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Unintentional Inveiglement	By : onecelestialbeing Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 130116 -:- 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
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A/N: I really can't thank you enough for the reviews! They feed my Muse and make me bang out chapters faster than I usually work so...thanks and enjoy!

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"Would it be terribly wrong of me to let Ron fall onto the floor?"

Harry snickered, his shoulders shaking against Hermione. The three were huddled together on the largest sofa in the drawing room. Harry had made dinner that night, which consisted of a heaping mound of spaghetti and meatballs. Ron had eaten three helpings, Harry and Hermione only one and a half. When they were done Ron suggested a game of Wizard's Chess for him and Harry, and they traipsed upstairs to the drawing room.

After a rousing game that left Ron soundly cursing at Harry-who had gotten better and won that round-it was obvious that the boys were bored. Hermione had claimed the sofa first, her head buried in a book when Ron came next to her, peeking over her shoulder, asking what she was reading. Hermione knew that Ron definitely had nothing better to do as any other time he would dare to ask that usually avoided question. More for her amusement than anything, Hermione immediately launched into a summary of her book before Ron's brown eyes glazed over.

"Uh, right," he mumbled, as her entire speech sounded like gibberish to his ears.

Ron then turned sideways, draping his long legs over the arm of the sofa and using Hermione's back as a pillow. Hermione heaved a loud sigh, but continued with her reading. Shortly after, Harry took her other side, also dangling his legs over the other end. He'd taken out his wand, flicking it around and making little sparks to entertain himself. The crackling fireplace and the sound of Hermione turning pages filled the room, and it hadn't taken long for Ron to fall asleep. His muscular body had gone lax and he was slumped against Hermione, only for her to shove him off her, allowing his weight to settle on the back of the sofa. His mouth gaped open from the angle, and soon Ron was snoring so loudly that Harry suggested using Spellotape to fasten his lips together, causing Hermione to burst into giggles.

"Or we could levitate him to the floor?" she suggested.

"Nah, too easy. What we need is some pudding or his Mum's pie, and we can hold it under his nose, see if he stirs, and then we he tries to make a grab for it, pull it away really quickly and see if he tries to follow the scent. I bet you ten Galleons that Ron won't even open his eyes, he'll try to follow the scent and stay asleep at the same time."

Hermione laughed hysterically at that idea, and nearly dropped her book. Ron then snorted and snuffled, his snores halting for a second before resuming.

"Harry Potter, you are terrible!" she shrieked, nudging him in the side with her elbow. "But those are Ron's two favourite things-eating and sleeping. I reckon he would try both if not for the risk of choking to death."

"You know, I think you're right about that," Harry chuckled. "But you know, Ron does have the right idea. I'm ready for bed. Though I don't know why he's asleep, it isn't like he was the one standing in the kitchen for hours."

"Well, dinner was wonderful, thank you again," Hermione replied, sliding up between the two and moving off the sofa. Again Ron had moved to lean against her in his sleep, and fell face down on the sofa cushions when he met thin air.

"Whazz-?" he mumbled, his bleary eyes cracking open.

Hermione was standing over him, book clutched to her chest and shaking her head. "Go to bed, Ron."

"Blimey, didn't realize that I'd fallen asleep," he yawned, reaching one hand up to scratch his head.

Hermione used her wand to douse the lamps in the drawing room, and the three walked upstairs, making sure to tread lightly when they passed the curtain-covered portrait on the landing. They told each other goodnight and disappeared into their respective bedrooms.

It had been difficult keeping a straight face in the presence of her best friends. Visions of being half-naked and draped across Snape's lap, while his hands and mouth worked over her breasts kept flooding her mind, and Hermione had to bite down on the inside of her cheek to keep a straight face. It didn't help that her face had gone red whenever she thought about it, to which she would hastily duck her head, allowing her bushy hair to cover her flaming cheeks. The boys hadn't noticed anything, actually, Harry had once and asked if she was alright, but Hermione hastily explained that she had something in her throat, feigning a cough to cover up her actions.

She had been nearly fighting mad when Snape stopped, leaving her sprawled out on the tiny sofa, his body inches away from hers without them physically touching. Never in her young life had she been so aroused, and the sensation was gratifying yet maddening at the same time, because it left her yearning for more.

Becoming aroused again and needing to do something to distract her, Hermione decided to take a quick bath. She had just begun to gather up her toilet kit when she heard a set of solid footsteps outside of her bedroom, followed by the slamming of the bathroom door.

Sighing, Hermione threw everything back on her bed, knowing that the footsteps belonged to Ron, and that he would take his leisurely time to come out. She had almost given up hope when forty minutes later Ron finally made a banging exit out of the bathroom, clomping his way back to the bedroom.

Hermione didn't know why Ron felt the need to walk as if he weighed the amount of three elephants, but ignored it and walked out into the hallway. A muttered snarl was heard somewhere in the distance, and she knew that Kreacher was lurking about in the house, cross about something as usual. Just as she was about to walk into the humid bathroom to turn on the light, Hermione felt the urge to turn around. She nearly yelped when she saw Snape standing at the top of the steps, an unfathomable look in his black eyes, appearing as if he needed to make haste to his bedroom. She hadn't heard him coming up the stairs, and now she began walking over to him, pausing when she noticed a faint, coppery scent lingering in the air.

"You're hurt."

"Well spotted, Miss Granger," he coolly replied. "Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to retire for the evening."

Hermione held onto the edge of Snape's black traveling cloak before he was able to completely turn away, earning a sneer from the wizard. "Don't be daft, l still smell blood on you...unless it's not yours..." Snape's face remained impassive, and Hermione decided that it was better if she didn't know. "If you're cut, you'll need Dittany on them."

"It won't make a difference, I assure you," he told her dryly, standing perfectly still and staring at the hand that was grasped onto his cloak. Right then a bedroom door was heard creaking open, and Hermione's eyes grew wide as if she was scared of getting caught. Toilet kit in one hand and Snape's cloak still in the other, Hermione tugged him along, surprised when he uprooted his feet and followed behind her into her bedroom.

Hermione hastily shut the door and pulled an armchair from against the wall, ushering Snape to sit down. Taking his time to unfasten his cloak as if there was no pressing issue at hand, Snape finally sat down, his black eyes trained on the young witch. She had bent over to root around her trunk, withdrawing a small, glass bottle with a dropper.

"Um, are you going to leave on your coat?" she asked, looking at the tightly buttoned garment.

"You do know that I can handle this myself?"

"I know. Maybe some other time, then...actually, no, I hope that you don't have to go through...whatever it was that you did tonight, but you understand what I mean. I didn't even know that you'd left the house."

Snape merely grunted, although he unfastened his frock coat and slipped out of it, draping it over the back of the armchair. Hermione blanched when she saw the red staining his white linen shirt, but was grateful when Snape unbuttoned it, revealing pink slashes across his pale chest that had obviously been recently healed. Focused solely on the injury, Hermione dripped liberal amounts of the Dittany across his wounds, watching as the scars disappeared. She was amazed that he never flinched once, knowing that Dittany stung like mad when it came in contact with wounds. Hermione then used her wand to siphon as much blood as possible off his white shirt, restoring it back to a somewhat pristine state.

The entire time Hermione worked over him, Snape stared straight ahead, watching her wildly curly-haired head moving around from the corner of his eye. He was surprised she hadn't begun questioning him about the multitude of old scars that were mapped across his skin, but it wasn't as if he planned on volunteering any information concerning them if she did ask.

Now Hermione was going over his hands with her wand, siphoning off the blood and dirt that clung to his knuckles. When she was finished she sat on her bed across from him, setting her wand down by her side.

"Thank you," he offered in a stiff voice.

"You're welcome."

Hermione thought it a bit odd that they were sitting in her bedroom, although the only real difference was that Snape seemed to keep his on the dimmer side, day or night. She kept furtively glancing at him from beneath her fringe, noticing that Snape was pinching the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache.

"Well then," he suddenly announced, smoothly rising from the armchair and collecting his frock coat and traveling cloak. "Goodnight."

"No, wait!" Hermione cried, darting off the bed and rushing over to him. Snape had one hand on the doorknob when she pushed it away, turning the lock into place and standing in front of him. Pausing as if she was unsure of what to do next, Hermione looked up at Snape, finding his dark eyes intently appraising her.

"Miss Granger, I'm in no mood for your antics tonight," he spat, his hands firmly coming down on Hermione's shoulder when she stepped closer to him.

"Goodness, I'm not going to bite you!" she lightly chastised, frowning up at him.

"I won't tell you again, girl-move."

"No," Hermione adamantly replied, standing her ground.

Snape was done with the little witch challenging him. Before she could part her lips to utter another word, Snape neatly stepped over her ugly furry pink slippers that had been left strewn about in the middle of the floor and dragged Hermione over to the bed. He pushed her to lie flat on the mattress and swiftly moved to hover over her, his face inches away from hers. The daft girl didn't appear remotely scared; in fact, she'd worked her arms around his back and was pulling him into her, leaning up to rub her face against his.

Screaming inwardly, Hermione felt her heart pounding as Snape buried his face into her neck, at the same time rushing to push her shirt up and run his roughened hands over her bra. When that wasn't enough he tugged the flimsy cups down, straddling her hips and bending his head low, his teeth lightly biting and his tongue circling around the already erect nipples.

Becoming lost in a dizzying clasp of rapidly mounting arousal, Hermione dug her fingers into Snape's slim back, gathering up a handful of his white shirt while dimly hoping that she wasn't clawing him with her nails. It was glaringly obvious that he'd held back the night before, as he was now going at her breasts with great fervor, each stroke of his tongue sending a jolt of pleasure to meet with the butterflies that fluttered around in the pit of her stomach.

A black cloth-covered erection was now pressing into her belly, and Hermione longed to reach down and grab it. Before she was able to do so, Snape pushed himself up, his hands coming to her waist to unfasten the button and zipper on her jeans, swiftly pulling them and her knickers down off her legs. It dawned on her to feel ridiculous, being naked from the waist down, but Snape didn't seem to mind. He came right back over her, his mouth eagerly reattaching itself to her left breast while his hand pushed her legs apart, his thin fingers firmly digging into her inner thigh.

It was as if the build-up and then steady denial of the past few days had come to a head. Despite Snape's thin build, he was surprisingly heavy and had no difficulty into pinning a half-naked Hermione to her bed. Long fingers and rough palms ran over her legs, thighs, stomach and breasts. Futilely fighting to regain control of her senses, Hermione admitted to herself that perhaps Snape had been right-she didn't know what it was she was asking for.

His hot, open mouth was now moving over her neck, nipping at the sensitive skin beneath her ear. Trying to direct pressure onto her achingly needy clit, Hermione wrapped her legs around Snape's waist, arching her hips up to make him move lower. She wondered if he was obtuse or deliberately thwarting her advances, as his cock remained firmly pressed into her navel, his hands touching everything except where she wanted most.

Snape's tongue unfurled and trailed over her pulse, leaving behind a damp spot that felt cool when air hit it. He then pushed himself upright, shoving both hands beneath Hermione's behind and pulling her closer.

Hermione definitely felt ridiculous now; she was sure her hair was a mess, and her pink and purple stripy shirt was pushed up and bunched beneath her chin, the simple blue cotton bra yanked down beneath the swell of her breasts. On top of that, Snape had her practically splayed wide in his lap, and his onyx eyes were intently focused on her exposed cunt.

Snape had been doing his best to convince himself that he wouldn't get tangled up with the young witch. But the minute he pried her thighs apart and saw the sparse hair covering her delta, barely concealing the flushed, red lips, he knew he was fighting a losing battle.

His eyes focused on the bead of moisture that had collected at her entrance, and he longed to press his tongue there to see how she tasted. The girl was having a hard time remaining still, as if his burning gaze alone was enough to arouse her.

It was, in fact. Hermione had never let anyone touch her, forget being stripped and spread to all and sundry. Snape was staring at her in a way that clearly spoke of approval, although his hands had remained on her inner thighs. Countless times his black eyes had cut her down for something or another, but never did Hermione think that her most intimate place would throb as a result of those piercing orbs.

Right when Hermione gave serious consideration to thumping Snape in his lower back with her heel to make him touch her, he curled his forearm around her left thigh and held it in place, while the long fingers on his right hand carded through her curls, lightly tugging on it and separating the lips. There was a fleeting touch on her clit as he continued sliding his fingers through her pubic hair, the slender digits painstakingly moving about to pick apart her tightly clenched folds. The bead of moisture at her entrance had grown, and was now seeping down her cleft, threatening to leave behind a generous wet spot on the duvet.

Hermione's eyes were screwed shut, and she didn't know whether to scream, cry, or shout. Snape had merely run his fingers along her labia and already she was incoherent with need. She had touched herself countless times, but it was nothing compared to the foreign yet delicious feel of Snape's calloused fingers sliding between her folds.

Snape, on the other hand, was half-focused on the mewling, writhing witch draped over him, the other half of his attention on a most persistent erection. He couldn't remember ever being as aroused as he was at the moment, but then again, he'd never been inclined to explore a witch the way he was doing to Hermione. His fingers were becoming slick with her arousal, droplets of the clear, sticky fluid clinging to his fingertips. Whenever he moved closer to her clit, her weeping entrance would clench shut, as if it was silently begging to be filled. Hermione wasn't the only one; Snape felt the damp spot in the inside of his boxers, and it was only growing larger the more he contemplated getting rid of them and his trousers to seek a little relief of his own.

Finally deciding to put the girl out of her misery, Snape let his thumb brush over the bright-red engorged nub at the top of her folds, earning a sharp cry and a forceful upwards jerk of her hips. His groin pulsed at Hermione's strong reaction, at the same time fervently hoping that Frick and Frack down the hall didn't hear her scream.

"You'll have to do better than that, Miss Granger," he warned her in a low voice. Snape hadn't bothered with a Silencing Charm, as he hadn't anticipated this little tryst. As it was, it wouldn't have mattered; while it would have muffled the sound from the boys a few doors down, Potter's nasty little house-elf would still be able to hear.

Hermione kept her eyes closed but nodded, biting down hard on her bottom lip to control herself. Although it was easier said than done; his thumb on her clit had been insubstantial at best, as it wasn't enough to push her over the edge, yet it was enough to cause even more juices to trickle down her tightly clenched buttocks.

Opening her eyes when she felt Snape tap a hand on her thigh to gain her attention, she saw him motion for her to move up by the headboard. Moving into place without protest, Hermione arranged two pillows behind her back, sitting cross-legged as she anxiously waited for his next move.

Snape had climbed off the bed, rolling his white shirtsleeves halfway up his wrists before bending to remove his boots. Once he was done he moved back on the bed, grabbing Hermione's ankles and prying her legs completely apart again before kneeling between them.

Hermione couldn't help it when she began trembling beneath Snape's direct gaze. Peering through the curtains of black hair surround his face, she saw that Snape's dark eyes were roving over her disheveled form as if he was planning on devouring her whole, which wasn't far from the truth. His jaw was set firmly as if he was about to embark on some unpleasant task, but little did Hermione know he convincing himself to not throw her flat on her back again and shove his way into her body, even if he was positive that she would give little protest if he did.

Those wonderfully skilled fingers parted her now drenched folds, the tip of Snape's index finger lightly pressing at her entrance before gliding up to her clit. Hermione's breath caught in her throat at the contact, but when it remained in place, rubbing little circles around the swollen bud, she quickly forgot that Snape told her to keep quiet, earning a sibilant hiss of displeasure from the wizard.

"Sorry!" she told him, once again sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, almost threatening to draw blood. Just when Hermione believed that her body was physically unable to handle more of Snape's caresses, his index and middle finger slowly twisted halfway into her body, whilst the pad of his thumb pressed down on the hood of her clit.

Losing all vestiges of reasoning when he heard that lust-filled cry from the witch, Snape didn't even bother reminding her to keep quiet. The only thing he could focus on was getting his trousers and pants down, awkwardly doing so with his free hand until his erect cock joyfully bounced out of its fitted cotton and wool confines. In a flash Snape grabbed Hermione's hand and placed it upon him, urging her to grasp him tightly and drag her hand along his length.

Hermione was in disbelief that Snape had actually pulled his trousers down to this thighs, resulting in his cock on her hands. She desperately wanted to see him, take her time to examine and touch him, but it was obvious that the wizard was in no mood for tentative caresses. Working her fist over the thick, heavy length, Hermione ran her thumb over the ruddy tip of his cock, feeling the slippery fluid growing abundant and making a slow trail down the back of her hand.

Becoming lost in his moist, heavy breathing against her neck, and the way his hips were forcefully thrusting forward, Hermione nearly forgot that Snape's fingers were embedded at her entrance until he twisted both inside her body up to the hilt, causing her to flinch and inhale sharply.

Silently swearing at the almost too intense, uncomfortable sensation, Hermione realized that Snape was waiting for her to relax before he went on. His thumb resumed circling over her clit, soon coupled with the slow thrusting of his fingers. The two, slender digits moved smoothly inside and over her, keeping the tempo steady but inexorable.

Oh god, oh shit! Hermione thought frantically, as those long fingers began curling inside her, sending forceful shocks of pleasure throughout her entire body, causing her insides to knot up and melt at the same time.

Judging by her hot, tight walls that pulsated and clamped down on his fingers, Snape was positive that Hermione was on the brink of going over. Rotating his wrist a bit, he aimed his fingertips at the spongy patch of tissues inches away from her entrance. That little move sent her reeling, and he rushed to grab Hermione by the hair and pressed her face into his chest to smother her outcry.

Her hand never stopped moving over his cock, and Snape was almost at a point where he didn't give a damn who heard them, because there was nothing that would make him stop. Hermione now had her free arm around him, her small fingers digging into his shoulders and her face buried in his neck, doing her best to put a lid on her moans. The muffled cries were only spurring Snape on, and he moved his hand a bit faster, growing frenzied with the need for Hermione to come all over his fingers.

Seconds later her ragged breathing turned into a broken sob, followed by a piercing cry as her walls drew tighter and tighter until breaking into a fervent pulsing. The feel of his palm becoming coated with her juices and the muffled scream into his neck was enough to make the last vestiges of Snape's control dissolve, and he let out a deep groan as his body went rigid against Hermione's, his cock throbbing in her hand as he furiously spurted his release all over her partially-clothed chest.

Hermione had nearly gone crossed-eyed from climaxing so hard. She kept telling herself to be quiet, to not make any noise, but it had been difficult. Then she was a bit mortified yet aroused by the sound of Snape's fingers delving into her sopping flesh, each thrust yielding a wet, sucking noise. When the pleasure culminated to a point where she no longer cared about the embarrassing sound, Hermione lost control of her body, shortly after Snape groaning into her hair, his hips sharply lurching against her before spilling himself on her shirt.

Their labored breathing filled the room, both staying glued to one another until Snape pulled back, slowly withdrawing his fingers from Hermione's tight and continuously throbbing channel. Hermione's hand fell away from his shrinking cock, and she wanted to feel bereft for not getting a good look at it, but was too weighed down with a sudden wash of lassitude to give it any more worry.

Hermione fell to her side and unleashed a wide yawn, now feeling incredibly sleepy. She wanted to curl up and bury herself beneath the duvet until she remembered that her shirt was covered in Snape's spunk. Cracking one eye open, she saw that he was still next to her, looking as if he was trying to regain his bearings. Silently, Snape rose from the bed, his back to her as he righted his pants and trousers up on his waist. He then stepped back into his boots before retrieving his wand from the folds of his jacket, turning to Hermione and urging her to lie flat to allow him to remove the traces of their evening from her shirt.

Hermione parted her lips to speak but held back, not knowing what she was supposed to say. Anything she uttered would most likely sound contrived, she reasoned. Snape seemed to have the same problem but remained impassive. Waiting nervously to see what he was going to say to her, Hermione felt relieved when Snape reached out to her, cupping one hand over her neck and gently brushing his thumb across her skin.

"Go to sleep," he finally told the wide-eyed, dazed looking witch, pulling his hand back and moving to the armchair to collect the rest of his clothing.

"All right," Hermione replied, settling beneath the duvet as she continued watching him moving next to her bed. Snape then used his wand to douse the lamps in her room, giving Hermione a lingering stare through the dim lighting as he made his way to the door, before pulling it open and slipping out into the darkened hallway.

Hermione lazily cracked an eye, finding sunlight pouring in through the tatty velvet curtains draped around her window across the room. Languidly sliding her legs around in the sheets, she realized that she'd gone to bed with her striped shirt on, sans pyjama bottoms...or knickers.

Memories of the previous night came flooding through her mind and she felt her cheeks burning, burying her head into the pillows as if she wasn't alone. She remembered just how she had clung to Snape, crying out into his chest as he fingered her to an impressive orgasm. With perfect clarity, Hermione also recalled how she also brought Snape to climax, him groaning into her neck and shooting all over her chest.

Damn.

The thought alone was making her aroused all over again. Turning over onto her stomach, Hermione slid both hands down between her legs, fervently pressing her fingers into her clit, but it wasn't the same, nor did it quell the ache that had taken root.

Having an idea of how Snape's mind worked, Hermione hoped that he wasn't self-flagellating himself. She certainly hadn't expected him to go at her the way he did, but once she was pushed down on the bed with his weight sinfully pressed into hers, asking him to stop never once crossed her mind.

Damn, damn, damn!

Hermione knew she had to get up. Typically she was out of bed before Ron and Harry, and she didn't want them to come knocking on her door. Stretching out beneath the sheets one last time, enjoying the feel of the smooth material caressing her bare backside, Hermione wondered what it would be like to be completely naked and tangled in the sheets, with an equally naked Snape next to her. Or on top of her, whichever worked.

While Hermione had been able to fall asleep with minimal ease the night before, Snape continued to replay the end of his evening back in his mind. After going through yet another hellish order at the hand of the Dark Lord, Snape had left the gathering with haste, expediently healing the cuts on his chest and wanting nothing more than to retreat to his quiet room.

He hadn't expected for Hermione to still be awake, much less run into her on the way upstairs. Of course, the pushy girl had insisted on helping with his injuries. At that point, Snape was sort of pissed at her, partly because he wanted to be left alone, and also because she was so damned tempting, and thoughts of her perched in his lap with her soft bottom rubbing into his erection was still fresh on his mind.

Snape hoped that Hermione would display even a trickle of common sense, and not allow him to remain in her bedroom with her, but like always, that had been asking for too much.

He never smelled perfume or overly scented products in her hair; Hermione had a fresh, clean scent that also lingered on her skin, once that he had become accustomed to. Her very essence had rubbed off on his shirt and anything else she touched, and he kept catching whiffs of it whenever she left his bedroom. The scent of her sweet, musky release on his hand was another story. Hermione had been too deep into a stupor to notice the wizard licking his fingers after he'd pulled them from her body, and he had to fight the urge to bury his face between her legs.

Snape was surprised that Hermione let him get as far as she did, and was tempted to push the envelope to see what else he could get away with. But after looking down into her slumberous face, he decided to leave further explorations for another day.

He hadn't known what to say to her, but it seemed as if it wouldn't have made a difference, as Hermione looked to be on the verge of passing out. So off he'd gone to his room, attempting to sleep while trying to ignore the lingering scent of Hermione on his skin.
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Unintentional Inveiglement