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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
- 23
- 24
- 25
A/N: Hey everyone, apologies for the slow update. RL has been getting in the way. Only a few more chapters to go. DSxx
Discord the Lunatic – Thank the Gods for loopholes! ;) x
LissaDream – I’m so glad you enjoyed (despite the sobbing) the last chapter but I think I’ve been contributing to your WIP woes with the delay before this latest chappie. Not much to go. It’s great to see people loving your story too. I must jump over there and post my latest review. xx
HG4Eva – Thank you for your kindness about my twisted brain :P x I agree that if anyone is going to come up with a tricky potion like this one, it is going to be our favourite Potions Master. But you’re right about the need for trust and belief, that’s probably going to be the hardest part for him. Minerva coming up in the next chapter! xx
OO – ‘And now they just have to time everything perfectly and save the world. No problem.’ – you’re totally right, it should be a piece of cake. A bit of soul stealing here, a bit of Dark Lord thwarting there . . . I just hope that Grandpa Severus is as sharp as he needs to be ;)
Kvarta – Sorry for the difficulties you have gone through recently. I really hope things are continuing to improve for you xxooxx ‘I like his battle between being the father, destroying the baby and Shakespeare like culmination - death for all of them.’ – yes, our Severus does tend to take a pretty severe approach to himself and his options. ‘It gives her/them hope but not solid hope, more of a chance to hope with uncertain outcome.’ – you’re right, there are absolutely no certainties about how any of this is going to turn out. ‘The pressing question now is how Severus would react to these news, and will she tell him about the potion and Sophia? I hope we will found out soon’ – yes . . . very soon ;) Look after yourself xx
Tsuki Shiori – Yes, Lucius’ apparent kindness was a bit of a revelation, I agree. I’m glad you still love Severus despite his flaws. Just a few more chapters to go x

Chapter 24 – Trust and Doubt
Grandpa Severus.
Hermione shakes her head.
Grandpa.
There isn’t a doubt in her mind as she descends the shadowed stairwell, hand habitually sliding down to rest against her abdomen . . . he’s not ready. Not for this.
It is only a matter of hours since he’d discovered that she was pregnant . . . with his child . . . or with . . . something. And now this . . . equally shocking. A little girl—so like him with her fine, raven locks, and with more than a little of his mystery—revealing now that she has, in fact, travelled back in time . . . here . . . and is masquerading as one of his students.
And she just happens to also be his grand-daughter . . . daughter of his son, Roland . . .Voldemort . . . the Dark Lord.
She still feels faint . . . fainter . . . grazing against the cold stone as she rounds a corner. This is, without a doubt, the most shocking day of her life. There isn’t even the possibility of holding it all in her head, let alone processing what needs to be done.
And so she can’t tell him. Not now. Not yet.
Even though she is lovely—their grand-daughter. She is so lovely . . . utterly delightful . . . smart and sweet, thoughtful and brave and . . .
She has to stop. She can feel herself choking up again and she can’t—she is nearly there. Nearly back at his door.
The girl had waved to her, a small curling fist, blue eyes blinking rapidly before disappearing into the Gryffindor common room. Hermione had promised they’d see each other again . . . very soon. When her head had stopped spinning, and when she’d finally had a chance to—
“Where have you been?”
Hermione hadn’t even knocked. Her raised fist hovers by his chest, a firm barrel, thrust forward into the open doorway.
He’s clean. Shaved. Showered . . . He is also angry.
“I’m sorry . . . it took longer . . . than expected.” She struggles to string the empty words together, her tongue also apparently stunned by the day’s events.
“Really? And I suppose ‘it’ needed to be dealt with immediately?” he snaps. “At this time of night?”
“I just had to talk . . . to someone.”
“Someone?”
“I can’t . . .” She shakes her head. “Can I just come in, please?”
He looks so distrustful that she wonders how much of this paranoia is his own and how much is the creature that lurks within. And shouldn’t she be just as affected? Shouldn’t she feel similarly manipulated? Did she? Does she?
After a long moment, he steps back a fraction, his stony black gaze following her as she slips through the small gap.
He’s clearly had too much time to think, to ruminate. She’s been away for a good couple of hours. No doubt he assumes she has been disclosing her ‘circumstances’ to Minerva—the querulous ‘Queen of Interference’ in his eyes. He clearly still holds the headmistress responsible for sanctioning the earliest events that had started all this.
As she turns to face him, he crosses his arms expectantly. He wants an explanation. But he’s not getting one. How can she even begin to explain it?
“There are some things that we need to discuss. But . . . I’m tired,” she sighs, her hands hanging limply by her sides.
He snorts disparagingly, as though she is being deliberately abstruse.
“I am. I’m really bloody tired.” She takes a step towards him. “I know you don’t know what to trust . . . or whom to trust. You don’t trust me. You don’t even trust yourself. But we need to be together right now. I . . . need you.”
His shoulders recoil and then sink as though unsure of whether to be offended or relieved. She guessed that this was it. He’d cleaned himself up. The room was also back in order. He could have responded to her revelations with further desolation. He could have drowned himself in the rest of the bottle, still waiting on his mantel.
But he hadn’t. He’d responded by pulling himself together. By stepping up. She had guessed correctly—that he wanted to be needed. That, despite everything . . . he actually wanted this. He possibly even wanted to be a father. He was just terribly conflicted. As was she. And she happened to know far more.
“It doesn’t matter anymore.” She closes the distance to him. “There’s no point in trying to avoid it. The damage has been done.”
Weary resignation gradually settles into his features.
“And so . . . a little more damage wouldn’t hurt . . . would it?” Her hands rest upon his lean torso and she relishes the warmth. She hasn’t felt it, not like this, for too long.
His eyebrow flickers almost imperceptibly. The bright glare in his eyes subsides, melting slowly into those familiar warm dark pools that draw her in. He’s back. Her own eyes prickle with the realisation.
“I want you now . . . And I want you properly . . . In your bed.” She realises how petulant she sounds but she’s too tired to care. She’s still hurting from the weeks of neglect. “And I didn’t even touch Lucius if you’re wondering . . . I was just . . . angry . . . actually I was furious.”
His chest expands and contracts under her hands as he gradually relaxes. It feels like acceptance. Perhaps that question had also been there, whipping around with the others in his self-made storm of betrayal.
He says nothing at all. She realises then how little he is able to give. And how impossibly difficult he makes it to know him.
She’d hoped he would be generous enough admit that he hadn’t handled the past weeks particularly well. And that he'd been insanely jealous of Lucius.
But he doesn’t. Instead the corner of his mouth hitches just a fraction, enough for her to know, and she reaches down and grasps two of his fingers inside her small fist before pulling him toward the bedroom.
He follows.
She realises it might well be the last time he is this placid and cooperative . . . especially when she reveals the full extent of what she knows. But it is her glimpse into the future, a shared future, that gives her the confidence to lead this unpredictable and infinitely complex man into the room she’d shared with Lucius only the night before . . . a lifetime ago.
Despite everything, they must have remained together. According to Sophia, they’d fought together against their son, taken his child in as their own. There must be love . . . even after all the horror, after all those years, there was still love.
And with this knowledge Hermione turns to him, releasing his hand in favour of his chest. She adores the feel of it, the masculine taper to his torso, the lustrous contours—ridges of muscle radiating damp heat through the fabric of his expensive shirt. Sliding up to his neck, she burrows her fingers into the dark locks at his nape, entwining, snagging, before gently tugging, encouraging him to accept the warmth of her waiting lips.
He moves slowly. Not with reluctance but allowing her to guide him. She reads it as trust—his way of trusting her. But she could never ask. It was the most difficult word in the world for him to say . . . no doubt it always had been.
His lips against hers are petal soft after his recent shave . . . almost feminine. But the potency is not. She feels his restraint, the bold strength held in check, that which had slammed her relentlessly, fucking her into the door only the previous evening. Who knew what had driven him—the need to possess or possession itself?
Whatever it was, it continues to throb now—just below the surface . . . tempered, simmering. She responds with a stirring intensity of her own, dearly wanting for it all to be real . . . without the insidious manipulation . . . just their real selves—expressing real passion . . . for one another.
And as his mouth opens, lips and tongue covetously claiming hers, she releases a moan of such mournful need that it shocks her . . . her anguish manifesting as desire, rare and raw. Unable to wait, she begins unbuttoning her dress with one hand, the other remaining locked within his hair.
Her exhalations are muffled against his skin as she attempts to breathe without breaking contact. She would never have expected to want him so much—this surly, stand-offish sourpuss. But she had seen too much of him—too much consideration and kindness, too much naked passion, to let him go. And for all intents and purposes, he was also the father of her child. And it was still her child . . . their child . . . until . . .
She rips the remainder of her dress open and shrugs out of it, bra and knickers following with quick yanks in her desperation to force away her intrusive thoughts—to have him fuck them clear out of her consciousness. And he seems just as intent, shedding his shirt, trousers and boxers with a single deft stroke before kicking aside his boots and reaching for her, one warm hand engulfing her breast, the other grasping her buttocks to pull her close.
Close. Touching. And . . . without pain.
It would have been a monumental relief if she hadn’t known exactly what it meant.
Her hypersensitivity was diminishing.
The parasitic hold on her was slipping.
What had Sophia said? That she would know. She would feel it as he transitioned—the Dark Lord’s soul moving from her into her baby.
Was Severus feeling it too?
She breaks away from him, eyes roving over his flushed features, searching for any indication . . . whether he understands. He responds with a subtle flexion of his fingers against her buttock.
Is he aware? Deliberately touching her where he hadn’t previously?
But she gleans nothing more as he surges forward, his mouth taking hers once again, resuming their passionate union.
He needs to know. She wants to tell him. But the words stick in her throat, escaping as tiny grunts, fragments of sound that slip from her lips into his. But there is nothing that can be done . . . not yet . . . not until it is complete.
And that thought, that crawling sense that her body has been misappropriated, drives her need to demonstrate, once and for all, that she is still in control—to express her desires as clearly and emphatically as possible.
She pushes him. Severus falls backwards onto the bed, the air escaping him with a surprised grunt.
“What—?”
But the question is cut short as she mounts him.
She claims him with her thighs, straddling him, clamping his hips with a fierce determination that leaves no room for misinterpretation. Her claim over his cock—its solid girth now pinioned against his stomach by both hands, gathered at the wrists as though wielding a fleshy sceptre—is equally ardent.
His expressive eyebrow flexes upward, mirroring the intrigue in the sexy hitch of his mouth. She takes it as approval—for a side of her that he has not yet encountered. Indeed, one that she hasn’t known, herself, in a very long time.
Her hands slide forward, constricting as they encroach the bulb of his head, before relaxing and receding like water on a beach. She repeats the motion once, twice, before spreading her thighs to position her clitoris over the base of his shaft. The next time her fists advance, she dips down to glide her swollen nub against him, rubbing it up the length of his cock and back.
She gathers from his response—the simultaneous flare of his eyelashes and nostrils—that her efforts are to his liking. As she rides him, she curls her hands under his member to lever it upwards, pressing his solid flesh more forcefully between her labia. It draws him upward, his back arching a little from the bed as a sigh slips past his deliciously parted lips.
Seeing the opening, she takes it. Leaning down, she delves her tongue into the hot cavern of his mouth, the deliberate incursion making him moan—a guttural vibration that radiates through his throat and jaw, driving her to rub her leaking slot even harder against him.
The forceful rocking of her hips, together with the firm attention of her hands on his cock, has his palms gliding down her back to claim her buttocks, long fingers curling into her flesh each time she returns to grind her arousal against his base. And when she sits back up and begins to massage his pearlescent head against her palm, drawing out a steady trickle of precum, he groans and suddenly relocates both hands to her front, grasping her thigh and breast at once, as though pleading for relief.
Only now does she notice her own ragged breathing, the harsh susurration combining with his in the otherwise silent room, and realise that they are both ready . . . well and truly.
Raising herself on exhausted but determined thighs, she tilts his cock until she can feel his bold head butting into her entrance. But despite her inordinate level of arousal, lubrication already coating everything including his cock, she finds that the stretch as he enters her, as she eases down onto him, is both sharp and exquisite.
“Uhhh, Severus,” she groans as she curls her nails into his chest.
She has never been in this position, on top of him, before—although she’d certainly thought about it in the past. Even when he was bed-ridden in the hospital wing, she had imagined what it would be like to fuck him. It had never happened . . . but still they’d managed to be intimate enough to create this inexplicable bond.
She realises now that even though the true nature of their connection is horrifying, it had brought her back to him, and drawn them together . . . and truthfully, despite everything, she wouldn’t want it any other way.
Leaning forward, she places a hand on each of his broad shoulders so that her face is positioned above his—so that she can look into his eyes as she slowly fucks him.
The all-consuming intimacy of it, his cock embedded so incredibly deeply inside her, the muscles of her sheath already grabbing at him, squeezing him as though unwilling to let him go, the inexorable sense of a merging consciousness as she sinks into the dark pools of his eyes, draws tears into her own.
His hand cups her cheek, thumb resting against her parted lips.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers.
He means it, his features pinch with pain.
“I’m not,” she responds. “I’m not sorry about any of it . . . As long as we’re together . . . all of us.”
She sees that her words reach him. But he doesn’t recoil from the insinuation. Perhaps he has already considered something else . . . something to ensure that they will remain together.
I love you, Severus. She tells him with her eyes but the words remain inside her, unspoken. After all, she had loved him before and lost him. But in an effort to show him, she speeds up the thrusting of her hips, pushing herself upright so that she can drive him into her more forcefully. His eyelids shutter and he releases a growl of such blatant desire that her insides clench with longing.
Fuelled by his need for her, Hermione grips his shaft with her core as tightly as she can and drags herself up and down until their strident gasps and moans reach a tremulous peak. Just as she mounts the final precipice, her thighs shuddering from the strain, he thrusts up to meet her, once, twice, and is there.
“I . . . love you.”
The words spill from his lips as he surges into her and she cries out in response, a wail of monumental proportions that declares nothing and everything. Even as her entire body seizes and convulses, she finds herself collapsing onto him, into his arms, wanting to be against him, with him, within him.
And as she lies there, her exhausted breaths unfurling across his chest, her cheek resting against one of his many scars, she feels him pull her even closer. It is a level of contact she hasn’t known in years, a closeness she hasn’t felt perhaps her entire life. And as she melts into him, trying to internalise the feeling of protection, of love, she is suddenly flooded with a deep sadness—a sense that the fullness of what faces them may be too much . . . that what she is set to reveal may once again drive them apart.
And then she realises with a pang of fear that the future she has been clinging on to is not at all assured. Sophia has changed it, already. And her presence may be just enough to undo everything . . . to undermine it all.
- 23
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Sense and Insensibility *Complete*

Sense and Insensibility Complete