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Unintentional Inveiglement	By : onecelestialbeing Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 129854 -:- Recommendations : 8 -:- Currently Reading : 29
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Harry Potter and it's characters and making no money from this story.

Chapter List
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For a moment, every single Death Eater standing in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor shared the same thought. Each person knew what it was like to face Voldemort when he was angry; they knew what it felt like to be put under Cruciatus multiple times until your body and mind were cleaved and pain was the only thing you knew.
When Dolohov and Thowle never returned to the manor, a simple tracking spell that had been incorporated into all of their Dark Marks was activated. The two were easily found and returned, and when it was clear that they were not of their right mind, it had been up to Snape to decipher and reverse what was obviously a Memory Charm. If it were up to him, he would have left the charm in place, but to not reverse it would have aroused suspicion. Snape had an inkling of the person who cast the difficult spell, as many were unable to do so successfully, but a glimpse into both wizards' minds was enough for him to know exactly who had tried to alter their memories. Unfortunately, Dolohov and Rowle eventually came to and remembered everything. The latter insisted upon calling the Dark Lord, and while Snape knew what was going to happen, he was disinclined to protest.
Voldemort had made it known that he was unhappy about having to personally go to the Ministry that evening. Interrogation and the like was the sort of task usually delegated to his followers, but he did not want to leave anything to chance. When Scrimgeour refused to divulge what he knew, swiftly it became apparent that the Dark Lord would soon go on a rampage. Yet when the Death Eaters were tipped off about the wedding taking place at the Weasley residence, some twisted glimmer of hope shone in his red eyes. That hadn't been enough to make him personally attend, and he sent his followers in his stead.
Therefore, when the search at The Burrow proved futile and Dolohov and Rowle were later successful in hunting down Potter, Granger, and Weasley, only to lose them again and then summon the Dark Lord back to Malfoy manor to tell him so, there was no way the two men were going to escape punishment.
Snape, Lucius, and Narcissa, as well as the other Death Eaters stood with impassive looks on their faces as if Rowle was not on the floor, screaming and writhing in agony. Draco stood over him, wand aimed to cast Crucio after Crucio while the Dark Lord, seated comfortably in a chair at the head of the table while Nagini curled around his feet, hissed orders from the sidelines. Narcissa was clutching onto her husband's hand behind her back, fighting to keep a straight face as she watched her son being forced to torture another. Lucius' jaw was clenched tightly and every so often a vein throbbed at his temple, yet he was unable to say or do anything. Bellatrix was the only one barely paying attention to the torture before her; she was attempting to surreptitiously inch her way towards Voldemort, even though he'd been dismissive to her all that evening. Whenever he flicked one pale hand at her without looking in her direction, Bellatrix recoiled as if she'd been kicked, and she continued to behave erratically, weaving back and forth and looking as if she were going to tear out her ratty hair from sheer need.
There was a grey pallor to Draco's face, and it was plain that he was sickened by the task his hand had been forced into, but to stop meant that he would also be put under Cruciatus, and worse case scenario, killed without a second thought while his parents looked on.
Conflicting emotions ran through Snape's mind as he watched the scene unfold before him. At first, he believed that Dolohov and Rowle used some sort of illegal tracking spell to find Potter and his friends' whereabouts. He knew for fact that The Trace was no longer on Potter as he became of age merely a day ago. Hermione and Weasley were already considered legal adults in the wizarding world and therefore would have been able to move about undetected. However, Dolohov made it plain that he had some personal vendetta against that 'Mudblood bitch', his favourite name for Hermione. Therefore when Rowle made it his mission to pinpoint the trio's exact location, it was evident what sort of motive Dolohov had for going along with him to London. In the end, he learnt that Voldemort had placed the Taboo Curse on his own name, which was how the three had been found.
Dolohov already took his share of punishment, a round of the Cruciatus Curse which also came from Draco's wand. The scruffy, dark-haired man was now off to the side, curled in a tight ball with a glazed look of pain in his eyes. He made no sound as Voldemort hissed for him to remain silent unless he wished for more torture, yet the faintest of whimpers escaped from his lips. Snape had no sympathy whatsoever for the wizard, and even less for Rowle. Draco was the only one that garnered some of his regret; then again, how many times had he overhead Draco indirectly bragging to Zabini and Parkinson about his newfound role, even though he never explicitly stated what that role entailed? Joining Lord Voldemort's ranks was nothing to brag about, something Snape learnt very quickly at a young age. Draco was now on the receiving end of that very same, and very harsh lesson.
"Enough, Draco," hissed Voldemort, lazily raising a hand and beckoning him to take a seat. "I think I've made my point. Besides, we have other matters which need discussing."
Shakily lowering his wand, Draco shuffled away from a nearly unconscious Rowle. Lucius and Narcissa quietly walked behind their dumbstruck son; usually Narcissa sat to her husband's left, but this time they covertly ushered Draco to sit in between them. The rest of the Death Eaters slowly uprooted themselves and took their place at the long table in the middle of the drawing room. When Dolohov and Rowle attempted to stand, Voldemort stared coldly in their direction.
"You two: stay," he commanded, as if speaking to an animal. "You've already wasted my time for one evening and I have no desire to see either of your faces. Nagini, make sure they stay in place."
The large snake slithered forward and coiled her long body around. Blatant fear was on Dolohov's and Rowle's faces, yet they forced themselves into positions so immobile they almost looked like statues.
"Sit beside me, Severus," Voldemort ordered, gesturing to the seat to his right. "Amycus and Alecto have expressed the wish to assist you at Hogwarts. Surely you'll not find two more suitable to properly guide your pupils in the way of our world."
The Carrows were seated on the far end of the table. At the mention of their names, Snape heard Alecto released an ugly titter.
"Thank you, m'lord. Me and my brother'll do our best."
"I'm sure," replied Voldemort.
While the portly witch gleefully cackled to herself, obviously preening over being given the Dark Lord's approval, Snape caught Narcissa's eyes flicker towards his for the briefest of moments. It was no secret that the Carrows still harboured ill sentiment over Draco having difficulty with killing Dumbledore. They still looked at Lucius and Draco as weak-minded, and it didn't help that the elder Malfoy had been emasculated in front of everyone by having his wand taken, yet something in his cold, grey eyes kept them from going too far with taunting his son. In private, Narcissa had openly expressed her dislike for the Carrows, and her fleeting glimpse was all it took for Snape to plainly understand her underlying thoughts:
Don't let them hurt my son.
There were no further obvious glances traded between the two; both remained expressionless as was necessary to the situation.
When it came to dealing with either of the Carrow siblings, the choices were between a rock and a hard place. To have to deal with them both on a regular basis, however, made Snape further mentally weary as he knew he would need to take extra measures to keep them from outright killing students.
The Dark Lord was now going on about capturing Potter, but Snape noticed that Alecto had her beady eyes focused on him. She and her brother believe anyone who wasn't a pure-blooded witch or wizard to be filthy and stupid. Clearly the Carrows never chanced a look in the mirror, because they would have seen that they were the very thing which they vehemently claimed to despise. Besides having the inability to find their arses even if they were naked, the two still seemed to maintain their aversion to washing, be it their bodies or their clothing. Flecks of dried blood lined a few creases of Amycus's robes, and similar traces were splattered along the hem of his sister's garments. Earlier when he walked past the two, their ripe bodily odour suggested a boycott of soap and water, and Snape wondered how two people who were not responsible enough to wash their own behinds should be expected to teach anyone anything. The unfortunate thing was, Alecto was supposedly the more intelligent of the Carrows, yet Snape found her daft as a brush.
Alecto's eldritch stare and her bared, cracked yellow teeth, along with nearly every other person seated at the table were ignored. Whenever the Dark Lord spoke to him, Snape continued to respond with sincere answers, even though he felt hollow on the inside. The only way he got through these meetings was to empty his mind and numb himself completely to all external influences; at the same time, he had to give the impression that he was fully on board.
Judging from the Carrows continued enthusiasm and Voldemort's lengthy diatribe about what he planned to achieve in the coming months, Snape knew he was in for another year of hell. If Potter was truly the saviour of the wizarding world, Snape hoped that the young man would hasten and carry out whatever Dumbledore had assigned to him because right now, that seemed like the only outcome which would finally give everyone peace.

Hermione was unable to come up with exact figure of how long she, Ron and Harry had been on the run. Judging by the change in seasons, she would venture a guess of close to three, almost four weeks. Sometimes it was hard to believe that they were on the run, but each time she looked down at her clothing, which had a few torn places and were becoming worn and faded in a few spots from repeated cleansing charms, not to mention the way they now hung loosely on her already small frame, it was a clear reminder.
At first, she had been keeping track of the days by ticking off little marks on the inside cover of a thick nature guide. The book belonged to her dad and had been used on the Grangers yearly camping trips. It contained a thorough and well detailed list of plants, flowers, and the like, also explaining which were edible and which were poisonous. Mrs. Granger had always given a little sigh whenever her husband pulled out that book; the family camped in the same spot every year and already knew about every indigenous plant to the area. Also, is wasn't as if they had to search for meals as they always brought food from home and kept it packed in a small cool box. While the Grangers were all for camping, completely living off the land was something they all knew how to do, yet opted out of in favour of the easier way. Besides, freshly caught fish was nice, but a hassle to clean. Hunger, however, had a way of forcing one to change their mind, and Hermione would have caught and cleaned a fish with her bare hands if it meant having something more substantial than a handful of unpalatable, earthy-tasting wild mushrooms.
She hated to deface any book, especially considering that the nature guide was the only object to somewhat keep her connected to her father, but it was the only paper she had. Two weeks into their disappearance from the outside world, the Muggle ink pen she'd been using dried out, and that put an end to her date keeping. In the middle of fretting, she overheard Ron making some comment about her 'bollocksy book' being responsible for the disgusting mushrooms they'd been forced to choke down. By that point Hermione didn't care that Ron was still on the mend from being splinched during their escape from the Department of Ministry. She gave him an earful, stating that her 'bollocksy book' was what kept her from accidentally poisoning them all, and next time she would forego the book when picking his mushrooms.
The night they had to flee The Burrow, she had Apparated them all to Tottenham Court Road in Central London while trying to come up with a plan of action. Besides a pub across the street, the Luchino Caffe had been the only thing open and seemed like a safe place for them to regroup. In hindsight, Hermione realised how unaware she'd been at the time. She would have chalked up her ignorance to a case of frayed nerves stemming from the attack on The Burrow, but at the back of her mind she could hear Severus berating her, telling her that she needed to remain on guard at all times, no matter how dire the circumstances.
Looking back, she now realised that it was odd for two workmen to have been lingering in the cafe for so long. Typically after a long work week, men were keen to have a pint and not coffee. Her father worked in a dental office and still claimed the need for a lager once Friday rolled around. True, the two men could have been looking to sober up, but they had been stood so still that chances were they hadn't imbibed anything stronger than water. Then, only after the two Death Eaters had been stunned, did she notice how clean their blue overalls were, something that was definitely strange.
Over and over Hermione went through what might have happened if it hadn't been for Harry, who had been hiding beneath his Cloak and immediately picked up on the imminent attack. Upon seeing Dolohov's face, slipping into a state of hysteria had been unavoidable. Ron saw fit to name the Death Eaters after they had been disarmed and stunned, but there was no way she could have forgotten the twisted, unshaven face of the wizard who tried to kill her. Harry suggested wiping their memories, and while Hermione had no idea if it was a permanent solution, it had at least given them more time.
Right after the attack, the three sought refuge at Grimmauld Place. It had been strange to be staying there again under different circumstances, especially after considering her last visit where she ended up being taken by Severus on the dirty drawing room floor. That night she, Ron and Harry all slept in the same drawing room, utilising the few sofas and sleeping bags, as they felt more secure in staying together. Normally Hermione would have objected to sharing a sleeping space with the boys, but her rattled nerves would not allow her to stay on her own in the bedroom she'd used previously.
The next day, somewhat settled from a full night's rest, Harry suggested that they comb through every bit of the house in hopes of finding the real locket that contained a horcrux. Hermione wanted to tell Harry that looking for the locket was pointless, as she knew for fact that it was nowhere in the house, but to do so would have caused him to ask further questions. As expected, nothing turned up in their search, but things took a turn when Harry called for Kreacher.
The house-elf was anything but welcoming when he saw the three. Harry forced Kreacher to tell them about the locket's whereabouts; the tale of Kreacher, Regulus, the cave and the locket had been sickening to hear, and the scornful elf cried piteously as he spoke. In spite of how nastily the house-elf behaved towards her, Hermione couldn't help crying when Kreacher broke down as he went into detail about his past horrors. At least at the end of his story, they knew where the true locket was.
"That slimy, sneaky git!" Ron had exclaimed about Mundungus Fletcher when Kreacher hauled him in to Grimmauld Place at Harry's behest. "Mad-Eye was barking mad, but dad was right when he said he didn't trust him."
Harry asked Kreacher to find Mundungus, and to extend an olive branch to the elf, gave him the counterfeit locket as a token of his beloved Master Regulus. In between waiting for Kreacher to return with the thief, Lupin surprised them with a visit which hadn't ended well. Yet Lupin helpfully confirmed just how much scrutiny the trio was beneath; it was disconcerting to know that Death Eaters weren't that far from Grimmauld Place and their only saving grace was the house being completely hidden.
One by one, Hermione had itemised the ever growing list of things they were facing; Voldemort had taken over the Ministry and, as expected, began making moves that were in ill favour of Muggle-borns. Harry was wanted for the death of Dumbledore. Then there was Harry and Lupin getting into a row, which resulted in their former professor storming out of Grimmauld Place. But the biggest obstacle was finding out that Delores Umbridge, of all people, was in possession of the locket.
Then there was the issue of being watched. At first, Hermione thought Harry was being stupid for not wanting to say Voldemort's name. Now she understood why he had become so cross whenever she said it aloud. Even though they remained under the protection of the Fidelus Charm that had been placed upon Grimmauld Place, if the Taboo Curse was triggered it would still give the Death Eaters a broad idea of their location. Without a doubt, they had been as good as given away. It was hard enough Apparating and Disapparating out of Grimmauld Place, as more and more people began turning up in the area, and it was nerve-wracking living under the strain of being watched. But sneaking into the Ministry? The idea sounded not only ludicrous, but suicidal. Unfortunately, it was also their only option.
Ever since Mundungus said that Umbridge had the locket, Hermione had nightmares about the hag in pink. Surely the woman would still bear a grudge against her for being lied to and led into the Forbidden Forest and left to the devices of the centaurs. Hermione being a Muggle-born was merely the cherry on top. With all that, she was decidedly not looking forward to stepping one toe into the Ministry.
Hermione wasn't the only one dealing with an affected subconscious; she knew that Harry had been trying to hide his visions from her and Ron, but when they heard him screaming as if he were being tortured and had to practically beat the bathroom door down, only to find him pale and sweaty, she told him outright that his scar was hurting and not to bother with lying about it.
The thought that Voldemort was so closely linked with Harry's mind left her unnerved, which was saying something as she already felt on edge twenty-four seven.
Ironic as it was, Kreacher turned out to give some sort of placidness to the otherwise troubled situation. The house-elf had done a complete turnabout and was exceedingly polite considering their earlier history. He cooked them three full meals a day, offering them tea and a variety of other treats in between. They had stopped using the drawing room as a communal bedroom; Harry was sleeping in Sirius' old bedroom. Ron kept the room he and Harry used to share, and Hermione used the one she and Ginny used to share.
Rather, that was the impression she gave.
Her first night in that room proved sleepless, and shortly after midnight, Hermione found herself padding upstairs to the room Severus previously used. The sheets and mattress felt all wrong with her lying in it on her own, and not even a trace of his scent lingered, but at least she was able to close her eyes and drift off. Her plan had been to wake up early enough to return to the original bedroom downstairs, not wanting to explain to Ron, Harry, or Kreacher why she had slept upstairs. Morning found her still in the same bed, hugging the pillow from Severus' side to her chest. Kreacher had been the one to wake her for breakfast, and he said nothing about her unexplained presence. Later that night, Hermione found that the bedroom had been cleaned to almost pristine state, all her belongings left in a neat pile on the desk. While the house-elf hadn't exactly warmed to her—sometimes, what seemed purely out of habit, he would begin referring to her as Mudblood but always caught himself mid-word— at least he no longer menaced her in the middle of the night. Also, he had the decency to not tell the others about her unconventional sleeping arrangements. In turn, she made sure to be polite to Kreacher while maintaining distance, knowing that he abhorred being touched by her.
It was hard keep Severus off her mind, in spite of everything else that was happening. Then came the news that he had been appointed headmaster at Hogwarts; that left Hermione worried and relieved all at once, even though she had to behave as if it disturbed her. Taking along the portrait of Phineas Nigellus Black with the excuse of Snape being able to spy on them had been somewhat of a ruse; Hermione figured she could keep tabs on her wizard and, worst case scenario, ask for his help if needed. That scheme was farfetched at best; Phineas was surly and unpleasant, even on his best day, and Hermione had no idea if the wizard would deem to inhale a single breath in order to utter one word that might assist her. Many times during her stint at Grimmauld Place, she passed the open bedroom the portrait was in. Sometimes the frame was empty, leaving behind an old-fashioned, ornate armchair. The few times he was in his frame, he made no attempt to hide his displeasure when his eyes fell upon her.
The first time Hermione heard Phineas speaking had taken place early on during her stay at Grimmauld Place. She had been surprised to hear the painting utter something other than an insult. Yet to hear the person with whom he was speaking in a tone that could only be construed as amicable left her floored.
"What the devil are you doing here, lad?" she'd heard the painting ask.
"I thought that answer would have been fairly obvious," Severus had smoothly replied; while his words might have been pointed, his tone was not.
"I suppose Dumbledore sent you here. I've no idea why you bothered, these young people have no respect. One would think they'd have the decency to curtail their mouths about the person who is protecting them, but there you are."
"Phineas, you know I don't give a damn what these children, or anyone else for that matter, think of me."
Snape spoke in a tone that was soft yet carried enough weight. His face must have shown something else, for Hermione could hear Phineas chuckling inside his frame.
"I should hope not. Good God, man, you're Head of Slytherin House. How would it look to have you behaving like some simpering poofter because someone called you out of your name? Anyway, it was those other two ungrateful, gobby dolts I overheard talking. What a waste of that Weasley boy; pureblood and look how he behaves." Phineas had then paused to scoff. "The Potter brat is to be expected; he's a half-blood so I would expect nothing less, but at least the Mudblood seems to have better manners."
At the time, Hermione was unaware if Severus was pureblood, half-blood, or Muggle-born. Phineas clearly showed favouritism towards those who were pureblood, however, he spoke to Severus as if he deemed to the younger wizard to be his equal. Now that she knew about Severus' parentage, Hermione wondered if Phineas also knew, or if his respect came from something else. However, at the time, Severus' next words had almost shocked her into letting out a yelp and accidentally giving away the fact that she was eavesdropping.
"Use that word again when referring to Granger and you'll find yourself carrying on this conversation with the wall. Or perhaps I'll move your portrait to the landing where you can keep Mrs. Black company. I'm sure she would be positively thrilled to see you."
Phineas swore loudly at that suggestion, and Hermione's eyes widened from his colourful language. But to hear Snape defending her had been a huge surprise. At that point in time, which had been before their liaison started, Hermione considered herself a bother and an inconvenience to the professor. She never heard Phineas' reply, or what the rest of his and Severus' conversation entailed, because a loud bang erupted downstairs, and she felt the need to rush off and see what her friends had gotten themselves into.
At the moment, it was her turn to keep watch outside the tent while Ron and Harry slept. A sudden rustling sound made her head snap up. Keeping her wand drawn, she waited to see if anyone was nearby. When a few minutes passed and nothing show, she chalked up the sound to some small animal looking for a late night meal. Rearranging the blanket around her thickly clothed form, Hermione huddled back down into her spot and sighed.
From her sitting place the moon was hidden, but the rest of the night sky was so eerily perfect that it almost seemed painted. It was as if she were being mocked that she should be experiencing something so wondrous under circumstances so horrendous. Despite sitting beneath the beautiful, serene sky, calm was something that she had trouble relating to.
Hermione had no way of knowing how her parents were faring in Australia. There was a high chance that they were living in ignorant bliss, yet confirmation with her own eyes was the only thing she trusted. In addition to that, she was worried for everyone else she knew, although members of the Order were likely doing whatever they could to survive. Surely part of that entailed rallying against not only Voldemort, but Severus Snape as well, and that left her stomach in uncomfortable knots. Hermione knew that she shouldn't worry about Hogwarts' newest headmaster; if Severus couldn't handle himself then there was no way he would have lasted long at living a double life. Even so, that bit of reasoning did nothing to pacify her nerves.
Nervously twisting her wand round in her hands, Hermione thought back to the spell Severus cast that left her protected by his magic. For some time she wondered about the intricacies of the spell and which exact way it would protect. Yet when she and her friends were attacked, his spell was the last thing on her mind. The very first defensive spell she'd used to ward off the Death Eaters attacks after Severus' spell had a noticeable difference. Hermione had literally felt an extra surge of power, beginning at the tips of her toes, rising to the top of her head, and flowing through her arm as she brandished her wand. Her magic had already been strong; now her abilities felt multiplied as well as reinforced. Ron and Harry had minor injuries after the fiasco in the cafe, whereas she escaped without a single scratch. Later on the boys said that she had been lucky, and even though Hermione silently told herself that luck was for fools, she quietly agreed with her friends.
Hermione was grateful for Severus' protection charm; definitely she would need the intangible talisman. In the same breath, it made her long for his physical presence, and she had to swallow a lump that suddenly formed in her throat. Sorrow continued to trickle through her, yet Hermione willed herself to keep a dry eye. Succumbing to tears would only land her with red, puffy eyes and a stuffed nose, the latter of which would have been made more uncomfortable by the brisk night air.
Besides, there was no way on earth she would allow Ron or Harry to come out of the tent and catch her in tears. Just hours ago the three of them nearly got into another row. The bickering between them was becoming more frequent, although sometimes it was unavoidable depending on whose turn it was to wear the locket. It didn't take long to find that the locket had the ability to make its wearer crabby, and Hermione was relieved whenever she was free of its clutches. Ron or Harry wearing it was just as troublesome; with only the barest of supplies to help Ron heal from his injury, it was taking extra long for his arm to mend. Between that and the lack of food, he was often touchy. As for Harry, she was weary of him wearing the locket purely because he was still having visions of Voldemort. Hermione wasn't that well versed in Dark Magic to know if Voldemort would be able to tell the location of the locket because of his link to Harry's mind, and it left her anxious. That anxiety took the form of her nagging Harry whenever he had a vision, and always he would snap at her before storming off.
No one told you this would easy, she reminded herself.
Thank the gods for that, because I'd be demanding a refund—in blood.

*whispers* Everyone still with me?
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Unintentional Inveiglement