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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
- 19
- 20
- 21
A/N: Happy Easter to those of you who celebrate. DSx
Kvarta – ‘I think we are all bit enchanted with OO's story’ – of course! ‘she didn't really cheat on Sev’ – yes, I wanted the sense in the end that it had all transpired without too much engagement between Lucie and Hermione. ‘Lucius does knows more than he lets her realise’ – I think you’re right, he accepts too much of what is asked of him not to have some prior sense of the situation. ‘doesn't care or doesn't want to know because it will hurt her?’ – you’re on the money. ‘I can't imagine him being too dominant, but it is still as hot as hell to see him in that role’ – tell that to OO! ‘if I ever heard better way to say someone "I love you" without saying it’ – It does have that sense doesn't it, I’m glad you picked up on that. ‘I can at least try to be patient’ – I’m getting more time to write over the holidays and making the most of it xx
HG4Eva – ‘acted as a friend to Severus’ – yes, I imagine with the history they have and the amount they have shared, there probably is quite a deal of understanding between the two. ‘I know he won't, but he needs to do so’ – I agree, it’s going to have to happen soon. ‘is he can't or won't?’ – good question, answers coming up soon! xx
OO – ‘Adding exceedingly hot sex scenes to your plot torture does not absolve you of your sins! It's like you're edging me with cliffhangers and unresolved angst. – hahahah, and I thought it would provide just the diversion required! More edging coming up ;) ‘He must have known auxiliary jizz wasn't the answer before Lucius showed up that night.’ – hmmm . . . maybe . . . ‘Is it because he broke her heart and now the magic is mad at him?’ – that’s an interesting thought. ‘And I'm dying to know what Sophia is going to show Hermione in the morning. I hope it's something that clears up things between her and Snape.’ – again . . . I’m unsure of how much clarity it will bring . . . I’m sure you’ll let me know ;) ‘Don't be a cunt, Hermione. You know you're curious.’ – LOL, this cracked me up :D ‘Answers, woman; I need answers!’ – and they’re coming . . . soon! xx

Chapter 20 – Nature and Nurture
Hermione can manage no more than a few bites of dry toast the next morning. She moves gingerly around her claustrophobic quarters, the aftermath of the evening’s sexual inquisition branded in mottled hues all over her body.
The ones she can’t cover with clothing, she now glamours. She is to meet with Sophia later that morning and such tell-tale marks are definitely not something she would ever want to risk a student seeing.
She does, however, feel strangely taken by the sinuous tracks of weals and bruises that adorn her skin. It is evidence of him, after all—his mark upon her. Even if his actions were, at times, both ruthless and relentless, she felt him wanting her and, in some ways, it was all she ever wanted . . . right from the beginning.
But now? It really seemed that he didn’t want her at all. Not anymore. He had appeared rather regretful at the end but that was probably the usual discomfort that comes with subjecting someone to rejection.
He ‘couldn’t’ come? How was that physically possible? He had certainly managed an erection . . . In fact, if the rigidity of it was anything to go by, he was as aroused as any man could possibly be. So why couldn’t he come? Was it by choice? . . . That he couldn’t bring himself to do it . . . psychologically, ethically, morally? . . . Or just that he didn’t want to . . . despite, or perhaps even because of, his knowledge of how much she needed it.
She had thought about confronting him, staggering to his door on her ridiculously rickety legs to demand an explanation. But it was really his own prerogative. He was under no obligation to do anything for her—the same as she was under no obligation to reveal the outcome of her time with Lucius . . . and yet he’d made her. It didn’t really seem his style, and yet clearly it was. He’d done it. And it might not seem her style . . . but . . . she’d loved it. The sensation of his hard body slamming into hers even now makes her nether regions tingle despite the lingering pain.
She runs her hands over her deteriorating body. Her breasts seem to have taken the worst of it. They are so tender that she can barely touch them. And she now acknowledges with regret that she is going to have to make additional provisions for her journey outside, no longer certain that her body can tolerate the elements in the way that it recently had . . . when she’d thought she was better.
She diverts herself with making tea and reading about alternative energy sources in preparation for the next week’s lesson before the familiar sense of trepidation starts to flutter in her breast. She must leave . . . and pass his rooms on the way—something that she has come to dread as the idea of seeing him fills her with such a confusing mixture of anger and desperate longing that it feels like yet another physical pain—and she can do little to mitigate against it.
Collecting her jacket, sunglasses, hat and gloves, she closes the door quietly behind herself before traversing the corridor. He doesn’t appear. She is disappointed. As she always is.
Sophia is already waiting by the front door, the brief smile that flutters across her lips enough to reveal that she still isn’t quite herself. Hermione hopes that she will feel comfortable enough to discuss what is concerning her on their walk.
“All set?” Hermione smiles warmly.
Sophia nods and immediately tucks her hand around Hermione’s arm. It is a level of familiarity that should feel awkward, or at least disconcertingly forward, but it doesn’t. In fact, it feels extremely comfortable despite the return of her hypersensitivity—as it had when she had first taken Severus’ arm . . . on that first date. Don’t. She forces the memory from her mind.
They step into the sunlight and Hermione is instantly glad for her dark glasses. Sophia lightly squeezes her arm and, whilst being appreciative of the small gesture of reassurance, Hermione is simultaneously struck by what is yet another display of the young girl’s surprising intuition.
They start down the path, making small talk about the stunning weather, the flowers that have sprung up across the grounds, and a new Herbology assignment that Sophia is working on.
But just when Hermione feels certain that they are headed for the lake, its sleek black surface now rolling out before them, Sophia tugs her in the direction of the Forbidden Forest.
“I assume that this is safe?” Hermione teases.
“I would never put you in danger.” Sophia looks up at her earnestly. “I have checked the entire area thoroughly.”
Hermione frowns at her. “You’ve been inside the Forbidden Forest?”
Sophia nods.
“How many times?”
“I . . . I’ve actually lost count.”
Hermione feels that in her position as a teacher she should probably admonish the young girl—or at least warn her. The Forest is out of bounds to students after all. But she and Harry and Ron had explored it so many times over their years at Hogwarts—she feels that she is hardly one to lecture others.
“What do you know of the Jobberknoll?” Sophia asks out of the blue.
Hermione takes a moment to answer, attempting to cast her mind back to their ‘Care of Magical Creatures’ text in third year.
“It’s a bird. Quite rare I believe. Blue in colour.”
Sophia nods. “Its feathers really are rather beautiful . . . they’re highly sought after actually.”
Hermione vaguely remembers something about that too. “Truth serum?”
Sophia finally gives a genuine smile. “I knew you would know of it . . . You’re the smartest woman I’ve ever met.”
Hermione feels a rush of warmth at yet another generous compliment from the girl, but decides that she can also afford to push her a little, even if it is just to help her to open up.
“So I’m not the smartest person?” she teases.
“Well . . . possibly the equal smartest.”
“And obviously the other person you’re thinking of is a man?”
The girl’s eyes flicker away. “Yes.”
Hermione detects that note of melancholia again and decides not to press her further. They had also reached the edge of the wood. It was prudent to remain vigilant.
Sophia leads her between the trunks of several large trees, their footfalls muffled by the thick layer of moss covering the ground. They continue on until only sparse shafts of sunlight reach through the foliage. Then she abruptly stops.
“There,” she whispers, pointing to a branch overhead.
Hermione spies a twiggy nest in the crook of the branch and what looks like a fluffy, speckled head, complete with orange beak, opening and closing furiously as it trills.
“Is that a Jabberknoll?” she asks doubtfully.
“No, it’s a Jabberknoll nest.”
Hermione frowns as she rises up on her toes, attempting to see more. Suddenly a small blue bird swoops out of nowhere, beak full of insects, and proceeds to stuff them into the mouth of the baby who gobbles them down and instantly trills for more. The mother hops around the nest, unsuccessfully attempting to satisfy it—a difficult task as the baby appears to be at least twice her size.
“It’s a cuckoo,” Sophia explains. “When it hatched, it pushed the Jabberknoll eggs out of the nest.”
Hermione had never seen a cuckoo before but she’d read about cuckoo mothers who would lay their eggs in the nests of others, divesting themselves of the responsibility of having to bring up their own young. It was a clever but macabre strategy, especially considering the fact that the surrogate mother’s real babies were killed in the process.
“Cuckoos are brood parasites.” Sophia’s painfully earnest face regards her. “This one has taken the place of the mother’s real babies. And still she looks after it . . . like it is her own. Like it isn’t an imposter . . . or a . . . a . . . monster.”
Seeing how distressed the young girl is becoming, Hermione touches her shoulder, attempting to comfort her.
“The natural world isn’t always fair, Sophia.” She tries to placate her. “Animals do what they can to survive . . . to survive in the way that is best for them. And unfortunately there are sometimes innocent lives lost along the way.”
“Yes . . . the Jabberknoll babies,” Sophia responds forlornly. “Do you know that when they die, they scream? A scream made up of every sound they have ever heard.”
Hermione looks at her hard, trying to understand.
“I heard them,” she whispers. “I was here when the cuckoo pushed them from the nest. And they screamed. Without ever really having lived . . . Even from inside the shell—I heard them scream.”
Sophia’s shimmering blue eyes squeeze her heart, but Hermione finds that the story disturbs her on a much deeper level. She wonders what the girl is trying to tell her.
“Why did you bring me here, Sophia?”
Sophia blinks rapidly, clearing her watery gaze. She looks back up at the nest resignedly. “The mother . . . Can you see what she’s doing?”
Hermione shakes her head faintly, confused to know what she is driving at. “She’s caring for the baby . . . feeding it . . . as though it is her own.”
“But it’s not.” The anguish in her voice is palpable.
“Clearly she doesn’t realise.”
“Really?” Sophia regards her incredulously. “You think she can’t tell? It’s nothing like her babies.”
Hermione is at a loss, clutching at passing thoughts in case they hold the answer she is after. “Perhaps the mothering instinct is so strong that she simply follows it . . . Or perhaps she does know but she would rather have that baby than none at all.”
Sophia instantly locks eyes with her, holding her gaze as though Hermione has just validated some significant understanding—one that she, herself shares.
“How are you feeling?” The girl suddenly reaches for her hand.
Hermione smiles in surprise. “I’m . . . I’m fine.”
“You’re wearing your glasses again . . . and your gloves.”
Hermione lifts her other hand, touching the frame of her glasses self-consciously. She doesn’t want to let on about her relapse, especially considering how excited Sophia had been about her recovery.
“It’s . . . really . . . I’m perfectly fine.”
“Do you remember . . . I asked a question of you in the classroom a few weeks ago?” Sophia continues to look at her with concern . . . or could it be pity?
Hermione shakes her head. There had been a multitude of questions.
“I’m sorry . . . you’ll need to refresh my memory.”
“You didn’t take me seriously, but I asked if you were pregnant.”
Hermione begins to laugh it off. “And I answered, ‘No.’ Of course I’m not p—”
Then she feels it, the tender ache of her breasts, the mounting nausea that she’d put down to her relapse, the tiredness, the emotional turmoil—it all suddenly collapses together. And she can no longer breathe.
Suddenly she pulls her hand from the girl’s grasp. “I’m sorry, Sophia, I just remembered something . . . I have to go.”
Turning, she starts striding for the clearing, arm slung protectively across her stomach.
Oh, Gods.
- 19
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- 21
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Sense and Insensibility *Complete*

Sense and Insensibility Complete