Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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

Chapter List
- 32
- 33
- 34
A/N: Soo...my wrist is still pretty f**ked which is why this has taken so long. Literally I can only type with ONE hand now because if I even attempt to work with the messed up one, I'll be in pain for the rest of the day. I had these long intervals between updates and not being able to reply to everyone, it's killing me and you don't even know it! I'm not used to this limited activity and it sucks monkey nuts. But anyway, THANK YOU for the reviews and well wished! I know the tory isn't totally smut like I initially planned but I love to hear from you all so don't be shy!

Few things, a bunch of stuff was taking directly from HBP so if you remember it, it's not mine and I'm still poor. A few have asked me when these two are finally going to exchange the L-word...and my answer to that is...when the time is right ;) I might want to put something in one chapter and then I'll keep writing and something else comes and the Muse said if I fight with her she'll kick my ass so I have to listen. Also, this song is apparently from the Hunger Games which I missed, but I listened to it while writing the last bit of the chapter and...give it a listen. See if it gives you feels. It's Maroon 5 feat. Rozzi Crane and it's called 'Come Away To The Water'. Literally, I was not planning on the ending of this chapter it just sort of happened at 6am this morning. I think it's sort of fitting so...enjoy :)

Hermione was doing her best to keep from outright sobbing every time she looked at her best friend, who was lying completely still between crisp white sheets in the hospital wing. Ron, who had grown tall enough to hover over both her and Harry, now looked small and meek as his gangly frame was securely tucked beneath a pile of blankets.

Hermione had gotten an early start that morning, going down to the Great Hall for breakfast and finishing in twenty minutes, wanting to get some studying in before the afternoon. It was Ron's birthday and she knew that he and Harry were going to drag her out of the common room to try and find something fun to do, a feat which was sure to be difficult considering the heightened security in Hogwarts. Still, that had never stopped them before and Hermione was certain that the majority of her day would be spent doing something that had nothing to do with schoolwork. So when Neville ran into her just as she was exiting the Great Hall with Luna, hastily telling her that something happened to Ron and he had been taken to the hospital wing, Hermione was unable to speak or think; she just turned and fled in the direction of the staircase.

The portraits lining the walls were shocked to see the Gryffindor running through the corridors; one even yelled for her to slow down. Hermione ignored them all. Almost forgetting to brake, she nearly trampled Harry over when she found him pacing in front of the double doors of the hospital wing. Ginny was standing nearby, and Hermione barely noticed her as she blurted out a frantic, "What happened?!"

"Ron was poisoned, and no, I don't know how," Harry had told her, nervously rumpling his messy black hair. "First he ate chocolates that were spiked with love potion, and I'd taken him to Slughorn for an antidote cos, well, if you had him you'd know. But then Ron said he felt awful and Slughorn gave us some mead, and I barely had time to put the glass to my lips when Ron fell out and started foaming at the mouth. Thankfully Slughorn had a bezoar in his trunk else—"

Harry had been cut off when Hermione let out a stifled sob, covering her mouth in a feeble attempt to keep quiet. She felt a mixture of horror and relief: horror because not one but two people had managed to covertly slip something into Ron's food and drink, and relief because a bezoar had been nearby for Harry to shove into his mouth.

"Madam Pomfrey put us out," Ginny had then announced. "Mum and Dad are in there, but we have to wait until they let us back in."

Taking a deep breath and trying to keep her knees from shaking, Hermione went to lean against the wall. One of the nearby paintings, a stout witch with an overly-rouged face and a white wig styled in long, fat sausage curls, had kindly asked the young woman if she was alright. Hermione gave her a brief nod, telling her 'thank you' in a small voice.

Harry, Ginny and Hermione remained out in the corridor until Madam Pomfrey told them that they may as well come back later, as Ron was in no condition for visitors at that point. Trudging back to the common room, the three sat around, an uncomfortable silence hanging between them.

"Do you think one of us should tell Lavender?" Hermione had asked, covertly nodding to the giggling blonde witch across the room who was showing Parvati what looked like a new jingly bracelet with a pile of glittering charms attached to it.

"What for, so we can spend the next few hours listening to her weeping and crying about her Won-Won getting hurt? No, thank you," Ginny replied, shaking her head.

"But—"

"Hermione, no," Ginny cut off vehemently. "I'm telling you, all Lavender'll do is annoy the hell out of us, and it's not like we can do anything at this point except for wait. I'd like to wait in peace, if you don't mind, because the first vapid comment to come out of her mouth... well, I can't promise what I won't do, even if she is Ron's girlfriend."

"Wow, Ginny. I didn't know you could be so... vicious."

"This is nothing," Harry said with a half-crooked smile towards his girlfriend. "But best leave her alone, or Gryffindor House'll have a new ghost."

Even though Ginny still looked stressed out, she playfully nudged Harry in the side with her elbow.

It had been hours before they were finally allowed back within the vicinity of the hospital wing. Dinnertime came and went, although none of them felt much like eating. They were all too worried about Ron, and eager to get back and see if he was awake.

The three fled back up to the hospital ward once they were through picking over their dinner of shepherd's pie and peas. While waiting to be let inside, Harry and Ginny had taken to poring over every theory they could come up with as to how Ron could have been poisoned. Hermione understand that they were most likely prattling on more so out of nervousness, but their incessant 'what-ifs' and 'whys' were driving her batty, and she wished they would be quiet. Not wanting to get into a row with either of her friends, Hermione kept her lips pressed tightly together, until finally she could take no more. Just as she had been about to snap at them both to shut up, that they could ramble on about what might have happened, yet it didn't matter seeing as Ron had still gotten poisoned, the double doors to the hospital wing opened and Mrs Weasley poked her head out, telling the three that they could come inside.

Mr and Mrs Weasley left to talk further with Madam Pomfrey. Ron was still asleep and never once opened his eyes when Hermione, Harry and Ginny crowded the head of his bed. No one knew what to do, and not wanting to say anything that sounded stupid or foolish, they all chose to remain silent.

Inwardly, Hermione was screaming at Ron for being greedy, wanting to shake him out of his stupor, anything that would make him give her that stupid goofy grin that came across his face whenever he knew he was being silly, or even that confused look when he was trying to figure out something. Because this sombre-faced, deathly-pale imitation of her usually lively best friend was scaring the hell out of her.

Either Ginny or Harry had dragged a chair over and forced Hermione to sit down, she hadn't been paying attention to see which one. Madam Pomfrey had obviously forced some tonics down Ron's throat, as the young wizard was oblivious to everything around him. Hermione felt useless sitting there, and the only thing she could think of doing was holding onto Ron's hand, hoping that he would somehow sense his friends' presence.

Ron's hand was big and unwieldy in hers, and was limp as it felt heavy. While Severus' hand was more slender and fined-boned in appearance and had only a few calluses, Ron's nearly resembled a Quidditch catcher's glove, and was rough from palm to fingertip.

"Well, he looks a little better, compared to earlier," Harry mumbled, talking merely to fill in the gap of silence.

"You great big idiot!" Hermione hissed under her breath, turning her head away from her friends as she felt a lone tear making its way down her cheek. Furtively using her free hand to swipe away the moisture, Hermione inhaled sharply and forced herself to remain calm. She wasn't truly angry with Ron; she was angry because he was hurt, and angry that someone had gotten close enough to do so, an attempt that she forced herself to admit might have been meant for Harry, Ginny, or even her.

Hermione was still holding onto Ron's hand when Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Snape, and Slughorn swept into the hospital wing. Guilt was etched all over Slughorn's face, and instead of his usual brisk gait, he behaved as if he was walking his last mile while carrying what Hermione guessed was the tainted brown-paper wrapped bottle of mead. McGonagall looked stern as ever, yet a glimmer of worry still showed through her prim facade. Dumbledore and Snape, however, were all business as Dumbledore plucked the bottle from Slughorn's hand, uncorking it and sniffing its contents before handing it over to Snape.

Even though Snape hadn't outright looked in her direction since walking into the hospital wing, Hermione knew that he saw her and noticed the way she clung to Ron's hand. His presence was not enough to make her move away from her best friend. If Harry, Ginny, or even Neville had been in Ron's position, Hermione would have touched them in the same manner.

Still, that didn't quell her urge of wanting to explain herself to the professor, even though doing so at the present moment was out of the question.

Snape had indeed noticed Hermione holding onto the redhead's slackened hand, and tried not to give it too much thought. His mood was already surlier than usual considering he had been abruptly ejected from his rooms by a keyed up McGonagall early that morning. She had told him that he was needed immediately in the hospital wing, and the constrained panic in her voice said that something was clearly wrong.

In no time, the professor had made it to the hospital wing, where he found a barely conscious Ronald Weasley, already having been changed into pajamas by the mediwitch and tucked securely into bed only the way Pomfrey could manage.

Snape had been hovering over the boy, ebony wand drawn and running it up and down the length of Weasley's body when his eyes fluttered open. Even though he had practically been unconscious, the horror on his face had been evident when he saw his least favourite professor looming over him. He sluggishly parted his lips, most likely to protest, when Snape stopped him.

"Do keep quiet, Mr Weasley," he'd said in an apathetic voice. "I am not here to kill you, although it appears that not one but two have already tried. And not that I wish to remain in close proximity, but unless you want to find yourself not waking up, I suggest you allow me to finish."

The young wizard seemed to think twice and eventually closed his mouth, although he kept his eyes wide open until Snape was done with his wandwork. Deeming all traces of the poison vanished, Snape gave Madam Pomfrey the all clear and stalked out of the hospital wing and back down to his dungeons. Of course, he had to return later to speak with Mr and Mrs Weasley, all the while listening to Slughorn snivel and whine about how he did not know how the mead could have been poisoned with each step to the other side of the castle. Snape had been about to suggest that Slughorn take a sip from the bottle clutched between his beefy hands when McGonagall sharply told the professor that they knew it was not his fault and to make like a pair of curtains and pull himself together.

To Snape's relief, Slughorn finally closed his mouth and the three continued on their way to the hospital wing, where they met Dumbledore who had also been on his way in.

To an untrained nose, the poison lacing the mead would have been undetectable, yet all it took was one whiff for Snape to know what it was. He was surprised that Slughorn, who considered himself a well-trained Potions master, had not noticed from the off the sickly sweet scent that was usually not present in mead, but resisted the urge to point out the obvious to the older professor.

All the while formulating theories as to how the mead had been contaminated, Snape made it a point to not look in Hermione's direction. He knew that she knew he saw her holding onto Weasley's hand, but now was not the time nor place to get worked up over something so trivial. Besides, she had told him repeatedly that Weasley was nothing more than a friend to her. Even though she was hunched over the redhead's bed, he hadn't missed the bleary look in Hermione's reddened eyes nor the worriment on her face. In spite of the unfavourable circumstances, Snape was somewhat mollified when he remembered seeing that same expression when she saw him after a meeting with the Dark Lord.

Trying to put those memories out of his mind, Snape was in the middle of unwrapping the bottle and holding it up to the light when he heard Dumbledore praising Potter for his quick thinking to use a bezoar which saved his friend. That statement was almost enough for him to drop the bottle, yet Snape maintained a completely detached expression while his thoughts ran to the other side.

Just how Potter knew to use a bezoar was a mystery to the professor, as the younger wizard spent most of his time over the years in Potions muttering complaints under his breath or casting nasty yet furtive glances in his teacher's direction. Snape was also under the impression that most of his lectures had gone in one ear and right out the other, as reflected in Potter's homework. For the most part, Snape had ignored Potter's glaring, sure that the boy was going to muck up his assignment and receive zero marks for the day like he usually did. Time and time again Snape thought about suggesting to Potter that if he were to do less menacing with his eyeballs and more focusing on his cauldron instead, that perhaps he would actually achieve passing marks like his fellow know-it-all Gryffindor.

However, only fools shared with the world their every thought, and Snape was not bothered enough to insult anyone at every minute of the day.

Speaking of fools...a high-pitched cry suddenly rent the air as the doors of the hospital wing were thrown open with a loud bang. Lavender Brown ran inside and rudely pushed through the throng of professors standing across from Weasley's bed, in high panic as she looked at her boyfriend.

"Won-Won! What's happened to him?" the blonde asked in a shrill voice that seemed to slightly rouse a moping Slughorn. "And why are you holding his hand?!" Lavender added as an afterthought to Hermione.

"Are you seriously going to get stroppy with me while my best friend is lying here practically dead to the world?" Hermione snapped back, dropping Ron's hand and promptly rising, making the chair legs scrape loudly against the linoleum.

"Well since when do 'best friends' hold hands like that?"

Hermione drew in a deep breath as if she was channeling every bit of patience left in her will to deal with the unreasonable Gryffindor. Meanwhile, the professors—even Snape, who was usually never interested in the going-ons between students— as well as a wide-eyed Ginny and Harry were still looking on, all wondering how this little display of madness was going to carry out.

"Lavender, I know that you're worried and upset, I truly do understand. But you are behaving like...well, like an idiot, to put it bluntly."

That almost deserves points awarded to Gryffindor, Snape thought of Hermione's snappy comeback.

Lavender, however, let out a loud gasp, shocked that someone vocalised what pretty much everyone else was currently thinking.

"Is that what you think?" she asked haughtily, flipping one long plaited blonde pigtail over her shoulder. She still wore her new bracelets and the charms clacked together as she moved.

"Yes!" Hermione told her without remorse, resisting the urge to Accio Lavender's musical bracelet off her wrist and toss it out the nearest window. "You know that...you know perfectly well that Ronald is just my friend!" she finished in a rush, as if she was embarrassed at having to explain herself.

"Well that still doesn't change the fact that—" Lavender continued in a shrill voice, which had grown loud enough to carry over to Madam Pomfrey's office. As expected, the white and red-robed mediwitch came bustling out, a severe look of disapproval upon her face.

"Not in my hospital wing you don't!" she interrupted, frowning at Lavender. "My patients need rest and quiet, Miss Brown, and if you are unable to conduct yourself with more decorum then I suggest you leave!"

"But Madam Pomfrey!" Lavender pleaded, her voice no softer than it was before. "I've only just found out that Won-W —I mean, Ron, was hurt!" At that, she glared across at Harry and Hermione as if it was their fault for not passing along the message. "I came as soon as I heard."

"Very well, but shush! If I have to come back out here, I'll send you straight out through those doors. Do you understand?" Pomfrey asked, shaking a finger in the younger witch's direction.

"Yes, ma'am," Lavender replied, bowing her head to hide her flaming cheeks.

With a final sniff, Madam Pomfrey stalked off back to her office, straightening her large white hat on the way.

"Well, then," Dumbledore said in a cheery voice, breaking the tension in the room. "Come away, everyone. It seems that Mr Weasley is well tended to."

The four professors turned to walk away. Snape, who had grown weary soon as the abrasive blonde burst into the hospital wing, cut around everyone and made a beeline for the door when Madam Pomfrey called him back in.

Damn, Snape cursed silently, making no attempt to soften the blows of his hard-bottomed boots hitting the floor as he followed the mediwitch into her office.

"Don't look so down, Miss Granger," Dumbledore warmly told Hermione in passing.

Hermione nodded her head as Dumbledore continued on his way out, his ice-blue robes swishing behind him. It was evident that the headmaster was worried, even if he tried to hide it. Now peeking across at Lavender, Hermione saw that the blonde was ignoring her and staring at Ron, her features crumpled and looking as if she wanted to cry.

"Sit here," Hermione sharply told her, pointing to the chair she had just occupied. "And if you wake him up, I'll personally help Madam Pomfrey put you out."

Hiccupping and nodding, Lavender fell into the chair and scooted closer to Ron's side, taking his still limp hand into hers.

"Blimey, Hermione. Harsh much?" Harry asked under his breath as she walked past him. The laughter was evident in his voice, and Ginny looked as if she was fighting back a smirk. Their faces were just enough to make Hermione fight back a chortle of her own.

"Not harsh enough," she muttered.

After being subjected to Lavender's tantrum, Hermione found the need to be alone for a moment. Or just away from Lavender, because Hermione knew if she stayed next to her fellow Gryffindor, that she just might be tempted to follow Ginny's lead, only the least Hermione would do was snatch a pillow from an adjacent bed and smack Lavender in the head with it.

At least their minor row had served as a distracted for Hermione's muddled mind. She had gotten so worked up over Ron being poisoned that she had been unable to speak, yet Lavender irritated her to the point that she nearly forgot about the redhead's convalescence. Instead, Hermione had wanted to reach across his bed and yank on his annoying girlfriend's pigtails until she began speaking sensibly.

"I'll be back in a minute," Hermione told Harry and Ginny, pointedly ignoring Lavender as she walked across the ward. Shutting the tall, wide double-doors to the infirmary behind her, Hermione then sat down on one of the stone benches pushed against the wall. The painting that tried to comfort her earlier had walked out of her frame, most likely to visit with another portrait.

It wasn't even nine o'clock and already her entire day had been more drama-filled than a weeks' worth of daytime soap operas. The whole situation with Ron had been enough, but for Lavender to come at her had been the proverbial cherry on top of the cake. The blonde's whinging made her head hurt, and Hermione wondered if anyone had ever bothered to point out that her voice had the tendency to tread to the side of annoying, and that she should speak as little as possible.

I bet that whiny pitch could cure the deaf, Hermione groused silently, lifting both hands to rub her temples. Closing her eyes and lowering her head, Hermione desperately tried to massage away the hammering in her brain.

"Just so you know, your little friend is going to be all right," said a dry yet comfortingly familiar voice from above. "He will be annoying you again in no time, I'm sure."

Opening her eyes, Hermione saw two shiny black dragon hide boots in front of her. But as she looked up to reply, Snape had already turned to walk away, and the only thing she saw was the back of his head and the hem of his teaching robes lifting slightly as they caught air.

How long had he been standing there? She never heard the doors to the hospital wing being opened, and Hermione definitely hadn't noticed Snape walking over to her.

Her ruminating was broken when a pair of identical redheads came sauntering up the corridor, both looking odd without their usual broad grins.

"All right, Granger?" asked George, grasping a large brightly-coloured paper wrapped box as he and his twin walked over. They were both smartly dressed in matching striped brown suits, although George's waistcoat, shirt and tie were varying shades of purple while Fred's were shades of olive and mustard.

"Hey, you two," Hermione replied. "What did you do, rob Gringott's?" she asked, nodding towards their attire.

"Yeah, just don't tell Mum and Dad," Fred told her. "So how is our Ronniekins? Mum had a fit when she got Dumbledore's message."

"He's asleep," Hermione told him. "I just needed to get some fresh air so I came out here for a minute."

Just then the doors of the hospital wing were pushed forward and a sniffling Lavender Brown ambled out. She ignored the three standing outside as she continued on down the staircase.

"So, was that the stale air you were trying to avoid?" George asked, gesturing towards Lavender's blonde head that was disappearing down the steps.

"Lucky guess," Hermione answered between clenched teeth. "Let's go back inside and see if Ron's woken up."

Ron was still sound asleep although he had taken to mumbling incoherently every so often. Ginny had taken the seat next to his bed and was looking at her unconscious brother with an unfathomable expression on her face. George leaned across her to place Ron's gift on the bedside table, ruffling her hair when he was stood straight again.

"So, how did this madness come about?" Fred asked, squeezing in between his siblings and leaning against the table.

"Ron found a box of Chocolate Cauldrons this morning that I guess he thought were his, and he ate half of them," Harry began explaining. "We were about to go down to breakfast when he began acting strange, and that's when I knew something was up when he started going on about being in love with Romilda Vane."

"What?" George asked, looking completely lost. "But I thought he was with the one that we just saw? You know, the one that gave him that ugly-arsed necklace."

"He is with Lavender, but there's Romilda Vane; she's in our House and she's a complete idiot," Ginny informed her brother. "She tried to get into a row with me, saying that she could have Harry if she wanted to. I told her to go right ahead and try, even wished her good luck."

"Wow, sis, you sure have a talent for instigation," Fred smirked.

"Yeah, with or without intention," said Ginny. "Only I could kick Romilda for this. I didn't think she would be desperate enough to force Harry to fancy her by sneaking him a love potion, but she did and put them in the chocolates and you know Ron can't resist sweets. Now look where he ended up. So technically, this is Romilda's fault."

"Yes, but I wonder what would have happened if Ron never drank the mead. What if Slughorn by some weird circumstance actually gave the bottle to Dumbledore?" Hermione interjected, her voice sounding croaky to her own ears. McGonagall had grown visibly distressed when she heard that Slughorn initially planned on gifting the bottle of mead to Dumbledore for Christmas. No one bothered asking why Dumbledore had never received it, especially seeing as it was already the first of March. But Hermione had been around Slughorn enough to know that he most likely kept the mead for himself purely out of selfishness. "Oh, I don't want to think about this anymore," she continued in a small voice." But I will say I'm glad that you found that bezoar, Harry."

"Me too," Harry replied, looking across at Ron who was frowning in his sleep.

Hermione was glad that Harry didn't point out the obvious, that she should be happy he had his Potions text, else he might not have known about the bezoar. Of course, he should have known, seeing as Snape told them about bezoars during their very first Potions lesson, but it was not worth bringing up that tiny, touchy bit of trivia at an already strenuous time.

Harry continued on with retelling the events of that morning. Just as he was finished, Mr and Mrs Weasley came back into the hospital wing. Mrs Weasley's hat was precariously perched atop her head, as if she'd shoved it on in a rush, and she barely noticed when it toppled off and drifted to the freshly mopped floors as she dashed over to Harry, embracing him in a bone-crushing hug.

"Alright, dear," Mr Weasley said after a while. "I don't think Harry wants you wetting his head with your tears," he gently told his wife, trying to pry her arms from around the politely gasping boy.

Finally noticing that Hermione and Ginny were also nearby, Mrs Weasley gave them both hugs before releasing them to go fuss over her son. Murmuring something about his messy hair, she rested one shaky hand on her son's head and began stroking the disheveled ginger strands into some semblance of order. Mr Weasley, who also looked just as grim yet seemed to be holding it together a bit more than his wife, began chatting with Harry, thanking him profusely. Hermione covertly slipped into the background, tuning them all out and becoming lost in her thoughts.

She had been surprised when Snape, of all people, assured her that Ron would be fine, but knew that he was most likely correct; once Ron was back to normal, he would most definitely be harassing her to help finish his essays and homework, as well as stuffing his face with obscene amounts of food at every meal.

Ten minutes later, Hagrid came barreling into the hospital wing, his moleskin coat dripping rain and his muddied boots leaving footprints on Madam Pomfrey's clean floors. His crossbow was dangling from one huge hand, as if he had been in the middle of hunting when he heard about Ron. Of course that was most likely not the case, as Hagrid was prone to keeping the most dangerous of animals as pets rather than slaughtering them.

Between his deep booming voice and the loud noise of the doors banging against the wall, everyone jumped, and the mediwitch ran out of her office. Her eyes grew wide especially after she noticed Hagrid's menacing crossbow.

"No more than six visitors at a time!" she said, glaring at the large group surrounding Ron's bed and back to Hagrid's crossbow, which was dripping and leaving a puddle next to his foot. "And I would prefer if you left that thing outside!"

"That's alright, Madam Pomfrey," Hermione told her. "Harry and I will go. Come on, Harry."

Ginny nodded for Harry to go on, and he and Hermione walked out of the ward. Hagrid had stayed behind to talk to Mr and Mrs Weasley for a bit and soon caught up with them.

"I don' believe it, I jus' don' believe it," Hagrid kept muttering as Hermione and Harry nearly jogged to keep up with his long strides down the corridor. "Things are gettin' outta hand..."

"Has Professor Dumbledore said anything about it?" Hermione asked, desperately hoping that there was some clue to the mystery behind all the attacks.

"Dumbledore must know something, right?" Harry reiterated once he'd made it alongside Hagrid. "He's the headmaster, surely he has some idea of the person that's responsible for all this."

"Well..." Hagrid trailed off, sounding as if he wasn't all that sure how to answer Harry's question. "Dumbledore's worried, I can say tha' fer sure. But everyone's lookin' into this whole mess."

Harry and Hermione listened on as Hagrid began talking about the possibility of the board of governors shutting down Hogwarts. That had been the one thing Hermione was hoping not to hear, but she wasn't all that surprised. She half expected an owl delivering a letter with her name on, with a message from her parents stating that they were bringing her home and to not argue with them.

Hagrid was now going on about overhearing an argument between Dumbledore and Snape, and her ears prickled at the mention of the professor's name.

"What?" Harry asked, also catching the tail end of Hagrid's statement, which he had tried to smoothly cut off. "Dumbledore's angry with Snape?"

Hagrid tried to pretend that he didn't hear Harry, but the smaller wizard stopped right in front of him, staring Hagrid down. It was akin to tiny David staring down Goliath, rather, up, considering their drastic height difference, but Harry refused to be swayed until Hagrid answered him.

"Well?" Harry repeated forcefully.

"Nevermin' I said anythin'," Hagrid gruffly told him, trying to sidestep the much shorter wizard.

"Oh no, you brought it up for a reason so you might as well finish it," said Harry, doubling around in front of Hagrid as his voice grew louder.

"Why, for you to twist my words around an' go repeatin' them?" Hagrid frowned. "No, I know how yeh feel abou' Professor Snape and yeh won' drag me into it. And keep yer voice down!"

"He's got a point," said Hermione.

"Hagrid, I promise I won't tell anyone," Harry urged, feigning deafness to Hermione's comment. "Now will you just tell us? Obviously it's important if you suddenly want to go all close-mouthed."

"Alrigh', but not a word!" Hagrid admonished, looking around to make sure they were alone.

Harry kept his word and listened silently as Hagrid repeated what he'd overheard. Hermione got the distinct impression that Hagrid was not telling the entire story, which she knew had more to do with the fact that Harry tended to jump to the worst possible conclusions when it came to Severus Snape.

Hermione thought it rich of Harry to always be so quick to take everything Dumbledore told him as gospel, while vilifying Snape at every turn. Yes, Snape always had something snarky to say, but he had helped them out of tight situations more than once. After all, it was professors Umbridge and Lockhart that smiled and preened at them, all the while nearly killing them in the process. Dumbledore continued setting Harry with outrageous tasks without even a glimmer of explanation, and Harry never questioned his motives. But Snape outright saved his hide many times over, and all Harry could do was focus on what he considered the professor's nasty attitude.

Wasn't it Snape that saved him from Quirrell and his jinxing of Harry's broomstick? From Lupin when he'd transformed? And Hermione would even venture to say Sirius, whom had no forethought as to what his presence would do had the Dementors caught her, Ron, and Harry with him that night they found him in the Shrieking Shack. Had the Azkaban guards found them all together, no doubt they all would have received the Dementor's Kiss, without being able to offer any explanations to save their arses. Dementors were not known for being reasonable, and more than once that very thought had crossed Hermione's mind.

Then there was the issue of Harry's Occlumency lessons, which understandably gone all pear shaped. Harry could not understand why Dumbledore had chosen Snape, whom made it clear that he loathed the younger wizard, to serve as his instructor in the obscure branch of magic. Hermione had been the only one to figure out that Dumbledore would have been a poor instructor for Harry, mainly because his trust was brass-bound when it came to the headmaster. She thought Harry to be a little too trusting of Dumbledore, and that surely would have been his downfall if push came to shove during Occlumency lessons, because Harry would not have felt threatened enough to put his best foot forward. Snape, on the other hand...Harry would have worked his mind to the limit until his brain leaked out of his ears if it meant hiding his thoughts and memories from Snape. Not that it worked that way in the end; Harry, nor most wizards, were a match for Severus Snape. Recalling Snape's sneak attack on her mind, Hermione could definitely attest to that fact.

The three were nearly at the dormitories when Argus Filch and his grubby cat skulked out of a corner, yelping about Hermione and Harry being out of bed after hours. That prompted an argument between him and Hagrid, and the two were nearly toe-to-toe in the dimly lit corridor. Using that cue to run the rest of the way to Gryffindor Tower, Harry and Hermione hastily waved at the massive gamekeeper before taking off in the opposite direction.

"Damn, does Filch have nothing better to do?" Harry grumbled. "Anyway, I still don't know if I believe everything Hagrid said about Snape," he continued after giving the Fat Lady the password to Gryffindor Tower. She had been asleep and fussed them out for waking her up, but she did swing her portrait forward to allow them entrance.

"Well, why would he lie?" Hermione asked after looking around to make sure they were alone. "What's the point in that?"

"I have no idea," Harry replied grimly, "but there is something else going on, even if no one else will admit it."

Hermione's brain was worn out and she was tired, and in no mood to argue with her best friend. Yes, it seemed like something was going on, but it also seemed like Harry was suspicious of any and everything nowadays, and Hermione knew that most of his concern was justified. But sometimes his concern was misplaced; even Hagrid had said so. Hermione's worries had more to do with surviving on a day-to-day basis. If it was that easy for a student to be slipped a cursed necklace or a poisoned drink, who knew what else could happen? At the rate things were going, Hermione just knew that she was going to wake up with someone hovering over her, a knife clutched in their hand and aiming for her heart.

Admittedly, that might have been a touch dramatic, but it was clear that each instance of attacks was no coincidence. Just who they were meant for remained a mystery, but Hermione was sure that Katie Bell nor Ron had been the intended victims. Of course, that also meant that something could definitely happened to her, whether accidentally or deliberately, and that thought scared the hell out of her.

Next to being scared, Hermione was even more unsettled after finding out that Dumbledore had no idea as to who was behind the attacks. Or knowing the way his mind worked, perhaps he did know and was not saying so. But if he did know it was serving no purpose, considering that Katie Bell was still with her parents, and Ron's at his bedside. For someone that was purportedly brilliant, Hermione thought that Dumbledore ought to be doing more when it came to the safety of student and staff at Hogwarts.

Then again, perhaps she was just deluding herself.

There had been a point where Hermione was awed by the professors as well as the headmaster at Hogwarts. She looked to them as flawless entities that would teach her everything she would need to know about the magical side of her life.

So when her illusions had been shattered, and Hermione learned that all of her teachers were just as flawed as she and prone to mistakes like the rest of the world, it had been a bit jarring. And while she had continued to look up to many of them, year after year it became harder to maintain that same level of steadfast admiration.

How many times had she wanted to scream 'too little, too late' to someone when they finally showed face after the fact?

At least Snape had been around lately when Hermione needed him. Speaking of the dour wizard, she wondered what he and the headmaster had been arguing about. And what could be so bad that Dumbledore was angry at him?

Hermione was sure that when a person risked life and limb for another person that at least it would spare one of the other's wrath. But apparently not, judging by what Hagrid accidentally blurted out.

Mostly everyone was in bed when Hermione walked into the girls' dormitory. Ginny's bed was still empty and its curtains pulled back as she was still with her family in the hospital wing. Lavender's bed curtains weren't completely shut, and Hermione noticed that the blonde witched was curled on her side with something clutched in her fist, what looked like a tissue or handkerchief, as if she'd cried herself to sleep.

She's still annoying, but at least she cares enough about Ron to be crying over him, Hermione told herself as she walked over to her bed.

After changing into her nightgown and slipping into bed, Hermione closed her eyes and tried to shut down her racing thoughts. It only took an hour of tossing and turning before Hermione pulled a book out from beneath her pillow,—along with a handful of Crookshanks' butterbeer corks which she deposited on her nightstand— and attempted to read herself to sleep. But reading by wandlight made her already aching eyes burn even more, and she soon abandoned that effort.

Without giving it a second though, Hermione slipped back out of bed while leaving the curtains shut. Fumbling around for her jeans through the dark, she slipped back into them and shoved her feet into her trainers. She knew she would get yelled at, but right now her need to be near a certain wizard outweighed the possible consequences of what she was about to do.

A reprieve from his thoughts would not come easy for Snape, not that it ever did.

Even though Dumbledore had been behaving affably while in public, Snape knew that the headmaster was still cross with him. Not that he cared all that much, not considering what Dumbledore had practically forced his hand into doing. Ever since Dumbledore explained to Snape what he needed of him when the time was right, Snape had gone between feeling numb with shock to sick with grief.

The night before, Snape had met the professor on the outskirts of the Forbidden Forest. After the two walked in silence until they reached a small clearing, Dumbledore had drawn up his robe's left sleeve to the elbow, revealing the blackened, withered skin that seemed to go beyond the bit that was visible to Snape's eye. Even though the moonlight had been pale and beautiful, its serene light had been unable to soften the sight of Dumbledore's slowly decaying arm.

"There's no point in stating the obvious," Dumbledore said after righting his sleeve back into place. "You know what this means."

"I do," Snape stiffly answered.

"I trust you are still going forth with the investigations in your House," the headmaster had continued, although it was more of a statement.

"What is there to investigate? You know just as well as I that Draco Malfoy is the culprit. Unless you have some other reprehensible task for me to perform?"

Dumbledore paused to look up through an opening between the treetops to gaze at the night sky. "I wouldn't consider what I asked you to do reprehensible. Questionable, perhaps, but that would be depending on who's asking."

"Questionable?" Snape echoed, on the verge of exploding. "Questionable is a word you use when one of these students turns in an essay that was most likely copied from a textbook. I wouldn't consider murder to be questionable."

"Who said anything about murder?" asked Dumbledore calmly, as if he was discussing dinner plans instead of his request for Snape to bestow upon him a mercy killing.

"I said murder because that's what it is, Albus!" Snape spat, already at the end of his tether. "And when you're gone, what else do you think everyone is going to say? Not murder, my arse. I'll be sent to Azkaban within the hour and then what of your brilliant plan?"

"I have every faith in you, Severus. You won't be sent to Azkaban."

The headmaster's calm ran against Snape's fury, and by that point Snape had gotten so worked up that he didn't try to muffle his scoff. He knew that Dumbledore was getting up in age and was a bit dotty, but never did he dream of the day where the wizard would outright ask for his assistance with euthanasia.

Living with a Dark curse contained to his body had undoubtedly been painful. Snape had experienced pain beyond belief from the Dark Lord, but to actually have a constant burning, throbbing pain embedded into one of your limbs was a different story altogether, and even he was not sure that he would be as composed as Dumbledore. Many times Snape had noticed the headmaster wincing when he thought that the younger wizard was looking the other way, and Snape wondered if Dumbledore would admit to reaching the point where he was weary of suffering.

Usually he had been begged to not kill someone, never the other way around. Bellatrix and Voldemort as well as a few of the other Death Eaters loved to hear their prey begging to be killed and put out of their misery merely to avoid a seemingly endless bout of torture, yet Snape preferred a less messy ordeal instead of a long, drawn out affair. Of course, Snape would have preferred to never hear either request, but with his stint as a spy, that had been impossible.

"And if I choose to deny your request?" Snape challenged, nostrils flaring as he huffed angrily.

"You've already agreed, Severus. I'll not negotiate with you," Dumbledore told him with an air of certitude. "And have you not told me that you will never go back on your word?"

Dumbledore knew that one of Snape's few weak points was his loyalty being questioned, and that statement had been insulting, akin to someone trying to slice another with a dull knife.

"Severus, you know what you must do, and you will do it. I see no reason for your fuss."

"Did it ever occur to you that you take too much for granted? Has it ever crossed your brilliant mind that I don't want to do this anymore?"

Snape knew how he sounded, and to make matters worse, Dumbledore refused to reply to that comment. When it was apparent that the headmaster had no more to say on the subject, Snape curtly bade him goodnight and strode out of the forest in high dudgeon. He'd had the impression that someone was nearby, but did not feel that it was anyone threatening. Either way, by then Snape almost didn't care enough if it was the Dark Lord himself that had been eavesdropping on his and the headmaster's conversation. Simply put, Snape felt as if he had been painted into a corner and that alone irked him to the nines.

Even though his and Dumbledore's conversation had taken place the night before, the idea of what the headmaster expected Snape to do kept making him feel physically ill. Usually Snape read, either for pleasure or to distract himself, but even that had proving fruitless for the past hour.

Most of the time Snape preferred to be alone, but right now his solitude was only exacerbating the negative thoughts running through his mind. By now, Hermione's cat was usually scratching at his door, and the professor had little difficulty in admitting to himself that even the wayward ball of bright-orange fluff would be a welcomed diversion.

Five minutes later, Snape's diversion came by way of a small knock at his door.

"What are you doing here, Granger?" Snape asked once Hermione had stepped inside. She tugged the Invisibility Cloak from over her body once Snape shut the door and tearfully looked up at him.

There was no denying it; the witch looked awful. Her hair was all over the place, and the cloak's material rubbing against her curls had most likely made it worse. Her face was blotchy and her eyes were red, she was clutching her troublesome half-kneazle to her chest..

"I couldn't sleep," Hermione sniffled, letting a softly meowing Crookshanks down to the floor. The cat rubbed up against Snape's legs before walking off to take his favourite place at the hearth, leaving the humans to have a bit of privacy. "Am I disturbing you?"

"I would say yes had I been asleep, but, no, you aren't disturbing me," Snape admitted, stepping back slightly and gesturing for Hermione to walk further into the room. Instead of the armchair, she sat on the hard, uncomfortable sofa, and Snape's forehead furrowed when she patted the seat next to her.

"You know I hate that damned thing," he replied in a low voice, distastefully eyeing the sofa.

"Well it's your furniture," Hermione replied. "Sit with me, please."

Even though Snape was in no mood to feel the uncomfortable sofa springs in his arse, he sat next to Hermione, looking down when he felt her hand reach across and cover his.

"How are you?" she asked, gently squeezing his fingers.

There was a lot more beneath Hermione's question, and Snape knew it, but all he said was, "I'm still here."

"Yes, you are."

Hermione thought Severus looked as worn out as she felt, and was surprised when he stopped talking. Yes, she was taking yet another risk by sneaking down to see him, but something inside her snapped and before Hermione knew it, she had sneaked over to the boys' dormitory, retrieved Harry's Cloak and Map, and crept down the spiral staircase. She was halfway out of the common room when Crookshanks crept behind her, seemingly knowing where she was headed and demanding to be taken as well.

Now that she was next to Snape, Hermione felt a bit more at ease. Perhaps Snape felt the same way, because when she slowly inched over until her weight was settled against his, Hermione lowered her head to rest against his shoulder and the professor allowed her to remain there. Their hands were still loosely entwined, but after some time passed, Snape returned that earlier squeeze and then lay his head on top of Hermione's.

Contained within that small movement, it seemed as if Snape was resting his unspoken, unshared burdens upon Hermione, all with her allowing him to.

It felt as if Snape was purposely keeping some of his weight off Hermione, because she noticed a slight trembling in his limbs. Shifting around on the rigid sofa, Hermione moved in closer until his body lost some of its rigidness.

Crookshanks had long fallen asleep, and the room was completely silent save for the crackling of the hearth. The quiet in his study had been borderline stifling before, and between that and his melancholy mood, Snape literally felt as if he was being slowly choked. The timing had been almost perfect when that timid rapping was heard at his door, and almost immediately Snape felt some of his tension ease. He'd never had an open door policy, preferring to be left to his own as often as possible, but that rule had been tacitly bent when it came to the curly-headed Gryffindor and her familiar.

"Are you asleep?" he heard Hermione whisper, her face partially buried against his arm.

"Why?" Snape mumbled into her hair.

Tentatively reaching up, Hermione blindly felt around until Snape's her fingertips were brushing against his slick black hair. Her hand continued fumbling midair until she was touching the hooked part of his nose, then sliding up to press her palm against his eyes.

"Your eyes are open," Hermione said accusingly. "You should be asleep."

"Correction, madam," Snape murmured. "My eyes were open until you decided to stick your little fingers into them. First your cat tries to trip me and then you try to blind me. I'm almost led to believe that you two are plotting against me."

"That would never happen," Hermione laughed quietly, now realising that Snape's eyes were in fact closed, and the tips of his fluttering lashes were tickling her fingers. "And stop exaggerating, but that's exactly my point. You're always telling me to go to sleep, and I think it's time for a change."

"Do you now?"

"Yes."

"You have more nerve than a toothache, Granger, ordering me about in my own rooms," said Snape softly, although his tone conveyed a wry amusement.

"I didn't order you about," Hermione retorted, gently pressing the side of her head into his arm. "I don't think anyone would dare order you about."

How very wrong you are, Snape thought without bothering to correct the witch. Instead he brought his arm around her shoulders and left it there, allowing his thumb to rub errant circles into the small patch of skin exposed above her collar.

"And you've not even bothered to kiss me," she was now saying through a yawn, having grown relaxed beneath his touch. "I've been waiting for a proper one ever since last seeing you on the Astronomy Tower."

"One kiss, and then I want your eyes and mouth shut. Understood?"

"One kiss? Such largesse."

"I never claimed to be renown for acts of munificence."

"Oh, believe me, it shows in your grading. I'm surprised that I've actually passed all of your classes."

"Is that a complaint I hear? Because believe me, the fact that I've allowed some of these little brats to pass is saying something. Daft as a brush they are. You, on the other hand, I should have deducted points for being too verbose."

Hermione wrestled free of Snape's arm and shifted upright to glare at him. Even though his face was haggard, it was clear that the professor was enjoying the way she reacted to his chaffing. She still hadn't forgotten about her much wanted kiss, and straddled Snape's lap, moving forward until their chests were touching. Just as she was about to move her lips to his, Snape lifted both hands and cupped them around her face.

Snape using Legilimency on her had infiltrated the deepest recesses of her mind; now it seemed that his dark eyes were doing so, even though old memories weren't rushing past. He didn't speak or move, and Hermione found herself pinned into place by that penetrating stare. She somehow had the impression that Snape wasn't looking at her, but rather into her, yet what it was he was looking for at that point she knew not.

Just as swiftly as he'd stopped Hermione from kissing him, Snape moved forward and pressed his lips to her forehead. A continuous trail of gentle, reverent kisses were then placed upon Hermione's eyelids, her nose, and then cheeks. It was a mystery as to why Snape was avoiding her mouth, but something inside Hermione made her throat close and she let out a choked sobbed. Suddenly she had both arms around his neck, clinging onto him for dear life without knowing why.

Snape didn't ask Hermione what was wrong; instead his arms tightened around her body and he held her tightly against him, his face half buried into the side of hers, barely aware of the unruly curls that were trying to suffocate him.

It was a while before Hermione tried to speak, but when she parted her lips she found that her voice had gone.

"It's all right, Hermione," Snape assured in an oddly gentle voice, his lips right next to her temple.

Hermione tried speaking again and then abandoned the effort, finding that she was suddenly drained of all energy. Sighing heavily as she allowed her tense, quivering limbs to sink into his, Hermione drew in a shuddering breath and slowly exhaled, feeling the hot air rebound off Snape's neck to hit her in the face. He wasn't asking her if she was all right; he was telling her that it was all right, and for some reason that made Hermione grow further agitated. She somewhat had an idea of why Snape was telling her it would be all right, but did not want to admit it, not even to herself. There were certain things Hermione still found difficult to face, even though Snape told her they were inevitable. Of course, he might have been lying to her at that point, and the gesture was kind, but still did not take away the inexplicable, niggling fear that had suddenly taken over.

Although Hermione hadn't been on a crying jag, she felt worn out as if she'd spent the last half hour sobbing. Snape's bony fingers were stroking the side of her face, and he was moving in a sort of awkward rocking motion the way one might move if they were trying to soothe a distraught child without really knowing how.

"I—" she began again, still fighting to make her tongue work.

"You don't need to explain anything," Snape told her, sounding as if he was having just as much trouble speaking. "I've got you, now go to sleep."

Hermione forgot that she had been the one to initially tell Snape to go to sleep, and she followed his instructions without a fuss. Without realising it, Hermione had soon fallen asleep, her curly head tucked beneath Snape's chin and his arms still around her.

Even though they were both sitting up, Hermione's knees on either side of his thighs and her body crumpled against his, Snape closed his eyes and rest his head on top of Hermione's, although he had every intention of moving them off of the rock-hard sofa and into his bedroom. It only took thirty minutes of an uncomfortable slumber on the narrow piece of furniture before he roused enough to transfigure the thing into something softer and wider, and two slept like that for the remainder of the night; fully clothed and holding onto one another.
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Unintentional Inveiglement