Unlikely Connections

Chapter Eight - The Female Starts to Lead

Hermione found herself in a place in the castle that she never expected to see again, let alone a place that she would seek out intentionally.

She fumbled in the pocket of her skirt for her wand, pointed it at the ceiling and muttered, "Demissium." The faintly shimmering ladder rippled down from its porthole above her head. With a sigh to steel herself, she hoisted her body up the rope ladder.

Immediately assaulted with a heavy perfume, Hermione coughed heavily to clear her lungs. Hoping that she was not intruding on anything, she called out in warning.

"Professor Trelawney?"

A hazy silence met her, broken only by the crackling fire and a distant tinkle of glass. "Professor?" she called again. "It's Hermione Granger. I've come to ask you a question."

Out of the shadows to her right emerged a numerously-shawled form. Sybil Trelawney adjusted her garments with delicately plucking fingers and fixed Hermione with a controlled yet suspicious glance.

"Miss Granger," she said, with no little quantity of disdain in her voice. "What question could someone as grounded (she said the word with obvious distaste) as you possibly have for one possessed of the Inner Eye?"

"Well, actually, I had a dream . . . well, more a vision really, and I wondered if it meant. Well, that is to say that I had some questions about what it could . . . and I thought that you might be the best person to answer my questions about it."

Hermione knew that she had explained the situation very badly, but Sybil's demeanor changed immediately. She pointed her wand delicately to the nearest set of armchairs and a small tea table and drew them up close. She gestured regally for Hermione to have a seat.

"Well, yes, of course, I definitely would be able to help you discern those shadowy portents. I have always excelled in dream interpretation. Tea?" Professor Trelawney spoke kindly, taking Hermione's approach as a makeshift attempt at acknowledging her talent with Seeing.

Hermione fought not to snort in doubt, but instead shook her head at the offer of tea, hastily drew up the chair and began to brim over with explanations. "I had a dream you see. And it wasn't just an ordinary normal dream, it was about . . ." Hermione trailed off and cleared her throat loudly before continuing. "It was about someone. And it's someone with whom I have a rather ... dramatic relationship."

"And well, that happened quite a few days ago. But just today I sort of ... well I felt this dream come over me in a wave, you see. But the vision had other parts that I hadn't dreamt. You know, as if someone else was making them up. And it came on me so suddenly; I wasn't thinking about ... this person or anything. I just sort of, went into a trance and the dream hit me."

She petered out towards the end. "I know that sounds sort of silly," she finished lamely.

"No, no, my dear," Sybil cooed sympathetically. "It's actually quite compelling. If I am not mistaken, it's Comparis Animae." Sybil waited breathlessly, evidently convinced that she had said something awe-inspiring.

Hermione waited a beat for etiquette's sake and then questioned, "Pardon, it's what?"
"Comparis Animae, dear. Quite literally, it means, 'soul mates,'" Sybil finished dramatically. Hermione's panicked look, however, was not lost on her.

"Now now, dear, it doesn't literally mean you're bound to the person in the dream. It simply means that you and this person share a deep enough connection to transmit thoughts."

"Transmit thoughts?" Hermione squealed. There had been quite the rumor the years that Snape had been a professor at Hogwarts that he was a mind reader; she was sent into horrified throes considering all the seemingly private thoughts that had occurred to her during Snape's lessons. How long had he been able to read her mind?

"Don't worry, dear; it's more of a conscious sharing of desires." Hermione blushed furiously at that word, unnoticed by Sybil as she continued. "Yes, it's more sharing rather than a forceful transmission. It simply means that you and this person are connected on enough of an intimate level that the person could pluck the dream out of your subconscious if that person was consciously thinking about you."

Hermione digested the information. "So," she began slowly, "the person would have to be purposely thinking of me . . . and then they could extract things from my head?"

"Well, yes, but not entirely. It would have to be a thought, dream, or memory that was relevant to the person's conscious thoughts."

Hermione started to suppress a wicked grin. "So, if this person was, say, thinking about a Potions assignment that we had done together, they could extract anything from my mind that related to that memory of that Potions assignment."

Sybil nodded gently. "In essence, yes."

"But, if they were thinking about me and the potions assignment, they couldn't pull out a thought that was about them, but unrelated to their own train of thought ... say, something that was," Hermione cleared her throat again, "more private?"

"Oh, no dear. The Comparis Animae is a willing exchange of like ideas. The Anima in question would only be able to extract thoughts - or in your case, a memory of a dream - that were related to the thought pattern they were pursuing."

"And you say it has to be conscious thought? It wouldn't be triggered by someone say, dreaming about me?"

"No, dear. As I said, Comparis Animae is a willing and intentional exchange. The person would have to be deliberately thinking about you or about an exchange of some kind with you."

Hermione barely stifled a self-satisfied chuckle. Impulsively, she reached over the chair and hugged the woman. "Thank you, Professor Trelawney, you've been most helpful."

Sybil watched her rise to leave and smiled gently. "My pleasure, Miss Granger. Entirely my pleasure."

****

Hermione had to restrain herself from leaping down the ladder, so amused was she at the state of affairs. So he had been thinking about her. Extensively. And rather inappropriately, she chuckled to herself. No sooner had she hit the foot of the ladder than she heard a menacing snarl from behind her.

"How?" the growling tones demanded furiously.

She turned abruptly, her heart practically stopping within her chest, as she looked straight up into Professor Snape's glowering face. She clutched at her breast with one hand, as if attempting to physically still her heartbeat.

"You know," she sputtered, all sense of protocol leaving her, "it's no wonder that people speculate that you're a vampire or a bat. You just skulk around the school and then appear out of th--"

He broke off her words by grabbing her shoulders and shaking her violently. "How did you do it?!? Tell me this instant and don't pretend as if you don't know!"

"I . . . Professor I d-don't . . ." she stammered.

"Miss Granger," he snarled low, "I am a sufficiently accomplished Legillimens, do not presume to think that I do not know when someone has broken into my mind."

"Broken into your mind?" she gabbled, confused. "How could I possibly...?"

"Don't act the fool girl. That vision wasn't mine. I didn't create it. It was yours and I know it. I want to know how you planted it in my mind!"

Ignoring the fact that he had simply assumed that she knew what vision he spoke of, Hermione snapped back at him, her patience worn through. "Yes, speaking of which, why is that you broke into my mind? You rage and storm at me, but you know very well I don't know advanced enough magic to practice Legillimency, especially on a Professor, and especially one as armed as yourself. So it must have been you who extracted the thought from me."

He started to bite back an answer, but she was ready for him. "Comparis Animae."

He scoffed and released her shoulders. "Oh, don't be ridiculous, girl. I haven't time for your romantic fancies . . ."

"Oh, and you're so certain that if I was all moony over someone it would be you?" she retorted.

He remained silent for a moment, apparently convinced. Hermione took the opportunity of his silence to charge onward. "You were thinking about me, and I'm guessing that since our little encounter the other day, our minds have been adequately linked."

He scoffed, looking distinctly nervous, as she continued. "But you already knew that, didn't you Professor? You didn't even consider the fact that I wouldn't know what vision you meant. You didn't consider that I had done something inadvertently. You simply charged up here after me, convinced that we had a connection strong enough for me to plant something in your mind. And you must have realized what the connection was; otherwise you wouldn't have known where to come looking for me."

He growled, low in his throat, but did not respond. "AND the sights you saw in the beginning of that vision must have interested you enough to run with it." She folded her arms across her chest, satisfied with her summation of the situation.

He grasped at his last chance at regaining control. "Run with it? How ridiculous. What I watched was merely girlish adolescent romanticism. Sentimental rot and highly unworthy of my time. Why would I be interested in the least?"

Because she knew she had the upper hand, Hermione played a bit with the power. "Well, I'll tell you why, Professor Naughty Pants."

Before she even began, Snape scowled at the 'Naughty Pants,' but Hermione continued despite his frown. "You were thinking of me. On purpose. The Comparis Animae connection doesn't work unless it's purposeful. AND the dream wasn't entirely mine. Oh, you can lie to me and say that it was, but you can go ahead and use Legillimency on me and you'll see. My dream stopped when I said your name. I woke up after whispering 'Severus.'"

His face was impassive, but she noticed the twitch of nervousness behind his eyes. She was cornering him and he knew it. "I whispered 'Severus' in my dream and that woke me up, little wonder. However, today was different. Today it was a bit more graphic, wasn't it? In fact, now that I think about it, you can even see the shift between my dream and when your mind took over. Got quite a bit racier, didn't it? No more patience or soft caresses. Just pure. Animal. Heat. So perhaps the question isn't why did you break into my mind, Professor ..."

She moved closer to him, power reflecting in her eyes. She had him, she knew it, and she was about to lay down her trump card. "Perhaps the question is," she grinned, playing on a phrase he had used to her days before, "why would a cynical, old Slytherin such as you want to be deliberately thinking about a 'fine-looking young Gryffindor' in such an improper manner?" She sneered at him, a rather good likeness of his own trademark expression. For a moment he was silent; but after a short bout of incomprehensible babble, he managed to rebutt.

"Miss Granger, there's one problem. You have no proof that what happened at the end of the dream in your head was what happened in mine. Perhaps you have just gotten a bit more stirred up about me since our last ... encounter ... and finished the dream yourself."

She continued grinning serenely, allowing him to shift uncomfortably under her gaze. "Proof you say? I'll give you all the proof you need. Now, because of Harry, I know that just beneath the inside crook of your right elbow is burned a mark into your skin. My proof is this: coiled around your arm just above the elbow is a tattoo of a deep green snake that only shows one eye."

The words fell between them like a stone and she heard him draw a gasping breath. He was so stunned by her words that he made no move to stop her when she stepped up and seized hold of his wrist. He watched with horror as she pushed up his sleeve and showed the tattoo.

She felt like she could risk it, so she continued, "You can insist that Harry told me about the mark ... but how many other people have seen that tattoo, Professor? On second thought, don't answer that. Perhaps the better question is: how could I have ever gotten into a position to know that the tattoo was there? That little part was most definitely your addition, Professor."

Knowing she had won, she stepped away from him. She felt power coursing through her and she grasped onto it as tightly as she could. The unhidden panic in his face was enough to tell her that she'd struck home. She smirked at him even more and decided to step out on a limb. As she moved away from him, she put a hand to the hem of her skirt and slowly, very slowly, -- in time with her words -- inched the skirt up, showing him more flesh. She punctuated her words by undoing the buttons of her blouse, which she had forgotten to cover with robes in her haste to see Trelawney.

"Admit it, Professor, you were thinking about me. And they definitely weren't nice," she undid the first button, "teacherly," and then the second, "reflections." She punctuated the final word by releasing the last button just above her bra line. "Were they?"

He stood transfixed. His eyes followed first one hand - which had revealed to him just the top of her black lace bra - then the other. The latter he followed in unabashed shock, watching her skirt snake up the outside of her thigh, where she gave him just a glimpse of the side of her white cotton panties riding low on her hips.

"Well, Professor, I'll just leave you to your ... thoughts."

She said the last word with obvious relish and then turned on the ball of her foot to stride away, swinging her hips just slightly. Hermione was exceedingly convinced that her gently swaying hips would seal the bargain nicely. She hadn't lived with Lavender and Parvati for six years without picking up something. When she was a half a corridor away, she chanced a look over her shoulder, just long enough to catch a glance of him tugging at the neck of his robes as if he were overheating. Her throaty laughter rang in his ears for several hours.