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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
- 18
- 19
- 20
A/N: Trying to get a few quick chapters up over the Easter break. Hope you enjoy them, DSxx
OO – ‘You're not giving me answers, you're just making more questions!’ – LOL. There must be questions before there are answers. I promise that there will be some big reveals in the next few chapters. ‘What the hell is going on with Sophia? Who are her parents/family, and why is Minerva being so cagey?’ – Ooh, excellent questions and ummm . . . can’t say (xx). ‘He's a big boy--he can come by himself.’ – I liked that, it helped me with this chapter. ‘so I have no one to vent my frustrations on’ – except me of course! ;) ‘You're killing me!’ – A little bit of killing is good for you as you know xx
Kvarta – ‘well love and hate at the same time to be honest. But, I have nagging suspicion that that was your intention all along.’ – ooh, people are rather distrustful of my motives here . . . and with good reason as it turns out ;). ‘what she wanted of him not who he is . . . a bit selfish and self-centric attitude’ – yes there was a bit of a sense of that, I thought. ‘why is he sorry about?’ – good question . . . not quite answered yet. ‘Minerva slipping so much, turning into a twisted version Dumbledore in a way’ – nice bit of insight. ‘he has to have proof that nothing else can be done’ – yes, I’m glad you were paying attention, even if she wasn’t. ‘he obviously didn't plan for them to actually do anything’ – he probably did underestimate them both. ‘If she wants to use bedroom she can use hers not his.’ – good point! ‘and maybe some better atmosphere’ – maybe . . . let me know what you think x
HG4Eva – ‘He doesn't get to act like the hurt, betrayed one, when it is his attitude and actions that are making it happen.’ – he certainly does seem to be pretty mixed up at the moment. ‘The tension between the two men was also intriguing, since presumably they're friends and Severus is the jerk who called Lucius into the situation.’ – hmmm, nice observation. ‘Minverva was clearly hiding information and that's not good.’ – another interesting pick up. ‘since you clearly said Lucius couldn't make things worse when we know he could.’ – hahah, I knew you wouldn’t fall for that red herring :) xx

Chapter 19 – Rise and Fall
Hermione’s eyes scan the room and instantly her heart sinks. It is nothing like his bedroom in Cokeworth. That was spartan and, if anything, a little feminine. This has a distinctly masculine style, but is adorned with rich furnishings that, to the eye, appear rather soft and sensuous. What strikes at her core, however, is the realisation that she had made love to him in a room that had, no doubt, belonged to his parents, and that likely hadn’t changed significantly since. It was a small window of understanding into him—his choice to maintain that connection with them. She wasn’t even sure why it mattered except that her only possessions in the world were those that either belonged to, or reminded her of, family.
A further source of disquiet is the fact that this is her first time in his most private space and yet it is with another man . . . It should have been with him.
Lucius notices the change in her demeanour.
“Is something the matter?”
She shakes her head slightly. “No . . . it’s just . . .”
He waits a few moments before sighing heavily and slipping his hands into his pockets. “I’ve known Severus for a long time.”
She doesn’t respond, staring up at the dark window above the bed.
“He doesn’t do this sort of thing well. He never has.”
Hermione’s eyes fall to him, a puzzled frown creasing her brow. “I’m sorry?”
Lucius shrugs his broad shoulders. “He’s not particularly adept at relationships—in fact he’s not been with anyone in years as far as I know. And whilst I always enjoy the opportunity to wind him up, I must say I’ve never seen him quite like this.”
Yes - a complete ass. But even her internal dialogue lacks conviction. Without Severus present, she is no longer fuelled by the motivation to make him jealous—the need to hurt him for hurting her—and her desire to make good on her earlier actions is rapidly waning.
“He may be a cantankerous bastard but he’s clearly quite taken with you.” Lucius continues to regard her, his expression serious. “Do you still wish to do this?”
Hermione stares, quite taken aback by what appears to be Lucius’ genuine concern. She wonders whether, like her—like all of them—he had also been changed by the war. Or perhaps she had misread him all along . . . perhaps a lot of the pomp and bravado had always been just that—a performance.
She suddenly lifts a hand to her face and rubs her fingers hard against her forehead, trying to think. “I . . . I just need to know the answer. It doesn’t really matter how it happens.”
She hears the sound of his own hand skimming thoughtfully across the fine stubble on his face. Finally he responds,
“I’m willing to do it myself . . . if you’re willing to provide a little . . . inspiration.”
She looks hopefully at him. “Of course.”
He proceeds to flick open the cuffs of his shirt as he moves closer.
“Lie on the bed. Touch yourself. I’ll do the rest.”
Allowing a sigh of relief to seep between her lips, she slips her dress off and makes to remove her underwear before he brushes her arm with his fingers. “Leave those on.”
She finds herself smiling—not something she ever thought she would do willingly to Lucius Malfoy.
Crawling onto the bed, she rolls over onto her back and looks up. He steps forward until he is standing directly over her. Inclining his head slightly, he reaches for his fly, pulling it open to release a cock that she is surprised to discover is almost as impressive as Severus’. It is already semi-erect and Hermione finds herself quite absorbed by the way that he grips it and the sight of his hand’s deft movements, stroking fluidly and repeatedly over his shaft and head. She had always considered that watching someone pleasure themselves provided the most intimate insight into them.
Lucius clearly shared her opinion as he now raises an eyebrow at her to follow suit. The very fact that she found it so private in others was the reason she couldn’t look at him as she did it to herself. But he doesn’t seem concerned when her eyelids fall closed and she proceeds to slide one hand up to her bra and the other down to her knickers.
As her fingers close around her breast, she realises just how sensitive it has become. The extent of her regression, and the speed with which it has happened are extremely disheartening, and she finds herself increasingly hopeful that the man currently stroking over her, emitting the occasional soft moan, may be able to change all that.
But as her fingers slip under the elastic of her knickers and down to the bud of her clitoris, the image of him instantly evaporates, swamped instead by vivid memories of the man standing despondently in the next room. Just touching her clitoris is enough to conjure the sensation of his tongue, hot and firm, laving . . . his lips sucking; the hand on her breast, squeezing her nipple, is his; she can even feel his feather-light kisses skimming across her jaw.
She sighs—he really was the most exquisite lover. And as she imagines his cock pushing its way inside her, she finds herself moaning.
Her fingers rub her clitoris as she rolls her nipple through her bra and she is surprised by how aroused she feels—not for the exhibitionism, but for reliving those delectably carnal moments with him—the man she has felt closer to than anyone in her life.
She realises then that she doesn’t hate him at all. She just feels his loss so viscerally that it had been all she could do to protect herself from it.
As sadness rapidly ebbs away her arousal, she hears the slapping of flesh speed up.
“Stomach, was it?” Lucius grunts.
“If you don’t mind.”
It sounded like she was at the grocers buying meat.
Moments later, she feels the bed sink down as he kneels on it and then the warm tickle of come spattering across her belly as a dying groan escapes him.
She doesn’t even have to rub it in to know the answer.
She opens her eyes to behold the final slow strokes of his fist as he milks the last of his seed onto her abdomen.
Murmuring a quiet, “Thank you,” she pushes herself up onto her elbows.
He nods, large chest rising and falling within his tailored shirt. “The pleasure was mine.” Then he places a hand beside her and leans closer. “If you need any more, I’d be happy to provide it. But I’ll require a little more in return.”
She nods.
He continues to gaze at her for a moment before pushing himself back up off the bed and tidying his crotch.
“You know where to find me.”
“Yes.”
With a small nod and a final flash of his silvery gaze, he turns and leaves, closing the door.
She hears the muffled sound of conversation—neither voice raised. They don’t seem to be arguing but it isn’t long before she hears another door close and imagines that Lucius is gone.
Wandlessly Scourgifying her stomach, she rises slowly and dresses.
Judging by the way he has treated her, she figures Severus isn’t going to like the news. And so she decides that she won’t tell him. In reality, she is on her own now anyway. He doesn’t need to know.
Running her hands over her tousled hair, she takes a deep breath and opens the door. Without looking at him, she heads straight for the entrance to his chambers but before she even reaches for the handle, he is upon her.
“What happened?”
“I don’t consider that to be any of your business.”
He grabs her by the shoulder and spins her around to face him.
“Tell me the outcome.” His black eyes are bloodshot. She doesn’t care to know why.
Pushing his hand away, she glares at him. “I’m the one who’s ill. You’re not. I’m not obliged to tell you anything.”
He seems about to say something but appears to change his mind.
Turning, she snatches at the handle and attempts to pull it open but he slams it closed again, arm barring the way.
“You can’t make me tell you, Severus,” she shrieks indignantly.
Suddenly he lunges forward but stops, his face mere millimetres from hers. Her breath catches as she feels the warmth seeping between his parted lips, licking under the curve of her jaw. He says nothing but his lips drift back and forth, never quite touching her but enough to leave her skin quivering in their wake.
“You can’t just . . .” But her words are lost as his tongue suddenly slides out to scoop under her ear-lobe.
Her breath shudders out and then catches as his teeth clamp lightly, tugging on the pliant flesh. Moaning, she tilts her head sideways, already under his spell despite herself. And as he releases her to nudge upward, his tongue slipping into her ear, she gasps and surges onto her toes, his slick penetration crawling deliciously into her scalp.
Grabbing his shirt front with one desperate fist, she yanks roughly with a mixture of desire and frustration. She wants to shout at him. To scream her sadness into his ear, directly into his brain so that he understands. But his hands are now upon her, one tenderly cradling her head, the other breaching her low neckline, skimming down to claim her nipple. Her words recede once again.
And his mouth never stops, dipping down now to engage her neck, grazing along the delicate skin around her thrumming pulse, lips and tongue sucking and smearing until she is marked by a trail of passionate nips and slick juices that end with him engulfing her mouth with his own.
He is there to mask her cries as his fingers tug mercilessly at her nipples and the other hand relocates between her legs, the heel pressing so firmly into her labia that her clitoris is trapped, and gradually ground into throbbing submission with each excruciatingly deliberate flexion of his forearm.
Her legs give away. Only then does she realise she is magically bound to the door. She attempts to drag her mouth away to draw breath. She can’t. He has her caught there . . . like a fly in a web . . . to do with as he pleases. Grasping the neckline of her dress, he forces it open, buttons tumbling to the floor, before flicking open her bra to release her breasts which he proceeds to devour in obscenely hot mouthfuls that she can barely watch for the stabbing desire in her core.
More of her dress falls away with each deft flick of his hand and then her knickers are bunched in his fist and tossed aside. He continues to flay her with his mouth and grind her pussy with his unrelenting fingers until she dissolves into a mess of high-pitched whimpering. Finally he allows her nipple to slide—wet and painfully erect—from his mouth, blood red against the pallor of her skin, before dragging his simmering gaze down her nakedness, now framed only in the hang of her ragged clothes. She can only breathe, drawing in heaving lungfuls that pull in at her ribs in an effort to remain conscious.
Then she feels it, the distinct prickle of his powerful magic as his hands skim over her, moulding and sculpting her body like clay, forcing her further up the door, pulling her legs apart, retracting her shoulders until she is as open to him as possible.
“Do you now feel inclined to answer?” His breathy baritone slips out between bruised lips as he raises his nose slightly, targeting her, piercing her with his gaze. The warning in his voice is unmistakable.
But there is nothing that would make her stop him. Not now. Her pussy is dripping. Her desperate need to be filled even surpasses the throbbing ache that radiates through her body from the pounding she has already taken.
She looks at him defiantly and his lips twist with an intimidating resolve as he releases his cock.
And then he enters her.
She cries out, the stretch is immense; he arrives deep inside her with such a solid punch that the breath is knocked out of her.
But she can’t describe it as anything other than ecstasy. She’d wanted him to unleash himself upon her—and now that he had, it was as all-consuming as she’d hoped it would be.
His mouth returns to hers, tongue fighting with his cock for the title of most brutal. One hand is back vigorously tugging her nipple, the thumb of the other flicks rapidly over her clitoris until she squeezes her eyes closed in preparation for an orgasm that feels like it is going to rip her apart.
He halts. Everything. Right on the precipice of her release it all stops . . . still except for the sway of her heaving breasts, quiet except for the harsh cry that dies in her throat.
And she trembles there, not breathing, only hoping, wanting, needing . . . and knowing that he isn’t going to let it happen.
The letdown is so intense that she feels the tears slip from beneath her lids.
And then he starts again, slowly, rocking into her, teasing her forward, dabbing at her nipple now with his fingertip, riding her clitoris with small, stimulating flicks to bring her back, dragging her closer to the edge once again.
Her mouth drops open as the tension builds, face shuddering with the strain, pitiable noises tumbling from her lips as she finds that her entire being wants only one thing in the world—and he is the only one who can provide it. He barely needs to stop now, holding her so carefully on the precipice that she feels the cracks starting to spread, taking hold.
“Please.” The word trembles on her lips. “Please . . . let me come.”
“Answer me.” His breath buffets her cheek in response.
She doesn’t.
She can’t.
But she must.
“Of course it’s you,” she whispers. “It was only ever you. You’re the one.”
He stops. Her eyes crack open to see the tears in his. Then as she watches he thrusts once, twice, stroking the shaft of her clitoris until she is suddenly lost.
He releases the bind and she collapses with an unearthly wail into his arms, her entire body convulsing uncontrollably as the orgasm hits like a freight train. He holds her to him but she feels little apart from the momentous contractions that seize and stutter through her pelvis. His iron shaft, still embedded to the hilt, drives the tremors even deeper until she is sobbing with a mixture of shock and relief, her entire body boneless, toneless . . . useless.
And when he finally withdraws and places her gently on the ground, it takes some moments before her legs are able to take her weight. Even then, she still finds herself sliding down into the pool of rags at her feet.
He stands before her. Still fully erect.
Finally she finds her voice. “You didn’t come?”
He continues to regard her with that same sadness. “I can’t.”
Then he turns and slowly retreats to his bedroom. The last she hears is the emphatic thud of the door—closing her out, just as she had done.
- 18
- 19
- 20
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Sense and Insensibility *Complete*

Sense and Insensibility Complete