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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
- 47
- 48
- 49
A/N: A bit of a short but hopefully powerful-ish chapter? More to come soon, promise!
**
Something didn't feel right, yet Hermione continued her way into the musty-smelling house. It was eerily silent; for the first time, she was unable to hear Mrs. Black's portrait going off in its usual tirade. Kreacher might have been lurking nearby, and she prayed that he was off elsewhere.
However, she did not anticipate being shoved against the wall of the unlit, dusty drawing room, with the tip of a wand pressed into her jugular.
**
Judging by the way the wand pressed into her neck, Hermione knew that moving even a fraction of an inch was a bad idea. Either she would be hexed or risk having her voice box plucked out like bones being removed from a fish.
"Are you going to kill me?" she asked in a wavering voice once she remembered how to speak. Hermione held her gaze steadily with the wizard standing before her, trying to mask her fear. Yet the trembling in her knees easily gave her away, as did the shaking hand holding onto her own wand that was aimed at his lower half.
The imposing figure, who looked like the proverbial dark omen, stared down his nose at her. He stood rigidly in place, his chest barely moving and giving the impression that he wasn't breathing. His wand remained firmly embedded in her neck, continuing to feel as if it would poke right through her skin if she tried to move away.
"Who are you?" he asked in a voice so cold it nearly turned her blood to ice.
"H-Hermione Granger," she stammered, her brown eyes unblinkingly focused on piercing black ones that had no warmth. That made the shaking in her knees grow worse. "Should I be asking you the same question?"
The wand at her neck pressed in further.
"Prove it. You could be under the influence of Polyjuice," he breathed menacingly. "Prove. It."
"And you could be Polyjuiced to look like you! How do I know to believe you?" she challenged, scrabbling for and summoning the last bit of bravery in her body.
"I'm warning you now, I have little patience for lengthy interrogations and even less for imposters. I'm not going to tell you again—if you're Hermione Granger, then you'd damn well better give a sign."
"If you were really going to kill me, you'd have done so already," Hermione uttered, feeling her mouth going dry with fear. "But if you're really Professor Snape, then you'll know what you have of mine. Something I gave you that no one else has."
"That tells me nothing."
"A phial of blood. Is that proof enough? Now if you're truly Severus Snape, you give me some proof or I'll hex your balls off!"
Snape 's face showed a mixture of mutiny and weariness. His wand remained at her neck, although its pressure lessened and it no longer pressed so hard into her skin.
"A phial of blood...virgin's blood, to be exact. Shall I go on?"
"Yes."
"I also have what no other man will ever have, that which cannot be returned—your maidenhead," he continued." Is that proof enough for you?"
All the tension in Hermione's body, along with all the blood in her head, seemed to rush out of her at one time. Snape, finally trusting the witch and believing that it was really her, lowered his wand and stepped in close enough that Hermione could feel the short puffs of warm breath coming from his nostrils, yet remained far enough that they weren't touching. Their distance was still close enough for her to breathe in his familiar scent, and it shot straight to Hermione's brain, further clouding her senses.
Hermione was having the hardest time with accepting the fact that Severus Snape, pariah of the Order and mostly everyone at Hogwarts; the man responsible for Dumbledore's death, as well as George Weasley's missing ear, was now standing before her. It was obvious that life had not been treating him kindly: Snape looked like hell personified. Despite them both standing in the shadows, Hermione could see that his sallow face was completely devoid of any colour that might have been otherwise present. There was a possibly that his already rail thin form had dropped weight, most likely due to high stress levels. Skin stretched tightly over razor-sharp cheekbones, and black, bloodshot eyes bore into hers from beneath heavily-hooded purplish lids.
She had seen the professor looking haggard before, but nothing could have prepared her for his current soul-shocking appearance. Yes, he needed a shave, as uneven patches of dark stubble covered his face, and his hair was stringier than usual, and it looked as if he'd slept in his suit and travelling cloak. However, it was Snape's mannerisms that sent her heart galloping in sheer terror.
He was standing completely still, yet seemed twitchy and off balance, much like a person who was being threatened and feared for their life, and was on the verge of doing something drastic because they'd reached the end of their tether. At the same time, Snape looked completely exhausted, like he had been awake for the past week without once closing his eyes. There was an expression of bewilderment on his face, as if he was unsure if Hermione was a real person, or perhaps some illusion his overworked brain had conjured.
Hermione knew she should be scared. She had no way of knowing what Snape was thinking or feeling, and it was clear that he had been backed into a corner, as she could practically sniff out the cloud of desperation that surrounded him. Was he going to hurt her, or worse? Would he torture her and demand information?
She really didn't know.
At the same time, Snape's scent was hauntingly familiar and strangely comforting, and it twisted her heart as well as her brain. Fear, panic, lust, confusion; it all swirled into one big conglomeration that befogged her mind and literally choked her senses to the point where she was unable to breathe properly for several seconds. A strong wave of dizziness washed over her, and Hermione saw spots dancing before her eyes, unaware that she was beginning to sway unsteadily on her feet.
No...this isn't right...can't drop my wand...he might still try to hurt me...
While her brain continued screaming at her to hold onto her wand, that she would be an idiot to let her guard down, perhaps because Snape had drilled time after time into her subconscious that she should trust no one, not even him, and to protect herself even when she thought everything was fine, her heart spoke of something that was completely contrary, and the internal conflict was enough to send her into a tizzy. The floor suddenly felt as if it had been completely swept away from beneath her. She desperately wanted to reach out and grab onto the closest thing to keep from falling on her face, but was too scared to move as Snape's black eyes still had her pinned to the wall. The strenuous situation and the intensity of his stare only further addled her wits, and just as her world tipped on its axis and made everything around her go fuzzy, a pair of sturdy arms caught her when her legs finally turned to jelly.
"I've got you," she dimly registered Snape murmuring into her ear. "I swear, I'm not going to hurt you."
Hot tears stung her eyes; whatever she was holding onto was most likely going to break from her death grip, but Hermione knew if she were to let go that she would keep falling, like Alice toppling down the rabbit hole. The notion wasn't all that farfetched; Hermione felt as if she had been momentarily thrust into some alternate world and was finding it difficult to adjust. Slowly she became aware that Snape had lowered her to the floor of the drawing room, leaving them both in an awkward heap. His wand as well as hers was in his hand, while the other smoothed back the curls that were hanging in her face.
Snape had gone sick with horror when he saw the expression on Hermione's face when he'd surprised her by sneaking up behind her and shoving her against the wall. The terror she displayed had been clear as day, even as she tried to put up a brave front. That she thought he would actually harm one bushy curl on her head, never mind her questioning if he was going to kill her, it nearly tore his heart into shreds. Hermione Granger was sensible for the most part; only sometimes did he think that her sense of fear needed to be refreshed, but watching the blood drain from her face as she believed to be seconds away from death by his hand...it was too much and Snape knew that he would never rid his mind's eye of her visible horror.
Unsure of how stable Hermione's mind now was, Snape made sure to tread lightly so as not to frighten her again. The witch still seemed out of it. The room was so quiet he could nearly hear her pounding heart, and she was shaking like a leaf in his arms. Hermione's little fingers arbitrarily clutched at him as if she were still in danger of falling, and they managed to dig deep enough through his travelling cloak and frock coat to cause pain. Perhaps she was still scared witless of him, yet for some reason, continued clinging to him as if he was also her lifeline and only source of comfort.
"Do you really believe that I would kill you?" Snape asked after what felt like an eternity, silently praying that he would hear an answer that was just the opposite of what he believed Hermione was going to say.
"No," she answered in a small, trembling voice. "I wasn't sure at first, but deep down I knew you wouldn't."
Hermione felt Snape's lips brush against her temple. The backs of his fingers ran over her cheek, and his thumb and forefinger cupped her chin. The more he caressed her, the steadier her breathing became.
"Sometimes," Hermione continued wearily, "I wish that I had never been told I was a witch. Sometimes I feel like giving up, and I want to just forget about everything. Is that selfish of me?"
"No," Snape answered honestly. "I cannot tell you how many times that very thought, and then some, has run through my mind."
Hermione exhaled shakily. "It doesn't matter, though. Me forgetting won't change anything, and besides, I don't want to think about if I had never met you."
"Interesting. I just knew you were going to say that you regretted the day I walked into your life."
Hermione rested her forehead against Snape's chest and as she toyed with the clasp on his travelling robes. His comment made her pause and she looked up, displaying an expression of fright and defiance.
"Are you ever going to stop with the self-loathing?"
Snape scoffed.
"I can't say that I hate myself, but I honestly cannot admit to liking myself much, either."
When Hermione's face twisted into a grimace, as if she were seconds away from screaming or crying, Snape grasped onto both her wrists and pushed her back before giving her a slight shake.
"Hermione," he began firmly, his dark gaze enough to bring her to heel, "somewhere in that busy brain of yours, I am certain that you know this is most likely not going to end well. There was a time where I'd fallen completely beneath the notice of society. At the time I hated it, but right now, I'd give my last to have it back. Unfortunately, being known as a murderer and traitor is frowned upon in most circles, and that is putting it mildly. A happy ending for us all would be preferable, but even if I do come out of this alive, I'll be thrown into Azkaban before you can blink. And that's if I'm not outright killed by some over-zealous nutcase."
"What do you mean, this is most likely not going to end well?" Hermione snapped, trying to break out of his clutches to step forward. "Do you think you're going to die? Why do you think that?"
When Snape was reluctant to answer, even as he continued staring down at her with watery, red-rimmed eyes, Hermione felt the last vestiges of her sanity breaking apart.
"You can't die!" she yelped, wrenching one hand loose and smacking him on the chest. "You just can't— you promised me!"
Snape stood in place and did nothing to stop Hermione's abuse to his person. He hadn't anticipated on seeing her in the first place, but figured it was in her best interest to let her get out whatever she'd been holding onto.
"Am I going to lose everyone in my life?" Hermione continued to rant tearfully, sounding half-deranged. "Classmates...Mad-Eye Moody, who I was never that fond of but still, I didn't want to see him dead...my parents...they might as well be dead if we lose...even my cat! Do you mean to tell me that I'm going to lose you next?!"
Snape might as well have been dead for the way Hermione carried on. His comment had been enough to make her picture the worse scenario possible, and even though he was standing right in front of her, she remained feeling bereft and completely hopeless, just like she'd had in the dream when Snape left her.
Her name was uttered in a hoarse whisper, and a second later, Hermione found herself wrapped in Snape's secure embrace, hugging her tightly as if he was planning on never letting go. Her nose was flush with the space where his travelling cloak separated, and she nearly choked on the scent embedded into the fibres of his frock coat. To this day Hermione could still never place Severus' scent to one thing; his essence tended to range from the smoky leftovers of part-time brewing, bitter coffee, mustiness that was only revealed when the pages of an old book were exposed to the air, or merely the no frills, plain bar soap that he showered with in the morning. Snape's aroma was nothing spectacular, nothing that would titillate someone whose nose veered to more sophisticated fragrances, but to Hermione, it was the very thing that she had been missing and craving, now the only thing that calmed some corner of her mind even as it simultaneously sent the rest of her into another panic.
Snape's arm was steady around her waist, even as his hand trembled. The fact that Hermione was so distraught over the possible event of his death—never once taking into account that it might happen to her, the thought of which he refused to entertain—left him shocked to the bones. She clung to him fervently like a kitten that had nearly drowned and was now resting in the arms of its saviour. She was mumbling something into his clothing, and he had to guide her head back so her words could be understood.
"Make me forget," Hermione begged as one fat tear slid from her eye and slowly made its way down her cheek. "Even if it's just for a little bit, make me forget everything. I don't want to think about this sodding war or...You-Know-Who, or anything."
"Hermione..."
"Please! I swear, I'll never ask you for anything else," she beseeched piteously, grabbing onto Snape's cloak and wringing the material in a way that it almost threw him off-kilter.
"That's a lie and you know it," he murmured, covering her hands with his and uncurling her fingers from his lapels.
Hermione managed a watery smile through her anguish and tilted her face up, pressing a soft kiss to the underside of Snape's jaw. A warmer, more open-mouthed kiss followed the initial one, and she knelt upright, pressing the front of her body against his. The way that Hermione wanted to forget was clear as she melted into Snape, kissing and touching him tentatively at first, until her caresses became clumsy and rushed.
Making a mental note to tell the little witch that he was livid with her for disregarding everything he'd ever advised, namely right now the fact that she'd snuck to Grimmauld Place, going into the house blindly and leaving herself susceptible to attack, Snape found that he preferred to use the time for more pleasurable pursuits. He wouldn't admit it, but he knew that this was likely to be their last time together. Therefore, he preferred a lasting, bittersweet memory, if it was to be the last good thing in his life that he would be able to dwell upon when bleaker times were nigh.
The girl seem intent upon climbing him like a tree. Her arms were slung around his neck, their grasp tightening with her every move. From the moment Snape caught a whiff of Hermione's familiar scent, he knew it would be mere seconds before his self control was completely obliterated. Clean sweat, mingled with a trace of floral shampoo, as well as a hint of minty toothpaste that she most likely used to clean her teeth after her last meal, taunted his sensitive nose. Fucking hell, that damned toothpaste even tasted good as Hermione lightly swept the tip of her tongue inside his mouth. The offspring of two dentists, Snape noticed from the off that the girl was almost fanatical about cleaning her teeth whenever she had something more substantial than water. A tube of it had been left amongst his personal belongings and he treasured it fiercely. Yes, he'd felt like a heel for having formed an attachment to something meant for everyday hygiene, but it had been an innocuous reminder of a not so hopeless sliver of happiness that literally jammed itself into the darkened circle of his life. Ever since finding Hermione's toothpaste that had been left behind, he used it every day, going so far as to cut the plastic open with a straight razor when there was too little left to be squeezed out.
Now he had the ability to literally drink in Hermione's taste, her scent, and damned if he was going to let go.
The little chit; he'd tried his hardest to push her away. He did his best to intimidate her. Yet Hermione's mettle did nothing short of amazing him once more; few people had been able to stare Severus Snape in the eye while he pressed a wand to their neck. Hermione's gaze never faltered once, even if the rest of her body trembled in fear.
You are truly...utterly, and thoroughly fucked, old man, Snape told himself disgustedly, allowing the witch that he still sometimes looked upon as a mere cub, to break down his final defences.
While Hermione's forearms were in danger of snapping his neck if their grasp drew any tighter, Snape's hands were threatening to leave bruises behind on her waist. His arousal asserted itself, heavy and throbbing as it rubbed against the confines of his trousers, while pushing into Hermione's abdomen.
Something besides the usual reasons seemed to be fuelling Hermione's passion; she clung to Snape as if he might disappear, her words a susurration of pleas and whimpers against his ear, incongruous to the firm grip of her hands.
"Severus, please..." she pleaded, moving her mouth back to his. "I want—"
Her words were cut off when Snape planted his thin lips full against hers, kissing her in a way that had he come across two students doing the same thing, would have been cause for him to recommend their expulsion.
It didn't matter than they were half-kneeling, half-reclining on the dirty floor of the drawing room of the home to the Order. The ornery house-elf that was attached to Number 12 Grimmauld Place could come skulking in at any minute. Yet none of this was enough to make the fervently kissing couple relinquish their hold on one another.
Hermione was all but shoved to her back as Severus cast their wands to the side before yanking off her trainers, jeans and knickers. She did the honours of removing her bra and jumper, before sitting back up to hurriedly unfastened his trousers. Severus remained fully clothed save for his bared erection.
The witch barely had time to mentally plan out her next movement when she was completely engulfed by her wizard, his lips mashed into hers as his weight pressed her back into the carpet. This was by no means a slow, careful seduction, or even a slightly rigorous tussle that they sometimes engaged in. No, their caresses were desperate to the borderline of clumsy. The animalistic sounds from Severus alone made Hermione's centre throb, and his crude touches left her burning.
Severus' mouth never left hers as one of his long fingers were unceremoniously shoved to the knuckle inside her body. That caused a scream to bubble in her chest, one that melded into a deep grunt when a second finger joined the first. Hermione strained against her own skin, and just when it seemed as if she were going to be burnt alive, the digits were withdrawn from her clenching core. She cried out from their loss, but Severus said nothing.
His breathing was heavy as he grabbed Hermione round the waist and pulled her against him to straddle his thighs. Her knees positioned on either side of him, arms around his neck while she held on for dear life. Briefly Severus moved a hand between them, prodding her again but this time using his fingertips. When he ascertained that she was ready for him, his cock replaced his fingers.
Hermione was filled to the hilt so suddenly that it knocked the wind from her lungs. Before she could adjust to the invasion, Severus had pulled back and swiftly thrust in again, and the fierce onset of aching pleasure made her limbs clench. She needed more; needed to feel him buried with her far as he could go. Spreading her knees further, giving brief notice to the carpet scraping her skin, Hermione surged gracelessly against Severus' lap, doing all she could to keep him from slipping out.
Severus' breath was hot and heavy against her cheek as his hips jerked up to meet hers, delivering another solid thrust that rattled loose a broken-sounding cry from the back of Hermione's throat. She wasn't the only one have a hard time with keeping her exaltation to a minimum; Severus had to bury his face into the side of her neck, just to keep from shouting. The pleasure shooting throughout his body was so intense that it nearly hurt, but the only thing he could do was hold onto the whimpering, trembling witch as she awkwardly roved against him.
It wasn't enough that he was buried balls-deep within Hermione; he could crawl inside her body and it still wouldn't have been enough. Fingers groped onto soft, feminine curves as Severus braced himself to plunge harder. More hoarse moans tripped from Hermione's throat as her head fell back. She was nearly lifted up with every snap of Severus' hips against hers, and she was easily sent over the edge in a frenzy of gasping and clutching onto the man responsible for her sorrow and her bliss.
Tears streamed from beneath Hermione's tightly closed eyes. She collapsed against her lover, still shivering even as the waves from her climax abated. Desperate little mewls were lost to the black wool that covered his shoulders, and Severus halted his movements long enough to dry Hermione's face with his thumb before capturing her gaped open mouth in a deep, penetrating kiss.
Even though Severus had wiped her tears away, more continued to fall down her cheeks and wetted his skin. Hermione tried to tell him to keep going, but the words refused to come. However, a weak rocking of her hips against his were enough to convey her wishes, and two strong hands clutched onto her shoulders, pulling her down to meet another slamming thrust. The sensation from his heated possession of her body made her head spin and legs quiver. Another thrust came, followed by another, and Hermione swiftly reached a second merciless orgasm that seized her body and mind completely.
A string of sibilant swear words was just one of the things to escape from Severus' mouth as the fluttering walls around his cock gripped and squeezed, milking him for all he was worth. He continue fucking the young woman like a crazed man, long after his shaft had stopped pulsating. Body weakened, heart and soul feeling raw and exposed, Severus clutched Hermione's sweat-dampened form to his, panting into her neck.
Surely there were things to be discussed and questions to be asked. But only after finding a bed; the floor was cold, not to mention damnably hard beneath his knees and Severus knew his fair skin would be sporting bruises for days. Yet a quick glimpse down at the witch who had grown boneless and lethargic in his arms, made him know that talking about anything would not take place for some time.
- 47
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- 49
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Unintentional Inveiglement