Unlikely Connections

Chapter Eleven - The Cha Cha, Part Two

Hermione fought viciously to regain her composure as everyone packed up and left the History of Magic classroom. Most of the class was shooting sidelong glances at her, and frankly, she couldn't blame them their curiousity. It wasn't every day that the Head Girl began gasping in Potions for no reason at all and flying off her chair in History of Magic, apparently just for good measure. Certainly not when the Head Girl was Hermione Granger, know-it-all extraordinaire. She sighed again, hoping that the delay in her packing up would remove the chance that people would linger long enough to ask her questions.

Except, of course, for Ron and Harry. She had expected that. Because of their scuffle in Potions that morning, Ron was still determined to keep an angry silence, so Harry was left to question her. "Er, Hermione ...?"

She ventured a meager glance at Harry. "Yes?" She was trying to appear as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened despite all evidence to the contrary.

Harry sighed. There was no way to broach this gracefully. "What in bloody hell has been going on with you all day?"
"Er ... nothing big." She scolded herself mentally: That has to be the lamest excuse you've ever come up with. And it's not even the first time you've used it.

Ron snorted loudly as the three exited the classroom and headed down the hall to walk Hermione to Arithmancy. Hermione scowled deeply at Ron but said nothing. Harry, instead, took up the retort.

"Oh come on, M'inee. First you slap Ron ..."

"Which he deserved," she replied angrily.

"Which I agree," Harry finished, to which Ron muttered, "Traitor."

Harry shrugged. "Sorry, mate. But M'inee, none of that explains why you've been acting so funny. You've not been paying attention, you've not been taking notes, you're eyes are all glassy, and every now and then you shudder as if you've just been slapped. What's going on?"

Hermione looked quickly from Ron to Harry and back again. This was going to be ghastly. "Well, Harry ... remember what I told you about what happened in detention ... with Snape ...?"
Harry nodded, eyeing Ron, who had snapped to attention.

"Detention? What happened? Why'd you tell Harry and not me???"

"Because I knew how you'd react." She waited a bit, while Ron mouthed furiously without actually speaking, his face slowly turning the shade of his hair. She turned her attention back to Harry. "Well ... let's just say the ... plot's thickened a bit." There was a tense pause as Hermione regrouped. "Okay, a lot."

Ron, forgetting is anger at her and falling to instinct, raised his fists in fury. "If he hurt you, I swear to God, I'll--"

Hermione put a soft hand over his fists and pushed them gently down. To no one's surprise, both boys were reddening with indignation, looking for all the world like they'd march into the dungeons and, by hand, tear Snape to pieces if she so much as sniffled. She placed a light hand on both of their shoulders. "No. What is needed isn't force, its proportional response. And trust me, I know just the thing."

****

Hermione settled herself into a chair next to Hannah Abbott, who smiled at her gently. She forced herself to return what she hoped was a genuine smile. She liked Hannah very much but Hermione just couldn't force idle pleasantries from her mouth. This was going to be tricky. She'd have to retaliate on Snape while still giving the impression that her mind was on Arithmancy alone. And given that Hermione sat in the very front of the Arithmancy classroom, she'd really have to be careful. Normally, sitting in the front was an asset, but today she was going to war with Snape, which was going to take no little amount of concentration and emotional fortitude.

Fortunately, Hermione had read ahead three chapters in the book the previous night, and realized once Professor Vector started her lesson that she didn't need to pay attention. Perfect. She leaned back just slightly and took a deep breath, trying to clear her head. If she was going to do this, she'd definitely need to concentrate. She grinned wickedly, anticipating his response.

Down in the dungeons, Snape paused in his lecture. His eyelids fluttered shut and open again. He could have sworn that he had just seen himself and Hermione ... cuddling ... Impossible.

He resumed his lecture. After another few moments, his mind flashed another vision. This time, he was sitting next to Hermione in the Great Hall, sharing food off her fork, both their faces plastered with a simper of catastrophic proportions. He shook his head to clear it and set the third years off on making their Swelling Solutions.

Over the next hour, his mind was assaulted no less than thirteen times, with various visions of a sickeningly romantic nature. He saw cuddles and smiles, kisses and hand holding ... basically every cliché of teenage love that could be imagined, he saw himself doing. With Granger.

And each vision mounted in its level of gratuitous sentimentality. Snape prowled the classroom, preying mercilessly on anyone who happened to be in the near vicinity when the visions struck.

What I wouldn't give to have Potter around right now, he thought while feeling particularly vindictive. And then it dawned on him. Not Potter ... Granger ... Granger! She was doing this!!!

"Damn her," he whispered furiously, ausing a Ravenclaw to trod on her partner's foot in her haste to avoid Snape's wrath. Normally, this effortless intimidation would have pleased him greatly, but unfortunately, he couldn't see it. His mind was splayed with an image of a breathless Hermione brushing his hair out of his eyes as his head lay on her lap. He fisted a hand in his long, lank locks and growled. Snape had just started another mental tyrade against Granger, when he was again afflicted. This time, the vision was much more elaborate.

He saw Hermione and himself standing hand in hand in front of Dumbledore. In the background, he could see the entire population of the school, a sea of brightly colored dress robes. As he saw Dumbledore speaking, he noticed a green-robed Potter standing beside him, smiling like a simpleton; Hermione was flanked by a Gryffindor-red bedecked Ginny Weasley, who was casting moony eyes at Potter. Just then, Dumbledore stopped speaking and he saw Hermione turning towards him. He saw himself lean forward to take her lips ...

Oh, good, merciful Lord, she is envisioning us getting married!!! He howled in frustration, his entire class starting in surprise. He'd had enough. He strode to the front of the dungeon and planted himself at his desk. At least if he stared down as if he were correcting papers, the class would not be able to see his reactions to this ridiculousness.

After fifteen minutes of the uninterrupted supposed correcting, he raised his head. She hadn't sent him a vision since that of the marriage. He shuddered, but rose from the desk. All right Granger, you've had your fun. Time to grow up.

His words reached her, sitting in her chair in the front of Arithmancy. She had planned an ending different than this, but now that the time had come, she wasn't sure she could do it. She bit her lip nervously.

Purposely startling and annoying Snape was about as sane and safe as poking an irate dragon squarely in the eye. She could be almost certain that should she decide to culminate this, her 'actions' would result in at least another detention, possibly worse. And she couldn't have anything that would stay on her permanent record if she ever wanted to get a decent job ...

It really was a pity, too ... after all the time she had spent that day watching Snape's morbid fantasies, she was certain she knew the precisely perfect way to get the drop on him after a succession of romanticism. But she couldn't. It just wouldn't be prudent.

And then his words rang in her head again. Time to grow up. Her nerves rankled. Whether or not Snape was not to be trifled with, her pride certainly wouldn't allow her to let him have that little victory. She took a breath to steel herself and pushed forward to cement her plan.

Snape was standing by his desk, a smug sneer plastered across his face. Granger had obviously, and wisely, decided to desist this petty foolishness. He admitted, only in his head, that it was definitely a cunning response, but she couldn't really have expected to beat him at his own game. He'd had years of practice in earlier, more foolish times.

He was just reaching the desk of some particularly petrified looking Hufflepuffs whom he firmly intended to torment to tears when he bent over slightly and gasped in shock. He could hear her laughter echoing in his ears as he watched the vision.

He was tied at the wrists with blood red scarves, fastening him securely to the deeply carved headboard. Dragging slowly down his bare chest was the frayed tail of a long black whip. He could hear muted chuckling as he drew a deep breath when the whip skimmed over his most sensitive parts.

As if panning upwards with a Muggle television camera, Hermione came slowly into view. She was clothed in a murderously short, skin tight, black leather skirt sitting low on her hips and a black corset that laced up the front. It barely held her. He could feel his pulse rise as he gazed at her, her ample breasts flowing out over the top of the straining material. She raised a leg and placed her foot, clad in a dramatically high stiletto heel, on the bed next to his ribcage.

She dragged a finger over her lips, the nails painted blood red to match her lipstick. She used the handle of the whip to guide his chin up so that his gaze locked on hers. She leaned over him, dominating his entire field of vision. He shivered when her curls skimmed his arms, face and neck. His hands strained against their bonds, seemingly of their own volition, eager to be free to roam across her body.

"No, no, no," she said, smirking maliciously, "we can't forget who's in charge here." She paused briefly, her smile growing exponentially. "You know what I want to hear ... Say it, Severus." Her face moved closer at her ultimatum. Her voice, throaty and deep, sounded in his head.

"Please," he whispered.

She raised the whip high. "Please what?"

"Please touch me," he murmured hoarsely.

The whip lashed a firm stroke against his upper thigh. "Louder, pet!" she demanded.

"PLEASE TOUCH ME!" his voice begged.

She leapt astride his chest and bent her head to set her teeth to his neck. "That's better," she chuckled.

Severus started and looked up to see the Hufflepuffs he had intended to panic giggling to themselves. He looked around in dazed confusion and then noticed two Ravenclaws at the next table pointing furtively at his lower torso, obviously unaware that he was watching them do so.

He looked down and realized, to his immense horror, that his body was ... expressing its interest in Hermione's vision. He snapped at the third years, taking a round thirty points from Hufflepuff and fifty from Ravenclaw, promising detention to the next person who spoke.

He saw quite rapidly, however, that apparently it was worth risking detention to spread the tale to the entirety of the class. No doubt the entire school would know by nightfall. He steepled his hands and rested his head in them. This was going to be hideous.

Without raising his head, he barked at them. "Everyone clean up your cauldrons and get out of my sight."

The class looked up at him, stunned, but made no move to exit.

His head snapped up, a murderous gleam in his eye. "What are you waiting for? Fifty points from whichever house has people lingering any longer than two minutes."

The students scurried in a mad rush to be gone. He barricaded himself behind his desk and sighed as he let his mind connect with Granger's.

Touché.