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
- 51
- 52
- 53
The sepulchral atmosphere of Spinner's End was becoming more and more attractive each time Snape considered the other place he would soon inhabit. However, he had an obligation to return to Hogwarts, and knew that forestalling his return was only prolonging the inevitable. As headmaster, it was his duty to return to the school a week before the students arrived, purely to make sure that everything was in order. He already had an idea of the things he would be facing; the wrath of his colleagues, the accusing stares of other students. Even the portraits throughout the school were prone to being judgemental bastards. Yet all those things combined did not add up to the anxiety he felt each time his thoughts turned towards Hogwarts' former headmaster.
Snape's last day spent in his childhood home passed uneventfully. Loki had slept nearly that entire night beside him. The professor, on the other hand, found it difficult to rest. While trying to ignore the aches and pains in his back that were becoming more frequent, which he attributed to age as well as his old, rickety bed and its flat pillows, Snape found himself picturing Hermione's face in his mind. His musing had been paused when he yanked the irritating, shapeless pillow from beneath his head, roughly folding it in half and shoving it back beneath his cheek. Loki had been startled out of his sleep and shifted positions, leaving his furry behind close to Snape's head.
"Always destined to have some cat's arse in my face," the wizard muttered, sighing heavily when Loki's tail flicked him in the ear twice.
Jammy bastard, Snape thought twenty minutes later when he heard loud snores coming from the feline. How a tiny creature made so much noise was a mystery but if the cat kept at it, he was going to find himself on the other side of the bedroom door. Once Snape managed to tune out Loki's throaty growls, his thoughts turned back towards Hermione, as well as Potter and Weasley.
Ronald Weasley and his family was sometimes a topic of conversation among the Death Eaters, although Snape inadvertently learnt that Arthur claimed that his son was ill with spattergroit and would be unable to return to school. From the off Snape knew that sounded odd, as Molly was no slouch when it came to not only cooking but also brewing tonics and healing potions. Such a skill set was necessary when having a large family, and rare were the times when any of them suffered from the faintest of sniffles.
Members of the Ministry's new regime had been personally instructed to look into matters of students not returning to Hogwarts as their attendance was now compulsory. The Weasleys 'passed' their visit, and Snape had an inkling of how that had been made possible; he remembered the creature in their attic that communicated by means of grunts and groans. Whichever Ministry official that carried out the inspection most likely got nothing more than a snot-nosed snuffle or two out of the transfigured ghoul. Since no one wanted to linger near a person with spattergroit, chances were they also made haste the leave the house.
Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, according to others, were infidels that needed to be caught, tortured and killed. Weeks ago, Yaxley visited the Grangers' home in London and reported that the entire house had been abandoned. According to him, the place looked scrubbed clean and there had been nothing left behind to indicate the family's whereabouts. Silently, Snape praised Hermione for her clairvoyance and forethought to do whatever it was she'd done to ensure her parents' safety.
'My parents...they might as well be dead if we lose...'
That was the only thing Hermione mentioned to Snape about her parents, and her comment had been made in a fit of hysterics. He didn't know what she did, and he did not want to know. He hoped she hadn't divulged her secret to anyone at all, as the Ministry workers who were acting on Voldemort's orders had no boundaries when it came to extracting information.
Potter's extended family had been next on the interrogation list. Their home in Little Whinging, Surrey, had also been visited and found empty. Whether that had been the result of Potter's action or the Order's, Snape was unaware. At first mention of the Dursleys, he thought about the matriarch of the family. Petunia Evans, as he had know her, had been the total opposite of her sister: loud, irritating to the point where one might contemplate murder, and peremptory to the nth degree. Granger had nothing on Petunia Evans when it came to bossing someone around. The few times Snape had been snuck into the Evans house, he showed Lily how to use a locking and silencing charm on her bedroom door that would keep her pushy, annoying older sibling out.
It was no surprise that Petunia had grown from an irksome child into a vexing adult. What did surprise him was that she had turned into a cold, uncaring person who was cruel, even by his standards. Petunia loathed Snape with every fibre of her being when they were children; surely she would have felt the same way thirty years later, especially if she were to find out that he was responsible for her sister's death. Regardless of how she felt , there was no excuse for her and her family's mistreatment of her late sister's child. Potter, just like any other child, did not ask to be born. That a child should be punished for something out of his control was ludicrous.
So what have you been doing all these years? Snape asked himself.
Rare had been the occasion when Dumbledore mentioned Potter's home life. During their meetings, conversation always had something to do with the Dark Lord, the prophecy, or the Order. Perhaps that had been the reason he stared so unflinchingly at the boy the first time he set foot into Hogwarts; Snape hadn't known what to expect, but he definitely did not anticipate setting eyes on a scrawny, consumptive looking eleven-year-old who could have easily passed for younger. The sight of that frail child who looked thin enough to blow away in the wind, and who also had the same eyes as his deceased, former best friend... It had nearly been too much to handle at once. It had almost been as if Snape were looking at an eleven-year-old version of himself. When Snape first came to Hogwarts, he, too, had been in the same neglected, underfed state. Like Potter, he put on weight during the school year, only to lose most of it over the summer holiday. Hermione had been the one to remind him about Potter's unsavoury home life with his unpleasant aunt, uncle, and cousin, causing Snape to feel a slight pang of guilt.
Taking that into account, Snape was almost curious enough to wonder why Potter would go through the trouble to protect people who had done nothing but abuse him all his life. If it were up to him, he might have turned a blind eye and allowed the Ministry have their way. Although, who was to say that the idea never crossed Potter's mind? Not that Potter would have followed through; besides being the decent sort, allowing the Ministry full reign with the Dursleys would have been not only cold-blooded, but dangerous in the long run to him and his friends.
Potter could stand by his civility and manners all he liked; Snape just hoped that when the time came, as was predestined, that he would do more than merely disarm his enemy in favour of going for the jugular.

If words were made of dirt, then Ron was digging his own grave, steadily and by large shovelfuls at a time.
It was bad enough that the three had to contend with a search and barely any clues to go by. Then there was the issue of having to remain guarded at all times. Their lives had been reduced to constantly looking over their shoulders, listening for intruders happening across their path, and making sure to avoid the Snatchers. They had a close run in with the Snatchers when they first went into hiding, as one had been able to smell the expensive perfume Hermione wore for Bill and Fleur's wedding. It was funny in a completely unhumorous way that she should be caught merely by scent. Hermione never wore perfume and had only done so for the wedding. Somehow the expensive rose-based scent seemed to linger, even after changing her clothes, because the wizard with matted hair, a dirt-encrusted face and appalling fingernails unknowingly stood just inches away from her, Hermione's invisible barrier of protective charms the only slivering divide separating them. She had no idea how her perfume managed to last so long, and soon as they were in the clear, she doused a rag with icy water and scrubbed her neck and chest until her skin felt raw.
Standing so close to one of the Snatchers left Hermione rattled, and it took some time for her to push his image out of her head. Still she pressed on, refusing to let that encounter hinder her senses. For all of their sakes, Hermione was trying to remain a neutral party, going so far as to feign a marginally bright disposition, purely to keep peace between everyone, but even that was becoming more difficult as the days went on. Sometimes Ron became ranty, obviously frustrated that they were basically walking around blind and getting nowhere. Most of the time he expressed his aggravation to Hermione, and rarely when Harry was around.
Harry was the complete opposite; a blind person could see that he was troubled, despite the multiple assurances of 'I'm fine' that came from between clenched teeth. Hermione wasn't stupid: she knew Harry's scar was still bothering him. More than once she'd been startled awake from his muffled cries that carried across the tent. Those nightly terrors seems more frequent whenever he wore the locket and purely to smooth things over, Hermione offered to wear the locket, even though it was not her turn.
Ron was now wearing the locket and that coupled with his frustration over an inadequate dinner made for another of many arguments, all of which were slowly adding to the discord between the three. After dinner he'd stormed out of the tent to keep watch, but not before pulling a face as he chewed on his last bit of dinner, the very dinner he complained about with every bite. Harry and Hermione, both stunned into silence, remained in the tiny kitchen until it was time for bed.
Still riled with anger, Hermione had kicked off her trainers and thrown herself into the bunk. Dragging a book from beneath her pillow where she'd last left it, she rested her wand on her chest, leaving its lighted tip pointing towards the small text before her. Reading was something that calmed her nerves, and right now she was desperate for anything that would temporarily displace her mind, even if for one minute.
"Hermione?"
Hermione looked up to find Harry standing at the curtained entrance to her room.
"Yeah?"
"Busy?"
Shrugging, she set down her book. "Not really. What's up?"
Harry gave a shrug of his own and lingered in the entrance.
"Do you mean to stand there all night?" asked Hermione, sitting up and patting the bed beside her. "You might as well come in."
Nearly every conversation between the group entailed where to look for horcruxes and how to destroy them. Most of the brainstorming was left to Harry and Hermione, as Ron seemed to be interested only in where to look for food and how to make it rapidly disappear into the depths of his mouth. Beyond the topic of horcruxes, small talk had grown stale and the tent was often silent. Right now Hermione was in no mood for forced chitchat, and hoped that Harry would say whatever was on his mind and leave her alone.
"I'm not here to talk about You-Know-Who or the horcruxes," he began without preamble, settling down at the foot of her bed. "I'm actually tired of talking about it all."
"So let's not talk about it," Hermione enthused, experiencing a little relief. "Let's talk about something else, anything else but that."
That proved to be easier said than done; the two remained on the edge of the bed, awkward silence hanging between them for what felt like an eternity. Eventually Hermione longed for the warmth of her blankets and she slid beneath them.
"Get in, Harry."
"What?" he asked dumbly.
"Get in," Hermione repeated, already moved to one side of the bed and waiting for him to join her. "I don't feel like freezing while we tiptoe around one another, trying to think of what to say."
Harry looked momentarily stunned, but soon recovered. After removing his trainers and glasses, he slid into the bunk next to Hermione while maintaining an ample amount of space between them. He then pulled the blankets up to their shoulders.
"So you don't blame me for you getting cold," he teased, albeit in a lacklustre tone.
Hermione thought it strange to be sharing a bed with Harry, but only because he rarely sought out company whenever one of his darker moods hit. She had no qualms about being this close to him; they were both fully dressed in jeans and jumpers, as it had been decided that remaining like so whilst sleeping was wise should the group need to make a hasty escape at any given moment.
Harry still wasn't speaking, and even though Hermione initially hadn't wanted company, she found his presence somewhat comforting.
"Who the hell would have thought that we'd end up out here?" he mumbled, picking at a loose thread in the blanket. "Not even when I was stuck in that tiny room beneath my aunt and uncle's staircase did I foresee this."
"Well...it could be worse," Hermione offered, reaching for optimism even as her stomach decided to interrupt with a low growl. The fish and mushrooms they'd had for dinner was apparently gone. A spell had been used to multiply their meal into generous portions but unfortunately no amount of magic could improve its taste.
"That's true—I could be out here on my own." That thought seemed to unnerve Harry. "You were right, there is no way I could have done all this by myself."
"Well, it's just like Ron and I told you a long time ago: we are all in this together. And Ginny, the rest of the Weasleys, and everyone else."
"I know. It's funny, before I resented being stuck at Grimmauld Place. Now I actually miss it. I think I even miss Kreacher; d'you know he used to offer me breakfast in bed every morning? One day he scared the life out of me. Just imagine opening your eyes and finding a house-elf who scowls even when he doesn't realise, perched on your nightstand and hovering over you with a huge silver tray in his hand. Of course I didn't have my glasses, so I didn't know what to think."
"Really?"
"Yeah. Nearly hexed him, too. At first I figured maybe that nice act was just a farce, purely to plot out his plan to kill me. Anyway I screamed, and Kreacher screamed. The tray fell and I ended up with a face full of eggs and toast. Kreacher apologised and cleaned up the mess, but I told him that he didn't have to trouble himself, that I'd come down for breakfast."
"I'm sorry," Hermione snorted into her hand. "But that is funny in a sad sort of way. Maybe Kreacher liked you best because he never offered me breakfast in bed, but he did clean my room. I guess that's better than all the name calling I used to get."
"Oddly enough, Kreacher used to listen to Snape. Go figure."
At mention of their former professor, Hermione saw Harry's jaw tense beneath its stubble. He lapsed into silence for a long minute, and just as she began to worry, he changed the topic.
"Did I tell you that Tonks caught me and Ginny?"
"Caught you and Ginny doing what?"
"Snogging in a closet."
Harry said this with such utter deadpan that, at first, Hermione wasn't sure if he was being serious.
"What did Tonks say? Did she threaten to tell Mrs. Weasley?"
"Tonks wouldn't do that. She just told us to either find a new closet or to keep the noise down cos Ron was coming our way."
"I think I remember that day," Hermione mused, smiling and shaking her head. "They had that ridiculously long meeting and we had to stay upstairs. Ron said he was hungry and disappeared, and then Tonks stuck her head in the room for all of two minutes before running back out. I wondered what was going on. I still can't believe you two picked a closet of all places to steal a snog."
"It was Ginny's idea, but don't tell her I said so," Harry laughed. "And you know how Ron gets so you really can't blame us."
"Yeah, you've got a point. That was only last summer but it feels as if it were ages ago."
Harry nodded his head, falling into another contemplative silence.
"I don't think I've said thank you for coming along. Thank you."
Hermione reached over to give his hand a squeeze. "You might have, but either way you're welcome. Now seeing as it's your turn to keep watch in a few hours, I think you should get some sleep."
"Guess you're right," Harry began, pushing the blankets away and sitting up. "Thanks for the sympathy, next time I'll bring the tea."
"I'll hold you to that."
Once Hermione was alone again, she rolled over in bed and pulled the blankets up to her cheek. Hearing the mention of Snape's name put her on edge, but seeing Harry's negative reaction made her already sensitive stomach twist into a series of more complicated knots.
Ron and Harry's verbal abuse of the headmaster had waned slightly, mostly because they were all too busy with protecting their hides. Usually Hermione had turned a deaf ear towards their ill words for the first few minutes until their disrespect became too much. Now, if she was to defend Snape, Ron and Harry would think her mad, and worse, it would cause further dissention between them. So she quietly bore their hate for the professor while hoping that this entire nightmare come to life would soon meet its end.

There had been a time where Severus looked forward to returning to Hogwarts for the start of a new term. Of course, that had been when life was easier, relatively speaking. School had been a way for him to avoid a drunken Tobias and an unhappy home life in general. Once at Hogwarts, if Snape were to go around alone, he still had to dodge James Potter and his mates. They had the sense to never bother him if he'd been in the company of his housemates, but even the vexing lot of Gryffindors hadn't been enough to dampen his spirits.
Right now, Snape was experiencing a distinct sense of dread as he walked through the tall, wrought iron entrance gates and up the hilly, grass-covered path towards the school.
Everything was as it had last been previous to his hasty departure; the cloister at the base of the clock tower in the courtyard was still dilapidated, just as it had been in his youth. The antique fountain surrounded by stone eagles still held a pool of slimy, green water, and overgrown vines crept along the length of the high stone walls.
Snape felt as if nothing, yet everything, had changed.
There was more than one entrance to the school, all of which Snape could have used instead of the large main doors. However, he was wise to the many theories about him being circulated, and to go out of his way to avoid others would have caused a fresh round of gossip.
What's wrong with the headmaster? Is he hiding something? Is he too scared to walk through the front doors of his own school?
"Be still," Snape ordered in a quiet but stern voice to the wriggling ball of fur concealed beneath his travelling cloak, who was digging his claws into the front of his frock coat in an attempt to poke his head out.
The pair of large oak doors swung open with a slight groan soon as Snape touched the handle. His boots tapped quietly on the flagstones as he stepped into the Entrance Hall. Rare was the instance when the school was completely silent, and his own breathing sounded loud to his ears. A few of the portraits seemed to have taken advantage of the peace, because the few still in their frames were indulging in midday naps.
Snape hastily made his way down to his rooms in the dungeons. He knew there was the unspoken expectation of him to use the headmaster's tower for business, but he could not bring himself to sleep there. Guilt and memories of his predecessor were still fresh on his mind and if he had his way, he would never set toe into Dumbledore's former office.
The moment Snape was inside his room, Loki darted from his arms and onto the floor, sprinting away to some unknown destination in the dark.
"Daft cat," Snape muttered under his breath, withdrawing his wand and flicking it to light the wall scones.
Once his travelling cloak was removed and hung up, Snape began unpacking the few belongings from home that had been shrunken down and carried in his pocket; a couple books and certain toiletries that needed replacing were among his belongings, and he visited the bathroom first. The bedroom followed, and just as he stepped back to set down the books, an indignant yowl close to his foot rang out.
"Damned animal! Why the bloody hell would you walk beneath my foot!" Snape hissed after taking a moment to recover from his fright. Aiming his lit wand at the floor, he was surprised to find a furry orange cat instead of a black one, flashing him a feline look of utmost disgust.
Granger's familiar.
"What are you doing in my rooms?" asked Snape gruffly, sweeping his wand about to see if Loki was nearby. Sure enough, the small black cat was comfortably atop his duvet, resting his head on his paws and swishing his tail back and forth. "Up you get, cat, lest you want your tail trod upon again."
Crookshanks let out a throaty growl as Snape picked him up and set him on the bed next to Loki. There was a brief stare down between both cats stared, but soon afterwards the animals appeared to have no problems with one another. Snape was still shaking his head as lit a few nearby candles and finished putting away his personal effects. He told himself that Hermione would be ecstatic to hear that her half-kneazle was in fact alive and well, apparently having hidden himself in Snape's room.
And just how is she going to find that out? An owl, perhaps?
Looking at his neatly made bed (while ignoring the cats) Snape thought about the many times Hermione had sneaked down to his rooms to spend the night. He'd lost count somewhere after the fifteenth time, and while each time he had told Hermione that she shouldn't have come, that little hiccough had never been enough to make him send her away.
Pushing the frizzy-haired swot from his mind, Snape refocused his thoughts on other tasks that needed to be handled before the rest of his staff arrived. With Fenrir Greyback's penchant for children, something he was shamelessly open about, Snape planned to set extra wards on each dormitory. As of September first the Carrows would be the only ones inside the school on a fulltime basis, but that did not mean the other Death Eaters would never show face. That very notion made Snape take down a mental note to seal off every secret entrance to Hogwarts, a handful of which were known to a few students.
When Snape was younger he used some of those very same secret passageways to sneak out onto the school grounds at night. A few times he'd been caught by Filch—rather, Mrs. Norris, followed by Filch—but the caretaker never reported him to Slughorn. The first time Snape had been caught, Filch lifted one quivering hand that was holding onto a lantern. The lantern trembled as well and just as Snape was positive that he was going to be punished, Filch merely wheezed out "All right, lad?" while using his free hand to root around an inner pocket of his brown coat. The elderly man hadn't been able to find whatever it was he needed while still holding onto the lamp, and unceremoniously thrust it in the boy's direction.
"Dirty habit, this," Filch remarked, tapping one finger on his pipe before lighting it, "but it's the fags that'll kill you in the end. If you're going to smoke, lad, take my advice and use a pipe. Now come on, slow coach, I've got patrols to finish."
That bit about smoking a pipe versus cigarettes hadn't made a lick of sense to Severus, but he never said so. Instead he carried Filch's lantern, following behind the caretaker and his cat. From that night on, there was no specific set time for Snape to meet up with the caretaker for their nightly walks throughout the castle and its grounds. Their crossing paths might have seemed to happen by chance to an outsider, and while either party never said so, their meetings were almost always planned. Cloak hidden beneath his school robes, Snape would covertly make his way out of the Slytherin dormitories, sometimes waiting to duck the Bloody Baron as he glided down the corridor, before making his way to the main level. Usually it had been easier to let Filch find him, as the caretaker always varied his patrol route to 'keep the delinquents guessing'.
Eventually Snape became adept at evading Filch and Mrs. Norris, and when pointing this out, Filch made a small wager that he would be able to find the young man no matter where he hid. Snape lost that first bet and had grown hot under the collar after remembering that he did not have a single extra knut to his name. Muttering something along the lines of not having any money, Snape had been shocked when Filch waved a dismissive, gnarled hand, stating that he wasn't in need of money yet could use some help the next day with cleaning his office.
Mr. Filch's office had been warm, almost stifling, and smelled strongly of cleaning solvents, tobacco, and fried fish. A thin layer of dust coated many surfaces except for manacles hanging from the ceilings, which looked as if they had been regularly polished. That morning Snape had been left alone in the office and used his wand to clear away much of the dust and grime. Having finished early, he settled in the small chair opposite Filch's desk and withdrew a small book from his pocket. It had been nice to read without any disruptions, in addition to not worrying about James Potter coming to harass him. Mrs. Norris returned to the office before her master, and rubbed up against Snape's ankles before sauntering over to her bowl of water. Moments later Filch bustled through the door, grasping the burnt remnants of something in one fist, clutching a broom in the other fist, while loudly swearing and issuing threats about getting out his manacles. He had then gone on to grouse about convincing the headmaster to cancel that day's trip to Hogsmeade when he had been stopped in his tracks by the sight of his nearly immaculate office.
"Where's your cloak, lad?" Filch practically barked after composing himself. "Aren't you going to Hogsmeade with those filthy little beasts?"
Snape's cheeks reddened from shame appeared almost immediately after that question. Just as he lowered his head to hide his face, Filch had reached into an inner pocket and shook a few gold coins from a leather drawstring pouch into his palm, sliding them across the desk in Snape's direction.
"I'm amending our wager: you go to Hogsmeade and when you come back, I'd better find some sweets on my desk or else. Not too many and nothing chewy, mind you, these old teeth can't handle it. You can keep the change. Now off with you, lad, we're leaving soon and I need to have a quick wash."
Because of Filch, Snape had been able to splash out on sweets that he would have otherwise been unable to afford. A small bag of hard butterscotch was purchased for the caretaker, and Snape bought a large bag of fudge for himself. Up until the day Snape left Hogwarts, Filch continued passing him the odd few Galleons, sometimes asking for more butterscotch or the odd liquorice drop. Not once did Filch make the exchange into some big ordeal; Snape would drop off the requested sweets and the caretaker would grumble in return, stating that he had cleaning to do before sending the young man away to his dormitory in place of a thank you. This exchange also did not stop Filch from giving Snape an earful if needed; a few months down the line Severus and James had gotten into an altercation that left the boys' lavatory with a flooded floor from a two broken taps. After the caretaker told off the pair of them, he made both boys mop the floor without magic while he supervised.
"I know you're in a strop with me, laddie, but you have to stop letting that boy rile you up," Filch had told Snape the following Saturday after his fight with Potter. "I didn't tell Slughorn, either. Figured you didn't need him or the headmaster breathing down your neck. Now get a move on, lad." Filch paused to slip Snape four shiny Galleons. "Liquorice don't buy itself."
Thinking back to his childhood days at school and his time with the caretaker made Snape suddenly feel tired. Momentarily setting aside his list of tasks, he settled in the armchair before the hearth in his bedroom. No matter how many times he told himself that he'd killed Dumbledore purely because the elderly wizard asked him to, it did not stop the pangs of guilt and remorse that continuously weighed down his heart. His reputation had long been in tatters with the majority of the wizarding world and when Snape was around twenty or so, he almost stopped caring what people thought of him.
Almost.
He still detested being referred to as a coward, something Bellatrix and Potter were aware of. The feeling of rage when being called a coward, however, did not come close to the guilt that was threatening to consume him. No matter the circumstances, no matter Snape's age or the rumours of his dealings with unsavoury individuals, Argus Filch was the only one whose attitude towards him remained constant. Just now Snape realised that some part of him had not only been dreading the return to Hogwarts for obvious reasons, but because it meant facing the caretaker who always seemed to know more than he let on. Filch might have forgiven him for cracking a few sinks in half during his youth, or for blasting apart a flowerbed in which Mrs. Norris had been using to nap in. Murder of the beloved former headmaster would undoubtedly be overlooked, no matter the conditions.
Snape ended up falling asleep in his armchair. He opened his eyes hours later to a the sound of a yowling cat, shortly after finding a house-elf standing on his bed and trying to pet Granger's familiar, who was clearly trying to evade the knobby little hand. The rich scent of potatoes and roasted chicken was also present,
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Unintentional Inveiglement