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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
- 26
- 27
- 28
A/N: I was and still am blown away by the response I received on the last chapter. I mean really, you all are AMAZING. I want to thank each and every one of you for your thoughts as well as kind words. Mr Henry was actually sort of based on someone that is no longer in my life, but she was one of the most kindest people you could ever meet, despite life being unkind to her.

So this was meant to be one chapter, and when I kept typing and still hadn't finished, it was over 12k and I refuse to make your eyes bleed, so I will be updating again on Sunday! Let's just say that your reviews and all feed the Muse and keep me writing :D.

Subtlety, Miss Granger. Subtlety.

Hermione wondered how many underlying messages were buried in those four words. She was still reeling from Snape leaning in until their lips were nearly touching, only for him to pull away and leave her behind with a mind twisted with a sense of longing and confusion. When it became evident that he wasn't going to return to the classroom as long as she was in there, Hermione finally got up from her desk. She then had to run most of the way for her next class.

Hermione was rarely if ever late to her Advanced Arithmancy Studies class, and earned a curious look from Professor Vector when she dashed inside.

"Sorry, Professor," Hermione panted as she made her way to her seat, still trying to catch her breath as she began pulling her books out of her rucksack.

Professor Vector wasn't fazed as she knew Arithmancy was Hermione's favourite subject, which always found the witch on time for her lessons, and she merely nodded her head and continued on to the front of the classroom.

"Now as I was saying, I have more extensive charts for you to work on, but I'd like you all to translate it using the Agrippan method as well as the Chaldean method. Compare and contrast, and take note of any drastic differences."

Finally something else for me to focus on, Hermione thought, eagerly clutching onto the pile of number charts that Professor Vector sent drifting down the aisles with a flick of her wand. Numbers and symbols and translating them and making sense out of them all was second nature to Hermione. Anyone else would have looked upon it as hodgepodge and a half, yet Hermione found it soothing the way one was lulled by the dull click-clack of knitting needles striking together.

Ron thought Hermione insane when she continued with Arithmancy, claiming that 'all those bloody numbers and charts' gave him a headache. Hermione knew Ron wasn't daft, not judging by the way he helped her and Harry win that game of Wizard's chess during their first year. But pudding gave Ron a headache if he wasn't focused on it.

Shaking her head to herself and shoving away thoughts of her lazy friend, Hermione became so deeply engrossed in her work that she quickly finished the first chart Professor Vector had given her. The professor laughed when Hermione asked for a second one, only to finish it nearly as quickly as the first.

"What are you, trying to break a record, Hermione?" asked Mandy, a sixth-year from Ravenclaw.

Hermione looked up at the blonde-haired, blue-eyed witch and smiled at her. Had it been anyone else, Hermione would have either ignored them or replied with a snippy remark, but she was familiar enough with Mandy to know that she was only teasing in a good-natured way.

"You know this is my favourite class," Hermione answered, peering down at her number chart.

"Really?" Mandy replied, feigning ignorance. "I could have sworn it was Divination. In fact, Trelawney was looking for you just this morning."

"I'd sooner have Lockhart back as a professor again, thanks," Hermione said, causing Mandy to let out a snort.

Professor Vector had just given out that evening's homework moments before the afternoon bell rang. Mandy had been waiting for her friend Nikki, another Ravenclaw, who was apparently taking too long to pack her books up, because Mandy was huffing impatiently and shifting her weight between both feet. Just as Hermione was brushing past them both on her way out the classroom, Mandy ribbed her one last time about her two favourite professors as she waved goodbye.

"...so George told me that I might vomit on my first go round at Apparition," Ron was telling Harry and Seamus when Hermione walked into the Great Hall for lunch. "But Fred said that I might pass out. I don't want to faint like some girl, that's embarrassing."

"You won't faint," Hermione snapped, reaching over for the carafe of pumpkin juice to fill her goblet. "And last time I checked, anyone can faint, not just girls."

"So what? I still don't want to, either way," he grumbled.

"Honestly, Ronald. And do you really need to talk about becoming sick like that while people are eating? At least try and pretend to have table manners," Hermione sniffed, ignoring the indignation on his face.

"You'll be all right, mate," Seamus told Ron. "And besides, it's not like vomiting or fainting is the worst that can happen to you. Someone always manages to spl—"

"Splinch themselves!" added Neville in a fearful tone, his eyes widened. He had been sitting a few seats away from the group when he turned to chime in on the conversation. "Gran said that maybe I should wait until next year to try Apparation; said the last thing she wants to get is an owl saying that I've splinched myself into bits."

"Oh, Neville," Hermione soothingly told him, "you won't splinch yourself. You'll be fine; we'll help you."

"I'm not doing anything!" Seamus chortled. "No offense, Longbottom, but I don't think Mam'll be too pleased if I end up with half my arse in Scotland and the other half somewhere else in Great Britain."

"None taken," Neville glumly told him as he lowered his head. Hermione had just taken a bite of her sandwich and angrily mumbled something in Furious Female speech, causing Seamus to shrug his shoulders.

"No offense, Seamus, but you manage to blow up cauldrons, even when we're not in Potions," Harry pointed out. "Doesn't matter if there's no fire, or no cauldron, or no volatile ingredients, somehow you always manage to cause an explosion."

Seamus then used a word that made Neville's ears go red and Hermione scream at him, much like she usually did to Ron.

While the student body took time out for lunch, spending half the period eating and the other half socialising, Snape had been summoned to the headmaster's office.

"How are you, Severus?" Dumbledore asked when Snape stepped into the office and stood before his desk.

"Well as can be expected," Snape answered curtly, wishing the headmaster to get on with the reason for his summoning.

Snape was tired and mentally worn out, something that wasn't like to change in the near future. To top it off he was cross, mostly because he had been in the middle of correcting essays so he wouldn't have to do so later on that evening. It wasn't a terrible inconvenience to be interrupted; Snape had been correcting homework and tests for so long that it only took him a minute or two, if that much, per paper. The main issue was that he felt like being left alone in his dark dungeon classroom.

Now his eyes traveled to Dumbledore's withered right hand, and he saw that the blackened leathery skin had traveled well up past the headmaster's wrist.

"The last thing I wished to do was disrupt you, but as you can see," said Dumbledore airily, slightly lifting his destroyed hand for emphasis.

Snape said nothing as he withdrew his wand and walked over to Dumbledore's desk. Cautiously taking the elder wizard's hand in his, he ran the tip of his wand over the curse-inflicted area.

"The curse moved; marginally, but it has moved nonetheless," Snape proclaimed after a minute.

"Ah, I thought so," said Dumbledore casually, as if he had just been told that someone ate the last of his lemon drops. "Anything else?"

Snape stared hard at Dumbledore for a minute, and his fixed gazed was enough to convey what was unsaid.

"Well, it isn't as if I had planned on staying alive forever," the headmaster added, "and you did say that the curse would eventually spread. But enough of that; how is our young friend holding up?"

"Not pleased with me at the moment," answered Snape.

Even though Snape was no longer teaching Potions, he still maintained his own private stores of ingredients. As of late, certain supplies had been dwindling. The amounts taken were feasible, and to anyone else it might have gone unnoticed. But to Snape's hawkeye, it had been glaringly obvious. Besides, he always arranged his jars in such a way that if moved even a quarter of an inch, he would have noticed.

Any other time, Snape would have assumed the culprits to be Potter and his friends. But from what he gleaned of Slughorn's ramblings over the irksome boy, was that the newly appointed Potions professor would most likely hand Potter anything he needed, thus saving him the trouble of having to steal supplies.

True, there was always the odd student or two that had stolen from him over the years, but that was usually to make some trite concoction, such as a Love Potion. They certainly had no need for it now; the Weasley twins were making a killing with the rubbish they sold in their joke shop. Of course, even though Weasley Wizarding Wheezes products had been banned by Filch, Snape would still find the gaudy wrappers strewn about the Great Hall or the corridors, obvious with the golden set of W's on the front. He truly didn't give a damn if one of the little miscreants ingested a love potion or the like, and saw no reason to bother with the whole ordeal.

Besides, Filch got a kick out of performing surprise checks on the students to make sure they weren't harbouring any contraband. His twisted grin became more twisted when he was successful, and the caretaker behaved as if Christmas had come again when he snatched away said illicit item. Snape had been only too happy to regelate that tedious job to the Squib, as it meant that Filch would not have the time to harass him about Peeves or some other sort of nonsense.

"I do hope that you're keeping an eye on him," said Dumbledore offhandedly, reaching across his desk for a magazine. "I would prefer to keep unfortunate accidents to a minimum."

Snape wanted to churlishly retort that of course he was, what else did he do with his time, but the headmaster began commenting on whatever he was reading in The Quibbler.

"One last thing, Remus sent an owl this morning, asking if you would be so kind as to brew a batch of Wolfsbane Potion. I told him I would let him know if you were able to."

Just as Snape opened his mouth to ask if Dumbledore required anything else of him, perhaps to wipe the Boy Wonder's nose, Sybil Trelawney came bursting through the wide double doors across the room and stumbled into the office, looking like an ever elusive wide-eyed owl with her ridiculously oversized round glasses.

"Headmaster! I would like to—" she shrilled, obviously about to launch into a spiel until she saw that there was another wizard in the room. "Oh, I didn't realise that you were busy. Severus," she coolly greeted, uttering Snape's first name as if it left a nasty taste in her mouth.

"Trelawney," Snape replied with a slight air of distaste. Malingering, drunken old tart.

While most people believed that Snape had no manners, he could easily prove them wrong. Snape had plenty of manners and knew when to bite his tongue, but sometimes it was out of sheer entertainment and self-satisfaction that he uttered whatever was on his mind. One of those times happened to be now.

"What is it, come to complain about Firenze usurping your position again? Or perhaps the prediction of yet another imminent death has still not come to pass? No, there's a shortage of cooking sherry. Ah, that must be it, you are upset because you're about to be forced into sobriety. How ever will you manage?"

Trelawney became huffy with indignation and drew all of what seemed like at least ten frilly beaded shawls tightly round her shoulders. "Well, I never!" she spluttered, turning her nose up at a smirking Snape and ambling in the direction of Dumbledore's desk.

Instances where Trelawney had actually predicted something that became true were as common as hen's teeth. Her skills were as real as a three-pound note, and everyone knew this to be fact. So why Dumbledore kept the dotty woman on was a great mystery to all. Then again, there had been a great many professors that graced the halls of Hogwarts, most of whom proved to be either psychotic, in the case of Quirrell, as well as Dolores Umbridge, although she had been appointed by the Ministry of Magic. Lockhart's appointment had been baffling to those who saw beyond his shiny exterior, but Snape suspected said exterior had been the sole reason for his hire. And while Snape would sooner eat his own tongue than admit it, Lupin had been the most acceptable teacher yet. He still thought that Lupin had no business being around children, not with him turning into a werewolf once a month, but a werewolf paled in comparison when taking into account that one teacher had been controlled by the Dark Lord, and another, who said in so many words that she had no problem with killing children.

"What can I do for you, Sybil?" Dumbledore asked kindly, although there was a glint in his blue eyes that clearly wished for the woman to return to her overly-perfumed tower classroom.

Trelawney cast a furtive glance at Snape, a look which wasn't so furtive in the end considering the way her Coke-bottle glasses enlargened her eyes, and behaved as if she did not wish to speak with him present.

"I would prefer it if we could speak alone," she said, placing great emphasis on the last word.

"Are we through, Headmaster?" Snape asked.

"Yes, that will be all, thank you," Dumbledore replied.

Unable to reply, Snape walked until he was right in front of Trelawney. "My absence, as you wish," he told her sardonically, but not before offering a low, obsequious bow. Snape then rose to his full height, fighting back a snort when he saw the antagonised expression on her face. "Well," said Snape in a soft voice as he continued brushing past her, "I notice that you haven't been hitting those reserve bottles of sherry yet, but I suppose the day is still young."

Trelawney let out a loud indignant squawk as Snape's robes brushed against her as he made his way down the steps and out of Dumbledore's office. In between travelling from the gargoyle exit to the corridor, Snape let out a raspy laugh as he took glee in the easily riled-up Divination professor.

Trelawney was still bristling when she passed Snape in the corridors later on that evening. When the students and staff were convened in the Great Hall for dinner, she made a great show of gathering her shawls about, patting her frizzy hair (unsuccessfully) into place, and shuffling all the way to the end of the dais.

Shortly after the evening meal appeared on each table, Snape overheard Trelawney telling anyone who would listen that he had the manners of a boar.

Well done; why not add to your repertoire of juvenile antics and stick out your tongue next? Give the first-years something to snigger at.

McGonagall said nothing as she was more interested in her dinner, but Madam Hooch, in her own forthright way, muttered that if Trelawney were to lay off the cooking sherry and leave the Defence teacher alone, perhaps she would no longer be susceptible to his disagreeable behaviour. Hooch then went on to tell the frizzy-haired woman that she would be next for her own brand of wrath if she didn't shut up and let her eat her dinner in peace, that she had been dealing with clumsy students all day who kept going arse over elbows in their flying lessons, and the last thing she felt like hearing was Trelawney's incessant nattering.

Snape and Hooch had had their fair share of bumping heads, especially when it came to Quidditch and what she called 'unreasonably and highly competitive' members on the Slytherin Quidditch team. Snape knew that his students had a blatant disregard for the rules while in the midst of playing; Marcus Flint had been a prime example of that. The only thing Snape had told the overzealous Captain was that if he killed another one of the students, the fault would lie with the Head of House, and for that, that he would personally make Flint's life a living hell. Otherwise, Snape turned a blind eye to the rest of the antics between his Slytherins and the other teams. Hooch was the referee, and it was her job to sort it out.

However, at that moment, if he was the sort of wizard to compliment another, Rolonda Hooch definitely would have heard his praises for the way she neatly told off Trelawney before suggestively stabbing her fork into the middle of her shepherd's pie, all without taking her yellow eyes off the dotty woman.

Flitwick had noticed the entire exchange, but appeared to keeping himself firmly rooted in neutral territory. Still, he had one small hand strategically covering his mouth that looked as if it was twitching in a suppressed fit of laughter. Slughorn was seated to Snape's right, although he was too busy with picking and choosing what he wanted to eat, and never batted an eye in the two witches' direction.

When the dinner hour was finally over, Snape swept out of the door behind the staff dais. He was eager to begin to tedious task of brewing Lupin's potion in the way that someone was eager to get a medical examination over with; the sooner he began, the sooner he would be finished.

When Snape first took the job of Potions master at Hogwarts, it became painfully obvious that if he was to be the one responsible for brewing, that he would need suitable quarters in which to do so. Deeming the student classrooms unacceptable for personal brewing purposes, Snape had found and kept locked a smaller yet cleaner room in the dungeons. Ever since finding the laboratory, Snape was sure that no one else knew about it and it was just as well, as he had placed wards on it that only he could get through.

This laboratory was just as dimly lit as the others, only whenever Snape was in need of it, he could brew his potions without having to use three rounds of Scourgify on each surface. The professor knew that he had anal-retentive tendencies when it came to cleanliness of the areas in which he brewed, but the smallest amount of unwanted herbs or other ingredients was the small distinction between a potion turning out wrong or nearly killing oneself. Students had the uncanny habit of not cleaning their workspaces like they were supposed to, and Snape had witnessed one too many explosions as a result of remnants from old potions that still lingered upon surfaces reacting with another.

After retrieving everything from his private stores and carrying it back to the laboratory, Snape lined everything on the marble countertop and set a cauldron down. He never liked doing things at the last minute, and inwardly cursed Lupin for giving him such short notice to brew the complicated potion.

Many would have been surprised that Snape was even doing something that would perhaps be construed as nice for a wizard that he barely shared the basic of niceties with. However, the two had somewhat of an understanding, and long after Lupin left his teaching position at Hogwarts, Snape continued to brew for him the Wolfsbane potion.

The word understanding was perhaps an overstatement, but as it stood, Lupin was part of the Order, and needed to retain every bit of his senses after each bout of transformation. But Snape swore a long time ago that he would do his part for the Light, and if he had nothing else to fall back in the world, he had his word. He would always stick to his promises, even if he did not like doing so.

However, a sudden burning pain in Snape's left arm erased all previous thoughts of his thankless task. Lupin's Wolfsbane potion would have to wait.

And serve him right for waiting until the damnably inconvenient last minute, thought Snape bitterly as he secured the laboratory before heading off in the direction of his rooms to retrieve his travelling cloak and mask.

Hermione had been tucked in her bed and well past the throes of deep slumber when something began tickling her face. Stirring slightly, she pushed at whatever it was brushing against the tip of her nose. The tickling stopped for a second, and she drifted back off to sleep. However, it began again as quickly as it stopped, and Hermione grew frustrated, although it still wasn't enough to completely wake her up.

Turning over onto her stomach, Hermione blindly groped for her duvet and pulled it up to her ears. No sooner than doing so did she realise how hot it was beneath the bed sheets; it was a blustery night and the house-elves must have been feeding extra wood into the large stove heater that sat in the middle of the dormitory. It had become so hot behind the bed curtains that at one point Hermione had shoved the covers down off her body. Now she remembered why she had done so in the first place, and only left them over her head for a minute of two.

After shoving the blankets back down in a heap around her waist, Hermione grumbled in her sleep as she lifted her head, pulling her clammy cheek off the hot side of her pillow and turning it over. Seconds after she was resting comfortably on the cool side, something gave a mighty tug on her curls, causing the top of her head to smart something fierce.

"Ow!" she cried groggily, blindly reaching up to push at her source of pain. Hermione's fingertips brushed against something warm and fuzzy. "Crookshanks!" she mumbled into her pillow, still refusing to look up. "Go away, I'm trying to sleep."

But Crookshanks deemed other things more important than his mistress' beauty rest. Capturing another section of her bushy curls between his teeth, he gave another pull, this time effectively causing Hermione to push herself into a semi-upright position to glare at him in the darkness of her curtain-shrouded four-poster bed.

"Crooks! What is it?" Hermione snapped, now marginally more lucid..

The cat was sitting upright to the side of her pillow, his yellow eyes glinting down at her as light poured in from between the spaces in the bed curtains. Crookshanks continued staring at Hermione until he suddenly darted down onto the floor, pausing at the side of the bed.

"What?!" Hermione hissed in a low voice, trying not to wake up her housemates. She scrambled to the side of the bed and wrenched the curtains apart to poke her head out. When it became apparent that the cat was waiting for her to get out of bed, Hermione heaved a sigh as she threw back the blankets, sliding out from between them and shivering as the sharp loss of warmth. Crookshanks then darted to the front of the dormitory, his bottlebrush tail stuck directly in the air.

"Wait a minute, Crookshanks!" Hermione told him, wondering what had her familiar in such a tizzy as she stood unsteadily, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes.

Crookshanks seemed to be losing patience with his human, because he ran out of the room. Hermione had just lowered one hand from her face when she caught sight of his bushy tail disappearing through the door, and she had to run to see where he was going.

"Come back here!" she fussed as Crookshanks hastily made his way down the curved stone steps that led to the common room. Through the darkened common room she ran, out through the narrow portrait hole, and into the frigid corridor.

"Crooks, if I get into trouble for running after you—ow!" she cried, stepping on a rough patch of flagstone and arriving at the sharp realisation that she was barefoot. Barefoot, wandless, and in her nightgown, she ran through the eerily silent corridors of Hogwarts, chasing after the furry ginger half-kneazle.

Without her wand, Hermione had been unable to Disillusion herself, although Crookshanks had woke her up so abruptly only to take off running at such a fast pace, casting the charm had been the furthest thing from her mind.

I would be a rubbish Auror, Hermione snapped to herself. If I were to come across trouble, I'd have no way of defending myself. Very nice, Hermione, very smart of you to leave your room without your wand or slippers. Ow! This floor is rougher than I thought!

Stumbling once more and fighting back a loud cry of pain as she stubbed her little toe on another patch of stone, Hermione continued running after Crookshanks. The animal was practically airborne as he fled through the castle, giving no quarter as his mistress scampered after him.

Down a set of moving steps the two went, Crookshanks far in the lead. Thankfully there was just enough light for Hermione to follow the sight of the bright orange cat, yet not enough that the portraits would have noticed the young witch running through the castle in her all-together. No matter that the nightgown was long-sleeved, and covered her from throat to ankles, surely the sight was highly odd, considering that she was being led on an invisible leash, a cat holding its reins.

The further they descended in the castle, the cooler it became and despite the thick white nightgown, Hermione drew her arms around her body to keep from shivering.

"Crookshanks, no!" she protested when the cat began leading her down the long set of circular stairs that led down to the dungeons. "You are going to get me expelled! Do you know that? Forget detention, they'll toss me right out onto my nose!"

Crookshanks couldn't be bothered by the imminent threat of Hermione's possibly expulsion; there were more pressing matters at the moment.

The dungeons were the darkest part of the castle, as a few wall scones were the only source of light. However, they were placed far apart between each wall, and Hermione felt a foreboding sense of unease from blindly creeping around in the dark. Crookshanks' stealth seemed to go up by a hundred, and she didn't even have the excuse of the pitter patter of his footsteps.

Please don't let me fall, please don't let me fall, Hermione chanted to herself. The last thing she wanted was for Filch to find her out of bed and wandering about. Snape...well, she might not have minded Snape finding her, but she knew that he would mostly likely become incensed.

Hermione never forgot the way Snape kept drilling into her head to not walk around the castle alone at night. She could practically hear him in her ear as she recounted his words. Maybe she could feign a bout of sleepwalking...no, Harry had done that once, and it didn't work out well for him.

Crookshanks had now walked so far back into the dungeons that Hermione had to give extra focus on merely seeing where he was. Decreasing her footsteps until she came to a standstill, Hermione felt Crookshanks twisting his body in a series of figure-eights around her ankles. He then walked away from her, as if trying to lead her in another direction.

The complete voidance of light seemed to intensify the frigid air in the dungeons, and Hermione wrapped her arms more tightly around her torso, trying to retain what little body heat she had left. She had never really noticed just how cold it was down there, as she had always been covered with her student robes or a thick jumper each time she came to visit Severus. Now she felt as if she were standing in the middle of a graveyard that had frozen over.

"Damn!" Hermione muttered under her breath. The icy flagstones beneath her feet were beginning to feel razor sharp, and it was still too dark for her to make heads or tails of anything. A soft 'Mrroww!' from her immediate right suddenly led her in the correction direction. "Crookshanks, what are you—" Hermione began, her words cutting off when her bare, aching foot struck something soft. "Oh!"

The apprehension she had already been feeling now flared into full out panic; Hermione had no wand, and there was the unmistakable feel of a body at her feet. Her heart began racing so fast it nearly hurt, and she was sure the thudding alone was loud enough to alert Filch and his mean cat, Mrs Norris, of her presence, even if they happened to be two floors above. The corridor was deathly silent and survival instincts kicked in and made Hermione want to flee, but something in her gut made her slowly drop to her knees and crawl closer towards the person on the floor.

Tentatively stretching both arms out, Hermione came in contact with Crookshanks fur, immediately feeling the rumble of his breathing beneath her fingertips. The cat meowed again, more softly this time, and Hermione continued blindly groping around, soon finding that Crookshanks was apparently sitting on top of the unknown person's leg.

"Crookshanks, I'm trusting you, as mad as that sounds," Hermione shakily told him, "because obviously you wanted me to come down here and..."

Trailing off that thought, Hermione lifted one hand and felt voluminous folds of scratchy wool, another stiff fabric beneath that and... buttons. Raising her hand, she found that there were more buttons, each of them in a single row.

"No..." she whispered fiercely to herself. "No!"

There was only one person in Hogwarts that never deviated from a long row of buttons on the front of what Hermione was sure would be a severe black suit had she been able to see. Continuing to root around in the dark, Hermione found the person's left hand, which was lying limply next to their thigh. Groaning as her knees dug into the rough, uneven floor as she braced herself on all fours to reach across them, she felt their right hand, held in a tight fist and clutching onto the unmistakably smooth shape of a wand.

"Professor?" she whispered, hazarding a guess that this was in fact Severus Snape she was intimately kneeling over. "Is that you?"

When there was no answer, no sort of acknowledgment of her presence at all, Hermione cautiously curved her hand around the hand holding onto the wand. If it was in fact Snape, she had no doubt that he would hex her for trying to take his wand, or at the very least she would end up pinned beneath him with his wand to her throat. While he didn't seem to be as paranoid as Alastor Moody, Hermione still did not want to be on the receiving end of any spells that came from the equally notorious and temperamental wizard.

Unable to find middle ground for both her reasons for being scared, Hermione dithered for a moment as she tried to think of her best course of actions. She couldn't leave whoever it was on the floor, nor could she help them without being able to see.

Crookshanks seemed to pick up on her hesitance, because his tiny, sharp teeth caught the edge of her nightgown's sleeve and he tugged, as if willing her to hurry up.

"All right, but stop rushing me!" Hermione snapped as a fierce shiver rocked through her. It was cold enough that her thick nightgown may as well have been made of gauze, because her teeth were beginning to chatter. "I can't see in the dark like you!"

The pitch dark corridor was intimidating enough, but the deathly silence and ominously still body she sat next to was worse. Hermione could still literally hear her heart beating, and she had to take several deep breaths to steel herself. Tightening her hand around the person's hand, she fervently prayed that the spell would work.

"Lumos!"

Her stomach had been doing nervous flips at the prospect of what she was about to see. Hermione nearly cried out when the spell worked, feeling her magic flowing through her hand and into the other person's, followed by a glimmer of pale white light shooting out from the tip of their wand. The person's arm was dead weight, and Hermione awkwardly wrestled it up to see their face, and she let out another sharp cry when she found herself staring at an unconscious and deathly pale Severus Snape.

More on Sunday! Promise!
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Unintentional Inveiglement