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
- 2
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A/N: Because you all are wonderful, another update. I know there was a lack of Snape in the last chapter, here is our favorite buttoned-up, billowing cloak Professor in all of his surly glory.

Thank you again for the reviews, alerts, favorites ;) they are much appreciated and feed the Muse (who has yet to be named. Maybe I'll name her with a symbol, like the Artist formerly known as Prince.)

The next morning, Hermione seemed to have bounced back, and her antisocial behavior was never brought up once during breakfast, or lunch for that matter.

It had been almost dawn when she was shaken awake, groggily opening her eyes to find that she was still curled up on the sofa in Snape's room. He told her that she had to go back to her own room, which she had, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes the entire way downstairs. Hermione had flopped down into her own bed, burrowing beneath her duvet, waking up hours later to the smell of bacon.

Shuffling down to the kitchen, Hermione found Ron standing at the hob, pushing slices of bacon around with a long, wooden-handled fork.

"Ron's volunteered to make breakfast," Harry laughed. "But I told him if he burns it, he eats it."

"Nose down, Harry," Ron grinned. "Mum taught me how to cook, you know that. And besides, if I did burn anything, I'd never have heard the end of it from Fred and George, who both say that ruining breakfast is downright indecent. Those tossers; of course, they never volunteered to help Mum, they just stuffed their gobs and ran out the back door. Dad caught them once and made them do dishes though, by hand."

Harry and Hermione were amused by that, and were leaning over the sides of their chairs with laughter.

"Why didn't Mrs. Weasley just make them cook once in awhile?" Hermione asked.

"Really, Hermione, Fred and George cooking?" he dubiously replied. "They'd probably burn everything up just to get out of it, knowing that Mum would never make them cook again. The rest of my brothers and Ginny know how to cook. Bill makes this excellent steak, and Charlie fed us some meat when we all went to visit him, although now that I think about it, I wonder if that animal was even supposed to be eaten."

"I... don't want to know," Harry replied with a slight frown.

"Me neither," Ron grimaced, "forget I even mentioned it. Say, I suppose we have to leave Snape some food too, Mum would kill me if I didn't share."

"That's very nice of you, Ronald," Hermione complimented. "Even though I'm sure you'll be thanked with some acerbic comment, the gesture is kind. Actually, I'll take it up to him and you can avoid the hassle."

"Really?" Ron asked, his eyes lighting up. "Thanks, Hermione. You're right, he'd probably tell me that the eggs are too runny and would try taking points from Gryffindor, even though we're not in school."

"He does have a point," Harry conceded, scooping out a generous portion of eggs and withdrawing four pieces of buttered toast with the other hand.

The three hurriedly finished their breakfast, and Hermione was soon taking a plate heaped with food upstairs.

"Why don't you just ask Kreacher to do that for you?" Ron asked, turning his head when Hermione shot him a scathing look.

"Last I checked my legs were working just fine," she snapped, covering the plate with a napkin. "And you know that I hate asking house-elves to do anything, why do you think I'd been working so hard with-"

"SPEW, yes, we know."

With a final eye roll, Hermione turned and left the kitchen, carefully walking all the way to the top of the house with Snape's breakfast in hand. Holding her breath when she walked past the Mrs. Black's portrait, she finally relaxed when she was nearly at Snape's door.

Is this man paranoid or something? Hermione asked herself as the door was suddenly flung open when she was less than two feet away. Snape's black suited form dominated the entire stretch of doorway, and he was staring directly at Hermione. Looking back at the professor, she saw that he was holding his wand, only its dark tip visible and pointed towards the floor.

"Miss Granger," he curtly greeted, his face impassive. "And to what do I owe the pleasure?

"Well, it's breakfast time," she cautiously explained, trying not to shrink beneath the weight of the intense black eyes focused on her, "I thought you would like to eat."

Snape's eyes narrowed slightly as they flickered from the covered plate in Hermione's hand back up to her face. it was the first time that one of the three had actually made a special trip to offer him anything. Upon his arrival at the house, Harry had awkwardly explained the times that they usually ate when Snape soundly cut him off, stating that he would see to his own meals. After that there had been no offers to share meals, which was what he preferred. Of course Granger had to impose herself, which was to be expected.

"It's not been poisoned!" she assured, slightly thrusting the plate in his direction, chiding herself to not laugh as she thought back to Ron telling her and Harry that Snape had probably poisoned their cocoa. "Honest, I fixed it myself, and even charmed it to keep it warm."

With an impassive face and his eyes still on hers, Snape stretched out one long, black sleeved arm to take the plate from Hermione. She tried not to recoil when his cool, pale fingers brushed against her skin, and no longer able to hold his gaze averted her eyes, watching as his long fingers curved around the edge of the plate.

"Thank you. Anything else?"

Hermione opened her mouth to speak but decided against it, only looking back up when Snape retreated into his room and shut the door.

The man's been shutting doors in your face ever since he's arrive here, Hermione told herself, surprised that she felt only marginally insulted. Did you think taking him a bit of toast and eggs was going to change that?

"Oh, bugger off, Harry!" Ron exploded, making the messy-haired wizard sitting across from him chortle.

The three were in the drawing room later that evening after dinner. Hermione was curled up on the sofa with a book in hand, listening to the heated yet friendly debate that was surrounding the game of Wizard's chess that Harry and Ron were deeply engrossed in. Harry was still under the tutelage of Ron, and it seemed that his instructor was very good as he was beating him, with Ron bellowing out in mock annoyance at each successful move.

"That's it, I'm not playing with you again," Ron threatened as Harry knocked another of his pieces off the board.

"Yeah, so who are you going to play with?"

"Not me!" Hermione's voice rang out from the sofa. "Last time I played with Ron, I wanted to smack him on the head."

"Ooh, I remember that," Harry cringed. "Maybe you can ask Kreacher. Or Snape."

Ron had been huddled over the chessboard, feverishly plotting out his next move when he heard Harry's comment, and his neck snapped up, a horrified look on his face. "You're supposed to be my bloody best friend, Harry!" he exclaimed. "Why would you even say a thing like that?"

Hermione giggled at the entire exchange, shaking her head when she saw Harry shrug his shoulders, a crooked grin on his face as he looked back at his traumatized best friend.

Although Hermione secretly admitted to herself, that Snape would most likely prove an excellent chess partner. As contrary as he was, Snape was as erudite as they came, and surely his head was filled with all sorts of knowledge.

Speaking of Snape...she hadn't seen him since that morning. If he had in fact come out of his bedroom, his presence went unnoticed, although Hermione knew that he'd visited the kitchen at some point, as the tray of lunch she'd left for him had been taken. It had been two hours since dinner, and Hermione feigned some excuse to go down to the kitchen, and was surprised to find that his meal was exactly where she'd left it; on the side counter, covered with a cloth and kept warm by way of stasis charm.

Once the three went off to their respective rooms for the night, Hermione crept back down to the kitchen, curiosity burning at her to find out if Snape had taken his dinner. She was about to roll her eyes upon seeing the tray that hadn't moved an inch, fervently believing that her good deed had been for naught.

Turning around so suddenly that she nearly tripped on the hem of her nightgown, Hermione hastily yanked it up when she heard a sudden thump through the ceiling. Thinking that Kreacher was banging around the house, Hermione kept on with her walk to the steps when she heard a low groan that most definitely did not belong to the house-elf.

Running up the stairs as fast as the voluminous nightgown would allow her, Hermione sank to her knees by the professor's side when she saw him in an ungainly sprawl in the middle of the hallway.

Snape would have snapped at the young witch that was now perched by his side, a frightened expression on her face, only he was in too much pain to do anything more than focus on taking small breaths.

Usually he had enough strength to fuss at Hermione, or to even offer one his always expected snide remarks, but the idea of constituting enough effort to even move his tongue made Snape want to turn his own wand on himself. Hermione had gently rested her hands on his shoulders in an attempt to help him sit up, to which Snape let loose a feral growl, and the girl fairly yelped.

Damn, I hope those two idiots didn't hear this chit!

It was bad enough that Hermione heard him, but Potter and Weasley finding him sprawled out like some helpless child would have been the proverbial perfect ending to a horrendous evening.

"What-what do you need me to do?" Hermione asked, her eyes widened with anxiety as she looked at Snape's nearly colourless complexion. If he looked half as bad as he felt, then it was no wonder the young witch was so shaken up.

The day had questionably started out without a snag, but when it came to Snape's life in general, snags were always to be expected. He was surprised that Hermione had personally brought him breakfast that morning, his apprehension growing when he later saw the tray of lunch with his name scribbled on a scrap of parchment and laid next to it that afternoon. If there had been any further meals, Snape was unaware as the Dark Mark branded into his arm began burning early that evening, and his departure from Grimmauld Place had been hasty.

Dimly registering that Hermione was again asking him what he needed, Snape managed to choke out for her to leave him alone, only for the bookish witch to respond with crude words that were totally out of character for her.

"Can you move?" she then asked, causing silent anger to bubble up in the wizard.

No, I can't bloody move, you daft girl! he screamed inwardly, the idea of moving even the smallest part of his body making the already agonizing pain soar to new heights. The Dark Lord had been more wand happy than usual at the gathering, also encouraging the Death Eaters to hurl twice the amount of hexes and curses at one another, in hopes of doing what, no one seemed to know. Snape secretly knew it was merely because Voldemort was a sadistic bastard on a power trip, which was reason enough in the megalomaniac's snake eyes.

Hermione uttered another crude word before hissing out for Harry's house-elf, moments later the dirty rag covered Kreacher appearing. He had just snarled 'Mudblood' at Hermione before she sharply silenced him, reminding him that Harry had ordered for him to listen to her.

"I need you to take us to the top floor," she hastily explained to the house-elf, that remained snarling at her underneath his breath. " Now, Kreacher!" With that, Hermione rested one hand on Snape's shoulder, waiting for the house-elf.

None-too-gently, Kreacher touched a gnarled hand to Hermione as if he expected her skin to be made of fire, yet Apparated both her and Snape to the end of the hallway at the top most floor. When Ron nor Harry opened their bedroom doors at the resounding crack of Apparition, Hermione gingerly placed her arms beneath a subdued Snape's shoulders, grunting as she bore most of his weight and dragged him into the pitch dark bedroom.

As gently as she was able to manage, she felt around for the bed and got him on the mattress. Hastily flicking her wand to light the candles in the room, Hermione waited until she was able to see everything through the orange glow. Snape's eyes were closed, perspiration dotting his furrowed forehead, and it seemed as if he was wincing, although no sound came from his mouth.

Truly at a loss as to how she could help the suffering man, Hermione did the next best thing she could think of and moved to the edge of the bed, using trembling fingers to grab onto Snape's polished to a gleam dragon hide boots and ease them off his feet. His breathing was labored and his eyes were closed, and Snape looked remarkably small yet somehow still managed to cut a daunting figure as he lay shrouded in his forbidding black, tightly buttoned suit and black traveling cloak.

His throes of agony having slightly subsided, Snape felt Hermione gently pull off his shoes, setting them down on the floor with a quiet thump. She then silently lingered at the bedside, and he could feel her brown eyes burning a hole into his face. His everyday appearance never failed to put people off, and no doubt he currently looked like some even more ghastly rendition of a wraith.

"Sir?" he heard Hermione whisper. "Can I get you...do you need something, water perhaps?"

Snape gave a small, feeble nod, frowning slightly when he felt the muscles in his neck twinge. Paying scant attention to the witch withdrawing her wand and Conjuring a glass, it was soon filled with water, and one hand slipped beneath the pillow supporting him instead the back of his neck, and he was assisted in sitting up enough to get some of the water into his mouth. It tasted flat and stale being that it came by way of wand, but it was better than nothing and Snape greedily gulped it down, exhaling loudly when he could drink no more.

Hermione slowly eased him back down to the bed, taking great care in not jarring his head when she pulled her arm from beneath the pillow. Once again, at a loss, Hermione asked if needed anything else, more water, food, anything-to which Snape weakly held up a hand, motioning for her to be quiet. Taking a seat on the uneven sofa, Hermione kept vigil from across the room, jumping up like a spooked deer whenever Snape thrashed about.

She had a slight idea of what happened to him, but knew better than to ask. To do so meant to incur a sound verbal lashing when the man was well, and she'd had enough of his berating to last a lifetime. Able to boldly stare at the professor now that his eyes were closed, Hermione saw that he was still sweating profusely, the lank strands of black hair plastered to his head in damp strands.

The first couple times she helped Snape to his room, he merely excused her and she had gone back to her room. Hermione was shocked that he hadn't kicked her out, even though part of her would have been too worried to leave the weakened man alone. The black suit concealed much of Snape's body, and Hermione thought about removing the outer layers but was scared to move him as she had no idea what sort of injuries he'd sustained, and felt very much out of her depths.

Hermione didn't know how much time had passed. Snape's breathing was now less labored, and his limbs had fallen slack atop the duvet. Still, his sleep was fitful and he seemed feverish, as even through the candlelight she was able to tell by the flush on his normally sallow cheeks.

Standing up from the sofa and cautiously creeping over to the bed, Hermione loomed over Snape's unnaturally still body, only the faintest rising of his chest visible through the many black layers covering him.

Merlin, I hope he doesn't wake up, she thought, standing so close to Snape that she was able to see the curve of his eyelashes resting upon his gaunt cheekbones. No pun intended, but Snape did remind her of a tightly coiled snake, silently watching and waiting for its prey to get close enough before going in for the kill. By chance the wizard did wake up, Hermione knew the least of her worries would be a sound verbal lambasting-she would most likely end up pinned to some surface with his wand at her throat.

Steeling herself in case she needed to suddenly jump back, Hermione gingerly pressed the back of her hand to Snape's damp forehead, finding that he was in fact burning up. Having no fever-relieving potion on hand, and doubting that Snape would accept the Muggle medication, paracetamol, even if he could swallow, Hermione resorted to more basic measures and Conjured a dish with ice water and a soft cloth.

Snape barely flinched when the cold compress was placed on his forehead. Hermione could hear his caustic voice in her head, berating and belittling her if she dripped water onto his clothes, and she made sure to wring out the excess moisture each time she rewet the cloth. Thirty minutes later, she put her hand to Snape's head again, finding that the fever had slightly subsided. The ice in her dish was melted and the water tepid, and she vanished its contents and Conjured the dish to refill itself.

The next batch of ice water was nearly done when Hermione wrung out the cloth for the last time, before placing it on Snape's forehead. She thought the candlelight was playing tricks on her eyes for a moment until she realized that his eyes had in fact opened slightly, unfocusedly staring back up at her. Hermione had been perched next to him on the bed, her hand extended across his face and about to retrieve the now warm cloth when she noticed the professor looking right at her. She went rigid with fear, unsure of what his reaction would be to seeing her there. However, after what seemed like the longest minute of life, Snape's eyes lazily slid shut and she breathed a sigh of relief, slowly peeling the cloth away from his forehead and placing it back in the dish.

Carefully moving so that she wouldn't shake the mattress too much, Hermione vanished the remaining water from the dish and set it on the floor next to the bed. She sat back against the headboard and tucked herself into a little ball, her eyes furtively straying over to Snape who was once again sleeping soundly.

The room was eerily quiet save for the sound of the professor's deep breathing. Hermione dimly wondered if she should return to her room, but decided against it in the event that something went wrong with Snape. He might have been a bastard towards her and her friends, but malicious was something that Hermione was not. And besides, even though he'd dressed her down the night before when he found her crying in the hallway, he still let her calm herself out of earshot of Ron and Harry, going so far as to let her remain in his room. Hermione didn't know what to make of that, as he usually kept his distance from the three as well as any students back at Hogwarts outside of classroom hours. Unless he was assigning detention, in which case he seemed to pull students out of thin air.

Either way, Hermione decided to stick around until she knew for sure that the professor was all right, and attempted to stay awake, despite her burning eyes growing heavy.

Snape gave a low grunt as his overtaxed eyes struggled to open and take in his surroundings. His body ached from head to toe, and he was sweating profusely and sticking to his clothes when he remembered that he was still clad in his suit and traveling cloak. Assembling the fortitude to sit upright, he painfully got off his cloak, cravat, and suit jacket and tossed the items to the foot of the bed. His shoes were already off, as he noticed his black sock clad feet, so that at least spared him the effort of bending down to remove them.

Cringing as he lifted his arm to run a hand through his lank hair, Snape noticed that only one candle was lit in his bedroom, giving off a glow that barely illuminated a small, curled up lump that was opposite him, nearly at the edge of the mattress. The intruder's face was buried in their folded arms but the wild mass of curly hair draped onto their shoulder and spilling down the pillow gave enough away for Snape to know who was in his room.

His first instinct was to shake the young witch awake, demanding to know who she thought she was to take liberties and fall asleep in his bed, until Snape remembered that it was said witch who looked after him when he was unable to do little more than blink and nod.

Fuck, he inwardly fumed, feeling the residual pounding at his temples. He still felt stifled wearing so many clothes, and perspiration had his white linen shirt and undershirt feeling like a second uncomfortable skin. Still too indisposed to move, Snape withdrew his wand from his sleeve and cast a cooling charm on the room. Much better, he thought, the lowered temperature instantly soothing his afflicted body.

Awkwardly perched against the headboard, Snape turned his head towards his nightgown covered bed partner to find that she had curled into a tighter ball and was slightly shivering in the midst of sleep. Rolling his eyes, he reached over and roughly drew the duvet up and settled it over Hermione, leaving only her head exposed. The girl's limbs soon relaxed with the added warmth, and she never stirred out of her sleep.

Once again, save-the-day Granger had stuck her nose where it didn't belong, but had it not been for her Snape knew that he would have still been prostrate and clinging to the dirty floor of the vestibule. He somewhat remembered Hermione asking him what he needed, before summoning Potter's nasty house-elf, who sneered at the young witch only to receive a verbal lashing. The next thing he knew was that he was being hauled with some difficulty in the darkened room, wanting to weep with relief when his aching body met with the bed, despite the old, lumpy and uneven mattress.

His tongue felt swollen and as if it was made of cotton, and Snape remembered that he'd almost bitten through it at some point of his 'meeting'. Granger thankfully had been intuitive enough to ask if he was thirsty, and the warm glass of water had been ambrosia on his parched tongue. Self-healing his injuries had been out of the question, as Snape didn't have enough energy to lift a finger, and having the young, inexperienced witch attempt to tangle with Dark Magic had been out of the question.

Highly aware of the too young witch curled up next to him, Snape found it difficult to go back to sleep. Unbeknownst to the girl, Snape was well acquainted with her tendency to offer assistance, even to those who were undeserving-like himself, he couldn't help but to wonder what her motivation was for helping him.

Furthermore, what was disconcerting was the fact that she was easily sleeping in his presence, as she also done the night before only on his sofa. Ever since he could remember, Granger barely looked him in the eye, at Hogwarts or elsewhere. If he was being honest, Snape wouldn't have said that the girl was scared of him. Perhaps leery was a better word. As it were, he still didn't know how to feel about Hermione being in such intimate proximity to him. Had anyone else caught wind of the two in the same bed, Snape knew that he would be strung up and gelded, being accused of trying to taint the heart and soul of the Golden Trio.

Of course, it would be futile to explain that the girl helped him willingly, without managing to ask too many insipid questions or get on his last nerve.

When pale blue light began peeking through the cracks of the moth-eaten drapes hanging over the windows, Snape reached over and shook Hermione's duvet covered shoulder.

"You need to return to your room, Granger," he told her in a rough voice when her brown eyes opened sluggishly, the girl pausing as if she was unsure where she had spent the night. Her eyes finally widened as comprehension dawned upon her, and Hermione sat up in bed, causing the duvet to fall from her body.

"I'm sorry; I didn't mean to fall asleep here," she told him, instantly coming to and stumbling over her words.

Snape merely returned a fixed gaze, his dark eyes bloodshot and heavy lidded. "On your way then, before anyone sees you."

Hermione obediently nodded her head, her eyes straying over Snape's white shirt and black trouser clad body that had remained atop of the bed sheets the entire time she was next to him. Unable to keep from staring, it felt nearly deviant seeing him sans black frock coat, as Snape was always buttoned to the nines and leaving only his head and fingertips exposed. Her eyes fell to his pale hands, both of which were palm down on the duvet, the fingers slightly curved and relaxed against the folds of the material. Hermione half expected Snape to have a myriad of scars covering his hands, which would most likely offer some explanation as to why the man kept himself cloaked in the concealing garments, and was surprised to find that the skin was smooth looking and unmarked. The only other rarely shown patch of skin exposed was the notch in Snape's throat, right below his Adam's apple, and Hermione wasn't brazen enough to focus that high up.

"If you're done with your appraisal, I insist that you take your leave," he told her in a clipped tone. Snape actually didn't give a damn if Hermione stayed or not; he just wanted to get out of his clothes, and resume a more comfortable sleep.

Cheeks burning when she realized that she'd been caught, Hermione climbed out of bed, the uneven mattress squeaking lightly at the shift in weight. She was halfway across the room when she realized that her wand was still buried beneath the pillow, and Hermione came back around to retrieve it. The entire time, Snape's black eyes followed Hermione's every movement, unblinkingly remaining so until she uttered a soft "Good night, rather, good morning," before stepping out of the bedroom and gently shutting the door behind her.

Snape wasted no time in stripping down to his under clothes and stretching out beneath the duvet. Groaning as he rolled over, a lingering floral scent instantly accosted his nostrils, and Snape found that he'd buried his face into the pillow that Hermione had slept on. Even though he was well on his way to a somewhat sound sleep, Snape frowned into the pillow, annoyed yet unsure as to why he was annoyed at the innocuous scent. Still, he didn't move from his position and was asleep within a split second.

It was noon when the Potions master finally woke up. Potter's house-elf had come to his room to leave a tray of food, yet for some reason the usually snarling Kreacher kept all snide comments to himself. Snape pretended to ignore the fact that Hermione wasn't the one to come to his door, going so far as to think that he didn't give a damn if Potter himself had come up, seconds later vehemently protesting that notion.

Snape remained in his room all day, only venturing out to use the loo, prior to making sure that his three charges were nowhere in the vicinity. Evening found him sitting at the little desk in his room, deeply engrossed in a book when a familiar, timid knock was issued at his door. The soft rapping could only belong to one person, and Snape didn't even bother getting up after telling Hermione to come in.

"How are you feeling?" she asked, cautiously stepping into a room and standing by the sofa, a covered tray in her hands. There was a wary look in her eyes, as if she was remembering the way Snape looked upon returned to Grimmauld Place.

"Well as can be expected," he tersely replied.

The loud-mouth witch that had snapped at Kreacher just the night before, was now replaced by a more subdued Hermione. Awkwardly looking around for a surface to place the tray down upon, Snape beckoned her over with one long finger. Scooting back just far enough in his seat, Snape watched as Hermione arranged everything on his desk before stepping back, pausing as if waiting for him to speak.

"Are you going to stand there gawking? Or perhaps you'd like to sit down?" he drawled, uneasy with the young witch practically looming over him.

"Sorry," Hermione replied, crossing back over to the sofa and sinking down.

Snape was honestly surprised when Hermione quietly sat, allowing the man to eat his dinner in peace without her firing a barrage of questions his way. The only thing she asked was if she could see a book of his that was left by the bedside, to which Snape told her yes.

"Are things so uninspired with Potter and Weasley that you saw fit to seek out less than savoury company?" Snape asked in the midst of eating.

"Uninspired is an understatement," Hermione chuckled, thinking back to the dull conversation between the boys that left her more irritated than anything. For some reason Ron had been struck with the notion to ask Harry about all of the girls he'd ever kissed, and to pick who was the best snog and who was the worse. Hermione instantly feigned female problems, to which the boys were only too happy for her to leave, and she instantly escaped to her room. She'd been in there for all of five minutes when Snape crossed her mind, and Hermione went back down to the kitchen to fix a tray for him.

"I didn't think you carried on with those two for the scintillating conversations," he continued dryly, a pronounced smirk on his face.

Hermione bit back a laugh at the obvious jibe at her friends, but decided to leave that alone. "There's only enough room for one swot in the group. I help to balance things out."

"Indeed. Just mind that your little friends don't get you into anymore sticky situations. That would be most...unfortunate."

Hermione grin faltered just a bit, and she raised an eyebrow, wondering just how much Snape knew about their childhood antics.

"Oh yes, Miss Granger," Snape drawled. "Just because I haven't mentioned it, doesn't mean that I'm unaware."

Hermione was properly abashed and lowered her head, thankful that her wild mop of curls concealed her flaming face. Snape resumed his meal and she with her book, until he took his last bite and set down his fork with an air of finality.

"Thank you."

"You're welcome," Hermione replied nonchalantly, trying to not make a big deal out of the professor displaying what an outsider would construe as manners. She was most surprised when he picked up his tray and walked to the bedroom door, opening it and calling for the house-elf, who snarled upon seeing Hermione yet fell silent when Snape told him to shut up and take the tray back to the kitchen.

"I almost prefer Potter's annoying house-elf," Snape grumbled.

"Who, Dobby?" Hermione asked brightly, surprised that Snape even knew about Dobby. "He's gotten Harry into a kerfuffle or two, but he means well."

"Yes, well..." Snape trailed off, sitting down across from Hermione on the edge of his bed. He sat with his arms folded across his chest, staring back at the completely unfazed witch. "Pray tell, what were the two dunderheads so deeply engrossed with at length that sent you running?"

Perplexed that Snape was asking her something so informal, Hermione attempted to hide her surprise and answer the question. "They were comparing girls they've kissed, who was the best and so forth, which is sure to lead into a whole 'my horse is bigger than your horse'. If I might be so bold, I really don't give a damn."

"And why is that, Miss Granger?" Snape archly enquired. "Low in the hierarchy?"

"I'm going to pretend that was a joke," Hermione shot back. "I'm not a part of the hierarchy. I told Ron to keep his hands to himself back in third year."

"Now that is interesting," he continued in a smooth voice.

"Not really," Hermione admitted. "Fred and George dared Ronald to kiss me, and if I let him they'd give him a Galleon each. He got all of four feet within me before I threatened to hex him."

Snape let out something that was akin to a laugh, although his austere features remained so impassive it was hard to tell.

"Can I ask you something, Professor?"

Snape suspiciously narrowed his black eyes, yet exhaled with impatience. "I suppose I should have been expecting this, but do go on."

"Are you scared or...you know...worried?"

Hermione looked back at him so imploringly that Snape was positive the young witch had caught onto more than she let everyone know, as her soft, brown eyes pleaded with him to tell her the truth. Snape exhaled again, the usually snappy wizard trying to come up with the proper words. He knew that Hermione was young, but she was anything but daft. It would have been easier to feed her some inane drivel, but Snape had never been one to beat around the bush, and he had no intention of starting now, especially with the curly-haired clairvoyant peering right into his face.

"Yes...and no," he stiffly answered, shocked that he was willing to placate her, at the same time not wanting to say too much. "Although, it's futile to be worried or scared, as I'm sure you know whatever is meant to happen will happen."

"I know, but still..." Hermione trailed off, a pensive look clouding her face, ignoring the fact that she was being closely scrutinized by a pair of black eyes.

"Why?" came the single-worded interrogation that seemed to hold the weight of the world. He wanted to know what was the sudden change in her attitude towards him, why Hermione had suddenly decided to help him.

"Why not?" Hermione softly replied, understanding the unspoken parts of his query.

Snape slowly nodded his head, the black curtains of hair partially obstructing his face. "You are without a doubt a very odd witch. But I expect that you would be the sort to pet a rattlesnake and try to justify its reaction when it bites you."

"You know, it's a funny thing; just the other day I thought that you reminded me of a snake, one sitting in a garden, coiled up and ready to make its move. Uncanny, isn't it?"

"Very much so," he dryly agreed.

"All right, well, I'd better get back downstairs before I have to have a pull for the bathroom before Ron and Harry come up," Hermione said, standing up from the sofa and replacing Snape's book on the nightstand. She didn't notice as the wizard stiffened as she breezed past him. Hermione still had one hand on the doorknob, ready to open it when she said, "And just so you know, that snake analogy...when I thought about it, I pictured a non-venomous snake." With that she turned and walked away, leaving behind a stony countenanced yet pensive Snape.
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Unintentional Inveiglement