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Unintentional Inveiglement	By : onecelestialbeing Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 129867 -:- Recommendations : 8 -:- Currently Reading : 29
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Harry Potter and it's characters and making no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 16
- 17
- 18
Severus Snape was out of sorts, and that was not a feeling he was used to. Bitterness, anger, jadedness–those were all things he was accustomed to dealing with. But fact remained that he'd been lusting over a seventeen-year-old girl–one of his students– no less. He'd allowed his typically unyielding resolve to break, and it had been akin to toppling over a row of dominoes—knock over one, and the rest will surely follow.

He should have known that he would experience nothing but trouble when he slipped into the classroom with Hermione. He did know, and yet, it hadn't stopped him. And when he'd sent her away...he didn't think he would ever get the image of her crestfallen face out of his mind.

Hermione hadn't known it, but Severus followed her all the way back to Gryffindor Tower, wanting to ensure that she arrived safely. He made sure to fall more than a few steps behind, and not once did she hear him, nor did she turn around. He did see the way she kept lifting a hand to wipe her eyes, and was positive that she had sniffled the entire walk across the castle.

He never liked the Fat Lady, the pink silk-wearing portrait guarding Gryffindor Tower, ever since his time as a student, and made sure that she didn't see him. The last thing Snape wanted was for the painting, who had a terrible disposition for gossip, to go around telling the other paintings that the Slytherin Head of House was lingering near Gryffindor quarters. And it wasn't as if he gave a damn about Gryffindor or the other Houses for that matter, although, he would have boldly admitted to favouring Slytherin. But he truly didn't care for the Fat Lady nor the flighty portraits that consorted with her.

Once he made his way back across the castle and to Slughorn's office, as suspected, the older Potions master had been in the middle of a nap, and looked disgruntled at being disturbed. Slughorn opened his office door, bleary-eyed and wearing one of his ugly velvet dressing gowns and a matching nightcap. He hadn't even bothered to ask why Snape was the one dropping off Hermione's potion, as he was more concerned with shutting his door and resuming his sleep.

The abrupt exchanged hadn't affected Snape in the least. He wasn't one for idle chatter, nor did he wish to exchange pleasantries with the professor that had taken over his former post. It took all of five minutes to give Slughorn the phial; four minutes and forty seconds of which had been spent knocking and then waiting at his door.

Now Snape was back in his room, and he was trying to wrap his mind around the fact of what just occurred between him and Hermione. He had been sorely tempted to completely have his way with her, but her hand on his knob resulted in him exploding so furiously that it had befuddled his mind for a minute. Once he'd come down from the high of his orgasm, did the ramifications of everything hit him like a ton of bricks.

Snape realised that they had still been in the Potions classroom, and that Hermione was still his pupil, if only for a different class. She had looked nearly drugged with passion, and seemed that she had been intent on carrying on further, only Snape threw a wrench into her unspoken plans.

Yes, he was selfish; yes, he had already broken more rules than he cared to give thought to, but some part of him still wouldn't allow himself to carry on, not at the moment, at least. Besides, someone had to be the voice of reason.

Usually, Hermione was the shrill voice of reason when it came to her and her insipid friends, but it seemed that whenever she was with him, that all remnants of common sense flew right out the window. He didn't know what it was that made the girl abandon all sense of propriety, nor did he give a damn, especially when her bare skin felt so divine against his.

Shit.

He remembered the way he spurted all over Hermione's jumper, although at the time, he had been too busy catching his breath to give it much notice. The witch had remained pressed against the wall, squirming in place as if she was trying to scratch a most uncomfortable itch. Quidditch brooms hadn't gotten as much attention from its rider compared to the way had Hermione straddled his leg, only to huff with impatience when it wasn't enough to tip the scales in her favour. It nearly sounded as if the girl was going to reach her release, only he met his first and fell limply against her when it was over.

Bloody fucking hell.

Raising one hand to his nose, Snape found that he was still able to smell Hermione's scent lingering on his fingertips. Despite the foul scent of the potion he'd directed her in brewing, he had still been able to catch a whiff of her clean skin when his face was near her neck.

Fuck.

It took Hermione a long time to calm down once she made it to Gryffindor Tower. Her knickers were completely saturated, and she felt hot and sticky all over. She was giving serious contemplation to going down to the prefects' bath, where she would definitely have privacy and hopefully would be able to relieve some of her tension, but after glancing at her wristwatch and taking in the too late hour, Hermione decided to remain in the dormitory.

After ridding herself of her damp clothing and changing into pyjamas, Hermione sat cross-legged at the head of her bed, distractedly trying to read a book. The feast in the Great Hall was still going on, and she was thankful for the silence in the room.

Well, you did sort of instigate this entire thing, don't you remember?

Grumbling to herself, Hermione had to grudgingly admit that she had been the one to first approach Snape. To this day, she still didn't know what had made her do so, but once she was in, she didn't want out. He made her time spent at Grimmauld Place bearable, which was a laugh if she were to step outside of the box and spare a glance at the entire situation. But it was true, and deep down inside, Hermione knew it had more to do than just the sex alone.

Although the sex was good...better than good, she wanted to slap him for sending her out of the classroom a mere hour before.

Hermione once heard the word 'frottage', and thought that it sound ridiculous, as if it were some sort of smelly cheese. Then she looked up the definition, and still didn't see how it would be better than direct contact.

That myth had been dispelled as she rode the top of Snape's leg, and her only regret had been that she'd worn trousers instead of a skirt. What with the brisk Scotland air that swirled around, seeping through the tiniest of nooks and crannies and settling in the old rooms of the castle, it was more prudent to wear thick layers. Still, Severus would have had more access to her body with such garments, and she wouldn't be in the predicament in which she now found herself.

Coming close to kissing Severus, only for him to pull back and go off in the other direction had been aggravating. Coming close to have him touch her again, only for things to end up one-sided was agony. Hermione felt very much out of her depths, as she wasn't used to feeling out of control of her own senses. While her senses–albeit a small part– plainly said that she and Severus shouldn't be shagging in an empty classroom while she was supposed to be doing schoolwork, a larger part of her mind would have offered very little protest had he tugged her trousers down to her knees to take her right then and there. At least she wouldn't be going to bed with her heart pounding intermittently each time she thought about the feel of his heavy cock in her hands.

Bringing her book up to her face and groaning in despair into its worn pages, Hermione never noticed the person walking up to the foot of her bed.

"Are you alright?" Parvati asked from between the bed curtains, her brown eyes wide as an owl's.

"Yes, I'm fine," Hermione told her in a fake cheery tone. "Just, you know, something I read."

"Oh...OK..." Parvati trailed off, frowning at Hermione as she walked over to her own bed. "I had to get away from Ron and Lavender." She sat down at the edge and kicked off her shoes, stretching her arms above her head before going through the routine of brushing and re-plaiting her hair like she did every night. "They started snogging, right in front of me. It was as if they'd forgotten I was right there! I didn't feel like seeing my chocolate gateau again, so I left them outside of the common room."

Back on this again, Hermione thought, tossing her book down and fighting the urge to roll her eyes. "Parvati," she began in an exasperated tone, "if you put my name into this, fair warning that I'm just going to deny it. But do you know Terry from Hufflepuff? He's a Prefect in our year."

Parvati had just gotten to the end of her plait and was securing an elastic around the end when her hands paused. "Tall Terry? With the pretty hair?"

Hermione had one more urge to roll her eyes, and resisted. "Trust you to only notice his hair, but yes, that's him. Haven't you noticed the way he looks at you?"

"No...really?"

"Yes, although I suppose you haven't noticed because you've been too busy watching Ron and Lavender kiss. Anyway, you should ask him to Hogsmeade at the weekend. I think you two would have fun."

"Really?" Parvati repeated, sounding completely flummoxed that someone had actually noticed her.

"Yes, really. Now maybe you'll stop moping around. You two can go to that stupid tea shop and kiss over a pile of scones."

Hermione wanted to laugh when she thought about Madam Puddifoot's tea shop and Harry's date gone bad when he and Cho Chang went. Even though it was a while ago, whenever one of the girls in their House mentioned going on a date at the tea shop, Harry cringed and did nothing to hide it. He told Hermione that if someone didn't mind sitting in a tiny room that looked as if it had become sick and thrown up generous amounts of little lacy things— which she pointed out were doilies— that they should visit, otherwise to steer clear. It had been all she could do to not laugh when he told her that he wanted to use his wand on the cherub that had flown too closely to his face, giving him an eyeful of 'happy cherub arse', as Harry put it.

Hermione had never really been the sort of frilly lace and bows sort. The tea or coffee shops she went to back home had been simple yet functional, and she could sit with a book while avoiding a face full of festive confetti. Just then she nearly screamed, thinking about her and Snape going to a tea shop, and having a cherub toss confetti at him. His appearance alone would probably scare half the guests, and then a well-timed sneer would send the cherubs scattering. Unless there was a bold cherub in the bunch that would hastily leave a handful of confetti hearts by Snape's teacup. Or throw some at him before flying away.

"Hermione?" Parvati asked, looking at her.

Hermione was in the middle of thinking about Snape picking heart-shaped confetti out of his lank, oily hair, while fighting back a laugh, and hadn't realised that Parvati was calling her name for the last thirty seconds. I really must be going mental, going by the way I'm cracking myself up over here. "I'm sorry; yes?"

"I was just telling you thank you, and then goodnight...but you sort of drifted off for a moment."

"Yeah, I've been doing that a lot lately. Just a lot on my mind I suppose. You're welcome, and goodnight." Hermione managed a weak smile for Parvati, who apparently was appeased, as she turned her back and crawled into bed and drew its curtains shut.

A few more of her housemates ambled into the room, each looking as if they'd stuffed themselves to the point of befuddlement, judging by the glazed look in their eyes. Even Ginny had little to say as she came into the room, yawning as she waved to Hermione.

Hermione had just set her book on her bedside table when the lights when out in the room. Everyone was already falling asleep, and she drew the curtains around her bed to do the same. Sliding beneath the covers and curling up on her side, she thought back to the way Snape had her pressed against the wall in the dungeon classroom. Right then she noticed that her back was a bit sore from the rubbly feel of the stones that abraded her skin, even through the thick material of her jumper.

Snape wasn't going to get off easy. There was no way Hermione was going to let him. She didn't know when or where, but they were definitely going to finish what they started.

"Hermione, wait!" Ron called behind her. "Where are you going?"

Hermione stopped in her tracks, spinning around to glare at her best friend. Harry stood next to him, and was also warily eyeing her as if he expected her to throw some sort of tantrum.

"The library," she retorted, angrily shuffling her rucksack to her other shoulder and continuing in the direction she started for.

"But I thought we were going to—"

"Just leave it, Ron," Harry said in a low voice. "I know how she feels."

The three had just left their Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Class had started off smoothly, yet when they all handed in their essays that had been assigned for homework the previous day, Snape had taken one look at Hermione's minute-sized handwriting, all cramped onto the full length of parchment. She had written more than was requested, and apparently it was enough for the professor to call her out on it.

The next incident was when Snape asked the class a question. As always, no one raised their hand. Hermione raised hers, and it stayed up so long Ron whispered to her if it was starting to cramp. Finally, when Snape called on her as a last resort, her answer had been too long, or too clinical-sounding, as he put, and that had been cause for even more of his snarky brand of berating.

It was more than Hermione could handle, and for the first time, she found herself grateful that a class had finished. Harry was well acquainted with Snape's biting remarks and tuned them out more easily, but Hermione, who received praise from mostly every other professor, still found it hard to become immune to. The fact that she had been intimate with the professor only added fuel to the fire.

The only place she could go to distract herself was the library, where it was bound to be empty. It was a Friday afternoon, and Defence had been their last class. Ron and Harry wanted to go to the Quidditch pitch, and cajoled Hermione into coming with them. Only after being embarrassed in front of her classmates, the only thing she could think about was getting away from everyone.

"I'll see you two later, maybe for dinner," she told the boys before walking off.

Hermione was still seething as she dropped down into one of the seats behind a small desk by the window in the library. Madam Pince, the vulture-like librarian, had treated her to one of her usual sharp glares as she walked into the room and past her book-cluttered desk, and even that had little effect on the already upset witch.

All that week, Hermione had been ignored by the professor. She didn't mind that so much. Yet when Friday came around, it seemed that the professor had either gotten out of bed on the wrong side, or had a personal vendetta against all students who weren't in Slytherin, as he took a gratuitous amount of House points from everyone, even before class had started.

The Slytherins snorted, while everyone reined in their annoyance, knowing that Professor Snape wasn't one to be trifled with. Hermione tried to reason with herself that the professor was under a lot of stress, yet it still didn't change the fact that she wanted to wipe the little smirk off his face by biting his upper lip. Or the lower, either didn't matter, so long as they were pressed against hers. But he really had been very difficult, and even she found it hard to stay optimistic.

Hermione now had several books in front of her, surrounding the small desk she was sitting at. Huffing as she pored over the notes she took for each class that day, she barely noticed the tall wizard hovering over her.

"Say, Granger, I thought that was you."

Without bothering to straighten the frown on her face, Hermione turned her head and looked up to find none other than cocky McLaggen standing there, leaning against the bookshelf. He looked as if he'd stepped out of a glossy magazine instead of a classroom, as if his uniform had been tailored to fit him like a suit for a formal event. She was half tempted to ask if he was lost, as she barely remembered his pretty face lurking among the library stacks.

And there goes that perfect hair, Hermione sniffed inwardly, venturing a glance at his tidy, golden curls. She was so busy critiquing his fastidious appearance that she completely missed his question.

"I'm sorry—what?"

"Slughorn's do. I didn't think you were going with anyone and I thought I'd take a chance. Interested?"

Oh you didn't, did you? Damn, I forgot about that party; I was going to ask Ron if he wanted to go, but Lav-Lav would probably have two coronaries and a stroke if I asked him. "Sure, I'll go with you," she answered without putting much thought into her words, sounding just a tad brusque. The other part of Hermione saying yes, was more than anything for McLaggen to leave her alone so she could continue with her reading. His presence alone was distracting her.

"Alright then, Granger. I'll see you around." With that, he walked off in the other direction, swaggering with each step as if he was the king of everything.

"Idiot. He's an idiot, and you're an idiot for saying yes," Hermione mumbled to herself as an afterthought once the sight of his pretty hair disappeared around the corner. But she figured there was no harm in going to the party with him. It would only last two or three hours at the most; surely she would be able to put up with him for such a short time.

Damn! she inwardly swore fifteen minutes later. Nostrils flaring as she looked down at her book, Hermione realised that she had been staring at the same page the entire time, and desperately tried to regain her focus. McLaggen coming across her wasn't the only thing that had her usually undivided attention torn to shreds. The smirk on Snape's face in class had been enough to make her stomach churn nervously, and when he brushed past her desk, her insides did a complete somersault. It had been enough to almost make her lose her lunch. Hermione's only saving grace had been that it was the end of class, and her feet felt like lead as she trudged out of the room.

Now she had to deal with the prospect of avoiding McLaggen's unwanted stares for an evening. Hermione had briefly considered not attending the party when first invited, but knew that it would be rude. Besides, she had herself to think about, and her grades. If putting up with the sycophantic, walrus-mustached professor for a few hours worked in her favour, then so be it.

She hadn't liked the way that Slughorn blatantly disregarded Ron to talk to her and Harry. He did it when they were on the train, as well as when they were in the Madam Rosmerta's pub in Hogsmeade. Hermione had an idea of the sort of man Horace Slughorn was, and the very thought grated her nerves. Ron couldn't help where he came from, just like Harry couldn't, and it wasn't fair for anyone to be handpicked or ignored for something, based on their background. And while Ron might have been a bit on the lazy side, and like every other friendship, the three had their ups and downs, they came far enough to not let anyone treat the other shoddily.

It turned out that Ron wasn't all that disappointed at not being able to attend Slughorn's party. His biggest let down was that he wouldn't be able to sample all of the delicious food that was sure to be served. It was no big secret that Slughorn had a taste that ran to the side of ostentatious, and Ron pouted at the idea of not sampling some of the fine cuisine.

Ginny had grown tired of her brother's complaining, and promised that she would bring him some fancy sweets wrapped in a napkin if he promised to shut up. Ron had then grinned at his little sister, stretching out one long arm to ruffle her hair, and laughed when she hissed in annoyance.

The day of the party, Hermione had been ever so grateful for the privacy of the prefects' lavatory. Wanting to avoid the curious stares of her housemates, she took her time getting dressed and attempting to do something marginally different with her curls. No matter what she did, they refused to lie flat, and no amount of charms or hairpins could tame it.

Asking herself why she was even bothering , as she was only going with McLaggen, Hermione had then returned to Gryffindor Tower. Ron and Lavender were sitting in the common room, squished together on the sofa and looking quite cosy. Their giddy third wheel, otherwise known as Parvati, was nowhere to be found, and Hermione smirked, as she had an idea just where the witch was.

The Friday after Hermione had suggested to Parvati that she try and chat up Terry in Hufflepuff, the dark-haired witch hadn't wasted any time in reporting back that Terry was, in fact, interested in her, and that they were going to Hogsmeade together the next day. Hermione had been happy for her friend, but she was also knackered. She had practically ripped her clothes off, shuffled into her nightgown and crawled into bed, feeling as if she'd been run over. Hermione had spent most of her evening in the library, working on revisions. Her eyes were so sore they felt as if they'd been bleeding, and the last thing she felt like hearing was Parvati gushing over the Ten Things that Terry Told Me. Finally, when she refused to stop loudly chattering, Fay Dunbar, another of their housemates, spoke up across the room, and threatened to jinx her tongue in place if it would keep her from talking. Parvati had then giggled in that annoying way of hers, but she did stop talking, and Hermione was sure that the girl was laying there in bed, grinning up in the dark.

Lavender nor Ron complained about Parvati's absence, although the blonde witch did a double-take as Hermione stepped through the portrait hole.

"Are you going like that?" Lavender asked, two glaringly critical brown eyes roving over Hermione's form.

Hermione had to pause to look down at herself. There were no runs in her tights, and she had on heels that were high enough to lend a certain amount of dressiness to her outfit, yet not so high that she would be teetering around all night. Her party dress wasn't new; the deep rose-coloured garment had only been worn one, and skimmed along her collarbones and flared out just so at the waist. True, she had thrown her completely clashing school robes over the whole ensemble, but it was a long walk from the prefects' bathroom and Hogwarts became so cold at night...

"What do you mean? Like what?" Hermione bristled when she looked down and was unable to find anything that was out of place.

"Your hair! It's just—there! And you don't have a stitch of makeup on, and I won't even mention your bare nails—"

"My fingernails are fine, thank you very much," Hermione shot back, "and I have on lip balm. That's all I need."

Lavender's laugh was light and tinkling as she threw her head back. Her long blonde curls were tossed back and forth as she writhed about, and Hermione was met with the strong urge to stomp over on her two-inch heels and soundly tug on the perfect shiny spirals.

"Where are you going?" Ron frowned when Lavender shoved his hand out of her lap and stood up.

"To help your friend!" she told him, tossing her hair back over one shoulder and walking to the staircase that lead up to the dormitories. "Well?" she paused, looking over at Hermione, "let's go!"

"If you hear screaming, and it doesn't sound like my voice, you'd better not send for help," Hermione spat towards Ron as she schlepped along, as if she were being led to a hanging instead of a semi-makeover.

"Sure thing," Ron grinned, putting both feet up on the sofa and stretching out with his arms folded beneath his head.

"I don't even know why you're bothering, Lavender," Hermione grumbled once they were upstairs.

Lavender had immediately shoved Hermione to sit down on her bed, before kneeling in front of her now opened trunk. While trying to figure out what the blonde was planning, Hermione peeked over to her own bed. Crookshanks was curled up and napping in the centre of her duvet, looking as if it was his bed instead of hers.

"I'm not that bad," Lavender was now saying, her voice muffled behind the thick leather lid of her trunk. "You act as if I'm going to chop off your hands."

Hermione had been staring down at her unvarnished fingernails. Surely Lavender was exaggerating. True, they held no colour other than her own skin tone, but they were neatly clipped and filed into rounded edges. Hermione did that, at least, as she was prone to scratching herself whenever her nails became too long.

"You're right— you're worse," she grumbled. "I don't even think the party is going to be for that long, and if it is, I'm only staying a couple of hours. I don't see the sense in making all this fuss."

"Any occasion, no matter how long it's for, is reason enough to primp," Lavender announced, the top of her blonde head popping up from the foot of the bed. She came over to Hermione, a small wooden box in her hands. Hermione was highly suspicious as she watched Lavender lifting the lid to expose a small, shiny leaflet, that had the name Madam Primpernelle on the front.

"Honestly; can you be any more cliché?" Hermione half expected Lavender to pull out a Muggle bottle of bubblegum pink nail varnish, or worse, bright red lipstick. She sincerely hoped there wasn't any nail varnish in Lavender's box. The last time she'd tried to use it, the only thing she gained was smudged nails, because they took too long to dry, as well as a splitting headache.

"Well, where else do you think I'd learned my beauty charms from?" Lavender asked, her wand now in her right hand as she single-handedly pored through the leaflet with the left. "Well, my mum did teach me a few, and Parvati and I figured out some on our own, but— here! This is the one we need."

Hermione couldn't help the fierce scowl that suddenly upturned her face. "Lavender, you'd BETTER not make me look like a clown!"

"Relax, Hermione, I won't. I'll just use a few charms that are subtle enough. You don't seem like the sort that would do something too... out there."

Hermione craned her neck over to peer at the opened pages of Lavender's leaflet, coming across the page titled in fancy, swirling script: Madam Primpernelle's Beautifying Charm for the Bold and Beautiful-Not for the meek or faint of heart!

"You're right— I'm not. I'd sooner gnaw off my own arm. Hmm, I wonder if that's the same charm that Gilderoy Lockhart used before the start of class each day?"

Both girls couldn't help giggling at remembrance of the extremely dapper yet highly daft professor, who seemed more concerned with his perfectly coiffed appearance, or doctored tales of adventure, than actually teaching.

"No...I bet he used this one," Lavender giggled, flipping to another page of the leaflet. This page read: Madam Primpernelle's Beautifying Charm for the Wizard That Wants to Look Like A Lord, Yet Spend Less Time Than It Takes To Conjure A Glass Of Water.

"Well, that's a mouthful," Hermione mused under her breath.

"Tell me about it," Lavender replied. "Now give me your hand and hold still."

"Lavender...nothing too bright. You know I don't like bubblegum, and I definitely don't want its colour on my nails."

"Relax, Hermione. I know what I'm doing. Trust me, you'll love it."

With that, Lavender poked the tip of her wand to each of Hermione's fingertips, charming her nails the palest shade of seashell pink. When she finished the first nail, and Hermione grudgingly offered her approval, Lavender grinned, and finished charming the other nine nails.

"Now close your eyes," she directed after letting go of Hermione's hands.

"What for?" Hermione asked warily.

"Because you'll keep blinking if your eyes are opened while I point my wand at your face, so close them!"

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she did close them. All the while, she was praying that she wouldn't have to do some serious charm reversal before the party, and hopefully none that would require her to visit their Head of House, as she knew that McGonagall would pitch a fit.

McGonagall had made Parvati take out a butterfly hair ornament from the end of her plait when students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang visited for the Triwizard Tournament; surely she would have plenty to say about beautifying charms.

While Hermione sat nervously at the edge of Lavender's bed, trying to keep her heel-encased feet from slipping on the rug beneath them, she flinched slightly when she felt a gust of air brush over her arms. Lavender had evidently moved in front of her, her footsteps leading to where what sounded like her trunk again, before they came back.

"I actually like your hair," she said, something that shocked the spit out of Hermione. "But it's just...there, and in your face."

"Well, what do you propose?"

"Hmm..." Lavender's chirpy voice trailed off.

Two hands suddenly came towards Hermione's head, and proceeded to twist and heft her curls around. She had to admit that Lavender's hands were gentle, and weren't trying to tug her hair out of her scalp, nor bend it into an impossible hairdo. It felt as if she was now twisting a bit of Hermione's curls back and away from her face, charming or pinning them into place with something. Lavender then did the same to the other side, and announced that she was finished.

"Do you like it?" she asked, handing her a small mirror.

Hermione was surprised by her own appearance. Thank Merlin and Circe, Lavender had actually done what she promised. Hermione didn't look painted beyond recognition, nor did she look like one of the less-than-savoury witches who skulked about Knockturn Alley in too-tight, too low-cut robes.

Her cheeks and lips had just a hint of colour, and her lashes looked full and framed her brown eyes. She refused to tell Lavender, but her favourite part was her charmed nails. Maybe if she felt like it, she would ask for the spell later on.

"Since your hair is back, you should put on earrings. And a necklace with that dress, if you've got one," Lavender pointed out.

"I do; thanks," she answered, handing back the mirror after taking one last look at her curls. Lavender had taken small sections of the curls that otherwise hung in on her face, and rolled and twisted them until the lie against her scalp. The twists were held in place by two small jeweled clips that glistened and sparkled whenever she moved her head.

"Perfume?" Lavender asked, twisting around to dig through her little box.

"No thank you; I don't really use it," Hermione replied, motioning for her to not bother.

"Alright then. You can keep the hair clips," Lavender offered once she turned back around. "They look better in your hair than they do mine."

"Thanks again, Lavender," Hermione repeated. She got up from the bed and walked over to her own trunk, digging out the small pouch that held the few pieces of jewelry she owned and only wore on special occasions. Dumping out a small pair of gold studs that had been a gift from her parents on her fifteenth birthday, along with a gold teardrop pendant, Hermione dug out her own mirror to appraise her reflection. She found that Lavender was right; the jewelry did look good with her dress and pinned back hair. She looked slightly older than her true age, and felt a bit more polished than she might had she had done the primping herself.

Pleased with her handiwork, Lavender gave Hermione one last look before humming in approval, and turning to walk out of the dormitory.

The only thing Hermione left to do was to dig out a shawl and throw it over her shoulders. She wouldn't have felt right wearing her school robes over her dress, even though they would offer more warmth. And Lavender would most likely have a fit for her wearing something so drab and shapeless over an outfit that was meant to be displayed.

"Behave while I'm gone, Crooks," Hermione whispered to the sleeping feline. She gave his head a gentle scratch, to which he returned with a lazy swish of his bottlebrush tail. She then closed the bed curtains completely, leaving her cat to snooze in peace.

"See you two later!" Hermione called once she finally went back down to the common room. "Try to leave each other's lips on," she said to Ron and Lavender, who were both going at it. Lavender was clearly the aggressor, and Hermione wanted to ask Ron if he was able to breathe, as his girlfriend's arms were practically choking his neck. The redhead seemed to have no complaints, but he did pull his face back from Lavender's long enough to tell her goodbye, and to remind her to tell Ginny to not forget his fancy biscuits from the party.

Shaking her head and righting her shawl over her exposed shoulders, Hermione walked through the portrait hole and out into the corridor. McLaggen said that he would meet her in front of the Fat Lady's portrait at eight o'clock.

The Fat Lady had left her frame, most likely to visit her friend, Violet, and the ornate painting's background looked odd without her sitting in it.

The corridor was quiet, and Hermione became lost in thought as she waited for her date. She wondered where Severus was, and how he was faring. While she was still cross with him for yelling at her and putting her out of the classroom, it still didn't change the way she felt about him. Nor would it stop her from worrying about him.

Hermione had done the math when Professor Slughorn first came to Hogwarts, and worked out that he was Head of Slytherin House at the same time Snape was a student. She wondered how Snape had done in his class, and then grew pensive as she thought about a teenage Severus Snape. What was he like? Was he always brooding and sarcastic? Or had leading a double life made him that way?

Ruminating over more unknown variables about her lover–if she could still call him that, as those details had become quite fuzzy– Hermione dug her wristwatch out of her handbag and frowned when she saw its face. By eight-fifteen, she found herself getting annoyed. She was a punctual person, and one of her pet peeves was someone being late.

"Oh! Looks like you've finally done something with that hair," the Fat Lady, who had now returned and looked rather lively, suddenly said, breaking Hermione out of her reverie.

"Err...thank you?" she replied, frowning. For goodness' sake, my hair isn't that bad! They behave as if I'm walked around with tentacles on my head!

"It looks rather nice pulled back like that, dear. We can see your pretty face."

Hermione went from being indignant to chuffed, and her cheeks flushed pink. Pretty wasn't a word she was used to hearing when it came to her, unless she counted her dad. "Thank you," she wistfully told the Fat Lady.

"Are you waiting for someone?"

"Yes; my escort for Professor Slughorn's party. He said he'd be here by eight, I can't imagine what's holding him up."

"Hmph!" the Fat Lady harrumphed, as if she was personally insulted on Hermione's behalf. "These young men; no sense of anything at all. In my day, if a gentleman said he was going to collect you at a certain time, then he stuck with it! I just don't understand these children nowadays."

Hermione began nodding in agreement. The Fat Lady had just drawn in another breath, ready to go deeper into her tirade when she noticed McLaggen further down the corridor. He had the nerve to be walking at a drawn-out pace, as if he were moving slowly enough to be admired, by who, Hermione knew not, because there was no one besides paintings in the corridors, instead of one who had their date waiting for the past twenty minutes.

"Alright, Granger," he greeted when he finally walked upon Hermione.

It seemed that McLaggen must have spent extra time primping, or he'd rushed doing so, because whatever fragrance he put on, it was cloying and stung her eyes, and threatened to singe the fine hairs inside of her nostrils. Hermione was cross and fidgety, and had half a mind to tell him that apart from his tardiness, his too-strong cologne was an insult to her nostrils and reason enough for her to not go anywhere with him. "You're late," she snapped, holding up her watch. "Do you have one of these? Or perhaps its broken?"

"Sorry about that," McLaggen replied dismissively as he held out his arm. "Ready?"

Hermione glowered at the wizard, but she still took his arm. She supposed that he definitely spent all of his time, and then some, primping, most likely putting Lavender's as well as Lockhart's regimen to shame. He looked so shiny and spiffy from head to touch that it seemed nearly criminal to touch him.

Hair that perfect ought to come with a 'Do Not Touch' sign, Hermione drolly mused of the perfect golden locks.

McLaggen seemed to forget that he'd been tardy, and went on to talk about himself at great length on the entire walk to Slughorn's party. Hermione had kept her head averted from his chest, trying to avoid the strong wafting cologne that seemed to regenerate with each step of McLaggen's perfectly pressed and sharp-creased trouser clad legs. She almost regretted accepting his invitation, especially when he began going on about Quidditch, and how it wasn't fair of Harry to pick 'that Weasley boy' over him.

Hermione quickly put an end to any bad-mouthing about her friends. McLaggen became sulky, yet Hermione was adamant that if he was going to behave like a cretin, then she would go back to Gryffindor Tower on her own.

McLaggen seemed to take the threat of attending a party on his own to be some great injustice, because he immediately fell back into somewhat better behaviour. When they arrived at the party, he gallantly offered to get Hermione some punch, and walked off in aims of the refreshments table.

"Hermione...are you here with who I think you're here with?" Harry asked. He'd caught sight of his best friend and walked over. Luna was with him, wearing some sort of odd-looking sparkly dress, although it didn't look odd on her.

"Hullo, Hermione," she said brightly. "You look nice."

"Thanks, Luna," Hermione replied, before looking back at Harry. "Yes, I am, and you'd better not say a word about it, either," she told him. "He already started in on you on the way over, saying that you only gave Ron a position on the team because of your friendship, so I told him if he was going to on about that all night, that I'd end our date right now."

"Oh, so that explains why he gave me a dirty look before skulking off in the other direction," Harry replied, sounding as though he didn't give a damn.

"Hmm. Where's Ginny?" Hermione then asked, looking around for the redhead. "Ron wanted me to remind her to not forget his fancy biscuits. As if he needs them."

Harry gave a snort, and jerked his head in the direction of an already bleary-eyed Professor Slughorn, who had one beefy hand wrapped around a goblet of what Hermione was sure wasn't pumpkin juice. Ginny was standing next to the professor, along with two other witches in fancy dress robes that she had never seen before, and she looked as if she wanted to do nothing more than get away.

Slughorn was obviously praising Ginny about something that Hermione couldn't make out, but it was obvious by the way he kept gesticulating towards her with his goblet, causing some of the liquid to slosh up and down the sides. He bore a wide grin beneath the walrus mustache, and with his free hand gave Ginny a small pat on her shoulder.

The two witches kept smiling politely and nodding their heads, although it was clear that they were trying to stay out of the way of Slughorn's freely moving hand that was wrapped around the goblet. When the third wave of liquid rose up and splashed out again, the two witches begged their pardon and quickly moved away, leaving behind Slughorn and Ginny.

Thankfully, at that same moment, Slughorn noticed someone else walking into his party and ambled away without another word. Ginny looked as if she had breathed a sigh of relief, just as her brown eyes caught sight of an amused Harry and Hermione.

"Some friends you are!" she bellowed after walking over to the group. "I thought the man was going to dump his entire cup on top of my head! He says he's drinking wine, but that did not smell like wine."

"Sorry, Ginny," Harry chuckled. "Although we would have matched," he continued, pointing to a small damp spot of his black dress robes. "Slughorn went to shake my hand–I guess he'd forgotten that he had already shaken hands when I first came in, because he offered his a second time not five minutes after– only he gave me the hand that was still holding onto his drink. Nearly spilled the entire damn thing on my robes, too."

"Well, that's what you get for leaving me over there with him," Ginny sniffed. "Come on, Luna, let's go see what sweets that have before I have to kill my brother."

Luna dutifully trailed behind Ginny, and the two made their way through the crowd in search of Ron's fancy biscuits.

"So what happened; how did you end up with two dates?" Hermione teased.

"I still don't know. One minute, Ginny and I were talking about the party, and Ginny said that Luna would probably like to come, so we invited her."

"Oh, is that it? I thought maybe you were going to go into some story about how they both valiantly fought for your honour, and in the end you decided to bring them both."

"I'm sure your story about how you and McLaggen ended up here together is more colourful than that silly little one you just thought up," Harry chortled.

"Ugh, don't ask," Hermione grimaced. "He cornered me off, almost literally, in the library."

"Almost literally?"

"I was sitting in the corner, studying, when he found me. There was no place for me to go; it was either squeeze past him in that narrow space or jump out the window."

"Should've Accio'd a broomstick; at least you could have flown away."

Hermione had just swatted a laughing Harry on the arm when McLaggen came back over, holding to glasses of punch and bearing an unfriendly look when he saw the messy-haired wizard standing next to his date.

"Potter," he greeted with a stiff nod of the head.

"McLaggen," Harry shot back with a matching enthusiasm.

"Thank you!" Hermione interrupted, taking the punch from McLaggen. It was awkward standing between the two, and purely out of needing something to do, besides breathing through her mouth to avoid inhaling McLaggen's offensive cologne, she took a small sip of punch and began looking around Slughorn's office.

Whoever decorated the room had gone out of their way. Ornate and most likely expensive draperies and hangings covered the large space, giving the illusion of being inside of a lavish tent. Trays of food and drink were being offered by little clusters of house-elves, and lively music poured from one corner of the room.

McLaggen kept scowling, to the point that Harry was sorely tempted to tell him to build a bridge and get over it. Knowing that Hermione wouldn't want a fight to break out, he instead chose to find Ginny and Luna, and left the two still holding onto their glasses of punch.

Part of Hermione wished that Harry would stay behind, but she always knew that it wasn't fair to expect him to stick around when he had his own date. Of course, she wished that she had the forethought to stick cotton inside of her handbag, as her eardrums began bleeding and protesting with fortitude when McLaggen began telling her about his prowess when it came to Quidditch.

Don't care. I don't care. Don't care about that either. Oh will you shut up already?! Hermione fussed to herself. Purely out of the need to keep her IQ from dropping, she began reciting Potions ingredients in her head in alphabetical order. She thought it funny that she should think of that specific subject when there was so many others she preferred, Arithmancy being one of them, but perhaps it was her subconscious that made her think about where and from whom she had learned about said ingredients.

"D'you want to go look around?" McLaggen was now asking her. "We haven't moved from this spot since we've arrived."

"Oh, alright," Hermione replied. Anything that would keep him from yammering on, she was open to.

Unfortunately, McLaggen's idea of 'looking around' turned out to be a ploy to find a spot away from the other partygoers. No sooner than they were in a little curtain-covered niche of the room, did his hands immediately go around her waist.

"Don't be like that, Granger," McLaggen tried to sweet-talk. "You don't need to play coy with me."

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione spat, wriggling out of his long arms and ducking back. She moved so suddenly that her back hit a velvet-covered wall, and although the surface had a thin layer of padding, it was hard and still hurt.

"I know that you shouldn't appear too eager, but trust me, I don't mind," he continued, now moving in close to keep her against the wall.

Hermione's eyes grew wide with shock. She still had her shawl wrapped around her shoulders, but even with the length of soft material covering the upper half of her body, she still felt naked with McLaggen's eyes practically burning through her clothes.

One minute, she was looking for an out to make an escape, the next, the burly seventh-year had boldly pulled her against him, and it felt as if his arms were everywhere. One hand was tugging on her hair, the other gripping onto the curve of her waist.

Stomach rolling with what could only be construed as revulsion, Hermione stamped her two-inch heels into the top of McLaggen's foot. He let out a muffled oomph! but released his grip, and Hermione used that opportunity to get away.

She wasn't amused, to say the least, and she felt dirty. What in the hell gave McLaggen the idea that he could take such liberties? Had she somehow mistakenly given him the idea that his advances were welcomed?

Angrily huffing and puffing and she walked back to the crowded part of the room, Hermione vainly tried to fix her ruffled hair with trembling fingers. Her shawl had begun slipping off her shoulders when she fell back against the wall, and she took her time fixing it. Vowing to find Harry to tell him that she was leaving early, Hermione was so upset that she never noticed a pair of dark eyes watching her every step.
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Unintentional Inveiglement