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
- 36
- 37
- 38
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"I don't suppose you've summoned me here tonight to divulge your whereabouts for the past week," Snape commented in a voice leaden with irony, his eyes focused intently on the decrepit hand lying palm down in his.

"You surmise correctly, although I do wish you would not take it personally, Severus," Dumbledore calmly replied.

The headmaster was sitting behind his desk, his smouldered hand resting in Snape's. Ignoring the scoff as well as the dirty look the black-haired wizard shot him, Dumbledore waited for Snape to continue moving his wand up and down the length of his arm.

"Well?"

Snape had nothing to say, and the silence that sprang between them was enough of an answer. With a small hum, Dumbledore took his time rolling down the sleeve of his ice-blue robes.

"Peppermint Toad?" the headmaster then solicitously offered, gesturing to a silver shell-shaped dish on the corner of his desk.

"No, thank you," Snape answered coolly, wondering when the hell Dumbledore was going to get around to the reason for their late-night meeting. "I'm not eleven, Albus. I don't need to be placated with sweets before you tell me what it is you want."

Dumbledore had the nerve to look amused. "I'm not beating around the bush, merely being polite," he told Snape. "Although you never accepted my offer of sweets when you were eleven. Or twelve, or any age for that matter."

Having had enough of the headmaster's idle banter and ready to tell him where he could stick his Peppermint Toads, Snape shifted to rise out of his chair when Dumbledore held up his good hand.

"I'll get right to it, then, so as to not hold you up any longer," the headmaster continued. "How are Mister Malfoy and Miss Granger?"

"Both alive, no thanks to Potter."

"If I'm not mistaken, the entire incident seemed to be accidental."

"Or perhaps coincidental, which is just absurd," Snape spat. "I highly doubt that Potter and Malfoy planned on a rendezvous on the sixth floor. But you seemed to be well informed; perhaps you know better than I do?"

"I am under the impression that neither boy meant to kill one another, even if they are unaware of that fact," Dumbledore stated, a stony look appearing in his blue eyes. "Harry is no murderer, and neither is Draco, for that matter. Draco is more like his father than he realises."

That comment brought Snape up short, and he remained silent for a while. While Snape had always known that Lucius was a pureblood snob to the tenth degree, he always suspected that the elder Malfoy never really warmed up to the idea of cold-blooded murder. Of course, one would never know, not judging by the way Lucius carried on in the presence of the Dark Lord and his followers. To show one hint of betrayal to the cause would mean the end for all of the Malfoys, and while Lucius was self-serving in many ways, the creed of putting his family first was unspoken, purely due to making sure they all remained alive.

Voldemort requested loyalty to his cause first and foremost; family and the like were foreign concepts to him. Perhaps that had been why many of the Death Eaters were unmarried and unattached. Either they had been brainwashed to believe that love and marriage were only for the weak and foolish, or secretly they never wanted anyone they cared about to become hurt by proxy, purely due to them following the Dark Lord.

That worry was not completely unwarranted; Voldemort would use any means necessary to get his point across if he believed that one of his followers were not fully vested in his cause.

Grudgingly, Snape admitted to himself that while Dumbledore was a nagging irritant, he was also correct in one aspect: Draco was, in fact, very much like Lucius. He was no murderer as proven by each of his failed attempts at assassination, even if he had come precariously close a few times.

Potter was no different. Yes, he was headstrong, having inherited his father's temperament, but he definitely had his mother's benevolence and had neither the fortitude nor inclination to try and purposely kill another.

Snape would never admit it; it had been bad enough admitting it to himself, but Dumbledore's argument about Potter being different than how Snape pegged him was perhaps a bit sound. Potter had fled the Potions office after his final and botched Occlumency lesson. Snape had walked in on him snooping in his Pensieve and the anger he felt was nearly enough for him to kill the boy and dump his body over the high castle walls. Once he calmed down long enough to stop blasting jars from the shelves, after realising that he would be the one to personally replace everything, Snape sat dejectedly in the damp, dank room, inhaling the fumes of pickled innards from creatures that lay strewn about in wet, squishy heaps on the floor.

What Potter witnessed hadn't been his single worse memory, but it definitely had been in the top five. If Snape could have Obliviated himself, he would have, as it had been torture to relive over and over the day where James Potter and Sirius Black taunted and embarrassed him in front of a large amount of student body. Being disarmed and hung upside, forced to dangle helplessly like a fish on an invisible hook, had been one of the most horrific and humiliating things Snape endured. Then to have the person he loathed most threatening to leave him bare-arsed for the world to see made things go from bad to worse.

The only thing his peers had been able to focus on was the sight of his dingy, threadbare underpants and skinny legs. No doubt they missed the scars that marred what Snape always believe to be a too-thin, unattractive frame. Some of the scars had come from his father, a few had been self-inflicted, only coming from Snape practicing spells that would have landed him in a heap of trouble had one of his professors learned of his extracurricular activities.

Snape had been self-conscious of his looks ever since he could remember. His hair had always been stringy; his nose too large for his face. No matter how much he ate during the school year, he never seemed to put on any weight, although perhaps it went to his nose and hair as both seemed to keep growing. His body was another matter altogether; Snape made sure to shower whenever he knew he was alone in the lavatory, not wanting anyone to stare at his frail-looking form or the marks that never quite faded.

Snape had made sure to always keep his hair long and parted, which somewhat concealed his nose. His robes covered everything else and that had never been a worry. So to have James Potter magick him into the air and cause his robes to fall over his face, while threatening to remove his underpants, thus neatly exposing his shame for all the world to see, made Snape feel quite justified in wishing harm upon the cocky bastard.

If he were to speak ill of the dead, eyes would be sure to roll and tongues would likely wag. But dead or not, Snape firmly stood by his belief that James Potter had been nothing but an arrogant sod with an overblown ego. However, when Harry learned the truth about his father's behaviour, Snape had not counted on the boy looking as if he was going to be sick, a look of fear and pity clouding his familiar green eyes. Snape hated to be pitied, and he'd hated those damned green eyes looking at him, and that entire day had been too much for his already stretched nerves to handle. Dumbledore said nothing while the professor raged on in his office, spitting and swearing that he would never be dragged into giving Potter private lessons on anything, and that if the headmaster was so worried, he could damn well tutor the boy himself.

"Speaking of Harry, he and Mister Weasley told me they have been attempting to see their friend. Yet Madam Pomfrey says that you gave orders to let no one in to see Miss Granger."

"All things considered, are you surprised?" asked Snape, arching an eyebrow. "The girl did nearly lose her life, in case you weren't aware."

"I'm not at all surprised, Severus, but it is apparent that Miss Granger's absence is a bit upsetting. Perhaps I could implore you to bend your rules, just this once?"

Snape resisted the urge to roll his eyes; the day Dumbledore implored anything would never arrive.

"You don't need to ask me," he replied. "If Miss Granger feels the need to trifle with her little friends, it is no concern of mine."

But the last thing Hermione wanted was company. She had woken long before Madam Pomfrey made her entrance into the hospital wing to check on her only patient, and lay in bed reminiscing over her shared night with Severus. The entire experience had been breathtaking, for lack of a better word. Memories of him moving smoothly within her with their fingers interlaced, hands palm to palm, kept resurfacing and sending a tingle down her spine. Of course, she now had to shift her thoughts back to less pleasant prospects. She was not looking forward to dealing with the aftermath of everyone knowing about the incident between her, Harry, and Draco.

"Good morning, Miss Granger," Madam Pomfrey greeted thirty minutes later. "How are you feeling?"

"A little better," Hermione answered. "Still sort of annoyed that I have to miss classes."

"One more day, and then I can let you go," Pomfrey told her. "Potter and Weasley are also eager to see you, those two nearly ran me over in the hall to ask about you."

"Ron and Harry?" Hermione echoed. "Where are they?"

"On their way to class, I presume. They were all set to follow behind me, but I was given strict orders that you were to have no visitors unless it was from the headmaster or your Head of House."

That tidbit of information was news to Hermione. "Madam Pomfrey, if you don't mind my asking, who gave those orders?"

"Professor Snape. He didn't explain and I didn't ask why," she answered, before sweeping off in the other direction to fetch Hermione's breakfast.

Hermione had a vague idea why Snape forbade anyone to visit her in the hospital ward. Knowing the professor, he probably blamed Harry for the entire thing, even though it had been Draco that hexed her. Or perhaps he was keeping distance between the three merely to avoid another round of drama. In any event, Hermione didn't mind as the quiet had been a refreshing change. Besides, it would have been hard trying to keep a straight face with Ron and Harry standing next to her, knowing that just hours before she had lain there with Snape, allowing him to take gentle possession of her body. Her pillow still smelled of the professor, that unique, nameless scent which always clung to him embedded deeply in its fibres.

After another day of idling about in the hospital wing, Hermione was finally allowed to return to the Gryffindor dormitory. Classes were already finished for the day, but Hermione went on a mission to find out what she missed during her absence, unable to rest until she saw each of her professors.

"Hermione!" Ron shouted when he saw her climbing through the portrait hole. "Harry and I were trying to see you, but Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let us in."

"Nor would she tell us what happened," added Ginny, who had been sitting next to her brother. "How are you now?"

"I'm alright," Hermione answered, carefully peeking over at Harry. He was seated on the other side of Ginny, apprehensively eyeing Hermione as if she was going to turn the tables and flip on him, blaming him for her getting hurt.

"Well, that's good," Ginny said. "But is anyone going to tell me what happened? These two won't speak," she continued, gesturing to the two on either side of her, "and you know I hate being left out. Besides, I know it had to be bad, judging by the way McGonagall ripped Harry a new one."

"Yeah, I've never heard her yell like that before," Ron muttered, only for Harry to shoot him a look of disdain.

"I'll tell, but only if Harry doesn't mind," said Hermione. "But not in here, it's a bit too crowded," she finished in a lower voice.

The four clambered back out through the portrait hole and into the empty corridor. It wasn't quite dinnertime and they had a few minutes before everyone would be coming in their direction.

"So what did you three do now?" Ginny asked once she had settled down onto a stretch of floor, crossing her legs and sitting with her back against the wall. Harry sat next to her while Ron and Hermione leaned against the stone wall.

"Hey, I'm innocent," said Ron, throwing up his hands.

"This time," Hermione told him, rolling her eyes. "Anyway, I got in the middle of a fight between Harry and Malfoy."

Ron did not looked shocked by Hermione's statement, and she knew that he had already been made aware of the situation. However, Ginny hadn't and she impatiently waved a hand for Hermione to continue.

"And I...used a spell against Malfoy after he attacked Hermione," Harry admitted in a quiet voice.

"What spell?" Ginny asked, turning to Harry. "It couldn't have been that bad; the git looked fine to me at breakfast this morning. Surly, even, but he always looks like that."

"It was bad enough," Harry admitted. "But I didn't know what the spell was going to do."

"Harry, what happened?" Ginny asked more earnestly. "Is it really that bad?" The lightness had gone out of her tone, a more serious look now on her face.

"I nearly killed Malfoy is what happened!" Harry spat, nervously rumpling his hair, which was already sticking up and looking as if he had been fussing with it all afternoon. "But he used some hex on Hermione, one that I still don't know what the hell it was; what else was I supposed to do?"

"But Harry, don't you realise that you could have been expelled?" Hermione blurted out, much to Harry's annoyance.

"I know that, Hermione. But what was I going to do, let him attack you again? Or attack me? You passed out in case you've forgotten; I wasn't about to let Malfoy hurt you again."

"You still haven't told me what spell it was you used," Ginny interjected.

"It's called Sectumsempra; supposedly it's for enemies. I found it in—"

"That Potions book, am I right?" Hermione cut in, glaring at Harry. "Oh, Harry, I knew that book was going to get you into trouble!"

"Lay off it, Hermione," snapped Harry. "Malfoy had just tried to use the Cruciatus on me before you ran into the bathroom. He was about to use it on you, too, but then I usedSectumsempra on him. How was I supposed to know what it did?"

"That's my point, Harry—you didn't know and you used it anyway," Hermione told him stubbornly. "That's why I kept trying to warn you about that book."

"Malfoy tried to cast an Unforgivable?" Ron asked, more so speaking to himself.

"Yeah," Harry answered, his anger momentarily diffused by the shock on Ron's face.

"Well, then, that sort of evens things out, I suppose..." Ron trailed off, only for Hermione to look at him as if he'd sprouted an extra head. "What?"

"Ron! How can you say that?" Hermione shouted, completely appalled. "I mean, don't get me wrong... Harry, I'm grateful for you defending me: thank you."

"Are you? Because it doesn't sound like it," Harry bitterly replied.

"Yes, I am thankful," Hermione snippily told him, "but all the same, just say things hadn't gone like they did and you really had killed Malfoy. Besides being expelled, his father would...I don't even want to think about it."

"Hermione has a point; the Malfoys are a nasty bunch and I can see them trying to make sure that you got the Dementor's kiss," said Ginny. "And Harry, you know how I feel about following things from strange books, in case I need to remind you of my first year. But, whatever. I'm glad you had something good up your sleeve to use against that arrogant arse."

"Yes, but at what cost?" Hermione pointed out.

"So Harry has detention and has to miss Quidditch—we'll survive. A Quidditch match isn't more important than having your life saved," Ginny adamantly stated, reaching over to firmly grasp Harry's hand while boldly glaring at Hermione.

Just as Hermione opened her mouth to speak, Ron tugged on her sleeve, pulling her in the other direction. They left Harry and Ginny sitting next to one another on the floor in the corridor.

"What the bloody hell was all that about?" Ron asked once he and Hermione were out of the others' earshot. "Why are you going mental? Harry didn't tell Ginny what happened because he didn't want to upset her, but he'd told me everything. He felt horrible about you getting hurt; kept blaming himself."

Even though Hermione was still puffed up with indignation, her face flushed with shame. "It wasn't Harry's fault," she said, heaving a sigh. "I'm the one that jumped between him and Malfoy. But I didn't want him to get into trouble. You know how Professor Snape is; Harry would have been blamed for everything while Malfoy got off scot free."

"Yes, but it was Harry that decided to go snooping behind Malfoy," Ron pointed out. "Still thinks he's a Death Eater. I tried to warn him, but..."

"It went the same way things did when I told Harry that he should stop using that book," Hermione finished. Ron nodded his head. "Is he still using it?"

"Dunno. At least, I don't think so. He got sort of touchy when I asked about it, and between the Slytherins taunting him left and right and everyone else giving him hell for being booted out of Quidditch, I didn't want to bother." Ron then cast Hermione a sidelong glance that spoke volumes.

"I know, I know," she admitted, "I need to stop nagging. But you have no idea how worried I was. When I finally woke up and you nor Harry showed up in the hospital wing, I thought he'd been expelled. I thought it was my fault."

"Snape looked like he wanted to expel Harry, or toss him from the top of the castle," Ron said with a shudder. "And McGonagall... She told him off so thoroughly, it nearly felt like I was standing next to Harry instead of eavesdropping from the classroom."

"This is such a mess," Hermione sighed, burying her face into her hands.

"Well come on, let's get to dinner. No sense in lingering about here."

It was quite clear that Harry was still brassed off with the world, because when Hermione and Ron walked into the Great Hall, they found him sitting far away from their usual spot. It even looked as if he and Ginny were in the middle of some small falling out, because she was deeply engrossed with chatting with Neville, although though she remained seated next to Harry.

By the time dinner was over and everyone had returned to their common rooms, Harry was still not talking to anyone. Ginny refused to cave in to his bad mood and breezily told her friends 'goodnight' before going up to bed. Ron and Lavender had taken to kissing and hugging in one of their usual corners. Hermione had planted herself at a writing desk across the room, feverishly working on a few missed assignments. Putting the last touches on her essay and looking up, she found that she and Harry were the only ones left in the common room.

So is it going to be like this, then, Hermione? Are you two not going to speak again?

Oh, as if it's my fault. Harry's the one getting all stroppy when he was in the wrong.

Would you rather him be wrong and strong, or right and have you dead?

Well, since you put it that way...

"Come to yell at me again?" Harry asked wryly, looking up from his book when he saw Hermione standing in front of him, nervously twisting her fingers round.

"No," she reassured, tentatively eyeing her friend. "I came to apologise."

Harry looked so skeptical that Hermione nearly rolled her eyes.

"I mean it," she continued. "After some consideration, it seems that I was overreacting."

"Yeah, just a bit, maybe?"

"Oh yes, go on, keep pouring salt into my wounds."

Harry scowled at Hermione yet gestured for her to take the seat next to him. He had been reading and indulging in a late night snack and she had to move a few sweet wrappers out of her way.

"I thought Malfoy had killed you," Harry began, bypassing all overtures. "And even though I can't stand him, and I know he hates me, but I was glad when Snape walked in when he did."

Harry's usually confident voice now sounded full of remorse, and it was clear that he was suffering from a bout of what Snape would most likely call 'irritating Gryffindor guilt'.

"Harry...you had no idea Malfoy was going to hex me," Hermione gently told him.

"I know, but it still seems like every time I'm around, someone gets hurt. You, Ron, Sirius... Even Dumbledore is sort of unimpressed with me at the moment; I really know how to bugger things up, don't I?"

"And I thought I was hard on myself," Hermione muttered. "Harry, you can't control everything. Unless Trelawney loaned you her 'Inner Eye' then you definitely won't be able to predict when something bad is going to happen. There's no sense in beating yourself up about it."

"Yeah? You should try telling Dumbledore that I can't control everything; he practically laid a guilt trip on me at our last meeting when I told him I still didn't have that memory."

"Well...all I can suggest is for you to keep trying."

"It's not as easy as it seems, Hermione!" Harry snapped. "I've been stalking Slughorn so much after Potions that it's a miracle they haven't slapped a restraining order on me. That man is too bloody fast for someone of his age."

"I know, I know. And stop getting so touchy! I'm on your side." Harry sighed. "So did Dumbledore say what would happen if you're unable to get the memory?"

"Besides pointing out that we would have no reason for our meetings? Not really," Harry replied, frowning.

"You'll get it," Hermione told with a slight air of confidence. "You have to get it, so I know you will."

"Yeah, but I think it's going to take a lot more than sheer luck this time."

"Well, it could be worse," Hermione pointed out. "Remember Fluffy? Just be glad Slughorn isn't a vicious, snarling three-headed dog."

"I think dealing with a deadly three-headed dog would be easier than coercing Slughorn," Harry grumbled. "At least Fluffy was fooled by a bit of music. I could deliver the sun and the moon to Slughorn, and he still wouldn't budge."

"Don't forget the stars," said Hermione, standing up and yawning. "I believe in you, Harry. You'll get it. I'm off to bed; 'night."

"Goodnight, Hermione."

That Saturday morning, Snape was up bright and early, eager to get Potter's first of many detentions over with. Many students thought that the professor enjoyed doling out detentions. While that was not far from the case, Snape usually tended to send the students off with Filch or Pomfrey to tend less savoury tasks. However, he aimed to keep a close eye on Potter, and was not all that thrilled to give up his already severely limited free time. Thus, Snape made sure to make the boy miserable as possible.

Snape was sure that he could see Potter silently mouthing swear words throughout the two hours designated for him to rewrite old punishment records. There was a Quidditch match that day: Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw. The Weasley girl had replaced Potter's position as Seeker; the only reason Snape knew about this was because Hooch had droned on in the staff room to the point where even McGonagall forcefully suggested that she be quiet.

When Snape returned to his room, the half-kneazle curled up before the hearth slowly lifted his head, lowering it back down onto his crossed paws and lazily swishing his tail by way of greeting.

Crookshanks had been staying in Snape's room ever since Hermione had gotten hurt. Actually, the animal had been shadowing Snape after practically forcing the wizard to go visit his witch. Snape hadn't invited Crookshanks into the fold, nor did he make him leave; not that he would admit it but he actually looked forward to seeing the annoying ball of fluff at the end of a long day, even if it meant coming across a dead mouse or spider left behind as a 'surprise'. Snape told the cat that he could save all his dead and mangled creatures for his mummy, that he had no use for the half-masticated spiders, not even for Potions ingredients. However, for reasons only known to the cat, Crookshanks went on with leaving a trail of gifts for the wizard. In a fit of devilishness, Snape was nearly tempted to sweep every bit of spider and mouse into a sack and leave it in front of Slughorn's office door, wondering how high the elderly wizard would jump.

With no intention of leaving his chambers for the rest of the day, Snape ordered meals for himself and the half-kneazle, which were consumed in his dimly lit sitting room. The professor had finished most of his dinner and decided to use the remainder of his evening to read before the hearth. Crookshanks decided that Snape's lap was a suitable place for him to lie across, and gracefully insinuated himself between the book and the wizard's torso.

"Fucking cat," Snape muttered, wandlessly levitating the book in front of his face while using the other hand to stroke the purring nuisance in his lap. "Why are you here? Shouldn't you be off looking after my mussed-haired girl?"

Crookshanks let out a throaty meow and wriggled around until he was lying belly up. Snape ignored the tome floating a few inches away from his face and focused on the ginger half-kneazle in his lap, running a large, slender hand over the cat's head and then tickling him beneath his bushy chin.

"Why don't you bugger off, cat, I'm trying to read," Snape reprimanded, even as he continued stroking a languidly blinking Crookshanks' head. "Selfish thing, cutting into the leisure time that I barely have as it is, all because you want someone to pet you."

Crookshanks was oblivious to Snape's empty complaints. Even though he wasn't human, he sensed that the professor was all bluster and no bite, especially after considering the way Snape continuing gently running his long fingers through the hair on top of his squashed head.

Snape hadn't been aware, but the harsh lines of stress that forever marred his face had somewhat softened as he stroked the cat, who soaked up every bit of the attention foisted upon him. Reading was soon forgotten, and both Snape and Crookshanks fell asleep in the armchair, Crookshanks purring contentedly and Snape snoring from his head being titled in an awkward angle.

The two slept for a few hours. A thin line of spittle had formed and threatened to fall from the slackened corner of Snape's mouth, when suddenly Crookshanks darted from his lap and caused the wizard to startle out of his sleep. Snarling and wiping his face with the back of his hand, Snape moved from the comfort of his armchair when it became obvious that the half-kneazle wanted him to get up.

Silently, Snape yanked open the door to his suite. Crookshanks stepped away from the threshold as if waiting, also not making a sound. When enough time had passed, Snape shut and rebolted his door, and walked into the middle of his room. Crookshanks already knew what was going on and had more interest in resuming his nap, and tottered off the sit in front of the slow-flickering fire.

"Well?" Snape stated expectedly, seemingly to thin air. There was a slight shimmer of magic as Hermione slowly appeared from beneath the voluminous folks of Potter's Invisibility Cloak. "Damn it, witch, will you ever stop popping up at random?"

"I wanted to thank you for not torturing Harry in detention this morning," Hermione began, moving closer to the frowning wizard, "and...to see if you'd allow me to raid your book collection."

"Oh, is that all?" Snape asked, sardonically. "Perhaps blood from a stone, next? Or Merlin's long lost wand?"

"And to kiss you..." Hermione trailed off, tugging on Snape's arms which had been folded at the small of his back. He readily acquiesced to Hermione's wishes and slid both arms around her waist, drawing her close until she was crushed against his chest.

Hermione then got what she wanted; Snape cupped her face between both hands and brushed his lips against hers before engaging her in a slow yet thorough kiss that made her knees weak.

Oh gods, but he's gotten good at this, Hermione thought, impatiently pressing herself harder against the wizard.

Her enjoyment was short-lived, however, when Snape quickly bussed her lips before gently disentangling from her firm grip on his frock coat. He chuckled when she actually let out a small growl.

"You know where that's going to lead, and I'm stopping it now," Snape told her. "Didn't you sneak down here to ferret through my books?"

"I already told you, that was one reason," said Hermione huffily, following Snape as he walked further into his sitting room. Her lips still tingled from their kiss and she felt irritated at being made to stop. "Does that mean you'll let me?"

Snape paused in front of his desk, leaning his bony hip against its edge while thoughtfully eyeing the witch across from him.

"Whatever it is you're searching for, I don't want to know. However, you are more than welcome to peruse my library so long as you understand that everything cannot be found between the pages of a book. And if I know you, you are searching for the unattainable."

"I think you might be right," Hermione murmured, her eyes darting between Snape and his bookshelf. "May I?"

With a short nod, Snape stepped aside and allowed Hermione to pass him. The witch let out an audible gasp as her greedy eyes took in the sight of his books, and he knew her palms were most likely itching to pull everything down. After making sure that his desk was cleared of any other students' work, Snape flicked a finger at the cold candles surrounding the work corner of his study and they simultaneously flared to life, giving the area a soft orange glow.

"Sit," he ordered, pulling back the chair at his desk. "Just make sure your bloody cat stays away from my books."

Crookshanks had been curled up before the hearth and turned his head in Snape and Hermione's direction, as if aware that he was being talked about. Hermione briefly glanced over at her familiar and gave a small laugh.

"Alright," she answered, already reaching for one of the leather bound tomes.

Snape settled back into his armchair, reopening the book that he'd been attempting to read before Crookshanks jumped into his lap and demanded his undivided attention. Focusing on the printed word before him proved futile; it was difficult to pay attention when he had the source of his mental discord only a few metres away from him. Hermione was so deeply engrossed into his books that she never noticed the furtive glances Snape sent her way from behind his own book.

Hermione had hunched over in his chair, reading with such enthusiasm that it made Snape wonder if she was about to lick each page. He was sure that the witch had never come across any of those books; none of them were in Hogwarts' library and with good reason: many were so full of Dark magic and so advanced that many of the other professors would have been put off. Only Hermione had a never-satisfied thirst for knowledge, and even though it was clear that the reading material made her a bit distressed, judging by the look of horror on her face, she continued turning pages.

Are you surprised? If you were unable to scare her off what makes you think a book will do so?

Abandoning his pretence of reading, Snape stuck his book in between his thigh and the right arm of his chair. The sound of Hermione turning pages was rather soothing, and Snape closed his eyes although he had no intention of falling asleep.

While his mind hadn't been willing to sleep, his body certainly was, and it wasn't until nearly three hours later that Snape jerked awake from his unintended nap. After yawning and roughly sweeping a few straggly hairs out from his eyes, he looked over at Hermione and found her surrounded with piles of nearly every book that previous occupied his shelf. She had also fallen asleep, and was using both crossed arms resting atop an open book as a pillow.

"Granger," Snape called in a rough voice, silently wincing as he pulled himself upright. His back ached from sleeping in a slumped over position in the chair and his suit felt as if it wanted to strangle him. "Granger!"

A small furrow appeared between Hermione's brow yet she still did not wake up. Grinding the heel of his palms into both eyes to further rouse himself, Snape then pushed himself up from the armchair and strode over to his desk.

"Hermione," he called again, reaching down to jostle the deeply sleeping witch. "For your sake there better not be any drool on that book."

Hermione was pulled from her slumber when heard a deep voice echoing through her head and felt a hand shaking her. Doggedly coming to and sitting up, she rubbed her eyes while drowsily peering up at Snape.

"Sorry," she mumbled, glancing down to make sure she hadn't damaged his precious book. Finding everything in order, she closed it and pushed it to the corner of the desk. "I didn't mean to use your desk as a bed."

"And my book as a pillow?" Snape dryly offered, waiting for Hermione to stand up. "Come along, I'll walk you upstairs."

"Must I..." Hermione began, sounding unsure. "Do I have to go? It is Saturday and I didn't have anything planned tomorrow..." She pushed her chair back and rose to stand in front of the professor, reaching out to slide her hand into his.

Snape accepted Hermione's hand although his hung limply for a moment, before weaving his fingers through hers. He bowed his head, causing his curtains of black hair to fall forward. Snape then raised his head, revealing a somewhat disturbed countenance that Hermione was unable to comprehend.

"Do you mean to make life difficult for me?" he asked directly, lightly squeezing Hermione's hand.

"No," she softly replied. "Sorry if I am."

"Liar. You don't even look remorseful, so I know that you are not sorry."

"Well, I'm not trying to make trouble for you, if that's what you mean!" Hermione snapped, trying to pull her hand out of Snape's, but his grip tightened and refused to allow her to move. "Let me go, since you obviously don't want me here."

"Shut up, you little fool," Snape growled as Hermione tried to jerk away from him again. It took little force for him to pull the witch against his chest until the top of her head was right beneath his chin. "Of course, I don't want you to leave," he mumbled into the impossible thicket of curls tickling his lip. "When do I ever want you to leave?"

Hermione mumbled something unintelligible into the space just to the left of the buttons on Snape's frock coat. He didn't bother asking her to repeat herself; instead Snape slipped one arm around her waist while the other slid up her back, keeping her body flush against his while his lips began their own brand of attack and ravish.

It was no case of a helpless damsel in distress succumbing to the charms of a tall, brawny handsome bloke; helpless was something Hermione could never identify with and Snape was the complete opposite of brawny, although the wiry arms around her were strong and secure. Hermione became lost in Snape for reasons that had nothing to do with his looks or status. For months she had been ignoring the Dark Mark burned into his left forearm; she ignored the teaching robes and his blunt way of speaking that every student whom crossed his path feared. She had fallen for the man whom she spent most of her Christmas holiday with, both of them wearing Snape's pyjamas, drinking Elderflower wine whilst relaxing in the sanctuary of his bed. She fell for the man who had spoken to her in a firm but reassuring tone, promising that she was going to be fine the day Draco hexed her, that he was going to personally make sure she was taken care of.

Hermione honestly hadn't planned on asking Snape if she could stay with him that night. She really meant to just browse his book collection, purely in aims of helping Harry with his and Dumbledore's mission. But the sight of the stringy-haired wizard she'd grown immensely fond of had broken her resolve, and the thought of leaving him to return to the dormitory left her unsettled.

Well, even if he refused to let her stay that night, Hermione decided to savour the moment now, as well as Snape's thin, soft lips nibbling and suckling on hers, only pulling away to plant hot open-mouthed kisses along the underside of her jaw.

"Severus," Hermione murmured between kisses, pressing herself further into him, eager to feel more of his hands running over her clothed back. Even though she was completely covered, Snape went on with caressing her body as if there was nothing between her skin and his hands. He dragged his fingertips down the sweep of her spine, firmly rubbing her shoulders and lower back, depending on where his hands were, all the while kissing her, and Hermione was soon reduced to a pile of limp, languid witch dangling in his arms.

"Severus," she repeated in a much softer tone, sounding almost as if she was ready to fall asleep against his chest. She had been eagerly kissing Snape back, clumsily mirroring his caresses as it had been hard doing so through the thick material of his frock coat.

Gods, but she wanted him. Even if they couldn't make love at the present moment, which admittedly would have been nice, Snape could have given her a shrinking potion and she would gladly swallow every drop, so long as it meant that he would tuck her into his pocket, purely to keep her nearby.

"What am I going to do with you, girl?" Snape softly asked, his long fingers catching beneath Hermione's chin before moving to sweep over her untamed curls.

Hermione's eyes unwillingly slid shut at the soothing contact; she wanted to remained focused on the face before hers, as the precious time she spent with the wizard was becoming cut short. But she was unable to resist the pleasant sensations that sprang forth as a result of those long fingers carding through her hair, an errant thumb sometimes pausing to rub little uneven whorls at her temple.

"I don't know...but I'm yours. Do whatever you want," Hermione finally answered in a shaky voice.

Snape hadn't been expecting that response, yet the shock dimly registered on his face. Silently he continued stroking her, his callused fingers soon moving to trace over the downy soft curve of Hermione's cheek. She had literally been kissed and petted into a stupor, almost pliable as warm dough and making small sounds of impatience whenever his hands stopped moving.

Hermione Granger, you and your familiar have a lot in common, Snape thought of the spoilt witch whose will was so easily bent with the faintest of his caresses. Their reactions weren't that far off, although if Snape had to choose between having the soft witch draped across his lap and the cat, he was definitely going with the former.

"You shouldn't tell me things like that," Snape whispered darkly, sliding his hand into the back of Hermione's head and drawing her close until their foreheads were touching. "With such ambiguity I can assume a multitude of scenarios, every one which would work in my favour."

"I don't mind..."

"Hermione, you do not want to freely yield yourself to a depraved bastard like myself."

"I don't know about the depraved bastard part, but don't you think it's a bit late for that? Anyway, I hope you know that when this is all over, a new tune is going to be in order."

Sighing in defeat, Snape kept his forehead against Hermione's. The hooked bridge of his nose was flush against the smooth plane of hers, and he hoped he wasn't suffocating the girl. Angling his head to give her one last kiss, Snape hastily pulled away before Hermione had the chance to cling to him again.

"Your cat can stay, but it's time for you to go," he told her, clasping both hands down onto Hermione's shoulders and steering her towards the door. They were halfway across the room when Hermione suddenly twisted in his grasp and planted her palms flat against his chest, steadying herself on tiptoe to steal another kiss.

Only Hermione had the ability to thaw Snape's icy disposition even when facing the most trying situations. Her slyly given kiss made the corners of his mouth turn up, and even Hermione was mischievously grinning up at him.

"Are you absolutely sure that I have to go?" she asked, deliberately moving at the pace of a tortoise to retrieve the Invisibility Cloak she'd left on the sofa.

Snape stared her down, a look of amusement and impatience on his face. He said something under his breath, the only words Hermione was able to make out consisting of 'impertinent' and 'cunning'. She then stole another kiss, purely to make him grumble some more, and laughed at the screwed up visage of the wizard before her. Still chuckling as she grasped the hem of the silky Invisibility Cloak, Hermione was just about to toss the entire thing over her body when the look on Snape's face changed from one of wry amusement to pure, unadulterated horror. It was as if someone had taken a bucket of ice water and thrown it over his head. Even though his features were harder than stone, there was still a glimpse of real distress hidden in his black eyes.

"Severus? What's wrong?" Hermione asked, now worried. She was about to toss the Cloak down when Snape forcefully grabbed onto his left forearm, as if an open flame had been set beneath it.

Eyes widening as she swiftly grasped onto what was happening, Hermione experienced a sharp pang of shock, disgust, and then fear.

"Is that...do you...?" she began, unable to get out her words. She knew what was going on: to blatantly point it out would have been pointless. But she didn't want to admit the reason for Snape clutching onto his arm because she knew how that evening would end.

As quickly as the professor became unbent, with forced calmness he straightened both arms to his sides and allowed a blank look to come over his face. It was as though he was mentally and physically preparing himself for the chaos that was sure to come.

"Upstairs, now," he ordered in clipped tones, leaving no room for Hermione to argue. "Hurry now, before you're –"

Right as he was about to finish his statement, the sound of the Floo being activated resonated throughout the sitting room, and Snape and Hermione stared at one another. Hermione's feet felt frozen in place, the knowledge that they were about to be caught now a harsh reality. Snape, however, immediately sprang into action, snatching up the Invisibility Cloak and shoving it into her arms.

"Take this, take your familiar, and go into my room," he told her in a low but forceful voice. "Don't make a sound, and don't come out until I tell you."

Nudging Hermione with enough strength to make her move, Snape watched as she darted across the room, silently hissing at Crookshanks to follow her. Thankfully the cat was spry and followed directions easily, because he immediately scampered in Hermione's direction and made no fuss when she scooped him up into her arms and fled to Snape's bedroom.

Hermione had just delved into the dark room, as the hearth wasn't lit, and closed the door when she heard Snape speaking, as well as an unpleasantly familiar voice talking in turn.

"You are not to send Floo calls to my chambers for any reason—you know that," she heard Snape intone in a dangerously low voice.

"I know, Professor, but it's not like I can send a bloody owl through the dungeons," the voice of Draco Malfoy replied. He sounded snooty as ever, but the nervous wavering of his tone betrayed his true emotions. "It's burning, what...are we—"

"Hold your tongue, Draco," Snape snapped, cutting him off. "Get your cloak and be outside of the Slytherin common room in five minutes. Make sure you aren't seen."

Hermione had crouched behind the bedroom door, making sure to stay hidden. She didn't think that Snape was going to outright invite Malfoy into his rooms, but she saw no reason to take the chance. The whooshing Floo went silent, and there was nothing. Blood pounding in her ears, Hermione stayed in place, scared to make a sound or even breathe, while nervously holding onto an equally quiet Crookshanks.

The bedroom door suddenly opened and caught Hermione in the knee, and she let out a muffled grunt of pain.

"Granger, what the hell are you doing behind the door?" Snape asked when he realised why he hadn't been able to push it back all the way.

"You said to hide," she replied, shooing Crookshanks out of her arms while trying to ignore her throbbing right knee as she rose to full height.

Snape was already wearing his travelling cloak. He stood in front of Hermione, easily deciphering the anxious look on her face even though they were standing in a room almost completely devoid of light. She was breathing heavily, on the verge of hyperventilating, and he reached up to curve one hand around her neck. He wanted to tell Hermione that he was going to be alright, but the words became stuck in his throat. Besides, he did not want to lie. No matter how fucked up things were, Snape didn't want to lie to Hermione, even if it meant that she would have a few minutes of peace.

She wouldn't believe you anyway; there's a reason she's been dubbed bright.

Hermione's rapid pulse beat insistently beneath Snape's fingertips. She felt dizzy with fear and was trying to force herself to relax, although her attempts were for naught.

So much for bravery, Hermione chided herself, cursing inwardly when she felt her knees threatening to give out.

Snape knew that he needed to hurry along; Draco was loitering in front of the dormitory, which was suspicious in itself. On top of that, the word 'wait' was not in the Dark Lord's vocabulary; when he summoned his followers, he expected for them to drop everything and come running. Excuses for leaving him in the lurch were unheard of, as one Death Eater had learned early on.

With all that hanging over his head, Snape found that he still wanted to allay Hermione's fears, as much as he would be able to in under a minute.

"I don't have long," he began, cupping Hermione's chin in his hand, "but right now I need you to get one of my nightshirts, change into it, get into bed and close your eyes. Don't argue with me, just do it."

"OK," Hermione replied with slight difficulty as her mouth had gone dry. She grasped onto the hand beneath her chin and moved it in front of her face, kissing its palm."I only have one Severus, so you've better take care of the one I've got."

Snape gave her a lingering stare, slowly pulling back his hand.

"I always do," he replied carefully before sweeping out of the bedroom and away from the person whom currently meant the most to him.

Not too much of an evil cliffie? I would be forever in your debt if you left me a little review. Reviews make me happy and I've had a rough couple of days :( thank you soo much :)
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Unintentional Inveiglement