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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
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- 2
- 3
A/N: Just to explain the title - it’s a combination of Debauchery and Sorcery.
The rest of the chapter titles will follow a similar theme. If you have any potential combinations you would like to contribute, please post them :)
OO – ‘Dirty, jaded Snape’ – I love that - he is. And the smoking scene was provided by Marriage which has been the best of all I think. ‘Or maybe I just lose track of it under the right circumstances’ – hahah! That wily old self-respect, it is a little difficult to keep in check sometimes. Lovely x

Chapter 2 - Pervoracity
By the time Hermione blustered through the café door in a hurricane of muttered curses and intractable hair, she was already running late. She’d missed her alarm, slept in, and barely had time to shower before rushing out the door. Mind still churning with annoyance, she was shaken from her thoughts by a cheery voice.
“The usual, Miss Granger?”
Hermione glanced up at the young waiter behind the register. “Oh, yes please, Henry,” she flashed him a smile as she rummaged distractedly through her handbag. “I’ll have it to takeaway, please—I’m running a little late.”
“Of course.” He winked affably.
Hermione nodded gratefully before stepping aside to await her order. Delving a second hand into her bag she wished, not for the first time, that she hadn’t stuffed half of her worldly possessions in there. Levering out a book, notepad and her phone, she slid her fingers through the rattling assortment of junk realizing, with a sinking feeling, that she’d forgotten her purse.
“Um.” She leaned toward the register where waiters were busily working the coffee machine, stacking plates and taking orders. “I’m sorry . . . uh, Henry?” She tried to attract the young waiter’s attention.
“I’m afraid . . . “ Her voice was drowned out by the steady hum of patrons—diners who had actually managed to get up on time, who probably hadn’t been rudely woken in the middle of the night, who hadn’t spent hours trying to get back to sleep.
She felt the flush creeping up her throat at the impending embarrassment of having to admit to not being able to pay—it was hardly an ideal way to start such an important day.
When the young waiter finally returned with an insulated cup, paper bag and a grin, she grimaced.
“I’m so sorry, Henry, I seem to have forgotten my purse. Can I pay tomorrow?”
His smile faltered. “Well, we don’t usually . . . “ He scanned the industrious workers bustling behind him, clearly seeking someone with more authority.
“Look, don’t worry I . . . I’m afraid I’ll have to leave . . . “
“Put it on this.” A black arm suddenly reached over her shoulder, a credit card clamped between two long fingers.
Hermione jerked around to find herself looking into those disconcertingly black eyes for the second time in less than a day. A strangled growl rose in her throat.
“Miss Granger.” His baritone jolted her to the core. Although she hadn’t been exposed to her Professor’s distinctively resonant timbre in over three years, her visceral response was immediate, her entire body tensing as though she were waiting for him to deduct fifty house points for being so pathetically disorganised.
“Professor Snape,” she rasped before swallowing with obvious difficulty. “I thank you but that won’t be required.”
“I’ll leave it.” She spoke firmly to the waiter, whose eyes shifted uncomfortably between the two of them before returning to the items in his hands.
“The coffee is excellent,” Snape informed her, continuing to extend his card as his eyes roved over her face. “You appear to need it.”
Hermione’s brown eyes flashed. “I know it’s excellent,” she ground out through gritted teeth. “That’s why I drink it every day.”
“As you will today.” Snape nodded to the young man, who took the card quickly before she could contradict him.
Hermione lifted her chin indignantly. “That wasn’t necessary, Professor. I would have worked out another arrangement.”
“Indeed,” Snape responded before leaning toward her slightly and lowering his voice to a rumble. “A quick hand job out the back should have been enough.”
Hermione’s mouth dropped open in shock. She bristled—about to blast him with a few choice words of her own—she’d let him know exactly what she thought of his tawdry existence. But then he snorted quietly at her, his lips pulling into a smirk before he snapped his card back into his palm and turned with a flourish, leaving her with nothing more than a view of his retreating form as he disappeared out the door.
She watched after him, seething with unspent fury. How dare he! It was becoming a too common catch phrase but it was all her incredulous mind could manage. The utter gall of the man!
“Miss Granger?”
She suddenly softened. He’d changed. It wasn’t just his brazen words. The top button of his white shirt sat undone, his dark hair tousled, there was even the ghost of a shadow emerging from his chin. But he wasn’t unkempt—just dripping with a casual insouciance that was disconcertingly . . . improper.
“Miss Granger?”
Hermione spun around, only just remembering where she was.
“Oh . . . sorry I . . . “ She quickly stuffed her belongings back in her bag before claiming her breakfast from the waiter’s hands.
Straightening her back, she drew a deep breath. She couldn’t afford to allow thoughts of Snape to ruin her day any further.
“Thank you, Henry.” She nodded stiffly before tossing her hair in an attempt to salvage a little dignity, and elbowing her way out the door.
***
“I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up.” Katie Bell opened the biscuit tin and shook it to see if there were any chocolate ones left down the bottom.
“Because,” Hermione continued to pace, only just managing to keep tea from slopping over the sides of her cup, “Parsons said he’d be at my presentation and he didn’t show up. So the six weeks of work I put into that report were a complete waste of time. He won’t read it—we both know that. And while I understand the necessity to clear thorn bushes—they are a nuisance after all—the Augurey nests within them have not been considered. It’s going to create huge problems when the birds migrate back.”
Katie picked up a plain looking biscuit, taking a small nibble before making a face and tossing it back into the tin.
“And for some reason nobody around here seems to care!” Hermione lunged forward and snatched the offending biscuit back from the tin before throwing it in the bin.
“They’re pretty damn ugly though.” Katie returned the lid to the tin before dismissing it with a push.
“What are?”
“Augureys.” She took a gulp of tea. “They’d have to be the most miserable looking birds on the planet.”
Hermione placed her cup down before planting both hands on the table in front of Katie. “And wouldn’t you be miserable too if your home was gradually being eroded—burnt to the ground, sometimes with your own babies inside?”
“I’m just saying.” Katie leaned back, trying to avoid the steam that was about to blast out of her friend’s ears. “They look bad. And you can’t even use their feathers for quills.”
Hermione tilted her head as though she couldn’t quite believe what she was hearing.
“Are you suggesting that animals are only worth protecting if they’re useful to us?”
Katie put up a hand in an attempt to placate her. “I’m just saying that if they were useful, people might care a little more.”
Hermione growled in frustration before resuming her pacing.
“And where was Parsons anyway?” she turned to Katie. “You’re his P.A. Did he tell you why he couldn’t come?”
“He said he had to attend to some last-minute appointments.”
“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Hermione snapped.
Katie drained her tea before standing. “It means that he had something more important to do.” She rinsed her cup before placing it on the draining board. “I’m sorry to have to break this to you, my dear, but attending presentations on Augurey migration isn’t on the top of everyone’s ‘to do’ list.” She grinned before opening the staff room door.
“So tell me what is,” Hermione muttered into her cup.
“Sweet Circe,” Katie murmured, giving a low whistle. “I think I might have just found it.”
Hermione approached, peering over Katie’s shoulder. Down the corridor she could see the rotund form of Benedict Parsons. He was showing someone into one of the offices, recently vacated following the end of an investigation into goblin bank fraud. Despite having his back to them, she instantly knew who it was.
“You know who that is, don’t you?” Katie glanced over her shoulder.
Hermione couldn’t speak.
“Old sexy pants himself.”
Hermione choked on her tea. Katie had been a year ahead of her at Hogwarts. Since when had she considered their caustic ass of a Professor to be sexy?
“Are you deranged?” She finally squeaked.
“Yes.” Katie sighed in exasperation. “Myself, and the rest of the female population are deranged. While you, my friend, are the only one who’s not.”
Hermione felt the world closing in on her. Her comfortable existence—the one that she’d worked bloody hard for—was fracturing and flaking apart. What in Merlin’s name was he doing here? Why was he suddenly permeating every element of her existence?
“Please tell me he’s just visiting,” she whispered.
Katie shook her head. “Looks like he got the Dark Beast job.”
Hermione closed her eyes.
“Which is absolutely appropriate if you ask me,” Katie continued, her voice taking on a gravelly tone. “I can’t think of a darker beast than Snape. I might have to ‘accidentally’ drop something outside his door and show him my G-string—see if I can get him to ravage me.”
Hermione felt faint. Katie elbowed her in the ribs.
“Lighten up. At least he’s going to add a little spark to this place.”
Hermione didn’t want a little spark. She didn’t want any part of him anywhere near her. He didn’t deserve to work here. She’d earned her place through diligence, conscientiousness and a deep-set desire to genuinely improve the conditions for the magical creatures she was responsible for.
Snape was hardly a reliable candidate for the Dark Beast Division role. How could anyone take him seriously? Everyone knew what sort of man he was. Of course his sordid hobbies didn’t necessarily make him bad at his job but still—she’d observed him only hours before practically fucking two floozies in the street. And now he was here looking all sharp and proper. It wasn’t fair.
“You’re not crying, are you?”
“No, I just have . . . allergies.”
Hermione turned away. She wasn’t lying. She was allergic to Snape. And recent exposure had caused her hypersensitivity to flare up again.
Another wave of unfairness welled inside her. She’d also have to ask to move from her comfortable little office now that he was positioned diagonally opposite her. There was a chance that she could even see him if she sat in the wrong place. It couldn’t be worse.
“Oh fuck, here he comes,” Katie hissed.
There was a pregnant pause in which Hermione did her best to brace herself against his encroaching presence as she squirted washing liquid into her cup.
“Miss Bell, it’s a pleasure to see you again.”
Hermione didn’t turn from the sink, vigorously sloshing water about and trying to drown out his voice which slithered around her, constricting her lungs like a python.
“The pleasure is all mine, Professor,” Katie gushed. “Although you’re not my professor anymore. What should I call you?”
“Mr Snape will be fine in the workplace.” Hermione only just held in a derisive snort. “Out of the workplace however, you can call me . . . ‘sir.’”
Hermione heard Katie’s breathy laughter and could just imagine her, shoulders thrown back, thrusting her ample cleavage toward him.
“And if I’m not mistaken . . . that’s Miss Granger at the sink.” Hermione felt her face instantly ignite. “I must say that I never imagined her in such a role.”
She didn’t even realise that the cup had broken until a large gash suddenly appeared in the fleshy base of her thumb, rapidly filling with blood which overflowed down her wrist.
“Shit!” she hissed, gripping the wound and turning to find a towel.
“Hermione, what happened?” Katie cried. “There’s blood everywhere!”
“I’m . . . I’m fine.” Hermione stammered.
“I’ll get the first aid kit.” Katie rushed out the door.
Before she knew what was happening, Snape had closed the space between them and grasped her small hands between his large ones.
“Vulnera Sanentur,” he chanted, low and sonorous. The trickle of blood suddenly halted its passage down her pale arms, slowly reversing its flow before receding at increasing speed back up her forearms.
“Vulnera Sanentur,” he repeated. The scarlet ooze threaded up to her wrists before disappearing completely into the shadowy crevice between their hands.
“Vulnera Sanentur.” The final incantation emerged from his lips as he gradually released his hold, turning her hand over to show the wound which had completely knitted together.
“You must be more careful . . . Miss Granger.”
Hermione was shaking with a mixture of shock and fury.
“Yes. What a tragedy that would have been,” she spat. “How would I have survived in the world? That was my hand job hand after all.”
“Miss Granger!”
Hermione jerked around to see Benedict Parsons standing in the doorway, jowls twitching in astonishment.
Snape stepped back from her, releasing her hand and politely inclining his head.
“Indeed,” he murmured before moving toward the door.
“I believe I’ll make a start on that Werewolf investigation, Mr Parsons,” he said in a commanding voice as he indicated for the stunned man to precede him into the corridor.
Hermione stared down at her newly healed hand, watching as her nails curled into the smooth flesh. It hadn’t even been a day but Snape had already managed to destroy so much of what she valued—her privacy, her sleep, the sanctuary of her local café, the respect of her workmates. She utterly loathed the man. And yet when she prised open her fists, she discovered that both hands were shaking—fluttering like tremulous leaves in the wake of his touch. How dare he!
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Debaucery *Complete*

Debaucery Complete