Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Sense and Insensibility Complete	By : Desert_Sea Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione Views: 33531 -:- Recommendations : 2 -:- Currently Reading : 1
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
- 16
- 17
- 18
A/N –
OO – ‘When he picks up the pace and really gives it to her’ – hahah, such a great turn of phrase. ‘Such word deliciocity!’ – yummm :P
Kvarta – Hey, I got the review trifecta – awesome! Glad that you had such a fantastic time in Japan . . . I’m still jealous ;) ‘It is adoring how he tries to be logical when in fact he don't want her to belong to anyone else :) But I think I love more the way she chose to make her point to him’ – Yes, they are both showing a bit more of themselves in these last few chapters. ‘And that is Snape, so the story holds so much more than just a "date conversation" that it would normally be.’ – you’re right, so revealing for such a private man. ‘resist? Is she insane?! Why would anyone resist him?’ – hahah, totally :) ‘it took them only 16 chapter to get to the bed’ – true, progress has been pretty slow this time ;) ‘You managed to pick my favorite instrument’ – really? Awesome. And I’m still looking forward to you telling my fortune ;) x
LissaDream – Thank you so much LD :) xx
HG4Eva – ‘Severus being a gentleman in all things is lovely, especially considering where they started and how horrible he was to her’ – yes, he certainly can turn it on when he wants to ;) ‘I hope her medical injection helps tremendously’ – hmmm, I’ll be interested to know what you think of the outcome xx
Dedicated_Reader – Thank you so much :) I’m so glad you are enjoying. I’ll keep an eye out for the confusing perspective flips. I noticed one and will go back and revise it. Thank you! x

Chapter 17 – Gain and Loss
Hermione spies his gracefully crossed legs and detects the elegant sway of his black boots but is gifted nothing more with Hagrid’s bulky presence obscuring her view. After arriving late at the staff meeting, she’d had to take a chair on the opposite side of the room, and now that tantalising slice of him captivates her, making her wish for the rest. With some difficulty, she trains her eyes to the front of the room, but despite the gravity of Minerva’s withered features, the brittle edge to her brogue, and her increasingly officious instructions about new resourcing protocols and productivity goals, Hermione’s wayward mind instantly slips into replaying the events of the previous evening—as it had already done with disconcerting regularity throughout the day . . . even during her classes.
This time, with the main protagonist present, black toe straining upward with the mention of ‘potion quotas,’ her reminiscence takes on a whole new level of reality. She can actually feel him—the delicious constellation of sensations as he’d methodically and comprehensively fucked her. The combination of his cock, hands and lips lingers delectably in her mind’s eye until she catches herself rocking, her pelvis grinding rhythmically against her chair. Instantly she crosses both arms and legs, frowning and nodding thoughtfully in an attempt to demonstrate her focus on the matter at hand.
But it is to no avail. Moments later she is back in his bedroom again, feeling his cock snugly embedded inside her. He’d remained there for a long time—after she’d begged him to stay—and in the absence of being able to embrace him properly, it had been the reassurance she’d needed. In fact, it had brought her such comfort that she’d actually fallen asleep, head nestled under his chin, fingers interlocked with his.
Her gaze now creeps back to the poised elegance of this crossed legs, imagining them bare again, remembering the sight of his sockless feet crossed on the footstool as he’d sat before the fire with her, eating and chatting.
Somehow he’d managed to slip away while she’d been sleeping, magically reheated their abandoned dinner and served it up on plates downstairs, before returning to awaken her with a series of the most rose-petal soft kisses that she had actually dreamed that her face was buried in a dewy bouquet. And she’d woken sleepily to his easy smile—as though he’d always been capable of such but had rarely found a particular reason to do so.
She’d accompanied him downstairs, retrieving her dress along the way before slipping it over her head with little concern for underwear. Adorned only in black trousers and a white shirt, the latter casually open at the neck, he’d almost seemed like a different person as he’d reclined in a worn armchair, plate on his lap, fingers clamping a piece of battered fish as he consumed it in considered bites between mouthfuls of wine and further stories about his past.
Hermione had taken the chair alongside him, equally threadbare but surprisingly comfortable, and occupied the same footstool, her bare toes occasionally brushing against his between delectable mouthfuls, which had miraculously lost nothing in flavour or texture since being dumped in favour of the best fuck of her life.
Her wine had also disappeared at a rate of knots as she’d talked and listened and laughed, drifting along on the surprisingly loquacious stream of words that tripped from his oil-slicked lips. Then she’d been surprised by his own thoughtful line of questioning . . . allowing herself to indulge in some rare candour—drawn out by the genuine interest and lack of judgement in his eyes.
At one point in her retelling of the Obliviation of her parents, he’d even reached over and held her hand, squeezing it gently. The action had left tears shimmering on her eyelashes but she’d done nothing to conceal them. After all, he’d already shared so much of himself, including elements of his own troubled past, that she felt she at least owed him the honesty of her emotions.
But that’s when he’d asked her, out of the blue, why she’d spent all of those months as a teenager by his bedside. The question had taken her off guard and she’d sat for a few moments, considering how much she should tell him.
Suddenly, the closeness that she had felt to him back in the hospital wing of Hogwarts—and was feeling as she held his hand right now—seemed to mesh and meld and, combined with the excellent wine and mind-blowing sex, had caused her to want to share more than she might otherwise.
She’d told him of her post-war loneliness having returned to Hogwarts without her friends, her desire to be needed, and admitted that she had been drawn to his obvious need for her.
“But you do realise that I was unaware it was you?” He’d released her hand then, making her suddenly desperate to explain herself.
“Yes . . . of course but . . . whomever you thought I was—you were looking to me for comfort. And I found that I could provide it.”
He’d stared at her then, the light from the fire licking into his eyes. “Comfort?”
“Yes.” She’d twisted her napkin around her fist.
“What form did this ‘comfort’ take?” His delivery held a subtle tension, the words slipping out through barely parted lips.
“A variety . . .” She’d swallowed with the admission, “. . . of forms.”
He’d considered her for a long moment then, before suddenly twisting his head to consult the mantel clock.
“We must return.”
He’d risen and rapidly cleared their plates, glasses and bottle with a wave of his hand.
Oh, I thought—”
He’d looked down at her.
“We’re not staying?”
Buttoning up his shirt, he’d crossed the room. “No. Our absence will be noted.”
“Does that matter?” She’d stood, pulling the front of her dress together in a sudden wave of self-consciousness.
“Yes.”
She’d not fully understood his concern but proceeded to mount the stairs, tidying and clothing herself in preparation for the return trip.
At the door he’d turned to her, pale fingers hovering over the handle. “We don’t need the opinions of others muddying the waters.”
Muddying the waters? Was he referring to their relationship? And was the dynamic so fragile that it couldn’t withstand the usual grind of the Hogwarts rumour mill?
Part of her had been grateful—it was a relief that he seemed to care. But at the same time, she’d not been able to avoid the finger of doubt that had prodded her relentlessly as they’d returned in near silence. And it had continued to drill. Even when he’d run his own fingers down her cheek, brushing his lips against her forehead as they’d stood outside the door to her room. She’d hoped he would stay—or that he’d invite her to his. But instead he’d inclined his head, black eyes locked upon her, before suddenly turning and sweeping away.
It had been unreasonable of her to expect more. The evening had been utterly enchanting and he’d given so much of himself already. But she’d watched him out of the corner of her eye until he’d completely disappeared, feeling utterly bereft.
Hermione snaps back to reality with the burst of disgruntled muttering that signifies the end of the meeting. She feels herself willing him over; she needs to talk.
But Minerva quickly approaches, and she watches him sidle past, eyes momentarily flickering to hers before exiting.
“Hermione.” The older woman greets her. “I just wanted to inquire how you are faring. You really are looking so well these days—everyone has commented upon it.”
“Oh, really?” Hermione can’t help recalling Severus’ ‘opinions of others’ comment.
“Yes, surely you realise it yourself?” Professor McGonagall’s lips cinch into an inquiring smile.
“Of course . . . I just didn’t realise that it was a topic of such interest.”
Minerva’s face softens. “This is Hogwarts, Hermione. Not a lot happens here . . . not anymore. And anything that does is of keen interest to all. But we do want what’s best for you, dear. I hope you understand that.”
Hermione concedes with a small smile. “Yes . . . and I am extremely grateful.”
“May I inquire . . .” Minerva lowers her voice, straining forward slightly despite the fact that the two remaining staff are standing some distance away. “Is it Professor Snape’s . . . supplement . . . that has been assisting your recovery?”
“I believe it to be a combination of factors,” Hermione answers quickly, suddenly finding a crack in the stone floor by her feet too fascinating to ignore. “But certainly the Professor has been generous with his time. I really do owe him a great deal.”
“As he owes you.”
“What do you mean?” Hermione’s eyes snap up to regard her.
“Well . . . you did spend many months assisting his recovery all those years ago. I would consider it the least he could do.”
Hermione blinks. “Did you tell him that?”
Minerva retreats a fraction, abrupt and birdlike. “I may have suggested it, but that would hardly have inspired his actions. He is not one to take instruction as you may have noticed.”
Hermione actually had noticed. And he’d been more than willing to take instruction . . . when she had been willing to do the same. And whilst she was aware that the two Professors had had a difficult past, she suddenly feels quite protective over him.
“I have also been considerably buoyed by my time with the students.” Hermione makes an effort to direct the conversation away from him.
“Ah yes,” Minerva smiles. “I have heard particularly glowing reports from a young lady in your second year class—Miss Langford?”
Hermione nods, a smile ticking up the corners of her mouth. “She has been one of the most supportive—right from the beginning. She’s just so . . .”
“Granger-esque?”
“I certainly hope not,” Hermione responds quickly. “. . . It’s not an easy road to travel.” Her smile suddenly drops away.
Minerva touches her hand. And for the first time she doesn’t consider pulling away. “I know this is still difficult, Hermione. I didn’t mean to suggest that you were suddenly better. I just want to be able to support you. We all do. Even the children.”
Hermione nods gratefully, but Minerva’s firm grasp brings her no comfort. It is Severus she wants. And now she leaves. To find him.
***
He stands in his laboratory, door open—clearly expecting her. It is only when she approaches that she notices he is reading.
“Severus?”
“What did she want?” He continues to peruse the book. “A blow by blow account?”
“Sorry?”
His eyes briefly rise to hers before he huffs and flicks over the page.
“No, she didn’t.” Hermione frowns, folding her arms across her chest. “And I would hardly have considered it prudent to reveal such a thing.”
“It’s not as though she hasn’t enough to be getting on with,” he growls, “without compulsively interfering in the lives of others.”
Hermione takes a step closer. “I don’t pretend to understand what has happened between the two of you. But certainly the way you described her when you first arrived at Hogwarts, it seemed that she was one of your greatest supports.”
He snorts but continues to stare down at the pages.
“She was only inquiring after me.”
“And I received no mention?”
“She may have—”
“You asked if it ‘mattered’ that people placed us together.” He snaps the book shut to round on her. “As things stand, you are currently a young woman, an ex-student, who has come to Hogwarts, obviously exceedingly unwell, looking for assistance.”
Hermione shakes her head at the anger in his eyes. “I don’t understand.”
“And I am a man—your past Professor, currently taking advantage of my ill and desperate ex-student, to satisfy my own needs.
“But you’re not . . .” Hermione stares at him.
“Aren’t I?” He raises an expressive eyebrow, the question hanging between them.
“I really don’t understand. Is this about Professor McGonagall or is this about you?”
“She should never have let you near me,” he grinds out, suddenly looking away.
“What do you mean?”
He doesn’t respond.
“Severus?” She raises her voice as she moves around in front of him.
“I was not myself . . . I didn’t know what I was doing.”
Hermione reaches out to touch him but he steps out of her way, spinning around and returning the book to its shelf.
“We need to establish whether I am the only one who is able to heal you.”
Hermione is surprised at the edge of desperation to his voice.
“Why? What do you think—?” she begins.
“It doesn’t matter what I ‘think’, it matters what can be proven—what I can provide evidence for.” Each word is enunciated as though she is dense.
She reluctantly withdraws her hand from where it was hovering in the hope of touching him.
“Do you have anyone in mind?” she asks quietly.
He crosses his arms. “Do you?”
“Jacob?”
“No. He’s a Muggle. Unlikely to be effective.”
“Then I have no one else.” She looks away, embarrassed. “No one that I would wish to ask for such a thing.”
Severus sighs heavily. “I may have someone.”
“Do I know them?”
“Yes . . . His name is Lucius Malfoy.”
Her face drops. “Not Draco?”
“No, he’s married.”
“So is Lucius.”
“Yes, but that actually means something to Draco.”
Hermione stares at the ground in silence before finally raising her eyes, brimming with tears. “I would appreciate . . . if you could arrange it.”
Severus delivers a single nod.
Turning, she quietly leaves the room.
Severus wandlessly closes the door, then collapses, face in his hands.
- 16
- 17
- 18
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Sense and Insensibility *Complete*

Sense and Insensibility Complete