Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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
- 21
- 22
- 23
A/N: Soo...where is everyone? It's nearly like a ghost town around these parts! Hopefully everyone didn't get bogged down like the flu...like everyone in my family :/

Hermione was back in the dormitories by daybreak. She was eagerly opening her Christmas presents, albeit it with a completely distracted mind.

Earlier that morning, she hadn't any idea of the time; the only thing she would have guessed was that it wasn't quite five am.

Severus had woken up, that much was obvious by the sound of his breathing. Hermione had noticed that even when she and Severus shared a bed back at Grimmauld Place, sometimes he would wake up throughout the night. He never said anything, he would merely lie there, staring up into the darkness.

Surmising that he was having trouble sleeping, Hermione moved closer to Severus and slipped an arm around his body. They were both still dressed, although her nightshirt had ridden up over her thigh when she shifted around beneath the duvet.

Like always, Severus remain quiet, although he did pull Hermione closer. Her chest was to his back, and she could feel his heartbeat steadily thumping against her. She was glad that he had long gotten over his aversion of her kissing or hugging him. Not that Hermione had ever been much of a touchy-feely person. There had been plenty of times where she dodged hugs and kisses, along with the occasional hair tug that was always accompanied by some comment about her curls.

It wasn't as if Hermione planned on snogging Severus' face off; if she had taken the Lavender Brown approach, he would most likely have hexed first and then avoided questions later. Still, it would have been too weird to be sleeping with the professor without being able to kiss him at all. The feel of his wiry arms around her body was another story. Hermione found that it was quite intimate and she liked it. More than liked it, if she was honest with herself.

That morning, Severus had kept his arm around her body. Her breasts were right above his forearm, and his hand was against her stomach, his long fingers splayed over her nightshirt covered navel.

At first, Severus carried on with running his knuckles over her clothed body. Seconds later, he grasped onto Hermione's nightshirt and pulled it up until the lower half of her body was exposed. A breathless moan escaped Hermione's mouth when she felt Severus' thin lips brush against a sensitive spot at the back of her neck.

Severus slid his hand beneath Hermione's nightshirt, his fingers making a continuous circuit on the area between her breasts and stomach. Briefly caressing the curve of her hip, he moved down to stroke her thighs which easily parted to grant him access. Slowly he continued moving until his knuckles brushed against the curls covering her sex. His fingertips grazed and caressed her outer folds, touching everywhere else except for where Hermione wanted. Finally when she had grown tired of his teasing, she rolled over onto her back and hastily grabbed at Severus to pull him on top of her.

Snape had to push himself up on both forearms to keep from falling on the eager witch, who didn't seem to care about their awkward positioning. Once he was situated in a way that would keep him from crushing her, Snape reached down between her legs again. Each time his fingertips circled around her clitoris, Hermione's hips would rise slightly off the mattress, pressing herself further into his touch.

The witch had grown so wet that it nearly felt as if his entire hand was engulfed. His pointer and middle were embedded in her slick heat, his pinky teasing the tighter ring of flesh below while his thumb massaging her clit. Sliding his little finger forward, merely to test her reaction, Snape was rewarded with a low hiss of pleasure as Hermione grabbed onto the front of his nightshirt.

Hermione decided that she wanted to be kissed, and lunged forward so quickly that had her forehead nearly met with the bridge of Snape's nose. Intent on keeping him close, she cupped either side of his face and crushed her lips against his, although she made sure not to choke him with her tongue.

For a brief moment, Hermione opened her eyes to see Severus partially hunched over her. She didn't know that eyes dark as bottomless pits could appear as if they were burning, but his were, and they were burning right into hers.

Just as she was being accustomed to the steady rhythm Severus was using on her that would surely lead to her release, the fingers moving inside her shifted and pressed into a different spot, and her climax was nearly instantaneous. Erupting with a force that left her breathless and trembling, Hermione was completely unaware that she had trapped Severus' hand between her clenched thighs until he began prying them apart.

Swiftly he settled into the cradle of her hips, roughly grabbing at the bottom of his nightshirt and tugging it out the way to reveal a prominent erection. Hermione had been too aroused to muster up a complaint when he covered her body with his, grabbed onto her wrist with a hand that was still sticky from her release and held it down above her head.

She let out a satisfied sigh when Severus thrust into her. All it took was one sweet sound of longing against Severus's ears, and he proceeded to take her hard and fast, making Hermione nearly rip the sheets off the bed when she floundered for something to hold on to. She'd been caught between moaning and screaming, although every sound that escaped her lips was lost to Severus' mouth, which had soon been firmly planted against hers.

Along the way, Hermione ended up with her knees pressed to her chest and Severus gripping two handfuls of the back of her thighs. His hips never ceased its relentless pounding, and the sensation of him moving deeply within her had been so great it left her head spinning. It felt as if the blunt end of his cock was trying to make his way into her womb, but Hermione focused on the pleasure and it overrode the pain. After her second orgasm, Hermione had been so lost to it all that she never noticed her hand making its way beneath Severus' nightshirt, where she proceeded to dig her nails into his shoulder.

Just when Hermione thought Severus was done, he knelt up between her legs and wrenched off his nightshirt. After tugging her to sit up and stripping her naked as well, he positioned Hermione to lie on flat on her stomach, and plunged right back into her.

Each time Severus lunged forward, his sac slapped against her clit with just enough pressure to make her squirm, and he had to hold onto her hips to keep her in place. Every deep stroke had just fallen short of making Hermione climax a third time. Finally her release caught her completely off guard when Severus slightly changed the angle of this thrusts, while slipping one long finger into a tighter part of her body, all without losing his rhythm.

Between the witch greedily pushing back onto his pistoning cock and finger, crying out as her body tightened and convulsed around him, Snape had been unable to hold back and swore loudly, his shuddering body pressed tightly against Hermione as he spilled inside her.

Once she regained her senses, Hermione had laughed weakly at the sudden thought that crossed her mind. She knew it had been a crass thing to do, but figured how crass could she be considering that Severus was naked and on half-collapsed on top of her, with them both still intimately joined, and so she muttered a languid, "Happy Christmas, indeed," into the sheets.

Snape had been in the middle of kissing the back of her damp neck when he delivered a light slap to her behind, making her laugh.

Hermione had suddenly felt so worn out that the last thing she remembered was rolling over and pulling Severus down for a kiss before going back to sleep.

All in all, her Christmas had started off very nicely. She had never begun a holiday by getting shagged into once crisp bed sheets that she had a hand in rumpling, yet quickly she learned of its merits.

No one would suspect the reason for Hermione's cheeks remaining flush all that morning, or why she kept smiling, as if she was in on some private joke, even though she hadn't spoken to anyone. It was hard to keep focused, even on a simple task of pulling wrapping paper off parcels.

Hermione's mum sent her a few nightgowns, along with a note explaining that she knew how 'dreadfully cold' the school became at night. There was also the prerequisite packet of healthy treats, although there was also a small box of fancy chocolates and an envelope with currency, which Hermione suspected had been snuck in by her dad. Mrs. Weasley sent one of her homemade hat and scarf sets, while Ron and Harry each gave her books that they knew had been on her to-buy list.

Dobby had been given an assortment of children's clothes that the three purchased from a shop in Hogsmeade, and the house-elf had been ecstatic to receive his present. In turn, he gave Hermione a pair of thick socks that didn't match, but were pretty nonetheless; one had a snowflake embroidered into the side, and the other had a snowman. The socks weren't Hermione's taste, as she preferred ones that were white and matched. But they were handmade by the house-elf, and it was the thought that counted, so she fondly added them to her pile of presents.

After going to the dormitory and packing everything away in her trunk, Hermione settled down on her bed. Resting her head on its end, she distractedly watched Crookshanks playing with his Christmas present, a brand new plush spider stuffed with catnip. Crookshanks batted his paws at the thing, chewing and shaking it as if it were alive.

"You silly thing," Hermione chided, laughing as the cat sent his toy scurrying across the floor, only for him to raise his furry bottle-brush tail in the air and go running after it. The stuffed spider apparently became lost beneath one of the beds, because Crooks dove under and stayed there, content to bat and chew on his new toy in the dark space.

"Maybe the professor was right about you," she laughed, shaking her head when the soft thumping continued.

Turning over onto her side and staring out the window, Hermione began thinking about the person that she would hopefully spend the remainder of the holiday with. She wished that she had been able to get him something for Christmas, but what did one buy for their lover that was more than twice their age and also their professor? Also taking into account that up until recently, Hermione barely knew anything about the man. She remembered once dallying with the idea that Snape's idea of fun was swearing at baby unicorns or blasting apart rose bushes, as she remembered him doing the latter during the Yule Ball. She knew that it had been to find students kissing, but Hermione also suspected that maybe he was in a snit with Professor Sprout and thus took it out on her roses.

The only thing Hermione could go by was the fact that Snape appreciated a good meal, which was why she had enlisted the help of Dobby, who cheerfully sent her from the kitchens with enough dinner and afters for eight people.

But why did the professor have such an aversion to the holiday? Any holiday, for that matter? There was that Valentine's day two years ago where the ceiling in the Great Hall had been charmed to rain heart-shaped confetti. Hermione had just taken a bite of toast and looked towards the staff dais to notice Snape scowling into his coffee cup, before using two long fingers to pick out what she guessed were tiny pink and red hearts.

Wouldn't you be upset if you were trying to have breakfast and it rained hearts into your marmalade?

Yeah, but being upset is one thing. Severus looked like he wanted to Avada the ceiling!

Then again...the man seemed to have always gone about with a chip on his shoulder. True, he was a bit different when they were alone; a little less guarded, she would venture to say.

Hermione didn't know if she had done or said anything specific to make the professor let her in, even if it was a mere sliver, but the point was that he now seemed to somewhat trust her. It was definitely a welcome change compared to him snapping at her all the time, although Snape displayed that his snappish attitude wasn't completely done away with, as displayed when he told her to move out of his armchair.

Even that hadn't been enough to put Hermione off. She sensed that no matter what, Snape was just a touchy person, and would always be touchy. She figured he would be the sort to sneer at the sight of a rainbow.

Sure; next thing, he'll be tearing the wings off butterflies, Hermione giggled to herself.

No, he wasn't that bad. While Snape continued to display his usual dour attitude, Hermione never felt apprehensive or fearful while in his presence. That little fact in itself had to account for something. Hermione knew that she was the sort that always looked for the good in another person, never believing that anyone was inherently bad. Yes, she had been wrong in the past, but Hermione figured that she knew enough at that point to figure out who was on her side and who wasn't.

One thing was for sure—whoever the previous owner of Harry's Potions text clearly hadn't been on anyone's side, judging by the amount of dodgy spells written inside it. Hermione continued to worry that Harry would eventually getting into trouble. But no matter what she said, Harry was hardheaded and refused to turn in the book. Hermione knew what it was like to want high marks so badly that she was able to taste them, but even she had limits.

Hermione wished she could go to the library, but knew that wasn't going to happen seeing as it was Christmas Day. In the back of her mind, she could hear Ron and Harry telling her to give it a rest, that it was a holiday, and why did she want to spend her free time with her nose buried in a book?

Of course, Ron always had that attitude about her and the library. Each time he opened his mouth to complain, Hermione made it clear that perhaps he should follow her lead, as he wouldn't always need to copy her work or ask her to finish his. It never made a difference. Hermione would point out the obvious until she was blue in the face, and still Ron would continue skiving off till the last minute, only to come dashing about in high panic, looking for her. And like always, because she was such a good friend, Hermione helped him.

You are such a pushover.

Well, she had a bit more sympathy for Ron that school term. While Ron never said so, Hermione could tell that he was also tired of Slughorn fawning all over Harry in class. She couldn't help it; it rankled her to no end that Harry was out-performing her in something purely because he was cheating. That's what it was in the end: cheating.

Alright, give it a rest, Hermione. It is Christmas, after all.

Dousing the flicker of annoyance that had erupted, Hermione turned her attention onto Crookshanks, who had just jumped onto her bed. He had a real, but dead, spider dangling from the corner of his mouth.

"Happy Christmas to me? Oh, you shouldn't have," she groaned, using her foot to urge the cat back onto the floor. Crookshanks paused and stared at Hermione as if he was offended, but he jumped down anyway and continued chewing on his fresh catch. "We'd better not let Hagrid see you doing that. He'd probably think you were chewing on one of Aragog's grandchildren and—ugh! Never mind, I'd rather not think about that."

Hermione was grateful that she had been spared seeing Aragog and his children up close and personal. The story from Ron and Harry had been enough for her to know that she hadn't missed anything.

Deciding that she had already spent too much alone time in the common room, as she was unable to stop thinking about the boulder-sized spider as well as many of the other horrifying creatures she and her friends had encountered thus far, Hermione beckoned Crookshanks over. After making sure that his furry mouth was spider free, she scooped him up into her arms and carried him out of the room.

The rest of the day went by achingly slow for Hermione. She ran into Hagrid, and at his behest, spent a couple hours down at his hut. Crookshanks came along, and happily prowled about on the dirty wooden floor, looking for spiders and the like, while Fang curled up at the hearth and lazily eyed the dashing kneazle. Hagrid had been surprised about Hermione remaining at school for the holiday, but after she explained her mum's stance on traveling, he abandoned the topic.

Later that evening, Christmas dinner was served in the Great Hall. Without the normal amount of students present, the vast area seemed larger than usual, and everyone fit comfortably at one table which wasn't far from the staff dais.

Dumbledore's large ornate chair was unoccupied and very much noticeable, although before dinner was served, McGonagall announced that the Headmaster was away and left it at that. The other professors were present, Snape included, and he looked dismissive as ever. Hagrid was at the other end of the table, and winked at Hermione when he saw her sitting with the cluster of students.

The Christmas feast turned out to be quite nice. There were a variety of dishes and puddings that weren't normally served during the school year, and Hermione was surprised to find that butterbeer was also on the table.

Everyone at the student table hadn't been bosom friends, but they were all chatting comfortably by the time afters were served. The entire time, Hermione had forced herself not to look at Snape. Her task wasn't easy, especially once she thought back to what she did with him earlier that morning.

Somehow, she managed to hold herself together until time to retire for the evening. The only thing left to do was wait in Gryffindor Tower until everyone was asleep, then she would sneak back out and make her way to the dungeons.

Too stuffed with rich food to do more than lie across her bed, Hermione ended up falling asleep and didn't wake back up until it was almost eleven. After peeking at her wristwatch, she grabbed a small bag that held her shrunken belongings. Wand and Harry's map in her other hand, Hermione crept down the curved stone steps and made her way out of the dormitory.

"Sorry, I fell asleep," Hermione explained once she made it to Snape's study.

Like always, Snape seemed to know that she was near because he accidentally-on-purpose had been standing in the doorway of his chambers. Without uttering a word he stepped by to let a Disillusioned Hermione through, only speaking once the door was shut and the charm lifted.

"I figured as much," Snape replied. "You looked as if you were going to fall headfirst into your stew in the Great Hall."

Hermione grinned bashfully; had Snape actually seen that?

"I guess I did overextend myself a little," she admitted, walking behind Snape and following him further into the room.

He took his usual place in his armchair, and pointed to a second armchair adjacent from his that hadn't been there before. Hermione was pleased by the new addition but said nothing, knowing that Snape would snarl at her if she made any type of fuss. She sat across from the wizard, who was now staring into the embers, looking as if he was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, yet choosing to remain silent. He was fully dressed, something else that made her frown.

"Severus?"

It was a while before he answered with a curt, "Yes?"

"Are you alright? I-I know you can't talk about everything, but is—"

"Alright as I will ever be," he replied in a tone that meant Hermione should stop asking questions.

Slumping back into her chair, Hermione began toying with the clasp on her handbag. She had packed one of her new nightgowns and her toothbrush, but now she wondered if she would even need them.

For someone that never failed to let the world know when he was displeased with something, Hermione was surprised that Snape was so closed-mouth at the moment. Obviously something was bothering him, most likely to do with something that she had no business being subject to. Even if he had told her, Hermione was positive that she wouldn't be able to help, even though she would have tried her best.

On the way down to the dungeons, Hermione had been toying with the idea of asking Snape if he knew anything about this 'Half-blood Prince' character, yet quickly abandoned that notion. No matter what went on between her and Snape, she still couldn't rat out her best friend. Even if she gave scant details of the name or lied about where she learned of it, Snape's mind worked like a freshly honed blade, and without a doubt he would be able to work out the details or decipher why Hermione was asking.

But now that she was in front of him, and saw that the wizard looked more haggard than usual, she thought the best thing to do was remain silent.

Just then, Snape turned his head towards Hermione, and the only thing she could focus on was the two piercing black eyes pinning her into place.

"Do you trust me?" he asked so suddenly, that Hermione wasn't sure at first of the question. Snape's words came out so casually that he might have been asking her if she cared for something to drink, but belying that casualness was a glint of seriousness.

"Yes," she answered, perhaps a bit too hastily, although she was telling the truth.

I wonder how long that will last, Snape ruminated inwardly. "I did refer to you a silly girl before; have I not?"

"Yes, and foolish as well, I'm sure," Hermione replied, trying to inject a bit of lightness into the conversation. "Why do you ask? Have you broken trust with someone? Did you tell a couple of first years that Father Christmas wasn't real? Shame on you, Severus Snape."

In spite of the tension that suddenly clouded the room, Hermione kept a small smile on her face. Severus' countenance remained stony, although the corner of his mouth finally lifted into a familiar smirk.

That smirk was short-lived. Hermione noticed Severus' hand creeping towards his left forearm, and then he suddenly stopped as if a flame had been set to his skin. Rising so quickly it nearly made her head spin, Hermione watched as Severus crossed the room and picked up what looked like his black travelling cloak.

"Severus?" she asked, confusion all over her features.

"My rooms are warded, no one is able to get inside," he told her gruffly. "Although I'm sure by now you know well enough to stay hidden if needed."

"I know," Hermione replied, swallowing nervously. "Where are you ... Will you be long?"

The grim look on Snape's face was enough for her to know that there was no answer to that question. But he did promise her that he would return, before walking out of his rooms in a flourish of black.

Hermione's mouth was dry with fear, and she sat numbly in the new armchair long after Snape had gone. Damn him and that detached expression of his! Part of why she could never tell what Snape was thinking was because he mostly kept his face void of emotion. That fact wasn't a surprise, considering the way he belittled Harry for not having control of his emotions while attempting to teach him Occlumency the year before.

But Hermione had a feeling that if she knew was had been thinking as he looked at her seconds before leaving her alone, that she would have begged him to stay behind. Because she knew where he was going; she had always known. Her asking him to stay was simply out of the question. Snape had a role he had to live up to on a consistent basis, just like Hermione had her own role to play when it came to aiding Harry.

It was moments like this when the reality of everything came crashing down upon her, and Hermione had to force herself to not have a panic attack. It was easy to become lulled into a false sense of security when hidden behind the fortified walls of Hogwarts, but fact remained that there still remained an evil wizard that was murdering innocent people in the search for power. That had never change, and it would not change any time soon.

And now Severus was off, yet again, to face said evil wizard.

Popping up from the armchair and scrambling around for the Marauder's Map, Hermione frantically searched the old, wrinkled parchment for Severus' dot until she caught sight of it, steadily moving towards the front gates. Seconds later it vanished, and a knot formed in her stomach.

Hermione knew there was nothing she could do but wait for Severus' return, and it only made the knot pull tighter.

Feeling as if she was going to lose the remnants of her Christmas dinner, Hermione fled to the bathroom. Hovering over the basin and splashing cool water on her face, she managed to not become sick. She took a deep breath and the knot in her stomach had loosened slightly.

Sweat had broken out across her forehead, and Hermione realised that her skin also felt damp beneath her jumper. Part of her wanted to keep her eyes glued to the Marauder's Map until Snape's dot reappeared, but the other part wanted to take a hot shower, which hopefully would soothe her nerves.

Opting to do so quickly, Hermione summoned her bag from the front room and balanced it on the sink ledge. Stripping and stepping into the shower, Hermione washed the perspiration from her skin, moving more briskly than she usually would. While the water was hot and felt good, it did little to assuage her anxiety.

Soon she was back in front of her hearth, dressed in her new nightgown with her damp hair hanging down her back . Hermione's feet were cold and she wished that she thought to bring her slippers, but had forgotten them in her haste. Resolving to curling up in the armchair and tucking the long hem of the thick nightgown beneath her feet, she turned her attention back to the map.

Because of the late hour, all of the professors' dots were shown to be in their rooms and stationary. Even Filch, who usually prowled the castle at odd hours, was tucked away in his room. The only moving dots on the map belonged the school poltergeists; the Bloody Baron was slowly moving along the first floor of the castle, while Peeves disappeared and reappeared at random spots.

The whole business of waiting for Severus to return was nerve-wracking. The only thing to keep Hermione company was the crackling fireplace and her worried thoughts, both of which made her want to pull her hair out after twenty minutes.

Desperate to see something besides the map or fireplace, Hermione began looking around the room.

The study wasn't much different from Snape's room in terms of decor. However, there was a wall to wall bookshelf behind Snape's desk that caught her attention. Any other time, Hermione would have run over and devoured everything in only the way a bibliophile could, but right now she wasn't inclined to move so much as an inch out of place.

No matter how late Severus might be, it didn't matter, as Hermione was positive that she wouldn't be able to sleep. One hour passed, then two, and Hermione's eyes grew sore and had she looked in a mirror, she was sure to find they had grown bloodshot. Rapid blinks turned to long blinks, and finally Hermione decided to close her eyes for a second, purely to relieve their ache.

That's a little better, she thought, yawning as she curled her body into a tight little ball.

What she meant to last for a second lasted for an hour, and Hermione dozed off without intending to.

Snape had painfully made his way back to the front gates of Hogwarts, and was forced to take his time walking through the darkened corridors. He had nearly forgotten about leaving Hermione behind in his rooms, and was greeted by the sight of her slumped over in her armchair.

The embers had long burned out, leaving a faint orange glow in the front room. Even though Hermione was dressed in a long white nightgown that covered her from throat to ankle, it was cooler down in the dungeons, and she was shivering in the midst of her sleep.

The last thing Snape wanted to do was wake her, especially after he noticed that damned Marauder's Map in her lap. Putting two and two together, he figured that she had been staring at it while waiting for him to return, and ended up falling asleep.

He would have levitated her to his bedroom, but at the moment his hands were covered in blood—his own blood this time—and he was too weak to summon up the strength to perform magic again.

The Dark Lord had been in rare form, and took it out on every person at the meeting, save for Bellatrix, although even she hadn't escaped a hiss-filled bout of verbal abuse.

Snape was freezing, and his heavy woolen cloak wasn't doing much to keep in what little warmth remained in his worn out and abused body. Too exhausted to pull out his wand and stoke the fire, he settled for sitting upright on the floor, resting his head against the side of his armchair.

Resting his eyes for a moment, Snape opened them to little slits to focus on a pair of dainty, deliciously bare feet, peeking from beneath the edge of a pure white nightgown. His wearied mind made him think he was dreaming, and he wondered if some deity came to visit him. A sharp gasp made him open his eyes fully. Snape's surroundings came into focus, and he looked up and was met with the horrified face of Hermione Granger, who looked as if she was about to burst into tears.

"Don't you dare, witch," he snapped at her in a raspy voice. "Don't you dare start that."

"Prof—Severus!" she cried plaintively, wringing her hands nervously. Snape threw her a look of pure disgust, and it was enough to make Hermione snap back to her senses.

Nothing had changed from the first time she saw him down and out at Grimmauld Place. The professor still obviously loathed being cosseted and fussed over, despite the fact that he had been unable to make his way all the way up into his armchair. Hermione figured that his trek into the castle and down to the dungeons had been a long and painful once, and once he was in the privacy of his rooms that he stopped in the most comfortable spot.

"Are you—what do you need? What do you want me to do?"

Snape grit his teeth and inhaled nosily through his nose, drawing in as much air as possible without causing himself more discomfort. "First, you can stop with the waterworks, as they will not solve a damned thing," he began, "not now, and not ever. But if you must, I would like to get to my bedroom."

"Okay, alright," Hermione sniffed, wiping her damp eyes on one sleeve and stooping down to help Snape stand up.

With a groan he allowed Hermione to pull him up, and he leaned heavily against her. The little witch staggered a few times beneath his weight, yet she never let him fall. Finally getting him the room and on his bed, Snape watched with heavy-lidded eyes as Hermione used two trembling hands to undo the clasp of his travelling robe.

"I don't understand why you're so shaken up now," he rasped. "This isn't the first time you've seen me in such a state, and surely it won't be the last."

"I know, I know," Hermione said, her words tumbling out of her mouth. "But I will never get used to seeing you like this, and I can't help it."

Snape remained silent as Hermione continued to undress him. Judging by her reaction, there was a fair amount of blood covering his skin. It seemed his assumptions were correct, as she let out a choked sob when she touched his head and her hand came back covered in bright red.

The wizard had enough experience to know that his cuts were shallow; they only appeared serious because of the amount of blood. The pain on the inside caused him the most grief; he was still finding it difficult to breathe, and his muscles were screaming in agony. There was no sense in pointing this out to Hermione, as she still seemed completely frazzled even if she was quiet, although she took to efficiently moving about to mend him.

Finally when his last cut had been healed and the blood washed from his head, Snape lie beneath the covers, dressed only in his vest and boxers. Hermione had made some fuss about putting a nightshirt on him, but changed her mind, claiming that she didn't want to move him too much. Now she was sitting next to him, cross-legged and for all the world looking as if she had seen a ghost. Her curls had gone frizzier from all the dashing about, and she was nervously twisting a loop of it round and round her index finger.

"You're going to have a bald patch if you keep that up," Snape told her in a tired voice. "You and Slughorn will be able to trade tips."

Hermione began laughing at that, but no sooner than the sound slipped from her lips, did they turn into a guttural cry.

"Why?!" she practically screamed, her chin wobbling. "Why do you have to keep going...and coming back like this? It isn't fair, it isn't right!"

Snape wasn't that shocked by her outburst, yet he decided to allow Hermione to carry on for a minute. Finally when he had enough, he spoke.

"Alright, I've let you have your cry, that's enough," he sternly told her. "I told you, those Gryffindor tears will get you nowhere. Do I make myself plain?"

His words had the desired effect and Hermione stopped crying. Her face was wet and blotchy, and she used her sleeve again to wipe away the moisture.

"Just as you have a job to do, which is to make sure those idiot friends of yours don't meet their downfall purely because they were too simple to know their arses from their elbows, I also have one. Several, in fact, none of which you need know the specifics of. Just know that no matter what goes on between you and I, at the end of the day I still have obligations that I must uphold, even if you or I agree or disagree with them. That will not change."

Hermione nodded her head, although she looked miserable by that point.

"The sooner you understand this, Hermione, the better. What you see right now is barely the tip of the iceberg. If you intend on helping your friend, you are going to encounter a lot worse than the sight of a slightly battered and bloodied wizard. Let me assure you, tears will not move anyone. A Dark wizard won't care if you cry until your eyes bleed, so don't waste your time."

"I understand..." Hermione trailed off, propping her head up on both bent knees and staring down at her toes.

"I'm not telling you this to be cruel. I will not coddle you nor sugarcoat things to make them more palatable. To do so would be an insult and a disservice to you. After all that you've been through—and yes, I know about it all—the last thing you need is another adult hiding the truth from you."

At that comment, Hermione lifted her eyes to meet Severus', and found that he was looking right at her. Her chest heaved once more, but taking his words to heart, she kept her tears at bay. He was right; crying would serve no purpose. If Severus was talking about what she thought he was, then it didn't matter how she reacted to a situation; things would carry out just how certain wizards saw fit. Dolohov and the rest of the Death Eaters certainly hadn't cared that they had attacked children down in the Ministry. She suspected that Dolohov meant to kill her, and her only luck had been that he attacked her by nonverbally casting the spell. Had he actually said it aloud...that was something she still found difficult to think about.

Snape had closed his eyes and was now shaking his head, though at what, Hermione didn't know.

"Come here," he said in a gravelly voice.

Hermione immediately went to the professor's side, curling up against him while making sure to keep her movements gentle. She didn't realise that she had been trembling until her body was against his, and she had to fight with herself to remain still.

Even though Severus was still in a state of discomfort, he wrapped an arm around Hermione's waist and pulled her tightly to him, clumsily stroking her back through her nightgown until she grew relaxed.

Hermione knew that Severus told her about shedding unnecessary tears, but she was unable to stop the last few that managed to escape from beneath her tightly shut eyelids. Grateful her head was partially buried against her upper arm, Hermione drew in a deep breath to calm herself.

Severus had, once again, escaped the clutches of an evil wizard and lived to tell the tale, returning with blood dripping down his face and covering his chest, yet he remained calm the entire time. She had been scared for him, and the sight of him covered in blood had been enough to send Hermione falling to pieces. Between worrying and waiting for him to return all night, and then seeing the state in which he returned, Hermione felt wrung out from her emotions.

Her eyes were growing heavy again, although Hermione didn't want to go back to sleep. She preferred to stay awake to spend as much time with Severus as possible. Although she wondered if he was about to fall asleep, as his breathing was steadier, even if his hand continued tracing shapes into her back.

"Silly girl, indeed," he muttered into the top of her frizzy head.

"I meant what I said, you know," Hermione mumbled drowsily into his chest. "I do trust you."

"You trust me now, but that will change, I'm sure of it," Snape replied in a low voice, which seemed to go unheard by Hermione. When she didn't reply after a few minutes, he pried her arm away from her face to see that she was fast asleep.

Snape allowed Hermione to lie against him for a little while longer before shifting her head onto a pillow and pulling the duvet up to her shoulder. He was tired but found that he was unable to sleep just yet, as Hermione's last words kept resonating in his head.

I do trust you.

That was so like her. Snape hadn't been surprised to hear Hermione say that she trusted him. Even without him asking and her confirming it, he knew all along. He was just glad that Hermione hadn't asked the same question in turn, because there was a chance that she would not have liked his answer.

Snape wasn't used to trusting anyone. One thing he learned was that everyone had a price, and that even the most noble of persons might do things they would never dream of if their back was suddenly against the wall. Snape couldn't afford to trust anyone.

On the other hand, there were few that claimed they trusted him, but that was only on account of Dumbledore. Even then, Snape sometimes got the impression that the elderly wizard still had his reservations. That small fact didn't matter; Snape had lost count of the times he had gone before the Dark Lord to obtain information for Dumbledore. It hadn't mattered that many times Snape had returned to the castle, sometimes covered in his own blood, someone else's, or none at all. Dumbledore never asked questions, as the only pressing issue for him was whatever Snape managed to glean from his latest foray into the other side.

Initially, and for a split second, Snape had been slighted by the wizard's indifference, although he never let it show. The first time Snape stumbled into the headmaster's tower with blood coating his hands, the wizard never once asked if he was alright. Even when he was a student and was consistently harassed and threatened by James Potter and his friends, the headmaster never saw fit to rectify the situation. As far as his home life...that was another story in itself.

It hadn't taken Snape long to figure out that he was essentially alone in the world, with only himself to depend on. Therefore he always put himself first and looked out for his own interests. Trust was just another word for foolish, and he played his part well enough around everyone just to keep them appeased.

At first, he believed that Hermione only helped him out of pity, looking down at him as one of her causes. The last thing he needed was pity from a too-young witch that thought she knew everything. After careful consideration, Snape had to admit that Hermione knew very little about him personally, and that whatever information she thought she knew, she gleaned from keeping a watchful eye. Had she known about his past, then perhaps that might have served as motivation, in which case Snape would have told her to leave him the hell alone. But Hermione didn't know anything about him, that much he was sure of. Yet she admitted to having kept an eye on him, merely out of concern and nothing else.

Usually people attempted to keep what they thought was a watchful eye on Snape, purely due to mistrust. Idiots, the lot of them. Either they were too led by their emotions to think rationally, which caused to them never being able to look past the tip of their noses. Besides, Snape always allowed people to see what he wanted them to see.

It hadn't taken long for him to learn that Hermione Granger was a different sort of witch. He was shocked when she helped him that first time, even after he insulted her. True, she told him off and left him lying sprawled on the floor of the drawing room at first, but she came back, and continued looking for him every night thereafter.

While Snape believed Hermione to have taken a severe blow to the head, as he was unable to understand why she would help him, he realised that she wasn't quite the same bright-eyed, eager witch in Potions class that nearly slapped her desk mate in the face each time she thrust her hand into the air. Dealing with the daft members of the Ministry, Umbridge included, had merely been the icing on the cake. Snape suspected that the battle of the Ministry had instilled in her a healthy dose of fear, although it was evident that Hermione was trying to push past that event.

Dolohov had, in fact, been trying to kill her. The wizard had made that much known to the Dark Lord at one of their meetings shortly after the battle. Snape had been disgusted but not alarmed; the Death Eaters had attacked children much younger than Hermione had been at the time. The younger, the better, as told by Fenrir Greyback, who had a taste for their tender flesh.

They were, without a doubt, the sickest, cruelest group of wizards Snape had ever come across. Countless times, after coming to his senses, he had asked himself just what the hell he had been thinking by getting involved with them all. However, he never harboured on the thought for long , because what's done is done, and there was no going back.

Snape had been familiar with Dolohov's brand of Dark magic, and knew what curse he used against Hermione. While Madam Pomfrey dispensed each potion to counteract any lingering Dark magic, upon learning of the attack Snape had been the one to prepare them all. On one of his trips to the hospital wing to bring Madam Pomfrey another batch of potions, the matron had complimented him in an offhand sort of way, claiming that he brewed everything well. Perhaps a little too perfectly, as the bushy-haired Gryffindor in her care made a speedy recovery and had proceeded to nag and whine that she felt fine and no longer needed to be stuck in bed.

That had been one of the rare times that Pomfrey and Snape had been in agreement. He told the matron that she could keep Granger and the rest of her friends in the hospital wing for as long as she liked, and Pomfrey had told him that she intended to. Snape had been on the verge of telling the matron that she could bind them to the beds for all he cared, so long as it ensured that the three were unable to go gallivanting about Hogwarts and getting into trouble before the school term came to an end.

Severus shook his head as he thought about that day. Hermione was definitely what one called a difficult patient. Now, the little witch sighed in her sleep and rolled over, her left arm leading first and landing right on top of his forehead. Snape easily caught her hand and guided it away from his face, and the movement woke her up.

"Severus? Are you asleep?" she mumbled.

"No."

"What are you doing, then?"

"Trying to keep you from poking my eyes out and thinking," he answered, lightly squeezing her hand for emphasis.

"Sorry," Hermione replied, shifting her hand to lace her fingers with his. "Are you ever going to tell me what is it you think about, one day?"

So she knew he was keeping things from her. "Perhaps," Snape told her, and he was telling the truth. "Go back to sleep."

"Okay," she answered in the middle of a yawn. "Goodnight, Severus."

"Goodnight, Hermione."
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Unintentional Inveiglement