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Unintentional Inveiglement	By : onecelestialbeing Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 130116 -:- 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
- 15
- 16
- 17
A/N: I have the say, the reviews I've gotten thus far have literally made me tear, weep, and scream in joy. Thank goodness I was alone else folks would be wondering if I was going crazy. My biggest regret, and I'm not exaggerating, is that we're not allowed to reply to reviews (personally) in author's notes, and the mods actually check fics around these parts. So while I can't call you all out by name, and I really would do it, I don't care if it would take me two hours, let me just say that I am truly grateful, especially as I reflect back upon a few months ago where I had a serious bout of self doubt and wondered if I should stop writing. You see? You never know how your words can affect others ;). Thank you soo much!!

Hermione hadn't been lying to herself when she pondered about going to bed later that night. She tossed and turned for an hour, unable to rest, as she kept thinking back to being sandwiched between Severus and the wall. She couldn't believe that she had been hard up enough to give serious consideration to letting the professor have his way with her in the hall. Only it was as if he had no designs on doing such a thing.

Hermione wondered if he was ever going to touch her again. For the past two months, it seemed as if he had planned on doing just the opposite; if she swept past him, he pointedly ignored her, and if she saw him outside of class, he quickly put distance between them, all without giving anything away.

But tonight...what the hell was that?

She had the idea that Snape still wanted her, still desired her, judging by the undeniable firm bulge that, for a second, had pressed against the seam of her denim-covered thighs. Hermione took a certain comfort in knowing that she was still in Severus' good graces. She just wished that it would amount to them getting naked again and allowing him to have his way with her.

Hermione found herself at a point where she wasn't perturbed by the fact that she was still his student. Then again, it wasn't as if she had let that stop her before, but it was hard to deny that things would be easy with both of them being at Hogwarts, surrounded by a plethora of watchful eyes.

However, one thing Hermione had learned, was that the average person didn't pay attention to the occurrences surrounding them. It seemed that short of thrusting something beneath a person's nose, they didn't notice anything.

Snape was extremely observant, and the only other wizard that Hermione had met who maintained the same level of cognizance, was Dumbledore.

Regardless of that unambiguous point, Hermione decided that she would be very, very careful when it came to going after what she wanted most. Up until now she had managed to keep her wits about her, relatively speaking, at least, and resigned to continue doing so.

While Hermione was making plans about the best way of meeting with Snape again, the professor was back in the privacy of his rooms, and he was livid.

He was still trying to make out whether it had been a curse or a blessing that Filch's voice echoed throughout the front of the castle when he found Peeves' mess, thus interrupting something that never should have happened in the first place.

Snape's plate had been past overflowing from dealing with everything else in his life, and as of late thought had rarely been given concerning his libido. It still didn't stop him from thinking about the way the young Gryffindor witch's soft, bare skin felt against his. Of course, he also remembered with perfect clarity the way her tight body clasped around his cock, and it continuously made him sport an erection that nearly threatened to burst the well sewn seams of his trousers.

Masturbation had rarely suited the professor. It took too long, and didn't compare to the feel of another's witch's hand or mouth around him. His own callused hand definitely would never out-perform the sensation of tight, wet flesh.

All it had taken was a soft little gasp from Hermione when he had her against the wall, and instantly he was reminded of the first time he heard that gasp, which in turn made him hard to the point of pain. It had been clear that the witch was amenable to whatever he so chose at that moment, and for a split second, Snape had seriously contemplated taking her right there, or finding one of many abandoned rooms in Hogwarts that thankfully others were unaware of, and dragging her to it.

Their only saving grace had been the antics of the perpetually mischievous poltergeist, which caused the caretaker to scream and croak and shout like a lunatic. Snape was well aware of Filch's habits, and knew that the caretaker would storm the castle, yelling out in search of the headmaster or the Bloody Baron, whoever he found first, to put Peeves back in his place.

Snape told himself that Filch's irritating bellowing was the only reason that he'd pulled away from Hermione, but deep down, he knew that excuse was weak at best.

He had been trying to steer clear of the young witch, only the barriers he had so painstakingly put up, came crashing down with a vengeance when he'd found her alone, sitting beneath the archway and bathed in soft moonlight.

It had nearly been his undoing to touch Hermione with the faintest of caresses, after being personally acquainted with every inch of her body. Snape knew they had been treading dangerous waters, and that anyone could have happened across the two, but he was so attuned to the castle and its inhabitants, that he would have known.

Apart from the inappropriateness of it all, Snape found himself irritated that Hermione had been alone in the first place. Without so many words, he made sure to clearly convey that she should refrain from doing so again.

Snape, and he was sure Dumbledore, knew that Draco Malfoy was out on the prowl, and that his actions would bode to no good to anyone that mistakenly crossed his path. Snape had already managed to stop Draco from nearly poisoning a fourth-year Ravenclaw, which had merely been a distraction solely in means of more malicious intent.

The young man had been pushed into the proverbial corner, and without would retaliate in a hasty, unplanned manner. Draco wasn't thinking clearly, and was also a danger to himself. Because of the Unbreakable Vow that Snape made with Narcissa, he also had to keep safe Draco from self-harm, be it accidental or by design.

Snape would never admit it, but he knew that Hermione Granger had always been a target of Draco, as well as his cronies, what the professor considered mere sycophants. Hermione was bright where Draco was lazy. On more than one occasion, the young blond had complained about 'Mudblood Granger this,' and 'Mudblood Granger that', to the professor, as well as his father.

Lucius Malfoy had made it clear that Draco should be ashamed of himself for allowing a girl of no wizarding parents to gain higher marks than him in every subject since the two both began at Hogwarts. Lucius had even mentioned Hermione's academic prowess to Snape, to which the professor merely replied that the girl thought she knew everything, and that she should have near-perfect marks, as her head was always in a book.

That had been during the students' second year. Even then, Snape never commented about Granger's blood status, as it meant nothing to him. He could take a tenner and the fact that Granger was Muggle-born, and neither of which would have gotten him very far. Snape didn't give a damn about where anyone came from. The only thing he was focused on was keeping himself alive as he went to each meeting with the Dark Lord, and holding onto the little bit of sanity that he had left every since his life had gone to shite.

It had been a hard lesson to learn, but blood status, where someone was born, where they came from...it all amounted to nothing in the end. Blood status meant little to the Dark Lord. True, he was prejudiced against those who were Muggle-born, but Snape had witnessed the evil wizard do away with purebloods just as easily when they displeased him.

There had been times where Snape wanted to explain this to the students of Slytherin House, yet another part of him knew that they would be eventually forced to understand that point, one way or another.

In any event, Snape knew that had Draco managed to get away with one of his ill-thought out actions, that he would be to blame. As Head of House, a House which unfairly had the reputation for being solely iniquitous, Snape had on more than one occasion found himself speaking to the headmaster or other professors about a student in Slytherin. The last thing he needed was to try and cover up the fact that one of his own had attempted to murder another student.

If said student happened to be a certain bushy-haired Gryffindor, he definitely would have taken issue with it. Snape knew that he wouldn't be able to outright behave in a manner that ran in conjunction with his emotions concerning the young witch, but he could not deny that he wouldn't be completely unaffected if something were to happen to her.

Which had been why, yet again, he told Hermione to take heed and look after herself.

What he really wanted to do was lure her his rooms, settle down with her naked body in his armchair, and hold onto her hips as she rode him to completion. Thinking about that, Snape told himself that lure was an exaggeration, as want had clearly been all over Hermione's face, and she mostly likely would have been glad to follow him.

If Hermione had followed him...no, he wouldn't think about it. To ponder over the what-ifs would only make him crazy. Crazy was not something that Snape could afford at the moment. It had been bad enough that he allowed himself to succumb to his baser desires that evening, even if for a moment. He had already done two months without the pleasures of Hermione's body. It had been difficult, yet he vowed to press on and continue doing the same.

Things still hadn't changed all that much on a day-to-day basis, but Hermione didn't anticipate anything else. Snape still treated her with the same impartiality in class as before. Even if his aloof attitude was expected, it always made her want to roll her eyes.

The only difference, she did note, was that Snape had begun looking more haggard than usual. His hair was lankier than ever, and the already sharp cheekbones stood out more than was normal. Secretly privy to scant details of his double life, Hermione knew that the professor was encountering things that she nor her friends could begin to comprehend, but it still didn't keep her from worrying about the man.

Even though Snape had, in his own way, warned Hermione to keep her distance, she couldn't help but to linger behind after class one day, and politely as possible, ask if he was alright. The professor merely gave her a curt nod and told her to be on her way, before turning around in a swish of black robes to clean the chalkboard.

While the professor had always had a muted mettle about him, it seemed as if something else was going on, or that everything in his life was finally taking its toll.

Keeping that in mind, Hermione did her best to not annoy him in class or elsewhere for that matter. Part of her wanted to tell her friends not to bother the wizard as well, but it was all for naught, as Ron and Harry bore an intense dislike for the professor and didn't try to hide it. The only thing Hermione wished would stop was the way they would sometimes badmouth Snape, and even then, she had to rein in her protests, lest they become too suspicious.

In between worrying about the professor and everything else surrounding the dubious circumstances of the wizarding world, Hermione was still studying during every free period she had. Harry was still out-performing everyone in Potions, and it continued to annoy her to no end.

Wanting passing marks, Ron began to even ask Harry for help in class, which floored Hermione the first time she heard him. Usually Ron, and Harry, for that matter, always begged her for help, and now the tables had turned. Hermione had been almost desperate to ask Harry if she could look at his illicit graffiti-covered Potions text, before stiffening her upper lip and refusing to do so. By hook or by crook, she wanted to brew each potion of her own accord, and not by use of some debatable source.

The last Potions class left Hermione in a red-faced and very flustered state. Her draught refused to turn the proper shade of green, and over and over she reread the instructions until she was able to recite them verbatim. It had been all she could do to not look over into Harry's cauldron, whose potion was the perfect shade of freshly mown grass.

Slughorn had immediately swept to Harry's side, jovially announcing to the class that Harry was the only one whose potion was perfect. Malfoy, who for the most part had still been in his old little world, even broke out of his reverie to sneer in their direction.

Even though Hermione had a chip on her shoulder because she knew why Harry's potion was perfect, it didn't stop her hackles from raising when Malfoy gave her best friend a dirty look. It was alright if she was mad at Harry, but Draco could piss off as far as she was concerned. And besides, Malfoy could never do wrong, when it came to his Head of House. The young man had been getting away with murder from day one, and the only one that didn't give a damn about threats of Malfoy Senior coming for revenge had been Mad-Eye Moody.

The memory of Malfoy being turned into a frightened, twitchy little ferret was the only thing that kept Hermione from getting completely worked up. It still didn't totally obliterate her anger. When class was finally over, Hermione pushed her damp, frizzy curls back out of her face, wiping perspiration dotting her forehead onto the back of her sleeve.

After sulkily pointing a wand at her cauldron (her potion had remained the same taunting shade of lime green), Hermione found herself rushing towards Slughorn's desk, begging him to allow her to try her potion again.

The fussy professor wasn't keen on giving up his leisure time to pander to Hermione's perfectionist whims, but she innocently pointed out that she was a Prefect who had permission to be out when others didn't, and that she could leave her finished potion in a phial at his office, and he would never need to watch over her. When Slughorn was told that all he would need to do was unlock the classroom door for Hermione when she came down, he finally relented.

Thanking the professor, Hermione went back to her desk and collected her things. She strongly suspected that Slughorn had only agreed to the do-over to make her stop nagging him and go away, but she didn't care.

"What was that all about?" Ron asked when Hermione caught up with him and Harry further down the hall.

"Professor Slughorn's giving me another chance to try my potion," Hermione answered tightly. "He said that during the day on Saturday he's busy, but if I want to come later in the evening, that I can."

"But you'll miss the Hallowe'en Feast," Harry frowned.

"If it makes you feel better, you can save me a few apples," Hermione said as they walked towards their next class. "You know I never eat all of those cakes and custards; most of it is too sweet for me."

"Yeah, but you scarfed down that chocolate we bought you!" Ron pointed out with a grin.

"Chocolate is different," she told him defiantly. And I had my period, therefore, I had a solid excuse.

"Oh yeah, I forget how you females go barmy for chocolate, especially when your—" Ron began, only for Hermione to shriek soundly and slap him on the arm.

It was one thing for her two male best friends to buy her chocolate, yet it was another for her to discuss any aspect of her feminine attributes, especially the most personal ones. Hermione was surprised that Ron had even begun to mention what she thought he was going to mention, as he was usually squeamish when it came to matters like so.

Ginny had openly complained about horrendous cramps once, as she had been in so much pain, all thoughts of being secretive had flown out the window.

The group was at the Burrow, and Hermione and Ginny were in her bedroom. Ginny had been curled up on her floor, seconds away from banging her head on her bedpost. Hermione had been on the verge of offering her some Muggle painkillers when Harry and Ron knocked on the door. Ron had been wary when he saw his sister doubled over with a contorted face. He then asked what was wrong with her, only it had come out sounding a bit insensitive, and Ginny actually snarled a few choice words that sounded harsher than usual as she explicitly told her brother what was wrong.

Fred and George had come running when they heard the noise, and somehow immediately knew what the problem was. When they pointed out to Ron that their baby sister was 'on', and that unless he had chocolate, he should leave her alone, Ron's face turned the colour of the sunset, and he quickly got out of dodge, leaving behind a chortling Harry.

After that, Ron didn't want to hear anything about the happenings of a female body. Fred and George teased their brother at every opportunity after that; even Ginny laughed once she felt better. Hermione had also been embarrassed by the entire exchange, as she preferred to keep that sort of thing to herself.

Oddly enough, Hermione had allowed Snape to strip her naked and pull her into his lap, and nearly felt his eyes burning into her skin as they studied the most intimate area of her body, and while she had felt shy, she hadn't felt embarrassed. Even after her first time, Hermione had been sure there was a telling mess on her thighs; he'd used his wand to cleanse her, and that hadn't bothered her. Possibly because the wizard was always so serious, and never outright laughed at or joked about anything. He definitely had a twisted sense of humour, that was certain, but Hermione never saw him release a deep belly laugh the way Ron or Harry would. She reasoned that there wasn't a lot of cause for the wizard to laugh, and it made her sad.

Despite the horrors that she and her friends had experienced, they always found something to laugh at. Laughter helped them get through things.

Still, there was some part of Hermione that wondered how long that would last.

Snape was, in fact, utterly knackered. He had been to see the Dark Lord twice in one week, which was two times too many. Voldemort demanded to know how Draco was faring in his assignment, and he had to come up with an answer that was acceptable.

While Draco obviously had something up his sleeve, the details of which Snape was still trying to flesh out, it forced him to continue shadowing the young man. Draco was unaware that he was being watched, and that was how Snape preferred it.

Another person in the castle was unaware that they were being watched, although said espionage was being carried out for more than one reason, all of which were at opposite ends of the spectrum.

Snape's carried an inherent sense of shrewdness, and he noticed things even when he wasn't trying. His black eyes always honed in on Hermione Granger when he caught sight of her in the corridors. He watched her while she was in his class, he watched her when she wasn't in his class. Even though he didn't always stay for meals in the Great Hall, he would pass by long enough to let his dark eyes briefly take in the view.

He knew that Hermione was too smart for her own good. It was something that intrigued Snape, at the same time making him extra cautious. Too much curiosity could, in fact, be hazardous, especially when dealing with one who was persistent in search for answers, and would go to any means of obtaining them.

Hermione had an audacious streak that could possibly lead her into something that she wouldn't be able to handle. Her two mates weren't any better; countless times Snape had to save all three of their hides. One specific time stood out in his mind, and it was an event he would unfortunately never forget.

Hermione and her friends were only thirteen when they nearly became Remus Lupin's cuddly toy. And while many of the pupils danced, stepped, and trod on his very last nerve, Snape wasn't a complete bastard. The last thing he wanted to see was a child, or anyone, for that matter, be made into a late-night wolf snack.

Snape had been adamantly against letting the wizard teach at Hogwarts, knowing about his allergy to the full moon. It had been no surprise when Dumbledore ignored his protests. Snape, at times, seriously wondered if the headmaster thought that being sorted into Gryffindor was an automatic ticket to being a 'good' person, although he kept his mouth shut. Whether Lupin's intentions were good, bad, or indifferent, fact remained that he turned into a werewolf by the light of a full moon, and should not be around innocent children, even if said innocent children more often than not made Snape want to string them up by their toes.

After learning about Lupin's condition, Snape had never trusted him. Even though he seemed to be less of a bastard compared to his Marauder counterparts—relatively speaking only, because to Snape, a person that still stood by and watched his mates bully another person was just as bad. He kept a shrewd eye upon the sandy-haired wizard all throughout their time at school, and now, even during meetings for the Order.

It been that same cunning of Snape's that saved the Golden Trio from being torn to shreds the night they saved the former perpetual pain in his arse, Sirius Black. Now, it was how he knew where Hermione was currently on her way to that following Saturday evening.

He wanted to berate Slughorn for allowing the young witch to, one, walk around unescorted so late at night, and two, handle volatile ingredients without supervision in an empty classroom. However, if Hermione ended up hurting herself then Slughorn would be blamed, and possibly the forever carping professor could return to his life of retirement, fancy chocolates, and ridiculous looking pastel-coloured velvet robes.

Then again...if she did hurt herself, and Slughorn got the sack, Snape figured that he would be relegated to teaching Potions again, and that was not a risk he was willing to take. He'd sooner dress up like pouf Lockhart or Slughorn than deal with exploding cauldrons from mentally-absent teenagers.

Therefore, he took it upon himself to watch the Gryffindor's tenacious effort of righting what she deemed to be a serious blunder.

The classroom door had been open wide enough for Snape to stand by and watch as Hermione began the preparations for brewing. Slughorn surprisingly had the forethought to leave out all of the needed ingredients, and the only thing Hermione had to do was set up her cauldron.

Mercifully, the corridor was alone, as Snape felt like a heel standing there, watching the young witch as if he were some sort of peeping Tom. Although, even if a student were to happen by, they wouldn't dare question him. Short of the students from his House, everyone else tried to hurriedly walk past Snape when they noticed him.

The Potions classroom had always been kept at a lower temperature by use of cooling charms. Ingredients were stored in a small stockroom off to the side and were susceptible to damage by an influx in temperate. On top of that, the small room became increasingly stuffy when it was filled with steaming cauldrons.

Tethered to the stifling room, day in and day out, for over ten years had only aggravated the state of his skin and already limp hair, making it more oily than usual. When Snape first began teaching at Hogwarts, he tried all sorts of potions and shampoos to keep his hair from looking like an oil slick. It only took a year of teaching Potions before he finally gave up. It hadn't been as if anyone tried to chat him up. Most people thought about him only when they wanted something. Students only acknowledged him to either hand in homework, ask a question in class, or to insult him when they thought he was out of earshot.

If only some of the students had been able to learn what the professor thought of them. Seeing as how they were all children, he never expected for many of them to take anything seriously. Snape didn't give a damn what they did outside of his classroom, but he made sure that they respected him and behaved with decorum while in his.

Of course, there was always the odd nitwit that he had to put in place, annoyingly enough, some of them from his very own House.

With irritation, he remembered two seventh year girls that he'd taught a few years ago. The pair had been so intent on flirting with another student, who had been focused on his own work and didn't pay the girls any attention, that one of the them never noticed the ends of her hair catching fire.

Snape couldn't remember the daft girl's name, but he had hastily aimed his wand at her head, dousing the fire with a torrent of water that shot from the tip. He had then berated the girl, told her that she would receive zero marks for the day, before snapping at her to go to Madam Pomfrey. He'd still been irritated by the sight of her once giggling and then frightened-looking friend, and had also told her to escort her mate to the hospital wing.

It had been times like so that made Snape wish that he was working alone, in an apothecary or such. At least he wouldn't have had to deal with idiotic students that were in danger of haphazardly burning down themselves, along with an entire classroom.

Another one of his students had curls that weren't voluminous as Hermione's, yet the simple girl refused to tie her hair back, and spent more time pushing the mass out of her face than focusing on her potion. Snape had grown tired of watching the girl fuss with her hair, and quietly told her to either secure it into place, or he would excuse her from class to do so, while giving her zero marks for the day.

Now looking at Hermione, he saw that she had pulled her curls back into a messy ponytail, the ends dangling down her shoulders and grazing the back of a pink, white, and purple stripy oversized jumper. Her school robes were absent, and he had a clear view of her rounded denim covered behind as she leaned over the countertop, frowning down at her Potions textbook.

Judging by the pungent smell wafting towards the door, Snape knew that Hermione was brewing Wiggenweld Potion. One petite hand moved to pick up a handful of Moly petals. Hermione tossed it into her bubbling cauldron, hissing in annoyance when she clearly didn't gain the desired results.

"This is ridiculous!" she snapped out loud, snatching up a stirring rod and plunging it into the steaming cauldron. "I've followed these bloody instructions to the letter and this damned thing still won't come out right!"

The vapour from her cauldron smelled much too woodsy, and at once Snape knew what had gone wrong in the process. Like Hermione, he too, was always set on doing things in a perfect manner, and wanted to tell the witch where she had made her mistake. Yet he remained at the door, curious to see what she was going to do next.

Hermione continued grumbling and dragging her stirring rod through the liquid, cursing down at her Potions textbook when her leg started itching. Resignedly letting go of the stirring rod, she anchored both hands onto the edge of the desk, lifting one trainer encased foot to scratch her calf with her toe. Sighing in relief, she then lowered her foot back to the ground and continued flipping pages in her textbook.

Snape wondered how many times Hermione was going to go through that damned textbook, seeking different answers from the same directions. Finally, he was no longer able to hold his tongue.

"Surely you are aware that the words aren't going to change?"

Hermione was startled by his voice and froze into place. It was obvious that she thought she was completely alone, but when she turned her head and saw the professor stiffly standing in the doorway, staring across at her, her eyes lit up. Snape couldn't remember the last time he saw anyone's eyes light up at the sight of him, yet tucked that away for future reference.

"Professor Slughorn gave me permission to come down here," Hermione began. "I'm making—"

"Wiggenweld Potion. What colour is it?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow as Snape strode into the classroom, shutting the door behind him and coming around to the other side of her desk. She could scarcely believe that he was a few feet away from her, and it took great effort for her to focus.

"Green; bright green," she answered after peering into her cauldron. "This is the same thing that happened the other day. I've done everything it says in my book, and still it—"

Snape was silent as he surveyed the sorted piles of ingredients set out on the workspace. "Silent as the grave; do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, sir," Hermione answered, eager to partake of the knowledge that was about to be bestowed upon her.

"Your Moly petals still have stems on them, and you need more Moondew drops than you have."

"But the potion only calls for three six drops; why would I need more?"

"Think, Miss Granger. I'm well aware that the potion only calls for six, but if you put exactly six into the phial, some of the liquid is going to stick to the sides and you'll actually end up using less than you anticipated."

Immediate comprehension covered Hermione's face, and she moved to walk over to the storeroom for more of the ingredient. Snape, however, told her to remain where she was, that he would get the bottle.

Snape was somewhat mollified to find that Slughorn had left the small supply closet in the same state that he'd left it from the previous school year. Then again...he wasn't surprised. The elderly wizard eschewed anything that reeked of monotonous labour, and would have thrown up a white flag if he had to sort everything out alphabetically and by degree of freshness.

Once Hermione had been given more Moondew, Snape took a seat across from the witch and watched as she worked.

"Err...am I doing this correctly?" she asked, pausing to look across at the professor, who was sitting ramrod straight on a stool with both arms folded.

"This is your work; you'll do it on your own. I'm here merely to make sure that you don't kill yourself in the process."

"I don't think I've yet reached levels of desperation where I'd want to drown myself in my cauldron, thanks," Hermione replied, choking back a snort.

She was still trying to wrap her head around the idea that Snape was across from her, the only thing separating them consisting of a few inches of black marble countertop. Usually the professor had made all of his students carry their own weight, and if they'd had any questions, no one had the moxie to actually ask Snape for help, as they knew his penchant for getting short with them. To boot, the man never offered suggestions, unless it was one that hinted towards serving detention. Which was why Hermione was surprised that he offered her two Knuts worth of advice before settling down onto a stool.

Hermione worked quietly for the next thirty minutes, with Snape still across from her, arms folded across his chest with both hands hidden in the folds of his black teaching robes. She took the suggestions that he made about each ingredient, managing to come up with some conclusions mostly of her own accord, going forth with them only after briefly glancing at Snape to see if he approved.

He met each of her unspoken questions with a curt nod, his black eyes focused on her hands as she moved between the table and the cauldron. When her potion was finally the proper shade of green, Hermione nearly collapsed with relief.

"It worked! I can't believe it work," she gushed. "I knew there was no way that—" she had been about to say that there was no way Harry could brew a potion that I can't when she stopped herself, realising that Snape was looking at her, waiting for to finish. "Anyway, thank you."

Snape gave another one of those nods. He wondered what Hermione had been about to say before she cut herself off, but decided to not ask. She was now bottling her potion and cleaning up the desk when he spoke again.

"Miss Granger, you were present at Hogwarts for your fourth year; were you not?"

"Umm...yes..." Hermione trailed off, wondering where he was going with the decidedly odd question.

"Are you certain? Perhaps it was a doppelganger, or another foray into the wonders of Polyjuice Potion."

Hermione gasped when she heard Snape making an indirect reference to her blunder during her second year at Hogwarts. Trust him to not let her forget about it. She always wondered if he knew about the time she accidentally turned herself into a cat. If Snape did know, he never said anything, and Hermione decided to not look a gift horse in the mouth. The man had already humiliated her in front of his Slytherins when Draco hexed her teeth; the last thing she needed was for them to meow and hiss at her as she passed them in the corridors.

When Hermione remained silent, as she wasn't sure if she should open her mouth again, Snape continued on.

"I only ask because it seems that in addition to Wiggenweld Potion, you are also in dire need of Wit-Sharpening Potion. I distinctly remember telling you not to roam the castle by yourself, and most definitely not at his abysmal hour."

"I...err...well, I had to correct my work! I couldn't finish my potion and I refuse to get a zero marks, not after studying from sun up till sundown!" Hermione shot back in indignation.

"And I told you to mind your head! When I say something, it's for a reason, girl."

Snape had risen from the stool and stalked over to Hermione in a flurry of black robes. He now stood over her, irritation written all over his face.

"Yes, sir," Hermione meekly answered, lowering her head in shame.

"Get your things. I'll escort you back to the Slughorn's office and then to the feast. I still don't know why that idiot consented to allowing you down here on your own."

"I guess he didn't think anything would happen," Hermione suggested, furtively peeking up to look at Snape's face. "I mean, it's not as if anyone else is willingly going to ask to make over their work on a Saturday night, much less when there's a feast going on in the Great Hall."

Snape gave a little snort, but he was in agreement. If most students had to choose between brewing foul-smelling potions compared to gorging themselves on sweets and pies, they would definitely go for the latter option.

"Speaking of feast, you look as if you could do with a proper meal or two," Hermione pointed out, trying to keep her tone light. "Or maybe it's only my eggs that you like."

Hermione suspected that she was being too chatty for the professor's liking, as he stopped right where he was and stared her down. Save for the slightly arched right eyebrow, the rest of his face remained inexpressive. Refusing to be swayed, Hermione continued smiling at the professor. It was hard to keep a straight face at the moment, as she felt happier than she cared to admit, purely because she was near the person that she had been longing for.

Only it seemed that Snape had other intentions— none of which entailed them staying in one another's company for a minute longer. He was already on his way to the classroom door when Hermione tossed her belongings back down on the lab table and rushed over to him.

"Don't leave yet," she urged. "Please?"

Hermione had walked right up on Snape, tentatively resting one hand on his shoulder. The wizard immediately stiffened at the contact, although she noticed that he didn't tell her to move.

"Sorry," Hermione apologised, removing her hand. She still remained behind Snape, mentally willing him to not leave the classroom. Thankful that the door had been closed, and hopefully locked, Hermione walked around to stand in front of him, slightly taken aback when she saw the tense look clouding his haggard features.

Snape exhaled sharply, bringing up one hand to his face and pinching the bridge of his nose. He almost regretted ever setting foot inside of the classroom. He should have know that he would be tempted to have with his way with Hermione, as her presence was catalyst enough to stir his arousal. The fact that they were alone, with no one knowing that they were inside, made matters worse. Of course, Slughorn knew that Hermione was down in the classroom, but there was a better chance of the Dark Lord giving up his quest for power and living as a Muggle than of the elderly professor waddling his way down to see how she was faring.

Snape knew that Slughorn was most likely in the middle of enjoying a tumbler of aged brandy or the like, wrapped up in one of his robes with his feet propped before the hearth. The man hadn't changed all that much from his stint as Slytherin's Head of House and Potions master when Severus was a student.

Taking that tidbit of knowledge into account, Snape knew that it would be hours before Hermione was looked for by her friends. McGonagall wouldn't notice her absence, as she was usually early to bed. Just then, Hermione slowly extended her right arm, curving her fingers over his wrist and pulling his hand down from in front of his face.

"Are you sure you're alright?" she asked with more concern. "All teasing aside, I think you—"

"I'm fine, Miss Granger," he interrupted.

"Hermione. We're alone; surely you can use my first name."

Snape had allowed Hermione to move his arm, and now it hung limply by his side. She was still holding onto his wrist and unflinchingly staring up into his face, something that comforted yet unnerved him at the same time.

Still innocent; too innocent, he thought. A shame it will all be ruined after this.

"We're surrounded by another set of walls, Miss Granger. Walls that connote something completely different than previously."

Hermione looked so forlorn that it was nearly painful to watch. Why the hell does she look so disappointed?

Snape had desperately tried to forget their last encounter in the darkened hallway. He hadn't been able to see her face clearly at that time, but the feel of that small patch of soft skin beneath his fingertips was anything but unforgettable. The desperation in her voice had been enough to make him want to hand over the reins to his self-control. The only thing that stopped him had been Filch yelling up a storm, threatening death upon the person that had destroyed the entrance hall and its floors with rotten food.

So what was stopping him now?

"Please..." she choked out, suddenly sounding as if she wanted to cry. "Severus..."

Hermione's eyes were beseeching, and she whispered his name so sweetly, so painfully, that Snape was almost ready to do anything she asked. He stood completely still as the little witch closed the gap between them, pressing her petite body against his and standing up on tiptoe to softly kiss him.

This time their lips actually touched, and that small flicker of pleasure was enough to make him bend to Hermione's will. Her arms tentatively made their way around his neck, and her fingertips stroked the unwashed hair at the nape of his neck.

Not once did Hermione complain about the too-slick feeling on her fingertips. She twirled and played with the lank strands as her mouth teasingly moved over his, using just enough tongue to moisten his bottom lip.

No longer able to hold out, Snape wound his arms around Hermione's waist, pulling her fully against him. The witch moaned into his mouth at the sudden gesture, nearly collapsing against him when his thin lips moved to the side of her neck.

Her body tingled all over, and Hermione was screaming, hoping, praying, that Severus wouldn't stop and push her away like she was accustomed to him doing. She knew that she had been desperate for any kind of intimate attention from the professor, but didn't realise just how much she'd been craving it until his arms slipped around her body. The feel of his slender form against hers was enough to make Hermione's breathing grow heavy, and she silently tried to inveigle Snape into going farther by pulling him tighter against her.

She had just nuzzled her face against his chest, digging her fingers into the sleeves of his frock coat when Snape suddenly froze, next attempting to pull away from her. "No! Why are you stopping— don't stop!" Hermione protested, slipping her arms around his back and tightening her grasp.

"No, Granger, stand back," Snape replied tightly as he continued trying to move out of her clutches, but Hermione wasn't having it.

"Hermione, and why do you want to stop? It isn't as if anyone is going to walk in. Here, I'll even make sure the door is locked," she reassured, moving one arm from around him to pluck her wand from her back pocket and cast a spell in the direction of the door. "See? Nice and secure."

"Oh, really? And what are you expecting, pray tell? For us to rut around in here like a pair of teenagers in heat?"

Hermione was speechless. She didn't know what she was expecting to happen, although sex in the Potions classroom hadn't really crossed her mind. It wasn't the cleanest place or the most comfortable, not to mention the frigid air surrounding them would surely make her nipples and lady bits freeze and fall off. She was sure that Snape was also attached to his dangly bits, and wished them to remain in place.

"No, I wasn't expecting that," she admitted. "But what else do you want me to say? We were interrupted last time, and I—"

Hermione stopped herself as if it was paining her to speak. Snape was searchingly looking into her face, as if he was trying to figure out what he was planning on doing with her. Ignoring the speculative look, Hermione decided that she wanted to be kissed and threw herself against him, buzzing angrily into his mouth when he didn't immediately return it.

For a brief second, Snape allowed his resolve to shatter, before remembering that he'd been trying to stay away from Hermione. Yet the feel of her soft lips against his was too great to resist, and shortly after, he began returning her affections with ardour. The scent of her skin was enough to give him flashbacks of the two clinging to one another in bed back at Grimmauld Place. He even missed her annoying hair, and his slender hands dove into the mass, freeing her messy ponytail and hastily dropping the elastic hair grip, causing it to become lost somewhere on the stone classroom floor.

The longer they kissed, the more his erection made itself known, until it was pressed against the placket of his trousers and digging into Hermione's stomach. He couldn't believe that the young Gryffindor was forward enough to run her hand over his chest, gliding down until she reached his erection. She ran her hand along the length before squeezing gently, pulling back to stare up into his face.

Snape had to fight back a groan when Hermione brought down the other hand, in obvious aims of unfastening his trousers and pulling out his now painfully erect penis. He couldn't handle that; not taking into account the amount of time that passed since they were last intimate. There was no way they could go that far without him being tempted to shove her facedown against the filthy lab table, yanking down her jeans and taking her from behind.

"No!" he snapped, swatting her hands away.

Hermione returned his frown with a defiant glare, bringing both hands back down to the front of his trousers. When Snape grabbed hold of her wrists, Hermione daringly took another approach and began to drop to her knees, only for him to slide his hands down her forearms and swiftly tug her back up.

"Stop it. Just stop."

"No."

"Granger."

"Her-my-oh-nee."

Silence.

Snape's breathing sounded like an angry bull's, one who kept having a red cape waved in front of him, only for it to be pulled away.

"Just let me touch you, please? That's all I'll do, I promise."

Even through the muddled lighting, Snape could see that Hermione's brown eyes were soft and pleading. The way she sounded, she might have been a child that was asking to have dessert before dinner. But how the hell could he resist an offer like so, especially when requested with such earnest?

Snape didn't know how he'd allowed himself to get cornered off, but when Hermione wriggled her wrists out of his grasp and one again brought both hands to the placket of his trousers, he didn't impede her progress.

One minute, Hermione was unfastening the last button on his trousers, the next, Snape had swiftly shifted them to a more remote location of the classroom, forcing her against a part of the wall that was absent of the wide shelves that were strategically placed elsewhere. He shoved one knee between her thighs so suddenly that she had to grasp onto his forearms to keep from falling. When she managed to catch her balance, Hermione used her right hand to finish what she started.

She heard Severus inhale sharply when she reached into his trousers and boxers, and for a moment she allowed her fingertips to graze through the thick patch of coarse pubic hair that was just below the elastic waistband. Hermione was inches away from actually touching him, when Severus let out a noise that could only be construed as a growl, grasping her wrist and forcing her hand lower. She had to actually fight back a moan as Severus' long fingers forced her to wrap her hand around him, much like he'd done when she first touched him.

His hand may as well have been manacles, so firm was his grip upon hers, and with a groan, Severus guided Hermione into squeezing the already leaking tip of his cock before completely pulling it out and exposing it to the cool dungeon air. His erection felt like velvet-covered steel against her palm, and his skin was hot, hotter than she remembered, to the point that he felt feverish.

The professor then let out a broken sounding grunt as he placed both hands to either side of her head, bracing himself against the stone wall as he thrust forward into her fist. That sound and the small, jerky movement of his narrow hips was enough to set her blood boiling, and a dull throbbing began between her legs.

Hermione's deep breathing nearly matched Severus', as if she was the one being touched instead of him. The wall behind her was rough and digging uncomfortably into her back, and her legs were beginning to ache from straining to hold herself up. But if Hermione had only one complaint at that moment, it would be that Severus was too tall for her to properly kiss him again.

He was hovered over her, and the angle in which they were pressed together left his head on top of hers. The firm length of his body continued crushing her into the wall, and Hermione had to awkwardly manoeuvre her hand between them, not wanting to let go of his cock. While their stance wasn't the most comfortable, it would have to do for now. Other than that, the last thing she expected was to see Severus that evening, and now that she literally and figuratively had him in the palm of her hand, she definitely had no plans of stopping any time soon.

Snape's dragon-hide boots made a faint scuffling noise as he shifted his feet, trying to gain purchase as he continued evenly fucking Hermione's now dampened fist. The only thing he could focus on was the soft, small hand greedily wrapped around and tugging on his shaft. He knew that he was leaking all over her skin like some inexperienced youth that was in the midst his first experience, as Hermione's palm was now quite slippery, and it sent little jolts of pleasure throughout his body as it slid easily over him.

His weight kept her propped up against the wall. It wasn't as if Hermione would have been able to move, anyway; his leg was still between her thighs, and she trembled each time her muscles tensed.

The room was dim enough for Snape to make out the increasingly wanton look on Hermione's face. She exhaled, the tail end of it switching into a moan when he shifted his knee to press against the seam at the crotch of her jeans. The young witch was clearly aroused, and tilted her head back as much as their position would allow her to, while angling her hips to rub herself against his leg.

While Snape knew that he couldn't take Hermione the way he wanted to, he was still mollified to hear the little moans and gasps that escaped her lips as she continued writhing against him. The girl was clearly losing her head, as she stopped moving her hand around him at one point. Snape had to move his own right hand down from the wall and enclose it over Hermione's, wordlessly encouraging her to keep going.

Between her breathless little pants and her hand now firmly gripping him again, Snape knew that he wasn't going to last long, nor did he care.

By that time, Hermione was completely beside herself. The seat of her knickers were completely sodden, the slippery fluid seeping out and spreading around each time she grinded down onto the top of Severus' thigh. Turning her head to the side, she saw that his eyes were closed and his features were tense. The vein at his temple flickered, and it looked as if he was clenching his jaw.

While Severus' rapidly mounting arousal was silent, save for his ragged breathing inches away from her ear, Hermione could feel the sinews of his slim body against hers, able to feel his limbs wrought with tension, despite the many layers of his still buttoned frock coat and teaching robes. His trousers had somehow remained up on his hips, the material folded down leaving just enough room in front to allow her access.

A tremor coursed throughout Snape's body, making Hermione shudder in response, and she was caught with the need to touch more of him. Continuously moving her right hand back and forth over his cock, she used her left to clutch onto the front of his frock coat, her fingers clumsily pulling at the buttons. When she wasn't able to gain purchase that way, she impatiently shoved her hand beneath the hem, scrabbling through the fabric of his shirt beneath to untuck it from the waistband of his trousers.

It seemed as if the wizard had a locking charm on his clothes, as she was unable to completely pull the material free, which in turn made Hermione frustrated. She settled for wrapping arm around his narrow waist, grasping a handful of stiff black material at the small of his back.

Still gracelessly rocking her hips against Severus' leg, Hermione found that it was merely palliative, and not nearly enough friction to actually bring her to orgasm. She desperately wanted to kick off her jeans and knickers, without caring how Severus got her off, so long as he did. Yet she was thrown off when swiftly he moved over her, wrapping one arm around her waist and insinuating his hand beneath the edge of her jumper. His fingers dug into the warm, delicate skin of her hip, while his other arm snaked its way across her upper back, fisting a handful of curls and tugging her head down to expose her neck.

Hermione's body jerked as if a flame had been set to her. Severus' mouth pressed against her skin was enough to make her lose her head. Her sudden moan would have echoed throughout the classroom, only just as it was on the brink of escaping, Severus moved from her neck and planted his mouth over hers.

Both became lost in a tangle of tongues and lips fervently moving against each other. Snape was finding it harder to hold onto his composure, and the more she pulled and tugged on him, the tighter his grip on her waist became until he could bear no more. His lips tightened against Hermione's as a strained sounding grunt erupted from his chest. His entire body jerked and shuddered against hers as his cock twitched in her hand, and the sudden movement nearly made them both fall.

Effectively pinning the witch against the wall by dint of his pistoning hips, he thrust faster into the gripping hand as each wave washed over him, sagging against Hermione once they subsided. His chest continued to heave against her, and he was panting into her hair. It took several minutes for Snape to remember that his fingers were still embedded in her curls. Only when he uncurled them did he find that he'd been firmly grabbing onto the strands as if they were a rope. It had been a wonder that the girl didn't scream for him pulling on her hair so roughly.

Hermione had barely noticed when Severus' grip became ironclad on her curls. She had experienced another onrush of juices trickling out of her body when he groaned into her mouth as he reached climax, and the only thing she'd been able to focus on was the feel of him coming apart as they held onto one another. Just then did it dawn on her that she hadn't found release, and that it was painful. Her body throbbed and hurt to feel empty, knowing that it craved for Severus to come into her, to fill her up like he always did.

But she was greedy and wanted it all. She wanted them both naked, with Severus' mouth devouring hers as he plunged into her over and over again. She wanted to wrap her legs around his waist, lock her feet at the small of his back, and dig her fingers into his shoulders. Hermione hadn't paid attention to those things while they had been in the heat of the moment, but once their trysts had stopped, those little nuances were the things that kept flooding her mind as she lay in bed at night.

When Snape had caught his breath, he pulled his hand from beneath Hermione's jumper and moved back. Even though she was content to remain the way they were, Hermione carefully let go of his deflating penis. Her hand was still sticky from his pre-ejaculate, although her jumper had mostly fallen victim to his actual release. The translucent, pearly fluid clung in strings to the knit woolen material, some of it having even made its way to her collar.

In her completely flustered state, Hermione was unaware of her disheveled appearance. The only thing she knew was that her body was humming with the need for her own release. Her knickers were damp and sticking to her, and the material of her bra rubbed uncomfortably across her tight, puckered nipples.

Severus was now in the middle of righting his clothes back onto his body. His head was bowed, making his dark hair fall down over his face. When he finally looked back up, Hermione was shocked to find that Severus looked like a person who had been slapped in the face instead of one that just had a sexual encounter.

"Severus?" she asked timidly, crossing both arms across her chest as she began to shiver. Even though she was still aroused, Hermione felt a knot of tension form in the pit of her stomach. She didn't understand why the professor was now looking at her as if he was upset. "Sir?"

"Take your things and go, Miss Granger," he suddenly told her in a quiet voice.

Hermione let out a gasp, wondering if her ears were deceiving her. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me, Granger. Take your things and go!"

Hermione went numb with shock and disbelief. Once again, she felt hurt and angry, not to mention completely embarrassed, considering that she still had his come all over the front of her jumper.

"You cannot be serious."

"Do I sound as if I'm joking, Hermione? Either go back to your room, or go to the feast. Either way, get out of this classroom."

Hermione tried pushing herself up from the wall, only to feel her knees buckling beneath her. Snape was rooted in place, rigid as a beam that supported a roof. She might have been able to handle his rejection a bit more had he not been staring at her, and most definitely had his spunk not been all over the front of her clothes. Hermione continued feeling extremely self-conscious as she moved to retrieve her wand and phial of potion, only Snape made a noise that made her pause from wrapping her fingers around the crystal phial.

"Leave that behind; I'll take it to Slughorn. I told you, I don't want you roaming the castle alone at night."

Hermione wanted to point out that he was putting her out of the classroom, and that she would be making her way to Gryffindor Tower on her own, but thought it wise to keep such thoughts to herself. She truly didn't understand the sudden change in the professor's mood. One minute they'd been kissing and clutching onto one another, and the next, he was back to his old surly self.

And yet, her excited, fucking traitor of a body still wanted him to finish what they started.

It wasn't fair, it really wasn't. Hermione knew she was two seconds away from launching into a bout of frustrated tears. She knew Snape wouldn't care; why would he? If he could nonchalantly, well, there was nothing nonchalant about the way he'd spoken to her—he sounded completely pissed. But Snape spoke to her with anger colouring his voice, right after she just had her hand on his cock and his trembling body pressed against hers, and it threw her for yet another loop. If she didn't spontaneously combust from unfulfilled desires that left her aching to the point of torture, then surely her neck would break from the whiplash of the wizard's vacillating mood swings.

Or, he would just drive her crazy enough that she'd have to be put away, because there was no way she would last another round of being ignored, only to have attention lavished upon her, and then going right back to being ignored. There was but so much that she could take.

"Severus," Hermione said, trying her own brand of tactics for one last time, only for Snape to stalk over to her and wrap one hand around the cuff of her arm.

"Don't look at me like that," he hissed underneath his breathing, seeing the crushed look on Hermione's face. "Now do as I say and leave."

His hand wasn't tight enough to hurt her, yet his fingers gripped firmly enough that Hermione was unable to wrench free. Picking up her wand and leaving the phial as Snape direction, Hermione was then guided to the classroom door by the wizard. He wandlessly unlocked the door before tugging it open and ushering her outside without another word.

Hermione tried to not flinch when she heard the door slam shut. She was grateful that no one was out in the corridors, lest her rumpled condition. Blindly walked as angry tears filled her eyes, Hermione used her wand to cast a cleansing charm on her clothes, vanishing the remnants of the past twenty minutes. She now suspected that her hair was a mess from Severus pulling on it, but her curls always looked messy and it would have been pointless to try to smooth them over.

So much for her take-charge course of action. Things had sorely backfired against her, and Hermione was at a total loss as to what she should do next, if anything. At the moment, the only sensible idea she had was to not let anyone see her cry on the walk to the girls' dormitory. And by the time she made her way to Gryffindor Tower and gave the Fat Lady the password, her tears had finally dried.
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Unintentional Inveiglement