Unlikely Connections

Chapter Fifteen - Sitting This One Out

The door had just clicked shut behind Hermione when she realized that something had to be done, despite Snape's fragile pride. Well, I've only seen it done a few times, and only by teachers ... Let's hope this works.

She snapped her fingers, which echoed darkly in the deserted hall. She waited a few moments, afraid that it wouldn't work, when there was a crack like a whip and a small tugging on the back of her nightgown.

Standing behind her, with her arms crossed insolently, was Winky. "Oh, thank goodness!" Hermione started, smiling broadly at Winky. "I have a very important job, Winky, and I wouldn't have trusted it to anyone but you."

The thickly laid praise had apparently done the trick. Winky had not smiled, but was warming noticeably and looked more receptive to Hermione. When Winky spoke, her voice was almost cooperative. "How can Winky help you, Miss Hermione?"

She crouched down to Winky. "Well, I've just come from Professor Snape's office and I need your help. He's been hurt very badly, and I did what I could, but I don't think it's enough. I need you to go to Madame Pomfrey and bring her to Professor Snape."

"Oh no, Miss Hermione! Not Professor Snape, sir! He's the bestest man in Hogwarts to us house elves, Miss, aside from Albus Dumbledore! Kind and gentle and respectful to us elves is Professor Snape sir."

Hermione cocked her head to one side, trying desperately not to look too curious. Snape, gentle? And kind! "I know, Winky, I'm very scared too ... but there's one part that's very important that I haven't told you yet. It's a very big secret."

Winky puffed out her chest. "Winky is never is letting down her masters and telling secrets yet, Miss Hermione. Not never."

"I know, that's why I'm so glad you're here. Now, Winky, you know that Professor Snape is a very proud man. That's why you have to make sure not to tell Professor Dumbledore. Professor Snape would want to report to Dumbledore himself, but not until he's better, so you must get Madam Pomfrey and make sure she knows not to tell."

"Yes, Miss Hermione, going right now ... going I is and quicksis too."

Another crack told Hermione that Winky was off on her way to find Madam Pomfrey. She hoped against hope that the nurse would respect her wishes and be discreet. Not that Hermione cared much for avoiding Dumbledore, but she was quite certain of how Snape would prefer things.

"That was very diplomatic of you, Miss Granger," came a soft voice from behind her.

She whirled around quickly to find herself caught within the twinkling gaze of Albus Dumbledore. He was smiling gently and, from the way he seemed at ease as well as pleased with her, he must have heard at least part of the conversation with Winky, if not all of it.

"Professor, I ... I didn't mean to ..." she stammered.

He held up his hand gently to stem the flow of her explanations. "Miss Granger, you did exactly right to instruct Winky to keep the secret from me. I'm quite certain that Professor Snape would be quite displeased with the both of us if I went charging in there right now, obviously at your behest. He is a proud man and he will inform me in his own time what happened this evening."

She shuffled her stocking feet distractedly. "I just ... happened upon him during my nightly patrol of the halls and I could tell he was hurt." She stopped suddenly, not wishing to divulge exactly why she knew just when and where to 'happen upon him.' Her throat caught. "He looked awful, Sir."

Dumbledore stood and watched the girl battle internally with her emotions. Though her fears were clearly warring in her visage, she was fighting to keep her body from reflecting them. He knew that he must be calm but firm, making no excuses. "He often does when he returns from Revels."

Hermione flinched as if she had been hit. It was terrible to hear Dumbledore speak about Snape's injuries and his double life in this manner. "Then why do you still let him go?!" she shouted furiously. But her rage burned itself out quickly. "I ... Sir, I'm ... scared for him." A tear leaked out of her right eye, cutting a path down her blushing cheek.

Albus's heart went out to the girl, and he opened his arms to her. Hermione rushed forward, clasping her arms around his wide and thick robes, burying her face in his abundant white beard. "We all are, Miss Granger. But Severus is a good, strong and competent man and a very capable and powerful wizard. I am confident that he can handle anything Lord Voldemort can throw at him."

Hermione lifted her head. She was marveling as she pulled away from his hug the manner in which he had spoken of Professor Snape. She seldom heard anyone talk about Professor Snape except to say that he was overly mean or a hermit. Something must have shown in her face because Dumbledore chuckled and responded.

"Severus Snape is a very dependable and hardworking man. He has served me more loyally than most. He may not be the most ... popular teacher here, but I've never had any reason not to have absolute faith in him. Now, Miss Granger, I suggest that you scurry off to bed before Madam Pomfrey comes down here and lets on to Professor Snape that it we've both been worrying over him."

Hermione smiled at Dumbledore and turned to head back to Gryffindor Tower.

"Oh, Miss Granger..." Dumbledore called after her. She turned softly to regard him. "In addition to being proud, Severus is also a very private man. I regret to say that perhaps forming any kind of alliance with someone living Severus's manner of life would not be entirely safe." After a brief moment, he shook his head to himself as if he had been diverting from what he had meant to say. "In any case, I'm sure he appreciates what you did for him tonight more than he will ever let on. So allow me to thank you for your care in his stead."

"Thank you, sir," she said, blushing. Almost as an afterthought, she added, "Actually, Professor Snape did thank me."

"Indeed?" Dumbledore replied, smiling, before wishing her goodnight and waving her to bed. When she had rounded the corner and was out of hearing distance, he continued, "Then perhaps an alliance has already been made."

Dumbledore did not smile as he continued on to his own bed.


****

Hermione lay in bed, not able to lull herself to sleep. Dumbledore had tried to warn her about something. 'But what?' she thought furiously. It seemed as if he was telling her not to ... But that's impossible ...

She would admit that Dumbledore seemed to have an uncanny knack for knowing whatever was going on at Hogwarts. So she had no doubt that he, at the very least, suspected that something had happened between them but ...

'No one in their right mind would ever assume that Professor Snape and I are ... That we had ... The thought is too ridiculous to even consider!' her mind shouted.

For pity's sake, Dumbledore had made it sound as if Professor Snape was in love with her. Or she with him.

The thought was too ridiculous to even ...


****

Hermione took her time getting to the Potions dungeons the next day. She was trying to brainstorm the appropriate facial expressions to use when Professor Snape showed up to teach. He would obviously still appear injured. Madam Pomfrey was a very talented Healer, but Hermione knew that medicinal magic could only go so far with Crucio damage. And she was quite sure that this would be the case with Professor Snape.

So how to react? she asked herself as she pushed open the door to the dungeons. But it was not Professor Snape who sat at the front desk.

"Since when does McGonagall teach Potions?" Ron whispered to Harry and Hermione as they all took their seats. Hermione stifled a worried gasp and sunk into her seat. As soon as the bell rang to signal the beginning of class, McGonagall clapped her hands loudly.

"Attention class! Professor Snape was taken ill yesterday evening and I've been asked
to instruct your class today so that he can recuperate. I've been told that you have been working on a Truth Serum for the last few days. Professor Snape," McGonagall waved her wand at the blackboard, "left the instructions, so you are to carry on with your work."

The class began to work almost as soon as she had finished, the room humming with chatter regarding Snape's whereabouts.

"What in the world could be so bad that it would keep Snape from class?" Harry asked over the cauldron the three were sharing for this potion.

"I dunno, but it must be pretty bad. I mean, the ruddy bastard lives for the torture he inflicts on us daily," Ron finished.

Hermione's head snapped up and she bit back. "Don't say that! He can't help that he's bad-tempered. If you had to--"

"Bad tempered?" Ron questioned in annoyed shock. "Hermione, he's a right bastard and you know it!"

"He's not!" she fought back, furiously. "I know he can be gruff sometimes, but he's actually quite ... funny ... when ... you ..."

She trailed off eventually because Ron and Harry had now begun to gape at her openly. She lowered her eyes quickly and began to work on the potion despite their lapse in progress. Ron's arm still hung over the cauldron, half-tipping a phial of Jobberknoll feathers over it. Hermione pushed down on his arm until the right amount fell into the potion and then brushed him out of the way.

"Hermione?" Ron asked. She didn't respond aside from a brief, "Hmm?" so he charged on. "Ever since that one detention you've been going absolutely barmy! What's going on with you and Snape lately? And don't tell me 'nothing big' because from the look on Harry's face, he knows and it's not just something big, it's huge!"

She looked from Ron (who was slowly turning crimson with anger) to Harry (who was quickly turning crimson from embarrassment) in great puzzlement. She really hadn't decided when and where she would tell Ron about the whole detention issue, but it certainly wouldn't have been her choice to tell him during a Potions lesson. But if Snape isn't here ...

She looked back to Harry who sighed and shrugged his shoulders. "You've got to tell him sometime, M'inee, might as well be now."

"All right." She stopped and took a deep breath. "I kissed Snape."

"WHAT???!!!!!" Ron roared, causing the entire class to jump and stare at the three of them. Regardless of Hermione's shushing him, he thundered on, "When? Where? What in the bloody hell--!"

McGonagall interrupted at that point. "Mr. Weasley! I'm ashamed to hear such language from a Gryffindor in a classroom! Five points and keep it down!"

Ron scowled even further and turned a murderous glance to Hermione. "What in bloody hell did you think you were doing?!" he whispered furiously.

Hermione glared at him, leaning over Harry to respond in an equally agitated whisper. "It's not like I planned it. It just sort of happened. And believe me, he has punished me quite enough for it!"

Hermione sat back up and stirred the potion so vehemently that it began sloshing over the sides of the cauldron. She clearly didn't wish to discuss the subject any further, but both boys seemed to be too fiercely committed to the knowing the truth of the subject.

"M'inee," Harry interjected, knowing Ron was far too annoyed to speak reasonably, "I know that you kissed him and he made you pay for it, but it's obvious that something other than just that happened ... I mean, from what you told me ... and ... er," he nervously glanced at Ron before continuing, "the basis of comparison thing ... and now suddenly he's sick and you're defending him ...? Something's going on that you're not telling either of us..."

Hermione wasn't quite sure that Harry made the connection, but the wild fury in
Ron's eyes told her that he had. Ron was clearly linking Hermione's recent behavior to Snape's 'outburst' in Potions lessons the previous day. "Something is going on between you and him."

Harry's mouth dropped open, his face smeared with a look of disbelief that told that he believed Ron had gone off his rocker.

"Don't be ridiculous," Hermione scoffed. "Me and Snape? On top of being ridiculous, it could also get me expelled. You've taken one too many bludgers to the head; you might want to leave off Quidditch."

"Maybe so," Ron growled, "but there's something going on, and it looks like you've dragged Harry into it as well. Now, I don't know why the two of you have chosen to leave me out of this, but it's bloody awful. I want to know what's going on. ALL of what's going on. And I'm not having a single word from either of you until I get it."

Hermione and Harry glanced at each other nervously. This clearly wasn't the time or the place for this discussion. "Look Ron, I'd love to tell you but ..." Hermione started.

"The truth, Hermione, all of it. Or not another word."

"But, I can't--" she started again.

Ron fiercely grabbed her arm and whispered angrily. "I don't care what you can't do. You can't tell me the truth, apparently. And I've had enough of the both of you." Ron released Hermione with a brutal snap, snatched up his bag and potions kit and stormed from the dungeon. McGonagall looked up towards them, but upon seeing the bewildered astonishment on Harry's face and the tears silently streaming down Hermione's, she decided that it was perhaps best to pursue Mr. Weasley once all parties had been given a sufficient amount of time to cool off. She did choose this moment, however, to attend to another point of business that would give her a chance to subtly sound them out.

She strode across the classroom as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred.

"Miss Granger?" she questioned sternly, but not angrily.

Hermione quickly dashed her robes over her eyes and looked up to face McGonagall, who marveled at the girl's tenacious strength. "Yes, Professor?"

"Professor Snape asked me to convey to you that you would not be required to stay for detention this evening, but that you would merely serve tomorrow and consider that the end of your punishments."

Hermione thought, her mind turned away from Ron and onto Snape. "Yes, Professor. Thank you."

McGonagall had just begun to move away when she heard Hermione's voice again.

"Professor?" she questioned, very softly. "Is he ... all right?"

Minerva couldn't put her finger on what it was in the girl's eyes that spoke to her, but somehow she knew that Hermione was aware of the real reason behind Severus's convalescence. "He will be. He always is," she answered less firmly but spared the girl, and Harry (who had looked over questioningly at Hermione's inquiry), a strained smile.

****

"Hermione, I thought McGonagall said you didn't have to go to detention?" Harry questioned as Hermione gathered her things and rose from the dinner table. Ron, who was sitting a few seats away with Neville, Dean and Seamus, humphed loudly and made a show of turning away and ignoring the two of them.

Hermione lowered her voice. "I don't care. I'm going to see him anyway." She then dropped her voice to a low whisper. "You should have seen him last night Harry ... it was ... awful."

Harry heard the quaver in her voice that she had so desperately tried to stifle. He sighed heavily as he looked up at her. There is something going on between her and Snape ... and she doesn't even know it. He sighed again, but merely said, "Make sure he's okay."

Hermione nodded quickly and then grinned. "Besides, I left your cloak in his office; I
have to go back and get it."

"Convenient," Harry muttered though he knew Hermione had already moved out of earshot.

Hermione headed out of the Great Hall. As she passed Ron's klatch of friends, she noticed a great many heads turned accusing stares in her direction as they silently watched her pass. She clutched her books closer to her chest and scurried through the large oak doors.


****

Hermione knocked sharply on his office door, a sinking feeling growing as she waited for a reply. When none came, she tried again. After the third knock, she heard a faint click that she could only guess was the door being unwarded. When no further reply came, she tried the door and, finding it unlocked, invited herself in.

Hermione saw the invisibility cloak lying across the chair where she had left it; she shrunk it magically and deposited it in the pocket of her robes. She glanced around quickly, only to find no sign of Snape. Just then, there was a great, gruff voice coming from the bedroom.

"Who the devil is it? Come in or go away!"

She could still hear the pain in his voice. Rather than calling out, she timidly opened the door to his bedroom. Still in the shadows, she could gaze around the room without being recognized. She perused the wide octagonal chamber, taking in what she hadn't had the time or inclination to absorb the previous night.

This man just keeps getting more mysterious. Even his bedroom was devoid of the house bias she expected of him. All the hangings around his bed, as well as his bedclothes, were the same deep hue, a deep crimson ... no, blood red. The furniture - consisting of a straight-backed chair near a tall and deep wardrobe and matching dresser, two arm chairs at opposite ends of his fireplace and a small writing desk - all matched the mahogany and leather pieces in his outer office in style, but the upholstery of the chairs was also a deep red. The bed was large - possibly a king-sized mattress - the frame mahogany as well, with four towering posts and a smooth, uncarved head and footboard. She chuckled to herself, thinking that if anyone saw this room, they might think him Head of Gryffindor House instead of Slytherin.

"Poppy?" his voice growled, cold and clear from the bed, "God damn it, release me at once."

Hermione blinked in the near-darkness. The fireplace was the only source of light in the room and the embers were quickly stifling themselves. "It's me, Professor," then after a quick pause, she added, "it's Herm--"

He snapped off her answer. "Don't take me for a fool, Granger. With the amount of times I've heard your almighty squawk, don't you think I'd recognize it by now?"

She bit her tongue to stem a flow of angry words. "I see you've regained your natural good humor," she returned coolly. She muttered a quick "Incendio!" and the fire in the grate leapt to life.

"That doesn't explain what you're doing here. I told Minerva to give you the evening off. Did she disregard my sage instructions or did you?"

"Oh, I did, most definitely. But I had good reason." When he growled, she moved closer to the bed and grinned. "I came back for Harry's cloak; I left it here last night." She paused as something dawned on her. Fear crept into her voice, despite her determination to be strong. "Why aren't you moving?"

"I can't," he replied shortly. In answer to the small squeak of concern that escaped her lips, he continued. "Oh don't be ridiculous, Granger, I'm not that bad. Poppy put a body bind on me to keep me from getting up this morning. She seemed to think I'd be determined to teach despite her warnings."

She chuckled. "Hmm," Hermione responded, "can't imagine why she'd think that."

The firelight played across his face, which was softening ever so slightly in amusement. Eventually, however, he began to scowl. "What are you looking so amused for?"

She tried hard to suppress a grin. "You can't move?"

"No."

"Not at all?" She giggled quietly.

His eyes narrowed dangerously. "Why?"

She closed the distance between them even further, standing now so near the bed that the soft cotton sheets grazed her thighs. "Because there's something I've always wanted to do, but I thought you'd kill me if I tried it ..." She settled herself on the bed next to him.

"Miss Granger ..." his voice was icy on the surface, but there was something like fear in it.

She leaned over him. He was lying in the middle of the bed, his body rigidly stiff from the curse. Her face bent close to his, her breath making a pattern on his cheek as she raised her hand near his face.

He felt his pulse racing, but his face blended into a scowl out of habit. Much to his surprise however, her eyes narrowed but her face moved no closer. Her hand, however, did just the opposite. She rested it delicately on his face, her fingers closing inquisitively on his nose.

"What in the hell are you doing?" he growled, his voice slightly stunted as she pinched a bit harder over his nostrils.

She giggled a bit more and continued poking and prodding, outlining and tracing the large, hooked protrusion. "I've always wanted to touch it, you know. Sort of silly, really. But I've always wanted to see what it felt like. To see if it was real."

She giggled again and he growled low in his throat, unable to turn away in frustration. "Of course it's real. Do you think I would choose this abomination if I wasn't obligated to it?"

She laughed outright this time, and he softened slightly again. "Would you please desist in groping my face, Miss Granger? I think you've proved quiet adequately that it is indeed real. Besides, this is ridiculous."

She took her hand away to drop it in her lap. "Oh, come on, haven't you ever wanted to do something silly and not known why? You know, something you can't explain but are just itching to do anyway?"

"No," he replied, a bit too quickly.

She smirked and he knew she had sensed his overeager response. "I think you're fibbing ..." she mocked in a singsong voice.

"Absolutely not," he responded, his voice thick with false ambivalence.

"Oh come on Professor, I can tell you're lying. And besides, I won't tell."

"Miss Granger, don't be ridiculous, I--"

"Am lying through my teeth," she finished in a mock version of his voice. "And I'm not going away until you tell me. I can tell there's something. And let's face it; you're not really getting away from me if I don't want you to."

He grumbled incoherently, but she merely pretended to file her nails, obviously showing that she wasn't leaving until he spoke. After a few tense moments, he growled, "It's highly inappropriate."

Her face lit up with interest. "Ooooo, is it about a student?" He remained silent, so she prompted, "Come on, I won't tell ..." She made a 'cross my heart' motion across her chest.

"It's far too inappropriate and unprofessional for me to share," he said, dignifiedly.

"Come on, if it's about Pansy Parkinson, I promise not to laugh ... too much."

He retorted before he could stop himself. "Good Lord, Granger, even my taste has limits."

She laughed loudly and looked back at his face. He was smiling genuinely now. As he caught sight of her staring at him, he composed his face again. "I've ..." he began.

"Yes?" she prompted, her face alight with interest.

"I've ... always ..." he cleared throat gruffly, "I've always wondered if that shrubbery attached to your head is as coarse as it looks."

Though his voice was gruff, there was something glinting behind his eyes. She stared at him for several quiet minutes, the tension in the air practically tangible. Her face still contained a look of remarked surprise. He was fully expecting a slap for his presumption, inappropriateness and completely rude delivery.

But instead, her expression never changing, she reached forward a delicate hand to his chest. He tried to speak, to ask her what she was doing, but his voice came out in a rush of soundless air as her hand gently released the buttons on the front of his nightshirt, baring his chest to just above his waist, where the blankets covered his body.

Her heart was pounding as she watched his face - painted with surprise - as her hand went from his chest to her hair, releasing the high ponytail that contained her unruly cluster of golden spirals. At the gentle release, they fell in soft waves about her shoulders.

He took in his breath sharply, not sure of her next move. He gasped again slightly when she pushed the shirt away from the middle of his chest and turned her face away from him, laying her head, face to the foot of his bed, on his stomach. Her curls tumbled away from the nape of her neck and spread in a warm blanket all the way to his throat. He heard her mumble something and felt the constraints of the body bind die away.

Much to her surprise, he did not jerk her away once his body was free. He merely lifted his left hand from the bed and laced his fingers through the soft curls at the nape of her neck. She fought a delighted shiver at the feeling of his fingers twined in her hair.

"Well?" she questioned softly.