymore. And all from a stupid kiss. That was actually rather bad.

She was uncharacteristically quiet the following Monday in Potions. Ron gaped openly at her as she scrambled into the classroom, just beating the bell. Hermione had missed breakfast and was now slouching in her seat, clothes mussed and wrinkled, hair falling from a sloppy pony tail in large, disheveled chunks, deep shadows framing her eyes. Unaware of the collective stares of most of the classroom, she fished her Potions assignment out of her bag, nearly bobbling it, and unpacked her ingredients kit onto the desk that the three shared. Harry watched silently, aware that something had prompted this.

Ron, however, was not so silent. "Rough night, Hermione?"

Her hands flubbed on the glass jar, allowing it to fall to the floor with a tinkle of broken glass, and her voice escaped her mouth in a small, horrified squeak. She was dreading the end of lessons that day when she would have to face him again ... alone ... She wasn't certain that the anger of Friday night and Saturday morning would hold long enough for her to maintain her dignity.

The bell signaled the beginning of lessons and she slunk down in her seat, attempting (for the first time in her history at Hogwarts) not to be noticed. If Snape still bore her any ill will, he had, so far, not shown it. He began his lectures as usual, terrifying the class before launching them into a potion far above their ability level. Unlike normal however, Hermione did not rise to the challenge. She followed the instructions on the board dutifully, but did her best not to call attention to herself.

"What's gotten into her?" Ron whispered, leaning close to Harry. He was trying not to be overheard by either Snape or Hermione.

"No idea," Harry responded between clenched teeth. "But something happened in her detention with Snape, I can feel it. She hasn't been right since Friday."

Ron scowled heavily at Snape as the Potions Master launched into a vociferous upbraiding of Neville. "If he said something evil to her, I swear I'll ..." He left the rest unsaid, but pummeled his fist into his upturned palm repeatedly in a manner that powerfully reminded Harry of Goyle.

Harry chuckled, but chided him. "I don't think it's anything like that. Besides, I hardly think that your beating the knickers off him will do any good for Hermione."

An evil grin spread over his face. "Maybe not, but it would make me feel lots better." And then as an afterthought, he added, "Bet he wears lacy knickers."

Harry barely contained his laughter, causing Snape to whirl around across the room and glide toward them, sensing the mirth he must squelch immediately.

"Potter, Weasley! Ten points each from Gryffindor!"

"For what?!?" Ron shouted furiously, Harry eyeing Snape with utmost loathing.

Snape's lip curled in a familiar sneer. "For answering back," he said, smoothly. After a moment's long pause for the class to resume its activities, he swooped behind them and snarled, low, "and for being concerned with the state of my knickers."

Snape's glance drifted lazily, almost arrogantly, over Hermione, whose hand began shaking as she cut her dandelion roots. Unlike the Hermione who had less than a week ago exchanged furious stares with the professor, she was determined not to catch his eyes. Ron and Harry watched in horror as she blushed furiously when he bent over her.

"Miss Granger ..." he spoke, obviously demanding her attention.

Hermione stopped cutting and raised her attention from the desk, but would not meet his eyes.

"Miss Granger, look at me when I am speaking to you."

Her flush deepened as her russet eyes lifted slowly to lock onto his deep black ones. He was ruffled momentarily by what he saw behind them ... the minute her eyes had locked onto his, he had gotten the distinct impression that she was desperately fighting the urge to leap over the desk and devour him in a most pleasurable, albeit absurdly unfitting, manner. He had to clear his throat before regaining his composure.

"An essay, Miss Granger, before detention." His voice was overly loud, clearly intending to be heard throughout the classroom. "An eight-inch essay explaining your conduct in detention on Friday and a four-inch conclusion outlining the inappropriateness of said behavior. Before detention tonight. Is that quite clear?"

She knew that he was trying to break her, get her to show some sign of humiliation as he threw curiosity out to the class. He was baiting her so that the rest of the class would berate her as to what she could possibly have done in detention to warrant a foot long essay to be done in four hours. She made no sign of understanding, merely stared heatedly back into his eyes.

He straightened up, plainly displaying his power to the class. "I said, is that clear?"

"Oh, yes, sir," she spat furiously, now enraged at herself for believing, or at least hoping, that he might allow her to leave the class emotionally unscathed. Perhaps her anger would hold out after all. She could feel the eyes of the class boring into her as she attempted to finish her potion. Ron and Harry were not to be gainsaid, despite her endeavor to ignore their incredulous stares.

"Hermione ...?" Harry started uneasily, knowing this must be connected to what upset her over the weekend.

"Oh, it's nothing Harry," she chuckled, trying to keep her voice light but not looking at them, "really, it's nothing."

"Oh give over," Ron demanded, yanking her chin around, forcing her to face them. "Something happened in detention with Snape the other night. Something so embarrassing for him that he's supremely pissed enough not to describe it in detail in front of the class."

"Nothing big," she responded again.

Ron raised an eyebrow, "Ahem," he said, before donning a quite realistic Snape-esque whisper, "'An eight inch essay explaining your conduct in detention' ... Come on Hermione, what'dja do?" Ron looked hungry for details of a sound verbal thrashing.

She would have laughed at Ron's impression had she not been casting her eyes around, doing some quick thinking. "Oh, I just mouthed off to him a bit more ..." There ... she thought, 'mouthed off' ... that wasn't exactly a lie. So to speak.

Harry adopted the Snape tone. "'And a four inch conclusion outlining the inappropriateness of said behavior' ...?"

She sighed heavily, trying to fix a tone in her voice that would brook no more questions. "I used some decidedly inappropriate language."

Ron grinned and congratulated her, satisfied with her response, but Harry could tell she wasn't being totally forthcoming. He caught her eyes, and she merely shook her head, gesturing to Ron. Nodding, Harry resumed his potions-making, eager for details, dreadfully tempted to push her for information.

****

Following the lesson, Hermione packed up as quickly as possible and scuttled to the library to drudge up an essay for Snape. This, actually, was a relief. She was longing to be able to vent her frustration with the situation as well as examine it. Unfortunately, if she was going to be able to thoroughly describe her behavior (and it occurred to her to do nothing less) then she definitely could not do it in the hour that they had for lunch. She would simply have to skive off Care of Magical Creatures.

Hermione smiled sardonically, thinking that to skive off lessons with Hagrid might be more of a blessing than a curse, and settled herself at a table in a quiet corner of the library. She had pulled some parchment, her quill and ink out of her bag and paused with the quill hanging suspended over the parchment just as Harry and Ron strolled into the library.

As she could see them from her vantage point but they could not see her, she allowed herself to simply watch the young men who had been her companions for the last six years as they strode across the room, dodging bookshelves. The tall, lank, red-headed figure meandered through, speaking loudly and making wild gestures and sound effects to accompany whatever story he was currently engaged in telling. The shorter, dark-haired figure merely walked companionably next to him, smiling gently in all the right places in the story, occasionally stopping to adjust his glasses or brush a lock of jet-black hair away from his eyes.

As they walked through the library, the heads of most of the young ladies turned to follow them. Many giggled at Ron's flamboyant storytelling and blushed at his increasingly alluring roguishness, several sighed wistfully at Harry's good looks that had blossomed into a rather lusty and heroic handsomeness over the past year. Hermione merely smiled as they spotted her and waved them over.

"Well, M'inee," Harry intoned, pulling up a chair, "how's the essay going?"

"Fabulous," she smirked, indicating the parchment that didn't even yet contain her name. "I really think it warrants full marks."

"That'll be published, that will," Ron finished with a round laugh that accompanied Harry's giggles and Hermione's throaty chuckles.

"Listen, I don't think I'm going to make it down to lessons with Hagrid today ... explain something to him for me, will you? I'm not particular about the excuse."

She had already begun to write, her quill flying across the parchment as she spoke. Ron leaned over, in a not-so-terribly-stealthy manner, trying to read over her shoulder. She shrieked in horror and threw her arms over the parchment, trying to shield the writing without smearing it.

"Oh, Ron, give over and quit being so nosey. She'll tell us when she good and feels like it," Harry chided, pummeling him good-naturedly on the arm.

"Oh, c'mon," he whined, "Pleeeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaaase let us have a look?"

She looked up at him and scowled, and without warning he seemed to snap with anger. "Oh fuck all, you're such a god-damned priss," he spat at her scathingly, slashing some parchment to the floor before storming out.

Hermione looked at Harry imploringly, only to find him as shocked at Ron's behavior as she was. "Don't worry," he said, more confidently than he felt, bending to gather her parchment, "he's just hungry. We're off to lunch, see you back in the Tower ... after detention ..."

He grinned and made waggling motions with his fingers that were supposed to look creepy. She snickered at him, dodging a reproving look from Madam Pince, and returned to her essay, sighing.