Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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
- 3
- 4
- 5
A/N: First I mulled and mused over this chapter, then I rewrote it three times, but not before consulting a friend. Thank you MrsHH for letting me make your eardrums bleed! And I still don't know about it but...meh.

Thank you for the reviews! :D You all are the best.

Hermione couldn't sleep. She kept tossing and turning for an hour, finally kicking the duvet away from her legs and sitting up. What was the matter with her? Nothing out of the ordinary happened that day to set her off kilter, unless she wanted to count Snape talking to her like a civilized human being instead of the snapping, snarling wizard that was usually present.

Admit it, you fancy him.

I do not!

You're a horrible liar. It's one thing to lie to someone else, but to yourself it's just sad.

Hermione sighed, telling herself that she did fancy him. She had no idea why, well, she had to admit that his intelligence was something to be admired. And the professor seemed to have some couth, even if it was rarely shown, if she were to go by him letting her sleep in his room the night he'd found her crying in the hallway. Plus, the entire time she sat in Snape's room while he ate his dinner, not once did his face turn up into a sneer, at least not at her, that had been reserved for Kreacher, but even some small part of Hermione had to admit that the rancorous house-elf had it coming.

Just because a man doesn't sneer at you or insult you, means that you should automatically fancy him, you idiot!

Who the hell asked you?

Well, go on, then. Don't say I didn't try to warn you.

Hermione wanted to put a muzzle on her chatty conscious. She had never told anyone-she would have rather died than to admit it-but there had been an incident way before Hermione and her friends being relegated to Grimmauld Place that made her take a closer look at Snape.

Her hand still hadn't completely healed from the she-devil-in-pink, otherwise known at Umbridge, blood-letting detention. It was rare that Hermione wasn't in the company of Ron or Harry, but the one day she happened to be alone, Umbridge's minions had descended upon her, with an all too eager Draco Malfoy ready to accuse Hermione of breaking one of the unreasonable rules that had been set by said evil professor.

Umbridge had just rounded on Hermione when Snape suddenly appeared in the corridors, his black teaching robes billowing behind him as he stalked over in their direction. He immediately lit into Hermione, embarrassing her in front of his Slytherin students and stating that she was late for a detention that she never remembered being assigned. He had soundly ignored a sputtering Umbridge, guiding Hermione down to his Potions classroom and directing her to sit at one of the tables closest to his desk. Snape had then taken his place at his desk, pulling over what looked like a pile of exams and engrossed himself with correcting them, his quill moving with a flourish over each bit of parchment, leaving behind long trails of red.

Hermione hadn't known what to make of Snape escorting her to his office, only for him to soundly ignore her, but being the studious witch that she was, she used the time to go over her own class assignments. Snape remained silent for the entire hour, never once looking up until he told Hermione to go to dinner.

When she found Harry and Ron at the entrance of the Great Hall, obviously waiting around to see if she was going to show up, they immediately asked where she'd been the entire time, and Hermione told them she went to the library and had lost track of time, unsure of why she chose to keep the truth to herself. It wasn't until she was in bed later that night when Hermione realized Snape had covertly kept her out of Umbridge's clutches. She was sure that he knew about the detentions, the blood-letting quills, and Umbridge's cruelness in general, yet Snape never said a word. Not that she expected him to, and most definitely not to a swotty little Gryffindor.

Hermione had been trying to keep a level head, but even she had a breaking point and didn't how much more she would have been able to take of that quill cutting into her skin, all with the lurid pink swathed witch sadistically grinning at her. Hermione had been silently grateful for Snape swooping in, but knew that it was best if she kept her mouth shut. The incident was never mentioned or so much as hinted at, and after that day Snape went on treating Hermione just like he had previously.

Before Hermione realized what she was doing, she grabbed her wand from beneath her pillow while simultaneously throwing her legs over the edge of her bed, feeling around for her slippers and guiding her feet inside. Without giving any forethought as to the consequences of her actions, Hermione found herself quietly walking out of her bedroom, gently closing the door behind her and forgoing using the light from her wand as she climbed the staircase to the topmost floor of the house. The winds of fortitude suddenly left her sails as she was in front of Snape's door, and Hermione was unable to knock, irresolute as to whether she wanted to go or stay.

Suddenly the door creaked open, as if making the decision for her.

"Miss Granger, is there any particular reason for you lurking in front of my bedroom at this hour?" Snape's voice silkily cut through the darkness.

"I..." she uttered as her voice caught unwillingly in her throat. Only the faint outline of Snape's lean form towering over hers in the doorway was visible from the small amount of light coming in through the back window of his bedroom. Still, he left it open and Hermione decided to stop dithering about and bravely walked inside, trying not to jump when she heard the door shut.

"Potter and Weasley try to lure you into more of their colourful conversation?" he asked.

"No," Hermione answered, still unsure of just what her reason was for skulking to Snape's room in the middle of the night. He was standing close enough to her that Hermione could feel the air steadily streaming from his nose each time he exhaled. She reckoned that she would have been able to feel his body heat, but judging from the few times she'd held his hand, Hermione knew that Snape's skin usually felt cool to the touch.

"Miss Granger, whatever is going through your mind, rest assured, I will be the one to stop it," Snape suddenly told her, his hand going back to the doorknob to wrench the door open when Hermione stopped him, her small hand coming down on his wrist and lightly squeezing.

Hermione didn't have a remote idea of what she was doing, but at that moment all she could focus on was her own hastened breathing that nearly seemed to rival Snape's. Swallowing hard, the sound extra loud in the stark silent room, Hermione slowly stepped closer to Snape, keeping her hand on his wrist.

Snape suddenly stepped back as if he'd been burnt, and before Hermione could get the chance to waylay him, he swept away from the bedroom door and stalked over to the sofa, perching on its edge, uneasiness clearly visible through his rigid stance. At that point Hermione felt like an idiot, her gauche attempt at what-she was still trying to work that bit out-obviously failing.

The room felt as if all the air had been sucked out of it. Snape hadn't a clue as to what Hermione was playing at, but when she walked over to him, her slipper covered feet making a faint shuffling on the wooden floorboards, some part of him registered that he didn't want her to leave, and that in itself was enough to make him want to shove the girl out of his room.

A glint of Hermione's shapeless nightgown came into view, and Snape reached out to it, pinching a small side of the thick material between two fingers. Hermione remained absolutely still, as if waiting to see what the professor would do. But before Snape could do something that he would regret, with the same hand he bunched the material in a tight fist and roughly pulled Hermione to sit on the sofa next to him.

"Why are you here?" he demanded accusingly, going from zero to ten within the blink of an eye and making the young witch jump in fright.

"Is there any reason I shouldn't be?" she asked, forcing herself to keep all traces of sarcasm out of her voice.

"Don't be insolent, you little bint. I'm not half-dead on the floor making a fool out of myself, so stop your whiffling and tell me what it is you want."

"I don't want anything," Hermione quietly admitted, jumping when Snape took his hand away from her.

There was a brief rustling of fabric, followed by a bright white light erupting between the two. "Take a good look, girl," Snape snarled, holding his lit wand beneath his angular face, making him look more sinister than anything. "I want you to remember just whom it is you're dealing with. Now, I'm going to ask you one last time-what do you want?"

Hermione was frozen solid, unable to move or so much as speak as she stared into Snape's face, his black eyes intently boring into hers. Despite the scathing look he was giving her, one that Hermione was well-familiar with, having been on the receiving end of it countless times for what Snape called 'showing-off' in class, some part of her senses reassured that she wasn't in any immediate danger.

Still, the sound of Hermione swallowing hard betrayed her nervousness when the light on Snape's wand was suddenly extinguished. She fought back a yelp when the surprisingly agile wizard shifted on the sofa and frighteningly fast was hovering over her, his warm breath tickling the side of her face.

"Do you remember our little chat about snakes, Miss Granger?" he asked in a low, placating tone that was incongruous to how he actually felt.

"Yes," she answered in a small voice, too scared to move an inch out of place.

"Pray tell what you predict happening if some naive little girl willingly walked into a snake pit?"

Hermione's eyes impulsively slid shut, her fingers curling against her cotton covered thighs as Snape continued talking, the air from his mouth brushing against her neck and causing every inch of her body to break out in goose bumps beneath her nightgown. She didn't know if he meant for that to happen, but Hermione would have been in severe denial had she claimed that her toes were curling up because of the cold air in the room.

Snape's knees shifted against the sofa, causing the cushions beneath them to dip down lower and jostle her. Without forewarning a cool, long-fingered hand curved around her throat, its grasp tightening just at the threshold of discomfort. Another gust of air brushed cross her face, and Hermione reflexively parted her lips. On tenterhooks as she waited to see what Snape would do, Hermione became light-headed her heart pounded so furiously, her pulse thrumming insistently right beneath his fingertips.

"She would get bitten,” Hermione finally uttered once she'd found her voice.

"Precisely," Snape drawled in a tone so rich yet ominous Hermione couldn't help but to think that she was about to get bitten herself, the mere idea enough to made her shudder. "Keep that in mind the next time you decide to wander to a man's room in the middle of the night. Now get out," he finished in menacing hiss.

With that Snape let go of Hermione and stood up, the hostility rolling off him in waves as he impatiently waited for the bold young witch to run from his room. Run, she did not, although she unwaveringly rose, hesitating for a moment before stumbling out of the bedroom.

"What's the matter, Hermione?" Harry asked the next day when he noticed his best friend's unusually muted countenance.

"Oh, nothing. Headache," she feebly offered, pretending to focus on her book.

After Snape put her out of his room the night before, Hermione lie awake for hours, his words on repeat in her head. It was nearly dawn when she finally fell asleep, and even then she'd woken up earlier than Ron and Harry. Desperate for something to distract herself with, Hermione decided that she would make pancakes for breakfast.

Kreacher had been polishing his Mistress' muttering picture frame, his lips instantly curling up when he caught sight of the young witch. The last thing she felt like hearing was epithets from him or Mrs. Black, and she soundly ignored both on the way down to the kitchen.

She had just finished piling the last stack of pancakes onto a plate when Harry walked into a kitchen, Ron yawning and shuffling in behind him. Both boys instantly perked up when they saw the steaming food waiting for them, and thanked Hermione before enthusiastically digging in. Her stomach still twisted into knots from the night before, Hermione wasn't all that hungry and was content to sip on her glass of juice.

Hermione had wavered between sending Snape up a tray, but finally relented, and had Kreacher take it moments before Harry and Ron came down for breakfast. She half-expected for the house-elf to bring it back downstairs, still covered with food along with a biting message, but when neither came Hermione hummed in surprise and left it alone.

Now the three were in the drawing room, which had become a regular thing. They were all engaged in their preferred activities when Mr and Mrs Weasley, and Ginny stopped by. Molly had restocked their fridge and pantry before offering to make dinner for everyone. Harry's face lit up at the sight of Ginny and the two went off to find a bit of privacy, and Hermione launched into her usual routine of keeping Ron out of their hair.

Ron had grumbled when Hermione dragged him down to the kitchen so they could help his mother prepare dinner. Mr Weasley had been asking them how things were going at Grimmauld Place, his face falling a bit before telling them that Remus had a little mishap with his last bout of Transformation, and was taking a bit longer than usual to heal but was on the mend.

Well that’s just bloody convenient, Hermione sniped, quietly telling herself that this all equated to Snape staying with them for an undisclosed amount of time, unless someone else resumed his post as what he’d once snidely referred to as ‘Au Pair to the Infamous Golden Trio’. That had been on his first day at Grimmauld Place and without so many words he had told the three that if they had a problem that didn’t involved dark wizards storming the place or the coming of the Apocalypse, to sort it out on their own.

Hermione had wanted to retort that Snape was half right-his robes almost resembled a vicar's and perhaps he’d be able to ward off the flying horsemen, but resisted. It was her attempt at humor but Snape rarely seemed like the type to joke around, and never with his students. Oh yes, he’d laugh at them, but never with them. Hermione still felt some kind of way from the time Snape was dismissive of Draco hexing her teeth. He hadn’t actually laughed…but it stung nonetheless.

Dinner was nearly finished, and Molly mused aloud the whereabouts of her daughter and adopted son. Not wanting the two to get caught snogging, which was what Hermione was sure they were up to, she volunteered to go find them just as Ron opened his mouth.

Soon after the little group was gathered in the kitchen in the basement, and Hermione felt her mood lighten considerably. All day she felt off kilter as a result of the unconventional exchange between her and Snape. Further adding to her malaise, Hermione was unable to forget the way his hands felt against her throat, the way his breath tickled places on her neck that she didn’t know were sensitive. The idea that it was her loathed-no, she definitely didn’t loathe him-Potions professor to coerce such a reaction from her body was daunting, to say the least. On top of it, he’d behaved as if she had done something forbidden, and she almost wanted to feel guilty, but couldn’t bring herself to.

Hermione wasn’t so naïve to think that there was nothing wrong with going to Snape’s room in the idle of the night, but he had behaved as if she had some ulterior motive. Coming outright and saying that she just felt like a chat had seemed too silly, as she was in rare form and hadn’t actually felt talkative. For some odd reason she just felt like being near him.

For the small space in time where Snape wasn’t insulting her, Hermione found that he wasn’t bad to be around. She would venture to say that she felt somewhat at ease in his presence, even if he’d unnerved her with the sudden shift in his mood. Hermione knew that she shouldn’t have been surprised. The man was mercurial at best, but it was as if he was forcing her to confess to something, and she didn’t know what that something was.

Hermione told herself she was a glutton for punishment. Later that night after she and the boys had told each other goodnight, she found herself doing just what Snape told her not to.

She made it halfway down the hallway when his bedroom door swung open, and the odd-looking barefoot wizard, also odd-looking in just shirtsleeves and black trousers strode forth with a look on his face that could curdle milk. “Back downstairs,” he barked, barely glancing at Hermione as he grabbed round the cuff of her arm and directed her to the staircase.

“No!” she protested, attempting to wrench free of his grasp. “Not until you talk to me. Why did you send me away last night?”

Snape let go of Hermione’s arm, retreating in the darkened hallway until his back was against the wall. His face betrayed nothing, but on the inside he was beyond irritated. The tenacious girl was giving him a headache, and he wanted nothing more for her to turn around and go back to her room, but suspected that she would badger him until he gave an answer. Speaking of answers, she still hadn’t given him one to his own question.

“I asked you what you wanted last night. You still haven’t told me, and after I clearly told you to leave me alone, here you stand before me. I’m led to believe that you’re daft, incapable of following directions, or perhaps both.”

“I didn’t want anything!” she adamantly stated. “Well, nothing more than your company…” Hermione trailed off, calling Snape a ‘despot’ on the tip of her tongue but opting to restrain herself.

“My company?” he echoed in disbelief, his black eyes narrowing as if he wasn’t sure that he’d heard correctly.

“Yes,” Hermione replied, annoyed as she rubbed at her arm where Snape grabbed her.

“And just what is it about my company that is making you deliberately insubordinate?”

“And just what is it about my presence that’s making you so cross?”

“Stop deflecting, Granger, and answer my damned question.” Nostrils flaring, Snape closed the space between him and Hermione, hoping that the fury etched across his face was enough to scare her off. Grabbing her beneath the chin, Snape tilted Hermione's face up, forcing her to meet his direct gaze, and grinding his molars when he was unable to ignore the way her breath faltered.

Fuck, Snape thought, perturbed when he realized that Hermione wasn't frightened in the least. Tempted to touch more of her soft skin, his long fingers moved down to curve around her throat. Hermione’s eyes lazily slid shut, at the same time parting her lips and impulsively tilting her head back, subconsciously beckoning him to move lower.

Snape walked forward, backing Hermione against the wall yet making sure that his body never touched hers. In the dim light he was able to see her teeth lightly pressing down into her bottom lip, her now opened brown eyes never leaving his. His thumb brushed lightly against her lip, and Hermione stopped gnawing on it, letting out a soft whimper.

Snape wasn’t an idiot or in denial; he knew why he sent Hermione out of his room the night before. Something had clicked in his mind to make her more than just his annoying student to him, and that very thought was unsettling. For starters, she was much too young and too innocent to even deal with the likes of him, or for him to even entertain the thought of doing so. Not to mention the backlash he would receive had anyone found out.

He had a strong suspicion that Hermione was unaware of her own unconventional yet undeniable allure, all of which made him want to push her away even more. On top of that, she was strongly responsive and he'd barely laid a hand on her. Snape had never lusted after any of his students, and he had no intention of doing so now. Yet the young witch in front of him, clearly melting into his touch even though his hand merely rested upon her throat, seemed to have other thoughts.

Snape remained standing with a few inches of space left between them. Hermione was able to feel his shirt and trousers grazing the front of her nightgown, and she fought the urge to brazenly move forward to press against his body. She didn’t know where the hell that urge came from, but remembered with perfect clarity the way his breath on her neck the night before had made her want to tremble uncontrollably.

As if he was able to read her thoughts, Snape lowered his head closer to her face, still not touching her, his hands sliding down and the pad of his thumb lightly pressing into the hallowed notch of her throat. Her knees threatened to buckle, and Hermione tried to tell herself just who was evoking the new yet strong sensations in her body, but found that she didn’t care.

Could it be-she had a thing for Snape? Severus Snape? Surly Potions master extraordinaire?

The answer was hell yes, if any indication was her willingness to let him do whatever he so wished at that moment.

Her first kiss had been from a neighbor as they hid behind the tree in his parents’ garden, the next from Viktor Krum kissing her after the Yule Ball. The first was a peck, the second a mauling, and Hermione wondered how her third would be. However, at the moment both events paled into comparison if she was judging by the way Snape’s fingers currently felt against her skin. Hermione thought she would melt into a puddle right there in the hallway, anxiously wondering if Snape was going to kiss her, when he suddenly grabbed her by the wrist and yanked her into his bedroom, practically slamming the door shut and pulling them both down on the little sofa.

"What are you looking for, Granger, some youthful dalliance?" Snape asked darkly, hoping that the young witch would have sense enough to tell him 'no'. If he was being honest with himself, part of him hoped that was just the case, making Hermione tell him 'yes'. It was obvious that he wasn’t thinking clearly, but knew it foolish to deny that the girl, barely a woman, had somehow managed to get under his skin.

"Not to be impertinent, but if I wanted to arbitrarily have it off, I could easily get that from Ronald," she managed to get out, still reeling from their contact in the hallway.

"Then why the hell don't you?" Snape was stiffly perched on the sofa, his arms across his chest, a mutinous look on his face as his eyes drilled into hers.

Hermione was brought up short and fell speechless, something that was rare. She most definitely did not want to sleep with Ron, and she wasn't even sure if she wanted to sleep with Snape right then, but the man had did little more than pique her curiosity and she found herself wanting to peel back some of his proverbial layers.

"Because I don't want to! Besides, If Ronald is so intent on trading stories about girls he's kissed with Harry, the next thing he'll be doing is talking about who his best lay was."

"So is that it, then? I'm your safe option?"

"No!" Hermione protested, becoming flustered and embarrassed that she wasn't clearly conveying her thoughts. "I hadn't even meant to start talking about Ron."

"Humour me," Snape continued, unfolding his arms and leaning in closer. "How do you know that I'm not the same as your little friend, that if I were to entertain your burgeoning thoughts, I won't take what I want and cast you aside when I'm done?" Hermione was silent at that question, as if she'd never considered that angle. Snape let her muse on it for a moment before sitting back, chuckling darkly under his breath. "As if I'd have the time to dally about with skirt-chasing. You're touted as bright; at least try to live up to the title."

Hermione found herself becoming irritated at what she perceived to be subliminal messages, especially about the part where Snape said what if he was to entertain her. Did that mean he would actually consider spending time with her outside of a teacher-student capacity?

The messy-haired witch suddenly looked so hopeful that Snape shook his head in disbelief. Either she was truly mad or completely naive. The women that were willing to spend time with him in aims of more baser pursuits had typically been of the more questionable brand, veering on the borderline of raunchy. Although it had been some time since Snape last had the opportunity for doing something that didn't involve leading a double life, the idea that Hermione was sitting next to him, eyeing curiously as if she was considering something, was cause for worry.

"Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like that. Every thought that crosses your mind ends up on your face."

"And what does it say now?" Hermione asked, unable to help herself.

"That you're treading on thin ice, veering into a territory that you know nothing about."

"Who's to say that I don't know what I'm doing?"

Snape gave a rarely heard, wry laugh. "For the first time, I'm honestly unable to call you a little know-it-all. Believe me, girl, you don't know what you want, and I know for fact that have no idea what you're getting into."

Hermione scoffed lightly, shooting Snape a dismissive look. "You behave as if you're some monster lurking about, ready to snatch someone from their bed after they've fallen asleep."

"Some might have you believe, Miss Granger," he replied, although a faint smirk rested upon his lips. "But as far as you're concerned, I am a monster, and you would do well to remember that."

The next thing he knew, Hermione had reached over to him, grabbing his left hand and running her fingertips over his skin. "Look at that; no fur, no scales. And I don't think you've been hiding a tail beneath your teaching robes, unless I'm mistaken."

"If we were in school, you would be punished for your insolence," Snape drawled, remaining completely still as the little witch continued to touch his hand.

"Then you can start a tally," she suggested, moving closer and turning his hand over to trace around the calluses that marred his palm. Hermione didn't know why she was so captivated by Snape's hands; perhaps because they were so rarely exposed.

Snape surprised himself by letting Hermione carry on with her examination. Either she was blithely unaware that she was curled up next to him in her nightgown, or she felt comfortable being in said state of dress. Her hand felt small against his, as if it would break if he gave it the lightest of squeezes.

"Instead of playing with my fingers, shouldn't you be getting back to your own room?" he asked, peering at the top of Hermione's curly head that was bowed over his hand.

"No," she answered as if she had every intention of remaining there on his sofa. "I wanted to see you."

Snape refrained from saying anything else, knowing it would be futile. He continued to let Hermione trace her fingertips across his palm, while contemplating asking her if there was a chance that she had been dropped on her head during infancy. He meant it when he told her she was an odd witch; at the same time he could safely say that she reminded him of no one else. Which was good for her and bad for him.

The next thing he knew, Hermione had let go of his hand and rose to her knees, letting her weight fall against his side. He released a huff of surprise yet made no attempt to push her away, one hand clasped onto her shoulder and the other on the sofa arm. Her nightgown was pulled taut and uncomfortably trapped beneath her, and Hermione had to raise up slightly to tug the material free, holding onto Snape's bicep to steady herself.

Both were silent for a moment, yet Snape felt Hermione's trembling form against his arm. She'd let go of his sleeve, her hand opening and closing as if she wanted to touch him, but was hesitant to do so.

Gryffindor boldness and youthful shyness seemed to clash, as Hermione's fingers tentatively strayed upwards to his shoulder. Gryffindor boldness won, and without warning, Hermione seemed to move with deliberate slowness as her head tilted forward and moved towards his. Snape gritted his teeth and dug his fingers into her shoulder when petal soft lips brushed against his cheek.

What or why? was on the tip of his tongue when she nuzzled her face against his, but when Hermione's lips strayed a bit closely to his, Snape immediately pulled back, noticing the sudden look of confusion on her face.

Snape didn't kiss. Hell, he didn't allow contact that involved more than straight-forward, unattached sex, which was why he was having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that he was allowing Hermione to insinuate herself against him in such an intimate manner.

Surprisingly, Hermione didn't seem put off by his reaction, merely intrigued. To her credit, she didn't even ask what was wrong, she merely slumped to his side, her eyes and fingers focused on the space right above his collar. Snape half expected the girl to scramble away from him, but apparently she was made of tougher stuff and stay put.

Realizing that he didn't want to be kissed, she tentatively let her fingers stroke the side of his neck, as if she was curious to see if he would push her way. When he didn't, the caresses became a bit bolder, her fingers moving to the nape of his neck and sliding through his hair.

Her caresses were free of artifice, and it seemed that her fingers stroking his neck hadn't been an attempt to entice, rather comfort if that was the correct word.

That idea was ludicrous, as it was rare for anyone to go beyond a step of merely being polite to Snape. It was to be expected if one took into account his austere, no-nonsense, and all right, nasty attitude. But even so, it had always seemed that warm hugs or a kind word seemed to be reserved for those that had a brighter outtake on life, and were generally accepted by the masses.

On top of that, Snape knew what he looked like. He knew the things that others said about him, of course, never to his face, but always behind his back. The last person with enough gall to insult him to his face, most often by way of uttering the loathed name of Snivellus was no more, and Snape found that his heart refused to bleed for the Order's loss.

He had suffered his own losses and there had been no one to console him. As far as returning the favor, Snape didn't know how to comfort anyone, nor had he ever tried. The last thing he expected when Hermione moved next to him was to...cuddle was an apt word-with him, which she had begun doing, slipping both arms around his thin frame and burrowing closer. Trying to ignore the unruly curls brushing against his lips and nose, Snape loosely rest arm around her shoulders, trying to avoid moving it any lower.

The embrace felt a bit awkward, as if it was a parody of lovers holding one another, but Snape conceded that the feel of an armful of warm Hermione wasn't unpleasant. Yes, her knees were slightly digging into the side of his thighs, and her damnably messy hair refused to cooperate and stay in one place, but at the same time her soft breasts were easily felt through her nightgown and flattened against his arm, her small hands innocently resting on his shoulders.

Admittedly, there was nothing innocent when Snape thought about the fact that it was Hermione Granger practically sitting in his lap, clad only in a thin nightgown and wrapped around him like Devil's Snare.

Snape ground his back teeth once more when Hermione softly exhaled, her warm breath tickling his skin and making the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand up. The temptation to push her away from him was getting harder and harder to resist, especially when she rubbed her soft cheek against his.

"I think it's time for you to return to your room," Snape suddenly told her in a gruff voice, his hand pushing against her shoulder and urging her to get up.

"What...oh, all right," Hermione softly answered, sounding slightly dazed. Snape remained on the sofa as Hermione made her way to the door, his hands tightly curled against his thighs as if he was trying to regain control. Offering a hesitant sounding 'goodbye' to which Snape didn't reply to, Hermione shut the door and slipped off to her room.

What the fuck was that?

Snape had never been one to lose himself at the bottom of a bottle to deal with his problems. For one, spirits made even the staunchest of men lose their heads, and with everything going on in his life, that wasn't an option. One slip up could very well be his very last. He would have the occasional glass of elf-made wine or two, but that was about it. Firewhisky was something that never appealed to him, but at the moment Snape wished that he had an entire vat of Ogden's finest, and if that wasn't possible, copious amounts of cheap liquor would suffice.

Perhaps if he reduced his brain to a state of numbness then he would be able to figure out why Granger had been so willing to remain in a closed, dark room with him, or perhaps why he was so keen to let her. His body most definitely had no objections to her presence, if the previous straining of his cock against the placket of his trousers had something to say.

No, if he drank himself into a stupor, he would try to forget about the past events of that evening. At least that way he might be able to convince himself that there wasn't a special place in hell for him.

Naughtiness is to come, so don't think I'm just stringing you along. Can someone please feed my naughty Muse some cookies or brownies? PRETTY PLEASE?!?!
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Unintentional Inveiglement