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
- 4
- 5
- 6
A/N: You know, I've heard that reviews make the pen move faster, or something like that...wow, they weren't lying!! So here's another update two days later because you all are AMAZING, and you fed my Muse! Thank you so much!!

Why didn't he want to kiss me?

Why did I want to kiss him?

Was I REALLY going to kiss Snape?

Hermione had read books that clearly explained the five stages of grief, but somehow she wondered if Kübler-Ross had somehow skipped out on the five stages of disbelief, because that was what she was clearly stuck in.

She knew better than to protest when Snape told her to go back to her room. It hadn't made a difference; there was no way she would be able to sleep. She had been thrown for an orbital-sized loop when she moved to rest against him, the loop expanding to infinity when he let her remain there.

She hadn't planned on kissing him but when their lips were merely inches apart it only seemed right, on her part at least, because Snape pulled away from her as if a current had been sent through his body.

Had it been anyone else, Hermione suspected that they would have let her kiss them. But Snape wasn't like anyone else, and on the scale of men and their proclivities, she had nothing to compare him to, as the dark wizard seemed to be in a class of his own.

Although...her eyes had noticed the slight tent in his trousers, and it definitely hadn't been his wand...at least not the one that came from Ollivander's. The idea that she'd managed to arouse the wizard daunted yet pleased her, at the same time leaving a prickly, unfulfilled ache between her legs.

Hermione wanted to touch him more but was sure if had attempted to do so, she would have gotten shoved to the floor at the same time being cut to the core by some nasty remark. But Snape didn't look surly in the least bit when she was next to him; he actually had a funny look in his eyes that Hermione was unable to decipher. She, however, did get the distinct impression that he wanted to do more than he was letting onto.

Hermione had definitely thought about doing more than just sitting on Snape's lap, and now knew that it was because of more than just her blossoming curiosity. If she thought that his breath on her neck was good, the feel of actually being pressed against him was even better. Snape didn't have the brawny build of a Quidditch player, but she knew that the man was strong, remembering the way he easily plucked her off the floor in the hallway.

What was he inclined to do? Hermione came up short to her self-imposed musing. For a moment it seemed like he wanted to touch her, and then the flame of opportunity had been doused with the waters of uncertainty. All of which left her with a headache and damp knickers.

"You know, Harry, if it weren't for you and that class, we'd have been in trouble," Ron was saying to Harry, one foot up on the kitchen table as he rocked back in his chair, balancing on the two back legs. "You have to admit, most of our Defence Against the Dark Arts professors were as useless as tits on a bull."

Harry immediately sniggered at the crass comment, and Hermione cut in with a "Charming, Ronald," while shaking her head at him.

It was after supper, and the three were lingering about at the long wooden table at the center of the cavernous kitchen in the basement. There was a low burning fire in the fireplace across the room, and a kettle was being heated up for cocoa. Somehow they'd gotten on the subject of each professor that taught Defence Against the Dark Arts, and it was a unanimous decision that thus far Lupin was their favourite.

"Yeah, but remember when Hermione fancied Lockhart?" Ron brought up, making Harry laugh again and Hermione cringe.

"Oh...that idiot!" she blurted out. "The only thing that man was good for was combing his hair and giving out autographs. He knew bugger-all about the Dark Arts; it's a wonder no one got killed."

"Yeah, and can you believe he tried to Obliviate us?" Harry added with disbelief.

"And we know how that turned out!" Ron chortled. "Oi, look everyone, I'm Fancypants Gilderoy pouf Lockhart, and I don't know who I am. I've forgotten how to comb my perfect hair, might you be able to help me?"

"Ron!" Hermione giggled, unable to keep a straight face. "That isn't nice!"

"A damn... I do not give!" he continued in a mock, pompous voice.

"Ugh, and not to mention those hideous lavender robes!" Harry shuddered. "He reminded me of Uncle Vernon's sister, Aunt Marge, well, the clothes at least. Aunt Marge had more facial hair than Lockhart. Come to think of it, she has more facial hair than you, me, and Lockhart put together. I was tempted to ask if she needed to borrow my blade to get those whiskers off, but she'd have set her ugly arsed, sour breathed dog on me."

Ron nearly toppled out of his chair from laughing so hard, and the front raised legs fell back to the floor with a loud thwack. Hermione was red-faced and gasping for air, weakly clinging to the edge of the table with one hand. Harry was chuckling at his own antics, feeling very much in rare form but enjoying it nonetheless. Ron grasped the edge of the wooden table, precariously pushing back to balance on the hind chair legs again, right as a wide grin spread across his face.

"No!" he exclaimed, the chair dropping again and clattering loudly. "You know I can't stand the git, but remember when Snape knocked Lockhart off his arse? Damn, I didn't see that one coming!" Ron guffawed.

"Lockhart was an idiot," Harry snickered. "Snape looked like the devil himself that day; there's no way in hell I wanted to be on the end of his wand. I had half a mind to yell, 'run, Lockhart, run!' but you couldn't tell the man anything. And now that everything came to pass, I say good for him."

"You two," Hermione sighed, rolling her eyes and walking over to the now boiled kettle. She had volunteered to make their hot cocoa, purely because the last time Ron made it for them all, he used so much sugar that it made Hermione's teeth chatter, and being the daughter of two dentists she was sure they were going to rot away into little stumps on the spot, leaving her to mash every meal into a pulp before eating for the rest of her life. Ron had complained that Hermione didn't use enough sugar when she made the cocoa, but Harry sided with Hermione, and the two made their own before generously pushing the bag of sugar over in Ron's direction.

"Would you like some chocolate with your sugar?" Harry was now asking the redhead, who had added so much to his mug he was surprised the spoon wasn't standing straight up like a flagpole in the middle of the thick, dark liquid.

"You and Hermione like that watery stuff," Ron replied dismissively as he stirred his cocoa, made a face, added more sugar, stirred again, tasted it, and finally set down the spoon.

"You aren't going to have any teeth by the time school begins," Hermione said disapprovingly.

"Wizard!" he said as if she should know better. "If they break or fall out, I'll just have Mum regrow some for me. Or Madam Pomfrey."

"Or your mate, Lockhart," Harry cheerfully added.

"Oi! Come off it, Harry!" Ron laughed. "Anyway, you mean Hermione's mate, remember that card he sent her and she kept it under her pillow? What did it say again, Hermione? Pretty Boy Gilderoy Lockhart, Order of Merlin, Third Class, Honorary Member of Wizards that do bugger-all League and take all the credit?"

"Shut up, Ronald!" Hermione screamed, nearly snorting cocoa up her nose and almost dropping her mug. "I'm going to ask Snape to give me lessons in knocking you over like he did to Lockhart if you keep bothering me."

"You already knocked Ron over, remember?" Harry grinned, referring back to their Dumbledore's Army meetings.

Hermione turned back to Ron, grinning brightly at the memory. "Yes, I did knock you over, didn't I?" she cheekily replied, enjoying the way Ron scowled into his mug of muddy looking sugar.

"Hmm, anyway, you never know," Ron continued. "Maybe I was having an off day. Just like Lockhart could have been having an off day when Snape disarmed him. Maybe Snape just got lucky."

Precisely at that moment, the kitchen door banged open and said rarely seen wizard smoothly swept inside, his black eyes glittering as he appraised the three shell-shocked teenagers at the battered wooden table, staring at him as if he was a ghost that had materialised from the ashes in the fireplace. Snape never left his room; in fact, the only one that could truly account for his presence was Hermione, and that was only because she'd been taking his meals to him. The boys hadn't known about her late night walks to Snape's room, and she aimed to keep them ignorant.

"By all means, don't let me interrupt the festivities," he drawled in an oily voice, walking over to the kettle and holding a hand near it to see if it was hot. "It wouldn't do for those delicate minds to have to put forth the arduous efforts of breaking away from a no doubt singularly fixated train of thought."

Ron had nearly yelped when Snape stalked into the kitchen. At the last minute he'd managed to close his mouth, yet his mug had been tilted at a dangerous angle in his hands, and when he jumped from fright, he spilled most of his cocoa onto the table, leaving a large, murky puddle in front of him.

"Ronald!" Hermione shouted, she and Harry both jumping up as the liquid began trailing towards them. Harry found a tea towel and hastily wiped up the spill, while Hermione shifted their mugs and wands to a dry end of the table.

"Oh dear, Mr Weasley," Snape chided, his voice almost a whisper with his back to them as he snidely addressed the redhead wizard. "A bit jumpy, are we?"

Harry's arm paused from mopping up Ron's spill, his green eyes widened behind his glasses as he curiously looked over at Snape's black frock coat covered back, the tall wizard going through the motions of preparing his own cup of tea. Ron had scampered around the table and was standing next to Hermione, both of them also frozen solid by Snape's presence alone.

Curtains of slick black hair flipped around Snape's gaunt, sallow face as he turned to face the three, his lips turned up into his trademark sneer. Standing rigidly in place as if a metal rod had been shoved down the back of his coat, Snape's black eyes immediately slid down to Harry, who was still hovered over the kitchen table. "Well, well, look at that, you even have the Chosen One cleaning up after you. Isn't that grand?"

Don't say anything, please don't say anything, Hermione was mentally willing her best friends. Hermione knew, as she was sure Ron and Harry did as well, that Snape was purposely baiting them. It was as if he could take points from Gryffindor as they weren't at Hogwarts, but from past experiences with the trenchant wizard, it was no secret that he enjoyed being the one to make others writhe with discomfort.

"Pity, Weasley, you've wasted your cocoa," Snape continued in a pseudo syrupy tone. "The only polite thing to do is offer you a refill." With that Snape set down his own mug on the table, the ceramic tapping loudly against the wood. Reaching across the table with one long arm, he plucked the empty mug from in front of the two close-mouthed teens, his dark eyes trained on Ron's the entire time. Whipping around to the counter, Snape picked up the pot that Hermione had made the hot chocolate in and swiftly refilled the mug, carried it back over to the table and set it down in front of the nervous wizard.

"Do try and be a bit more careful this time; we don't want Potter on his knees anymore than he needs to be."

Collecting his own mug, Snape turned sharply on his heel and glided out of the kitchen.

"Did you see that?! He's trying to poison me, he is!" Ron yelled soon as Snape's oily head disappeared out of view, shoving the mug of cocoa away from him as if it were a ticking time bomb. "I'm not drinking that!"

"Oh, you are so dramatic!" Hermione griped, immediately grabbing the sliding mug to keep it from crashing to the floor. More cocoa sloshed over the sides and Harry had to toss her the tea towel to wipe it and her fingers. "Snape wouldn't poison us."

"Like hell he wouldn't!" Ron continued, refusing to be placated. "He was going to poison Neville's toad, remember? And that antidote! How do you know he wouldn't do the same to us?"

Harry looked as if he didn't know whether to be angry at Snape's obvious taunts, or amused at Ron's petulance. Hermione, on the other hand, was pretty sure that Snape had a taste for tea, but an even bigger taste for hectoring with his own brand of sadistic mischief. He could have easily summoned Ron's mug over to him by use of magic...well, perhaps not. The man did abhor foolish wand-waving as he so put it, but the gleam in his onyx eyes clearly stated if only to Hermione that he enjoyed the way Ron recoiled when he rounded on him.

Ron was still carrying on with his bluster, to the point that Hermione was happy they were in the basement, else Mrs Black's portrait would have surely gone berserk at the noise.

"Ron, do shut up!" Hermione interrupted, picking up the mug that Snape had refilled and bringing it to her lips. Harry and Ron both looked at her as if she willingly drinking something vile instead of the innocuous cocoa, and Hermione wondered if Harry also believed that Snape had put something into the cup. "I'll prove it to you," she continued, draining half the now lukewarm cocoa, setting the mug down on the table and wiping her lips.

Ron and Harry continued to look at her as if she had just eaten Dragon dung, their eyes shifting to the mug that she just placed down.

"See? No poison," Hermione announced before covering her mouth to cough. When the coughing continued, she held onto the back of a chair, clamping one hand over her lips, fighting to catch her breath. When it hadn't ceased after a few minutes, Ron looked utterly panicked, especially after Hermione half collapsed to the floor, clutching and grabbing at her throat.

"I TOLD YOU!!!" He roared, sprinting over to his friend in a stir of panic. "Harry, what are we gonna-!"

Hermione had been weakly hanging onto Ron's hands, her brown eyes panicked and bulging when she was no longer able to go on with the charades, and laughter erupted from her chest and filled the kitchen.

"Oi, you lunatic! That wasn't funny!" Ron exploded, letting go of Hermione and watching as she continued to cling to the kitchen floor, tears leaking from her eyes. Harry was no better, and had to take off his glasses to wipe away the moisture from his face.

"You are so gullible!" Harry guffawed, clapping Ron on his shoulder.

"You two can both piss off!" Ron spat, snatching his wand up and making way for the kitchen door. "And if Snape really poisons you two, then I'll make sure Kreacher finds a nice place to bury your bodies." He then barreled through the swinging kitchen door, making loud, angry footsteps all the way out.

"Don't you wake up that portrait!" Hermione screamed behind him, leaning weakly onto her side.

"Hermione, you know that was wrong," Harry continued to laugh, offering a hand out to her.

"So what!" she gasped, accepting the outstretched hand and letting Harry pull her up. "Snape has his ways but come on, he wouldn't poison us, for Merlin's sake! Ron needs to have his head checked out."

"So do you for that stunt! For a second I thought 'oh shit! Hermione's the only one that knows what to do! Now what?'"

"Honestly," Hermione rolled her eyes. "A bezoar, if you must know, and that's if there are any even lying around. Now let's get out of here."

Hermione and Harry cleared away the kitchen, machine gun fits of laughter bursting out in between as they kept thinking of Hermione's prank. Little did they know, prior to Ron leaving the kitchen, there had been another wizard listening in who heard the entire thing, and found himself laughing harder than he could ever remember doing.

Hermione sat in the bathtub, reflecting back to the silliness of the evening. She didn't know why Ron had been adamant about bringing up Mr Fop himself, Gilderoy Lockhart, as Hermione was a bit embarrassed by that schoolgirl crush, especially considering that he turned out to be no more than an errant fraud.

Still...the sight of him being knocked on his backside by Snape had been pretty funny, although she was more focused on the pretty boy wizard at the time. She and her classmates had all gotten bruised up that day, from what was supposed to be a simple duelling demonstration quickly escalating into mayhem.

Hermione had never given it much thought, but Snape cut an impressive pillar of skill that day, easily disarming Lockhart and most likely using more power than was needed. She suspected that he enjoyed the sight of the shiny, perpetually grinning pouf being knocked on his arse. Greasy hair, crooked teeth, flapping black robes and all, Snape looked forbidding as Mephistopheles yet profound in his own unconventional way.

Laughing for the umpteenth time, Hermione knew that she could never admit to finding humor in the way Ron had scrambled away from Snape in the kitchen. Ron would never forgive her, and Harry would think she'd lost her mind. Perhaps it was the late night visits to his room that did it, but Hermione didn't find Snape as scary as she had previously. Of course, the man still made her nervous to no end, whenever he came within five feet of her a barrage of butterflies flitted about in her stomach. But afraid was something she was not.

So are you going to admit it before you give yourself a headache? You definitely fancy Snape. You're attracted to him.

Shut up.

Better watch out, Granger. First sign that you're going round the twist isn't when you talk to yourself, but when you start responding to yourself.

Leave me alone.

Fine. When you learn that denial isn't only a river in Egypt, I'll be right here waiting for you, right next to your hypothalamus, you know, that little knob up here that controls sexual impulses, the very reason you had to change your soaked knickers before going to bed last night.

What are you, a bloody anatomy text book? Leave me alone!

When Hermione finally put her self-afflicted inner torment to the side, she got out of the tub, distractedly drying off with a towel and changing her pyjamas, the same soft cotton bottoms and oversized shirt she'd worn the other night.

Hermione was all of a dither as she aimlessly wandered about her bedroom, feeling completely distracted. She kept thinking back to the night before, and why Snape had forced her to leave. In between her less than innocuous thoughts, she kept remembering the way he took the piss at Ron, and she was snorting into her arm.

Oh, go and see him. You know you want to.

Didn't I tell you to leave me alone?

Snape indeed had been amused by the little display of that evening. He had a hankering for a cup of strongly brewed tea, and surmised that he could have sent for the house-elf, but he detested the surly creature and besides, Snape preferred to collect his own food and drink. Outside of the house-elves at Hogwarts, Hermione had been the only one that he accepted food from ever since he could remember.

Weasley had gone pale when he walked up on him, and Snape gloated on the inside, thoroughly enjoying the anxiety on the boy's face. He didn't give a damn, and it wasn't as if he was going to actually hurt him; Snape was merely having a bit of fun. An outsider would have questioned what he considered fun fun, but it proved amusing nonetheless. To top it off, he'd stayed outside of the kitchen and heard Potter and Weasley losing their simple, little minds when Hermione drank the cup of cocoa he poured.

Snape couldn't believe that Weasley truly thought that he was capable of poisoning someone, but then again, people almost always thought the worst of him. Not that he actually blamed them. And if Snape was being honest, he was thinking about doing things that were just as questionable if not pleasurable to the bushy haired, female member of the trio.

Still vying to meet your horned maker, eh, old boy?

Just when Snape chastised himself for thinking about the damned girl again, he heard the softest of footsteps on the steps outside of his room, following by a light canter and then a pause. Snape had been reclining on his bed, clad in shirtsleeves and trousers, reading a book by candlelight when he heard the noise. Huffing in annoyance, he placed the book on his nightstand and stealthily walked over to the door, yanking it open to find the short, curly-haired Gryffindor on the other side, twirling her wand nervously in her hand and chewing on her bottom lip.

"Granger," he drawled, predatorily rounding on her, "I'm beginning to believe that you've come to find out what it is you want with me, as you keep popping up at my door in the thick of night."

"Perhaps," she lightly answered, pushing past Snape and boldly walking into his bedroom. Hermione moved to the sofa and curled up, her wide, brown eyes taking in the sparsely placed lit candles on her side of the room. "Was I interrupting you?"

"You always interrupt me," Snape retorted, shutting and locking the door and walking over to her. "But don't pretend as if you mind now, you and I both know that's rubbish. Hermione Granger is going to do what she wants."

Hermione gave a bashful grin, still nervously rolling her wand around between both hands. When Snape got tired of her fidgeting, a blur of long fingers snatched the length of wood out of her grasp, placing it down on the bed next to his.

"Circe's sake, girl, can't you keep still for one minute?" he snarled, his eyes now moving to her bobbing foot. "Why do you insist on wearing those ugly things?" Snape then asked, sneering at the pink fluffy carpet slippers that were attached to the bottom of Hermione's legs, for all the world looking like regurgitated lumps of candy floss.

"Oh, well...they're warm," she mused, looking down at the slippers. "They were a birthday gift from my cousin."

And is she a blind spinster? was on the tip of Snape's tongue, but he relented. "Well, they're hideous, but I expect you're already aware."

"I don't wear them to make a fashion statement!" Hermione laughed. "And besides, who am I to get tarted up for, Kreacher? He's called me more names that I can even fathom ever since I started coming here. Sad that I get most of my attention from a grumpy house-elf."

Hermione was well aware that she was rambling, but she wasn't prepared for Snape to reach one cool hand out, letting it linger along her throat before his long index finger insinuated itself against her lips.

"Miss Granger...do shut up," he told her in a silky whisper, resituating his hand against her face and letting his thumb graze the cupid's bow of her mouth. "I told you, I prefer silence in my room."

Brought up short, Hermione was about to press her lips together until Snape caught the bottom one between his thumb and forefinger, his dark eyes trained on the dimpled pink flesh as he gently squeezed and let it retract.

Snape could never remember a time where he noticed Hermione bothering to paint her face the way many of her peers preferred. He thought cosmetics a bit ridiculous, especially when overdone, and there had been many times he'd sent many of the young women in Slytherin House to scrub their faces clean. If he was being honest, some of them gave the whores that skulked about Knockturn Alley a run for the Galleons they piled the makeup on so thickly. It wasn't as if he'd personally given a damn, but he was sure their mothers wouldn't let them get away with it at home, and he had no intention of letting them do so at school.

Hermione didn't seem to own makeup, much less a comb, but Snape figured that her curls had a mind of its own, as they often stood out and away from her head in every which way direction. His hair was similar yet just the opposite; its texture making it flat and lank against his scalp no matter what he did. Of course, teaching Potions class day in and day out with simmering cauldrons in an enclosed space didn't help its appearance.

The messy haired witch was now eyeing him, most likely curious as to why he was touching her lips. There had been a multitude of occasions that he wanted to seal those lips shut for calling out in class, whether she was called upon or not. Snape knew the girl was brilliant; there was never any doubt about that. Fact remained that other students needed to have a chance to get a word in edgeways, less parents send owls questioning as to why their precious sons and daughters received less than stellar grades.

Now, he was picturing those soft, pink lips doing other things besides reciting things verbatim from the pages of a textbook.

It was apparent that Hermione had ideas of her own, as she suddenly leaned forward, balancing herself with one hand on Snape's chest and pressing her lips to the side of his neck. Snape had been shocked when Hermione moved against him like so the other day, now he welcomed the feel of her obviously unskilled nevertheless tempting lips searching out his flesh.

Hermione straddled Snape again to keep balanced, her body hovering over his as she continued placing butterfly kisses along his collarbone. Snape loosely held onto her hips, his head tilted back on the sofa cushions, exposing a strong jaw line when Hermione's kiss delved up. He hadn't meant to flinch at the contact, but did, and Hermione looked at him from her peripheral, although her lips remained at a safe distance away from his mouth.

Hermione had started out make sure to leave a bit of space between her and Snape, but the further she became enthralled the more her self-consciousness began to slip, and soon her front was firmly pressed against his chest, her hips rocking into his each time she shifted in his lap.

Up until now Hermione had placed hot, open-mouthed kisses along his skin, using merely her lips. In a sudden fit of boldness, her tongue swiped out against his pulse, and Snape trembled against her, his fingers digging into her skin through her shirt. Snape was used to having the upper hand and pried Hermione away from his neck, forcing her to shift her weight to keep from toppling backwards.

The young witch looked almost drunk, her brown eyes heavily-lidded and mouth still gaped open as she stared back at Snape, as if she'd been the one having the curve of her neck titillated instead of him. Her breathing was slightly labored, and he wondered if she had become aroused from the one-sided caresses, even if he was only the recipient.

There was no doubt that Snape felt more than just a glimmer of arousal; he was fully erect, his cock inches away from the juncture of Hermione's thighs. She had scooted back until her behind was balanced on his knees, while keeping her hands palm down on his shoulders. In the backburner of his mind, Snape knew that he should make Hermione get up and send her back to her room, back to wherever the hell she wanted to go in all of Grimmauld Place, so long as she was away from him. But greed made him refuse to do such a thing, especially since she was obviously eager and willing to let him have his way with her.

Hermione continued staring at the professor, a soft gasp hidden behind the curtain of her hair as one hand made its way from her waist and up to her breast to cup it gently through her nightshirt. That gasp became more profound when his thumb found her already stiffened nipple, circling around the taut little bead before gently pinching it.

"Take this off," he said in a low voice, flicking at the hem of her nightshirt and moving his hands to his side. Snape thought he detected a sliver of bashfulness from the witch, but Hermione shifted her weight to free the trapped fabric from beneath her, grabbing the bottom of the shirt and pulling it over her head. She didn't shrink beneath his gaze nor encourage him to touch her, and Snape wondered just what the extent of Hermione's sexual experience was, yet cast the thought aside, remembering that it was she who came to his room.

His eyes dropped to her chest, lingering at what looked like a fresh scar mapped across her ribcage. Now understanding Hermione's hesitance, Snape focused his attentions elsewhere, as the one large, jagged mark bore no resemblance to the many ones marring his sallow skin.

Still, there was no way he was not going to have his feel of her soft, half naked body draped over his. Whether Hermione's skin began prickling from the cool air in the bedroom or from the fingertips that were now grazing the bared curve of her waist, Snape wasn't sure, but when both hands moved to encircle the graceful column of her neck, his slender digits tracing against the softly jutting collarbone, Snape noticed a definite tremor that coursed throughout her upper body.

Hermione easily fell against Snape when his hands moved to the small of her back, urging her forward. That same slick, black hair that had fallen victim to many unkind names was now tantalisingly brushing against her skin. Thin, yet unbelievably soft lips that less than a week ago uttered snide remarks now slowly traced along the tendons in her neck. The tip of Snape's tongue, feeling hotter than any other part of his body, darted out and dragged along the curve that led down to her shoulder.

It was no longer a question of who was trying to seduce who. Hermione let out a soft moan when Snape trailed a path with his tongue up to her ear, lightly biting down on its lobe. The hesitance he once displayed when his arms enfolded her loosely no longer made an appearance, and the slim white sleeve covered limbs were secure around her waist, long fingers splayed out and resting right above Hermione's arse. Enticed by the responsive witch in his arms, Snape gently pushed Hermione further back, wanting to see her breasts again.

The few times that Hermione had given thought to her breasts, she believed them to be a bit on the small side. Yet they were sized enough to give Snape two exact handfuls, and he didn't seem to mind as his long fingers cupped and kneaded the warm, pliable flesh, catching both nipples and teasing them into stiff points with his thumb and forefinger.

An inarticulate cry left Hermione's mouth as warm lips closed down over one nipple. Snape's hands continued manipulating her as his mouth move from left to right, his teeth lightly sinking down into one dark pink nipple, making her yelp slightly before his tongue laved away the pain. That little jolt had shot straight down to the pit of her stomach, bringing back that prickly ache she'd experienced only once before, and Hermione felt the desperate urge to rock against something.

With his previous encounters, Snape had never set much store by foreplay, but the reaction he got from Hermione was a heady thing, and if only to keep her mewling and writhing about on his lap, he decided that he would take as much time as he wanted. The girl definitely appeared to be losing control of her senses. Her head kept falling back, and her fingers were digging into the hollow of his bony shoulders, silently beckoning him to continue moving his mouth against her.

Judging by the way Hermione continued to swivel her hips against his, it was evident that she wanted the more intimate areas of her body to be explored. Snape let one hand glide down her torso, his fingers stopping right at the waistband of her pyjama bottoms. Hermione instantly rocked her hips forward, urging him to keep moving past the elastic, but Snape refused. It was bad enough that he'd gotten her to remove her shirt. But if her pyjama bottoms followed, so would her knickers, followed by his own trousers and pants, and there would be no turning back.

"It's alright, I don't mind," she told him, sounding a bit breathless.

"I know, and that's the part that worries me," Snape muttered thickly, his lips still engaged with her left nipple.

Hermione bit back a moan when Snape slid his thumb under her waistband, brushing against the top of her cotton covered mound. He wouldn't moved any lower, no matter how much her hips bucked against his hand. Only once did he somewhat capitulate, shoving his entire hand between her legs and using the flat side of four fingers to brushed against her thinly covered core. Inhaling sharply when the heel of his palm brushed against her clit, Hermione rocked against the hand cupping her warmth. Just as she was maintaining an awkward yet fruitful rhythm against Snape's hand, he withdrew it and she wanted to scream.

Hermione was going to hex him, plain and simple. Yeah, sure you will, she thought frantically, biting down on her lip. She'd never even make it to her wand fast enough, never mind actually successfully casting anything in Snape's direction. But for all that was holy, she was a writhing, excited mess, and the wizard seemed to do more to augment her arousal rather than alleviate it. His touches were enough to bring her right to the edge, and had he continued it wouldn't have taken much for her to go completely over.

Hermione definitely wanted more, but was still a bit too shy to voice her desires, although even that was fast slipping. She had to muster up the nerve just to tell him that it was alright to touch her, and even then Snape had only done so in a half-hearted manner.

Nearly about to topple backwards from thrashing around so much, Hermione found herself being shifted to recline against the sofa arm, Snape moving to half-kneel between her legs.

"What's the matter?" Hermione asked, her own harried voice sounding foreign to her ears. Her entire body was flushed and tingling furiously, the cold air in the room no longer an issue to her bare torso. Snape was hovered over her, his arms not touching her, merely using the sofa support himself. She wanted him to continue with his surprisingly tentative exploration of her body, this time without pulling back.

"You need to get dressed and get out before we both make a foolish mistake," he told Hermione in a gravelly voice.

If Hermione hadn't known what sexual frustration was before, she most certainly did now. Her breath was short, her walls were throbbing nearly to the point of being uncomfortable, and she was positive that she was a few steps away from going mad. Snape had thrown her for another one of his unexplainable loops, only this time her blood was racing like a car in gear with a brick placed on the gas pedal.

"So you get me all worked up only to send me away?" she fumed, frowning up at him. Through the dim candlelight she could see that he wasn't focused on her face, rather on some spot just behind the sofa.

"As if this is any easier for me," Snape nearly growled, closing his eyes and thinking about his own painful erection. He was doing his damndest to keep from snatching the oversized cotton bottoms off Hermione's legs, tugging her knickers down and leave them dangling from her ankle, then tossing her legs over his shoulders and plunging into her body.

"If it's any consolation, I was hoping that you'd keep going..." Hermione trailed off, her fingers making their way up to Snape's wrist.

"That thought is hardly what I'd consider to be consoling," the wizard sighed deeply, bowing his head and making his lank black hair cascade forward. "Do you know what it is you're asking of me? Or what would happen if anyone finds out?" He lifted his head and looked down at Hermione, whose want was clearly etched across her face. Untamed curls fanned out on the sofa cushions beneath her head, and her chest was heaving slightly. He was positive that if he placed a hand back over her breast, he'd be able to feel her heart erratically thumping against his palm.

"You act as if I'd tell," Hermione said, her voice laced with desperation as she stroked the inside of his wrist with her fingertips. "I wouldn't do that to you."

Snape exhaled again, seconds later sitting back on his heels and pulling Hermione to sit upright. Her nightshirt was found somewhere on the floor next to the sofa, and he slipped it over her head, allowing Hermione to sort herself out with the armholes.

"I believe you..." Snape admitted, sounding as if it pained him to do so. "which is why you need to go."

"All right," Hermione resignedly told him, although on the inside she was using every swear word she knew, along with a few that sounded made up. She wasn't lying when she said that she wouldn't tell anyone about their late night sessions that thus far had amounted to nothing more than a bit of touching. But it was painfully obvious to her that she now wanted more.
- 4
- 5
- 6
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