Disclaimer: Yeah, yeah, yeah.
A/N: well, it's taken three-quarters of a bottle of wine and most of my weekend procrastinating, but here's the next chapter. Bon apetit.
Chapter Eighteen-
The self-satisfied glow of having humiliated three of his colleagues and the woman he was unwillingly soul-bound to lasted Snape through a dreary portion of morning before lunch. By the time the house-elves delivered his requested tray of food at noon, he had passed from reflection into action, and was fully embroiled in a new way of preparing Screaming Horsefeathers when Albus Dumbledore knocked on his door.
'I thought you might like an invitation to dinner,' said the old man, looking around the room with some interest. Snape paid him no mind; Dumbledore rarely got to get his hands dirty with potions these days, and the man who had helped Nicholas Flamel construct the Philosopher's Stone could be pardoned for missing his alchemy.
'An invitation, or a command?' Snape asked, adding a few drops of prickle juice to his experiment. The liquid in the cauldron turned a pleasant shade of blue, and Snape made a note to attempt to change it in the final product, if possible- he hated blue.
'Never a command, my friend. Some of us just appreciate seeing your smiling face at meals.' Snape groaned. No, it wasn't a command. It was a polite request. He hated polite requests from Albus Dumbledore- the old wizard always looked so damned disappointed if he was rude in return. He hated the old wizard's patented puppy-dog look, and Minerva was always sure to snub him at the next staff meeting. It was all so very wearying.
With a silent sigh, he rose, and looked at his headmaster. 'Of course, I could not refuse such a request, Albus,' he said as gracefully as he could manage- or almost. He quirked an eyebrow at the older wizard. 'Do I have time to complete my experiment before my presence is required?'
'Of course, my friend, of course. I'll just wait for you here, shall I?' Dumbledore smilingly walked over to the back of the room and began to look interestedly at some of the items in Snape's store cupboard, making exclamations of delight now and then. Obviously, he was leaving no chance for escape. Snape sighed again. He would never be able to figure out why Albus thought it was a sign of disease if a person simply wanted some solitude, but the old man regularly made sure that his potions master missed no more than one meal at the head table, as one warding off influenza might consume oranges.
Snape reflected that if now wasn't a moment in which it wouldn't be justified to roll his eyes, there never would be, and deftly finished off his experiment.
Walking beside the headmaster to the great hall, the potions master concluded that dinner need not be a complete annoyance- after all, he would have the pleasure of seeing a discomfited Hermione Granger again, which would possibly make up for having to listen to Minerva berate him for this morning's incident all through dinner. It surprised him little that the woman was head of Gryffindor; she behaved predictably like a lioness when one of her favourites was injured at his hand.
He entered the hall directly behind the headmaster, making his way up to the head table. Snape was a little surprised to note the cold nods he received from Madams Hooch and Sprout, and especially Poppy Pomfrey, who usually had a warm greeting for him at meal times. He seated himself at his usual place beside Dumbledore, slightly perplexed when even Filibus Flitwick, seated to his left, turned his back on him to pursue a conversation with Sybil Trelawney. And of a blushing Hermione Granger there was no sign, unfortunately.
With a mental shrug, Snape set to eating his dinner. It was not until dessert, as Albus moved down the end of the table to talk to someone, that the reason for his cold reception was explained by Minerva.
'I certainly hope you're happy with yourself, Severus,' she said, settling into Albus's chair and favouring him with a disapproving glance.
'Certainly, Minerva,' Snape said, unconcernedly tasting his dessert. It was a coffee sorbet- his favourite. His attitude seemed to irritate his companion more.
'Such inappropriate behaviour towards such a young girl, Severus,' she continued, her Scottish lilt all the stronger for her ire. Snape suppressed a smile.
'I hardly think it was inappropriate, Minerva. On the contrary, considering Miss Granger decided to bandy my name about your inebriated circle, I do believe that she got off lightly.'
'I'm not talking about merely this morning, Severus, and you well know it. That you would give an innocent girl a dreaming potion without her permission...'
'I would hardly call her innocent,' Snape drawled. 'She did it to me first.'
Minerva raised an irritated eyebrow, and dimly Snape reflected that she must have been around him for too long to have caught the expression. 'That is no matter, Severus. You are older; you are the one who should know better.'
'Are you saying that the Gryffindors you raise are incapable of defending themselves?'
'Of course not. But the way you have been behaving is completely inappropriate toward a staff member. You know that.'
'Last time I checked, Minerva, Hermione Granger was counted as a member of this staff as well. Perhaps this is a conversation you should be having with her.'
'That would be difficult, Severus, considering she left for London a few hours ago.' Minerva glared at Snape, and it was only with strength of will that Snape refrained from reflecting the expression back at her.
So, the little Gryffindor has run away, has she? he reflected inwardly. A frown marred his features.
'If one of your precious ex-students hasn't the maturity to face an awkward situation then it is no fault of mine,' he said, fairly slamming down his spoon and rising from the table. Without a backward glance, he swept toward a side exit and into the corridor.
As his feet consumed the distance to his dungeons, Snape reflected that it was entirely without merit that Gryffindors were credited with so much courage. All previous evidences to the contrary were, of course, forgotten.
***
Hermione paced along the corridor outside Minerva's transfiguration classroom, hoping that dinner would be over soon. She needed a text she knew was in Minerva's office and was playing on a chance that her old teacher would visit her office briefly after the evening meal, or that she could catch her on her way to her rooms.
The anger she had felt that morning had not dissipated, but she had seen the wisdom of Ailie's advice in journeying to London for their research trip without further delay. Though one part of her wanted to hex him five ways to Christmas, another part of Hermione had absolutely no wish for another embarrassing encounter with Severus Snape. The very fact that he knew she had dreamt about him made her embarrassed beyond belief- yes, he was the one that had given her the potion that had made her do so, yes, she knew he had had a similar dream about her, but that made no difference. But he couldn't possibly have intended that she dream about him. And, besides, she was a much more caring and understanding person than Snape. She would never make reference to such a personal matter; he already had.
Hermione bit her lip in frustration at the thought that it might be tomorrow before she would be safely out of Hogwarts. Now, that was a sentence that she never thought she'd think, she reflected with a rueful smile. Hogwarts had always been a safe haven, until now. It even was now, really, it was just the fact that it housed the very man she most wanted to avoid that made it so dangerous.
If only Ron and Ginny hadn't chosen today to visit their mother! She and Ailie had been packed and ready to go since this morning, but it had been then that she had remembered to floo Ginny and Ron, who were sharing a flat in London, to see if it was okay if the two girls stayed for a few days. They couldn't afford a hotel. She already knew that neither Weasleys would mind, but her sense of propriety couldn't allow her to leave until she had their permission. Turning up on their doorstep would just not do.
The message that came back by the floo (answering-parchments were at present all the craze; Hermione thought it quite boring, seeing as the muggle world had discovered the joys of answering machines in the seventies) was that the two Weasley children were paying their respects to their dear Mama, and would call back, if she would care to leave a message?
An owl had hence been dispatched, but would not have arrived at The Burrow until at least early afternoon, and if they decided to answer via Errol, who was still going at the wise old age of a hundred and twenty-two (owl years), then they wouldn't get an answer until next week.
Hermione bit the inside of her cheek and reprimanded herself. Of course Ron and Ginny would reply by return of owl, and of course they would agree to house herself and Ailie for a few days. They would probably be delighted; neither of them had seen her in a few months, and Harry had probably told them about the new arrival at Hogwarts (Hermione hoped he hadn't told Ron about the rather personal scene he had walked in on between herself and Sirius; Ron could be annoyingly medieval about some things). She could expect that answer late this evening, and they would probably be in London late tomorrow morning. She would have to just avoid a certain darkly brooding Potions professor until then.
*Speak of the devil and he shall come,* thought Hermione as a disturbingly familiar figure rounded a corner at the end of the corridor. She didn't bother to suppress a sigh. Of course he would turn down this corridor. Her luck wouldn't run it any other way.
Sternly she squelched any remnant feeling from her dream and steeled herself for him to pass by, but he didn't appear to have that object in mind. In fact, he seemed to be headed straight for her, a velvety black torpedo aimed at her rather small battleship. She clenched her jaw and prepared for the inevitable.
To her surprise he attempted to feign disinterest until he had reached level with her, upon which he appeared to finally make up his mind, and approach her. She waited with as much magnanimity as she could muster as he stood before her for the customary two beats, which she had recently realised he used to make his quarry uneasy.
'Miss Granger,' Snape said, raising an eyebrow. 'I am surprised to see you. Minerva said that you were-' the words 'running away' hung silently in the air between them, but instead he voiced, 'absenting yourself.'
'I was. I am,' Hermione said, hoping that the extreme beating of her heart didn't show. She clenched her teeth. There was no way that she was going to let this- this malignant bat intimidate her. With this resolution, she added, 'Though I fail to see that it's any business of yours.'
A spark of anger flitted through Snape's eyes, but was quickly suppressed. 'It would not be, if you had not been scheduled for your fifth year potions class next week,' he said. 'But excuse me if I assumed that you would be taking your responsibilities in this school seriously.'
Hermione clamped her teeth down even harder to prevent a howl of anger coming out. 'On the contrary, I take my responsibilities very seriously, Professor Snape,' she said in as cold a voice as she could muster. It turned out very cold indeed, much to her own surprise. 'I have been instructed by Albus that my continued research into the cure for the bond you inadvertently inflicted upon Ailie would be most beneficial to you and, by association, the school, though I cannot really make the link to the latter reasoning.' Anger firmly entrenched in her veins, Hermione was gratified to see a touch of heightened colour in Snape's cheeks, knowing that for once her shot had hit home. All too quickly, however, her opponent regained his composure.
'You have an overhigh estimation of your own value, Miss Granger,' he said.
Hermione decided that she was in for a penny, in for a pound, and said the first word that rose to her lips. 'Bollocks.' Inwardly, she smiled at the remarkably Hooch-ian phrase. The previous evening had not been without its effect. 'Besides, it's more than you're willing to do.'
'And so we come back to this,' he snorted. 'It amazes me, Miss Granger, that you can find no original argument.'
'I say it because it's true!' Hermione shouted. Realising where she was, she swiftly looked around, and gratefully noted that there were no students present. 'You were the one to imprison Ailie in her own body. You are the one at ease in this world, with the means to research a cure. And yet you do nothing, Snape; nothing at all.' For a second, she let her complete and utter distaste for the man, prompted by the facts she had mentioned, flicker over her face. The reaction in Snape was more than she had anticipated.
Grabbing her arm, Snape propelled Hermione into the transfigurations classroom. The rush left Hermione slightly breathless; she leant against a desk in shock as he stood before her.
'Insolent girl,' he said, staring down at her. His eyes were blazing with fury. 'What makes you think that I have not attempted to extricate myself from this abominable mess? What makes you think that I have not performed my own research?'
This time, it was Hermione's turn to sneer. 'What makes me think? Because I share rooms with Ailie, that's why.' He didn't know it wasn't absolute truth. 'She would have told me. She would have known. You haven't done anything, Snape.' She noted the anger in Snape's eyes, burning with a slow flame, but this didn't heed her. Hermione had finally caught Snape out on a point he couldn't defend. 'You haven't even tried. You've just acted in your usual fashion, assuming others will correct your cruel and stupid mistakes, just like they've always done-'
'You little mudblood wench.' The phrase shot from his lips before either of them could stop it. Hermione was startled to see an unfamiliar expression dart through his eyes- regret- before her hand struck out and caught him smartly on the cheek.
In the instants of time that it happened in, some part of Hermione reflected that it was proof of her muggle heritage that she went for a slap to the face, instead of placing a curse on him. It probably would have been more effective that way, she thought, as her hand connected with his jaw with such a force that his head was actually thrown to the side, like the way it happened in movies. There was no doubt that a slap had dramatic effect, she considered, the shock of jolted nerves travelling up her arm as her hand rested on his slightly roughened cheek for an infinitesimal portion of a second before it bounced back, driven by force. But, all in all, a full body-bind, for instance, would have prevented his hands coming up, grasping her upper arms, and propelling her against the nearest wall.
What happened next was like an unspoken conversation, on the most part.* I didn't appreciate that slap, Miss Granger,* his body language was saying to her as his hands pushed her harshly up against the wall. *Ever so sorry,* hers seemed to say, *but I really don't like being thrown up against a wall, therefore forgive this dainty foot I stamp as hard as I can down on your right foot.* *Not in the least,* his seemed to answer,* but please don't take offense at the way I jam my entire body up against yours- just to prevent any nasty accidents, you know.*
From there on in, there didn't seem to be much of a conversation at all. Hermione was more than aware of the way his body felt against hers, even as she struggled as viciously as she could against it. There might be some part of her observing the incident logically, but most of her was still furious at him.
The curious thing was, that part of her observed to itself, the more she struggled, the more he reacted, so that eventually they were so hard pressed for room between them that Einstein's theory about the whole atom thing would need a serious rethink.
Time seemed to slow down even more, their hurried breaths coming in unison. The unthinking part of Hermione tried another wriggle, this time pressing her right hip against his left to gain some leverage. *Obviously,* the thinking part of her concluded, *I had nothing whatsoever to do with that particular move.* In reaction, Snape, whose hands had been required to restrain her own behind her back, pressed her even harder against the wall, so that both of their hands were painfully trapped against the wall and a... well, a soft place, really. Unfortunately, Hermione's hands were against the wall, leaving Snape's resting on the soft place.
Hermione gave a soft sound of frustration, which seemingly left Snape with the next move. This, apparently, involved him leaning down and, with a disturbing breath against her ear, closing his teeth around the sensitive lobe, giving it a gentle nip.
The feel of his teeth closing on her skin seemed to last an eternity. In it, Hermione felt that if she could have breathed, it would have only made her heart pound faster, and as it was currently beating a fine Mexican festiva against his chest it was just as well that she didn't cause it to explode with even more intake to pump through. Not that Snape's own heart wasn't up to the contest, thundering as it was against her right breast. The confirmation that he did, indeed, have a heart was filed away neatly in her brain.
As all eternities, this one came to an abrupt end with a discreet cough from the doorway. It took further eternities for them both to register it, a few more for them to look at each other in horror, and even more for Snape to release her and step back. Hermione, with as much recognition of time as she had had in the past few moments, walked as calmly as she could past her old professor, past the desks and, with a nod to Albus and Minerva standing at the doorway, hit full sprint as she exited the door.
***
Snape reflected that it wasn't to the old wizard's credit that Dumbledore's expression only twinkled while Minerva's expressed shock, disapproval and a pinch of I-told-you-so. Not giving them the satisfaction of straightening his ever-so-slightly rumpled clothes, Snape began to walk to the door.
Dumbledore let him get halfway out the door before clearing his throat.
'A word, Severus, if you have time,' he said.
Snape was sorely tempted to say that he didn't have the time, but knew that the old wizard would corner him sooner or later, and decided to get it over with.
With a deep breath, he turned to his two colleagues and began, 'Yes, Albus, I understand that it was totally inappropriate behaviour to force another member of staff up against a wall in such a way; no, it will not happen again, and yes, I will make damned sure to stay out of Miss Granger's way in future. Not that it makes any difference, but she did strike me first, and therefore my actions were justified.'
Albus twinkled the harder for it and simply replied, 'I was just going to ask you if you would accompany us for a nightcap, my dear friend, but I must say that it's relieving that you would unburden yourself this way.'
A tide of red clouded Snape's vision for a moment, and he did the best he could to fight it down. 'Albus,' he said in a controlled voice, 'go to the devil.' With composure it had taken years to master, Snape turned on his heel and stalked his way toward the dungeons, steadfastly blocking out the chuckle that echoed behind him.
***
The door hit the wall with a bang, but for the first time in years, Hermione did not care. This was more important than dented walls.
She walked back and forth in her chambers, in a state of shock. She couldn't believe what she had just done. No-one would have believed her, had she attempted to tell someone. It was just so wrong.
To have attacked Professor Snape! She had *attacked* Professor Snape. She had attacked Professor *Snape.* No, no matter what word she emphasised, the outcome was dire. To have physically attacked him, slapped him in the face! Of course, he had deserved it. She hoped. It wasn't that he had cursed her, or anything... Well, he had called her a mudblood, but many people had in her lifetime. The insult had faded over the years, and she hadn't had actually physically attacked someone because of it. Her father's voice resounded in her ears, with reprimands from childhood- *there is nothing a physical fight will solve where words won't do, Hermione.*
But the way he had looked at her- surely there was some rule somewhere that he wasn't allowed to look at her like that? Like he was licking her with his eyes.
So she had slapped him, which had been hugely satisfactory. And he, in return, had shoved her up against a wall. And so she had stomped on his foot, and tried to hit him, except that had been really hard because his body was pressed up so tight against hers and it had been even harder to move than to think properly. And then he- Hermione blushed at the memory. It had hurt, but it had hurt good.
This just wasn't right, she was sure. Pain wasn't supposed to feel good. What was wrong with her?
***
Down in the dungeons, Severus Snape also paced. The whole situation smacked of insanity. The argument- the way she had reacted- the way he had treated her...
Snape made to bite his lip in frustration, and stopped. Biting his lip only made him think more of her, and how immensely pleasurable it had felt to have the soft skin of her earlobe between his teeth.
Settling for a very deep breath instead, Snape ceased his prowling of his chambers and threw himself down into a chair. What had he been thinking? The more pertinent point was, why hadn't he been thinking? The second his eyes had captured her in the corridor, he had been out of control. And once the sting of her hand had penetrated his cheek, he had been purely, idiotically, completely insane.
He had wanted- he was afraid he knew exactly what he wanted. Oh, *gods.*
***
Ailie burst into her rooms, and for the first time in her existence Hermione was positively delighted to have a guest enter in such a way. The paper Ailie waved in her hand was a sublime distraction.
'They said we could come!' Ailie said, smiling brightly. 'We can be off first thing tomorrow morning! Isn't that great?' Her confident stride missed a step as she took in the expression on her friend's ashen face.
'No,' said Hermione, her voice without expression. 'Let's go tonight.'
With a feeling that it would be dangerous to argue, Ailie nodded, and went to her rooms to fetch her bags. There would be time enough for questions later.
A/N: well, it's taken three-quarters of a bottle of wine and most of my weekend procrastinating, but here's the next chapter. Bon apetit.
Chapter Eighteen-
The self-satisfied glow of having humiliated three of his colleagues and the woman he was unwillingly soul-bound to lasted Snape through a dreary portion of morning before lunch. By the time the house-elves delivered his requested tray of food at noon, he had passed from reflection into action, and was fully embroiled in a new way of preparing Screaming Horsefeathers when Albus Dumbledore knocked on his door.
'I thought you might like an invitation to dinner,' said the old man, looking around the room with some interest. Snape paid him no mind; Dumbledore rarely got to get his hands dirty with potions these days, and the man who had helped Nicholas Flamel construct the Philosopher's Stone could be pardoned for missing his alchemy.
'An invitation, or a command?' Snape asked, adding a few drops of prickle juice to his experiment. The liquid in the cauldron turned a pleasant shade of blue, and Snape made a note to attempt to change it in the final product, if possible- he hated blue.
'Never a command, my friend. Some of us just appreciate seeing your smiling face at meals.' Snape groaned. No, it wasn't a command. It was a polite request. He hated polite requests from Albus Dumbledore- the old wizard always looked so damned disappointed if he was rude in return. He hated the old wizard's patented puppy-dog look, and Minerva was always sure to snub him at the next staff meeting. It was all so very wearying.
With a silent sigh, he rose, and looked at his headmaster. 'Of course, I could not refuse such a request, Albus,' he said as gracefully as he could manage- or almost. He quirked an eyebrow at the older wizard. 'Do I have time to complete my experiment before my presence is required?'
'Of course, my friend, of course. I'll just wait for you here, shall I?' Dumbledore smilingly walked over to the back of the room and began to look interestedly at some of the items in Snape's store cupboard, making exclamations of delight now and then. Obviously, he was leaving no chance for escape. Snape sighed again. He would never be able to figure out why Albus thought it was a sign of disease if a person simply wanted some solitude, but the old man regularly made sure that his potions master missed no more than one meal at the head table, as one warding off influenza might consume oranges.
Snape reflected that if now wasn't a moment in which it wouldn't be justified to roll his eyes, there never would be, and deftly finished off his experiment.
Walking beside the headmaster to the great hall, the potions master concluded that dinner need not be a complete annoyance- after all, he would have the pleasure of seeing a discomfited Hermione Granger again, which would possibly make up for having to listen to Minerva berate him for this morning's incident all through dinner. It surprised him little that the woman was head of Gryffindor; she behaved predictably like a lioness when one of her favourites was injured at his hand.
He entered the hall directly behind the headmaster, making his way up to the head table. Snape was a little surprised to note the cold nods he received from Madams Hooch and Sprout, and especially Poppy Pomfrey, who usually had a warm greeting for him at meal times. He seated himself at his usual place beside Dumbledore, slightly perplexed when even Filibus Flitwick, seated to his left, turned his back on him to pursue a conversation with Sybil Trelawney. And of a blushing Hermione Granger there was no sign, unfortunately.
With a mental shrug, Snape set to eating his dinner. It was not until dessert, as Albus moved down the end of the table to talk to someone, that the reason for his cold reception was explained by Minerva.
'I certainly hope you're happy with yourself, Severus,' she said, settling into Albus's chair and favouring him with a disapproving glance.
'Certainly, Minerva,' Snape said, unconcernedly tasting his dessert. It was a coffee sorbet- his favourite. His attitude seemed to irritate his companion more.
'Such inappropriate behaviour towards such a young girl, Severus,' she continued, her Scottish lilt all the stronger for her ire. Snape suppressed a smile.
'I hardly think it was inappropriate, Minerva. On the contrary, considering Miss Granger decided to bandy my name about your inebriated circle, I do believe that she got off lightly.'
'I'm not talking about merely this morning, Severus, and you well know it. That you would give an innocent girl a dreaming potion without her permission...'
'I would hardly call her innocent,' Snape drawled. 'She did it to me first.'
Minerva raised an irritated eyebrow, and dimly Snape reflected that she must have been around him for too long to have caught the expression. 'That is no matter, Severus. You are older; you are the one who should know better.'
'Are you saying that the Gryffindors you raise are incapable of defending themselves?'
'Of course not. But the way you have been behaving is completely inappropriate toward a staff member. You know that.'
'Last time I checked, Minerva, Hermione Granger was counted as a member of this staff as well. Perhaps this is a conversation you should be having with her.'
'That would be difficult, Severus, considering she left for London a few hours ago.' Minerva glared at Snape, and it was only with strength of will that Snape refrained from reflecting the expression back at her.
So, the little Gryffindor has run away, has she? he reflected inwardly. A frown marred his features.
'If one of your precious ex-students hasn't the maturity to face an awkward situation then it is no fault of mine,' he said, fairly slamming down his spoon and rising from the table. Without a backward glance, he swept toward a side exit and into the corridor.
As his feet consumed the distance to his dungeons, Snape reflected that it was entirely without merit that Gryffindors were credited with so much courage. All previous evidences to the contrary were, of course, forgotten.
***
Hermione paced along the corridor outside Minerva's transfiguration classroom, hoping that dinner would be over soon. She needed a text she knew was in Minerva's office and was playing on a chance that her old teacher would visit her office briefly after the evening meal, or that she could catch her on her way to her rooms.
The anger she had felt that morning had not dissipated, but she had seen the wisdom of Ailie's advice in journeying to London for their research trip without further delay. Though one part of her wanted to hex him five ways to Christmas, another part of Hermione had absolutely no wish for another embarrassing encounter with Severus Snape. The very fact that he knew she had dreamt about him made her embarrassed beyond belief- yes, he was the one that had given her the potion that had made her do so, yes, she knew he had had a similar dream about her, but that made no difference. But he couldn't possibly have intended that she dream about him. And, besides, she was a much more caring and understanding person than Snape. She would never make reference to such a personal matter; he already had.
Hermione bit her lip in frustration at the thought that it might be tomorrow before she would be safely out of Hogwarts. Now, that was a sentence that she never thought she'd think, she reflected with a rueful smile. Hogwarts had always been a safe haven, until now. It even was now, really, it was just the fact that it housed the very man she most wanted to avoid that made it so dangerous.
If only Ron and Ginny hadn't chosen today to visit their mother! She and Ailie had been packed and ready to go since this morning, but it had been then that she had remembered to floo Ginny and Ron, who were sharing a flat in London, to see if it was okay if the two girls stayed for a few days. They couldn't afford a hotel. She already knew that neither Weasleys would mind, but her sense of propriety couldn't allow her to leave until she had their permission. Turning up on their doorstep would just not do.
The message that came back by the floo (answering-parchments were at present all the craze; Hermione thought it quite boring, seeing as the muggle world had discovered the joys of answering machines in the seventies) was that the two Weasley children were paying their respects to their dear Mama, and would call back, if she would care to leave a message?
An owl had hence been dispatched, but would not have arrived at The Burrow until at least early afternoon, and if they decided to answer via Errol, who was still going at the wise old age of a hundred and twenty-two (owl years), then they wouldn't get an answer until next week.
Hermione bit the inside of her cheek and reprimanded herself. Of course Ron and Ginny would reply by return of owl, and of course they would agree to house herself and Ailie for a few days. They would probably be delighted; neither of them had seen her in a few months, and Harry had probably told them about the new arrival at Hogwarts (Hermione hoped he hadn't told Ron about the rather personal scene he had walked in on between herself and Sirius; Ron could be annoyingly medieval about some things). She could expect that answer late this evening, and they would probably be in London late tomorrow morning. She would have to just avoid a certain darkly brooding Potions professor until then.
*Speak of the devil and he shall come,* thought Hermione as a disturbingly familiar figure rounded a corner at the end of the corridor. She didn't bother to suppress a sigh. Of course he would turn down this corridor. Her luck wouldn't run it any other way.
Sternly she squelched any remnant feeling from her dream and steeled herself for him to pass by, but he didn't appear to have that object in mind. In fact, he seemed to be headed straight for her, a velvety black torpedo aimed at her rather small battleship. She clenched her jaw and prepared for the inevitable.
To her surprise he attempted to feign disinterest until he had reached level with her, upon which he appeared to finally make up his mind, and approach her. She waited with as much magnanimity as she could muster as he stood before her for the customary two beats, which she had recently realised he used to make his quarry uneasy.
'Miss Granger,' Snape said, raising an eyebrow. 'I am surprised to see you. Minerva said that you were-' the words 'running away' hung silently in the air between them, but instead he voiced, 'absenting yourself.'
'I was. I am,' Hermione said, hoping that the extreme beating of her heart didn't show. She clenched her teeth. There was no way that she was going to let this- this malignant bat intimidate her. With this resolution, she added, 'Though I fail to see that it's any business of yours.'
A spark of anger flitted through Snape's eyes, but was quickly suppressed. 'It would not be, if you had not been scheduled for your fifth year potions class next week,' he said. 'But excuse me if I assumed that you would be taking your responsibilities in this school seriously.'
Hermione clamped her teeth down even harder to prevent a howl of anger coming out. 'On the contrary, I take my responsibilities very seriously, Professor Snape,' she said in as cold a voice as she could muster. It turned out very cold indeed, much to her own surprise. 'I have been instructed by Albus that my continued research into the cure for the bond you inadvertently inflicted upon Ailie would be most beneficial to you and, by association, the school, though I cannot really make the link to the latter reasoning.' Anger firmly entrenched in her veins, Hermione was gratified to see a touch of heightened colour in Snape's cheeks, knowing that for once her shot had hit home. All too quickly, however, her opponent regained his composure.
'You have an overhigh estimation of your own value, Miss Granger,' he said.
Hermione decided that she was in for a penny, in for a pound, and said the first word that rose to her lips. 'Bollocks.' Inwardly, she smiled at the remarkably Hooch-ian phrase. The previous evening had not been without its effect. 'Besides, it's more than you're willing to do.'
'And so we come back to this,' he snorted. 'It amazes me, Miss Granger, that you can find no original argument.'
'I say it because it's true!' Hermione shouted. Realising where she was, she swiftly looked around, and gratefully noted that there were no students present. 'You were the one to imprison Ailie in her own body. You are the one at ease in this world, with the means to research a cure. And yet you do nothing, Snape; nothing at all.' For a second, she let her complete and utter distaste for the man, prompted by the facts she had mentioned, flicker over her face. The reaction in Snape was more than she had anticipated.
Grabbing her arm, Snape propelled Hermione into the transfigurations classroom. The rush left Hermione slightly breathless; she leant against a desk in shock as he stood before her.
'Insolent girl,' he said, staring down at her. His eyes were blazing with fury. 'What makes you think that I have not attempted to extricate myself from this abominable mess? What makes you think that I have not performed my own research?'
This time, it was Hermione's turn to sneer. 'What makes me think? Because I share rooms with Ailie, that's why.' He didn't know it wasn't absolute truth. 'She would have told me. She would have known. You haven't done anything, Snape.' She noted the anger in Snape's eyes, burning with a slow flame, but this didn't heed her. Hermione had finally caught Snape out on a point he couldn't defend. 'You haven't even tried. You've just acted in your usual fashion, assuming others will correct your cruel and stupid mistakes, just like they've always done-'
'You little mudblood wench.' The phrase shot from his lips before either of them could stop it. Hermione was startled to see an unfamiliar expression dart through his eyes- regret- before her hand struck out and caught him smartly on the cheek.
In the instants of time that it happened in, some part of Hermione reflected that it was proof of her muggle heritage that she went for a slap to the face, instead of placing a curse on him. It probably would have been more effective that way, she thought, as her hand connected with his jaw with such a force that his head was actually thrown to the side, like the way it happened in movies. There was no doubt that a slap had dramatic effect, she considered, the shock of jolted nerves travelling up her arm as her hand rested on his slightly roughened cheek for an infinitesimal portion of a second before it bounced back, driven by force. But, all in all, a full body-bind, for instance, would have prevented his hands coming up, grasping her upper arms, and propelling her against the nearest wall.
What happened next was like an unspoken conversation, on the most part.* I didn't appreciate that slap, Miss Granger,* his body language was saying to her as his hands pushed her harshly up against the wall. *Ever so sorry,* hers seemed to say, *but I really don't like being thrown up against a wall, therefore forgive this dainty foot I stamp as hard as I can down on your right foot.* *Not in the least,* his seemed to answer,* but please don't take offense at the way I jam my entire body up against yours- just to prevent any nasty accidents, you know.*
From there on in, there didn't seem to be much of a conversation at all. Hermione was more than aware of the way his body felt against hers, even as she struggled as viciously as she could against it. There might be some part of her observing the incident logically, but most of her was still furious at him.
The curious thing was, that part of her observed to itself, the more she struggled, the more he reacted, so that eventually they were so hard pressed for room between them that Einstein's theory about the whole atom thing would need a serious rethink.
Time seemed to slow down even more, their hurried breaths coming in unison. The unthinking part of Hermione tried another wriggle, this time pressing her right hip against his left to gain some leverage. *Obviously,* the thinking part of her concluded, *I had nothing whatsoever to do with that particular move.* In reaction, Snape, whose hands had been required to restrain her own behind her back, pressed her even harder against the wall, so that both of their hands were painfully trapped against the wall and a... well, a soft place, really. Unfortunately, Hermione's hands were against the wall, leaving Snape's resting on the soft place.
Hermione gave a soft sound of frustration, which seemingly left Snape with the next move. This, apparently, involved him leaning down and, with a disturbing breath against her ear, closing his teeth around the sensitive lobe, giving it a gentle nip.
The feel of his teeth closing on her skin seemed to last an eternity. In it, Hermione felt that if she could have breathed, it would have only made her heart pound faster, and as it was currently beating a fine Mexican festiva against his chest it was just as well that she didn't cause it to explode with even more intake to pump through. Not that Snape's own heart wasn't up to the contest, thundering as it was against her right breast. The confirmation that he did, indeed, have a heart was filed away neatly in her brain.
As all eternities, this one came to an abrupt end with a discreet cough from the doorway. It took further eternities for them both to register it, a few more for them to look at each other in horror, and even more for Snape to release her and step back. Hermione, with as much recognition of time as she had had in the past few moments, walked as calmly as she could past her old professor, past the desks and, with a nod to Albus and Minerva standing at the doorway, hit full sprint as she exited the door.
***
Snape reflected that it wasn't to the old wizard's credit that Dumbledore's expression only twinkled while Minerva's expressed shock, disapproval and a pinch of I-told-you-so. Not giving them the satisfaction of straightening his ever-so-slightly rumpled clothes, Snape began to walk to the door.
Dumbledore let him get halfway out the door before clearing his throat.
'A word, Severus, if you have time,' he said.
Snape was sorely tempted to say that he didn't have the time, but knew that the old wizard would corner him sooner or later, and decided to get it over with.
With a deep breath, he turned to his two colleagues and began, 'Yes, Albus, I understand that it was totally inappropriate behaviour to force another member of staff up against a wall in such a way; no, it will not happen again, and yes, I will make damned sure to stay out of Miss Granger's way in future. Not that it makes any difference, but she did strike me first, and therefore my actions were justified.'
Albus twinkled the harder for it and simply replied, 'I was just going to ask you if you would accompany us for a nightcap, my dear friend, but I must say that it's relieving that you would unburden yourself this way.'
A tide of red clouded Snape's vision for a moment, and he did the best he could to fight it down. 'Albus,' he said in a controlled voice, 'go to the devil.' With composure it had taken years to master, Snape turned on his heel and stalked his way toward the dungeons, steadfastly blocking out the chuckle that echoed behind him.
***
The door hit the wall with a bang, but for the first time in years, Hermione did not care. This was more important than dented walls.
She walked back and forth in her chambers, in a state of shock. She couldn't believe what she had just done. No-one would have believed her, had she attempted to tell someone. It was just so wrong.
To have attacked Professor Snape! She had *attacked* Professor Snape. She had attacked Professor *Snape.* No, no matter what word she emphasised, the outcome was dire. To have physically attacked him, slapped him in the face! Of course, he had deserved it. She hoped. It wasn't that he had cursed her, or anything... Well, he had called her a mudblood, but many people had in her lifetime. The insult had faded over the years, and she hadn't had actually physically attacked someone because of it. Her father's voice resounded in her ears, with reprimands from childhood- *there is nothing a physical fight will solve where words won't do, Hermione.*
But the way he had looked at her- surely there was some rule somewhere that he wasn't allowed to look at her like that? Like he was licking her with his eyes.
So she had slapped him, which had been hugely satisfactory. And he, in return, had shoved her up against a wall. And so she had stomped on his foot, and tried to hit him, except that had been really hard because his body was pressed up so tight against hers and it had been even harder to move than to think properly. And then he- Hermione blushed at the memory. It had hurt, but it had hurt good.
This just wasn't right, she was sure. Pain wasn't supposed to feel good. What was wrong with her?
***
Down in the dungeons, Severus Snape also paced. The whole situation smacked of insanity. The argument- the way she had reacted- the way he had treated her...
Snape made to bite his lip in frustration, and stopped. Biting his lip only made him think more of her, and how immensely pleasurable it had felt to have the soft skin of her earlobe between his teeth.
Settling for a very deep breath instead, Snape ceased his prowling of his chambers and threw himself down into a chair. What had he been thinking? The more pertinent point was, why hadn't he been thinking? The second his eyes had captured her in the corridor, he had been out of control. And once the sting of her hand had penetrated his cheek, he had been purely, idiotically, completely insane.
He had wanted- he was afraid he knew exactly what he wanted. Oh, *gods.*
***
Ailie burst into her rooms, and for the first time in her existence Hermione was positively delighted to have a guest enter in such a way. The paper Ailie waved in her hand was a sublime distraction.
'They said we could come!' Ailie said, smiling brightly. 'We can be off first thing tomorrow morning! Isn't that great?' Her confident stride missed a step as she took in the expression on her friend's ashen face.
'No,' said Hermione, her voice without expression. 'Let's go tonight.'
With a feeling that it would be dangerous to argue, Ailie nodded, and went to her rooms to fetch her bags. There would be time enough for questions later.