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Unintentional Inveiglement	By : onecelestialbeing Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 129867 -:- 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
- 39
- 40
- 41
"I got it," Harry announced the next day in Charms after casting Muffliato. "I got the memory."

"Well done, Harry," Hermione told him happily.

"Yeah, how'd you do it?" Ron asked, his eyes focused on Harry as he poked his wand at the jar in front of him.

Professor Flitwick had assigned everyone with practicing Unbreakable Charms on whisper-thin glass jars. Hermione had already used the spell when she trapped Rita Skeeter in her Animagus form and had no trouble performing it. Ron, however, kept sending shards of glass flying whenever he tested his to see if the charm had worked. That made it a bit difficult for Harry to get his story out, as he and Hermione had to keep darting sideways to stay out the line of fire. Finally having grown tired of ducking the airborne splinters, Hermione grabbed onto Ron's wand arm to make him lower it for a moment.

"You were saying, Harry?" she prodded, waiting for him to continue.

The three became so absorbed into their conversation, they forgot about working with their glass jars. Only when Ron began absentmindedly flicking the tip of his wand at the ceiling, sending big, fluffy snowflakes down onto the tops of their heads, did Professor Flitwick come over and patiently tell them in his squeaky voice to get back to work.

Now that Harry had given Slughorn's memory to the headmaster, he waited every day to see what would happen next. He was constantly on guard to the point that Hermione suggested studying to try and take his mind off things. Ron guffawed at the suggestion until Hermione told him flatly that she would not be helping him with that homework that evening, for she was far too busy with her own.

Days later, Hermione had been taking refuge in the library when a note came, not for Harry, but for her. She had gone to replace a few books back on their designated shelves, not wanting Madam Pince to come over and give her an earful. When Hermione returned to her table, her once opened book was now closed, with something covertly showing from between the pages. It took her a split second to greedily open the book and snatch out the missive. 'Nine o'clock' was the only thing scribbled on the tiny scrap of parchment. Each letter maintained a familiar sharp, narrow scrawl that could only belong to one person.

A fortnight had passed since Hermione last spoke to Snape. The night on the Astronomy Tower when he'd pulled her into his arms and kissed her until she forgot everything kept coming to mind, even at the most inopportune moments, such as during class or at mealtimes. One morning during breakfast, a bit of cornflakes went down the wrong way and Hermione turned red in the throes of a coughing fit. Seamus had to lean across the table, knocking over his own breakfast, a carafe of milk, as well as upsetting a floating dish holding toast, to thump her on the back until she could breathe again.

The professor had never planned ahead of time for Hermione to visit him. Leaving her a message was unheard of. In the back of her mind, she still wondered how the man was able to prowl around without being seeing, or at least leave her a note without anyone noticing.

But that wasn't important. What she really wanted to know was Snape's sudden reasoning for leaving her said note. Had something happened? Did someone find out about them?

Hermione's breath caught in her chest at that very notion.

Oh, no. Please tell me no one found out about us. Please, please please tell me that is not the case.

It was June, and nearly the end of school term. After almost an entire year of sneaking around, the idea of now being found out was completely ironic. True, she had gone through most of today without being pulled into McGonagall's office or being summoned to speak to the headmaster, so maybe she was getting worked up for nothing...

As usual, Granger. Keep it together, at least until nine, will you? There's no sense in getting yourself all worked up for no reason.

As the day dwindled on, Hermione further understood the allure of spontaneity. If each of her and Snape's rendezvous had been planned, then most likely the anticipation would have been all over her face. It was clear that she was anxious, although most of her friends already thought of her as high-strung. They probably chalked up her antsy state with having to do with schoolwork, as that was usually the reason for her frantic behaviour.

The only thing working in her favour had been right before dinner when Jimmy Peakes delivered to Harry a message from Dumbledore. The headmaster was requesting his presence later that evening, and that was enough to divert Hermione's attention away from her own meeting with Snape. It also distracted Harry and Ron from asking why she was more jittery than usual.

The boys went off on their own after rushing through their meal. They barely cast a glance back at Hermione as they ran out the Great Hall, and she was unable to muster the strength to feel insulted. Harry hadn't even offered Ginny a proper goodbye, and she merely rolled her eyes at Hermione as they shared a knowing look.

Just as Hermione was getting back to the common room, an upset looking Harry nearly ran into her. He hastily explained that he was getting his Invisibility Cloak but told her and Ron to come up to the dormitory with him. The remainder of his Felix Felicius was shoved into Ron's hand, and his Marauder's Map into Hermione's.

"Harry—" Hermione began, getting cut off.

"I don't have much time," he interrupted, explaining that he was going to search for a Horcrux with Dumbledore. "Keep an eye on Malfoy and keep an eye on Snape. I don't trust either of them."

The two were unable to get a word in edgeways as Harry continued rattling off instructions before hurrying out of the dormitory. She and Ron agreed to keep a watchful eye on things, but Hermione told herself that his suspicious of Snape were ridiculous. He couldn't have been up to much if he'd requested to see her that night. Of course, she couldn't point this out to Harry and merely went along with things for the sake of peace.

At quarter to nine, Hermione began her trek down to the dungeons. Usually she snuck down at a later time, as there were less people for her to run into. Between Harry's map and luck being on her side, she made it down without a hitch.

Snape hadn't specified whether she should come to his private room or his office, and Hermione found herself in a quandary. There was a bit of distance between both places, and even though she could visit one first, there was still the issue of ducking Slytherins that might pass. Ducking into a darkened alcove, Hermione held her breath while deciding her next best course of action, when a flicker of black caught her eye.

The professor was walking right past her, and made no indication to knowing that she was ensconced. Hermione took that as her cue to follow behind, and quickly left her little hidey hole. Harry had taken his Invisibility Cloak when he left to see Dumbledore, and she'd had to Disillusion herself. Walking three steps behind Snape, while making sure to not step on his trailing robes, Hermione realised they were going to his personal laboratory. Once they were finally inside with the door shut and locked, Snape flicked his wand and caused the wall scones to light themselves.

Not knowing what to say, Hermione paused next to the work table on which a bunch of supplies had been set out. She was happy to see the professor, but her curiosity continued to burn at his reason for their meeting.

"So...I got your note..."

"Apparently so, seeing that you're here," Snape replied, standing an arm's length away from Hermione. "Lupin needs his potion again and I thought it beneficial if you tried your hand at it once more."

Is that it? Hermione wondered, feeling a bit foolish as well as let down. He just wants me to brew for him? Not that I mind, but...

"Sure," she finally answered, pulling her wand out her back pocket and setting it on the table. She then noticed that the supplies spread out were in fact ingredients for making Wolfsbane. "I just need to wash my hands," she continued, using the forgotten elastic that had been left round her wrist to tie her curls back.

Snape nodded and stepped aside to let Hermione pass. Pulling up a stool and perching atop it, he watched the young witch rinsing her hands at the basin in the corner. Was that disappointment on her face?

"I get the impression you were expecting something else," he stated.

Hermione flung her hands to rid them of excess moisture. She opened her mouth to speak, paused, then opened her mouth again.

"I honestly didn't know the reason for your message," she said after walking back over. "I will admit to not thinking of this"—she gestured to the spread of ingredients and tools—"but I don't mind. Really, I don't."

"I'm surprised it didn't immediately come to mind," Snape replied. "You were the one following the lunar charts in the first place."

"I'm surprised you sent for me, considering the million times you've fussed at me for wandering around alone."

The edges of Snape's mouth curled up just a fraction of an inch, and Hermione never noticed. She never knew that he had always been on the lookout where she and her friends were concerned. But after Hermione had gotten attacked when she delved between Potter and Draco's wand, the professor had been extra conscientious when it came to her personal welfare.

"Did it ever occur to you that you've merely been going around under the illusion of walking around without another pair of eyes being on you?"

A vaguely suspicious look came over Hermione's face. "Do I want to know what that means?"

"Of course you do. The day Hermione Granger doesn't want to know something will never happen. If it does, I will assume that you've been Imperiused."

That made Hermione smile. "In that case I trust you'll do the right thing," she laughed softly. "Where are your notes for the Wolfsbane?"

Withdrawing his wand from his sleeve, Snape flicked it in the direction of the work table. The familiar crumbling piece of parchment appeared, and Hermione picked it up. Snape had allowed her to make Wolfsbane on multiple occasions, but Hermione was still worried about mucking up the potion and killing Lupin. The highest praise she'd received from the professor thus far about her brewing ability had been a terse 'very good', and that was the very first time she'd made the potion. Each time after that, Snape's approval had only been displayed by a curt nod of his head. In any event, he hadn't complained, and to Hermione that made a world of difference.

While Hermione was busy adding the first of the ingredients to the cauldron, Snape quietly watched on. He had faith in Hermione's merely sufficient skills, but wasn't lackadaisical enough to completely hand over the reins. No, his mind was focused on something else.

Ever since their last secret meeting on the Astronomy Tower, Snape wondered why Hermione had an old news clipping of his mother tucked away between the pages of her book. He knew the girl was a busybody, though how she found time was a mystery to him. Still, how the hell did she come to possess the little written blurb about Eileen Prince?

Snape had forgotten about that clipping. In fact, that last time he saw it, he'd been younger than Hermione. He'd been about fourteen or so, and had spent an evening perusing through old newspapers in the library. At first glance Snape had been shocked to see the picture of a teenaged Eileen Prince, doubly because she had never mentioned playing Gobstones or anything else, for that matter, while at Hogwarts.

Madam Pince had been petulant, even in his day, and Snape knew not to take the paper from the library because she would notice its absence. Instead, he'd used a duplicating spell and left that one behind, taking the original with him. He had been in such a hurry to leave the library that he hadn't noticed Filch standing outside. Snape had bumped right into the grizzled caretaker, dropping his schoolbag and the newspaper in the process.

Filch had let out something between a growl and a curse but he bent and helped Severus up by the scruff of his neck, rasping out a sharp "Mind your step, lad!"

Snape remembered his face burning up to his ears as he bent to retrieve his fallen belongings. The argus-eyed, no pun intended, man immediately honed in on the nicked newspaper and plucked it from Severus' grasp. The young Slytherin had then blurted out, "That's mine!" only for the caretaker to growl at him to be quiet.

Filch had stared down at the skinny dark-haired boy, who'd shook with anger in his shabby robes, looked at the article the paper had been left open to, then back at the young wizard.

"That's your mam, innit?" he'd asked, jabbing the paper with one gnarled finger. When Severus didn't answer, he went on with peering at the article, holding it closer to his face. "S'your mam, alright. Looks like she just spat you out."

With that, Filch pushed the newspaper back into Severus' hand, rasped out, "Don't let the old bat see ye with that. That one is mad, she is. She'll have your head for stealing from her precious library," and continued down the corridor, mumbling something about punishing students later that night if he found any out of bed.

Severus had been more worried about Filch taking the newspaper and ratting him out to Pince. But he didn't tell, and Snape realised that Filch was all right. Thankfully so, because he'd really wanted to take the article with him when he went home on holiday to show to his mum.

Severus had waited until his father was out, most likely down the pub, before pulling out the article. It incited one of his mum's rare talkative fits, and she'd told her son that she was fond of Gobstones when she was a girl. To this day, Snape remembered that being one of the rare times that Eileen's withdrawn face had appeared less severe. The game apparently had been a fond memory for the witch, and the very thing to introduce her a girl in her year named Sadie, the only person at Hogwarts she'd considered a friend.

Once Tobias Snape was dead and his mum's mind began to go, Severus had heard that Gobstones Tournament story many times over, until he could nearly recite the tale verbatim. He never begrudged Eileen the opportunity to tell her story, especially since it seemed to be one of the few happy instances in her otherwise humdrum life.

Finding himself reminiscing about his mother's last days on earth, Snape realised that he had veered away from his original unspoken question: How did Hermione find out about his mum?

There was a chance that she'd never made the connection. Sometimes when the obvious was planted right beneath someone's nose, it was too close for them to notice. Snape was almost the spitting image of Eileen Prince; they were both skinny, pale, and their faces constantly gave off a sour look even if they were in a less dour mood. Her hair was another story. It was thick and hung past her shoulders in natural waves, unlike his own stick-straight strands that had been inherited from his father. Severus remembered his mum once telling him that her own mother constantly reminded her growing up that her hair was her only attractive feature, and perhaps she could use it to cover her face since that was the only way she would get a husband.

Severus had been but seven years old when Eileen repeated that statement while standing in the mirror, combing her hair, and even then he thought it was a cruel thing for a mother to tell her own child. But the apple hadn't fallen far from the tree; while Eileen never outright called her son 'ugly', she never told him that he was handsome, either. Actually, she never really called him anything except for his given name, and that was only when he was being summoned for meals or to run an errand for her. Tobias, on the other hand...he tended to ignore his son unless he had a few in him, in which case he referred to Severus as anything but his given name.

For a while, Severus had been unable to understand why his father was so cruel. Sometimes Tobias had been quiet as a church mouse, even without being under the influence of drink. Uncommon was the occasion where he spoke to his wife and child without a tone of anger. But help them both when he got the notion to quote things from the Bible. His favourite had been the bit about children honouring their mother and father, and Severus had been tempted to ask if there was also something written in there about parents not abusing their loved ones. But he'd known better than to mouth off, as he would have ended up backhanded across the shabby front room of their tiny house.

His entire childhood, Severus wondered if he had been missing something. A small cross that belonged to his father was beside the front room's mantle. It had been there ever since Severus was born. There was also an old Bible in one of the drawers, and it seemed to forever have a thick coat of dust.

True to his bookish nature, Severus had attempted to read bits and pieces of the Bible on multiple occasions. He'd wanted to know what was in there, since his father had been so fond of reciting passages whenever he deemed the situation fitting. Said situations had usually been illogical and arbitrary to Severus and his mum, yet they made perfect sense to Tobias. Severus thought it rich that his raving lunatic of a drunken father thought it appropriate to toss religion about, especially since Tobias had been the quintessential hell-raiser for long as he could remember.

"What were you doing with that article?" Snape asked suddenly.

Hermione had been in the middle stages of brewing , and finished counting her revolutions with the stirring rod before looking up.

"I'm sorry?"

"The article that fell out your book the night we were on the Astronomy Tower. The one about the Gobstones Tournament."

"Oh! That..." Hermione trailed off, nervously shifting her weight to the other foot.

For some reason she began looking at everything else but him, and it was more reason to make Snape suspicious.

"For Christ's sake, Hermione, it was a simple question. You look as if someone's just signed papers for your execution."

"Well...I'd tell you, but..." she continued in an uncertain voice, still refusing to look Snape in the eye.

Snape studied Hermione for a moment. Her shoulders were noticeably tensed, and her body language reeked of anxiety. He hadn't meant to put her on edge, but now he definitely wanted to know what was going on.

"Go on," he pressed in a tone that was more of an order and less of a request.

"I don't think I should. There's, erm, some conflict of interest."

Hermione knew she was being stared down: Snape's eyes were practically boring a hole into the side of her head. But if she told him the truth, what would happen to Harry? He had already been suspended from Quidditch and had detention every Saturday. And just because the professor also happened to be her lover, Hermione knew that fact had no bearings on his role as a ruthless disciplinarian, especially when it came to those in her House.

"I don't give a damn about the petty going-ons between students, if that's what you mean," Snape scoffed, although he knew that point was moot, as Hermione never concerned herself with trivia, either.

"If I tell you, will it stay between us?" she asked, before setting her jaw firmly. "No, I'll tell you only if it remains between us. That means no flying off the handle at Harry or trying to give him more detention. Agreed?"

Snape let out a small snort, refusing to give an outright yes or no to her demands. He then moved off his stool and took the stirring rod from hand, nudging Hermione out of his way with his elbow to check on the Wolfsbane.

Snape knew Hermione was glaring at him while waiting for a response, and he finally gave one even though his eyes were focused on the potion in front of him.

"You have my word," he offered grudgingly.

"Thank you." Hermione sat on the stool Snape had been using, and noted that it was still distinctly warm from his body heat. "Alright, well...Harry found this Potions textbook in the classroom cupboard, and it was old and had all these weird notes in the margins, some of which I'm sure are against the rules. He used some of them to help with his work even after I warned him not to. Although I have to admit, a few of those spells are downright horrid—and disgusting, especially this toenail hex thing—but whoever made them couldn't have been right in the head."

Hermione paused, waiting to see if she should continue when Snape hummed his assent.

"But there's this name 'Half-Blood Prince' character and we couldn't figure out who that was. Harry and Ron assumed it was a boy but I found that article and saw the last name 'Prince'. So after checking the school dates, I figured that it could be a match. Too bad those lovely friends of mine laughed at me; they still think this half-blood prince is a wizard and not a witch."

While Hermione prattled on, contrasting emotions flitted through Snape's head. He was grateful that Hermione hadn't figured out who Eileen Price was in relation to him. On the other hand, her statement about the creator behind the spells...what would she say if she knew it was him?

Snape had already known that Potter was using his old Potions text. He hadn't needed physical proof to solidity his suspicions. Of course, Hermione's statement validated the very thing Potter had lied about. No, he wouldn't tell the headmaster or even Slughorn about the book. When Potter took his finals and had no textbook in front of him, the truth would surely be revealed.

"Are you angry?" Hermione asked, peeking sideways at Snape.

"What does it matter if I am?" he asked flatly, still leisurely staring down into the cauldron. "I am not giving up another morning to mind Potter, and your ever charming Head of House threatened to switch my morning coffee with Babbling Beverage if I took any more points from Gryffindor."

The knowledge that Snape was not going to punish Harry had Hermione floored. Both eyebrows were raised high on her head, and she was looking at the professor as if seeing him in a new light.

"Try not to look so shocked, Miss Granger," Snape told her smoothly without looking up. "And close your mouth. I don't think you fancy the idea of explaining how you managed to accidentally ingest Wolfsbane if any of this were to splash up."

Sitting up straight and pressing her lips together tightly, Hermione continued silently wondering the reason for Snape's sudden change of heart.

"Granger, let me finish this damned Wolfsbane. Then you may ask whatever it is that has you literally and figuratively sitting on the edge of your seat."

"I'm not that bad," Hermione protested, which earned her a look from the professor that bordered on incredulity.

"Like hell you aren't; I don't need to use Legilimency to know what you're thinking. Which, by the way, I am sure I've warned you about repeatedly."

"Frankly speaking, you and I both know that no one can pull the wool over your eyes," Hermione pointed out. "I know I can't, so why bother trying?"

While Hermione's words were true, as she would never be able to put a thing past him, Snape also understood the unspoken implication, which was her trust in him. He still found that notion difficult to become accustomed to, and secretly marvelled whenever Hermione reiterated the sentiment.

"Fair enough. Now if you would be so kind to put everything away —" Snape gestured to the discards of his work—"I'll answer your question."

"I still don't know how you know what I'm thinking," Hermione commented as she slid down from the stool. "It's not as if you can tell everything merely by my expression."

"That's what you think," Snape told her as he poured Lupin's musty-scented, steaming hot potion into its usual goblet. He then flicked his wand at it, causing the goblet to vanish.

"I immensely dislike cheating," he began without preamble once Hermione finished clearing the workspace and was seated again. "Even more, I loathe being lied to. But there will come a time where Potter won't be able to cheat or fib his way out of a tight spot. Lying to pass Potions is going to be the least of his problems in the long run. But God help you all if someone were to be poisoned and Potter is the only one around to brew an antidote. Now, does that whet your intense desire for information?"

"Well, it will have to," Hermione laughed. "If it doesn't, it's not as if I can make you tell me more."

Snape gave a slight nod, more concerned with getting off his feet for a minute. There was only one stool in the room, which Hermione was sitting. He could have transfigured another, but he knew that if he were to sit or lie down, that he would most likely not be inclined to get back up.

Multiple times that day, Snape had secretly trailed behind Draco when he noticed the blond heading for out of bound areas. Unfortunately, he hadn't discovered much. In addition to running for Dumbledore that past week and having only a few hours of sleep in between classes, (he almost cursed himself for making Potter come to his office every Saturday morning and had been on the verge of sending him away the previous weekend) Snape felt ready to keel over. He was seriously on the verge of believing that his only rest would happen only after being left beneath a pile of tightly-packed earth.

"Are you alright?" Hermione asked, peering at him with concern. "You look dead on your feet."

"How utterly charming; thank you."

"Don't be snide, Severus. I'm worried about you," she continued. "I know it isn't much, but perhaps a cup of tea?"

Tempted to ask if the tea came with a side of a Stunner spell that could be aimed for his head, as it might stop the off-on throbbing in his temples that came from being overly fatigued, Snape resisted. Instead, he pointed his wand at the clear worktable and conjured a tea tray.

Hermione immediately bustled around, pouring the hot, fragrant liquid into one of the cups and adding a generous amount of milk. Shoving it into his hands with a sharp "Drink this," she then fixed her own and sipped it while watching the professor from over the edge of her cup.

Allowing the witch to assert her dominion, Snape dutifully accepted the proffered tea. Still, he didn't think it would make a huge difference. His headache had subsided right before meeting Hermione, but standing over a hot cauldron hadn't been the best idea. He should have just let her finish brewing as he'd intended in the first place.

Hermione continued furtively peeking over at Snape, wondering if there was something she could do to help. His head was bowed and he'd lifted one hand to his head, roughly dragging his fingertips over his temple and brow bone as if trying to knead away pain. He'd abandoned the partial effort of finishing his tea though his other hand still clutched onto the cup. Finally he ended up setting the cup back in its saucer. Feeling a bit foolish for just now noticing the purple shadows beneath Snape's eyes, Hermione set down her own tea and moved closer to the professor.

Snape's head snapped up when she stepped forward, and he looked at her with an odd expression on his face. At least he didn't tell her to stop when she gently pried his fingers away from his face and replaced them with her own. Holding his head between her hands, Hermione began rubbing little circles into both temples, alternating between dragging her thumbs along the crease in his forehead.

"Let me think: you learned this from one of your books," Snape commented after a while. His eyes were closed and he remained upright on the stool, which was somewhat funny considering that he was receiving a massage that was meant to relax him. When he finally gave in and allowed his posture to slump marginally, Hermione fought back a smile.

"Not really," she admitted, sliding her fingers further up to rub his scalp. "Sometimes I get headaches from reading for too long. I sort of had to learn this on my own; it's not as if anyone else was going to rub my head."

The mental image of Hermione taking a break from reading to wrestle back that untamable hair and massage her own head somewhat amused him. Speaking of hair, Snape had vague memory of using shampoo for a few days, and felt a pang of guilt when he realised that Hermione's hands were fully buried in his stringy mop. But if she was put off she gave no indication, and thus carried on.

"I'll transfigure a sofa like before," Hermione was now saying. "I think you need to rest."

"Rest? An unfamiliar concept," Snape replied with a slight frown. "Unfortunately, there will be no rest to be had tonight, or any other night. Not while I have duties to tend to."

"Surely you can sit for a minute?" said Hermione disapprovingly. "How are you to save the world if you can't even see straight?"

Snape was sure that her 'save the world' comment was meant to be tongue-in-cheek, but it hit all too close to home for him. Hermione definitely didn't know about the promised he'd made to Dumbledore as well as others. There was no way he could allow that risk.

"My eyesight is clear as it's ever been, Madam."

"If you say so," Hermione murmured. It still didn't stop her from walking across the classroom and Transfiguring a desk into their usual sofa. Sure that Snape was going to give her a hard time, yet uncaring, she moved back to his side and slipped her hand into his, pulling until he stood up.

"Are you ever going to stop yanking on me?" Snape asked, stopping short and glaring at the witch.

Unfazed by the stare down, Hermione tightened her grip and attempted to make him continue walking. Unfortunately, it was like pulling on a boulder and she got nowhere.

"Are you ever going to stop giving me grief when I'm trying to help?" she challenged, throwing the wizard her most menacing look. Of course, on Hermione's worst day, to Snape she was as threatening as a candyfloss.

"You know I detest being fussed over. It's nothing personal, and I don't mean to be insulting, but that is one thing I cannot get used to."

Hermione had long gotten over Snape's issue of accepting anything from her. Either he had been taking care of himself for so long that he didn't want anyone's help, or perhaps to accept it made him feel like some sort of invalid. Or maybe he didn't want to owe anyone anything. Whatever the case, she thought he was being unreasonable.

I worry about you because I love you, was on the tip of her tongue. Funny how she so easily accepted that notion, because loving Severus Snape now felt as natural as breathing. But the timing was off to make that little confession.

"I fuss over you because I care about you," she told him instead. "Is that so bad?"

In the midst of their conversation, Hermione had moved in closer until she and Snape were standing toe-to-toe. She still held onto his left hand while staring up into his face, which now held some unnamed emotion. Snape seemed distracted; at the same time, he seemed to be extremely focused on her, as his eyes were unblinking and focused on hers.

"Yes, it is bad."

"Well, then, it'll have to be bad, but that's not going to change things," Hermione stated defiantly. "Sofa?"

Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Snape allowed Hermione to finish leading him across the room. His headache had gone away, thanks to her soothing fingers, and the cushions beneath him were much too comfortable. Hermione's presence was also an effective balm for his frayed nerves, and if he wasn't careful, he was sure that he'd end up falling asleep right there. It didn't help that Hermione had curled herself into a little ball and settled against his side. She rested her cheek against his clothed bicep and drew his hand closer to play with his fingers.

There was no point in pulling his hand from hers and telling Hermione that she ought to get back to her dormitory. But he had been the one to leave her the note and allow her to believe that the invitation had been solely for the pretence of brewing. Snape had brewed Wolfsbane countless times and could have done so easily without Hermione's help. Plain and simple: he'd wanted to see her. And if she had seen through his charade, well, he really didn't care. True, it was decidedly akin to something the brash juvenile delinquents of Hogwarts might do, as teenagers had no subtlety, but time was running short for him.

"Thanks for letting me see you," Hermione murmured, bringing Snape's hand up to her face and kissing each of his fingertips.

Just like that, Snape knew that Hermione understood the true reason for his invitation, and was glad that she didn't make a fuss over it. After a few minutes, merely sitting next to him hadn't been enough, and Hermione eased herself onto his lap and straddled his thighs. Between Hermione's soft breasts pushing into his chest, her hot lips on his check and her round, jeans-clad bum shifting in his lap, Snape's erection soon made itself known.

Hermione clearly didn't mind; she surged forward, rocking against the bulge beneath her. Mashing her lips against the professor's, she engaged him in a kiss that was a bit awkward yet sweet just the same, perhaps because she was so enthusiastic. Her breath was warm against his cheek and it sent the hairs at the back of his neck standing straight up.

"Easy, Hermione," Snape hissed when Hermione writhed against him in a way that did more harm than good.

"Sorry," she breathlessly apologised, blushing.

Steering her back for a moment, Snape reached down between them and adjusted his cock until it was no longer being pinched in the seat of his trousers. He then wrapped his arms around Hermione's waist and pulled her forward until she was nestled against his chest.

In the back of her mind, Hermione wondered how far they were going to get that evening. Hopefully there would be nothing to stop him, because the feel of Severus' erection poking her in the belly already had between her legs throbbing. His grip on her body, not to mention his slow kisses that she felt all the way down to her toes, made her skin prickle with pleasure. Even though she was caught up in the feel of his mouth insistently moving over hers, Hermione pulled back long enough to allow Severus to slip her jumper over her head. He didn't bother with unfastening her bra, merely tugging the cotton contraption down until it was around her waist.

The witch was beginning to shiver, although it had less to do with the draughty dungeon classroom and more to do with the rough palms grazing her pebbled nipples. Crying out when the hands left her, Hermione inhaled softly when soft lips and crooked but gently raking teeth replaced them. Resting her weight against Snape, Hermione allow her head to fall back as he firmly cupped one breast to keep it near his mouth while his other hand traced along the naked curve of her back. By the time his lips veered towards the crook of her neck, Hermione felt as if she were spineless.

It took Snape a second to manouevre the crumpled heap of witch in his lap to lie beneath him on the sofa. While Hermione was clearly amenable to being shifted onto her back, she clung onto the front of his frock coat as if there was a chance he might fly away. Snape settled between her thighs, tangling his into her hair and tilting her head to nip at her exposed throat. He then spent the better part of five minutes placing hot, wet kisses along Hermione's torso, until she got worked up to the point of frantically trying to undress them both.

"You'll be mending this without a wand if you rip it," Snape warned next to Hermione's ear when she came very close to popping off a button on his sleeve.

Shamelessly laughing at that comment, she loosened her grip. "I'm not bad with a needle and thread," Hermione retorted, reaching a hand up to trace her fingertips down the bridge of his nose. She then moved on to stroke his thick brows and the sharp planes of his face. The wizard was completely silent as she touched him, although going by the way his eyes were shut, it appeared that he enjoyed it.

Without warning, Hermione found herself completely covered by Severus' body, the buttons on the front of his frock coat and sleeves scraping against her bare skin. His hair was in her eyes and his nose banged into hers a few times, but that only served to make her cling tightly to his back. His erection, still easily felt through his trousers, was pressing into her left thigh. Wriggling her hips a bit, she directed the pressure into a more fruitful spot, arching upwards and moaning softly from the sensation. All the while, Severus' lips and tongue moved continuously against hers.

Hermione desperately hoped that they would do more than just rub their clothed bodies against one another. She was sure that he wanted to, because his narrow hips were grinding into hers just like they would had they been naked. Briefly wondering how she could feel anything through her jeans, as they weren't the thinnest of materials, Hermione lost that train of thought when Severus moved in a way that made her shudder.

"Let me take these off," she mumbled between kisses, moving a hand from his back and trying to shove it between them. "Or yours first?" Fumbling to unfasten the placket on his trousers, Hermione was a bit stymied when Snape caught her hand and pressed it back to her side.

"What?" she asked, worry creeping into her voice when she saw the way he had suddenly frozen into place. "What's wrong?"

Snape turned his head, looking over his shoulder as if trying to find something. Sitting up but still keeping his eyes averted, he brought a hand up to Hermione's face and curved two fingers over her lips.

"Get dressed," he ordered in a strange tone, "and don't make a sound."

Her body was still thrumming with excitement, but Snape's suddenly unexplainable disquieted behaviour was starting to change that. Hermione began feeling cold and exposed, lying there completely naked from the waist up. Pushing herself up, she felt around for her shirt and bra and pulled them both on with clumsy fingers. Snape was still focused on the door, but he helped with the clasp of her bra, as well as plucking out the curls that became trapped beneath her collar.

Hermione's blood felt as if it had turned to ice. The professor was still close-lipped as he walked across the room, eyes trained on the door and never once looking in the direction of the table where his wand was directed. A quick flick made their long abandoned cups of tea and the tray disappear, as well as any other evidence telling that someone had been in the room.

Aware of how loud her footsteps sounded, Hermione carefully walking over to Snape and tugged on his sleeve to gain his attention. The professor looked down at her, displaying a dangerous glint in his black eyes that made her keep quiet.

What were they doing? Was someone outside? And why did Snape look as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over his head?

More questions continued to run through Hermione's mind, but she knew better than to so much as part her lips. If Snape said to be quiet, it was for a reason.

One second, Snape was staring down at her as if he was trying to figure out something. The next, his wand was abruptly withdrawn and tapped on her head. Now if felt as if she'd had a bucket of ice water mixed with eggs dumped over her.

Non-verbal Disillusionment Charm, she thought. A perfect one, considering that it feels like cold slime is in my knickers.

"Take out your wand."

Doing as she was told, Hermione peered up at Snape, waiting expectantly.

"Go back to your tower. Only when you're absolutely sure that you haven't been seen, lift the charm."

"Why, Severus? What's happening?"

"Hermione, I don't have time to explain right now. Just heed my instructions and be careful. Do you understand?"

Slowly nodding her head, Hermione fortified her hold on her wand. Just as she made towards the door, Snape fiercely cupped her face between both hands, pressing a bruising kiss to her lips and forehead. It happened so quickly that Hermione was unable to pucker her lips, because she was then half-shoved out of the classroom and found herself alone in the dark, empty hallway.
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Unintentional Inveiglement