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

Chapter List
- 24
- 25
- 26
A/N: I stopped icing my hand long enough to finish this chapter. Ergh, so annoyed because when I'm having trouble typing is when I start getting more ideas. I (painfully) started a naughty virgin Snape fic for those who like that sort of thing. The Muses are laughing at me. Again, thank you for the reviews, please keep'em coming :D I will love you for always, and please enjoy this while I go to take a nap!

"Ron! Harry!" were the first words that flew out of Hermione's mouth the moment the two wizards stepped into the Gryffindor common room. Ron, Harry, and Ginny had just climbed through the portrait hole when they were ambushed by the bushy-haired witch that nearly choked each of them when she threw her arms around their necks. "Are you alright? McGonagall told me what happened."

Hermione was now hugging Ron, who began sinking to the ground, gagging and pretending that he was being strangled.

"Yes, Hermione, we're fine," said Ron, spitting her curls out of his face. "But I won't be if you don't loosen the grip!"

Hermione rolled her eyes but she did lower her arms and step back. She had been antsy for the better part of an hour and was sitting in the common room, attempting to read with Crookshanks in her lap. The feline was now making his way to Ginny, bottlebrush tail swishing around as he rubbed up against her legs.

"We're fine, Hermione," Ginny told her, bending down to scoop Crookshanks up into her arms and sitting down on the sofa. "Mum is a bit...well, you know mum. But we're okay."

"You know me; I can't help but worrying," Hermione admitted.

"Is that right?" Harry shot back mockingly, although we wore a small smile.

"Be quiet," Hermione retorted. "Have you seen Dumbledore yet? Maybe he can—"

"No," Harry interrupted, sitting down next to Ginny and reaching out to stroke the top of Crookshanks' head. "I haven't seen Dumbledore since, well since before Slughorn's party. I don't know where he is."

Hermione frowned as she reflected upon her conversation with McGonagall that morning. She remembered the professor mentioning the headmaster, but she hadn't actually said where he was.

"This is madness," Hermione muttered under her breath. She knew that Dumbledore was physically unable to be at ten different places at one time, but at the very least she thought he ought to show face in light of the attack at the Burrow. Then again, it was everyone else that had to see Dumbledore when it was convenient for him, never the other way around.

Harry and Ginny now looked as if they were engrossed in their own private conversation, and Hermione wondered if Ron had been intruding on their alone time for the entire break.

"Come on," she suddenly told Ron, who had settled into an armchair across from his sister and best friend, and was distrustfully looking over at Crookshanks.

"What?" he asked dumbly, tearing his eyes away from the cat to look up at Hermione.

"You heard me," she ordered, "get up."

"Blimey, Hermione, we've only just got in, I need a rest!"

"Oh, for goodness sake, Ronald. You stepped through a Floo network, how strenuous was that?"

"Highly," he replied, stretching both long arms above his head and yawning as if to emphasise his point. When he kept his behind firmly rooted into the chair, Hermione walked over to him and pulled on his ear until he stood up.

"All right!" he yelped, standing up and looking down at the glowering witch."That hurt!"

"Well if you got up like I told you to in the first place, I wouldn't have grabbed your ear," Hermione replied dismissively. "Now come on," she continued, wrapping her fingers around Ron's forearm and tugging him in the direction of the door. They left behind a guffawing Ginny and Harry, who had been fighting back a laugh at the sight of Ron being Hermione-handled.

"So how are you, really?" Hermione asked once they were outside. The two had walked to a mildly sunny spot in the corridor and Ron plopped right down on the floor, his long legs stretched out in front of him.

"Alright, I suppose," he answered glumly, shrugging his shoulders. "I dunno."

Hermione sat down next to Ron and crossed her legs. "You don't have to downplay anything for me," she told him. "You must have been terrified."

Ron gave another shrug, and shifted slightly to the side to pull his wand out his pocket. "At the time I wasn't, but there really wasn't time to think about anything, other than getting away from Bellatrix," he said. "Mum was frantic; our shed was nearly burnt down but Bill and Charlie were able to put the fire out."

"Oh no," Hermione moaned, shaking her head. "I'm glad it wasn't your house."

"Thank goodness for that," Ron grumbled, flicking his wand and causing sparks to shoot out the tip. "We're already poor; no telling where we'd live if the Burrow got burnt down."

Hermione bowed her head as she felt tears well up in her eyes at the thought of her friend losing his home and all his belongings, what little bit he did have. But she knew Ron would get all flustered and call her a girl if she started crying, so she sniffed to keep her nose from running and surreptitiously dried her eyes.

"Harry and I wouldn't let you sleep on the streets," she told him. "We're best friends, practically family."

"I know," Ron admitted, sounding uncharacteristically subdued. "I'm glad you were here, at least; safe and all. And don't you start blubbering!" he added after casting a sidelong glance at Hermione and noticing her wobbly chin.

It was true that Ron often displayed the tact of a four-year-old child and had as much insight as Trelawney did on her off days, which were more often than not. But one thing Hermione could never say was that Ron was a bad friend.

After the battle with the Death Eaters at the Ministry, it had been Ron, who in a rare moment, comforted Hermione. Everyone had been focused on a grief-stricken Harry, who was inconsolable at having lost his godfather. Ron and Hermione felt badly for him, that was never a contested issue, but Harry hadn't been the only one who was feeling a loss.

Hermione had let Harry know she was there for him, although each of her efforts had been ignored. She didn't take it personally; she understood that Harry didn't want to talk about Sirius, or most likely anything at that point. So she left him alone.

Outside of their initial return to Hogwarts, no one asked about Hermione's welfare, as she had put on a chipper face while being confined to the hospital wing. But one day Ron had come to visit her on his own, and had been surprised to find his best friend with her knees tucked up, a book balanced on top, and her head nearly buried in the pages.

Hermione had felt fine that morning; she had taken to reading, purely to distract herself, and suddenly something inside her snapped. Tears kept running down her face, and she didn't know why, nor was she able to stop them. Seconds later, Ron had unexpectedly showed up, bounding over to her bed in the corner and clutching onto a handful of chocolate biscuits while rapidly chewing on a few, as he only ever ate biscuits two or three at a time.

He immediately stopped short and his jaw went still when he caught sight of his tearful best friend. Through the mouthful of biscuits he had asked Hermione what was wrong, although it came out sounding as 'Whzz wong?' and she laughed in spite of herself. The laughter made her cry harder, and Hermione had been surprised when Ron placed his stack of biscuits down on the bedside table and cautiously sat next to her. Awkwardness had still hung between them as he carefully slung one arm around Hermione's shoulder and allowed her to weep onto his jumper, an old one with his initial in the middle that had been knitted by Mrs Weasley. Hermione knew it was Ron's favourite, although he would never admit it.

In between sobs, Hermione managed to get out something about being scared, being bored and stuck in the hospital wing, the permanent scar on her chest, how her parents would most likely not allow her to return to Hogwarts, and a few other things that even she didn't understand. Ron, in his Ron-like way, had assured Hermione that her parents would let her return to school, and that scars were no big deal, that his brother Charlie had loads of scars that came from taming dragons, and that all of the witches still fancied him.

Ron told her all of this while still chewing on a bit of remaining biscuit and had crumbs stuck to the left corner of his lip. When he'd finished speaking, he had smiled so brilliantly at Hermione that she couldn't help but to laugh, amused highly by the dangling crumb that looked as if it was trying to run away, especially after he handed her a tissue, followed by two of his biscuits.

Therefore, while Ron was still a pain in her arse, and would most likely remain so for the rest of their lives, Hermione secretly admitted to herself that she had a bit of a soft spot when it came to the tall, gangly ginger wizard. Although she only loved him as a best friend; there was no way in heaven, hell, or anything in between that could make her want to get involved with Ronald Weasley in a romantic manner. He drove her crazy enough as it is, she had no wish to allow him to do so on another level.

Even though Ron kept telling Hermione that he was fine, she knew better. He was worried just like her, but Ron tended to keep a straight face for as long as possible. Well, at the moment he was frowning, but Hermione was sure he was unaware.

Sliding her arm through his she said, "It's a good thing Lavender isn't here, she would accuse me of trying to steal her boyfriend."

"And you would tell her off, just like you did before," Ron laughed.

Hermione nudged Ron's foot with hers. "I did not tell her off. I merely expressed in a polite manner that you were my friend and that was it."

Ron turned his head to look at Hermione incredulously. "You're joking, right? You nearly took her head off!"

"Oh, stop exaggerating, Ronald. I did not."

"You did too!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Okay, Hermione, whatever you say."

At that comment, Hermione moved her arm from around Ron's and reached up to pull on his hair.

"Ow! Oi, alright! I'll shut up."

"Thank you," Hermione told him with mock sweetness, slipping her arm back around his. Ron now looked a bit sheepish and turned back to Hermione with a goofy grin on his face."What? What is it now? What did you, or didn't do?" she asked suspiciously.

"Err, you know that essay we had to do for Snape's class?" he began in a tone that totally reeked of wheedling.

"Yes?" Hermione asked suspiciously.

"Well..." Ron trailed off, his grin only getting wider. "I was wondering if you could help me finish it."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Let me guess, you had the foresight to know that the Burrow was going to be attacked, and it had you so worried that you were unable to finish your assignment, am I right?"

"Err, sure!" Ron readily agreed. "So will you help me? I don't have much to finish."

"And just how much is 'much'?"

"I wrote my name...and the title."

"Ron!"

"What?"

Hermione exhaled noisily, and after extricating her arm from Ron's rose to her full height. "Well? Let's go, then. I haven't got all day."

"Thanks, Hermione. You're the best," Ron told her as he pushed himself up from the floor.

"Don't placate me," Hermione groused as she turned in the direction of the common room without looking back. "And you had better leave Harry and Ginny alone."

"Alright, alright," said Ron, running to catch up with her.

The Christmas holiday meant nothing to the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. Snape had assigned a two-foot long essay on curses and counter curses. Just because Hermione was sleeping with her teacher, it hadn't meant that she was exempt from her assignments. That point was still moot; she hated leaving things for the last minute and had finished the essay the day it was given, as well as the required reading for her other classes.

Hermione wasted no time in directing Ron to get his rucksack once they were back in the common room. Harry and Ginny was were still cuddled together on the soda, sans Crookshanks, as the cat had sauntered over to Hermione soon as she walked in. The two were getting a kick out of Hermione stroking her familiar while standing at the steps to the boys' dormitory, her voice echoing off the narrow stonewalled space as she fussed at him.

"You're over there laughing, Harry, but I hoped you finished your essay, too," said Hermione, looking over at him.

"Yeah, I finished mine," Harry called back. "I don't fancy the idea of you thumping me over the head with your book."

"So why didn't you help Ron?" Hermione shot back, fuming on the inside. "You could have made sure his work was done!"

"Dad helped Harry with his essay," Ginny told her. "Ron was too busy mucking about with Fred and George, and you know those two weren't going to tell him to leave off Quidditch so he can do his homework."

"Harry actually turned down a game of Quidditch?" Hermione asked her in disbelief, her eyebrows raised far up on her forehead as she turned to Harry. "Did it hurt?"

"Very funny," Harry retorted. "I only did it because Ginny threatened to owl you if I skivved off schoolwork to play. Said that you had better things to do than helping me and Ron finish our work the day before the new term."

"Thank you, Ginny," Hermione told her. "So I only have Ron to help now, but what's new." She then set down Crookshanks and walked halfway up the steps before shouting, "Ron-ald! Hurry up! I haven't got all day, you know."

"Oi! Keep your hair on!" Ron fussed from the top landing. His heavy footsteps were nearly loud as a herd of hippogriffs when he thumped his way back down to the common room with his rucksack slung over one shoulder.

Hermione threw Ron such a sharp glance that he immediately took a seat at one of the small tables pushed against the wall and began taking out his books.

After issuing a few threats, smacking Ron in the back of the head twice, and threatening to make him do his work on his own once, Hermione finally assisted to the point that he was able to finish the essay on his own. She was seated across from him with her head propped up by one hand, soothed by the sound of his quill scratching against the parchment. Technically, it was her quill she had loaned him; Ron somehow managed to use one of the trick quills from Fred and George's joke shop, and at first all of his writing had been misspelt. Hermione thought Ron had purposely been misspelling everything at first, which was how he ended up gaining the second smack to the back of his head. She only offered a dismissive 'sorry' after snatching the quill out of Ron's hand, and replacing it with one of hers.

Now Ron was hunched over his parchment with an half-eaten cream cake at his elbow (Hermione told him to finish his snack later, because if he got even the faintest trace of buttercream on the parchment, Snape would surely send his essay up in flames, take points from Gryffindor, and make him write a new one). After pulling the cream cake away from Ron when she noticed him trying to sneak another bite, Hermione leaned her head against the wall and lapsed into thoughtful silence.

Reflecting back to first learning about the attack at the Burrow, Hermione wondered what she was doing at the time when it happened.

How can you forget that fast? You were wrapped around Severus, either worn out or in the process of being worn out.

Unaware that she had begun to frown, Hermione mused upon the fact that since Christmas eve, Snape hadn't slid off to one of his...meetings. At least, if he had then she didn't know about it. He definitely hadn't been battered and bruised as he often returned from his visits with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Her stomach clenched uncomfortably when she suddenly wondered if he knew that the Weasleys were going to be attacked. Irritating though it was, Hermione was sure the question fell beneath the category of things she was not supposed to ask.

At this point, she knew it wouldn't matter if Snape had known that the attack going to take place; the issue was moot, as it already happened and couldn't be taken back. Still, for some unknown reason, she had to know if he knew, and Hermione vowed to ask him the first chance she got.

The whole business of asking Snape if he knew anything about the Death Eater's attack proved more difficult than Hermione anticipated. Of course, she didn't expect it to be easy. The day something came easy for Hermione would be the day that she would set fire to her beloved collection of books. And that would never happen.

But for the love of all that was holy, she could barely get the professor to so much as look in her direction! Hogwarts was now teeming with students returned from break, as well as professors, Heads of Houses, and prefects trying to sort everyone out. Great Hall being packed to the rafters or not, it still would have looked completely out of place for Hermione to saunter up to the staff dais to speak to Snape. Not only would she risk being told off, but Ron and Harry, and no doubt the rest of the student body, would believe that her brain had been pried out of her head and replaced with a pile of sawdust if she went through with the daring feat. The only students that openly spoke to the professor were those of his own House, and Hermione refused to be the one to break precedence.

No, she would just have to wait it out and find another way to speak to Snape.

Snape, on the other hand, was still put out from his earlier conversation with Dumbledore, although he looked completely unruffled. His black eyes had scanned the room after food appeared on all the tables, and he surreptitiously took in the sight of a pensive looking Hermione as she picked over her plate of roast beef and mash. No doubt she was also drowning out the noise surrounding her; in spite of the fact that Potter and Weasley, along with Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, were practically knee-deep in their dinner and sitting close to one another, they still managed to shout across the table at one another in tones usually reserved for Quidditch matches. They weren't the only ones, many of the students were chattering excitedly, still amped up and happy to see their schoolmates, even though they had only been parted for a week.

Snape had just the thing to wipe the happy smiles off their smug little faces. No doubt a surprise quiz would deflate their high-flying balloons of cheerfulness, and he could not wait to hear the collective repressed groans. Outright groans that so much as threatened to bounce off the walls in his dark classroom were a sign of insolence—which he didn't tolerate—and would result in points taken and detention. Perhaps only the first if he was in a good mood.

Students typically forgot that they were still supposed to study, even during their times away from Hogwarts. In reality, he knew that rucksacks and textbooks were thrown to the floor once children returned home, either relegated to a corner or beneath a bed, keeping company with dust bunnies. At the end of the week, no doubt a frantic search would ensue with the beginning of the new year just around the corner.

Snape always assigned homework over the holidays. He didn't give a damn what other professors did in their classes, but he refused to attempt to understand the concept of a break. As far as he was concerned, there were no breaks when it came to being attacked. Dark wizards weren't known for offering their victims a chance to peruse a textbook to come up with a suitable defensive spell. Flitwick had once mentioned to Snape that he should take it easy on his students and let them enjoy their holidays, which were meant for spending time with their families. Snape had shot the tiny professor a glare so fierce that Flitwick flushed slightly, yet said nothing. The only other professor that never questioned his teaching methods was McGonagall, reason being her standards were as nearly stringent as his.

Tomorrow was Monday, and gods give him the fortitude to read through the tripe that would undoubtedly come across his desk. Snape briefly hoped that his eyes wouldn't bleed from the half-arsed essays that were sure to be handed in. Of course, one bookish Gryffindor with enough hair on her head for two other people would hand in a perfect essay, although it would most likely be double the length of what he initially assigned.

Damn. He would definitely need cotton.

Briefly glancing over once more at said bookish Gryffindor, Snape saw that her hair was pulled back in a loose single braid, as if she had done it while focusing on something else. He thought about the small red, almost purple mark he had left at the back of her neck, and knew that if he were to lift the plait he would see it, partially hidden by a few wispy curls at her nape that somehow always felt softer than the rest of her hair.

Snarling under his breath, Snape told himself that now was not the time to be thinking about Hermione's neck, or the way she moaned breathlessly each time his lips and teeth captured the sensitive skin there.

Moving on until he was looking at the table on the far right side of the Great Hall, Snape saw that Draco looked a little less glum compared to right before the Christmas break. The boy's father was still in Azkaban, and Snape figured that Narcissa must have gone through great measures for the holiday, as her son no longer looked like a dead man walking. Perhaps mother and child spent the holiday without the presence of Bellatrix and her ratty hair, a cause in itself which was definite reason for celebration.

Bellatrix had a way of pissing off even the most peaceful and patient of persons. Snape reasoned that all she needed was two minutes, and she would even find a way to make a Hare Krishna follower lose their cool and swear like a sailor on leave. Snape had been putting up with the witch ever since he had the misfortune of making her acquaintance, and he lost count of the times that he wished to hex her so badly until nothing but a pile of ash remained. So he knew and understood well what Draco was going through.

Dessert was now on the table, and Draco was spooning custard into his mouth while Pansy sat across from him, looking utterly ridiculous as she bat her eyes at the blond. Snape had come across whores in Knockturn Alley that were more subtle, and he almost laughed at the idea of telling the young Slytherin that she could learn a thing or two from those dodgy witches.

Snape had a vague idea of why Draco had been made prefect. Perhaps Dumbledore deemed the position a way to somewhat keep the boy in the limelight, which might supposedly force him to stay out of trouble. Or merely it could have been due to the standing of the Malfoy name. Either way, Draco was doing a poor job. Scratch that, to say he did a poor job would be to say that he had been actually doing it in the first place. The only time Draco remembered that he was a prefect was right before he began taunting some unsuspecting younger student. Surprisingly enough, as of late Draco had been attempting to keep a low profile, an act that was suspicious to those observant enough to notice.

On the other hand, the headmaster's reasoning for also making Parkinson a prefect seemed highly convoluted. Perhaps Dumbledore thought Pansy was lesser of a menace compared to the younger Malfoy. At least the other four prefects from Slytherin house balanced out the nonsense.

Well, they balanced out the nonsense most of the time. Snape now looked at the other two usually upstanding male prefects for Slytherin, one of them Head Boy, and curled his lip in distaste when he noticed them pelting one another with cherries that had probably been taken from the top of one of the cakes on the table.

Gods save me from idiots.

Classes swung right back into session as normal. A signup sheet for Apparation lessons had been posted, and it was all Ron, as well as the rest of the of age students seemed to be able to focus on.

Hermione, like always, could be found in the library during most of her free time. In addition to studying for her NEWTs, as well as a few books she found on Apparation (she had been thoroughly horrified by the prospect of Spinching and wanted to avoid it at all costs), now she had been systematically prowling each bookshelf for another sort of information that could only be construed as baffling.

Dumbledore had finally shown face and called Harry to his office. Hermione had been thoroughly nonplussed when Harry mentioned something called a Horcrux, but she was sure that the library would have at least a few books on the subject.

Annoyed was an understatement to explain how she felt after each extensive search through the stacks proved fruitless. Hermione had almost been tempted to ask Harry in a nasty tone that perhaps his illicit Potions textbook could tell him what a Horcrux was, since it was his newfound Holy Grail, but she resisted.

Whatever it was that Dumbledore needed to know, Hermione thought that he was going about it in a roundabout way. He explained that he needed Harry to obtain a memory from Slughorn, as the true memory the headmaster suspected had been tampered with. She understood that Dumbledore knew a lot more than he let onto, but he wasn't omniscient. That was fine and all, but she wondered why the hell Dumbledore couldn't tell Harry just what a Horcrux was in the first place without all the secrecy. And now he expected Harry to somehow obtain a memory from their newly appointed Potions professor by playing upon his weaknesses.

She wanted to tell Harry good luck. Slughorn was definitely not Snape. He might have smiled at his students (a fake smile when it was one of his less favoured students) and clapped them on the back with a beefy paw in that phony way, all the while guffawing and speaking in a pompous tone. But at the end of the day he was still as self-serving as many of the witches and wizards in his House, and he definitely would not offer something freely if there was no benefit weighing in his favour. Quid pro quo was a way of life with his sort; that much had been obvious from day one.

All of the fanfare was giving Hermione a headache. There was one other wizard who undoubtedly possessed skills and a wealth of knowledge that nearly rivaled Dumbledore's, but Hermione knew there was no way she could ask Snape if he knew what a Horcrux was. The circumstances would lead to an uncomfortable round of questions, and besides, she couldn't violate Harry's trust. Of course, there was always that bookshelf behind Snape's desk in his private chambers, surely one of them could tell her something...

Damn! How was she supposed to gain access to them? Snape hadn't looked in her direction all week since classes resumed. She still wanted to ask him about the attack at the Weasleys. That question seemed harmless compared to the one about Horcruxes, but she still didn't know if she would get an answer.

The following Thursday, it seemed that the Fates were smiling in Hermione's direction as she was granted her wish. Unfortunately for her, later on she would say the Fates were having a laugh at her expense.

The day passed by uneventfully; breakfast, class, library, lunch, class, a free period, all of which she used to do homework and study, followed by a bit more reading before time for patrols.

Hermione had to practically drag Ron out of the common room for patrols. The redhead only acquiesced once she gave into allowing him to run down the kitchens for a late snack right before it was time to return to the dormitory.

Patrols had been easy enough; either everyone was still getting into the swing of things and were too tired to roam the corridors or sneak into spots for a quick snog, for there was no one for her to give the 'mean Hermione-eye' to as Ron called it.

The two paused in the Entrance Hall and Hermione told Ron that he had ten minutes to grab whatever it was he needed to stuff his face.

"Thanks, Hermione! Be back in twenty!" he shouted before running off in the direction of the kitchens.

"Why do I even bother?" Hermione asked herself, pulling her school robes around her and walking down to the corridor with opened arches. She found herself in the same spot where Snape almost kissed her, right before Filch interrupted them by his swearing when Peeves threw food around.

During the day, and especially while in Defence Against the Dark Arts class, Hermione did her best to keep from getting distracted. The task proved easier than she thought it might be, considering the way Snape continued to cut down his students in class, not to mention taking points from Gryffindor.

But right now she wasn't in class nor beneath the stony glare of Professor Snape, and Hermione was free to allow her mind to wander to the last night they spent in his room. Her body had been well-sated afterwards, and despite all of the bother going on with her and her friends, Hermione remained calmer than she usually was. That calm was beginning to wear off, but there were other things that needed tending to. Things such as those effing Horcruxes.

Still, it didn't hurt to think back to the way she felt with Snape's thin arms wrapped around her naked waist. His body temperature was usually cooler than what was normal, despite the heavy woolen layers that consisted of his black suit and robes. Yet once they were both naked and pressed against one another beneath the duvet, Snape's skin felt almost searing on hers.

A cool breeze blew through the window just as Hermione began thinking about his long fingers stroking her breasts while she lie in the curve of his arm. Shivering involuntarily as her nipples hardened, which Hermione suspected had more to do with the memory than the wind, she nearly jumped when she heard a deep voice right behind her.

"A new year is upon us, and already you are clamoring for detention. Isn't that right, Miss Granger?"

"Would you really give me detention for doing something I'm supposed to be doing?" asked Hermione as she fought back a smile. "Actually you would; you have."

Snape had been standing behind Hermione longer than she realised. He wondered if his mark was still visible on the back of her neck, and had been tempted to reach out and push her curls to one side to check.

To an outsider, all they would have seen was Snape looming over Hermione, the same way he did to his students when he was trying to intimidate them. Like always he was in black from head to toe, except for the sliver of white shirt peeking out above his cravat. That unyieldingly rigid posture was present, and Snape stood next to Hermione with both arms folded across his chest.

Anyone else would have been scared, but Hermione wasn't shrinking back. Truth be told, she wanted to turn around to face Snape, step in closer and wrap her fingers around the edges of his robes to pull him down for a kiss. Even though they were in close proximity, reality wouldn't allow her to so much as gaze upon him for a length of time, for fear that the look of familiarity in her eyes would give something away.

"I'm not wandering about alone," Hermione offered, breaking the silence. "Ron's doing patrols with me, but he made a stop in the kitchens."

"Ah, Mr. Weasley. I should go down and give him detention," Snape mused as he stared out into the night sky beyond the high stone arches. "but I don't feel like being accosted by Potter's disgustingly cheerful elf."

Hermione sniggered at that; Dobby was harmless, well, now that he wasn't trying to save Harry, but he was a bit overzealous.

"Dobby's all right," she said in a soft voice.

Snape fought the urge to snort; the lithe witch thought everyone was all right. He still was trying to comprehend what it was about him she found savoury enough that it kept her around. Now he wondered if the girl was trying to torture him. Hermione began playing with her hair, sweeping the entire mass to one side and nearly exposing the back of her neck, but suddenly she let it fall back into place.

You need help, old man.

"Professor, may I ask you a question?" she suddenly asked, turning around to face him.

For a brief moment, Hermione fell silent as she became distracted by the sight of him towering over her. Snape's lank black hair was in his face, but more often than not, it was always in his face. Resisting the urge to reach up and push the errant strands back so she could see him more clearly, Hermione was still so unfocused that she almost didn't hear his reply.

"You just did," he told her without missing a beat.

"What? Oh, haha, very funny, Professor," Hermione said. "No, I wanted to ask you about, well... I guess you know that the Weasleys were attacked over the break. I just..." she trailed off, noticing that Snape's posture had grown even more rigid, if it was possible. "I just wanted to ask if you'd heard anything about it beforehand."

Snape's face had been dismissive before but now his lip was curled and he was baring his teeth. Hermione's knees quaked when she saw the professor, snarling was the best description, and she regretted opening her mouth.

"Pray tell why I would know of such a thing, Miss Granger?"

The emphasis on her name, the very name he used when they were in class and no less in a tone utilised only when she annoyed him, wasn't lost on Hermione.

"Sir?" she asked nervously.

Snape was still bristling from Dumbledore's earlier line of questioning turned accusations; Hermione asking him the same thing only made him more defensive.

"Is that what you think?" he asked her in a dangerously low voice.

"What? No, Professor, I just—" Hermione stammered, but she was instantly cut off.

Snape's hackles were clearly raised and it looked as if he was ready to launch into a full tirade, yet he continued speaking in tightly constrained voice.

"I know when things happen that it's only natural for everyone to point the finger in my direction," Snape spat, sounding as if he was about to fly off the handle, "but let me ask you this: Do you make it a habit to become intimately acquainted with wizards that you don't trust?"

Hermione's face twisted up with a mixture of outrage and mortification.

"How dare you!" she hissed beneath her breath, trying to keep her voice from carrying throughout the long corridor. "I only asked because I thought you might know, keyword might! It's not as if I—"

"Save it, Granger. I know how your perspicacious little mind works, there is a reason behind everything you do, so don't try to downplay it by feeding me some tripe. You know that I know better."

Snape's nostrils were flaring and he was glaring at Hermione. Even though he was standing completely still, it was hard to miss the hostility rolling off him in waves. Not to be outmatched, Hermione was glowering right back at him.

"You're mad!" she told Snape in a fierce whisper. "You are positively mad!"

At that point, she nearly forgot about her initial question, as she was thoroughly incensed for him taking a personal jab at her.

Snape gave a wry laugh. "I assure you, I have been called much worse. You'll have to do better than that, Miss Granger," he said in a voice thick with sarcasm.

Hermione's mouth fell open in shock. What Snape actually baiting her? But that comment about her and other wizards...

"Just so you know, you are the only wizard responsible for me being unable to touch unicorns!"

Snape took a step forward, moving in close enough that Hermione had no choice but to retreat until her back was against the wall. Snape then leaned in until their noses were nearly touching, and Hermione shivered when his warm breath grazed her cheek. Although they were both cloaked in darkness, she was still able to see clearly the icy glint in his eyes.

"Perhaps you'll have better luck next time," he whispered menacingly to the vicinity of her right ear before storming away in a billow of black robes.

Hermione was trembling and remained slumped against the wall long after Snape had gone. She felt hurt and angry and wished that he had tripped on his stupid robes as he stalked off in the other direction. Maybe he would have hit his head hard enough on the ground that it would make him come back to his senses. What the hell was his problem? She asked one little question and he reared up like a cat being doused in water, proceeding to make a mountain out of a molehill, and Hermione truly had no idea why.

Walking on wobbly legs to the Entrance Hall, Hermione finally saw Ron sauntering over in her direction.

"Ronald!" she bellowed, ready to take her anger out on him. "What took you so long? And what is that on your robes?"

Ron had been walking without looking ahead of him, focused on the stack of cream cakes in his hand. There were splatters of white on his school robes, some half covering his prefect badge so that it read 'P-ect'.

"I got ambushed by a group of Slytherin girls," he explained grouchily, now looking curiously at a frowning Hermione as he swallowed a large mouthful. "They were in the corridors and looked like they were up to something, so I told them to go back to their common rooms, only their leader ran up to me and snatched one of my cakes and smashed it against my robes. I would have taken points only that git Snape came round the bend and yelled at everyone. I'm just glad he didn't give me detention."

"Ugh," Hermione groaned, knowing just why Snape was in a bad mood. "But those girls are fourth-years, right? Do you mean to tell me you got bested by a bunch of fourth-years?"

"Oh, come off it, Hermione! You know those girls are bad news, especially that one, Andrea. She's the one that ruined my cakes, and those other three just stood there, laughing and falling over one another. Those girls are mental."

Hermione only knew their names because she had to tell off the little quartet of hellions a few times before; Leslie, Jennifer, and Nancy listened to anything Andrea said, and together they caused almost more mischief than Peeves. The poltergeist wouldn't even bother them, as he found their antics to be funny.

"Well, good for you," Hermione tartly told Ron. "We were supposed to be patrolling, not skulking off for sweets. Now come on, I'm ready for bed."

Ron knew better than to say anything and dutifully followed behind, eating his cakes while wondering what bug bit Hermione's bum.
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Unintentional Inveiglement