Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Unintentional Inveiglement	By : onecelestialbeing Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 130141 -:- Recommendations : 8 -:- Currently Reading : 30
Disclaimer: I own nothing of Harry Potter and it's characters and making no money from this story.

Chapter List
- 53
- 54
- 55
There was a constant twitching in Snape's left eye, a sure sign of a full-blown migraine in the works. He swore upon his livelihood that the next person to utter 'Professor' or in Hagrid's case, 'Perfesser', would pay dearly, and he would not be held accountable for his actions.
Because the majority of his work was being performed behind the scenes, rare was it that Snape showed face in Hogwarts during normal hours. Therefore when his staff was granted with his presence, many of them claimed the need to have a word with the headmaster. One word always turned into several, but Snape knew that he'd better listen lest he land with an uprising on his hands. Most of these conversations entailed professors speaking up on behalf of their pupils as they were outraged for the way the Carrows freely doled out punishment.
In turn, Snape spent an inordinate amount of time personally escorting students to Filch's office (he refused to entrust anyone else to the task), upon which the caretaker would escort the children to Hagrid's hut for detention. The headmaster was sure that many of the students were purposely finding ways to land themselves with detention, knowing that they would most likely spend an evening with Hagrid, yet Snape carried on acting as if he knew nothing.
"Perfesser," Hagrid began unceremoniously one evening after dinner. Snape had just set one foot off the dais when the half-giant accosted him, his broad flank nearly tipping over the dinner table as he turned to face the headmaster. "Wonderin' if I migh' have a word?"
Snape knew that was coming, as Hagrid had been eyeing him all throughout the entire meal. He'd timed his interruption at the inopportune moment for the headmaster, who always waited until certain staff members had excused themselves before taking his own leave. In no way did Snape want to linger in the Great Hall, and being delayed by Hagrid caused him to look more disgruntled than usual.
"If you must," the headmaster replied, the aggravation coming across clearly between each syllable.
Hagrid continued shifting his eyes about nervously, twisting round to make sure that no one was in close proximity. "Perhaps, err, we ought ter take this somewhere a bit quieter."
Whatever grievance Hagrid was about to share, Snape wanted to suggest that he wait until the next day. Knowing that he would be no more amenable to hearing what the unkempt man had to say no matter when he said it, he decided to get it over with right then and there and walked with Hagrid back to his hut. The headmaster's boot heels created the dullest of thumping noises as he hastened into the night air and across the school grounds; Hagrid could be heard panting behind him as he attempted to catch up, yet Snape never slowed his canter.
"Perfesser," Hagrid managed to get out once they were stood next to the small patch that usually contained enormous pumpkins or other vegetables. "I wanted ter speak with yeh."
"I gathered as much," Snape replied crisply. "For your sake that dog of yours had better be tethered."
"Fang?"
"Do you have more than one boarhound?"
"He won't bother yeh, Perfesser.'Sides, he's inside. Anyway I jus' wanted ter...I was jus' wonderin' if yeh knew abou' them new perfessers an' all. They seem a mite harsh when it comes ter punishment; saw a firs' year cryin' his eyes ou' an' sayin' he wanted ter go home to his mum an' dad."
"Is there a point to all this, Hagrid?"
"Ah, sure there is, Perfesser. I was wonderin' if there was something' yeh could do. Yer the headmaster, righ'? It jus' breaks my heart ter see these kids sufferin' so."
"If the students do as they are told then they will have no reason to fear the Carrows."
Hagrid looked extremely sceptical and refused to meet Snape's eyes for several seconds.
Snape didn't believe his own words about the Carrows: he knew exactly what would happen the moment they were given reign over Hogwarts' students, yet even they had limits. Those limits had nothing to do with decency and everything to do with Snape's unequivocal speech to his staff about the consequences should students become hurt on their watch. If only the rest of the staff knew that he shared their sentiments —and more—when it came to the Carrows. They would likely keel over from the shock. However the decision to place them at the school was out of his hands and for now he had to do his best to keep things from getting completely out of control.
"I know, Perfesser," Hagrid replied in a quiet voice. "I jus' figured—"
"Since you've taken such a keen interest in the pupils and their punishment, I think it best if you oversee each and every detention," Snape stated pointedly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Day or night, no matter the time or what you're doing, you will be expected to deal with each and every child sent your way. Understood?"
A confused frown was hidden beneath Hagrid's massive beard even as he nodded his head. There was also a questioning look in his eyes yet Snape acted as though he hadn't seen it.
"Remember," he continued, drawing his teaching robes close and turning on his heel, "Be it five in the morning or five in the evening, I don't want to hear a single word that reeks of complaining."
"Understood, Perfesser. Not a word."
A door creaking opened followed by a lazy bark was heard behind Snape as he made his way back to the school. Hagrid had his faults, a long list of which would take him an hour to write down, but the good vastly outnumbered the bad and he would be instrument in keeping the students safe. All along Snape planned to covertly enlist the gamekeeper in some way. Therefore when Hagrid approached him first, Snape had one less thing to carry out.
When Ginevra Weasley, Neville Longbottom, and Luna Lovegood attempted to steal the sword of Gryffindor from his office, he'd been apoplectic. It was now known in few circles that her brother, Ronald, was not actually home sick with spattergroit and likely on the run with Potter and Granger. The entire Weasley family had to leave the Burrow and go into hiding. Already they were made targets, and then matters were made worse by the attempted theft of the sword. Snape feared that the girl would be singled out and tortured endlessly by the Carrows, and he lost his temper at her rash behaviour. How Ginny thought she wouldn't be caught was beyond him; the moment the wards on his office were broken Snape had been alerted, thus catching the youngest Weasley halfway down the staircase with the long sword barely concealed by her slight frame. After securing the sword back in his office, Snape personally escorted the students to Hagrid's hut, uncaring that it was close to twelve on a Wednesday night.
Besides being annoyed at having to go through extra measures to keep the three idiots safe, as the Carrows were sure to have something special in mind once they'd heard about the incident, Snape now had to figure out what the silver trio were planning to do with the sword. For a second he considered the possibility that Potter had spoken to one of his contingent at the school. However that didn't seem likely; prior to the theft Snape had asked Phineas Nigellus to find out whatever he could from the Potter and friends be it directly or indirectly. The headmaster let him know that he was not above eavesdropping so long as it meant gleaning necessary information. When Phineas let him know that the trio was now a duo, as Ronald Weasley had abandoned his friends, Snape became so quietly enraged that he bit his tongue and tasted blood for several minutes.
Though an idiot Weasley may be, Snape had to give the boy credit as he was no slouch when it came to defensively wielding his wand. However, just as he had been an asset, quickly he turned into a liability by lowering the group's defences by leaving them less one person, thus more vulnerable. Snape could not come up with a single justifiable reason that offered recourse for Weasley's actions, not even if he'd walked in on Potter screwing his sister ten ways till Tuesday.
He didn't think Potter a complete waste of space, although it was plain that without Hermione he would be unable to find his arse in the dark with both hands. More than once and on separate occasions, Snape had warned Potter and Granger to not be ruled by their emotions. Now he just prayed that his blunt words of advice had soaked in.
With the way things were going, Weasley was not likely to survive if he were to fall into the wrong hands. The last thing the other two needed was to be worried sick about their friend, then suffering from grief and guilt over whatever misfortune he fell to. Granger would likely suffer worse if she were to hear bad news; Snape could see Hermione now, bawling her eyes out, and if Ronald were to survive then he vowed to personally make the ginger idiot suffer.
All of that combined made Snape somewhat obsessive with keeping tabs on Potter and Granger, and at any available opportunity he conversed with Phineas Nigellus.
"Do you have any idea where they are now?" Snape had asked last. The painting gave a loud show of clearing his throat and turned down his nose.
"The Mudbl—excuse me, Muggleborn—refuses to divulge her and Potter's whereabouts. Each time I've asked I ended up being rudely shoved into a dark sack of some sort. By all the saints, these young people are positively indecorous. In any event I've learned not to ask too many questions. As it were I always learn more when they don't know I'm listening."
Snape told Phineas to do whatever he needed in order to coax information out of Potter and Granger, yet phrased his request in a way that gave Phineas the illusion of it being his idea.
Dumbledore also wanted to be kept apprised of all occurrences in and out of Hogwarts, and sometimes he visited a disused part of the castle which held another frame for him to visit. The room had been new to Snape, and he wondered what the previous, odd headmaster used to do in the tiny space that had one window and was far away from everyone and everything. He then decided that he didn't want to know. During their first meeting in the strange room, Snape said nothing about the peculiar place yet Dumbledore happily offered that he used to visit whenever he needed a change of scenery. What view? had been on the tip of Snape's tongue, as he'd looked out the window and noticed only the top of a parapet.
There both current and former headmaster were able to speak openly and freely. It was in that very room where Dumbledore told Snape the truth about the sword of Gryffindor, as well as its location. Dumbledore also stated that Potter would need the sword to destroy the Horcruxes, yet left it up to Snape to think of a plan to deliver the goods.
One night after conversing with Dumbledore's portrait in the little room, Snape found that he was in no mood to be confined to the four walls of his own chambers. Thickly clothed by his woollen travelling cloak, he ventured outdoors to stand in the moonlight courtyard. A fresh blanket of pristine snow covered everything, giving the area a beautiful yet eerie glow.
"Evening, Professor."
An age-worn voice greeted Snape as the sharp, umistakeable scent of tobacco cut through the cold, night air and stroked his nostrils.
"Shouldn't you be in bed, old man?"
Filch let out a wheezing laugh. He'd tucked himself into a shadowed corner and stepped into the light to stand next to Snape. He was dressed in an old but warm overcoat and lumpy knit hat, and had his beloved pipe in hand. Bringing it back to his lips, he held it between his teeth. Without turning his head he reached into an inner pocket, withdrawing a small box and handing it to Snape.
"Where the devil did you find these?" asked Snape, twisting the thing round in his hand. "I know you didn't wander into a Muggle shop in this weather."
"God, no," Filch hacked, coughing a few times before pulling on his pipe again. "Got'em off a student in your House; Slughorn's House, whichever. The little bastard, sneaking fags in the toilet and dropping ash all over my clean floors. If he weren't in Slytherin I would have strung up his skinny arse in my office."
Snape gave a jerky nod while carefully opening the pack and peering inside. Filch's discovery was no big shocker. During his time as a student and later a teacher, he found that there were always a handful of older students who found odd ways to rebel, smoking being one of them. Underage students who lived in Muggle neighbourhoods always found ways to obtain cigarettes, sometimes smuggling them into school and selling them to the fellow classmates.
No one was exempt from this sort of mischief; students from every house and every bloodline had been caught redhanded. In his early teaching years, there had been one rainy Saturday afternoon when Snape encountered a student in a out of bounds lavatory, ready to light up. He'd snatched the unlit cigarette from the shocked boy's hand, keeping hold of it while directing the student to an empty classroom. Perching comfortably in the chair while propping both legs up on the desk, Snape made a great show of using his wand to light the pilfered cigarette and leisurely puffed on it while thinking of the best way to punish the child. The fifteen-year-old offender was then assigned lines, and even though his back had been facing Snape as he squeakily scrawled out in white chalk 'I will not smoke in the lavatory, dormitory, or anywhere in Hogwarts', it had been easy to decipher the look of pure loathing on his face.
At least that cigarette had been good quality; the ones Filch gave him were disgusting. "Whoever this student is, they have abysmal taste in cigarettes," Snape murmured, grimacing as he took his third pull. "If they were going to try and be clever, the least they could have done was make it worth their while."
"I didn't think that was your favourite brand but figured some was better'n none. Anyway, you don't need'em. Those things'll kill you. Remember?"
"Yes, Filch, I remember," Snape intoned drily, "but seeing that I'm fresh out of rolling paper and loose tobacco this will have to do. Besides, I'm going to die anyway, and I assure you it won't be death by nicotine."
"Shut up, lad. Don't talk like that. You ain't going nowhere, not for a long while."
Snape grunted and exhaled a puff of smoke. Filch hated when he spoke of his own death in the same casual manner one might use if they were discussing weekend plans, but Snape saw no reason to become tearful over the inevitable.
"Who did you confiscate these from?" he asked the caretaker, purely to change the subject.
"That quiet lad who looks as though he's never seen a blade or a brush...Alston...Alton. Hell if I remember."
"And where is he now?"
Filch looked as though he was mulling over something while chewing on the end of his pipe.
"Bed, I assume. Left Mrs. Norris to watch him while he mopped the floor without magic. Told'im to head straight to the dormitory when he was finished."
Snape raised an eyebrow at that bit of information.
"I may be a nasty old codger but I ain't one for senseless bloodshed," Filch stated slowly. "'S no way I was gonna send that boy to them Carrows. Slytherin or not, something tells me the lad would have left them two in a bloodied, half-dead state. I've heard stories about Pringle when he worked here; Dippet let him use a cane on wayward students but I don't think them Pringle has a thing on them Carrows. Something ain't right in their heads."
"Inbreeding has always been one theory of mine," Snape commented, drawing his cloak tighter round his neck and inhaling hard as he frowned into the distance. "I know it's pointless to complain but I will never get used to this abysmal cold and freezing my arse off at every turn."
"Best to smoke up, lad, and we'll go inside. You look as though you've been staring into the face of the devil himself."
Snape thought about the Dark Lord's deformed, sinister face and his glowing red eyes, and he had to fight back a shudder.
Not exactly far from the truth.
"Next time we don't plan to run into one another but somehow meet anyway, you can rustle up one of those fires," Filch stated, yawning as he put out his pipe. "Time for a nightcap. You've nowt to do except wear a hole in the floors; may as well stop by and have a bit."
"You know damn well I cannot abide that swill you keep in your office," Snape murmured, puffing on the last of his cigarette and dropping in to the ground, grinding it with the heel of his boot. A small flick of his wand vanished the evidence, and he followed Filch as he walked back into the school.
"I don't give a damn what you can and can't abide," Filch replied indifferently, giving Snape a hard stare before shuffling off in the direction that led to his office. "A drop won't hurt you. Besides, it'll clear your head; help you sleep."
When Filch got into one of his moods there was no stopping him, and Snape silently followed the caretaker. When he'd imbibed enough brandy to pacify the older man (Filch gave him a smug, knowing look on his way out), he made his way to his room. The brandy had been disgusting but Filch had been right–it did help him fall asleep.

Ron's absence was hard to ignore for both Harry and Hermione; often their eyes would travel towards his abandoned bunk, yet his name was never spoken. Both knew what the other was thinking; Ron was going to be captured by Snatchers or worse. Yet the hardest thing to admit was that it was quieter without him, and a touch less stressful without his constant whinging and bickering.
As autumn turned to winter, Hermione and Harry slogged through snow and froze their backsides off each time they changed camp. It was during those times when Hermione resented Ron the most. He'd behaved as though his inconvenience of roughing it was their fault. Many times she'd wanted to remind Ron that none of them were slumbering in feather beds or having three hot meals a day. But because she'd wanted to keep the peace—what little bit remained—she mostly kept her mouth shut.
Despite telling herself that she was mad at Ron, Hermione was unable to contain her tears at night when her anxiety got the best of her. The few times she was desperate enough to bring up his name, Harry rudely dismissed her before turning his back, and eventually she knew that it was pointless to force the issue.
Further down the line a few things happened that made the two put the issue of Ron's disappearance on the backburner. Around Christmastime Harry decided that he wanted to visit Godric's Hollow, the place he and Godric Gryffindor were born, also the very place where his parents died.
Hiding beneath the guise of Polyjuice and Harry's Invisibility Cloak, the two carefully made their way to the snow-covered village. There had been a brief glimmer of hope when they pondered the idea of finding the sword of Gryffindor. The sword had been momentarily forgotten about when they found the graves of Dumbledore's mother and sister, and then Harry's parents. Harry had fallen into a strained silence before tears tumbled down his cheeks, and the only thing Hermione had been able to do was grip tightly onto his hand.
Standing before the Potters' graves made her think of her own parents and the possibility that they might never be reunited, and a lump the size of a Quaffle formed in her throat. As much as she wanted to cry, she resisted, telling herself that she needed to stay strong for Harry. Out of respect she'd conjured a wreath of Christmas roses to leave on the Potters' graves, and as she bent down she allowed a single tear to trickle down her cheek, taking care to wipe her face dry before standing upright again.
Following that surreal moment in the graveyard had been another, which was finding the house that Harry briefly lived in with his parents. They had been investigating a small sign in front of the house that proclaimed the ruined structure to be a monument to the Potters and their sacrifice. The entire time Hermione had the feeling that she and Harry were being watched, and the horror she felt upon finding that she was correct was incomparable to nearly everything she had experienced thus far.
A tiny, stout woman had been following them ever since they'd Apparated into the village. She didn't walk, so much as shuffle to get from point to point, all the while maintaining a slouched posture. She had rheumy, watery eyes, was covered in liver spots, looked older then Methuselah, and upon Harry and Hermione standing next to her, was found to be particularly malodorous. The entire time she remained silent, although Hermione got the gist that she was being ignored. The woman had nearly knocked her over while beckoning Harry to come closer, something that made Hermione's senses immediately go on high alert.
Harry had been so sure that the woman was Bathilda Bagshot, and ignored Hermione's every plea about not following the woman into her house, stating foolishly, in her opinion, that Bathilda was so small they would have no problem overpowering her if needed. Bathilda silently urged Harry to follow her upstairs, glaring at Hermione when she loudly protested at being separated from her best friend. The entire situation didn't sit right with her, and Hermione remained on guard while waiting in the cramped and filthy sitting room.
Hermione had no idea what a dead, rotting body smelled like but if she had to guess then Bathilda's house most likely fit the ticket. That had been forgotten about when Harry's scream nearly ripped through the ceiling, and Hermione's blood ran cold as she dashed upstairs to find Harry and a gigantic snake instead of a seemingly harmless old woman.
Everything happened so fast that Hermione only had time to react. Nagini had been trying to squeeze the life out of Harry but a Blasting Curse that came from her wand sent him slithering away. Harry pulled on Hermione and she pulled on him; they were so frantic in trying to get away that it was hard to tell what was happening. Hermione's only recourse had been to clutch onto Harry and drag him out of the window, immediately Disapparating them both in midair.
Such a feat could have gotten them seriously hurt, or killed, and that realisation didn't hit Hermione until she and Harry were back in the forest. During their escape Harry managed to head butt her, leaving Hermione with a raging headache, a bruised eye and a split lip. The snow covered ground hadn't offered much by way of protection, and in landing with Harry's full weight upon her, Hermione managed to twist her ankle. Each of her injuries was ignored as she struggled to still her thrashing friend.
"It's OK, Harry, We're safe! It's alright, Harry!" Hermione repeated like a mantra, to no avail. The more she tried to hold him down the more he fought, until the effort made her arms ache. She was weary with relief when Harry eventually wore himself out and went limp in her arms, even though he continued mumbling things, the only word she could make out being 'Voldemort'.
Despite the constant throbbing pain in her own extremities, Hermione made it her business to first tend to Harry. His sleeve was covered in blood and she felt a fresh wave of panic rising upon realising that he'd been bitten by Nagini. Between a few spells that she'd learned from Severus as well as her trusty bottle of Dittany, Harry's wounds were soon cleaned and healed, and Hermione was mostly sure that there would be no lasting damage. No damage to his arm, at least; when she'd tried to remove the Horcrux it sort of clung to his chest. The more she pulled the more it stuck, until a Severing Charm finally separated the locket from his skin. An angry, oval-shaped mark was left behind and it looked painful, but Harry had been so deep into his tormented subconscious state that he never flinched.
It was obvious that Harry was not going to fall into a restful sleep, and Hermione wished that she'd had some sort of sleeping draught on hand. She didn't want to leave his side but the thrumming in her ankle had reached an all time high, and she paused long enough to pry off her shoe and wrap the tender limb in a makeshift bandage fashioned out of a threadbare shirt.
Hermione had just shuffled back to Harry's bedside when she noticed that he was sweating profusely. After conjuring a dish of ice water and a sponge, she pressed herself closer (biting her lip in the process when pressure was put on her bad ankle and then wincing when her teeth hit the tender part of her lip) and removed Harry's glasses. The snow outside seemed to have more colour than his face, and it was remarkable that he was so pale considering how feverish his forehead felt.
While she continuously bathed Harry's head, neck and chest, Hermione was brought back to the first time when she'd unintentionally spent the night in Snape's room at Grimmauld Place, using most of that evening to wipe his flushed face with a cloth dipped in ice water.
That had been one of the first times Hermione was in Snape's presence when he was completely silent. It had been a bit unnerving, especially when she'd paused to rewet the cloth and found him staring up at her through slit eyes. She vaguely remembered the way her hands shook, nervous at being so close to the man. Her hands were shaking now, although that came from a mixture of exhaustion, frayed nerves, and pain in multiple parts of her body.
The stench of the woman who turned out to not really be a woman, as well as the sour-smelling of her house refused to leave Hermione's nostrils. Part of her wanted out the tent, to stand alone in the wintry night air and breathe in until the odour was banished. The other part of her wanted to stay in the tent and next to Harry, even though he most likely had no idea that she was next to him. Yet remaining in the tent offered her some semblance of security and the illusion of comfort, and Hermione clung to those tiny shreds, hoping it would get her through the night.
The gibberish coming from Harry's mouth had finally stopped, and his fever seemed to have dissipated. After drawing the sheets and blankets up to his neck, Hermione collapsed into the discoloured armchair across from his bunk. She was numb from being pushed beyond the brink of mental and physical exhaustion, yet found herself unable to sleep. Besides needing to make sure that Harry was fine, Hermione knew that if she were to close her eyes, the only thing she would see was Nagini trying to kill them both.
Staring up at the faded canvas of the tent led Hermione to drifting off in the armchair, and she caught a solid twenty minutes of sleep before Harry's shouting forced her awake. In a flash she was at his side again, pleading and praying and saying anything she thought would help keep him calm. In the midst of his thrashing about, something fell from the tangle of blankets and clattered to the floor. Hermione ignored the noise, more concerned with getting Harry to back to sleep.
Whatever he was dreaming about that had him so worked up also caused him to sweat heavily until his hair was plastered to his scalp. At one point things became so bad that Hermione wondered if Harry was suffering from side effects of the snake bite. She was almost desperate to dig into her beaded bag for Phineas Nigellus' portrait with hopes that he could deliver a message to the headmaster, but figured she had a better chance of being sorted into Slytherin. Hermione berated herself for never asking Severus if he knew anything about Nagini, as it might have proved helpful now. But were she to contact Snape and give him any clues as to their location, Harry would never forgive her even if it meant potentially saving his life.
One hour passed. It felt like five, and Hermione was sure that it also hacked a few years off her life. She'd cut open her palm in hastily rooting through her bag, remembering the Muggle medicine she'd luckily procured on their last food run. The foil packet was unearthed from a jumble of books and clothes, and the pills were all but shoved down Harry's throat, followed by a trickle of water that came from her wand. Another crude bandage was fashioned from the shirt she'd used for her ankle, and wrapped around her hand to keep more blood from dripping everywhere. She planned to mend the cut once Harry was fine and right before dawn his recurring fever finally broke and he fell into an inconstant sleep. Falling back into her chair and frowning at the streaks of dried blood that had dripped down her wrist, Hermione removed the cloth from her hand and used her lighted wand to examine her injury.
The wound was deeper than she realised, and using Dittany to close it was undoubtedly going to sting like mad. However, before she got a chance to Summon the bottle, a gentle blue glow came from the tip of her wand and went right towards her lacerated palm. Hermione was thoroughly shocked when her wound was instantly healed, but then she noticed something different about the handle of her wand that made her mouth fall open: a suddenly appearing set of tiny runes that glowed with the same pale blue light.
Prior to now Hermione hadn't given much thought to the protection spell Severus cast using both their wands. He hadn't exactly given detail on what it would do; the only thing Hermione knew was that they would be sharing magic in the hopes of keeping them both protected. She also remembered Severus telling her that the spell was Dark, a fact which Hermione found hard to believe. When the runes glowed on her wand, a trickle of magic that was definitely not her own could be felt coursing throughout her body.
To be able to feel Severus' magic, even without him being there, left Hermione distressed and soothed all at once. She tried not to miss him, believing that her maudlin emotions would just serve as a distraction. Yet the moment his protection spell was enacted, a pang of grief left her heart feeling as though it was being squeezed. Now she was desperate for any bit of contact from him, even if it came in the form of a snarling message via Phineas Nigellus. Hermione had no idea what she would say to the portrait, and knew that she was not creative enough to come up with something that would seem anodyne to Phineas yet transparent to Severus.
Wonderful

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Unintentional Inveiglement