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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
- 17
- 18
- 19
A/N: Thanks to SouthernBelle50plus for the chapter title
OO – ‘WTF is going on?’ – now that is a pretty complicated question as it turns out. More answers in the coming chapters! ‘it's very symbolic of the partial view we have of him right now’ – ooh, I love that, wish I’d thought of it ;) x ‘even going so far as to bare his feet’ – yes, I’m glad you picked up on the significance of that. ‘What the hell did she do to him?’ – I know you don’t really want me to answer but I promise it is coming up soon. ‘But I don't think his jizz will work, so I'm not too worried’ – is that jizz cockiness or cock jizziness? ;) x
LissaDream – ‘They certainly can never do things the easy way, can they?’ – not in my hands they can’t, and not yours either I suspect ;) So pleased to hear that you have joined the obsession . . . I’m sure there are plenty of worse things we could be doing ;) x
MumOfTrips – Lovely to hear from you. So glad you are enjoying the story and the twists. More coming up! x
HG4Eva – ‘He got too close to feeling, didn't he?’ – ooh, interesting – we will have to see! ‘I hope this isn't as awful and awkward as I think it will be.’ – ummm, unfortunately I do have a history of awful and awkward. I can’t promise anything. ‘Looking forward to more of this tale of the scared and the petrified’ – LOL, love it! x
Kvarta – ‘You are aware that it is all child's play? Right?’ – no way! ;) ‘blend of aftermath and retrospect in this chapter’ – ooh, lovely :) ‘she acts like a lovestruck teenager trying to rationalize her affections’ – so true! ‘so out of character for him and endearing’ – he is turning into a bit of a softy (well he was). ‘But, the hardest one is in their heads’ – yes, there’s quite a bit going on up there. ‘I do expect him to fight, tooth and nail, in spite if nothing else’ – you are right, but things are complicated . . . more coming up soon. ‘But do keep good care of yourself first’ – always . . . thank you xx

Chapter 18 – Thunder and Lightning
What had happened?
Hermione sits on the edge of her small bed, hands balled into tight fists, letting her silent tears fall. She had noticed the shift in him. It hadn’t even been particularly subtle. But for some reason she’d chosen to ignore it, putting it down to her own paranoia . . . they’d had such a wonderful time together after all—at least that’s what she’d thought.
And now this. Anger, hurt, blame, rejection. It was just the same as before—all those years ago. And sadly she is also the same—shocked, bereft . . . nursing the same lump of pain in her chest.
She’d not even had an opportunity to explain herself . . . on either occasion. His instant reaction was to shut out, to push away, and it happened so quickly that she was left spinning in the dust.
She had blamed herself in the past—accepted that she perhaps hadn’t handled things as well as she should have, as she would have wanted to if she hadn’t been so lonely and guilt-ridden.
But this time she’d done nothing wrong. And whilst he hadn’t actually accused her of anything, the insinuation, the crude introduction of another man . . . Lucius Malfoy for Merlin’s sake . . . after everything they’d shared. It was so bloody insensitive.
Perhaps she was to blame after all. She’d let it happen. She’d let Severus Snape in—again—despite her reservations, despite the fact that she knew how brutally unforgiving he could be. She wished she could say that she’d made a mistake, but she couldn’t . . . and that makes her cry even harder. He had been everything she’d wanted—everything she’d asked of him . . . sweet and gentle, kind and . . . loving.
And for him to suddenly tear it asunder in mere moments was so damned unfair.
And then there was Lucius Malfoy. She had no idea of how and when the liaison would happen, what the outcome would be, and what it would mean for their relationship . . . could there still be a future together?
Hermione releases a shuddering breath and wipes her hands over her face. It was his call now. She wouldn’t be begging to see him again. He would have to come to her.
***
He doesn’t.
She sees him many times . . . and he sees her . . . but he always maintains his distance—not ignoring her so much as simply watching, watchful, his expression a confusing blend of resolution and regret that drives a lump into her throat, such that she has to stop taking her meals in the Great Hall.
Alone in her vaguely room-like cupboard she can feel herself regressing, closing down once again. The keenness of her senses seems to sharpen each day that she is away from him, the world gradually looming larger and more fearful, and she diminishing—lapsing into a smaller and more insignificant being. The entire experience is excruciating. As though she is slowly dying of thirst . . . when the cure, the life-giving wellspring, is mere metres away.
And it is not even the physical relapse that concerns her most, it is the rapid corrosion of the psychological and emotional fortitude that she had managed to craft over the past weeks. What had seemed so strong, she now realises was hopelessly fragile and despairingly temporary.
In the past she would have simply succumbed to this sad acceptance . . . seeing it as just another part of her dismal lot. But this time, with him so close and yet so far, there is too much hurt and anger. She can’t pretend. She is utterly furious with him. He knows her circumstances better than anyone and yet has chosen to treat her like this.
Between classes, she finds herself with too much time alone . . . time to ruminate, to seethe, to haul up her bitter walls, such that when she finally wakes after another dismal sleep to find a scrap of parchment shoved under her door, adorned with the familiar strokes from his hand, she storms over and snatches it up.

Hermione,
Lucius will be in my chambers this evening at 8pm.
I trust you will be able to attend.
I’m sorry.
Severus.

He’s sorry?
She can barely hold it together. He’s fucking sorry?
She screws up the parchment and hurls it against the wall.
Breathing heavily, she combs both hands through her hair as she begins pacing the room.
Lucius Malfoy.
She is now at the point of such utter desperation that she actually finds herself looking forward to engaging with him—a man she’d hoped never to see again in her life but one whom might just be able to help her . . . or at least answer the question of whether she can afford some degree of hope . . . or if she is simply destined to rot away in a cupboard for the rest of her life.
She stops pacing and stares at the floor. At least things couldn’t get worse—he absolutely couldn’t make things worse. And that thought makes her feel a bit better.
With a renewed sense of resolve, Hermione sets about making a pot of tea. Her wand could do it just as easily but the deliberate, methodical process soothes her. And as she cradles her grandmother’s cup in her hands, her mind drifts back to her family and the sacrifices that they made for her—to give her all of the wonderful opportunities that she has had. She decides then that she at least owes it to them to try—to do her best to survive.
Taking a sip, she clenches her jaw in determination. She is going to make the most of this opportunity—even if it does involve a disturbingly sticky encounter with Lucius Malfoy.
***
The galloping rhythm of her heart thuds in her ears. It is the last class of the day and only a few hours remain until she will be able to deduce more about the puzzle of her predicament. Despite her distraction, she notices that Sophia is unusually quiet. Sitting at the back of the class, the dark-haired girl is nearly lost in the shadows but Hermione senses her intense blue gaze firmly locked upon her. It is not the first time that she has detected a quietness in the girl but, on this occasion, her withdrawal it is particularly noticeable.
As she dismisses the rest of the class, Hermione stands and beckons to Sophia who approaches without any of the usual self-assurance that she has become accustomed to.
“Is everything alright?” Hermione asks as the door closes behind the last student. “You seem rather quiet today.”
“Yes . . . quite alright.” Sophia avoids her gaze.
“You can talk to me. I do understand what it’s like to be a student here.” Hermione reaches out and touches her gently on shoulder. “Are you worried about school work? You’re not being bullied, are you?”
“No.” Sophia shakes her head. “Nothing like that.”
“What is it, then? Is it your family? Are you homesick?”
Sophia’s eyes suddenly rush up to meet hers.
“You know that there are holidays coming up, don’t you?” Hermione smiles encouragingly. “It won’t be long before you see them again.”
“Yes, it will,” Sophia answers despondently. “My family aren’t . . . available. I’ll be staying here.”
“Oh . . . well, so am I,” Hermione responds brightly. “We could keep each other company—do something fun together. You wanted to show me something?”
Sophia regards her with anguish. “It’s too late . . . Almost.”
Hermione is struck by the despair in her voice.
“Tomorrow.” She leans toward the girl. “I’ll come with you tomorrow.”
The girl’s full lips quiver almost imperceptibly. “It must be in the morning.”
“Absolutely. I will meet you at the main entrance at 10am.”
Suddenly Sophia rushes forward and throws her arms around Hermione in a fierce hug that makes her body cry out in shock but that she finds she equally desperately needs, returning the hug with vigour.
The young girl trembles in her arms and it is all Hermione can do to stop herself from welling up again, such is the fragility of her current state.
Eventually Sophia pulls away, wiping her tear-streaked face. “I’ll see you . . . tomorrow,” she rasps before picking up her bag and striding quickly from the room.
***
“Hermione.” Minerva stands as Hermione enters the Headmistress’ office. “I was about to make my way down to the Great Hall for dinner. Would you care to join me?”
Hermione, shakes her head. “No, thank you. I just wanted to check something, if I may?”
“Of course.” The older woman gestures to a seat opposite her desk before resuming her own.
“How can I help you?”
“Sophia Langford.”
Minerva blinks. “Yes?”
“She told me that she is staying here during the holidays. I just wanted to find out why she is unable to return home?” Hermione perches on the edge of her seat, the day’s discomfort settling into her limbs.
“Well.” Minerva scans her desk as though looking for something before suddenly clasping her hands together. “There is little I can tell you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Miss Langford . . .” Minerva raises her interlocked fingers slightly, “. . . arrived not long before the start of the school year with only a letter . . . from her grandparents . . . stating that she would not be returning home for the holidays.”
“Arrived?” Hermione frowns. “What about her first year? Didn’t she complete it here at Hogwarts?”
Minerva’s lips press together in what Hermione recognises as discomfort. “No . . . I believe she was home-schooled in her first year . . . by her grandparents.”
“Home-schooled? For the entire first year curriculum?” Hermione leans forward on her seat. “Who are her grandparents?”
“Uh . . . I’ve not met them. I’m not entirely sure of their names.” Minerva quickly rises. “Now, I am getting rather peckish so if that is all you wanted to know?”
Hermione remains seated. “Why would a student be accepted into Hogwarts without a thorough investigation of their background? Especially one with such an unusual point of entry into the school?”
Minerva sighs as she leans on the corner of the desk. “If you haven’t noticed, Hermione, times have changed since you were at Hogwarts. The war is over. There is no longer a reason for suspicion and interrogation. We tend to take people on face value.”
“Are you even able to contact her family? What if there is an emergency?” Hermione’s voice rises.
Minerva removes her glasses and begins polishing them furiously. “I imagine Miss Langford would know of her family’s whereabouts. She could owl them if required.”
“And what if it were an emergency involving Sophia?” Hermione rises angrily from her chair. “Why aren’t basic records being kept of our students’ details?”
“Most of them do provide such information,” Minerva snaps. “But there are some who don’t. And we can’t . . . afford . . . to turn any away.”
Hermione glares at her for a long moment. “So this is a matter of funding? You’re compromising the safety of students to secure enrolments?”
“I would hardly call a less-than-thorough background screening a breach of student safety.”
“I would!”
“And would you reject anyone who wasn’t able to provide a thorough explanation for their circumstances?” Minerva replaces her glasses to glare at Hermione.
“Of course.”
“And would you say the same about teaching staff who are unable to explain their circumstances, who arrive under a cloud of suspicion, and who are simply hopeful for an opportunity to be accepted?”
Hermione’s breath catches. “That is not the same thing.”
“Isn’t it?”
***
By the time Hermione fronts up to Severus’ door, she is filled with a simmering indignant rage that she can barely see though. It is hardly desirable preparation for such an occasion but she can do little about it.
Taking a deep breath and huffing it out loudly, she knocks.
Severus opens the door, his eyes instantly roaming over her new dress in a way that she finds distinctly insulting considering the circumstances.
“Miss Granger.” He nods in welcome.
“Professor Granger if you don’t mind,” she snaps before pushing past.
She stops. Lucius Malfoy is already seated by the fire, wine glass balanced in his fingertips, a smirk on his lips.
She arranges her face into what she hopes doesn’t look like a snarl—she is genuinely grateful to him after all. “Mr Malfoy.”
He immediately stands and proffers his hand. “Professor Granger, such a pleasure to see you again.”
She takes it and he smoothly bows, hair falling in a silky white curtain, before placing a light kiss upon her knuckles. She feels herself relax a little. There’s no doubt about it, he’s pretty slick. And without the usual cold arrogance, he might actually be quite pleasant.
“Can I get you a drink?” he asks. “This wine is excellent.”
“Oh yes, that would be lovely.”
“Severus?” Lucius looks over her shoulder.
Hermione turns to see Severus’ jaw firm, clearly annoyed. “I have nothing other than excellent wine in my cabinet,” he states drily before addressing Hermione. “I would be pleased to pour you a glass.”
His black eyes flicker to Lucius for a moment before he turns stiffly, striding over to a nearby drinks cabinet.
Well. This is going to be fun!
There is obviously considerable tension between the two men already, so clearly this ‘arrangement’ isn’t to everyone’s liking. But, to be honest, she feels little sympathy for Severus . . . he’d been a total bastard. She would be happy for him to receive a dose of his own medicine.
“Now sit down and tell me all about yourself.” Lucius sweeps his hand graciously toward the couch and relocates himself on the cushion beside her.
When Severus returns with her drink, she notices the distinct narrowing of his eyes as he sums up the new seating arrangements, Lucius’ arm slung casually across the top of the couch behind her shoulders. With a low growl that turns into an unconvincing throat-clearing, he sinks down into the chair opposite.
Lucius ignores him, leaning in closer. “Severus tells me that you are the new Professor of Muggle studies. How is that going?”
“Oh it’s . . . fine.” She hardly thinks that he’s interested but this all needs to start somewhere. “Everyone has been very supportive.”
Lucius nods, his blue eyes disconcertingly intense as they gaze into hers. “And he also tells me that you are somewhat . . . ill.”
Hermione blinks at the topic change. “Yes . . . I . . . you can probably tell . . . I’m suffering from a condition . . . of some sort.”
“Not at all.” He lifts a hand and trails his fingers lightly down her cheek. “You look even more radiant than what I remember. Perhaps it was the circumstances . . . they weren’t the best of times.”
“No.” She gasps as his fingers open to slide down her neck.
“Perhaps it would be prudent to discuss what is to occur this evening,” Severus interrupts.
Hermione tears her eyes away from Lucius to consider the dark wizard—shoulders tense, cheeks flushed, black gaze burning into the two of them . . . what did he intend to happen?
“Perhaps the young lady can tell us what is to occur?” Lucius’ eyes wander over her cleavage which is heaving noticeably with his attention.
Lucius is right. It’s her body. She should be the one to decide.
“I need you to come on me.”
Lucius’ eyebrows shoot up. Severus chokes.
“On my stomach.”
“That’s quite . . . specific.”
“Yes . . . can you do it?”
Severus jumps up. “I hardly think this requires some sort of ejaculatory prowess. It’s coming, not splitting the atom. And I tend to consider that this could be more easily achieved by rapid transfer between two locations . . . not necessarily direct application.”
“I disagree,” Hermione states.
“So do I.” Lucius regards him with disdain.
Severus’ hands clench by his sides and Hermione wonders who he is planning to hex first.
But when a few moments pass and nothing more happens than the distinct crack of his jaw, she turns to Lucius.
“Should we get on with it, then?”
“Why not?” Lucius agrees. “In the bedroom?”
“You’ll do it here,” Severus growls.
They both regard him. Hermione has never seen him so furious, mouth clamped and twisted, the veins in his temples throbbing. She struggles to understand how he plans to cope with what is about to happen—unless he intends to leave. But this was entirely his idea. He was going to have to put up with it.
“Fine.” She tosses the word over her shoulder before slithering down to crouch before Lucius.
“What are you doing?” Severus' low murmur comes from behind her.
“What does it look like?” She quickly undoes Lucius’ trousers and slips her hand inside. He instantly moans and lifts his backside off the couch. “I might need a bit more lubrication first.” She reaches for her glass with the other hand and take a deep gulp.
Before she can even remove it from her lips, she is yanked up by her wrist. The glass falls to the floor, smashing and spilling wine everywhere.
“That is not . . . necessary,” Severus spits the words out between clenched teeth.
His grip is so tight, she feels her bones straining but she won’t give him anything. Not after what he has done to her. “I’ll decide what’s necessary,” she snaps bitterly. “Now, get your hands off me.”
He blinks and she sees the anger giving away to something else—hurt, regret, sorrow . . . whatever it is, she has to look away. “Let me go,” she repeats in a whisper.
He does.
Clenching and unclenching her fist in attempt to return the blood supply to her hand, she reaches out to Lucius. “We’re using the bedroom.”
He looks warily at Severus before deciding that there is no fight left in him. Together they leave, closing the bedroom door behind them.
- 17
- 18
- 19
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Sense and Insensibility *Complete*

Sense and Insensibility Complete