Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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
- 44
- 45
- 46
A/N: I am so sorry for the very much late update. I'd had this posted on ffn but between having my third surgery and then the format being changed on here, I was unable to update as I was not home and on my computer. So, I have this chapter and the next to post, and hopefully chapter 47 to be up soon. Thanks for reading and reviewing! I aim to please and your words mean the world to me.

It was clear to Snape that he was suffering from an acute bout of four-wall-itis. He had his fill of smelling the pungent canal water that seemed stronger in the morning, particularly whenever he began eating. He was tired of lying on an old, uncomfortable bed that creaked and groaned with each of his smallest movements, and he was weary of staring up at the cracks that created uneven fissures in a white ceiling that was in sore need of re-plastering. He used to stare at those same cracks when he was a boy, focusing on the lines and the way they bled into one another while trying to drown out the sound of his parents arguing.
He had ,at least, his parents to thank for him coming up with Muffliato; prior to it, Snape had been searching for a spell to block out sound, but inadvertently created one that would keep him from being overhead. Not that he had much cause for such a spell. No one ever had much to talk to him about, and definitely nothing that would be cause for panic if someone overheard.
In spite of his sour mood at being cooped up in the depressing house that, no matter where he looked, forced a wealth of unpleasant memories upon him, Snape reminded himself that harsh recollections were preferable compared to the dank prison cells of Azkaban.
The night before, he had managed to sleep for slightly longer than usual, yet it was still dark when he opened his eyes. Moments before becoming fully awake, Snape had felt an odd sense of peacefulness, a second's worth of reprieve from a hellish life that had quickly turned into Armageddon. Concentrating hard enough, he was sure that he could almost detect a whiff of a familiar floral-scented shampoo, a scent that had sometimes been deeply embedded into the pillowcases on his bed at Hogwarts, or completely absent when everything had been sent to the laundry. Sometimes that scent lingered in his sitting room, and once, while in the middle of teaching a class, he noticed it on the sleeve of his teaching robes when he lifted his arm to practice Defensive spells with the first years.
That morning, even in his subconscious state, it didn't take long for Snape to attribute that scent to Hermione. It always hung heavily whenever she snuck down to his rooms, and remained long after she left. It didn't matter that Snape had been deep in the throes of slumber, he was almost positive that his nose could detect Hermione lying there, next to him in the creaky bed from his youth. He had, in fact, been dreaming about her, but the details of his dream went fuzzy immediately upon waking. The harder he tried to remember, the more muddled everything became, until he resigned all efforts.
It was just as well that Snape could not remember, because his dream had been as macabre as they came.
He had believed the wizarding world to finally be at peace. The impending war between Light and Dark was over. He had been in some remote area, sitting quietly beneath a clear and sunny sky in a grassy field with his arms around a witch who was tucked between his legs. Her face had been hidden but the colour and texture of her hair was familiar, and it had been comforting. Only when she reached up to caress his cheek while twisting round to plant a kiss on his jaw, did he find that the witch's face belonged to that of Bellatrix Lestrange. Just as her curls began darkening and lengthening into rattier tresses, the witch sank her long, yellowed talons into his face, hissing that he was a poor excuse for a wizard who would never be great enough, would always consort with Mudbloods, and how he should off himself. Just as the skies turned grey and lightning bolts came crashing down, Bellatrix cackled and pulled a knife out from her robes. Crooked and severely discoloured teeth bared, teeth that made Snape's look pristine in comparison, she gave another screeching laugh right before plunging the knife into his chest.
Instinct usually made Snape remain on guard at all times, but having been lulled into a false sense of security in the dream, his wand hadn't been nearby. His panic had nearly been palpable when he realised that he was about to die, and just before Bellatrix's knife had been able to make purchase with his heart, Snape had been jolted out of sleep. He didn't remember why he awoke so abruptly, but the short-lived view of easily distinguishable curls beneath his nose remained the only clear thing to stick out in his mind.
With everything else going on, the very thought of Hermione rubbed salt in an already deep wound. Snape felt almost bereft at not being able to recollect her presence in his dream, before marvelling over his curly-headed complication.
Hermione had never said so, but Snape suspected that her parents knew little about the trouble stirring in the wizarding world, and even less concerning her direct involvement. How she managed to hide everything remained a mystery, but he knew that she and her parents were susceptible to attack because of their non-magical status.
The young Gryffindor was fully capable of defending herself and her parents; perhaps more capable than she knew. Still, Snape could not help but to worry about her. It was true, Hermione was skillful considering her age, but it did not mean she would always win when going up against Dark wizards. At the last meeting, Dolohov made it clear that he maintained a personal grudge against Hermione, whom he referred to as 'the filthy little Muggle-born bitch', stating that he was going to take great joy in torturing her his next chance.
Antonin Dolohov's threat alone had been enough that Snape took it seriously. It hadn't been hard to find out where Hermione's parents lived; at the first available moment he'd made his way to London, then casting an undetectable, untraceable protection charm on the Grangers' home. The spell was not a cure by any means, but if someone with magical abilities were to try and break into their house, the family would have ample warning. Hermione had still been at Hogwarts at the time, but Snape was confident in Hermione being astute enough to pick up on the spell if it were to be activated, even without her knowing about its placement.
While Hermione's safety remained more than a mere second thought, Snape found minor comfort in knowing that additional measures had been taken. Keeping her by his side would have been a preferable option, yet was highly unrealistic. The only good thing about the Dark Lord being obsessed with killing Potter was that his attention was remained fixedly to one thing. By default, Hermione would most likely not be made an outright target by the Dark Lord, at least, not for the time being. As for the other two, Snape—along with the Order, although they believed otherwise—would continue working to make sure that Potter stayed alive long enough to defeat Voldemort. Between his parents and various members of the Order, Weasley was well protected and could defend himself.
Taking to his sitting room for the rest of the day, Snape immersed himself into books, pausing once to eat when a dizzy spell reminded him of an empty stomach. Long after sundown, Snape was on the verge of falling asleep in his armchair when his Dark Mark began burning.
The connection to Dark Lord led Snape to their last meeting place, Malfoy Manor. All the Death Eaters were assembled in the drawing room. Wormtail was also present, and Snape caught the sulky look on his face when the Dark Lord sent him to another room before the meeting began. A lengthy discussion took place, during which tasks were delegated and information about underhanded deals happening in the Ministry were shared. The entire time, Snape had to endure Bellatrix furtively shooting him nasty looks, in between meekly looking over at her love and obsession, Voldemort. When things came to an end, Lucius managed to grab a private moment with Snape in his study.
"So the Dark Lord says you're to be the new headmaster," Lucius began as he poured himself a drink.
It seemed to Snape as if Lucius had been doing more drinking than usual, but the blond wizard still remembered his manners and held up the bottle, silently asking if he should pour his friend a dram. Snape declined by holding up a hand, mostly because he preferred to remain coherent, and partly because he could not abide Firewhisky.
"So it seems," Snape replied stiffly, maintaining a rigid stance before the hearth. "You were never one for pussyfooting around your thoughts, and you obviously wanted to speak to me without your charming sister-in-law nearby."
"I know...Lucius trailed off, frowning as he absentmindedly stared down into his half-filled glass.
"In your time, Lucius. But do hurry."
"I don't suppose you could...that is to say...would you take extra care to look out for my son when he returns to school?"
Even though Snape wanted to tell Lucius that he had intended on doing so in the first place, he bit his tongue. His future plans of following behind Draco had little to do with protecting the headstrong boy from himself, and more to do with making sure other innocent students did not befall to harm as a result of the misguided youth. Yet judging from the Dark Lord's plans about reforming Hogwarts, which involved having several Death Eaters teaching classes (which screamed 'disaster' as Snape knew many of his comrades needed to get naked to count to ten), Snape knew that any mischief Draco carried out would pale in comparison.
"Yes, Lucius, I will," Snape answered simply. There was no need for explanation; Lucius' only son and heir would remain under the headmaster's protection without any outside parties' knowledge. The why of it did not need to be sussed out.
"Thank you," Lucius replied in a stress-roughened voice. The usually haughty wizard was as rumpled as he had been the last time Snape visited the manor. Blond streaked with grey stubble covered Lucius' face and the front of his burgundy brocade waistcoat was wrinkled as if it had been lying in a heap prior to him getting dressed. "That somewhat gives Narcissa and I one less thing to worry about. At first she considered allowing Draco to remain home, but I convinced her to let him return next term. We both think he would be better off at Hogwarts."
The reason behind Lucius was allowing his son to return to school was clear to both wizards, yet remained unspoken. With the Dark Lord taking over Malfoy Manor, which in turn had Death Eaters steadily traipsing in and out, the elaborate house was now comparable to a mausoleum. During the meeting that evening, Voldemort casually mentioned making use of the dungeons in the lower level of the manor should his minions come across anyone that needed to be detained. Snape had kept his eyes steadily focused on their master, but did not miss the way Draco swallowed nervously upon hearing the future plans. A flicker of Lucius' eye gave away his discomfiture, but Narcissa was the only one of the Malfoys to remain completely impassive, even after the Dark Lord gave the three a lingering, red-eyed stare.
"I agree. There is no need for the boy's studies to be interrupted," Snape offered tactfully. "Hopefully his some of the others feel the same way; I've handed out more failing marks than I care to remember during the first term alone."
Lucius nodded his head knowingly; he was all too aware of the intellectual capacities belonging to some of the Death Eaters' offspring. Theodore Nott was the only one who managed to excel in his classes without outside influence. Draco, on the other hand, had to be threatened by his father before he took his lessons seriously. Snape had also played a small part in that; just because Draco had been coerced to join the Death Eaters, he saw no reason for him to neglect his education. When the young man made it out of this wretched ordeal, at least he would have his grades and not just his father's fortune to fall back on.
While there was much truth to Snape's words, he only engaged in small talk with Lucius merely to keep him off the figurative ledge. The elder Malfoy was still in disgrace with the Dark Lord, but sometimes behaving as if everything was alright was the only thing that kept one sane; at least, that was what Snape sometimes resorted to telling himself.
"So... what now?"
Snape raised an eyebrow. "Are you referring to Draco?"
"Yes, Severus. As much as it pains me to admit it, but it is obvious that my son wants nothing to do with me. Rightfully so; this entire thing is my fault. If I hadn't failed in the Department of Mysteries, then Draco wouldn't have been forced to join."
"Don't take this the wrong way, but I think you're giving yourself too much credit," Snape reassured. "One way or another, I think Draco would have found himself tangled in this business, even without the debacle at the Ministry. But if it's advice you're looking for—and God knows why you're asking me—the best I can advise is that you give him time."
"Time?"
"Yes, Lucius. Shall I remind you of the time when you were seventeen and your father refused to relent?"
The sudden clenching in Lucius' jaw gave away his anger. Snape did not have to go into details, because the older wizard had never been able to forget. Lucius had still been in his teens when he'd been forced to make his first kill. Up until that point, Lucius had merely been attending the Death Eater meetings and offhandedly listening to stories about Muggles being tortured and killed. When confronted with having to carry out those very actions, Lucius was met with nearly the same conflict his son experienced when being forced to kill Dumbledore. Unfortunately, his father, Abraxas, had been close behind his son as he held his wand out to the terrified Muggle woman, and noticed his apprehension. Abraxas had hissed threateningly into Lucius' ear that if he did not kill the woman, he would do it himself, and that there would be hell to pay later on for him embarrassing his father. In the end, Lucius cast the Killing Curse, mainly because he was scared of facing his father's promised wrath.
Snape, being eleven-years-old at the time, knew nothing of Death Eaters or the like. He didn't know what Lucius was going through, and had only spoken of the incident regarding his first kill when they were both in their twenties. Even then, Lucius had pretended to be unaffected by that event. Snape saw right through his friend's facade, but treated the situation with Lucius' matched air of indifference. Feigning denial or issuing threats would not work on Draco, and Snape wanted his friend to remember that.
"Don't berate him; that is the last thing he needs right now, and I am fully aware of how ironic that notion sounds coming from me. And for fuck's sake—" Snape paused and stepped in closer to his friend, before continuing to speak in a lowered tone as if the walls had ears, "—keep him away from that header Bellatrix. She's doing more harm than good to your son, in case you haven't noticed."
In spite of the six year age difference and their difference in social standing, it was the elegantly dressed Lucius who cowed beneath his younger friend's intense gaze.
"I have noticed," he bristled, his long fingers clutching fervently onto his glass, "as well as Cissy. But you know as well as I do that her sister is stark raving mad. Keeping her away from Draco is almost like trying to keep a rabid dog away from its bone. Get too close and you'll have your fingers bitten off."
"That's a lovely comparison to make about your favourite in-law," Snape pointed out dryly, although his comment was meant to be tongue-in-cheek; he knew Lucius merely tolerated Bellatrix because she was his wife's sister. And tolerate was a kind word to describe the way he dealt with her. "But you're wrong about having your fingers gnawed off; that witch is mad enough to go after your balls with her teeth."
"I could have done without that image," Lucius drawled, shuddering as he finished the last of his firewhisky. "Are you going to take Pettigrew with you?"
"I haven't decided," Snape replied, the distaste at the idea of being around Wormtail obvious on his face. "Too bad you can't keep him on; Wormtail isn't great with windows but there's always the potential entertainment."
It was Lucius' turn to raise an eyebrow as he waited for an explanation.
"Whenever Wormtail began treading on my last nerve, I would Transfigure his shirt to read 'Pride of Gryffindor'. If I was on the verge of offering him a side of hemlock with his dinner, then his shirt read 'Gryffindor Tart'."
Lucius seemed stunned for a moment, but eventually let out a long, rusty-sounding laugh.
"You're so serious most of the time, I often forget about that warped sense of humour you own," he chuckled, wiping his eyes. "Damn, I can't remember the last time I laughed."
"I'm sure it's been a while," Snape replied. "I'll take Wormtail. I doubt very much the Dark Lord would complain if he were to go missing, but seeing as he is his personal lackey and the one to handle less desirable chores, I'm sure there would be some issue if you were to toss the bastard into your dungeons and leave him there to starve. Although, he is a rat and if there is any creature that knows how to fend for itself, it's vermin."
"I see your point," Lucius sniffed, setting down his empty glass on the mantelpiece. "But I won't hold you up any longer. Take care of yourself, old man."
The 'old man' comment was a private joke between the two, as Lucius often said that it seemed as if Severus was the elder. It still did not stop Snape from flinging his travelling cloak around his shoulders, making sure that the edge of it caught Lucius before striding out of his study.

Hermione did not want to remain in bed for another minute; at the same time, part of her wanted to throw the duvet over her head and remain there all weekend.
She awoke disoriented and confused, and it took a few minutes before she realised that she had been crying in her sleep. What made her come to was her inability to breathe from a stuffy nose, and she had groggily forced herself to lean up and reach across her nightstand to pluck a tissue from its box. At first, she thought her tears to be strange, until remembering the cause of her heartache.
A quick glance to the side of her bed showed her house slippers to be exactly where she had left them before turning in for the night. There were no grass stains on them, or any other indication giving that she had gone outside for a late night trip to the garden.
It had all felt so real, yet was naught but a dream. Severus tugging her close and keep them both warm with his travelling cloak...his thin fingers cupping either side of her face while his lips pressed carefully against hers...none of it had actually happened.
While Hermione was partially relieved that it had been a dream, mostly because she remembered the pain when Severus told her that she would never see him again, a larger part of her wished that it had been real, purely so she could see if he was fine—fine as one could be considering that they were on the lam and wanted for murder.
At least Snape's nocturnal visit into her subconscious had some merit; he had been right in telling Hermione that she had other things of more importance to worry about. It was hard to pretend that the entire situation with Snape never happened, but Hermione knew she had to for the sake of her best friend. She had sworn to Harry that she would help him find the final Horcruxes needed to put an end to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Distracting herself with thoughts of Snape and why he killed Dumbledore would get her nowhere.
Unfortunately, worrying incessantly about her parents and their safety was another issue that she had to contend with. Between her Muggle-born status and her friendship with Harry, Hermione knew that she was as good as target as her best friend. Even though her parents had little to do with her involvement in that aspect, it didn't mean that they were exempt from being attacked, or worse, by the Death Eaters. She refused to leave her mum and dad's safety to chance, but the question was, what was she to do?
Even if the Grangers had other family they could stay with, which they didn't, the ability of them being discovered and possibly tortured for information still remained. Auror protection was available, but Hermione did not trust the Ministry as far as she could throw them. The memory of her, Harry and Ron visiting Diagon Alley under the guise of Polyjuice and still being attacked in the book shop, and her nearly kidnapped with Aurors nearby, was unforgettable.
Hermione knew it was up to her to figure something out. She had no idea what she would say to her parents, but outright telling them that they needed to go into hiding lest they were murdered by Dark wizards was not an option. At that point, she understood why parents were overprotective of their children and sometimes lied to them when the truth was harsh. Hermione knew why her mum and dad had been apprehensive at first about letting her go off to some school which they had never heard of, and would never be able to visit. The only reason she had been able to return year after year, in spite of everything that happened, was due to her not telling the entire story. However, if they were learn that one of Hogwarts' professors, her own teacher, had murdered the headmaster, Hermione was certain that her parents would try to move her far away.
Fact remained, she was of age and did not have to go with her parents. Furthermore, she would not up and leave town, as her promise to Harry was a priority. That point unfortunately did not lead her to any answers to solving the issue with her family.
Luckily, her parents weren't due back until the next morning. Hermione felt jumpier than a virgin being shoved into a whorehouse, and knew it showed on her face. Yet she knew that staying in bed while her nerves got the best of her was a one-way ticket on the crazy train. So after a quick shower and a hasty meal of tea and toast, Hermione did what she usually did when she was at a loss for something—she turned to her vast collection of books.
- 44
- 45
- 46
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Unintentional Inveiglement