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
- 38
- 39
- 40
"Harry, now no offense, but I think I speak for all of us when I say you're missed as Captain," Ron grumbled after sidling next to Harry in independent study.

Ron, Harry and Hermione were in the Great Hall. Hermione suggested that the three work on their Herbology homework and was feverishly trying to add more to an already lengthy essay. Ever since the group sat down at Gryffindor table, Ron had spent the better part of fifteen minutes seated next to Hermione, breaking his neck by trying to see what she was writing. When she had finally grown tired of him knocking into her every time he looked over surreptitiously—which was a horrible word, because each time he leaned in her direction, his bright orange hair was right beneath her nose –she berated him so fiercely that he hastily gathered his things and moved to sit next to Harry, who was on the other side of the table.

Harry had been finishing up his Potions homework, with the use of his usual textbook. He knew that it was a sore spot with Hermione, and attempted to keep it concealed beneath a sheaf of blank parchment. For once in her life, Hermione held her tongue, not wanting to get into a row. Ron had already told her that Harry performed poorly in Potions the week she had been in the hospital wing. Initially he had gotten rid of the book, but after flunking everything that second week of going to class without the text, Harry became hard up and scoured the Room of Requirement until finding it.

"Yeah, well, it can't be help, can it?" Harry grumbled in response to Ron's comment. "At this rate, the next time I'll get to see the Quidditch Pitch will be next school term."

"Maybe if we take some of your lucky potion, we can win the next game," said Ron, frowning as he looked down at his barely written essay.

"Harry needs to be focusing on getting that memory from Slughorn," said Hermione bossily. "I thought you would be able to cosy up to him at one of his dinner parties, but I notice that his invitations have suddenly stopped. All before Harry had to duck and dodge the professor, now outside of classes and meals, we barely see him."

"Too bad about the parties," said Ron. "I really enjoyed those biscuits Ginny gave me. I wonder where he—say, Harry!"

"What?" Harry asked, surprised at the sudden excitement in Ron's voice.

"Harry, your lucky potion!" Ron continued, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "You can use it to get that memory from old Sluggy!"

"Oh, I'm so stupid!" Hermione berated herself, slapping one hand to her forehead. "Why didn't I think of that?"

"Because you were too busy with other things," Ron chortled. "And it's my turn to be clever. So what d'you say?"

"I don't know..." Harry trailed off, only for his two best friends to look at him as if he'd lost his mind. "I thought I'd save it for...I dunno!"

"What on earth is important than this memory, Harry?" Hermione demanded. Harry's eyes went out of focus for a moment, and she waved a hand in front of his face to regain his attention. "Harry? Are you still with us?"

"Yeah," he answered distractedly. "I was just—"

Harry paused midsentence when a girl, whom the three had never spoken to, approached their table. She handed a small scroll to Harry and walked away.

"Is it Dumbledore?" Ron asked, craning his head to look on as Harry unrolled the parchment.

"No, it's from Hagrid," Harry answered after scanning its contents, "and it's for all of us. Aragog died and he wants us to come to his burial." He handed the note to Hermione, who quickly read it and handed it to Ron.

"Here," she said exasperatedly, watching as Ron's face crumpled into a frown, followed by his mouth gaping open in shock.

"He's mental!" he said furiously. "That thing told its mates to eat Harry and me! And now Hagrid expects us to go down there and cry over its horrible hairy body!"

"It's not just that," said Hermione, thinking of all the other times she, Harry and Ron had snuck out of the castle. They had usually hidden beneath Harry's Invisibility Cloak, but they were all considerably shorter at the time. Ron was now the tallest of the three, and if she and Harry were to join him beneath the Cloak, their entire lower half would be exposed. "He's asking us to leave the castle at night, and he knows security's a million times tighter and how much trouble we'd be in if we were caught."

Hermione didn't know if it was selfish of her to try and get out of supporting Hagrid in his time of need, but she had also momentarily thought of Snape if he were to catch them sneaking out. It was plain that Harry was and would most likely permanently remain on his bad side. Ron would receive punishment by default, and Hermione knew that even she wouldn't escape scot-free. Not to mention the unmitigated tongue lashing she would get once they were alone.

She knew that this next point would annoy Harry, but still told him that he would get into further trouble with Snape if were to get caught. Harry sighed when Hermione mentioned his string of detentions that were already taking over his every Saturday, but finally mumbled that Hagrid would have to bury Aragog on his own.

Hermione was somewhat relieved when the conversation turned back to Harry getting the memory from Slughorn. Just as they were formulating a plan of action, the bell rang, signaling the few minutes they had to make it to class.

Over dinner, Ron told Harry that he should just go ahead and use his Felix Felicis. They knew that Slughorn had a tendency to linger over each meal, and decided that waiting in the common room was feasible. Since they had time to kill, Harry had been glued to Ginny's side. Ron was unable to get away from Lavender, who was in a highly chipper mood that evening. Hermione ignored them all and used the time to read. She was so deeply engrossed in her book that she didn't notice when the common room went silent.

"Hey!" she yelled when her book was suddenly snatched out of her hands.

"Everyone's gone; c'mon," said Harry, grabbing Hermione by the forearm and trying to tug her up from the armchair.

"Reading, reading, always bloody reading," Ron griped, wrinkling his nose as he eyed the book he'd tugged from Hermione's grasp. He tossed it down onto the armchair, and Hermione yanked it back up as if it were a baby.

Thumping Ron in the back with her book before following behind Harry, Hermione held her breath as if they were on the verge of being discovered doing something forbidden. Perhaps they were, but this was small in comparison to some of their previous offences. Once they were in the empty boys' dormitory, she sat on the edge of Harry's bed, watching as he popped open his trunk to rifle through its contents.

"Goodness, Harry," said Hermione, adopting a surprised tone. "Don't you think you ought to clean up a bit?"

Hermione had already known that Harry's trunk was in a state. Most of the time, she outright asked to borrow his map and Cloak. But she had used the Cloak a few times without his permission, and it had entailed sneaking up to the boys' dormitory and going in his trunk. The mess inside nearly rivaled some of Crookshanks' disgusting hairballs that he hacked up, and Hermione had pulled a face at the thought of putting her hand inside. Each time she'd fervently prayed that she wouldn't stick in an arm and withdraw a stump. And each time, the ends justified the means, and it had been worth shoving her hand into the questionable abyss because it meant that she would be able to see Snape.

"What for?" Ron and Harry answered at the same time, causing Hermione to roll her eyes. Really, how could she forget that her best friends were the Chief Slobs?

"Never mind," she sighed, watching as Harry pulled out a manky rolled-up sock, withdrawing the tiny glass phial hidden within it.

It was agreed that Harry only needed a small portion of the Felix Felicis, and he drank about a quarter of the phial. After a few minutes, he announced that he was going down to Hagrid's after all, and Ron and Hermione looked at him as if he'd gone insane. Hermione feebly tried to talk Harry out of it, but he was confident that everything was going to work out.

"I don't care what he says," Ron said after Harry had thrown on his Invisibility Cloak and left Gryffindor Tower. "Dead or alive, you couldn't pay me enough to go near that thing," he continued with an exaggerated shudder as memories of Aragog and his children came to mind.

At first, Hermione thought that Ron had been exaggerating. But going by the look on his face, along with Hagrid's horrendous habit of keeping deadly creatures around, she knew that the sight of Aragog must have been truly horrific.

"Where's that evil cat of yours?" Ron suddenly asked.

His question surprised Hermione: Ron didn't like Crookshanks, and Crookshanks didn't like Ron. Not to mention that Ron sometimes had the attention span of a gnat, so she was surprised that he noticed her familiar's absence.

"Lurking about, I suppose," Hermione answered, although she was ninety-nine percent sure that Crookshanks was with their Defence Against the Dark Arts professor. "Most likely doing a bit of late-night hunting."

"Yeah? I haven't seen him around lately," Ron continued as he and Hermione walked down the narrow stone staircase leading to the common room. "While he's out, tell him to hunt for a nicer attitude, cos the one he has now is crap."

"Ron, he's a cat! And he doesn't have a 'crap attitude'. Besides, how do you expect him to behave?"

Ron didn't get to answer, because Lavender appeared out of thin air and demanded his attention. With nothing left to do but continue reading, Hermione climbed out of the portrait hole with the book that Ron had snatched from her earlier tucked beneath her arm.

The sun was just going down, and the corridors were bathed in a soft glow. Hermione wondered how Harry was faring, and if he'd got out of the castle without any trouble. She figured the Felix Felicis must have been working, because their Head of House, or worse, Filch, hadn't yet come storming towards Gryffindor Tower. She had no idea how visiting Hagrid would coincide with obtaining Slughorn's memory, but continuously thinking about it all made her head throb.

At the current moment, there was also an ache residing in the centre of her chest. Ever since the last night she'd spent with Snape, Hermione felt more sorrowful than she would have anticipated.

It was no secret that reading to Hermione was what air was to everyone else. Perhaps they would have been a bit shocked if they were to learn just what sort of books she sometimes preferred. Hermione, like her mum, loved to read all sorts of periodicals and the like. What they also had in common was their shared affinity for romance novels.

Hermione had come across her mum's naughty book collection when she was about nine-years-old. Back then, the idea of swooning damsels-in-distress and brawny, shirtless men sweeping said damsels off their feet made her laugh. It wasn't until she was older that she was able to appreciate the finer points of some of the romance angles in a few of the stories. Too bad they gave the most unrealistic idea of what falling in love entailed. The physical aspects...well, some had been glazed over but even Hermione's fertile mind would never have been able to foresee the things she'd experienced with Severus.

Unfortunately, she now understood the cliché phrase that she'd heard many times over: 'love hurts'.

There hadn't been any books written about a young woman falling in love with her professor, who was nineteen years her senior, and whom also happened to be a Death Eater. There was no how-to on coping with the idea of someone you loved going out in the dark of night to risk life and limb for a cause that might not ever truly end.

When Hermione first admitted her true feelings to herself, part of her refused to tell Severus, purely because she didn't want the wizard to react unfavourably. But a sliver of her was certain that if she were to confess, the sentiment would not be returned. Therefore, she deemed not knowing how he felt to be better than anything.

So even though she resigned herself to keeping that heartfelt sentiment securely locked away, it still didn't nullify the pang of desolation she experienced whenever she saw the professor.

All of this made Hermione work extra hard to keep herself distracted. She studied double her usual time, staying in the library for so long that her friends had to literally take her books and drag her away, mostly because she was forgetting to come down for meals. She even endured the smart-alecky remarks from Ron, when he chortled that he didn't think there were any books left in the world for her to read.

I'm going mad, Hermione thought. She'd taken to pacing along the corridor and came upon a stone bench. Carelessly dropping her book onto it, she sat down without looking. The book had been balanced on the edge and toppled to the floor, sending an old yellowed piece of newsprint fluttering out, along with the note Snape had left for her in the library. Hastily bending to pick everything up and shove it back between the book's pages, Hermione slumped against the wall and idly picked at the cuticle on her right ring finger.

Should I tell him? Honestly, what's the worst that can happen?

Really? Would you like to pick a reason? And besides, let's say you did tell him—then what? You still have to have him for this year and next as a teacher, and it's not like you'd be able to visit him over the hols or allow him to visit you. What would you say to your parents; 'Hello, Mum and Dad! This is my professor who also happens to be my lover. But don't worry, it's not as if he took advantage of me. I was of age when our relationship began.' They'd sic the Muggle police on him and would pull you out of Hogwarts so fast your head would spin.

Inhaling sharply when she began to feel her chest tighten with anxiety, Hermione stood up and began walking further away from the dormitory. She didn't want any of her classmates to come out and ask her what was wrong, because she knew that panic was all over her face.

Perhaps some fresh air?

Right, fine.

It didn't take long to walk to the Astronomy Tower. Hermione wasn't bold enough to try and literally walk out of the castle like Harry had. Besides, there were guards stationed outside of the doors to the Entrance Hall. Harry most likely had gotten past them because of his lucky potion, but the only thing Hermione had going for her at the moment was a self-inflicted Disillusion Charm.

None of that mattered much to her, because she didn't plan on staying out long. Harry and Ron were both busy, so they wouldn't be looking for her. Snape would undoubtedly have a word or two if he found her roaming on her lonesome, but some twisted part of her didn't mind the castigation so long as it entailed being next to the professor. The closest she had received as an acknowledgment from Snape as of late was him referring to one of her answers in Defence class as 'dull and uninspiring'. Otherwise, he merely looked past her as if she were made of thin air.

You have crossed the line of insane, and are now well into the world of sadistic, you twisted witch, Hermione told herself. The fact that you would prefer punishment, just so you can see him, speaks volumes. What's next, prostrating yourself at his door? Staying after class for 'extra tutoring sessions' and dropping your robes?

"Miss Granger," said a quiet voice that broke Hermione from her harsh mind trip and caused her to smile. "Why does it look as if you're in the middle of some crisis?"

Because I sort of am, a self-imposed one. Looking up, she saw her favourite person that had a penchant for sarcasm and head-to-toe black garb. "Good evening, professor."

"Don't you 'good evening, professor' me, Granger," said Snape bitingly. "What the hell are you doing up here after curfew?"

"Nothing. Just thinking," she answered casually, hoping that he would stay a while.

"You know," Snape began as he lowered himself next to Hermione, something that shocked and pleased her. She'd thought nothing of taking a seat on the floor of the tower, even if the cool, rough surface was uncomfortable against her bum and thighs. "Every student here has this thing; dormitory, I believe it's called. I need to inform the headmaster of your unfortunate plight."

"And what might this plight be?" Hermione asked, nibbling on her bottom lip.

"Your unfortunate plight of being the lost, little Gryffindor, without a dormitory in which to rest her swotty little head."

Snape sounded so droll yet sincere that Hermione had trouble keeping a straight face.

"I can take the hint," she finally got out. "I just needed somewhere to be alone with my thoughts. That's not such a heinous crime, is it?"

"No, I suppose not," Snape answered softly. "Foolish, yes, but not a crime. I would be more concerned with the fact that you came up here wearing only that thin jumper."

Hermione looked down at her pullover. It was pale yellow with tiny multicoloured hearts, and looked more appropriate for a six-year-old rather than an eighteen-year-old. It was old but also happened to be one of her favourite jumpers, because its colour reminded her of happiness.

"Yes...it is a bit thin. I've had it for a while, but I don't feel cold," she mused.

Snape made some small noise that bespoke irritation. He shifted forward, then side to side to shuck out of his teaching robes.

"Daft girl," he muttered while hastily draping the still warm black robes around her body. "I've tired of seeing your face in the hospital wing. Now, what has you so distraught you saw fit to make your way across the castle and all the way up here? Did you and the bottom-feeders get into a little domestic?"

"I can think of a better question," said Hermione, thinking that she was cleverly avoiding Snape's question. "How did you know I was up here?"

Snape slowly turned his head to look at her. Most of his lank hair was concealing his face, but Hermione could see enough of his arched eyebrow to know that he was either surprised or annoyed by her boldness.

"I'll ask the questions, thank you."

"And you ask them so nicely," Hermione offered in a saccharine-sweet tone. "Have you ever felt something, where it felt like too much? To the point that it literally hurts, and it's so unbearable that part of you wants to turn it off?"

If Snape wore eyeglasses, he would have been scrutinising Hermione from over their top. He half-wondered what the girl was babbling about, but knew that Hermione wasn't the babbling sort. If something was weighing heavily on her mind and nearly rendering her off her rocker, then it had to be serious.

"Yes, well," she finished when Snape said nothing after her outpouring, "it's something like that. I can't talk to anyone else so I talk to myself. At least being up here on my own, no one judges me if they see me asking myself questions and answering them. And I am well aware that I sound completely mad, so you don't need to point it out."

"You aren't mad, Hermione," Snape quietly assured her. "You might sound it, but you most definitely are not. I've met enough headcases to know that you aren't one. Your judgment, however, is still questionable at best."

"I keep hearing you say that, but I don't know if I believe it," Hermione murmured. The fact that she was able to dispute anything that came from Snape's mouth was a testament to how far they had come. Of course, he still gave her hell, but she could now part her lips with the sole intent of breathing without fear of being slapped with detention. "You never did tell me how you knew where to find me. Did Crookshanks tip you off?"

"No," Snape answered. "Last I checked your cat was kipping comfortably in the middle of my bed. I tried to put him out but clearly it didn't work."

"And you decided against shoving him out?" Hermione laughed, fighting back her amusement when she saw Snape's angular jaw tighten. He had something against her pointing out each time he did something that could be construed as nice, and practically snarled whenever Hermione uttered such 'rubbish sentiment' as he dubbed it.

"I'm only joking," she soothed. "I know my cat; he's most likely anchored to your duvet by his nails. You could have tried to make him move and all you'd get a growl in return."

"I had noticed."

The two fell silent, only this time it was for the same reasons. Both parties wanted to reach over to the other, to hold hands or show some kind of affection. But Hermione remembered the last time she and Snape met on the Astronomy Tower; he hadn't wanted to stand too close to her for fear of being caught. Of course, he was now sitting next to her and each time shifted, his thigh brushed against hers.

Snape had purposely kept his hands in his lap, more out of the need to control himself from doing something foolish. Hermione's wonderfully messy hair was all over her head, and he was tempted to reach up and brush it out her eyes. That movement would cause her entire pretty face to become exposed, after which he would definitely want to kiss her. And if he kissed her, then he would be tempted to pull her into his lap, and not for any lascivious intentions, but to tangibly bask in her warmth.

He ended up reaching over to Hermione's side, but it was to pluck the book she'd been reading out of her lap.

Hermione felt her pulse hasten slightly when she saw Snape's thin, pale hand coming in her direction, and had been disappointed to find that he was only interested in her reading material. It was one of the books he'd left on her desk the day she and Luna were together in the library. Snape had made no mention of the books or of the note he'd left, and Hermione never brought it up. Now he was flipping through the pages, and everything she'd stuck between them fell out and onto his lap.

"I was doing a bit of research," she explained, feeling a bit foolish when Snape picked up the yellowed newsprint and peered intently at it.

She and Harry had gotten miffed at one another when she reasoned that the person behind his Potions textbook was female. Harry had been positive that the 'Half-Blood Prince' was a male, which incensed her. Even after Hermione found and showed him the old article about former the Hogwarts student, Eileen Prince, Harry remained unconvinced.

"I had no idea you were into the sport of Gobstones."

"I'm not," Hermione answered. "I was looking for something else and came across that article. I saved it because I thought it might be pertinent."

"I see," Snape replied evenly. Once he finished reading the article, he placed it back in Hermione's book. He also saw that she'd held onto his note, and felt a mild sense of pleasure. "Getting back to the original subject at hand, I think it would behoove you to take this...feeling that you speak of, and try to not give it too much thought. Sometimes when we're in the midst of things, we have experiences that we wouldn't under normal circumstances."

Hermione frowned, trying to niggle out the underlying message in Snape's words.

"Am I confusing you?" he asked patiently, glancing sideways and catching a glimpse of her face.

"A bit," Hermione confessed, tracing her fingertips along her book's bindings.

"Plainly stated: whatever it is you're feeling now...whatever it is that has you sneaking out of your dormitory and hiding atop a cold tower, it will most likely pass. You're only eighteen, and believe me, while things currently seem catastrophic, a year from now you will forget all about them."

"That is if I even make it to see next year," Hermione murmured. "I know you've been reading the Prophet and...people are being attacked left and right, and small children are being slaughtered as if they're nothing more than lambs."

"I understand, but don't let that chip away at your disgustingly Gryffindorish sense of optimism."

"I'll try, but sometimes it just feels like luck that we're still here. I will admit, I used to think that we really were that good, that we could handle anything thrown in our direction. But Harry was the one to actually point out that it was sheer luck for the most part. What happens when it runs out?"

Without thinking, Snape reached over and tugged on Hermione until she was seated between his bent knees. She clearly hadn't been expecting that and the entire shuffle over was rather awkward, but her tension was noticeably lessened soon as he put his arms around her.

"Do you really think that everyone is just going to leave you and your friends to fend for yourselves?" Snape said softly into Hermione's ear, ignoring the frizzy curls tickling his lips and nose.

"No...I don't know..."

Snape's arms tightened around her shoulders. Deep down he knew that he could not protect Hermione, nor her friends, from everything. They had to fall in order to learn how to pick themselves back up. Besides, it was difficult enough trying to keep his own affairs in order whilst running behind the three, and they had definitely kept him on his toes ever since their first year at Hogwarts. In many ways, Snape was limited because Dumbledore thought it best to keep him in the dark about certain things. That was understandable, but at the same time it sometimes made Snape's job that much harder.

"I need to stop this," said Hermione, sinking back into the welcoming expanse of Snape's chest. "I can't keep falling to pieces whenever reality smacks me in the face."

"The solution to that is simple," Snape replied, smoothing Hermione's hair to one side and waiting until she comfortably settled her head against his shoulder. "Fight when you have to, and you will have to fight again. Remember there is no such thing as a fair fight. Death Eaters will kill you without thinking twice, and if they sense hesitance, they'll torture you for sport. But if you must cry, keep it brief and make sure no one is around."

"Is that what you do?" Hermione asked, fumbling around for Snape's hand and sliding her fingers into his. "Cry when no one's around?"

"Never you mind about what I do. Just remember what I'm telling you."

Snape understood all too well what Hermione meant when she said that she was feeling too much, that sometimes she wanted to turn it off. Many nights he'd shed vicious tears that send tremors through his thin frame. When he was finally done, his eyes had been sore and bloodshot. Crying was supposed to be cathartic, yet it never made him feel any better. Thus he deemed crying or any emotional outbursts useless, and tried numbing himself to external influences.

Perhaps that was one reason he'd been so successful as a spy; nothing seemed to perturb him, not even the ghastly murders he had witnessed during the revels. Shutting down his every emotion also helped him cope with the deaths he felt responsible for. Eventually, anesthetising himself to everyone and everything became second nature, and Snape easily gained a reputation for being cold and uncaring.

Not that he minded much; it was easier for people to give him wide berth. He had mostly been ignored by the masses as a student, and upon gaining the Potions teaching position, the other professors tended to merely tolerate him. He had been younger than the other teachers, and perhaps they felt as though they had nothing in common, therefore they'd kept their distance. But even if they had attempted to speak to Snape, which he would have deemed to be out of sheer nosiness and not genuine concern, then he would have chewed them up and spit out the bones.

Snape knew why he felt the way he did; what he did not understand was the reason for Hermione wishing for the ability to detach herself from things. She was no murderer, and the biggest of her offences most likely had to do with her two pinhead mates, and even then they hadn't been up to anything that could be considered malicious.

He remembered how Hermione behaved whenever she began musing over her short life coming to an abrupt end. Yes, she was upset about that at the moment, but something told him that that wasn't what she had initially been talking about.

So what was it?

Snape would not get his answer that night, and perhaps not for some time. Hermione's thoughts had already been jumbled, but for a split second, she considered telling Snape how she truly felt about him. It wasn't until he suggested that her unshared feelings were nothing more than a passing fancy that she completely clammed up. Her little doorway of opportunity had been slammed shut, and Hermione vowed to never open it again. To do so meant that Snape would possibly come up with some logic about her so-called 'love' for him, while trying to talk her into thinking reasonably.

But there was no reasoning as far as she was concerned. Yes, most would agree that a young woman her age knew nothing of love, especially considering the circumstances of her unconventional relationship. But Hermione was confident enough to know her heart and her mind, and there was nothing anyone could say or do that would make her believe otherwise.

Perhaps Snape had a point when he told her that if she had to cry, to not let anyone see her. Was that why he'd always kept himself closed off from others? What hurt him so badly that he felt the need to maintain a stoic, desensitised demeanour all day, every day? She understood the whole spy thing and the need to keep calm under pressure, but the man had been on guard even when she had first taken him breakfast at Grimmauld Place. Hermione had been her normal self that morning, and all she'd received in return was a strong case of suspicion.

Forget about my feelings? Right, as if that's going to happen. And where does he propose I start? Short of getting a Time-Turner...no, even that wouldn't work. But I don'twant to forget; I don't want to stop...

"What happens if you can't turn your feelings off?" Hermione asked, tilting her head backwards to look up at Snape.

"Then you set yourself up for trouble."

"But what if I don't mind? What if I don't want to turn them off?" Hermione pressed, looking forward when the angle made her dizzy. "What if this...feeling, is the only thing I have, or a big part of what makes me happy? Why would I willingly give that up?"

Hermione didn't know how good she was at speaking in double entendres, but hoped like hell that Snape didn't pick up on the issue she was skirting around. She turned back to stare up into his face, watching as the underside of his jaw moved slightly when swallowed. His lips were pressed tightly together, and Snape said nothing as he reached his free hand into Hermione's lap to fix his teaching robes that had fallen from her shoulders.

"One cannot truly control their feelings," he finally responded once his robes had been securely tucked around her body, "but if you feel that strongly, perhaps it's best if you keep them in mind, so long as it does not impair your wits."

"I understand."

"You claim to understand now, but that's because you've not yet faced the worst of what's yet to come. It's easy to be agreeable when you aren't standing in the middle of the storm."

"You speak as if..." Hermione trailed off. "I'm not sure, to be honest. But it is making me a bit nervous."

"Which is a good thing," Snape continued. "That means you still have a grasp on reality. Make sure it remains."

"So the moral of this story is, it's alright to feel sentimental so long as I don't turn into some sappy idiot who can't see or think straight. Is that right?"

"Is that all you've gleaned from our conversation?"

"Right now, maybe. Although I'm sure something else will come to mind later on."

Hermione loosened her fingers from Snape's and slipped them up into his long sleeve, stroking the soft skin on the inside of his wrist. Wrapping her thumb and middle finger around the slender limb, she found that her fingertips touched. Hermione knew that weak was not a word she could use to describe Snape's physical strength. Yet sometimes when she saw him without his robes, did she remember just how frail he actually appeared. His spindly wrist was proof of that, but the wizard had a habit of using that same wrist to withdraw his wand so swiftly that the entire action was nothing more than a blur.

Well, this is better than nothing, Hermione thought of being cosily tucked in between Snape's legs. If she couldn't tell him that she loved him, at least she could sit with him for a while. She was surprised that he'd initiated their close contact and maintained it, considering that they weren't in the privacy of his bedroom. The urge to kiss him still hadn't gone away, but she kept her eyes focused straight ahead, trying to distract herself with the view of the night sky.

Hermione had just honed in on an odd shaped cloud when she felt Snape rest his forehead against the back of her head. His arms had been slung loosely around her waist, but now one tensed and pulled her closer, while the other reached up until his fingertips were beneath her chin. Holding her breath while waiting to see what Snape was going to do, Hermione inhaled softly when his long fingers slid up and curved over her cheek.

She didn't know if having her face caressed was supposed to feel that good, or merely if it was because she was in love.

His fingertips stroking her skin was the catalyst that eventually made Hermione twist round in Snape's lap, slipping both arms around his neck and tugging on him to kiss her. And kiss her he did: slowly, and thoroughly. His arms were securely around her, and Hermione was so into their exchange that she never noticed the way her back was arched over his forearm. For a brief moment, she realised they were most likely positioned the way lovers were drawn on the cover of those stupid romance novels she'd read. The fact that she was thinking about her mum's books at a time like this made her feel silly. But it felt incredible to have Severus holding her tightly to him, while his lips explored hers as well as every inch of her face.

Snape's teaching robes had fallen again as Hermione continuously tried to further mould herself to his body. She'd slipped one hand into his hair, lightly massaging his scalp as they kissed. His breath was warm against her neck, and it made her feel heated all over. She was becoming too lost, too enraptured in the moment, and knew that she was most likely going to say something that would change the mood, but his kisses were entirely too persuasive, not to mention the hand that crept up her jumper to caress the small of her back...

"Severus..." Hermione blurted without thinking, "I..."

But her words were cut off when he reached up to place his fingertips against her mouth.

"No," Snape calmly told her. "Remember what I told you about acting with your emotions rather than good judgement?"

Hermione didn't answer, but she continued staring up into Snape's intense black eyes.

"There are some things you cannot take back. You don't want to make the same mistakes I did."

That comment made her stymied; she didn't look at expressing herself freely as a mistake. Telling anyone you loved them was no mistake.

Oh boy, my emotions are leading me by the tip of my nose, Hermione told herself. Severus was right.

It was suspicious that he'd stopped her right before she was about to say the very thing that she swore she wouldn't. Hermione didn't think that he'd used Legilimency on her, but even if he had and managed to know what she was thinking, it was not the same as her saying it out loud.

Before she could give their strange situation any more thought, Snape was motioning for Hermione to stand up as he pushed to his feet. Without another word, he led Hermione down from the Astronomy Tower and through the castle. Once she was safely within the vicinity of Gryffindor Tower, he left Hermione to walk the rest of the way. She watched as he swept off in the opposite direction and sensed an uncomfortable tugging in her chest, as if he'd taken her heart with him.

good? bad? dum dum dummmm things are going to get thick from here on out..angst angst angst
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Unintentional Inveiglement