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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
- 30
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A/N: Err...are you lovely folks still with me? Just checking! ;)

Sleep was the only time Hermione had been able to shut her brain off, but even then there had been times where she jolted awake in the middle of the night, sitting completely upright in bed, heart pounding because she was scared that she'd forgotten to study for something. Up until the previous year, those had been the only types of horrors to worry her on a subconscious level. Then everything with Umbridge and the fight at the Department of Mysteries only further added to the malaise. Hermione had dubbed it 'stress somnia' as it kept her awake more times than she cared to count.

However, at the moment, Hermione was so into her slumber that the whole of Hogwarts could have crashed down around her and she would not have noticed. She was definitely unaware of the pair of black eyes focused through the darkness on her sleeping form. While there were fine lines of stress at the edges, there was a slight softness in them that had never been shown in the light of day, or even when Hermione was fully conscious.

While the two were asleep, Hermione managed to roll almost completely on top of Snape, trapping his lower body with her right leg. She kept him ensnared until drifting awake when she felt his hand stroking her side. That led to her straddling him properly and after a bit of lazy kissing and caressing one another, he found his way back inside her body.

Hermione had still been in a relaxed state and kept her head buried at the side of Snape's neck while he held onto her waist and slowly thrust up into her. They moved less franticly that go round, and remained somewhat quiet as they reached a simultaneous climax. Hermione had then stroked Severus' face with her fingertips, eventually falling back asleep with his limp member still partially buried inside her.

A few hours later, Snape reasoned that waking a troll would have been easier than waking Hermione. She lay like a log, sprawled out on her stomach with the duvet pulled up to her ears. When Snape pulled the covers back away from her, Hermione curled up to get comfortable, finally resorting to blindly chasing the residual heat embedded in the sheets by scooting further down in the bed.

Before she was able to burrow at the footboard beneath the blankets, Snape placed his palm against her cheek and stroked it until Hermione's eyes fluttered open.

"Ugh, this is the part I hate," she mumbled grouchily, turning into Snape's touch and frowning when he pulled away.

"Believe me, I have no wish to get out of bed, either," Snape reassured as he roughly tossed his side of blankets to the foot of the bed and climbed out. "But dodging students and staff if you leave too late was never my intention. Come along."

Hermione watched silently as Snape began to find scattered articles of clothing in the dark and dress with deft precision. Finally snapping at herself to shift, she slid out of the comforting warmth of the bed and flinched when her feet met with the cool bedroom floor.

"I wasn't referring to sneaking around," said Hermione as she found her own clothing. "I mean leaving you, since I never know when I'm able to see you again."

"You see me nearly every day, and for an hour last I checked on Thursdays, unless a doppelganger has been taking your place in my class."

Hermione had been in the middle of wrestling her head and frizzed-out cloud of hair through the neck of her jumper, and paused to glower at the wizard.

"You know what I mean," she said. "I meant see you, as in Severus, not Professor."

"Is there really such a difference?" Snape asked blithely, now fully attired in his customary black suit. The only thing missing were his teaching robes and boots, which had been left in the front room. His arms were crossed as he watched Hermione fighting to her hair out of her face, and his lips twitched as though he was amused.

"Yes, there is!" Hermione snapped, tugging the jumper down in frustration and yanking her curls back. "And you know it.

Whether Snape agreed or disagreed, he refused to say, and turned to walk out of the bedroom. Hermione followed him to the front where they both put on their shoes.

"I think I can make it to the dormitory on my own," Hermione informed. "I doubt Malfoy is prowling about at this hour."

"Take this how you will, but at the present time I am not interested in what you think," Snape replied slowly, causing Hermione to reproachfully look at him. "Speaking of Mr Malfoy, he says you and Potter were, and I quote, 'sucking face' at the Three Broomsticks.

Hermione looked horrified at that comment. "I hope you didn't believe him!" she shuddered. "Harry is like my brother; I wouldn't be caught dead snogging him."

Snape was staring directly at her, the way he did when he was trying to either intimidate someone or decipher something. It had always been hard to tell which, and Hermione flushed slightly.

"Of course, you're the only one I'm kissing..." she trailed off, shyly smiling up at the professor.

Snape felt a frisson of satisfaction when he heard Hermione say that he was the only one she was kissing, and while he knew it terribly foolish of him to hope that it would remain like so, he needed something, anything to look forward to, no matter how hokey the sentiment might be.

"I knew Draco was fabricating,; I have only known him his entire life," Snape drawled.

Draco Malfoy was not only good-looking, a physical trait inherited from both parents, but when it came to prevarication, his prowess was nowhere near his father's. While Draco had enough pulchritude to make many of his female as well a handful of his male classmates believe that he was the Creator's most cherished and personal gift to earth, Snape knew that the child was full of it. Draco could charm a bee into giving up all its honey, but Snape was no fool, and from the off let the boy know that he would not tolerate lying or his mischief under any circumstances.

The professor knew that the whole story about Hermione and Potter kissing had been nothing but a ruse to try and distract him from the true issue at hand, which had been Draco giving Katie Belle the cursed necklace. Draco knew that Snape had some sort of issue with Potter; anyone that had been in the vicinity of the two were well aware of that fact. However, Draco apparently had thought himself slick enough to try and use that little snag to his advantage, a ploy which failed miserably.

Besides, Snape knew that Potter and the youngest Weasley girl often skulked off to little recesses in the castle to have a private moment away from friend and brother. More than once Snape was sure that the two had been hidden beneath Potter's Invisibility Cloak, kissing and hugging one another. The only thing that kept him from assigning both detention had been the fact that Miss Weasley never gave him a problem in class. She had always arrived on time, focused diligently upon her work, in Potions as well as Defence Against the Dark Arts. He never had to treat her like one of her fellow daft classmates, and her homework assignments never looked as if they had been chewed or spat upon.

No, Ginevra Weasley definitely was a far cry from most of her brothers. Percy had been just as studious but asked questions to the point where he made Hermione Granger look quiescent, and Snape had been glad to see the boy graduate and go off to annoy someone else.

"I don't mind you walking me back to the dormitory," Hermione was now saying. "But I feel as if I'm making you go out of your way for no reason."

"Your safety is reason enough," Snape told her curtly, effectively putting an end to her fretting. "Now, come along."

Things had somewhat returned to normal as the rest of January dragged on. Rumours about Katie Belle's sudden disappearance had flown throughout the school, until there were no fewer than ten versions, each one more outlandish than the last. Unfortunately, because of the entire incident, Filch had cheerfully suggested to the headmaster that further trips to Hogsmeade be cancelled, making sure to loudly say so in front of the students.

Everyone protested at that idea, even Neville Longbottom, who was usually mild-tempered. It was rare that Dumbledore was seen as of late, but he happened to be around that day, and smoothed over things by breezily suggesting that the students all needed a bit of fresh air on the weekends, and who wouldn't like to visit Honeydukes Sweetshop for the odd Cockroach Cluster?

Filch noticeably bristled at that comment, while Dumbledore winked at Hermione and Ginny, who had been standing nearby.

Things between Ron, Harry, and Hermione were also less strained. Hermione was still miffed at Harry for his continued usage of his illegal Potions textbook in class, but when it became apparent that he was not going to give it up any time soon, she abandoned all efforts of nagging him to turn it in.

Hermione's forced ignorance to the textbook last all of a week, after which she had been ready to pull out the rest of her hair, already having cut out a large chunk of her curls.

Wanting to focus on her own work in Potions class without Ron's interruptions that occurred every other minute, Hermione had pulled her cauldron next to Ernie Macmillan, knowing that he also preferred to work in silence.

Slughorn had gone on about Golpalott's Third Law for the first few minutes of the class, after asking who knew what it was. Hermione had been the first to thrust her hand into the air, rattling off its textbook definition at top speed, causing Slughorn to beam at her and award Gryffindor ten points, an honour which had been given to Harry for the past few months.

Once Slughorn left everyone to get started on their potions, Hermione had caught a glimpse of the panic-stricken look on Harry's face, also peering at Ron and noticing that he bore a similar visage, only his mouth was hanging open.

Hermione fought the urge to smirk at both boys, doing her best to resist leaning over their work table and saying "I told you so". She didn't have to look in Harry's book to know that there weren't clear and concise instructions on brewing something to the standards of Golpalott's Third Law, as the expression on his face plainly said enough.

Ignoring everyone and everything around her, Hermione feverishly worked on brewing her antidote. She had so many little bottles and phials taking up the majority of the desk that Ernie had to cram his own supplies onto one corner, moving carefully between them and his cauldron so as to not knock anything over. Ernie had been sweating and muttering through the thick, pungent steam wafting up from his cauldron when he frowned at Hermione, who had been in the middle of using her wand to sever a chunk of frizzy curls from the back of her head before dropping them into her own bubbling cauldron.

Stealing a glance at the clock which was positioned at the front of the classroom, Hermione cursed inwardly when she saw that she only had twenty minutes left. Her antidote still hadn't turned the correct shade of purple, and it was great cause for her annoyance. Ron and Harry were muttering within earshot, and she was able to hear Ron saying something to Harry about asking her to help them, to which Harry angrily told his friend no, that he would finish everything on his own.

Smart thinking, Hermione wryly thought of her best friend. Even if she wasn't in the middle of fighting with her own antidote, the last thing she felt like doing was helping Harry. She was hot, the newly shorn section of hair at the back of her neck was now itching and sticking uncomfortably to her clammy skin, and the last thing Hermione felt was charitable. No, she would nothelp Harry or Ron, nor anyone else for that matter. Most people only talked to her in Potions class when they wanted something, unless it had been someone from Slytherin, in which case they always taunted.

Peering over at the little knot of Slytherins, Hermione took great pleasure in finding that Draco Malfoy was also met with some pother over his own potion. Crabbe and Goyle looked completely lost and were merely staring at one another in between glancing down at their books, Crabbe pausing to scratch his head with his wand, acting surprised when the tip sparked and singed off the hair at his temple. Goyle did not even bother with playing off the fact that he was scratching his bum while nearly boring a hole into his Potions text, then his cauldron, as if it both were somehow going to tell him how to brew his antidote.

When Slughorn gaily announced that time was up, Hermione had been trying to cram the last of her antidote into separate phials. Even though she needed more time to finish brewing, she was positive that her antidote was going to land her an A grade for the day. Harry nor Ron had finished their antidotes; Slughorn had taken one peek into Harry's cauldron and she noticed his usually bright smile falter. When the professor looked into Ron's cauldron, he almost retched, and Hermione almost felt bad when she noticed Ron becoming crestfallen.

Telling herself that one friend's failure had nothing to do with her success, Hermione knew that she shouldn't feel guilty if they hadn't done as well as her.

Slughorn frowned at Ernie's potion and briefly nodded at Hermione's. But when Harry called the professor back over to his cauldron, which Hermione knew for fact had been filled with some sort of brown gloppy mess, she nearly spit she became so angry when the messy black-haired wizard held up a hairy-looking, shriveled stone, small enough to fit in the palm of one's hand.

Well, is he going to wet himself? Hermione asked herself of Slughorn's incessant and unnecessary praise of Harry's sly way of using a bezoar to earn a passing grade. True, the professor gave Gryffindor another ten points for his 'efforts', a word which Hermione had difficult using. How difficult was it to waltz to the back of the classroom to get a bezoar out of the supply? Short of tripping on the way back and breaking your nose, it wasn't all that hard, and Hermione wanted to stomp over to Harry's table and yell in his face that he was cheating, and what would he do if one of his friend's were poisoned and there were no bezoars around?

While she had to concede that Slughorn still told Harry it was useful to know his antidotes, the elderly professor obviously had no qualms about him taking a shortcut, and gave him full passing marks for the day. Slughorn then went onto fawn about Harry's mum, Lily Potter, stating that was also a whiz at Potions.

It was glaringly obvious that the portion of the class who actually put forth a proper attempt at brewing their antidotes were wishing harm upon the Gryffindor wizard, whom was once again the center of attention in Professor Slughorn's world. Still, they all knew about Harry's parents being killed and weren't cruel enough to make any comments concerning his mother.

Yet, that harsh fact wasn't enough to change the expressions of pure loathing on their faces.

When Harry caught Hermione's eye and grinned cheekily at her, Hermione bit her tongue to keep from saying something that she would surely regret, and angrily sucked on the now throbbing flesh when she tasted blood.

Fervently hoping that Harry knew that it would behoove him to keep his distance, as she refused to be held responsible for her actions if he were to come near her, Hermione hastily cleared her work space and flounced out of the classroom without speaking to him nor Ron. Making it all of a few steps when Hermione heard someone running to catch up with her, she didn't bother with slowing down.

"Harry found the idea to use a bezoar in that book, didn't he?" she accusingly asked a broody Ron, catching sight of his flaming red hair when he finally caught up with her.

"Yep," he muttered, not in a talkative mood. "Now he's off talking to old Sluggy as if they're real pals. There was no reason for me to stick around."

"Yeah, well," Hermione gruffly replied, still walking with her chin stuck out.

Livid was an apt word to describe how Hermione was feeling. A chunk of her hair was missing, she was covered in sweat and soot, and her hands ached from stirring her antidote nonstop ever since she began brewing. Not to mention the ache in her lower back from hunching over her stupid cauldron that had become so hot and steamy, it felt as if she was leaning over a dragon's open mouth which happened to also contain the fiery pits of hell.

Hermione had been studying every book she was able to get her hands on ever since finding out she was a witch. She read to the point where either her mum or dad had to pry them out of her hands and make her come down for lunch or dinner. Once she got to Hogwarts, that studious aspect of her personality hadn't changed. Hermione felt that because she had grown up in the Muggle world, that she was ignorant to many things, down to the smallest nuances, and she didn't want to seem like a fool. That had been one motivating factor that contributed to her learning about this new facet of her life.

Up until that point, all of Hermione's stellar grades had been contingent upon the fact that she nearly lived in the library. So for Harry to sail through and receive passing marks without so much as doing actual work, never mind truly thinking for himself, it had her seeing red. And black, literally, as she crossed her eyes and noticed something on the tip of her nose.

"If you want to go to lunch, at least let me stop by the girls' bathroom to wash my face," Hermione told Ron, cringing as she rubbed at her nose and held out her hand to see black on her fingertips.

"I can regrow your hair back for you if you want," Ron glumly suggested. "Bill showed me the spell a long time ago. Mum hates it when we let our hair get too long and she always threatens to cut it in our sleep. Bill said the spell might come in handy, although I think he just keeps that ponytail because Fleur is forever playing with it."

Hermione sniggered at the idea of Mrs Weasley sneaking into her son's room to cut his hair while he slept. It wouldn't be that hard, if the rest of the Weasley men slept deeply the way Ron did.

"I think I can manage, but thank you," she told Ron. "Though you'd better visit the boys' room, too, you've got a bit of dirt on your cheek."

Frowning, Ron spat on his finger and rubbed at the offending spot.

"Is it gone?"

Sighing, Hermione shook her head. "No, Ronald. It's on the other side, but for goodness sake, your hands are dirty. Don't put them in your mouth again until you've washed them, OK?"

"Yes, Mum," Ron replied, a faint grin now on his face. "Are you going to cut my hair while I'm asleep next?"

Hermione laughed at his silliness as the two came across the lavatories, and she shoved Ron towards the door before going off to hers.

Harry eventually found his way to the Great Hall for lunch, warily slipping into place opposite Ron and next to Hermione.

"So Slughorn yelled at me and kicked me out of his office when I asked him about Horcruxes," Harry began as he pulled a plate of sandwiches in front of him.

"Well, what did you think would happen?" Hermione asked him snippily, breaking off a bit of her own sandwich. "I'm not all that surprised."

"Gee, thanks, Hermione," said Harry dryly.

"How come you didn't get two bezoars, then?" Ron now asked, sounding a bit petulant. "You saw the way my potion was turning out. I thought Slughorn was going to vomit right there next to me."

"Because it would have looked stupid if we'd both done it!" Harry snapped, glaring at Ron and Hermione.

Harry went on to rant about he had been trying to soften Slughorn up purely to be able to speak to him once class was over with and pump him for information about his earlier dealings with Voldemort, then known as Tom Riddle, but now that everything had gotten all mucked up, he didn't know what else to do. Hermione remained tight-lipped as she slowly ate her lunch, more concerned with breaking her food into little pieces than actually eating it. Ron was still ruffled at feeling slighted by his best friend, and had nothing more to say on the matter.

When it became obvious that Hermione and Ron were no longer speaking to him, Harry took his plate and moved further down the long table. He stood up so swiftly that it caused Hermione to flinch, but she made no moves to keep Harry next to her.

Usually it was Ron and Harry who would be in the middle of an argument, and Hermione would have to play mediator between the two. But ever since the start of school, Harry at times could be downright unbearable, and Hermione wondered if his head was getting a tad too big. True, it wasn't completely Harry's fault; he was only sixteen and Dumbledore had placed a heavy weight upon his shoulders, not giving the young wizard much choice in the matter.

But Hermione's still aching back and now feet refused to cave in to Harry's whinging. It was a crude thing to say, but she had been ready to tell him that if he was looking for sympathy, he ought to look in the dictionary between shite and syphilis, because that was the only way he would get any from her. It was Harry's luck that he flounced away before Hermione had been able to open her mouth.

Ron was still agitated but he certainly looked pleased, seeing as how someone was on his side. But Hermione felt that there were no sides to their friendship; right was right, and wrong was wrong, and Harry was definitely in the wrong for achieving his grades through cheating. Prior to that he didn't even know what a bezoar was, despite the fact that Snape had taught them all about them during their very first Potions class at Hogwarts. Of course, Snape had been cutting down Harry while simultaneously lecturing the class, but even so, Hermione managed to remember his whole spiel about bezoars and how they could save a person from most poisons.

I could use another massage, Hermione thought, wincing at the soreness in her back. She began reflecting back upon the night where Severus made her lie down across his bed so he could rub her shoulders. His thin fingers pressed deliciously into her skin and Hermione wished she had a reason to sneak down to his rooms later that night. It had been three weeks since they were last in each other's intimate company and she missed him.

"I nearly forgot that Apparition lessons start this Saturday," said Ron, sounding slightly more cheerful as he pulled a bowl of crisps over.

Thoughts of the professor now broken, Hermione neatly used her wand to place a hefty amount of crisps onto Ron's plate instead of allowing him to pluck them one by one from the bowl the way he always did.

"I've a few books in the dormitory if you'd like to read about Apparition first," Hermione offered, pushing the bowl back to the center of the table. "I've read them five times but I'm still not sure..."

"Weally, Hew-mone," Ron mumbled through a mouthful of half-chewed crisps. "Youw be fine."

"Ron, will you swallow before you choke? And thank you."

"Dunno why you haven't tried Apparating yet, seeing as you're of age," Ron continued after swallowing. "I'd be Apparating everywhere if I were you."

"Yes? And just where would I have been Apparating to?" Hermione archly inquired after taking a sip of juice. "You forget that I live in Muggle London; Muggles aren't used to see people appear out of thin air. And it's not as if I was able to leave Grimmauld Place this summer—none of us were, remember?"

"Oh, right."

"So, do you want the books or not?"

"No, thank you. Besides, I've listened to my brothers talking about Apparition loads of times, how hard can it be?"

Saturday morning was a cold and dreary day, although many students did not mind missing a Hogsmeade trip because of it, as they were beginning their Apparition lessons. Apparition turned out to be more work and less fun than everyone thought. It seemed that Hermione was the only one who understood that Apparating was serious business, for she emphatically nodded her head every time their Ministry Apparition instructor, Wilkie Tycross, a wisp of a wizard whom was transparent and so small that even the tiniest gust of wind seemed able to blow him away.

All of the tables and chairs in the Great Hall had been vanished, leaving a wide open space for everyone to practice in. The four Heads of House had been present, the Head of Slytherin firmly rooted by his class and looking bored.

Snape was not bored, however, even if he appeared like so. Ignoring the buzzing of chattering students surrounding him, including many of those from his own house, he was extremely interested in the snatches of conversation playing between Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle.

"...suppose you won't tell us what we're gonna do next..."

"No! You idiot, not until it's time again..."

"...fine then, but I'm tired of transforming into a—"

"Will you shut up?!" Draco hissed under his breath as he whirled around, apoplectic and red-faced. "This is why I never tell you two blockheads anything ahead of time, because all you'll do it bugger it. You two could find a way to fuck up pudding if given the chance."

"Malfoy, be quiet and pay attention!" Professor McGonagall barked when his voice carried over in her direction.

Draco made some little noise under his breath but he did stop talking. Meanwhile, Snape was irritated, not because McGonagall had called out and chastised one of his students, but because he was no longer able to eavesdrop and find out what the three wizards had been up to.

The phrase 'manky Scots git' immediately came to mind, a thought which caused Snape to almost laugh out loud, something which would have surely frightened nearly everyone filling the Great Hall.

However, Snape's amusement would have been short-lived. Just as his three resident miscreants began speaking again, Potter somehow found a way to slither over to where the Slytherins were standing, and said something that had been cause for Draco to swear loudly and nearly pull out his wand.

Potter, Snape snarled to himself, just mentally saying the name leaving a nasty taste in his mouth. Why couldn't the boy stay over on his side? Because he thought it necessary to have a hand in everything, as if he was the only one that mattered. Snape wanted to tell him to mind his damned business and to take his arse back across to his friends, both of whom were now craning their necks to peer through the throng of students, trying to see where Harry had disappeared to.

They definitely noticed where Potter was standing after his appearance caused a slight kerfuffle, and all four Heads of Houses yelled in unison for everyone to be silent.

Once Tycross had finished droning on about the do's and don'ts of Apparition, along with something he kept lovingly referring to as 'the three D's' (which Snape was positive that the wizard had nearly gotten a brain-ache just coming up with the name, after which he surely sat in his shoebox-sized Ministry office, patting himself on the back and telling himself that he was terribly clever), the tiny wizard went around the room, calmly doling out instructions and tips.

Snape stood at a safe distance while watching the large group of sixth-years jerking and staggering in place as they valiantly fought at their first attempt of Apparition. He hoped they all had enough sense to not Apparate in his direction, although if a certain bushy-haired Gryffindor happened to pop up next to him, he truly wouldn't have minded.

Hermione was far across the room, and Snape was pleased to see that she was Apparating neatly within the confines of the large hoop a few feet away from her. Potter was back with his friends, and both he and Weasley looked as if they were doing some sort of macabre dance in place. Draco still looked decidedly mutinous and hadn't continued with his conversation with Tweedledum and Tweedledumber, opting to practice in an emptier area of the room.

It could have been their argument that left Crabbe and Goyle unfocused, or the fact that they were merely thick-headed which cause them difficulty, or perhaps both. But the two were wobbling and threatening to tip over at any second, and Snape fervently prayed that he would not have to reattach any body part on either wizard.

Crabbe seemed to have an aversion to soap, and Snape almost believed that the boy never showered, only he had encountered him coming out of the boys' showers on more than one occasion. Perhaps he merely sprinted through the stream of water, only to get out and dry himself the way a dog would. As for Goyle, he desperately needed to be introduced and intimately acquainted with a toothbrush and toothpaste.

Snape knew that he didn't have the world's prettiest set of teeth, as going to the dentist had been unheard of when he was growing up. Later on, years of smoking cigarettes as well as consuming multiple cups of tea or coffee a day had caused severe discolouring to his enamel. He knew that he could have fixed them by way of magic when he became older, but seeing as how it would have made no difference, his teeth were never a pressing issue. But no one could ever say that Severus Snape could knock someone flat on their back by merely breathing into their face.

Anyway, he breath couldn't have been that bad, not judging by the way Hermione was always so keen to kiss him.

A horrible screech drew his as well as the other professors' attention to the side of the room. A girl from Hufflepuff had become separated from her leg and was quickly reduced to a gibbering state. Snape was immune to the crying, as he encountered more crying students over the past years than the trees had leaves. it still didn't mean that he liked the sound, and after telling the sobbing girl that crying would make her pain worse, she hiccupped yet ended her wailing. Professor Sprout continued talking gently to her student, and it only took a few seconds for the professors to reattach Susan Bones' leg.

Tycross had continued gliding around the room, as if he were some odd-looking spectral judge at a dog show instead of Apparition lessons where losing one's limbs were a sure threat.

Snape longed for the solitude of his rooms, where he would be free to move around without being in danger of tripping over a student. This one time of the year was always a pain in the arse for him, because it meant giving up his Saturday mornings to watch a group of students stumbling around. He had long wormed his way out of chaperoning on trips to Hogsmeade, and the castle was blessedly empty and quiet, save for the remaining students whom were too young to go. But in light of recent events, Dumbledore mentioned that Filch's idea of cancelling further trips to Hogsmeade should be taken into consideration.

Many of the professors agreed, and it was just as well; besides the threat of another attack, no one felt like going out into the abysmally cold, wet weather. It was fine for the kids as they were immune to the damp, but once the chill settled into old bones, it took forever to get it out.

When the hour of torture/amusement was over, Snape hastily retreated to his dungeons, where he sat before the hearth, reveling in the silence.

It was a few days before Hermione's anger with Harry over Potions class fizzled. She figured that he would eventually hang himself by a rope of dishonesty, because she really did not foresee anything good happening where that book was concerned. Had Snape been teaching Potions class, he would most likely have failed Harry for not following directions, never mind the fact that a bezoar was in fact one solution to the being poisoned.

Harry was also back on Ron's good side, and Hermione hoped it would last for longer than a week at a time.

January rolled into February, and the weather was still just as dismal. More parents had come to collect their children from school once word got out that students were being attacked. Of course, everything had been blown out of proportion, and one parent of first-year twin girls in Gryffindor had been in hysterics, going by hearsay that a child had died at Hogwarts. The older witch refused to be placated by the headmaster, and removed her daughters that day.

Tension was thick throughout Hogwarts, and to add insult to injury, all further trips to Hogsmeade had been cancelled. The students had been in an uproar about their outings being suspended indefinitely, and loudly voiced their displeasure whenever they were within earshot of certain staff.

To diffuse some of the tension, Dumbledore suggested a small celebration for Valentine's day would be in order. He left Flitwick in charge of decorating the Great Hall and any other areas the Charms professor saw fit.

Snape did not see how charming everything a lurid shade of pink or red would diffuse anything. Thursday night, he had passed Flitwick in the Great Hall, who was humming and using his wand to hang pink and red streamers around. Little paper hearts had been fastened to various surfaces, and Snape blanched when he saw at least three covering the back of his usual chair upon the staff dais.

It took Snape two seconds flat to step down from the dais and stalk over to Flitwick, who had tossed his jacket on top of a nearby table and was clad in his vest and shirtsleeves. He was perched on a low stool and kept looking up thoughtfully at a bare patch of space behind the entrance doors to the Great Hall, obviously pondering what sickly decorations he could place there next.

Flitwick had been so deep into his thoughts that he never noticed Snape making his way behind him, even though he hadn't exactly been trying to keep quiet.

"Flitwick," Snape began smoothly. "What the hell is that stuck to my chair?"

"What? Oh, Severus, it's you," Flitwick replied, barely casting a second glance over his shoulder as he continued staring up at the wall. "Just a few hearts, I thought they would liven up the area."

"I know that they're hearts, I can see that. Perhaps the better question is why are they on my chair?"

"Because Dumbledore likes them, so I put them everywhere. Why, do you not care for them?" Filius squeaked out.

Snape glared so fiercely at the tiny professor that it was a miracle Flitwich didn't topple over. Drawing himself up to his full height, black teaching robes and all, Snape cut an imposing figure and it was plain that there was nothing about the wizard that remotely suggested him being the type to like pink heart-shaped paper.

Snape figured that he had been scowling at Flitwick because he said in his squeaky voice, "They'll only be on your chair for tomorrow, Severus. Surely a few hours won't kill you?"

The Charms professor then gave a high-pitched laugh at his own joke, and Snape told himself that if Flitwick were to take a nosedive to the floor, he would promptly step back.

"Goodnight, Severus!" Flitwick jovially called behind him as he stormed out of the Great Hall.

Friday morning, to his intense horror, instead of the usual gold dishware and utensils set out along each table, Snape found ugly pink things in its place. Ready to protest at being forced to eat off of plates that resembled a shade of medicine designed for digestion conditions, Snape hurriedly pulled the tray of toast in front of him, resolving to eat quickly and rid himself of the bright-pink nightmare.

Things weren't as gaudy as when Pouf-Master Lockhart had taken over, and blessedly there were no cherubs flying about or tiny hearts raining down from the ceiling. There was only so much Snape could take and if he had been forced to pick hearts and glitter out of his hair in between classes, then someone would have to pay.

The students, on the other hand, had immediately squealed with delight when they walked into the Great Hall. Snape noticed that some of the witches from Slytherin house were less surly that morning, and they kept casting furtive glances at certain male classmates.

Nothing but a harbinger of racing hormones, Snape sniped to himself as he accidentally put too much butter on his toast.

The Golden Trio had made their way into the Great Hall, the female member the only lone party in the bunch. Soon as the three strolled in, the looks on their faces had been enough to nearly make Snape snort into his cup of coffee. Weasley looked as if he had just stepped into a pile of dung, while Potter seemed as if he was reliving some great past trauma.

Something about a young Ravenclaw witch that Potter briefly went around with came to mind, and Snape was annoyed that he was even privy to such drivel. Cho Chang, he remembered, had gone on a disastrous date with Potter in Madam Puddifoot's teashop in Hogsmeade. For reasons only known to his colleagues at the time, Madam Hooch, Professor Vector, and Madam Sprout saw fit to discuss the pointless trivia at great length no less one morning at the staff table.

Snape did not want to know about Potter and his failed date with the young Ravenclaw. He did not give a damn about how 'adorable' the two were together, as emphatically gushed by Madam Sprout, and he certainly hadn't wanted to hear about their argument in the tea shop!

Teenaged couples argued with one another from sun up till sun down, a fact which was not likely to change. Snape knew this, he was sure his colleagues knew this, so why they had droned on about the two had been a mystery to him. But he had been trapped between Vector and McGonagall and had been unable to move, thus was forced to hear the entire asinine conversation. By the time they finished speaking, Snape needed cotton for his bleeding ears, as well as shock therapy to jump start his numb brain. It had been comical for some of the greatest minds at Hogwarts to sit gossiping over breakfast about a couple of their students, as though there was nothing more important to discuss at that moment.

Umbridge had been absent from breakfast that morning, and Snape would have loved to discuss a way in which they could all slip a non-traceable potion into her afternoon pot of tea. But no, Potter and Miss Chang had been of the utmost importance.

Peering down at the Gryffindor table, Snape now saw that Lavender Brown was trying to feed Weasley bits of her toast, which he dutifully accepted. Potter and Miss Weasley looked as if they were trying not to laugh, and Hermione was ignoring them both, slowly spooning porridge into her mouth while reading a book.

Snape remembered that he too, used to keep a book with him at all times, and could always be found reading at every meal.

Many of his fellow Slytherins could never figure out why Snape always had his head stuck in a book. Of all people, Mulciber had the nerve to ask why Snape had to read all the time. Lucius had cut in, smoothly defending his friend by pointing out that perhaps Severus did not wish to graduate Hogwarts with only having learned the best spots to steal a quick shag, like him. It had been common knowledge that Mulciber taunted and harassed every of age witch that crossed his path, purely because they would never give him the time of day. Lucius neatly drew attention upon that fact and Mulciber's face had turned an ugly shade of red, but he knew not to challenge the blond wizard.

Mulciber had a sadistic side that was nearly unmatched by some of the most questionable wizards, and Snape was surprised that the man hadn't grown up to be a serial rapist. He definitely had torture perfected to a fine art, as the Imperius Curse was his favourite.

The sudden appearance of owls in the Great Hall broke Snape's train of thought. Little boxes and envelopes were delivered to each recipient, and judging by the squeals from a few students, Valentine's day gifts and messages. A standard Hogwarts carrier, a brown barn owl, had dropped something near Hermione's pink plate, and she set down her book to pick it up.

Watching intently as she picked up what looked like a large white envelope, Snape saw Hermione ignoring the sizeable box that had also been delivered to pull out what appeared to be a flashy Valentine's card. Staring at it for awhile before breaking out into a fit of uncharacteristic giggles, Snape wondered who was sending the young witch missives that made her face light up so. He doubted it was that brainless oaf she had gone to the Yule Ball with; adept at Quidditch he might have been, it was plain that the lad could barely string two sentences together on paper. It was unlikely that another student from Hogwarts had sent her something via owl, unless they were aiming for suaveness.

Highly unlikely.

The young men at Hogwarts, while possibly coming from a cultivated family, still held as much polish and grace as a house-elf. Many of them were led around by the appendage between their legs, and were over-eager to the point where it made them seem desperate.

Snape hoped that Hermione knew enough to not cast her pearls before swine. McLaggen had been prime example of who a young woman should not date. As for Krum...Hermione had never mentioned the burly youth getting too friendly with her, but Snape put nothing past him.

Because you are so much better. Bad enough that you're cavorting with the girl, but now you're intent on castrating anyone that comes near her? You are as bad as those idiot boys.

Right then, a Hufflepuff, whom Snape knew was only fourteen yet still looked big and old enough to be alumni, began pelting cornflakes at his neighbour.

No; not as bad.

As nonverbally promised, Snape left the hideous paper hearts on his chair. However, much later that evening, he had been patrolling the corridors and took a detour to the Great Hall, using his wand to incinerate the offending items. He had just walked back into the corridor, smug with satisfaction when he noticed that the air was charged, as if someone or something was standing nearby.

Snape always patrolled with his wand out, although he usually used it to cast a jinx at Peeves whenever the poltergeist got too out of hand, or to scare unsuspecting students that were hiding in a corner, snogging or attempting to do worse.

Wand out in front of him, Snape walked over to a spot against the wall, cautiously as if he was trying to sense something. Using the butt end of his wand, he prodded along the thin air until hitting something soft.

"Should I bother to ask what it is you are doing?"

"What do you think?"

"Let's see, perhaps taking a feather out of Potter's hat by doing the opposite of what you were told?"

"Not exactly...it's nearly a full moon and I came to see if you wanted some help with making Lupin's Wolfsbane."

Snape heaved a sigh. "How long have you been standing here for?"

"Long enough to see you walk into the Great Hall and come back out, looking as if you'd just assigned someone detention. You didn't, did you? Was someone actually in there?"

"No, Miss Granger, I—damn it, I feel like an arse talking to you with that ridiculous cloak on. Just be quiet and follow me."

Snape was sure that the very much invisible Hermione was giggling beneath Potter's Invisibility Cloak. Through the darkened corridors of Hogwarts they walked, Snape leading the way with Hermione walking next to him. The oversized cloak had completely engulfed her petite form, and the only indication of her presence was a slight breeze whenever she moved. Still feeling like a heel as Snape led the way down to the dungeons and into his private laboratory, he could not wait to snatch the length of slippery fabric off Hermione.

"Hello," she greeted brightly once her face was revealed. Hermione was smiling broadly, and dressed in a thick striped jumper and jeans; in her hands was a large, flat box with fancy gold writing on its lid.

"Silly girl," said Snape, frowning. "Took it upon yourself to follow the lunar charts, did you?"

"Maybe," Hermione answered with a shrug, walking over to the work table and pulling up a stool next to it.

Snape began pulling out everything needed to make the Wolfsbane while Hermione quietly watched, hunched over with her hands folded on the tabletop.

"Why are you sitting that way?"

"Stomachache."

"Perhaps one too many chocolates from your secret admirer?"

"What?"

"I noticed you received fan mail this morning."

Snape had his head bent and was adding pinches of things to his cauldron, his eyes averted from Hermione's. It took him a second to look up to notice that she was pushing something in his direction, a small grin on her lips.

"I suppose you're talking about this?" she asked, biting down on her bottom lip.

Snape had just picked up his wand and set it back down to pluck the cream-coloured envelope from Hermione's hand. Withdrawing the card and perusing its insides for a moment, his lip curled slightly and he handed the card back to Hermione.

"My dad gives me one every year, along with fancy chocolates," she explained. "Mum doesn't know about the chocolates, though. She doesn't approve of the sugar, but I thought I could share them with you," Hermione continued, gesturing to the box.

"How kind of you," Snape replied. "Very well, then, once you've finished the Wolfsbane," he went on smoothly. "After all, you did offer."

Hermione gave a mocking laugh, but she did get down from her stool and walk around the table to take over. She'd tied her hair back before leaving the dormitory, remembering how hot it became the last time she brewed for Snape. While it took the same amount of time as before to brew the complicated potion, its execution was smoother than before as Hermione knew what to expect.

Once the Wolfsbane was finished and the filled goblet sent off to Dumbledore's office, Snape and Hermione scrubbed their hands at the basin in the corner and sat on a sofa that had been conjured out of an old desk. The opened box of chocolates was between them, and Hermione was pleased to see that Severus was enjoying them.

"So I presume that you have Potter's map," he began, to which Hermione nodded. "But how did you manage to get his cloak as well?"

Hermione chewed and swallowed the remaining bit of truffle in her mouth, tilting her head to the side and looking as Snape. "I begged at first, and when that didn't work, I used blackmail."

"Did you really?" Snape asked, his black eyes glittering mischievously.

Hermione held her thumb and forefinger two inches apart.

"Why, Miss Granger, this is a surprise. First you're sneaking out, now you're conning Potter into using his belongings. I should warn you, the headmaster can see through that cloak."

"I figured that much," Hermione replied. "Although I hardly see Professor Dumbledore anymore. It's like he's hardly ever here."

How very keen you are, witch, Snape thought wryly. Dumbledore's appearances had been sporadic, but somehow he was always present long enough to summon him at the damnedest times.

Speaking of keen, Snape noticed that Hermione was hunching over again.

"Is there a problem I should be aware of?"

"No, it's nothing," Hermione assured. "Well, nothing you'd want to know about, at least."

"Try me."

"No! It's embarrassing."

"Hermione, I sincerely doubt that you could say something that would embarrass me."

"Not you...me!"

"As I said before—try me."

Moaning as if she was about to divulge some great mystery, Hermione popped another truffle into her mouth and threw one hand into the air. "I've got my period, all right?" she blurted out, cringing. "Told you that you didn't want to know."

Snape narrowed his eyes at her. "Why didn't you say so in the first place?" he chided sharply. "Instead you're sitting here like the Hunchback of Notre Dame, trying to contain your grimaces. I've already seen all of you, and you have the nerve to say that you're embarrassed? You truly are a silly girl."

"Well...!"

Snape withdrew his wand and briskly conjured a small crystal phial, and pulling out its stopper, handed it to Hermione. Without bothering to ask what the phial contained, Hermione swallowed the light blue liquid in one go, and relief immediately registered on her face.

"Thank you," she murmured, sinking back into the sofa cushions. "That is much better."

"Before you do that and fall asleep, turn over," Snape directed as he covered the box of chocolates and set it down next to the sofa.

Hermione toed off her trainers and stretched out face down on the sofa, eager for what she knew was coming when Snape straddled the back of her thighs. His cool, thin fingers pushed her jumper up until her entire back was exposed, and Hermione felt her bra being unsnapped. Flinching when she felt something cold being dripped onto her back, Hermione surmised that Snape used a nonverbal spell to place something on her skin, what felt like oil. It was cold since it came from the tip of his wand, but the oil soon warmed up as his fingers massaged it into her lower back.

"Do you always keep pain potion on hand to conjure out of thin air?" Hermione mumbled into the side of her arm, where her face was pressed against.

"Miss Granger, where else do you think all of the potions in the hospital wing come from?"

"Hermione."

"Hermione. They don't sprout legs and walk up of their own volition. Have you any idea how many menstruating, hormonal females this school contains? More than there are stars in the sky, it seems. I keep some of everything on hand, lest I find myself tethered to a classroom brewing for all hours of the day and night."

Hermione went silent, turning that bit of information over in her mind. Countless times she and her friends had gone up to the hospital wing to get something from Madam Pomfrey for their cramps, but up until now it had never dawned on her that Snape had been the one to brew it. But who else would have brewed their bitter-tasting liquid relief? Up until now, Snape was the only Potions master at Hogwarts, and Hermione knew that Slughorn was not the type to brew anything in large quantities outside of regular classroom hours. The only potions he made were for demonstration, and there was usually just enough in the phial.

"Do you really believe that you are the first witch I've come across with this...issue?" Snape asked, humour colouring his voice as he ran his thumbs up the length of Hermione's spine.

"No, but..." she trailed off, becoming too relaxed to finish her thought.

"I've been Head of Slytherin House for over ten years, not to mention the fact that I've taught I don't know how many classes. I am well familiar with that look of horror that ensues following the arrival of an unexpected cycle, or an accident, as it were."

Hermione was surprised that her cheeks weren't red and hot as an open flame, considering the way Severus was talking in great detail just how much he knew about periods and the intricacies associated with them. Ron and Harry knew about periods, but they barely noticed the few times Hermione had to make a sudden mad dash for the lavatory.

With the quiet witch now gone pliant beneath his hands, Snape found it amusing that Hermione had been ashamed to tell him the reason for her feeling poorly. The idea was ludicrous, considering that he had seen, kissed, touched and tasted just about every inch of her delectable body. He did things to her that he had never done with another witch, things that he never knew he wanted to do until she came along. Hermione had also seen more of him than any other, and Snape fully planned on keeping it that way.

He understood why she felt embarrassed; during his first year of teaching, one of his second-year students had asked to be excused during class, only to return with tears falling down her cheeks. The young girl had obviously forgotten that she was talking to a teacher who had a reputation for not being fussed with anyone's personal affairs, but had been so terrified that she went up to his desk and claimed the need for the hospital wing because she thought she was dying.

Snape hadn't known what to make of the trembling girl until she stammered that she was bleeding. He never let her finish her sentence, for he had nearly knocked over his chair in hastily standing up, swiftly yet calmly ushering the girl out of his classroom, barking at any nosy students to keep their eyes on their work. Snape had only been twenty at the time, and his only experience in dealing with twelve-year-old girls had been with his former best friend, and they definitely never spoke of that.He wondered what the hell sort of mother would send her girl child off to school without explaining the facts of life beforehand.

If Snape were the sort to believe in that Divination tripe, he would have thanked his lucky stars that Madam Sprout happened to be passing his classroom at that moment, for he was able to foist the tearful girl off onto the older witch. Promising to have the student's belongings sent up to the hospital wing, Snape silently vowed that he would find himself a nice stiff drink once the day was over with. Incidentally, that had been his first and last time tasting firewhisky. At least the fiery brown liquid served its purpose, because his nerves had no longer been on edge.

"Are you falling asleep?" Snape asked when he heard Hermione let out a yawn.

"No," she replied, the delay in her response telling on her.

"You shouldn't tell lies, Hermione," said Snape as he gripped her by the waist and tugged for her to sit up. "You're no good at it."

"I know, you told me so a while ago," Hermione laughed, pushing at Snape to sit back against the sofa arm and lying with her back to his chest. "Being a great liar was never one of my aspirations."

"I hope that remains like so," Snape mused under his breath, waiting for Hermione to stop wriggling once she was in a comfortable position.

His arms were around her torso, her head tucked beneath his chin. Even though Hermione had denied it, Snape knew that she had been ready to fall asleep, which was why he made her move. He knew that he should have urged her to put her shoes back on so he could walk her back to the dormitory, but she felt good in his arms and making her move was the last thing on his mind.

Snape had not been planning on seeing Hermione that evening. As always, the tenacious witch would somehow make it possible to have her way. The Wolfsbane she brewed came out perfectly, and Snape didn't mind her assistance. He had been more pleased than he let onto when she showed him the Valentine's card from her father, and immediately Snape felt foolish for thinking that it had been sent from another boy. But the chocolates she shared with him were definitely top notch, and not the sugary, too sweet rubbish sold in Honeydukes that most of the students seemed to prefer. The truffles he bit into were made with expensive dark cocoa. The taste was rich and bittersweet with hints of jasmine. Snape never tasted truffles made with jasmine and found that they were divine.

Besides, eating them with Hermione was a pleasant way to end his evening.

Hermione had momentarily sat up to reach to the end of the couch, clumsily prying the dragon hide boots off his feet and placing them on the floor. She then repositioned herself between his legs and allowed her fuzzy sock-covered feet to rest against his, which were covered in their usual black trouser socks.

"I think I will take a little nap," Hermione announced, nuzzling her face against Snape's white shirt. He had taken off his flowing teacher robes and frock coat before they began brewing the Wolfsbane, and both items had been hung on a peg across the room.

"Is that right?" Snape asked quietly, peering down at the top of Hermione's curly head. When he felt her nod, Snape shook his head and summoned his teaching robes, covering them both with it.

Hermione was almost purring contentedly, her body growing limp the closer she came to falling asleep, until she shifted in his arms.

"What were you doing in the Great Hall before you found me?"

Silence.

"I went to take those stupid hearts off my chair that Flitwick insisted on charming into place," Snape finally answered, curling up his lip in memory of the horrid decorations." Any more inquiries?"

"Nope," Hermione replied, shaking with suppressed laughter.

"Take your nap, Hermione. I'll wake you when it's time to go up."

"All right," she said, her voice growing fainter. "And I missed you, that was the other reason I made Harry loan me his cloak. I wanted to see you..." she trailed off before falling asleep.

A/N: So those truffles are real and outrageously expensive but are to DIE for! Teuscher jasmine truffles. Oh, and that period thing? Yup, happened to my mother's friend when she was nine or ten. Apparently folks thought if they never told their daughters about getting their periods that it would never happen. WRONG! Poor girl ran home, crying talking about someone cut her, and how she was dying. Thank you to CrMediagal for chiming in with my silliness on the Valentine's Day scene!
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Unintentional Inveiglement