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
- 6
- 7
- 8
A/N: Thank you for the reviews! They really do feed the Muse, wink wink ;)

Mr and Mrs Weasley had popped in at Grimmauld Place that very morning when Hermione wanted nothing more than a lie-in. She had hurriedly showered, dressed, and ran downstairs to find the harried looking redheaded matriarch moving about in the kitchen. Mr Weasley had then kissed his wife goodbye, saying that he would return to collect her and Ginny later that afternoon.

It was bad enough that she kept replaying the events of the previous night over in her mind, and Hermione was still somewhat shell-shocked when she remembered just who it was that she lay pinned beneath on her bed, all the while moaning and writhing about. As many times that he had made her want to flee his dungeon classrooms after berating her and taking an obscene amount of points away from Gryffindor, never would she have imagined that Severus Snape would have her half naked and clinging to him as he fingered her to a climax so strong that it came close to rendering her senseless.

Of course, Hermione had been unable to dwell on their encounter for long, as shortly after she'd gone down to the kitchen, Ron, Harry, and Ginny also appeared, and Mrs Weasley began bustling about and handing out orders. Ron had grumbled that he liked Grimmauld Place a bit better when he wasn't being ordered around like a house-elf, to which Harry snickered as Hermione threw him an offended glare.

After the group downed a large breakfast, the maternal witch seemed to pick rooms at random for the four to clean, and it was at that point that Ron really became snappish.

"Mum must be going mad," he fussed as he dipped a dingy white but clean rag from a pile that had been brought in by snarling Kreacher, into a bucket of warm, soapy water and began to tackle the slightly dusty windows in the drawing room. "It's not that dirty in here, and besides, isn't this Kreacher's job?"

Hermione had been so distracted that she forgot to chastise Ron for his insensitive comment. She had been given the task of dusting the mantle and the small, ugly tables that were cluttered throughout the large space. Ginny and Harry had been sent off to tidy another room, and Hermione fought back a laugh when Ginny made a face behind her Mum's back as they were ushered off in the opposite direction.

Intent on ridding every surface free of dirt, Hermione continued on, nearly hacking up a lung when she dislodged one particularly large clump of dust. Ron continued to drone on with his whinging until Hermione threatened to spell his lips together if he didn't be quiet.

"I'm serious, Hermione," he told her. "I know I said I was bored; I was almost bored enough to wish that your evil cat was here. At least Crookshanks is mildly entertaining, but this is ridiculous!"

"Oh, hush, Ron!" Hermione fussed. She too, missed her cat, but she had to leave him back with her parents. "Didn't you see how nervous your Mum looked? Clearly something's upset her, and she doesn't want us to know so she's made us clean to distract us." Heaving a sigh, Hermione moved onto the next table.

Mrs Weasley had indeed appeared agitated, and when Ron tried to ask over breakfast what was the matter, she briskly told him 'nothing' and to eat his eggs. Hermione, on the other hand, wasn't blind, but resolved to get her hands on a copy of the Daily Prophet if anyone else came into the house.

Mrs Weasley was adamant that after the little debacle in Diagon Alley, she didn't want the kids to worry about anything else that was going on outside of Grimmauld Place. Hermione knew that she had their best interests at heart, but inside she was seething for being treated like a dim-witted child. Harry had silently voiced his annoyance to her once when they were alone, making sure that he was out of Ron's earshot, as he didn't want to get into a row with his best friend over being upset with his Mum.

But there was no mistake about it; being cut off from everyone else and getting the barest scraps of news was frustrating for them all.

Hermione was still working clumps of dust out of her tangled curls when Mrs Weasley came into the drawing room to tell her and Ron to come down to the kitchen for lunch. They had worked so hard, the two didn't realize that it was just after noon. Ron all but threw his dirty, sodden rag down, hitting the bucket of water with a loud plop, and hightailed it out of the drawing room before Hermione was able to even move from her position on the floor.

The two joined a disgruntled looking Ginny and a somewhat calm looking Harry at the kitchen table. Over a lunch of sandwiches and juice, Mrs Weasley picked over her own meal as she finally told the four that they wouldn't be able to go to Diagon Alley to pick up their school supplies, that there had been more attacks and it wasn't safe for them to venture out, even if they were escorted by Aurors.

No wonder she's been so twitchy, Hermione thought, biting into her roast beef even though she felt her appetite vanish suddenly.

"Does anyone know why, Mrs Weasley?" Harry asked, staring directly at the redheaded matriarch.

"Not exactly, dear," she replied in a frazzled sounding voice. "They're still trying to work that out. But I don't want you all to worry, especially you, Harry. Now then, everyone ready for pudding?"

Hermione wanted to press Mrs Weasley for more details, but it was obvious that the older witch was putting on a cheery facade, merely to placate them all. Ron didn't care about being pushy, he insisted that he wanted to know more about what was going on in the Wizarding world, nagging his mother until she threatened to take away the plate she had just set in front of him that was half covered with two large slices of pie. Thankfully, Mr Weasley strode into the kitchen that very moment, somewhat diffusing the tension that had settled over everyone.

Cheerfully sitting down next to his daughter, Mr Weasley smiled as his wife set down his own plate of lunch, the older witch glaring daggers at her son to not bother his father while he ate. Ron waited until his mother was off doing something else before asking his Dad in a hushed tone just what it was that happened in Diagon Alley.

Mr Weasley peeked over his shoulder to see where his wife was, making sure that she wasn't listening, before briefly telling the four that Death Eaters had stormed the area, and that a handful of shop owners had gone missing, but that was all the Aurors knew as of then. When Mrs Weasley's footsteps carried back over to the table, he switched to a louder voice, going through the whole rigmarole of explaining that their school supplies would be sent directly to Grimmauld Place, right before the start of the new school term.

Seeing as how he would no longer be able to badger his father for more information, Ron dropped the issue. Hermione sensed that Harry was now itching to pull Ginny off for a bit of alone time, and urged him with her eyes to go on, that she would distract Ron and their parents. Harry thanked Mrs Weasley for fixing them lunch before leaving the table, Ginny soon following behind. Ron tried to trail behind them out of the kitchen, but Hermione was quick on the uptake and made him stay down with her and his parents.

The displeasure in Ron's brown eyes was evident, yet Hermione met it back with her own fierce glare that clearly stated that she didn't care if he was cross, that he had better stay put. She wanted to laugh when he grew sulky, and kicked him lightly beneath the table.

"How is Professor Lupin feeling?" Hermione inquired, neatly dodging another one of Ron's almost perfectly aimed kicks.

"Oh, he's on the mend," Mr Weasley told her warmly. "Tonks is lending him a hand and says that he'll be alright. I'll tell him that you said hello."

"Please do, thanks," she replied.

Ron then began talking to Mr Weasley, and Hermione engaged Mrs Weasley with a bit of pointless chatter, yet was scarcely able to focus on the topic at hand. Hermione was torn between trying to keep Mrs Weasley as well as Ron occupied. On top of that, she kept worrying about the events that led to her having to stay at Grimmauld Place, which led right to thinking about Snape, and it was all she could do to keep a straight face while sitting directly across from the older witch.

The last thing she wanted to think about was Snape's hand roving about between her legs while staring at Mrs Weasley. Hermione didn't even want to fathom what the consequences would entail if she found out about the two. Not that there was much she could do-Hermione was already seventeen. But Snape was still her professor come September, and she as well as her friends would still be beneath his tutelage. Hermione was sure that a professor being intimate with his student wasn't something to be taken lightly, but it wasn't as if she planned on letting anyone know. She fully intended on taking that little secret to her grave.

A few hours later, Ginny and her parents had finally left Grimmauld Place. Harry was moping around, clearly missing his girlfriend, while Ron took it upon himself to attempt to entertain him and Hermione with silly antics. Ten minutes into his repertoire, Ron's brown eyes lit up, and he slyly looked over at Harry who clearly translated the unspoken exchange, and the two darted off, leaving Hermione behind in the drawing room.

Five minutes later, the boys returned, Ron bearing a half-full bottle of Ogden's Old firewhisky. The bottle was covered in dust except for where Ron's fingers had grabbed hold of the neck, leaving behind clean traces of glass.

"Where did you get that from?" Hermione asked in an accusing tone, her nostrils flaring.

"Harry found it!" Ron grinned, holding up the bottle. "He and Ginny found it when they were cleaning an old closest. Who knows what it was doing in there."

"There was a load of rubbish in there, to be honest," Harry said. "Didn't expect to find a hidden stash of alcohol."

Hermione had been daintily perched in an armchair with a book in hand, and practically threw it down as she scooted to the edge of the seat cushion. "You mean there's more?!"

"Yup!" Ron replied happily. "Loads more. Even butterbeer; we've brought you down a bottle," he continued, shifting the firewhisky to his other hand and fishing an equally dusty bottle of butterbeer out of his pocket. "We didn't think you'd want firewhisky."

Hermione wanted to get defensive and ask just what did he mean by that statement, if perhaps he assumed she wouldn't want the particularly strong spirit because she was a girl, but declined. She had tasted firewhisky once, at one of his older brother's behest at one of the Weasleys' Christmas gatherings at the Burrow, and decided that it was too strong for her liking. Butterbeer, on the other hand, was mild and pleasant enough to satisfy her sweet tooth, and she grudgingly accepted the sorely missed treat from a still grinning Ron.

"There you go, drink up!" he coaxed, popping open the firewhisky as Harry found them two glasses. "You know, Bill and Charlie let me taste some when I was twelve," Ron prattled on as he poured a hefty amount of the deep amber liquid into both glasses. "Then I snuck the rest of Charlie's when he wasn't looking. Nearly puked all over Percy's shoes until Dad carried me to my bedroom; said he didn't want Mum to see me."

A knot of anxiety began forming in Hermione's stomach. She knew that she was the proverbial worrywart, and wondered if the firewhisky was safe to drink seeing as it had been lingering in a dark closet for who knew how long. But before she could even tell Ron and Harry to wait a minute, they had already tossed back the fiery liquid.

Ron loudly used a word that would have made his mother box his ears, especially since he was in the presence of a female, while Harry's face went beet-red, puffs of smoke literally pouring out of his ears.

"Blimey, I forgot how hot that is!" he rasped, collapsing to one knee and slapping a hand down on the floor.

"Another?" Ron suggested hoarsely, fanning his also bright-red face with one hand.

"Sure, why not," Harry croaked once he was able to speak again.

Meanwhile, Hermione sat scrunched up in her armchair, sipping on her butterbeer and wondering what kind of bedlam was going to unfold. Reading was no longer possible, as with each drink Ron and Harry became louder and more animated, until they were both sweating and pulling their shirts off, tossing them to the floor and remaining in their vests. Ron's face remained flush, and his entire head looked as if it were on fire, Harry's looking no better.

Hermione continued folding herself into a tight little ball on the armchair, trying to keep her head and limbs out of the line of fire. She knew that Ron and Harry had to be extremely bored as their behavior was soon bordering on recklessness. By their fourth shot of firewhisky, the two had devised an inane, nameless game that consisted hopping from sofa to chair, as well as any other piece of furniture that would hold their weight, deeming whoever fell or touched the floor first to be the loser. At one point, Ron had forgotten that Hermione was still in the armchair and he came close to landing in her lap, enfolding her in a tangle of long, clammy arms and sweaty armpits.

"Ron!" she shrieked with indignation, slapping at his shoulders, back, and wherever else she could reach."Get the hell off of me!"

"Oh, sorry Hermione," he slurred, attempting to clumsily heave himself off her lap. "Damn, I think I've lost that one!" he told Harry before bursting into raucous laughter. Harry had doubled over when Ron landed in a heap on Hermione, only for her to assault him with her little hands.

Ron was taking too long to move off of Hermione and she roughly shoved him away from her, making the redhead collapse at her feet in a drunkenly laughing heap. He turned to peer up at Hermione, becoming even more hysterical when he saw her features pinched up into a tight, disapproving frown.

"I think you and Harry have had enough."

"Oh, bloody hell Hermione, don't start on that!" Ron howled, stretching out on his back, his arms and legs splayed out on the carpet. "We're bored out of our skulls; are you really going to take our only source of entertainment right now?"

"Yes, before you both kill yourselves by cracking your heads open on an end table!" With that, Hermione got up and tried to walk over to the table where the remaining firewhisky had been placed, only for Ron to soundly throw himself onto his belly and wrap both of his brawny arms around her legs. "What the-Ron, let go!"

"No!" he vehemently shouted, furiously shaking his head like a dog that had been wetted and trying to rid its fur of moisture, making his flaming red hair, which now incidentally resembled Harry's messy mop, brush against her legs. "Harry, don't let her take our Ogden's! Don't let her take it, Harry!"

Harry's green eyes had been heavily-lidded, only opening marginally when he heard Ron screaming in dulcet tones to him from across the room. Stumbling over to the table, Harry picked up the bottle with two fingers, swaying precariously until Ron shouted at him again.

"You clod! Hold it with both hands before it falls! Hold it like a Snitch!"

Hermione would have broken into her own peals of laughter had she not been so utterly irritated at the moment. Never in her life would she have thought that her best friends would become two raving lunatics under the influence of alcohol, but here they were, and they were both completely off their rockers.

Sure enough, Harry held the glass bottle of Old Ogden's as if he was carrying his first winning golden Snitch, holding it with all the gentleness one would use to carry a handful of eggs.

"No! Don't come this way, go the other way!" Ron continued to yell when Harry began walking in his direction, his long arms still firmly wrapped around Hermione's ankles. Hermione had tried to walk out of Ron's embrace, merely shuffling her feet about yet getting nowhere.

"Ron, don't make me have to hurt you," Hermione growled under her breath, huffing and puffing as she looked down at him.

Ron huffed slightly as he shifted his weight to his side, craning his neck to blearily peer up at a mutinous looking Hermione. "Blimey, you look angry. D'you promise you won't vanish our firewhisky?"

"Ronald..."

"No! Promise first!"

"Fine, I promise!" Hermione snapped, trying to kick her feet out once more. "Now get the hell off my feet. But when you and Harry wake up tomorrow with headaches so strong that you'll be begging to walk off the roof of this house, don't come running to me! And you'd better not wake me up either!"

"All right!" Ron happily consented, unwrapping his gangly arms from around his best friend's ankles. "'K, Harry, whaddya wanna do now?"

A pensive look came over Harry's face, although because of the firewhisky he appeared more sleepy than anything. "Dunno, you choose something."

"Hmm," Ron hummed, now sitting cross-legged on the floor beside the armchair, looking like an oversized, beaming toddler that had been given a sweetie. Hermione was sat back down, her legs crossed at the ankle when Ron began swaying backwards, leaning over and using her shins as a backrest until Hermione thumped him in the spine with her toe. "I know!" he cried, oblivious to the firm kick he'd just received. Ron clumsily pulled himself upright, stumbling over to the mantle and yanking his wand down. "Let's duel! But no serious spells, only harmless ones, like tickling jinxes and so forth."

Damn! I should have hidden their wands! Hermione thought.

"Absolutely not!" she exploded, jumping up and trying to snatch Ron's wand out of his hand. "You two are not to use your wands whilst being drunk! Are you insane? Do you want to hex off body parts at random?"

"Relax, Hermione," Ron said in a tone that he believed to sound soothing. Patting her curly head with one clumsy, weighted down hand, he only succeeded in further annoying her, all the while holding his wand high above his head and out of her reach. "We won't hex off anything, and besides, I've watched my brothers do this a million times."

"And I'm sure Mrs Weasley had plenty to say about that!"

"Don't be silly; of course Mum didn't know about it."

By then Harry had cautiously made his way over to the two, and was gently trying to steer Hermione back to her armchair. "You worry too much, Hermione," Harry said in an equally placating tone. "Now sit down and watch us. Let's see if we remember the proper duelling stances from watching Snape put Lockhart on his arse."

Ron busied himself by moving all of the furniture out of the way, making sure to put Hermione's armchair at a safe distance. He hadn't waited for her to move, and relocated it with her still sitting down, and she soundly berated him, while clutching onto the rolled fabric arms to keep from tipping forward.

When she was finally stationary, Hermione shook her head, resisting the urge to completely dive behind her armchair. She kept telling herself that Ron and Harry were breaking she didn't know how many rules, but hoped that they wouldn't seriously injure themselves. She felt responsible for the two, knowing that she was the one that most often was the high-pitched voice of reason.

Although it seemed as if Harry and Ron had both gone deaf, as she could have been the voice of Merlin risen from the dead, ready to pour out the secrets of the mystique and how to become wealthy overnight, and it still wouldn't have made a difference. Ron and Harry were completely pissed, and every time one of them stumbled, it set the other off into a fit of hysterical giggles, and Hermione hoped that their voices wouldn't carry to Mrs Black's portrait, never mind Snape. She didn't know what he would have done had he found the two, wands in hand with the nearly empty bottle of firewhisky nearby, and she was loathe to think about it.

"Alright then, on the count of three, one...two...three!" Ron cried out, brandishing his wand at Harry and shooting bright white sparks in his direction, sending the messy-haired wizard flying backwards. Harry immediately fell to the floor with a loud thump, and it looked as if he was gagging for a minute until Hermione realized that he was laughing from a Tickling Charm. Hauling himself up, Harry retaliated, firing a Jelly-Legs Jinx back at Ron, making him wobble for a minute before falling to the floor.

More spells were fired-a Trip Jinx, a Leg-Locker Curse, a Sponge-Knees Curse, and a Jelly-Fingers Curse, until both wizards were in crumpled, uncontrollably laughing immovable heaps on the dusty floor of the drawing room. Somehow the two had managed to fire the Jelly-Fingers Curse simultaneously at one another, and their wands had rolled out of their fingers which now resembled the composition of a bowl of limp noodles.

Hermione had half a mind to leave them both in their incapacitated states until the hexes wore off, but resigned to yanking out her own wand and used the counter-curse to fix their fingers. Snatching up her book, she then stepped over the laughing lumps of her best friends and made her way out into the hallway, unceremoniously plopping down on the second step. The wall was blocking her view from behind the banister, but she could still hear what was going on, and told herself that was good enough.

Two minutes into her book, deep male screams erupted from the drawing room, and finally managed to set off Mrs Black's portrait. Harry and Ron were so into their shenanigans that they didn't notice the caterwauling, and Hermione muttered a rarely used swear under her breath as she dashed up the steps. Wishing that she had cotton to stuff her ears, she tried to wrench the tatty curtains back over the shrieking portrait. Kreacher appeared out of nowhere and was by her knee, hurling insults at Hermione in between assuaging his mistress, and she became extremely short with the house-elf, on the verge of telling him where he could stick his scornful remarks when she felt a large hand tugging her out of the way.

Whirling around, Hermione found Snape behind her, who was able to silence the portrait without so much as raising his tone or wand. He then glared down at Kreacher, who sneered back up at the wizard but skulked away, most likely to go back to one of his dirty hidey holes.

Snape stared at Hermione for a second before sweeping past her and striding down the stairs, treading lightly all the way down, his footsteps barely making any sound on the rickety wooden boards.

Oh, damn! We're in for it now! she thought frantically. He's going to tell on us and we'll all be in trouble!

Hermione was still thinking of every possible scenario that was sure to come about as a result of Snape telling Mrs Weasley about how the darling Golden Trio had gotten into a hidden liquor stash, only to toss all common sense out of the window and carry on like a bunch of idiots. So she was surprised when she plucked up the nerve to creep down the steps and found Snape merely lurking behind in the shadows, clearly taking in the sight of a drunken Harry and Ron still throwing hexes and jinxes at one another. He watched the boys for a moment, both of whom never noticed his unobtrusive presence, before turning back around and walking upstairs.

"Miss Granger," he began in a cold voice, "what the hell is the meaning of all this?"

"Err, well you see, Ron and Harry were bored, and then Harry found a bottle of firewhisky from when he cleaned the house earlier, and I tried to tell them not to, and then they started duelling each other and-but they're idiots! They wouldn't listen to me! And now we're going to get into trouble and most likely have our wands taken away for being irresponsible!"

Hermione had clutched one hand onto the banister and was steadily working herself up into a state of panic until Snape impatiently shushed her by pressing one long finger against her lips.

"If you don't mind, I've had enough mindless banter for one day-a lifetime, if you will. There's no need for you to add to it."

Hermione remained silent even after Snape withdrew his hand. "Sorry," she murmured, her lips tingling from where his finger had touched. "I just don't want them to kill one another, even though they aren't casting anything that's all that dangerous, but still..."

"No, not by the sound of it. Although judging by the empty bottle of Ogden's, your little friends are going to wish for a quick, painless death come morning."

"I told them that as well. " Hermione chuckled, sounding a bit smug. " It's not as if I keep a cauldron and an apothecary of supplies lying next to the knickers in my trunk. All I have is that bottle of Dittany, plus some paracetamol and some Muggle plasters. Hmm, I should hide the paracetamol, teach them a lesson. Anyway, they're going to do what they want, no matter what I say. But I told them if they so much as wake me up in the morning, that I'm going to neuter them."

Snape said nothing, but continued to look down at Hermione, his expression most recondite. Without uttering another word he turned away from her and made his way back upstairs, heading in the direction of his room. Hermione found herself puzzled but trailed behind him anyway, pleased when he didn't tell her to go away. They had just made it to the doorway of his bedroom when Snape halted.

"How much did you drink tonight?"

"I'm sorry?"

"You heard me. The last thing I need is for you to come up here after overindulging. I'm not that far gone that I would willingly choose to keep company with an inebriated child."

"I only had one butterbeer, and that was an hour before my idiot best friends decided to maul one another with magic," Hermione assured. "You can smell my breath if you don't believe me," she continued, moving closer to Snape.

Parting her lips, she stood up on tiptoe and had to steady herself by holding onto his shoulders, a feat made slightly difficult as she was still holding onto her book and wand. Snape barely moved his head to test Hermione's version of guess-if-I'm-telling-the-truth, but seemed appeased nonetheless.

"That will do, Miss Granger."

It was evident that Snape became uncomfortable at Hermione's lips being so close to his, even though he was still a full head taller than her and could have easily moved out of her way.

"Why do you do that?" she asked in a non-accusatory tone.

"Do what?"

"That. Move back when my mouth is near yours."

Snape let out an irritated growl but pulled Hermione into his darkened room and shut the door. Taking his place down on the lumpy sofa, he waited until Hermione did the same before speaking again. "So I'm to be interrupted by the cackling of a malevolent portrait, the Speckled one, and Messiah of the wizards; now I'm to endure your inane questions?"

"Sorry, I was just curious," Hermione answered nonchalantly. She sat quietly beside Snape, her eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness and honing in on his frame. He was clad in his usual black, although his cravat was missing and the buttons on his coat were partially undone, as if he'd been in the middle of undressing for bed before being disrupted by the shrieking portrait. "It's so quiet in here. I didn't think you'd have been able to hear all the way downstairs."

"Usually I can't, but that portrait is loud enough to wake the dead."

"Oh, I see," Hermione replied, even though it was obvious that she was still waiting for an answer to her initial question.

Snape wasn't witless; he knew that even though Hermione had fallen silent, she was still burning up for a response. "I don't kiss," he finally offered after a stretch of silence.

"Oh..." she trailed off understandingly. "Why?"

"Little witchling, would you like to be put out of my room? I'm sure your mates would be most eager to accept you back into their inebriated fold."

"No! They were giving me a headache," Hermione cringed. "Besides, they probably haven't even noticed that I've gone."

"Pity," came the terse answer, followed by another length of silence. "Let's just say that I have my reasons."

"Oh, well, I suppose that makes sense," Hermione thoughtfully replied. "But I've been told that they're quite nice so long as it's with someone that doesn't try to choke you with their tongue."

"Surely you're referring to the way you adolescents adore swapping copious amounts of saliva, especially when hidden in an alcove at Hogwarts, foolishly thinking that they're the first to do so and feigning shock when they get caught." Too often, Snape had caught students snogging, as they called it. Although he referred to it as oral mating, as one young Ravenclaw had his tongue so far down his girlfriend's throat it seemed as if he was trying to reach for more than just her tonsils.

"No!" Hermione giggled, shaking her head. "And besides, if a boy tried to kiss me like that, I'd bite his tongue off."

"You have a bit of a violent streak, I notice."

Hermione shrugged her shoulders, peering up hopefully at Snape. "Would you like me to show you?"

"What, your proclivities at leaning towards savageness? That's quite all right, I'll take your word for it. Besides, I'd hate to have to restrain you."

Lies, Severus, all lies, he told himself.

"Well, I definitely didn't mean that," Hermione chuckled. "No, I meant the way that I would want to be kissed...if someone were to kiss me." Before Snape could utter another word, Hermione shifted upright onto her knees and moved over in his direction, pausing when he jerked back yet noticing the way he kept his eyes focused on hers. "I'm not going to bite you," she promised in a low voice. "And besides, you've already had your hand in my...well, anyway, like I said, I won't bite you."

Mollified when he didn't pull away from her again, Hermione closed her eyes and slowly moved towards Snape, moistening her lips with the tip of her tongue before gently pressing them against his. She didn't give him anything more than a few chaste pecks, finishing off with one last, soft kiss at the corner of his mouth before settling back onto the sofa.

Her cheeks were flaming, and Hermione was still reeling from the fact that she had just boldly kissed Snape. His mouth was thin yet felt soft against hers, and she wanted to run her tongue over the slight bow of his upper lip but resisted, not wanting to put him off.

"That bad?" she jested, trying to break the ice when he didn't say anything.

"Quite the opposite," he murmured without giving more detail.

Snape's words were a gross understatement as to what his true thoughts were. Hermione's kiss had been unexpected yet sweet; sweeter than he could have imagined, and Snape didn't know how to feel about that. Still, he had no complaints and wasn't adverse to a repeat performance. Once thing was for sure; it definitely wasn't like his first experience with the opposite sex.

Just like the plethora of students he'd pulled apart and then assigned detention to, the young woman had seemed intent on choking him with her tongue, and Snape found the whole institution distasteful. Of course, as he became older, the woman he sparingly consorted with weren't the type that one would kiss on the mouth anyway, but they hadn't seemed interested in it in the first place, and he never minded.

But Hermione wasn't one of those women, and it did seem a bit ridiculous especially after he considered putting his mouth on more intimate areas of her body, another thing that he rarely indulged in.

"Come here," he suddenly told her in a low voice, directing Hermione to stand beforehim. Snape remained sitting down and she awkwardly hunched over before resigning to kneel on the floor before him, insinuating herself between his black wool-covered legs. For a split second, Snape wondered what Hermione's curly head would look like buried in his lap, and had to force himself to focus. He then bade her to lift her arms and removed her jumper and bra, tapping her hip and motioning for her to stand back up. Running a hand over her bare torso, his fingers stopped at the waistband of Hermione's jeans, unfastening the button and zipper and pushing the heavy material down her body.

"Take this off," he said, remaining on the edge of the sofa, his black eyes still focused on Hermione as more of her body became exposed when she slid the jeans and knickers down her thighs, letting them fall into a heap around her feet before stepping out of them. Snape then pulled her to stand in front of him, keeping his hands on her slim hips and pulling her closer.

Hermione was completely silent as Snape stared at her. Without warning, he pulled her down into his lap, and her arms instantly went around his neck to keep from toppling over. Being completely naked and pressed against a clothed Snape felt different than the night before, especially when he was grabbing two handfuls of her behind and pushing her down to rub against his erection. Not knowing what else to do, Hermione lowered her head towards his, surprised when he allowed her to give him another small kiss.

His mouth still didn't linger against hers; instead Snape shifted to lick the curve of Hermione's neck, then lowering his head to her left breast. Hermione had never given much thought to her nipples until the first time when she felt Snape's tongue swirling around it, only then did she realise how sensitive they were. He still had one hand splayed across her lower back, the other cupping a handful of the breast that his mouth wasn't attached to.

"Your little friends are most likely passed out face down on that filthy carpet," he stated in a hushed tone between licks, catching her unawares, "but even so, do you think that you can remain quiet?"

"I don't know," Hermione breathlessly answered. "Why?"

Snape didn't answer her. Instead, he tapped Hermione's thigh and motioned for her to stand up, leading her over to his bed. Snape then pushed her to lie flat on her back, her legs dangling off the edge of the mattress. His black eyes focused on Hermione's, he slid his hands down her thighs, stopped at her knees and hooking his forearms beneath them. Before Hermione could give any forethought as to what Snape was about to do, he lowered his head between her legs and dragged his tongue through her damp folds, circling it around her clit and giving the nub a light suck before letting go.

Hermione hadn't been able to stop the harsh sounding scream that spilled uncontrollably from her lips. While Snape's tongue against her entrance had felt different yet not unpleasant, the feel of the rough, wet surface scraping against her sensitive clit was delicious. Utterly scary, yet delicious.

"That's a definite 'no'," she heard him murmur. That small touch of his tongue to her core had her blood racing, and Hermione wanted to pull every strand of black hair off the top of Snape's head for stopping. "Stop glaring at me and turn over."

"What for?" Hermione asked suspiciously, propping herself up on both elbows to look at the wizard that was still perched between her legs. Snape had the nerve to smirk at her, his thin upper lip curved ever so slightly.

"Because you came to my bedroom, and you'll do as I say. Besides-" he paused to slip one finger between her slippery folds, withdrawing it and holding up the slickened digit for Hermione to see, "you want to."

Hermione was in no mood to ponder the conundrum and relented, turning over onto her stomach. She had just buried her face into the duvet when she felt Snape hovering next to her. Pulling her up onto her hands and knees, he shoved one of the pillows from the top of the bed beneath her stomach, pressing Hermione back down until she was comfortable settled.

The bit of bedroom that Hermione could see was dim enough for her to only make out the few inches in front of her face. Although it wasn't as if she was entirely focused on that moot point; she felt a bit awkward, kneeling on all fours and completely exposed with cool air grazing her nether regions. But Snape obviously wanted her like so for some reason, and up until now he hadn't done anything to her that she didn't like, so she decided to acquiesce, eager to see what he had in store.

Hermione thought she was doing a fine of job of keeping her head together until she felt Snape press a hand to her lower back, urging her to arch her hips even more. If he couldn't see everything before, he definitely could now, as Hermione felt her once tightly clenched lips separate, and a small droplet of moisture began trickling down to her mons. She didn't realize how wet she'd become from that one pass of his tongue, but she definitely wanted more.

While Hermione was occupied with her erratic thoughts, Snape was completely taken by the sight of her bending over in front of him. Snape was, in fact, able to see all of her, as he had wandlessly lit more candles behind him, eager to see the most intimate parts of Hermione that he had recently become acquainted with.

Be it nervousness or anticipation that made the girl continue to smother her face into the duvet, he knew not. All Snape knew was that he planned on finishing what he started when he merely took his first taste of her juices. It was better than when he'd licked them off his fingers, and he would venture to say that the young witch liked it if her uneven scream had been any indication.

Transfiguring a stool that was high enough to keep him eye-level with Hermione, Snape moved into place behind her, his eyes transfixed on the smooth, round orbs of her behind, revealing a pink, wet slit. It was clear that she was aroused, as that same little bead of moisture that once threatened his sanity had now trickled down and clung to her pubic hair.

He was tempted to dive right in but resisted; instead placing his hands on her arse and palming each cheek, squeezing and separating them. Inwardly amazed that even Hermione's behind felt smooth against his rough palms, Snape continued to push and pull them apart, gently kneading and massaging, his long fingers pulling her pink entrance taut, watching as more moisture began to collect at her entrance before seeping down.

Hermione let out a low moan when his thumbs delved down to graze her outer labia. Her clit was still throbbing from the brief pass of his tongue over it, but like before, he refused to touch her there until he was ready. Becoming fast reduced to a state of quivering, Hermione dug her fingers into the duvet while frantically pushing her hips back, desperate for any type of relief that Snape was willing to dole out.

"You look like a kitten, writhing about and clamoring to be petted," Snape silkily suggestively to Hermione, although his fingers remained far away from where she wanted them most.

"So why don't you just carry on then?" Hermione spat, half-whining and uncaring about how she sounded. She kept pushing back against Snape's hands, becoming even more wound up when he gave a low chuckle and lightly pressed her down onto the pillow to keep still.

"You'll have it when I want you to," he smoothly replied as nimble fingers pulled her puffy labia apart crosswise, watching with great interest as her small entrance reflexively clenched shut. Hermione's thighs were tensing each time his hands touched a different part of her body, her toes curling and brushing against the front of Snape's black frock coat.

It was then that he realized he was still dressed, and Snape pulled back long enough to undo the remaining buttons on his coat and slipped it off, tossing it on the sofa against the wall. Hermione had begun mewling in annoyance when his hands left her body, only calming down when they were back upon her.

Even though they were on summer holiday, Hermione no longer gave any thought to the fact that it was her professor giving her exquisite pleasure that was nearly bordering on pain, all because Snape kept holding back when she wanted him to do just the opposite.

It was obvious that she was now completely wet, as she could hear Snape's fingertip sliding around through the moisture, spreading the slickness around. He then gently circled the pad of his finger around her entrance, and Hermione instinctively moved back to meet his finger.

Snape knew that he had been a bit hasty the day before, remembering the way Hermione sharply inhaled when his fingers swiftly made their mark inside her body. This time he slowly pressed his index finger into her snug, warm sheath, enjoying the way her walls immediately clamped down around it. Hermione's hips bucked, and she moaned softly as the lone digit rubbed and probed her sensitive channel. Her back arched a bit more when Snape withdrew his one finger only to replace it with two, grunting into the duvet when his knuckles were pressed against her entrance. Using his other hand, Snape had his pointer and middle pressed in a V on either side of Hermione's clit, the pads of his fingers gently rubbing the lips without actually touching the swollen nub.

The more he resisted, the more Hermione thrashed against his hand, her frustrated cries of pleasure partially muffled by the bedclothes beneath her face. Snape never stopped moving his fingers, and her slippery juices coated them, running in thick rivulets down his hand. Hermione was literally working herself on his fingers, right on the edge of bringing herself off when Snape pulled his hand back.

At that point, Hermione was so worked up with the need to come that she didn't realize that she had called Snape by his first name, doing so in a tone that made him wonder if she was about to cry. That thought wasn't all that far off; Hermione needed to come so badly by now that it literally made her ache inside and out.

Snape was somewhat unsettled when he heard his name being wrenched from Hermione's lips, but merely cast his shock aside to finish what he started. Hermione was still whimpering when Snape moved back against her, this time using both thumbs to separate her slick fresh, his lips now inches away from her core. Hermione froze when she felt a gust of warm air being blown over her, and then let out a prompt shriek when a hot, open mouth completely engulfed her, the rough surface of Snape's tongue languidly sliding across her clit.

Soft, black hair brushed against her bum and thighs as Snape's lips wrapped around the bud of Hermione's clit, his nose grazing her entrance and his fingers firmly digging into her arse to keep her from moving forward. But she couldn't help it; part of her wanted to crawl away because the sensation was good but nearly too intense, and the other part wanted to reach back and grab a handful of black hair and use them as reins to pull Snape's head into her.

Just when Hermione thought she would be unable to handle anymore, Snape reached up and wrapped both slender hands around her waist, his prominent nose pressing even more into her as his flattened tongue, swirling it over and around her clitoris.

Snape was stymied by Hermione's strong reaction, yet refused to stop. Her sticky juices were smeared all over his cheeks, and the more he licked, the wetter everything became. Just as another onrush of sweet juices hit his tongue, a forceful orgasm smacked into Hermione and she bucked hard against his face, her juices running down his chin and her body shivering from head to toe as she let out a litany of screams into the duvet, his name clearly understood in between the incoherent sounds.

Snape had been able to literally feel her hot flesh pulsating against his mouth, and waited until the tremors in Hermione's limbs died before giving her one last tender lick. Almost immediately she went limp, her fingers loosely curved over two uneven sections of the duvet that she had obviously been gripping onto with both fists. While Hermione was in a stupor, Snape felt as if his cock was being strangled inside of his trousers, and he hastily unbuttoned them and unrigged himself. He wanted to do more than just wank until he got off, although he was sure that a few tugs was all it would take, he had become so aroused listening to and feeling Hermione exploding against his mouth.

Once his shoes were off, and trousers and pants down to his knees, Snape straddled the back of Hermione's thighs, his cock easily insinuated between the cleft of her behind. Hermione moaned slightly at the contact, flinching a bit when the tip slid lower and grazed against her entrance.

Snape gritted his teeth when he felt the heat of her tight little opening against the tip of his cock, and was sorely tempted to push his way inside of her body, yet was unable to ignore the way Hermione jumped.

"Not to worry, we won't be going that far tonight," he reassured, shifting his hips to move his cock back to its original position. The feel of her plump arse cheeks engulfing the sensitive head of his cock was his undoing, and Snape dug his fingers into the round orbs, vigorously pumping his hips back and forth. Right when Hermione began assisting him by moving back to meet his thrusts, the sensitive underside of his shaft being perfectly abraded, Snape gave a deep grunt and spurted his release all over the small of her back.

He was still light-headed when he moved off Hermione, rolling over onto his back and lying next to her. Once Snape felt a bit more coherent, he craned his neck to look over at Hermione, finding that she was fast asleep. He had half a mind to wake the young witch and send her back to her room, but figured that it couldn't hurt to let her sleep for a bit.

Especially when you consider everything that you've already done, everything that you shouldn't be doing, he told himself.

Thus moving off the bed, Snape got his wand and removed the sticky traces of his release off Hermione's back. He cast a light cleansing charm on his own face, wanting the taste of Hermione to remain on his lips. Feeling Hermione thrashing slightly, Snape saw that she was shivering,, and easily shifted her slight weight into his arms, placing her properly on the bed and covering her with the duvet. Hermione remained asleep and immediately curled into a ball, burying her head into the pillow.

Shaking his head, Snape changed out of his suit and into nightclothes, making sure that the bedroom was locked before lying down next to Hermione. He would have marveled at the fact that he so quickly grew drowsy, except his eyelids crashed shut before he could give it further thought.
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Unintentional Inveiglement