Unlikely Connections

Chapter Five - A Tango

Hermione shifted uneasily in the stiff cushion of the straight-backed leather chair that stood in front of Snape's desk. Apparently tonight's detention was to be a study in composure, as he had not spoken to her since she entered the room and he had asked for her essay. The sneer on his lips faltered a bit when he saw that her essay was far longer than he had requested, obviously not what he had expected.

He had snatched it from her hands, wordlessly moving to his desk and sat down to read. She was sure that the forty-five minutes that she had sat in silence was more than enough to have read the essay at least twice; but she sat dutifully, crossing her legs and jamming her hands between her thighs to keep them from shaking and giving her nervousness away. His eyes skimmed the paper, his face still bearing the look of controlled confusion, fury, and something that appeared to be suppressed mirth.

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Unlike her normal homework, the writing of this essay was disjointed and speech-like, as if she had merely scrawled onto the paper anything she was thinking without scanning the contents before handing it in. Without even intending the result, his lack of reaction to her behavior that night had thoroughly unnerved her. With this thought, he smirked as he read, doing his best not to laugh at certain points.

Much as I'd like to say I have a complete and rational explanation for my behavior on Friday, I must say that I am at a total loss. I can, however, chalk it up to a few different things:

First of all, I was decidedly intimidated by being behind closed doors with a man who is not exactly known for his warmth and compassion. Upon first entering your office, I was, I am ashamed to admit, scared out of my wits that you might actually physically strike me. Ludicrous as that notion is now, sitting in a library examining the situation, I must admit that when considering how angry I must have made you, standing in your office, surrounded by such unfamiliar setting, I wasn't sure that a physical blow of some kind wasn't out of the realm of possibility.

On a similar note, the surroundings of your office were a helping factor for my conduct. I was very surprised at the decorations, as it was really not what I expected. For someone of your slightly harsh character (Snape smirked again, but this time at her attempt to be tactful), the warmth and culture which emanated from the space was a striking contrast to the personality I had come to know through my seven years of lessons. This stark contrast to my previously established knowledge of you unnerved me to the point of mental distraction.

However, if I'd have to attribute my behavior to anything, I'd have to say that I mostly blame it on your being an artist. (He raised an eyebrow involuntarily) I was taken aback at the intimacy of the detail that I was privy to (obviously unwillingly on your part) in seeing that you too have a ... softer side, shall we say. I suppose that my fondness for all things intellectual, especially the fine arts, struck a chord in the more ridiculous portion of my psyche when connected to the idea that you might actually be more than just a surly man obsessed with terrifying eleven- year-olds beyond all reasonable sanity.

Snape chuckled outright at this, not raising his eyes to Hermione, who fidgeted more, not knowing if the laugh was a good sign or a bad one. He also noted with satisfaction that the phrase "the more ridiculous portion of my psyche" was laced with an utter self-loathing at her lack of self-control. He scoffed, and skimmed down until he had reached her conclusion.

So I suppose in closing I have to discuss the inappropriate nature of my behavior, which, if I simply opted for the path of the dutiful student which I occasionally have the tendency to do (He scoffed again at the word "occasionally"), I would herein list a number of school rules, all of which would deem my conduct highly indefensible. But as I sit here wondering, I must ask myself ... if we removed the situation, just for a moment, would my behavior still seem so inappropriate?

Intrigued, Snape raised an eyebrow and continued reading.

Suppose for an instant that we had not been behind a closed door in your private office, no doubt connected to your bedchambers. Had we been out on the grounds somewhere, our situation would not have seemed as precarious, as it would not been possible that the simple action could have led to something anything else. So, the surroundings plainly contributed to the inappropriateness of the behavior. Strip that away; what else contributes?

You are, quite obviously, my teacher. Were you not in a position of power over me that makes it fairly unsuitable for one to conduct relations outside of the norm with one's inferiors, would it still be unsuitable? If we were simply Hermione Granger and Severus Snape, not Hermione the student and Snape the Potions teacher, would my actions still be reprehensible? Perhaps not, if we stripped away the positions.

So then what remains? I can only discern that the last remaining obstacle is a highly frowned upon difference in age. One does not, in reasonably polite society, run around planting one's lips on someone more than old enough to be one's father (His ego chaffed at her insistence to subtly make him feel like a letch). But it is conveniently overlooked, in the aforementioned polite society, that someone, such as myself, is at this point in time considered a legally consenting adult, and therefore is considered able to decide for oneself when it is and is not appropriate to engage in kissing. Or anything else for that matter.

However, had the situation been stripped of the other factors that contributed to the inappropriateness, would you still have felt inclined to react (or not react, as the case may be) as you did? Had we not been in your office, had we not been teacher and student, had we not been separated by age, I believe that the situation would be viewed in quite a different light. Which leaves me to ponder only one question ... What's so harmful about a little kiss?

Snape finally set the parchment down on his desk, slowly removed his reading glasses and set them on his desk. Eventually he raised his eyes to the young woman sitting across from him and looking for all the world as if she would explode if he didn't speak soon. But also looking as if she would cry if he did speak. The power he held over her at the moment was almost palpable ... and he decided to play with it a bit.

"Interesting essay, Miss Granger," he said, silkily.

She twitched in her seat, inexplicably uncomfortable at his smooth tone. "Indeed?" She rose from her chair and moved across the room to escape his penetrating stare.

"Very interesting," he said, following her in sleek, graceful strides. "But you neglected to tell me one thing."

He strode right up to her, her back bumping against the wall as she moved still further to escape him. She was trapped. He stood recklessly close to her, placing his hands against the wall on either side of her shoulders. He was leaning down at her, his face a few inches from hers. He could see her pulse was racing, throbbing madly at her throat ... just as he had intended it to do.

"What's that?" Her voice quavered despite her determination to stay resolute. She shook slightly, overcome by a wash of the visions that had been plaguing her all weekend. Her mind was flashing visions of him pressing her to the wall and ... Composure, Hermione, strength! she shouted in her mind. Calm down! But her mind was betraying her, running over and over about how he was not quite handsome but when close up he could really be quite sexy if ... GAH! She fought the urge to throttle the resulting images from her head.

He moved his hands closer to her shoulders but kept them on the wall, boxing her in. He rebraced his feet so that each of his legs was just touching the outside of hers. "That is, what would make a fine-looking young Gryffindor such as you want to kiss me of all people?"

There it was, she thought, he had cornered her at the question she had tried so desperately not to answer. It was a question that she wasn't sure she wanted to discover the answer to . . .

"I ... well I mean you ... that is to say that ... I meant that I felt that ..."

In one smooth and startlingly quick movement, he grasped both of her wrists in one hand and pinioned them to the wall above her head. Her heart was racing in her chest, her breath coming in heavy gasps as she imagined the sleek, strong hand that was closed around her wrists moving across her body. She fought to keep her mind from clouding over with desire tainted with fear. She fought to think clearly.

"Tell me, Miss Granger, what do you feel now?"

She stared deep into his dark eyes, glinting with something she couldn't name, and trembled, panting audibly. "Terrified," she responded, but her body screamed something else.

He pressed into her so that his body was pinning hers to the wall, just by his slender hips. She could feel the warmth of his pelvis on her stomach, even through her jumper.

"And now?" he asked, his voice husky. "How do you feel now?"

She gulped and gasped. His free hand moved lightly across her breast, and her head actually bobbed for a moment, whirling with the intensity of feeling. She had been dreaming about a moment just like this since her fourth year and now that it was here, she hadn't the faintest idea what to do. Except to answer truthfully. "Aroused. I feel ... aroused."

He paused for a moment and pressed his hips deeper against her stomach, making her dizzy, as if she would die from the wanting that had risen in her so suddenly. Then, without warning of any kind, he pulled away from her abruptly, strode across the room to his desk and sat down.

She slid to the floor, puzzled and reeling from the moment. She couldn't think, she couldn't move, so she remained on the floor, processing what her body was feeling. She registered disconnectedly that he was speaking. His voice betrayed no indication that anything out of the ordinary had happened.

"You would do well to remember the order in which you felt those reactions to me, Miss Granger. You do not know me anymore than anyone else in this school, and you would do well to preserve the appropriate distance between student and teacher."

It was not said menacingly but more with a hint of sadness. She nodded thickly, still not quite understanding.

"Remember, Miss Granger, that your first reaction to the actual presence of my body near yours was unadulterated terror. The resulting desire was a side effect. You are dismissed."

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She had pulled herself from the floor after a few unsteady moments and was about to flee the room when she hesitated. Had what she had written in the essay meant nothing to her? She believed what she had written, and it was about time that she showed him that.

"No," she said firmly, fixing her clothes back into the right place.

He raised his head from a stack of essays he had brought out. "Pardon me?" he asked, his temper beginning to show in his voice.

"No," she repeated, "I'm not leaving. I meant it. I meant what I said. I don't think I did anything wrong. I don't see what was so wrong about my kissing you. And furthermore," her voice faltered a bit, but she continued nevertheless, "I don't see what's wrong with wanting to. Perhaps it's because you're so damn unapproachable. But I still don't see what's so harmful about a little kiss!"

She stood near the door with her hands on her hips, allowing her desire to feed her anger. He crossed the room quickly to stare her down.

"You don't see what is so harmful. Of course you don't. You're a ridiculous little girl without any clue what a harmless little kiss could lead to. You haven't the faintest idea in your puny little head."

He was fuming at her, and she wanted it. Needed it. She craved the anger to help her fight the longing from escaping her throat. "Oh, I don't, do I? You, Severus, would do well to remember that I'm not a little girl. I am a woman. And maybe I don't have as much experience with these matters as you do, but I'm quite certain I know what a kiss may or may not lead to!"

He grabbed her roughly by the upper arm and dragged her body into his. He stared down at her, his anger breaking over her as she struggled to free herself, to tear herself away from his iron grip. "Oh really? Do you forget so quickly who I am? What I once was? You know nothing of what power I could hold over you. You toy with a match without knowing how quickly the flame could spread."

She grimaced at him, but he continued, gripping her other arm and shaking her. "If I chose to, I could violate you in ways you could never even conceive of ... I could have you eating out of the palm of my hand before breakfast tomorrow and you'd never know what hit you. And it would all start from a kiss, I guarantee you that. Don't presume that you know what I could do!"

She opened her mouth to rebut, but was quickly silenced. His mouth had come down on hers and demanded entry. His tongue ruthlessly lashed about her mouth, and with her arms pinioned to her side by his vice-like grip, she had no choice but to succumb. The more he tasted her mouth, the less she wanted to struggle.

She moaned into his mouth as he deepened the kiss. His grip loosened on her arms, but only to force them to tangle around his neck. She fisted one hand in his hair, the other clawing hungrily at his shoulder, and kissed him back desperately, her breath choking her, her thoughts gone. She pressed onto her toes and into his body as his hands came hungrily down to grasp her behind. She wanted to leap up and wrap her legs around his middle, offer her neck, breasts, everything to his hungry mouth.

His right hand moved from her rear and tore open the top of her blouse. Buttons scattered across the floor as he thrust his hand in to grab at her lace-covered breast. His mouth traveled to her ear, her neck, the soft hollow of her throat. She felt her flesh leap as his fingers squeezed her nipple.

She had just tipped her head back, surrendering to his desire, when his grasp on her slackened. She fought to hold on, but he was already moving away, running a hand through his raven locks.

"But ..." she mumbled, not sure what to say.

"All from a kiss, Miss Granger. I could have you throwing yourself at me, and all from a harmless kiss."

"That was not just a kiss," she spoke before she could stop herself.

"Exactly. You do not know ..." he began.

"Yes, I do. And I want it."

He paused, trying another way to get through to her. "Would you take off your clothes for me, Miss Granger?"

She instinctively clutched over her more private areas. "What here? Now?"

He sneered, forcing back his fearsome professor persona. "No, it was not a command, merely a request for information. If I were to stand here, not touching you, not kissing you. Would you take off your clothes for me?"

She stammered incomprehensibly, but still absent-mindedly clutched at her clothes.

"Your physical reaction tells me the real answer, Miss Granger. I could not take something from you that you are not prepared to give, simply because your mind is not in control of your body. You are dismissed."

Thunderstruck, she buttoned her blouse as best she could and left the office.

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