Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Unintentional Inveiglement	By : onecelestialbeing Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 130141 -:- Recommendations : 8 -:- Currently Reading : 30
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Harry Potter and it's characters and making no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 11
- 12
- 13
A/N: Thank you for the reviews!! As always they are appreciated, and all comments come with a dessert and witch/wizard of your choice!

Hermione was thoroughly disinclined to move from her curled up position beneath the duvet, as she felt warm and completely at ease. But she knew she had to get up, and forced her limbs to move. Doggedly opening her eyes, she found the other side of her bed empty, the sheet and duvet neatly pulled up to the pillow as if they had never been slept on.

Of course; Severus had been unable to stick around. It wasn't as if she expected for him to stay until she woke up. Even so, the thought sounded nice.

Heaving a sigh as she turned over onto her back, Hermione fully opened her eyes and stared unfocusedly up at the ceiling. Despite the fact that she and Severus had never remained overnight in her room, her bed felt too big and oddly desolate without his thin body next to hers; something she found amusing, considering that physically he didn't take up that much space. His personality, on the other hand...well, Hermione would say that the wizard was in a class of his own. The Potions master was a person that was hard to ignore, especially taking into account his habit of glaring at anyone that dared to come within five feet of his personal space.

One thing was for sure-the wizard definitely hadn't minded Hermione being in his personal space.

The night before, Severus kept Hermione by his side the entire time. Even in her muddled state, Hermione distinctly remembered that whenever she moved in bed, if she and Severus hadn't been touching, it was only a matter of time before his leg or hand would find its way back to some part of her body.

Hermione hadn't been any different. Cringing when she thought back upon the way she actually pouted when during the night, Severus threw back the duvet and got out of bed. He merely growled in a deep, sleep-ridden tone for Hermione to stop her whinging, that he was going to the bathroom and would be right back. Any other time, she might have balked at being chastised, but the entire situation amused her in an offbeat sort of way, especially since said grousing was coming from a naked wizard with his hair mussed and sticking up on one side.

The bedroom was dimly lit from the still glowing hearth, and Hermione had watched Severus with avid interest as he pulled his black trousers up onto his narrow hips. Bare-chested and wand in hand, he'd left her bedroom in aims of relieving himself. Eagerly waiting for his return, Hermione moved her head over to the still warm spot he'd been sleeping on, and nuzzled her face against his pillow. It smelled like his unwashed hair, yet she kept her cheek pressed against the spot.

As promised, Severus made a hasty return. Locking the door and relegating his trousers to the armchair, he slipped back into bed next to the witch, who scooted back over to her side. Severus remained supine, a glint in his dark eyes visible, enough though they were lying in the dark. It appeared that the wizard had been lost in thought, albeit without forgetting that Hermione was still next to him. His arm easily draped around her shoulders when she moved into his side, resting her head beneath his chin.

The two lay in relative silence, leaving the other to their respective thoughts. Hermione lifted her head only when Severus shifted his arm from around her, moving the witch to lie flat on her back.

There had been countless others that shrank beneath the direct gaze of Severus Snape, yet Hermione wasn't unnerved by the piercing black eyes. The two were face-to-face, so close in proximity that if Severus lowered his head a bit more, the tips of his lank black hair would have caressed her collarbone.

His hair in fact brushed along her skin when Severus lowered his face to Hermione's, his prominent nose grazing her ear when he fixed his lips at the side of her neck. Easily giving in to the little sparks of pleasure prickling at her skin, Hermione raised her arms above her head when Severus propped himself up on his right elbow and kissed a path down to her breasts.

It hadn't taken long for Hermione to become worked up, and she eagerly parted her legs, wordlessly beckoning for his touch to move lower. Severus' left hand moved from cupping the swell of Hermione's breasts, running his palm down the plane of her stomach and to the thatch of curls between her legs, curving it over her sex.

She had closed her eyes once Severus began stroking her skin, reopening them to find that he was staring at her again. Hermione wanted to feel self-conscious; she was two seconds away from crying out as her muscles clamped down on the two fingers that had begun to massage her inner walls. Still, some part of her became more aroused, knowing that she was unable to escape the clutches of those two penetrating obsidian eyes as she was stroked to fever pitch.

As always, Severus knew just where to touch her, well-versed with each area of her body that made Hermione beg for more. He enjoyed watching her lose her head whenever he drifted away from where she needed most, and often did so deliberately. This time Hermione reached down and held onto his hand, making sure Severus kept it between her thighs.

When it was clear that he was going to keep it there, Hermione moved her hand up to the back of Severus' head, clutching onto his hair and pulling him down for a kiss. Within the next few caresses of his thumb against her clit, his two slender fingers plunging into her and drawing out an unmitigated pleasure that took her voice way, Hermione unleashed a silent scream as she trembled from head to toe with the force of her orgasm.

Severus hadn't needed to smother Hermione's cries with his lips, although he still took the opportunity to kiss her, feeling the heat of her soundless panting and gasping against his face. He was surprised when she hastily pulled at his arms, urging him to lie on atop her. The witch kept one hand around his back, lowering the other grabbing hold of his cock, stroking until he was fully erect.

With an air of desperation, Hermione wrapped her legs around his back, arching her body up and cambering her hips against his, waiting for Severus to move into place.

"Oh no, I'm sorry, " Hermione began, stumbling over her words as she frowned up at him. "I didn't think to ask how you were feeling, if you were up to-" She stopped short when she saw that Severus had an eyebrow slightly arched and was surveying her in a droll manner.

"I'll show you how up to the task I am, Miss Granger," he smirked, reaching down to align himself at her entrance.

"Hermione. My room counts, too."

"Hermione."

His mouth quirked up in an almost-smile as he peered down at the flustered witch. While Severus found himself amazed by the young woman's unprecedented enthusiasm, it surprised him to find that his also matched. Sinking in to the hilt, he began a slow, steady rhythm of thrusting into her body, his deep groan almost rivaling Hermione's. Severus let out a hiss when he pulled back and felt her walls greedily hugging his shaft, and mused that he would never grow tired of burying himself in that tight, silken sheath which always fit perfectly around him.

Just as he had moments before, Severus took to focusing on Hermione's face again, completely enthralled with her features becoming contorted as a result of their coupling. The young witch's pert, pink lips, which he had become well acquainted with, were parted, sometimes forming a little moue of surprised whenever he brushed against that spot deeply embedded in her tender body that never failed to make her shudder.

He felt a strong urge to taste those lips again, and captured the bottom one between his, lightly suckling it before enveloping both with his own.

The lusty moans pouring from Hermione's mouth never stopped, even as she was being thoroughly kissed. His lips alone seemed to fuel her arousal, and Hermione fervently returned the kiss, her arms and legs tightening around Severus' thin frame the further he moved into her.

The moment Severus pried his lips away from Hermione's to lightly nip at the exposed line of her neck, the witch let out a broken cry, announcing her peak seconds before it came crashing down. Severus had been too engrossed with the feel of her muscles squeezing and gripping him, and forced himself to focus on something else other than his cock. The young witch was now whimpering more than anything, and Severus assumed that she would be able to rein in her clamoring.

He was wrong.

Just as Hermione reached another climax, she threw her head back, her short nails leaving reddened trails against the sallow skin of his shoulders. Severus couldn't afford to have Hermione screaming to the heavens, even though he would have enjoyed nothing more than to hear it. Swiftly, one of his slender hands came down upon her mouth, allowing the remainder of her shrill moans to become muffled against his palm. Her orgasm hadn't been diminished by her screams being dampened, although Severus watched as the witch's eyes actually rolled back, her body taut and trembling against his.

Again, indirectly Hermione managed to cause Severus to momentarily lose each one of his senses when her walls clamped down on him, making him lose control, harder and much sooner than he intended.

It took a long time for the two to come down from their high. They were still breathing heavily when Severus finally moved his hand from Hermione's mouth, to which she let out a gusty sigh. Her head lolled to the side, yet her arms remained around Severus' back, the pads of her fingers idly stroking the taut muscles.

It wasn't long before the slow moving fingers came to a complete stop, yet Hermione's arms continued encircling Severus' body, as if he were a life-sized teddy bear. She was now sound asleep, and never cracked an eye when Severus easily slid out of her grasp to lay to her side. Hermione never noticed the fingers that tenuously traced over the tip of her nose or the curve of her cupid's bow. Lost to the clutches of slumber, she also missed the way the thin-lipped wizard opened his mouth to say something, then paused as if second-guessing himself, silently resigning himself to running his fingers over the smooth, unblemished surface of her cheek.

Now that it was morning and Hermione found herself alone, she felt a tad bereft. Was she getting attached?

This isn't good. This isn't good at all, Hermione. What are you thinking?

It was silly, but she knew that she might as well get over it, and fast. Besides, it wasn't as if she wouldn't see Snape later on that night.

That thought was her only motivation to get out of bed and carry on with her day.

Still, she was loathe to slip out from between the sheets that still had the wizard's faint scent embedded into the fibers.

An hour later, Hermione made her way downstairs, hesitating on the staircase when she heard the unmistakable shrill voice of Mrs Weasley. The maternal witch was walking out into the hallway and caught sight of Hermione just as her front foot came down from the last step.

"Hello, dear," she began in a rather brisk manner. "You can go down to the kitchen if you want breakfast; hopefully my sons left you something."

Receiving a gentle pat on the cheek, Hermione continued on to the basement, even though she didn't have much of an appetite. Harry and Ron were both at the table, along with Mr Weasley and Ginny. Ron was shoveling food into his mouth at an amazingly speed while simultaneously holding a conversation with his father. Ginny and Harry were engrossed with their own banter, and Hermione quietly sat down with her plate, nibbling at a piece of toast.

She had just begun working on her eggs when Mrs Weasley came into the kitchen, immediately launching into a discourse about making plans for September first. Hermione's stomach rolled with trepidation at the mere mention of Hogwarts, and she dropped her fork and pushed her plate away.

"Mum, do we have to talk about school now?" Ron groaned, pulling a face at his mother.

Mrs Weasley pointedly ignored her son, and went on talking.

"Arthur's already sorted everything out, but I want you three to have your trunks packed by the weekend. No waiting until the last minute."

"Sure thing, Mum," Ginny answered, winking at Harry when the elderly witch had her head turned.

Ron and Mr Weasley were both still in the middle of clearing their plates, and missed the covert exchange. Hermione noticed it, and fought back a giggle when she saw the crooked smile on Harry's reddening face.

"Oh, Harry, before Professor Snape left, he mentioned that he wanted me to tell you to mind a closer eye on Kreacher," Mrs Weasley continued. "Did something happen while we weren't here?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Harry replied. "Well, Hermione did trip over him the other night."

"I almost tripped," Hermione clarified, shaking her head. "It's not a big deal."

"Not likely, Hermione," Ron frowned. "Bloody thing tried to trip you; that's not no big deal."

"Yeah, well, it was enough for Snape to bang at my door before the sun even thought about coming up this morning, telling me to mind my house-elf," Harry grumbled under his breath.

"Where is Snape anyway?" Ron asked, looking at his mother.

"Professor Snape, Ronald. And he's gone back to Hogwarts. I suppose he has to get his lessons ready before school is back in session."

Ron's brown eyes became so wide, Hermione thought they were in danger of popping out of his head and landing next to her abandoned plate of eggs. "D'you mean he's gone? Gone gone? We don't have to see him again?"

"Ron," Mr Weasley sighed, although it looked as if he was trying to contain his laughter at his son's enthusiasm. "Only for the rest of the week, until you kids are back at school."

"Who cares!" Ron shouted, an ear-to-ear grin plastered across his face. "Hear that, Harry? We don't have to see Snape's greasy face lurking about anymore!"

Mrs Weasley ignored her son's last comment, although the look in her eyes was enough for him to fall silent. Hermione, on the other hand, was trying to think of a way to innocently inquire as to where Snape had gone, without making herself seem obvious, and was glad when Mrs Weasley had continued talking.

Gone? Hermione thought mournfully. And he didn't even tell me that he was leav-I can't think about this right now. I won't think about.

Which was a lie. Hermione couldn't help but to harp on the fact that Severus was no longer at Grimmauld place. It was as if a block of ice had taken up residence in the pit of her stomach, and suddenly she was glad that she didn't finish her breakfast.

Yet Hermione knew that couldn't afford to think about it. She knew that if she thought about the wizard, her face would give something away. The best option was to wait until she was alone where she could ruminate over the newfound and surprisingly distressing information.

Unfortunately for the rest of the day, Hermione barely found time to be alone, never mind keep company with her own thoughts. Mrs Weasley had the four teenagers cleaning again, and Ron trailed in behind her to help sort out a room that had been long neglected.

"We don't even come in here," Ron fussed to no one in particular, even though he leaned over a table and swiped a finger across its surface, leaving behind a shiny line of wood in between a rather thick coating of dust. "And I don't know why Mum makes us clean whenever she's over. At least Snape hid in his room all day."

"What? Are you saying that you prefer Professor Snape's company?" Hermione asked, feigning shock.

"No!" Ron shot back. "All I'm saying is, at least he didn't come out from hiding to make us...dust! WHAT THE-?!"

"Ouch, Ron!" Hermione yelped, tuning out the swears pouring from the redhead's mouth and pushing at his shoulder when he scampered backwards and trod right over her foot.

"Bloody spiders!" he exclaimed with a vicious shudder, throwing down his rag on top of the table that he'd been wiping. "I'm getting out of here!"

"Fine, Ronald, go!" Hermione told him, pointing with her own rag at the door. Ron didn't need to be told twice; he moved so fast it was as if he had Apparated.

Shaking her head, Hermione lifted up the rag that had been thrown down, scoffing when she caught sight of the spider that was no bigger than a thumbtack. She knew that Ron had been traumatised by Hagrid's friend, Aragog, but the acromantula had been roughly about the size of a small car. This tiny spider, which was now making its way around the edge of the table, was smaller than her pinky nail. Still chuckling, Hermione finished her work, grateful to be doing so without Ron complaining in her ear.

By dinnertime, Hermione was at her wits end. All day, she tried her best not to think about the fact that Snape was no longer at Grimmauld Place. But the biggest issue that refused to leave her mind was the fact that he had gone, without saying that he was leaving. She did, however, take some small comfort in the fact that he openly went to Harry's room before going, to tell the young wizard to demand that he keep closer eye on his house-elf. Harry hadn't know what to make of his unexpected and unappreciated visit, as it was no secret that he had an intense dislike for the Potions master, and he took more than one opportunity to complain to Ron and Hermione about it.

Hermione took Snape's succinct message, which Harry had repeated verbatim, and in a voice reminiscent of the professor-Potter, mind your house-elf before it tries kill someone, lest you be held liable-to mean that he hadn't forgotten about the way Kreacher had been skulking about each time she was alone. She also knew that it wouldn't do for her to sit alone late at night in the drawing room any longer. Not that it made a difference, her reason for lurking around had been to wait for the raven-haired, waspishly-tongued wizard. Now her billowing black-cloaked reason had left Grimmauld Place without a trace or a word of goodbye, and Hermione couldn't help but feel slighted.

Emotions running from affronted to hurt, Hermione climbed into bed that night, trying to forget about everything, and trying to keep threatening tears from spilling over.

Ginny had picked another room to sleep it. At first, Hermione had been grateful for the privacy, but now realized that a bit of chatter with her friend would have served as some sort of reprieve from her meandering thoughts.

Of course, Hermione knew it was ridiculous to expect for Snape to have told her goodbye. When had he ever stuck to exchanging pleasantries with anyone? The fact that the two had slept together never stopped him from snapping at her, even though she conceded that the wizard had been justified in doing so each time. It also didn't stop her from feeling like a child that had just been chastised. Still, Hermione didn't read too much into it; it wasn't as if his fussing was malicious. She should have taken more heed the night before, knowing that Harry's spiteful house-elf continuously lingered around.

When Hermione first got into bed, she immediately moved over to the side Snape slept on, and was disappointed when she found that his scent was completely gone. She remain prone, a nagging feeling of irritation completely taking over.

Hermione had worn her voluminous nightgown to bed, and usually it was comfortable. Now all the extra material only served to annoy her. No matter which way she moved, it twisted about and pulled, until finally she sat up, yanked the entire thing over her head, and tossed it to the foot of the bed. A flick of her wand at the hearth replenished the fire, and ensured that she would stay warm throughout the night.

She felt a bit silly, lying there beneath the duvet, clad only in her knickers. The sentiment, however, wasn't enough to make her want to put the nightgown back on. Hermione realised that she had grown used to sleeping naked, although it mostly occurred purely because she'd been too tired and sweaty after tangling with Severus to put clothes back on.

Severus had no objection to Hermione sleeping naked, nor did he also bother with redressing. Usually Hermione would fall asleep directly afterwards, using his chest or shoulder as a pillow, the wizard's slender arm in turn draped across her body.

To her dismay, Hermione found that she had also grown accustomed to sleeping next to Severus. Even though she felt tired, her brain was alert and refused to let her sleep. Flopping over onto her back, Hermione thumped her head against the pillow, staring up into the darkness of her bedroom. She felt restless; more restless than the time she drank three cups of strongly brewed tea an hour before bedtime, even though her father told her not to. All that night Hermione felt wired, and it was nearly daybreak when she finally closed her sore and bloodshot eyes.

Now felt even worse than that time. She supposed that she could go knock on Ginny's door, but the thought of the house-elf possibly lying in wait in the hallway was enough for her to stay put in her room.

Roughly shifting her arms beneath the sheets and heavy duvet, Hermione ran her hands over her stomach and thighs, hoping that the sensation would make her relax.

Too fast, she thought, forcing herself to move slower, the way Severus usually started out.

Using just her fingertips, Hermione slid them up to her breasts, grazing the undersides. Remembering the way Severus' thin lips felt as they captured a nipple made her shudder, yet the feel of her hands were all wrong.

Hermione had small hands and fingers, and her skin was entirely too soft, something that wasn't a plus at the moment. Severus' hands were just as slender, yet his long, tapered fingers had small calluses on the pads, and she'd grown used to feeling them against her body. While his hands weren't bulky, resembling paws or the like, they were big enough to cup one of her breasts into them. Thin fingers would cup and span over an entire small mound, while her nipple would rub against the creases of his palm, and it had been enough for her to arch up into his touch, always wanting more.

Feeling like an idiot and laughing wryly under her breath, Hermione told herself that her touch didn't even come close to being a parody of the professor's. She wanted to give him an earful for leaving without saying a word, the thought of his very absence making her blood boil.

Wondering how long she would be able to stay away from the wizard without completely losing her mind, Hermione yanked her hands away from her breasts and raised them above her head, shoving them beneath the pillow. Forcing her eyes shut, Hermione willed herself to calm down, concentrating on anything else but the arousal racing throughout her body. She finally relaxed enough to loosen her grip on the pillow, even if her skin continued to prickle with goose bumps whenever she thought about wrapping her legs around Snape's bony waist, while he plunged deep into her body.

For the remainder of the week, until the day to leave for Hogwarts arrived, Hermione tried her best to not get into a row with anyone. She ranged from feeling irritated to mopish, all the while making sure to keep her bad mood hidden from the others. If anything, everyone thought that Hermione was a tad quieter than usual. Perhaps they chalked it up to the stress of the upcoming school year, or whatever other ideas, because no one asked what was bothering her.

Hermione also knew that everyone else was dealing with issues of their own, and the last thing she wanted to do was force attention upon herself. Doubly, because of the reason for her mood, of which she couldn't talk about, even if she wanted to.

There was definitely no one that she wanted to confide in about her illicit relationship with the Potions master. Visions of being sent off to some rigid all-girls' boarding school danced through her head, followed by ones of Snape being thrown into Azkaban, for sure. Perhaps not Azkaban, as she was of age, but surely he would be fired from his position at Hogwarts, and she would feel terrible.

Hogwarts.

That brought Hermione to another dilemma. How the hell was she supposed to deal with him on a regular basis? Would he still assign detention and take points from Gryffindor because she'd given the correct answers in class? Or was she supposed to keep her head and hand down, never making eye contact with the professor? It was all so confusing. And of course, Snape left without a uttering a single word, possibly because he didn't want to have to deal with the barrage of questions like so that were now running through Hermione's head.

The young witch knew that she had a tendency to over think, and overanalyze everything, something that either worked for her, or against her. Right now it was working against her, because Ginny and Mrs Weasley were standing a few feet away, and Hermione nearly missed what the older witch asked her.

"I'm sorry?"

"Oh, I was just asking if you needed some help, dear," Mrs Weasley repeated. "Ginny's already packed her trunk; we've just left the few things she'll need on top."

"No thank you, Mrs Weasley. I've got it, thanks," Hermione told her.

"Hermione, I think this belongs to you," she suddenly heard Mr Weasley say as he walked into the room.

"Crooks!" Hermione squealed, breaking out into a wide grin as she took the familiar beige carrier case. "Did my parents send him?"

"Yes. Seems they thought you wouldn't want to go off to school without your familiar."

"How did they manage that?" Mrs Weasley asked her husband, a tone of suspicion in her voice.

"Let's just say that a well-versed postal worker helped," Mr Weasley replied, winking down at a still smiling Hermione. She had set the carrier on the floor and immediately opened the small cage door. The half cat/kneazle took his time sauntering out on his bandy legs, turning his squashed orange face up at everyone in the room. Crookshanks then gracefully jumped onto the bed, treating everyone to one last look with as much derision as an animal could muster, giving a great show of furry orange cat behind as he curled up into a ball and closed his eyes.

"Well, Crooks seems comfortable, at least," Ginny giggled. "He didn't take long to settle in."

"He never does," Hermione mused, looking down at her cat. "He's easy to please. Just make sure he's fed and petted, and he's happy as a pig in mud."

"Or a kitty with catnip," Mrs Weasley supplied. "Alright, then, I'll leave you girls to it," she said, following her husband out of the room.

"Say, Hermione," Ginny began, leaning across the bed and gently stroking the top of Crookshanks' head. "Did your parents say anything about not letting you go back to school, you know, after everything last year?"

"No, well...well, they weren't happy, but...I don't know what else I would do. I can't see myself going back to regular school, not after coming this far at Hogwarts. And besides, they don't exactly know the details of everything that happened at the Ministry."

"Really?"

Hermione nodded. "I didn't want to scare them too badly. If you met my parents, you'd understand. I had to have a bit of a pull with them just to let me stay here with Ron and Harry all summer."

"Well, I can understand why," Ginny mused, still stroking the cat's fluffy orange fur. "It was quiet at the Burrow without those two banging around. Even Fred and George were too busy with setting up things for their joke shop. I didn't spend much time with them all summer."

"You should have relished the quiet," Hermione sniggered.

"Oh, believe me-I did. Besides the short visit we had from Bill, it was mostly just Mum and I at home. No men to leave the toilet seat up, no fighting with Ron to hurry up and get out of the bathroom-"

"That tosser! He did the same thing here!" Hermione cut in. "Ron and Harry know that I use the bath on this floor because I preferred the tub. And your brother runs into that exact one after dinner when he knew I was on my way there."

"That's Ron for you," Ginny rolled her eyes. "But yeah, sometimes it was too quiet at home, but at least I got to see Harry when we visited. Oh-and thank you, by the way," she winked. "I don't know how you kept my brother away, but I owe you one. I owe you a lot, in fact."

"I won't ask for much; one of your Bat-Bogey Hexes at your brother whenever he annoys me, or blood from a stone. Whichever."

"I think I prefer to hex my brother," Ginny cackled. "Blood from a stone is overrated, don't you think?"

"Hmm, you're right. Speaking of your brother, I wonder what he and Harry are up to."

"Dunno. Hopefully those two weren't silly enough to go into their little stash of drinks with Mum and Dad around."

Hermione's mouth fell open, and she knew the look on her face gave away the fact that she knew about the boys' 'stash'.

"Oh, please, Hermione," Ginny scoffed. "Don't think that because I'm not around, that I don't know what's going on. I was the one that found all of that butterbeer and Firewhisky in the first place. Then Ron nearly jumped over me and Harry to cover it back up, saying to not let Mum know. So I know they did something when we left that day."

"Something?" Hermione echoed. She first made Ginny promise to not repeat anything, and then filled her in on the drunken antics of the two young wizards. The redhead laughed so loudly that Crookshanks stirred out of his catnap, lazily cracking open one fiery eye to glare at the chortling witch, before closing it and resuming his slumber.

"I'm sorry, Crooks!" she softly apologised. "See? I know my brother, and of course, Harry is going to go along right with him."

"Yes, well..." Hermione trailed off, turning up her nose. "I only had that one butterbeer Ron gave me. I didn't fancy the idea of being tethered to a toilet, puking my guts out the next morning."

"Oh? Experience with that, have you?" Ginny snickered.

"No, Ginny!" Hermione laughed. "But I've read about hangovers. Hmm, actually, I remember one New Years Eve with Mum and Dad...I was still too young to really know anything other than him feeling poorly, but I do know that Dad offered to give me a blank cheque if I stopped flipping the pages of my book too loudly."

"Well, that's definitely a new one," Ginny replied, shaking her head. "One Christmas, Dad had too much wine. The next morning, he had to stay in bed while we all went down to open presents. Said that if we found him new ears in one of the boxes or a quieter set of progeny that he'd come downstairs to sit with everyone."

"Oh no!"

"Oh yes! Mum laughed, but told the rest of us that we couldn't laugh. Then she told Dad that he should have stopped at three glasses. I'll admit, that elderflower wine is good, but the sugar goes right to your head."

"Hmm, you know an awful lot about it to not be of age," Hermione teased.

"A house full of brothers, and you really expect for me to not know things? Come on, Hermione, don't be dim."

"Fine. I'll be brilliantly lit. Now let's go downstairs and bother Ron and Harry. Hopefully they're behaving and not sneaking drinks like you suggested."

With her cat by her side, Hermione found it a bit easier to sleep for her remaining nights at Grimmauld Place. By then it was a full week since she'd last laid eyes on Snape, and to her chagrin, the tight feeling in her chest never once subsided whenever the memory of the two spending time together invaded her thoughts.

On some level, Hermione felt like a simpering schoolgirl that was completely besotted by her first beau. Only Hermione didn't simper and Snape definitely wasn't her beau. She briefly considered the phrase 'shag-buddies' but even unspoken, the words sounded completely silly, and in no way fit the oddly-shaped mechanics of her and the Potion master's relationship.

Hermione didn't feel as if she was merely an object for him to slake his lust, nor did she get the idea that the wizard had some deep, meaningful sentiment with her in mind. Like always, she didn't expect Snape to put a label on anything, much less share or openly ruminate over it.

Yet the way he held her at night and kissed her...Hermione didn't want to tell herself that it meant something, but was unable to. Previously, Snape barely let her touch him, much less kiss him. She got the idea that whatever women he previously passed time with, kisses and embracing and gentle caresses were never part of the deal.

The wizard had been outright reluctant and even distrustful the first time Hermione put her arms around him. Remembering the way he stiffened up, as if he were a five-year-old boy being accosted by an elderly auntie with a full fringe of mustache to 'give us a kiss', she began laughing.

Now, it seemed as if he quietly welcomed her embrace, or aptly, did little more than just tolerate it. No, he definitely welcomed it. Their shared embraces had become almost second nature. Once they were lying quietly in bed, long fingers would stroke along the dip in her spine, while Hermione's shorter digits grazed over the old scars mapped across Severus' back. Even though they spent most of their time in the dark, beneath a shroud of bed sheets and duvets, Severus always stripped completely down, never once trying to hide his body from Hermione.

Hermione had a world of her own insecurities, some of them stemming from being a late bloomer, yet the wizard never made disparaging remarks about what she believed to be a too frail-looking body. On top of that, every time she undressed, Hermione found it hard to ignore the angry slash across her chest that remained from Dolohov's wand.

Most people would probably think Hermione too much of a bookworm, too worried about printed and leather-bound words instead of caring about painting her face. The truth was, she still had insecurities just like any other young woman that just reached adulthood. Many of the girls she went to school seemed quite comfortable with themselves. Now that they were getting older, at least half of them seemed to have become skilled overnight at primping and polishing, and curling or straightening their hair.

The one time Hermione tried to fix herself up had been for the Yule Ball in her fourth year. Applying that goop to her hair had been one instance too many, and she vowed that she would much rather deal with her bushy curls instead of trying to tame them with the foul-smelling concoction.

The other cosmetics had been purchased in a Muggle shop and sent via owl from her Mum. Mascara and lip gloss were easy enough to use, even though Hermione didn't care for the plastic-y taste that she encountered as she attempted to eat dinner before the ball. Most of it ended up on her linen napkin, and the remainder of it had been kissed, rather, licked, off by Viktor later that night.

Shuddering at the memory, Hermione remembered that it was Viktor's broad, too wet, too slimy tongue that rubbed off the pale pink lip colour. He never complained about the artificial taste, going in for another kiss until Hermione danced away from him, feigned exhaustion, and asked for him to walk her back inside.

Snape didn't seem like the sort that gave a damn if a woman painted her face or not. Of course, Hermione hadn't really the opportunity to ask what sort of witches he typically went for. Then again...most likely, chances were she didn't want to know.

Besides, at that point, Hermione decided if she was going to get tarted up, it would be for herself and no one else.

Crooks hadn't taken to her sleek hair all that easy. When Hermione returned from the ball-in a fit of tears, thanks to Ron-she'd drawn the curtains around her four-poster bed and flopped facedown onto the mattress. The kneazle had then crawled on top of her back, batting his paws at the slippery strands. Hermione tried to make him stop to no avail, but Crookshanks' antics had been the only thing to stop her tears that night.

Even though Severus had made more than one comment with thinly-veiled disparity about her 'unruly hair' as he called it, whenever the two shared a bed, Hermione sometimes noticed that in the midst of sleep, she felt long fingers against her scalp, sometimes carding through the thick curls.

Now that Hermione was thinking on it, she realised that never once had there been an instance where Severus told Hermione that she ought to fix herself up, or straighten out her curls, or any of the other ridiculous things that boys her age seemed to take great interest in when it came to the fairer sex. Of course, she reasoned that he didn't have time for such trivial notions. But most importantly, she appreciated how he never stared at her scar. More surprising, Hermione found that she forgot about it whenever she was next to Severus in bed, even if his hands were roving over her bare skin.

Unfortunately, the only thing touching her skin right now was Crookshanks' tail. The cat was now curled up at her side, his head facing the end of the bed, purring happily as Hermione stroked his back.

"You're spoilt, do you know that?" she murmured, reaching down to scratch his head.

The only response she got was his bottlebrush tail sweeping over her forearm, as if to say keep rubbing my back.

"It's a shame you can't give out advice, Crooks, unless it's the best way to catch a spider or a mouse. Because I could really use another pair of ears, even ones that are pointy and covered in fur."

As if he understood what Hermione was telling him, the cat kneazle turned around so that his squashed face was upturned to hers, yawning broadly and exposing two rows of tiny, sharp teeth, and settling back down as if waiting for the witch to continue.

"Oh yeah, Crooksie? Are you a psychoanalyst now? Do I pay you in Galleons or catnip?"

Crookshanks surveyed Hermione with two partially-opened red eyes, looking so surly that it nearly reminded her of Severus. Hermione laughed, but then felt completely silly for talking to her cat as if he were a person. When it was clear that the witch decided to be quiet, Crookshanks closed his eyes, resuming his nap.

"You're lucky you're a cat, Crookshanks. At least you lead a life of leisure. So far I've nearly been killed by a troll, Petrified by a basilisk, and had one too many close encounters with a hag in pink. Not to mention this," Hermione continued, lifting the collar of her nightgown and peering down at her chest. "I'm almost scared to ask what's next."

Hermione was still unable to verbalize her thoughts about a certain wizard. It wasn't as if anyone besides Crookshanks would hear her, but she preferred to keep all of her thoughts buried in the nooks and crannies of her mind for the time being.
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Unintentional Inveiglement