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Unintentional Inveiglement	By : onecelestialbeing Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 129854 -:- Recommendations : 8 -:- Currently Reading : 29
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Harry Potter and it's characters and making no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 34
- 35
- 36
If looks could kill, then Harry would have been dead the moment Snape returned, his body ending up lying next to Draco's in the bloodied water. It was quite obvious that the professor was completely livid as he stalked into the room, ire blazing in his eyes as he took in the sight before him.

Moaning Myrtle's keens echoed around the room; the sound of water gushing from one place and slowly draining into another could be faintly heard. Draco was fighting back sobs and Potter stood shell-shocked at the mayhem he had a hand in causing as his eyes darted between his classmates on the floor. Snape was oblivious to it all, as well as the hem of his teaching robes and trousers becoming heavy as they dragged through the wet floor and absorbed the moisture.

Whenever Snape heard someone use the phrase 'I literally felt my heart stop beating for a moment' he was tempted to kick them in the chest and ask if they also felt his foot. Yes, he knew that the phrase wasn't meant to be taken literally, but he was a literal sort of man that said exactly what he thought without bothering with euphemism. But when his shrewd black eyes fell upon the lifeless form of Hermione Granger, he was sure that his heart actually had stopped beating for a moment.

Once his adrenalin began racing, which seemed to jumpstart both his heart and brain, Snape realised he had precious little time to tend to Hermione and Draco.

It took Snape a split second to assess the situation; Draco was injured badly but he was breathing. Hermione was completely still, looking like the victim of a nasty hex that Snape knew most likely came from the blond. Everything else in a room turned into a blur as Snape walked, and he barely felt his boots coming in contact with the floor. Without looking at Potter he roughly shoved him aside, kneeling down at Hermione's side and swiftly turning her over. She had just taken her last gasping breath when Snape, operating on pure instinct, sharply tilted her head back and aimed his wand at her throat and chest, muttering the countercurse to the hex that clearly belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange, evidently having been passed onto Draco.

Unconcerned at the moment with the fact that Potter and Draco had been fighting, the only thing Snape worried about was opening Hermione's airway. Potter looked on dumbly as Snape repeated the countercurse twice more. Even though it had only been a few seconds, time seemed to stretch on when Hermione finally began drawing in deep lunges of air, gasping and coughing and scrambling to hold onto something in her semi-conscious state

"Help her to sit up," Snape ordered Harry in a tone that brooked no argument as he drew himself up and sloshed through the water to go and help Draco.

The wizard looked murderous and Harry thought it best if he just kept his mouth shut, and immediately took his place behind Hermione, propping her limp body up and allowing her soaking wet head to rest against his shoulder. Snape had waited beside Hermione until he walked over, and his robes brushed against Harry's hand as he took the professor's place. Without meaning to, Harry recoiled at the contact. He then struggled to grasp onto Hermione's shoulders and prop her up; his task was not easy by any means, as her body was dead weight against his and he had to simultaneously steady her head and torso as she kept threatening to tip over like a bag of sand.

Snape was now kneeling at Draco's side, muttering something under his breath and moving his wand across his face and torso, causing the deeply inflicted wounds to knit themselves closed and stop the flow of blood. All this took place with Moaning Myrtle's continuous sobs echoing throughout the bathroom, as she had remained nearby. Draco was marginally more lucid, and Snape soon helped him to a standing position. Words came out the professor's mouth, although Draco was in a such a state of shock that he was unable to reply. Harry, however, did not miss the cold fury in Snape's voice when he ordered him to remain in the bathroom until he returned.

Draco had shuffled over to the door and was holding onto the wall for support while Snape conjured a stretcher and levitated Hermione onto it. Between Draco's still incoherent state and his inability to move more than a few paces while still having to be supported by Snape as he walked, not to mention that Snape also had to concentrate on the stretcher holding Hermione ahead of him, the trek to the hospital wing was much slower than it would have been under other circumstances.

"Severus, what—" Poppy began, darting up from her desk and bustling over to a grim-faced Snape and his injured charges once they made it down to the fourth floor and inside the hospital wing. It had been his luck that they encountered no one on the way down as the last thing on Snape's mind was doling out explanations. At the first pointless comment he would have flown off the handle, emphasising that he was prone to being uncouth when someone was in his way.

"He needs Dittany," Snape explained tersely, cutting the matron off and levitating Hermione's stretcher to an empty bed across the ward. Poppy nodded her head and set off to retrieve the Dittany; she had never been one to ask many questions or chat idly, and for that Snape was grateful.

"And Miss Granger?" Poppy asked when she returned, taking hold of a subdued and extremely compliant Draco and steering him across to a fresh bed.

"I'll tend to her for now," Snape told her, using his wand to carefully shift Hermione's limp body from the stretcher and onto the bed. Between her soaked hair and soiled robes and uniform, she looked like a drowned kitten. The once stark-white pillow Hermione's head lay upon was now smudged with red, and Snape took his time siphoning the remaining blood from her skin and clothes. He had just pointed his wand at Hermione's hands when she came to for a moment and thrashed slightly, immediately clutching onto his sleeve nearest to her.

"Don't...please don't tell my parents!" she rasped out, her fingers biting into his wrist as panic clouded her brown eyes.

The witch sounded so frantic and continued clumsily pulling so fiercely on his sleeve that Snape wondered if she was about to have a panic attack. Hermione continued begging and pleading, her voice growing higher while incoherently mumbling something about her parents pulling her out of school if they were to find out that she'd been hurt.

Not wanting Madam Pomfrey to come over and investigate the newfound source of shrill noise, Snape bent his head a few inches away from Hermione's agitated face and spoke in a tone soft enough that only she was able to hear him. The oily curtains of his black hair covered his face, and even if Pomfrey were to come to the bedside, she wouldn't have been able to see his lips moving.

Placated by those few reassuring words meant only for her ears, Hermione white-knuckled fingers gradually loosened their hold on Snape's sleeve, and she settled back and allowed sleep to consume her.

"I understand it may be an inconvenience, but I would prefer it if only myself, the headmaster, and McGonagall come in contact with either Miss Granger or Mister Malfoy," Snape told Poppy once he'd moved from Hermione's side. "No other professors, and no students under any circumstances."

"It's fine by me, Severus," the matron replied dismissively, now making her way over to Hermione.

Snape also gave explicit instructions for Poppy to keep Hermione and Draco on separate ends of the wing before excusing himself to go deal with the nuisance waiting for him up in the sixth-floor bathroom.

Potter was still standing in the same place he'd been in when Snape told him to not leave. Soon as he stepped foot back into the bathroom, the young wizard began bumbling over an explanation of how he didn't know what spell he was using. Snape was in no mood for stories or excuses: he knew just what spell Potter had used against Draco. The question was how did he come across it.

"I didn't know," Snape echoed quietly, walking towards Potter and coming to a standstill two feet across from him. "Is that right?" he continued although his question was rhetorical. "Apparently I underestimated you, Potter. Who would have thought you knew such Dark magic? Who taught you that spell?"

"I—read about it somewhere."

"Where?"

"It was—a library book. I can't remember what it was call—"

Snape was almost floored by the fact that Potter expected him to take in, swallow, and digest the tripe he was offering. The words do I look like a fool? were on the tip of his tongue, but Snape refrained, knowing what Potter's smart-alecky answer would entail, to which he would surely end up swiftly levitating the boy and send him crashing into a wall. Madam Pomfrey would then have with a third patient, and Dumbledore would conveniently show up to chastise Snape for harming Gryffindor House's consummate Golden Boy.

"Liar," Snape cut in, closing the space between them and nastily staring down into the pair of familiar green eyes without blinking. He was sure that Potter truly did not have any idea of what casting Sectumsempra entailed, but that point was moot at the moment, considering the one person he had been sworn under duress to look after had nearly bled out on the floor of the boys' lavatory, and the only other person he chose to look after, purely for his own reasons, nearly suffocated to death.

"How did you and Mister Malfoy come to be alone in this room in the first place?" Snape then asked, although he had already begun to form his own conclusions. He never forgot about the very first Apparation lesson the Great Hall when Potter gave his friends the slip and conveniently showed up and stood a few inches away from where Draco and his flunkies were. As far as Snape was concerned, coincidences were rare as hen's teeth when it came to Potter, and chance had nothing to do with the current situation at hand.

Snape then ordered Potter to bring his schoolbag with all of his books to the lavatory. The young wizard never got the chance to answer the Snape's last question as stumbled out of the bathroom, looking every bit in a daze as he brushed past the professor, who refused to move one inch to accommodate the boy.

With Potter momentarily absent, Snape began fully taking in the sabotaged bathroom. Most of it could be repaired by a few spells and charms, although the cistern was mostly a pile of rubble and would have to be replaced. Images of Filch's face once he saw the mess came to mind; the caretaker was going to demand blood and then some as pittance for the mangled lavatory. It would be just as well, considering how much of Draco's still covered the floor.

Snape continued to find it hard to believe that Potter had the moxie to use such a dangerous spell. Even more disconcerting was the manner in which Potter learned of said spell.

Library book, my arse.

There was no doubt in Snape's mind as to where Potter came across the unique spell. Some hexes in library books had been relatively tame in comparison to Severus Snape'sSectumsempra which had been the sole reason in creating it. He'd needed something that housed enough power to make his enemies leave him alone, yet not so strong that it would outright kill them. Slow and methodical torture had been two attractive qualities of the spell, and Snape cherished his work so much that he never told anyone about it, not even Lucius Malfoy, the only person whom he had sometimes confided to in their youth.

It was clear that Potter thought him an idiot, and Snape welcomed the opportunity to show just how much of a idiot he was.

When Potter returned to the bathroom with his rucksack in tow, Snape purposely avoided the Potions text, lingering over his indirect interrogation by making sure to look at all the other books first. Guilt was etched all over Potter's face and he squirmed uncomfortably as he watched Snape slowly go through his belongings.

"If you're going to be sick, Potter, I suggest doing so elsewhere. You've already created enough work for Filch; the last thing he needs is to clean up your vomit as well."

A quick thumb-through told Snape that the book in his hands was not the one that Potter had been using since the start of term; he did not even have to glance at the 'Roonil Wazlib' scrawled in chicken scratch on the inside cover, although it was glaringly obvious who the atrocity of a misnomer belonged to.

Besides that, Snape knew better; instantly he knew that Potter somehow had found his old copy of Advanced-Potion Making and using all the addendums scrawled in it, which explained for the unaccountable spike in his Potions grades, as well as Slughorn's sickening gurgling over the boy. Even more surprising was the fact that a little fuzzy-headed now unconscious goody two-shoes had never mentioned the book.

Snape had always loathed cheaters and those who never saw fit to put forth the effort of studying to secure high or even passing grades. His own House had been full of them when he was a boy at Hogwarts. However, most ignored the odd stringy-haired wizard and begged the other sociable and somewhat diligent students for assistance. While being ignored might have been a bone of contention for Snape, he got the last laugh in the end considering that his grades were usually higher than everyone else's, and not just in Slytherin. Besides, it was easier to study when no one was filling your ear with vapid banter.

It was no secret that many only went to Hermione when they needed help with homework. Potter and Weasley were usually the ones most guilty of this infraction, and Granger was more lenient with them, but countless times Snape had overheard her snapping at the two that they needed to finish their own work and leave her alone. Surely she would have had a lot to say on the subject of her best friend outright cheating in class.

"Do you know what I think, Potter?" said Snape, very quietly. "I think that you are a liar and a cheat and that you deserve detention with me every Saturday until the end of term. What do you think, Potter?"

Snape observed that Potter looked the way he had during each of his failed Occlumency lessons, only this time the boy was unable to look him in the face. Using Occlumency was highly unnecessary at the moment, as Potter's body language screamed 'guilty' not to mention that he was almost literally green around the gills. It was only natural for Potter to disagree with being given detention, and Snape was tempted to ask if he preferred expulsion instead. Of course, the last thing he felt like doing was giving up his Saturday mornings to make sure that the leader of the Golden Trio kept his arse out of trouble; he'd had enough of babysitting teenagers over the summer at Grimmauld Place. But at least knowing where Potter was for a few hours of his free time would ensure that he and Draco were kept apart.

"Ten o'clock Saturday morning, Potter. My office."

"But sir, there's a Quidditch match—" Potter protested, finally having found the nerve to look up.

"You heard what I said," Snape whispered. "Ten o'clock. Now get out of my sight."

Hermione shifted slightly, frowning in her sleep when she felt her body cocooned beneath something warm and unbelievably soft. Confused for a moment, she wondered when she had fallen asleep and how she had made it upstairs and into bed. Straining to hear her snoring housemates, Hermione then pondered on the stark silence of the room. It was when she finally opened her eyes that she found herself tucked securely in a narrow bed in Hogwarts' dimly lit hospital wing.

What...? How did I get in here?

Slowly turning her head to the side, Hermione saw through blurry vision that privacy screens had been set up around her bed. It was still a mystery as to why she was even in the hospital wing until she shifted her weight and felt a soreness in her chest. It hurt to breathe and she had to draw in little bits of air at a time, and she winced whenever her chest expanded too much. Had she fallen? If so, why couldn't she remember...

A sudden sharp twinge was enough to make the events of that day come rushing back, and Hermione gasped in shock, then in discomfort as the hitching sent another jolt of pain throughout her body.

Hermione had truly believed that she was doing to die, lying among a blood and waterlogged floor of the sixth floor boys' lavatory. It felt as if someone had used both hands to reach into the cavity of her chest, where they proceeded to grip and fist her lungs and squeeze every ounce of air out of them. She had been unable to inhale or exhale, and nearly panicked when her throat also felt as if it was on the verge of collapse.

Hermione had once gone shopping with her Mum when they witnessed someone in the throes of a severe asthma attack. That shopping trip had been scary and she was grateful that she had never been inflicted with the ailment. However, whatever curse Draco hit her with had been just as bad as that girl's asthma attack, Hermione swore that she could literally feel her lungs dwindling into nothing.

It was a preposterous thought, but for a brief moment Hermione thought it ironic that her last moments should be spent desperately fighting for a bit of oxygen. She had been sure that she would either be knocked off by a Death Eater or the like, perhaps in the middle of hand-to-hand combat. Although another Slytherin had nearly been the cause of her expiration, all because Hermione had gotten in the middle of his and Harry's fight.

Just as she had been unable to keep her eyes open any longer, Hermione had become vaguely aware of no longer being face down in the water, but staring up into the high-arched ceiling of the lavatory. It took another second before her eyes focused on the face in front of hers, and her oxygen-starved brain led her to believe that a dark-haired angel was hovering over her, ready to end her suffering.

The dark-haired figure turned out to be not an angel but Professor Severus Snape. As far as Hermione was concerned, the man was an angel and a saint one hundred times over after using whatever spell it was that eradicated her inability to breathe.

The events following that had been fuzzy, as Hermione saw spots flashing past her eyes before passing out again. Now was the first time she opened her eyes since being hexed. Numbly taking inventory of everything, she lifted the edge of the sheets and saw that she had been dressed in the standard hospital issued two-piece pyjamas. It wasn't her nightgown but they were better than nothing.

Feeling a strong urge to yawn, even though she had been asleep for the past few hours, Hermione resisted, not wanting to feel that awful pain in her chest again. She had the idea that Malfoy had also been hurt, vaguely remembering that Harry had used a spell on him that sounded foreign to her ears. She'd heard Malfoy fall to the floor across from her, but had been so preoccupied with trying to catch her breath that she had been unable to look and see just what happened.

The sharp silence of the hospital wing only contributed to making Hermione more drowsy, although she was unable to go right back to sleep. She wanted to know what happened between her passing out and then waking up in the hospital wing, not to mention the outcome of the fight with Harry and Draco. She hoped that Harry wasn't in a serious amount of trouble, although something told her that he was.

Carefully turning over onto her side, Hermione drew the flannel blankets up to her neck and forced her eyes shut. Images of Harry and Draco fighting kept flashing behind them, plus rehashing her close brush with death. As much as she didn't want to admit that it nearly happened, there was no denying it; had Snape not gotten to her in time, she would not be lying in the tiny hospital bed with only the pale moonlight pouring in through the window above her head for company.

Once Snape sent Potter from the destroyed boys' lavatory, he went directly to McGonagall's study to inform her of what happened. He would have gone to the headmaster's office but saw no point in doing so; Dumbledore would most likely come up with a reason why Potter should not be expelled for seriously injuring another student. Of course, the headmaster would surely point out that the younger Malfoy also had a hand in harming a number of students and was still at school, and that was the last thing Snape felt like hearing.

"Severus, what is it?" McGonagall asked soon as she opened her door. It was extremely rare for Snape to seek out his other colleagues, and the look on his face clearly said that this was no social visit.

"I thought you should know that Mister Potter will be serving detention with me every Saturday from next week until end of term," he stated curtly.

McGonagall left out a long-suffering sigh; it had to be serious as Snape did not even wear his usual smug countenance that never failed to show whenever it came to him getting the upper hand with one of her Gryffindors. "What happened now?"

"Apparently he and Mister Malfoy ran into an altercation with one another. Potter came out unscathed but I cannot say the same for Draco and Miss Granger. Mister Malfoy is in the hospital wing with lacerations to his face and chest, and Miss Granger was close to asphyxiation, although the latter was due to a misfired spell from Malfoy's wand. I believe he was aiming at Potter."

"Goodness—are they alright?"

"They are now. "

"Thank goodness for that," said McGonagall. "I have no objections to Mister Potter serving detention with you, but shall I ask about Mister Malfoy?"

Snape arched an eyebrow, waiting for McGonagall to elaborate.

"Will he also receive detention, once he's out of the hospital wing, that is?"

Really, woman? "I would say that having your face and chest sliced open and losing half of your blood is punishment enough, wouldn't you?"

Snape didn't wait for McGonagall to reply. Instead he turned on his heel and walked away, ignoring the tutting noise from the elderly witch. He was somewhat surprised that she hadn't asked about Miss Granger and what she had to do with the boys' fight. Even so, Snape did not have an answer for that, as the details were still unclear to him.

One thing was for sure, Snape was incensed that she became hurt in the first place. What was even more shocking was the fact that his anger ran further than him being angry because of one student becoming hurt as a result of another student in his House, which meant more grief on the professor's part. Surely there would be an inquiry as to how the fight came about in the first place, but at least the same would be done for Gryffindor House.

Or not.

Going by personal experience, Snape knew that many, especially the headmaster, had a blind-eye when it came to the House of Godric Gryffindor and many of its witches and wizards. At least McGonagall hadn't fought him on the issue of Potter being given what still seemed like a lenient and unreasonable punishment.

Malfoy, on the other hand...had it not been for that damnable Unbreakable Vow, not to mention that the boy now being infirm, Snape might have lost his temper and wrung him by the neck. Hermione becoming hurt by way of Malfoy's wand had opened Snape's eyes to the naked truth, which was so poignant that it made him even more unsettled than he'd already been. Not to mention that it was absurd, because the Dark Lord would have him skinned alive had he learned that Snape was becoming distracted by a witch that was not even half-blood, but of purely Muggle parentage.

Yet denying it was futile, and fact remained that when Snape found Hermione lying on that red-streaked floor, all thoughts of the vow he made to Narcissa Malfoy to protect her and Lucius' only child went out the window; seeing the almost carbon copy of the black-haired, spectacled wizard who used to torment him in his youth standing in the bathroom hadn't even given Snape pause. The only thing he had been able to focus on was getting to Hermione to see if she was alright.

Even though she had been lying a mere two feet away from the entrance, it felt as if Snape had been walking forever as he made his way over to her. Draco had had been shaking uncontrollably while laying in a pool of his own blood while Potter daftly looked on, and both boys had been too distracted to notice the look of relief on Snape's face when he aimed his wand at Hermione and heard her properly suck in air.

The only emotion Snape never had trouble with displaying was anger, which was no surprise considering that he was generally construed as a bitter, angry old man. It was easy to fit into a role when everyone already expected it of him. But for months since dealing with Granger, some new emotion began creeping up on him, and now it literally had him by the balls.

You're going to get her killed, and yourself in the process. End it, now, before this goes too far.

Wouldn't you say that it's gone too far already? But you're not going to end it, because you're a selfish bastard. The least you can do is not lie to yourself.

She's the one person that's never hated you; do you want that to change? End it now.

She's going to hate you in the end, no matter what. That much is inevitable, so you may as well accept it.

Snape had to momentarily put away his painful ruminating as he made his way to the staff room. In an effort to keep the story of what happened between the three students in the lavatory from being twisted and shifted into some other tall tale, Snape thought it best that the other professor's hear its recount directly from him. A few members of the staff usually convened Thursday and Friday nights after dinner to pass gossip and share the odd nightcap. This evening was no different, as Flitwick, Vector, Sprout, and Hooch were all sitting at an old round wooden table in one corner of the room, a nearly empty bottle and four small glasses with a few drops of amber liquid dampening the bottoms pushed to the center.

"Severus!" Flitwick chirped, spinning round in his chair when the professor approached. "We were about to leave but you're more than welcome to join us if you like. I'll just conjure up another glass—"

"That won't be necessary, thank you," Snape interrupted. "I thought you all needed to be aware of, ah, a most unfortunate incident that just occurred between Mister Malfoy and Mister Potter."

"What, have they finally killed one another?" Hooch asked. "Wait, let me get a refill to soften the blow of this horrid news that sent you all the way down here to deal with us peasants," she continued, reaching for the bottle and her glass.

Snape smirked; Hooch had a mouth on her on a good day. When she was drunk it was another story. At least she wasn't the annoying type when inebriated; on the contrary, she tended to be quite amusing. Trelawney was the one that Snape wanted to hex whenever she overindulged in cooking sherry. The batty woman violated his space not to mention the stench of her cheap drink rendering her breath sour, and somehow she always ended up blowing right into his face.

"Go on, Severus," Sprout urged in a more serious voice. "Tell us what happened."

"Seeing as I won't be interrupted with Trelawney's claptrap and how she knew it was going to happen because of her third blind eye, I'll get right to it," Snape began, only to get cut off.

"Oh, don't mention that damned woman!" Hooch interrupted, having no qualms with speaking ill of her colleague. "Ran into her on the way here, going on about some nonsense; told her to get the hell away from me. One of these days I'm going to shove a broom right up her—"

"Rolanda!" Vector cut in, even though it was clear she agreed but was trying to keep a straight face. "She isn't that bad."

"Like hell she isn't. Slughorn is a right lush, too, but at least he keeps to his room," Hooch went on. "Anyway, Severus, as you were."

Hypocrite much? Because that sure as shite isn't tea you've been nursing for the past hour, Snape mused.

If Hooch was this loose with the tongue at talking about Trelawney when she wasn't around, then it was certain that she spoke about him just the same. Although Hooch had outright called him a surly git before, and Snape supposed that if someone were to talk about him he would rather them do it to his face than behind his back, the way everyone else did. Ignoring that, Snape began explaining about the fight between the student without forgoing detail. By the time he finished, his colleagues' faces displayed looks ranging between shock and horror.

"And you gave him detention until the end of term?" Sprout echoed, slight disbelief colouring her voice. "Isn't that a mite harsh?"

"Well..." Flitwick trailed off. "It is warranted, and besides, we aren't just talking about your regular run-of-the-mill wand fight, you know. I don't think I've ever heard of a spell that does what you've just told us."

"I'd like to think my punishment was rather generous," Snape coolly replied.

"Yeah, but do you have to sound so damned smug about it?" Hooch chortled. "Well then, Filius, look at this way: with Potter out of the match, perhaps you'll actually be able to win when your House plays Gryffindor."

Hooch's heckling prompted a light bickering between the professors, the news of Malfoy and Potter's fight soon forgotten. Snape left the staff room without saying goodbye, having had enough of the drunken conversation, no matter how full of truths it had been. It took another ten minutes to find Hogwarts' caretaker, whom proceeded to sputter angrily and launch with a heightened brogue into a tirade about 'killin' these feckin' little bastards an' stringin' them up by the feckin' ankles' when Snape told him about the mess on the sixth floor. Snape soon tired of watching Filch's jowls quiver with each snarled swearword and left the caretaker in the middle of the corridor, still cursing and snuffling to himself as he beckoned his dust-coloured cat to follow behind.

All of Snape's self-doubts and worries kept him away from the one person he wanted most to be close to for the next several days. He avoided the hospital wing, although Pomfrey sent her reports stating that Draco must have been feeling better as he sounded less like the pompous wizard that he had been raised to be and more like a sulky child being forced to take ill-tasting medicine, continuously whining about not wanting to be stuck in the hospital wing. Snape knew why Draco was trying so desperately to get out of the hospital wing; he wanted to go where no one would have him under their thumb. After giving the blond a brief once-over, Poppy gave him a clean bill of health and announced that he was free to go. Draco didn't look back once as he sauntered out of the ward.

Hermione was a different story. Even though she also insisted to Madam Pomfrey that she felt fine (which was a lie; she merely hated missing classes and thought she could just take it easy while walking throughout the castle) Snape had privately told the school matron that it would behoove her to keep the young Gryffindor under her care for a few more days, considering the severity of the hex that she had been subjected to. Upon Hermione's arrival to the hospital wing, Pomfrey hadn't known much about the curse Draco used; all she had been told by Snape was that Miss Granger had fallen to a nasty hex, the likes of which had never been using among the students and could only be cured by someone extensively trained in dealing with Dark Magic. That had been enough for Pomfrey, and she allowed Snape to make most of the decisions when it came to the bushy-haired witch.

Guilt ate away at the professor for leaving Hermione alone in the hospital wing. He was still brassed off at Potter, sure that he had instigated the entire thing, and permitted no one, not even him nor Weasley, to go visit their friend. Taking into account everything that happened, he trusted no one to go near Hermione. It was just as well, since Pomfrey was never a fan of her patients having visitors when they were on the mend, as she thought they needed as much rest as possible without any disruptions whatsoever.

Snape hadn't even wanted Hermione and Draco in the same room, but seeing as how that was unavoidable, he covertly casted a charm that would keep the boy from coming within ten feet of her. He knew McGonagall had gone in once to check on the girl, but reported that she had been asleep. The headmaster had been made aware of the situation between Granger, Potter, and Malfoy, yet said nothing to either Head of House.

Saturday morning, when Snape passed Potter and Weasley in the Great Hall during breakfast, he instantly caught the look of pure loathing on the black-haired wizard's face. Tempted though he was to ask Potter if he wished to serve additional detentions on Friday evenings as well for his insolent glares, he resisted; Snape was damned if he was going to give up all of his free time to teach The-Boy-Who-Thought-He-Knew-It-All a lesson. He did, however, remind Potter to be at his office at ten sharp to serve his first of many detentions. It looked as if Potter was about to retaliate with a smart comment, but a sharp nudge to his ribs from Weasley made him rethink that course of action.

It was evident that many of his fellow Gryffindors were highly upset at their captain being banned from future Quidditch games. Only Weasley sat with him at one end of the Gryffindors' usual table, many of the other students scattered about and sending brief looks of disgust in their direction, although the glares were only meant for one.

Even though Snape was across the room, he noticed the words "I hate him" being formed on Potter's lips.

My heart bleeds, too, Potter.

Being stuck in the hospital wing was torture for Hermione. She would have thought that Ron and Harry would visit her, even if there was a Quidditch match that Saturday. The cheers as well as the commentator from the Quidditch pitch was loud enough for her to hear in the hospital wing. Not that she cared much for Quidditch, but it would have been nice to sit with her friends instead of staring at the bricked wall of the hospital wing for hours on end. Her only visitor had been Madam Pomfrey, who only came to dispense potions and thankfully allowed Hermione to read.

"Most students are happy to not have their books," Madam Pomfrey had joked lightly. "But here you are, begging me to allow you to do your homework. Oh well, I suppose there's a first for everything."

By nightfall, the lonely hours had driven Hermione to the point of madness. It seemed absurd to expect any visitors by now, but Hermione still held onto a niggle of hope that Snape would visit her. However, when the doors to the hospital wing remained shut, Hermione finally gave up the notion of seeing anyone other than the occasional passing ghost.

Now it was most likely somewhere around midnight, judging by the chimes Hermione had heard not long ago. Madam Pomfrey had already gone off to bed, and Hermione was wide awake, finding herself in need of a new book. The shuffle out of bed had been painful; her legs worked just fine but the effort to breathe was still strenuous, and she had to pause several times to make the short trek across the floor. By the time she'd gotten her book and made it back into bed, she was so worn out that she immediately fell asleep with the still closed book lying next to her head.
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Unintentional Inveiglement