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Debaucery Complete	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 26266 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other characters/things/places created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money from my fan-fiction.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
A/N: OO – ‘The Claw's tamer cousin’ – Bahahaha – Totally. Gotta make the most of the cross-promotion. ‘Cranial foothold’ – Now that is exactly the term I should have used dammit! ‘Mystery as well’ – well, you know, I like to keep a little mystery . . . although you do work a lot of them out way too early. :)
Alexa – Thanks for your awesome reviews! ‘Although I've a few ideas I as a faithful reader of your tale will leave this to you’ – LOL. Thank you. I won’t say anything more but thank you ;) ‘'calming' and 'virtuous' influence in S.'s grounding’ – lovely assessment of her role. ‘Based on his working for multiple Masters he has ever had the opportunity to find himself’ – I love this! ‘Ever the true romantic’ – I think deep down most people want a romantic ending for these two. ‘Heartfelt conversation b/w A. and S.’ – I have to pass on your kudos to Marriage1988 who has written sections of this fic including this lovely conversation.
‘There are obviously minor changes, but this is due to 'external' factors’ – Yes, there has been a gradual shift in both of them but, as you say, this growth is necessary for the learning, healing and progress toward a mutual understanding. I’m pleased that the pacing seems to fit – the intensity and the extreme behaviours early needed to be balanced by a gradual thawing otherwise it wouldn’t be particularly believable (as believable as this stuff ever gets of course). ‘Being able to enjoy S. in his element fills me with glee!’- hahah! A man of so many talents. ‘I'm a little concerned about the Amory Potion though’ – yes, it does pose a few questions about intent and consequences. ;)

Chapter 11 - Lavishaggadelic
Polite. That’s how Hermione would describe the following three days. She made a concerted effort not to do anything to deliberately piss him off and he slowed down sufficiently for her to walk at a more comfortable pace—even if he did always remain ahead of her. They still weren’t talking much, apart from the most rudimentary conversations about when to eat and where to camp. She was still unsure of specifically where they were headed, although they continued to follow the river upstream which, according to her map, would eventually lead them to the mountain range that she’d first glimpsed upon her arrival.
It did seem ridiculous—no, it was ridiculous that they hadn’t managed to discuss anything more important than who was going to collect drinking water from the river or who was going to light the fire. And, bizarrely, as time went on, despite feeling more and more comfortable in his presence, she felt less and less willing to engage in anything but the superficial. She was somehow reluctant to shatter the companionable silence that they now shared—the enjoyment of eating together (her cooking of course), reading by the fire and even playing chess with some small river stones he’d collected when she was eating lunch and a board he’d somehow fashioned from a flat piece of bark using his wand.
He always won—but she’d come close. And while he was excellent at bluffing, she’d recently picked up on a tell-tale twitch just above his eyebrow. She was normally a very competitive person but each time he defeated her, inclining his head in mock humility which was instantly betrayed by the subtle twitch of his lips, she felt herself being drawn to him. Ginny was right, intelligence was hugely attractive to her, and witnessing the inner workings of his mind, played out on a bark board with a mess of pebbles, was enough to have her feeling uncomfortably aroused by the time she finally wriggled into bed at night.
She’d managed to fight off the urge to masturbate but it was taking longer and longer for her body to calm down sufficiently for her to fall asleep. She couldn’t masturbate—not when the source of her arousal was separated from her by two flimsy sheets of canvas. And then there was the fact that the man had fucked her friends, and no doubt her friend’s friends, and her friend’s friends families, and her friend’s friends families tennis partners . . . basically he was a rampant slut.
But as she lay in bed, she realised that she’d come to understand why women flocked to him. Despite everything he had done, and all of her efforts, she didn’t hate him—she couldn’t. In fact, it was all she could do to stop herself from ogling him—including that morning when he’d appeared out of his tent wearing a form-fitting thermal top. As he shrugged on his coat, she couldn’t help but watch appreciatively as his broad shoulders and the contours of his pectoral muscles bounced. Yep, she’d become a perv.
She hated to admit it but Ginny was right. He was sexually attractive—sexy, in fact. It wasn’t a word she’d ever used to describe anyone—the sort of banter that some flirty bimbo would throw around, but for some reason, with Snape it fit, like those faded denim jeans, it fit so . . . damn . . . well. And for a change he was doing nothing to flaunt it. That’s probably what made him all the more enticing. No sleazy one-liners or lascivious winks, no open collars and casual sauntering, just him being considerate, capable and sometimes quite brilliant—and having a really hot arse.
When Hermione woke on the fifth morning and staggered blearily from her tent, she was surprised to discover that he wasn’t already there, heating up the water for their morning cup of tea. They’d set up camp late the previous evening and she hadn’t had a particularly good sense of her surroundings. Now she realised that the terrain was substantially rockier than their earlier campsites. They’d climbed a considerable distance the previous day and were closing in on the shadows of the picturesque mountains which rose beyond the plain behind their camp.
Hermione decided that if he wasn’t going to do it, she’d boil the water herself. Grabbing a container, she headed for the river. As she approached, she realised that the sound of rushing water was much louder than usual, but it wasn’t until she tottered down the bank to the edge that she realised why. There was a waterfall. And standing almost completely naked under the cascading water, was Snape.
She felt the air escape her like a deflating balloon. There was no other word for it. He was . . . beautiful. His pale marble-like skin contrasted starkly with the dark basalt backdrop of the falls and his lithe form, lean and muscular, slid from pose to pose like some anatomical Adonis. But the reality was that he was simply washing, biceps rolling as he slid his fingers through his slick dark locks. His eyes were closed and the slight parting of his lips as he leaned into the powerful surge of the falls told her he was enjoying a moment.
Severus welcomed the sting of the water as it pummelled his body. It was practically liquid ice but it sang through his senses like no drug he’d ever known. The first few days had been hard—near fucking impossible. He’d been on the verge of downing his entire alcohol supply in one colossal bender. But now the haze was lifting and this morning was the best he’d felt in . . . well, it had to be years.
Rolling his neck, letting the water pound out the strain of days of walking, he wondered how he’d become so remote from this. In the past, he’d often sought out the welcome solitude of the Scottish wilderness when his life had become too difficult. On occasions he’d spent night after night out here, alone under the stars, gaining perspective on how infinitesimal his life and his problems really were and how monumental the expanse of an expanding and unfathomable universe really was.
He felt himself reconnecting, returning back to that from which he had come. It was both humbling and cleansing. And if he wasn’t so apprehensive about what the future held, he’d let the entire experience draw him in. But there were reasons why he couldn’t let go—not completely. And as he cracked his eyes open through the blurry rush of water he saw one of them. Miss . . . Granger.
She was crouched by the river, pretending to be consumed by filling the water container but her eyes were on him. They flickered over him as though unsure of what to look at first. Perhaps he should help her. Lifting both arms and allowing them to relax over his head, he clenched his abdominal muscles, causing the water to sluice down the front of his boxer shorts, dragging them down even lower.
Her mouth dropped open. That mouth. He gritted his jaw, trying to force back the tide of feelings that had been building with each passing day. She was off limits. Completely.
McGonagall’s threat was legitimate. She would protect Granger—that he was sure of. There had been no explicit indication of what she’d meant when she’d instructed him to look after the girl, but her disapproval of his lifestyle suggested that it included avoiding anything ‘unsavoury’—which was a pity because the thing he was most in need of right now was a good, hard fuck. He might be reconnecting with nature but his libido hadn’t diminished whatsoever. In fact, the bracing atmosphere made him feel more potent and virile than ever.
Sliding his gaze over her, he watched as she lifted the container to her lips, gulping down deep mouthfuls until it overflowed, trickling down her chin.
“Shit,” he ground out, averting his gaze as his cock began to throb.
McGonagall wasn’t the only reason he needed to keep her at a distance. There were too many other danger signs. The incident in the den was one of them. His inexplicable attraction to her behind a patently superficial glamour was a concern. But worse was the fact that he’d known, deep down he’d known from the taste of her—sweet, untainted, that she hadn’t been drugged—she wasn’t even drunk. And yet he hadn’t been able to stop himself. He’d been drooling at the prospect of consuming her. It had all gone to shit after that but he still remembered the feel of his body pressed against hers, his tongue sliding around inside her.
“Sweet Circe,” Hermione murmured. His black boxers were now stretched taut around his groin. It might have been the effect of the water dragging at him but as the sheer material hugged his contours, leaving very little to the imagination, she blushed at the realization that he certainly appeared to be very . . . pronounced.
She had no reason to stay now that she’d filled the container and consumed far more water than her level of thirst warranted. But she didn’t seem to be able to drag her eyes away. She wanted to imprint this image on her mind, to remind herself when he was a complete asshole again, that he did have a few . . . redeeming features.
He watched as she turned, her eyes sliding back over him before they finally dropped away and she returned up the bank. That look was also a concern—it burned straight down to his cock. But what troubled him far more than anything else about her was the fact that he enjoyed her company—simply being close to her. In his entire pathetic life, he’d only been that comfortable with one other. He’d dropped his guard and allowed himself to hope for something more. And look how that had ended. Spectacularly . . . fucking . . . badly.
No matter what the feeble remnants of his past self wanted, he would never allow such foolish thoughts to dictate his actions again. He no longer believed in fairy tales. He believed in horror stories. And they were as dark and desolate as he’d ever imagined. He hadn’t told her, but this trip would be deadly—he was certain of it. And despite the newfound clarity of his thoughts, he still knew that it was the simplest solution to his problems. To all of their problems.
***
He didn’t deserve to look so good. Hermione vigorously stirred the porridge on the camping stove. After the amount of abuse he’d put his body through, there was no way it should look like that—all supple and toned, like some bloody athlete. What was he? The world record holder in the hundred metre hump? A Master of the pole vault? Breast stroke champion of the world?
Hermione realised she was breathing too heavily; she needed to curb her thoughts in case he read them upon his return. However, it turned out that she needn’t have been concerned about him reading anything. He didn’t look at her at all as he passed, striding casually to his tent before rummaging around inside for a protracted period.
When he emerged, he still didn’t look at her, crouching down to his satchel as he spoke over his shoulder.
“I need to attend to something. Perhaps you could wait here?”
She was silent for a moment, watching him pulling items from his satchel and dropping them into his pockets. “Oh . . . okay,” she replied haltingly.
Before she could say any more, he was up and tramping away toward the rocky plain between their tent and the foothills that would take them into the mountains.
Hermione dropped the spoon back into the porridge and slid back on her stump. What was going on? Was he embarrassed? He certainly didn’t seem shy about his body but it was always possible. Now she was worried that the scene at the waterfall may have set back their meagre progress. She really didn’t want to go back to the extreme discomfort of their previous interactions. It was just too exhausting.
Sighing heavily, she dished herself up a serve of porridge but soon realised that her appetite had gone so quickly disappeared it before grabbing her pack and heading back down to the river. She’d noticed on the climb over the past few days that the reed nests of many river birds had been destroyed. She wasn’t convinced, however, that it was purposeful. Rather, they appeared to have been carelessly trampled but she’d yet to observe clear footprints to determine what might be responsible. Trekking further down the length of the bank, she came to a low, muddy area. As she knelt for a closer look, she was surprised to see that it had been churned up by a host of overlapping prints—far more than previous. Then she saw it, in the centre was a print that was huge—giant in fact. It was too human-like to be anything else—it had to be a troll.
Hermione thought about Snape and where he may have gone. Standing, she chewed her bottom lip as she surveyed the river bank, wondering if she should follow him. If she did, when he’d asked her not to, he might get angry—and an angry Snape wasn’t something she wanted to behold ever again. She decided to return to camp to see if he was back. But when she crested the hill, the clearing was empty. No Snape. Throwing down her pack, she pulled out her book and sat to read it. But after re-reading the same paragraph for the twentieth time she tossed it back into her bag and began her classic ‘agitated Hermione’ pacing, back and forth, arms crossed.
“Fuck it.” She suddenly turned and headed in the direction that Snape had gone. If something happened that she could have prevented, she wouldn’t forgive herself.
Earlier, she’d watched him as he’d gradually receded into the distance and so she now had a reasonably good idea of where he’d headed. She continued across the plain for some time, dodging boulders and clumps of long grass before skirting around to the right behind a large outcropping of stones.
Then she stopped, mouth agape.
Snape was there. And in his arms was a blonde woman. Hermione couldn’t fucking believe it. Trust Snape to be able to locate a willing woman in the middle of the fucking Scottish Wilds! He was impossible!
She couldn’t do this anymore. With a strangled cry, Hermione turned and ran back to the camp.
“Fucking stupid, fucking, fucking, bloody buggery asshole bastard!” she choked, as she started pulling things from her tent. Furiously, she tried to cast the shrinking spell but she was too angry to do it properly. Her pillow and sleeping bag kept leaping about on the ground but didn’t change size at all.
“Fucking stupid, shitty Diminuendo,” she hissed, casting it again and again until everything was covered with dirt and grass.
“Just fucking shrink, you—“
“Hermione?”
She knew that voice.
Spinning around she saw the woman. And instantly felt like collapsing in a pile of utter ridiculousness.
“Luna?”
Luna’s luminous smile reached her and Hermione couldn’t stop the tears that began trickling down her cheeks.
“Come here you silly Leanbh.” Luna opened her arms wide and drew her into a warm, tight hug that made Hermione feel even more childish, but still she clung on, unwilling to let her friend go.
“What are you doing here?” Hermione sniffed, leaning back to give her a watery smile.
“I’m about to end nearly three months out here. I thought I’d drop in to see you before I head home.”
Luna worked for the Ministry and was responsible for much of the data that came in but she spent such long stints in the field that Hermione was struggling to remember the last time she saw her.
“But how did you know where we were?”
Luna dumped her pack on the ground. “I’ll tell you over a cup of tea, I’m gasping for one.”
Hermione quickly wiped her hands across her cheeks and set to boiling some water, retrieving the cups that she and Snape used. After filling their cups, she sat next to Luna who had pulled Snape’s wooden stump over beside hers.
“So how did you find us?” Hermione repeated.
“The Thestrals— they guided me here.”
“Really?”
“No, not really. Katie Bell Owled me to say that you were out here and suggested I check in on you.”
Hermione snorted quietly. “I’m sure she did. And how would she know where we are?”
“The Ministry has a Locator on you. Katie just sent me the directions.”
Hermione gazed into her mug thoughtfully.
“I didn’t kiss him if you’re wondering.”
Hermione’s eyes flashed up to see Luna grinning, a mischievous glint in her silvery eyes.
“Wha . . . what?” Hermione balked. “I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about,” she mumbled, before slurping her tea loudly.
“He told me,” Luna said, sipping her own.
“Who?”
“Severus.”
“Severus?”
“Yes, the man you’ve been travelling with for the past four days.” Luna raised her blonde eyebrows.
“He told you what?”
“When we saw you running away, he said you’d think he was kissing me and that you’d be angry and probably packing up to leave. He told me to explain things to you.”
Hermione humphed derisively but she was thrown by the suggestion that Snape might have insight into anything at all.
“And what ‘things’ might need ‘explaining’?”
“Well.” Luna crossed her legs which were covered in colourful layers of knitted material. “When I came through the Apparition point on the plains, I caught sight of Severus around by the rocks. I went over to see him and we got talking and sort of lost track of time.”
“Talking? Snape?”
“Yes, he speaks. Didn’t you know?” Luna smiled.
“No, actually, I didn’t.” Hermione blinked, quite taken aback.
“Obviously he’s concerned about this trip—about your safety.”
“Snape told you that?” Hermione was incredulous.
“No, the Thestrals told me.”
“Really?
“No, of course not,” Luna laughed, high and soft. “It was him—Severus.”
Hermione was getting increasingly frustrated by her friend’s quirkiness. “So why do you keep saying that it was the Thestrals?”
“The point I’m making,” Luna leaned forward and put a hand on her knee, “is that magic isn’t the answer to everything. It’s communication, Hermione. You just need to care enough to ask.”
“I do care,” Hermione rasped, bowing her head.
“That’s obvious,” Luna squeezed her. “But you don’t like being vulnerable. I understand that. But he’s vulnerable too. He’s hurting.”
Hermione sighed. “Yes, but there’s nothing I can do about that.”
“A hug wouldn’t hurt,” Luna said. “That’s what we were doing when you saw us—the perfect balm for a tortured soul.”
“A hug? I doubt that would ever be enough for a man like him.”
“You’d be surprised,” said Luna, draining her cup and standing. “He’s a very good hugger. Extremely heartfelt.”
Hermione looked unconvinced.
“I might just have to give him another on the way back,” grinned Luna. “Being squeezed against a chest like that certainly isn’t the worst thing in the world.”
Hermione’s mouth curled into a reluctant smile. Talking to Luna had always been a revelation. It was just a matter of separating the wackiness from the wisdom.
- 10
- 11
- 12
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Debaucery *Complete*

Debaucery Complete