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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
- 25
- 26
- 27
A/N: Only one chapter to go after this, folks. Thanks for reading, DSxx
LissaDream – Thank you. Glad you are still enjoying it x
Kvarta – ‘because we decided to buy dishwasher, which demands rearranging of entire kitchen area’ – yay for dishwashers! I hope you enjoyed your time off between projects. ‘I'll refrain from further guessing and just wait to see with what you'll come up next’ – hahah, guessing is always good, maybe you can guess the sex parts (although there is only one chapter to go so there might not be a lot of point ;)). ‘I'm glad that Minerva stayed the "motherly type"’ – yes, she appeared rather harsh early on but there was a reason for it as we now know. ‘He would rather keep her safe and she is willing to risk her own life to save the baby.’ – yes, I wonder how often a dilemma of this type comes up in real life (there are certain conditions like cystic fibrosis in which it can be very dangerous to carry a baby). Hugs and kisses to you xx
OO – ‘really it was just sitting in my notes gathering technological dust’ – I’m glad it did as I would have missed out on the phrase ‘technological dust’ which is just so glittery and lovely that it was worth the wait ;) ‘The denial is strong with this one’ – hahah, it is Severus after all, he isn’t big on belief and trust. ‘I wonder how things would have progressed without the letter's influence’ – this is true, we all know that even small interventions as the right time (or wrong time) can make a difference to how things turn out. ‘Right in the Snapey feels’ – Gah! There’s nothing more feely than the Snapey feels! ‘so Hermione can un-Voldify her fetus’ – bahahah, that should so be a term used in neonatal medicine. ‘I expect a shower of balloons and confetti when I hit "post review”’’ – oooooo ::::::: (balloons and confetti) x
HG4Eva – ‘He actually took that MUCH better than I thought he would’ – wow, you really have low expectations of our cantankerous wizard ;) I’m glad he could pleasantly surprise you though. ‘Will she just cease to be?’ – there is a chance. If the un-Voldified baby doesn’t survive the potion, then she will no longer exist. ‘I also wonder if Hermione is going to reconnect with her friends now that they have a better idea of what's happening’ – unfortunately there’s only one chapter left – hopefully your questions will be answered ;) xx

Chapter 26 – Known and Unknown
The following morning. It happens.
Hermione is standing at the front of her classroom, gazing at the heads bent studiously over their parchments whilst scribing from their Muggle history texts, when she feels it—a distinct shift inside her. The sensation is so profound, like the painful grasp of a hand suddenly released, a pervasive weight instantly lifted, that she reaches for the desk to steady herself before sinking into her chair.
The only person who seems to notice is Sophia. The girl's eyes lock with hers from across the classroom. She knows—the sombre understanding is written all over her small, pale face.
Less than thirty seconds later the classroom door bursts open. Severus stops two paces in, hair jolting forward around wide, questioning eyes. Despite his stillness, it is clear from the rise and fall of his chest that he has been running. He must have felt it too . . . the release . . . and come to find her.
By now the rest of the students have become aware of the rare intrusion into their classroom and are looking between the two of them with intrigue.
“I . . . I believe that you have all worked so diligently this morning,” Hermione forces a smile and attempts to relax her white-knuckled fists, still clamping tightly to the edge of her desk, “that you have earned yourselves an early minute. You are free to go.”
A few questioning glances flicker between students but they are excited to be dismissed early and pack up quickly. Within a minute they are gone.
All except Sophia.
Slowly, the girl makes her way to the front of the room, books clamped protectively against her chest.
When she stops, the three of them stand in a silent triangle, none willing to speak, the gravity of the moment and what it signifies seemingly beyond the scope of mere words.
Seeing Sophia’s diminutive form start to shake, Hermione quickly moves to her and removes the books from her arms, before pulling her close and embracing her tightly. The girl isn’t crying, not yet, rather Hermione suspects that she has submitted to the worrying realisation that this is the culmination of her brave undertaking, and that she must now return to a future that is by no means assured. Indeed, it may not exist at all.
Hermione gathers her as close as she can before murmuring into her ear, “Thank you so much Sophia . . . Thank you for everything.”
“I just wanted you to be proud of me,” Sophia responds, her voice small and tremulous. “Both of you.”
Hermione presses Sophia’s dark head against her chest, looking tearfully at Severus whose grave features betray little.
“And we are . . . we’re so proud of you,” Hermione rasps, barely able to formulate the words. “Everything you have done here has been so very brave.”
“That’s why I’m a . . . Gryffindor.” Sophia releases the last word in a breathy sob. “Like you.”
Hermione can’t respond. The ache in her chest is too much. She struggles to breathe.
They stand, crying together, locked in despair until Sophia finally lifts her head to regard Hermione, her tear streaked face and shining blue eyes a desolate image that Hermione knows she will carry like a weight around her heart from that day forward.
“I must return now,” the girl murmurs hoarsely, her voice wrung out by sadness. “To tell everyone what has happened. And to say . . . goodbye.”
Hermione nods, her face working to try to provide reassurance. “Of course.”
“And . . . Professor?” Sophia shuffles backwards and turns toward Severus, her head inclined shyly. Hermione’s heart breaks for the girl. This is the first time she has spoken to him since revealing her identity. His face is stony.
“I thought you ought to know.” She approaches him. “My name is Sophia Leena.”
Hermione sees him instantly draw breath.
“I’m named for your mother. You told me that was her preferred name.” She gives him a sad smile. “. . . That she always thought Eileen was so old-fashioned.”
A switch is suddenly flipped. It is as though, until now, he has managed to refute it all on some level . . . but that this small but powerful piece of information somehow shatters the foundations for his denial, causing the walls to crumble—spectacularly.
He is upon her in a flash, down on one knee, holding her securely in his strong arms. She grabs him with similar desperation, small fists clutching at his clothing, clearly missing this man that she loves.
Hermione’s hand presses to her lips as she is moved to further tears by the unprecedented display of affection.
“I didn’t know,” he murmurs into her ear. “I’m sorry.”
The girl just squeezes him tighter as he soothingly strokes her hair.
“You don’t need to be afraid.” His voice is so soft, so gentle, Hermione barely knows it. “We will do as you intended. We will take the potion.”
Sophia nods against his shoulder.
“Did you assist . . . to brew it?”
She nods again.
“I imagine we work very well together.” A faint smile curls his lips as he looks wistfully over her shoulder. “It will perform as intended. There is no reason for concern.”
Her small body visibly relaxes against him.
“When you return . . . tell them that we will do whatever is required . . . to ensure that everyone is safe.”
She doesn’t seem to want to let him go.
“We will see you again, Sophia.” He holds her away slightly so he can look her in the eye. “I want you to believe me.”
After a long pause in which Hermione marvels at the likeness between the two pale, dark haired individuals who have come to mean so much to her in such a short space of time, the girl delivers a small nod and finally releases him. Her face is slack. She is clearly exhausted.
Drawing a shaky breath, she tucks her fingers into the collar of her shirt and pulls out the gold chain of the time turner.
Hermione approaches. She and Severus come together, placing their arms around Sophia’s shoulders in such a natural embrace that she imagines an identical show of closeness and solidarity occurring decades into the future.
Grasping the small hourglass in her fingers, Sophia gazes up at them both. “I love you,” she whispers, before rapidly spinning the time piece forward.
Hermione attempts to respond through the constriction in her throat but the space between them suddenly vacates. Sophia has gone.
***
His large hand grasps hers from across the table.
He watches her closely as she lifts the fork to her mouth.
“Good?”
Hermione’s eyelids flutter closed as she moans. “Gods. Who made this? You didn’t nip out to see Jacob did you?” She places another forkful of the mouth-watering risotto into her mouth.
“Of course not,” he mutters, finally tasting his own.
“Actually, I didn’t think it possible.” She lifts his hand for emphasis, shaking it as though in greeting. “But this might be even better than Vincent’s.” She moans again. “Severus, this is, literally, the best risotto I’ve ever tasted. Where did you get it?”
“I made it.”
She drops both her fork and his hand together. “You?”
“Yes.” He looks slightly offended.
“You can cook?”
His eyebrows shoot up in indignation. “Have you never observed me brewing? Following a precise and orderly sequence to achieve a perfect outcome?”
She grins. “Well . . . of course I have but . . . this is just . . . Uhhh.” She allows her eyes to roll back in her head.
He suddenly chuckles, a rare display of relaxed amusement, before resuming eating.
Despite her hunger, she doesn’t retrieve her own fork, her hand now curling into a fist of intrigue next to her plate as she watches him.
After Sophia had gone, he had embraced her for a long time. She’d needed it. It seemed that he did too. He’d then asked her to seek out Minerva—to explain what had happened and to request that their classes be covered for the remainder of the day. He had also suggested that she make any other preparations she needed to, but asked that she return to his chambers by lunch time.
To be greeted by this. A beautifully laid table. Steaming plates of risotto. A lovely chilled wine. Merlin knew where he’d found the ingredients, or how he’d managed to cook them, but it was perfect.
And she had the sense that it represented many things. An apology of sorts. An opportunity to impress, perhaps. But, above all, a demonstration of his kind and caring nature that unfortunately was often overshadowed by the more caustic parts of his personality . . . as well as a moment to be together before they faced the inevitable . . . the unknown.
It feels both wonderful and deeply painful. The fact that he had spent the entire previous day, and long into the night, intensively testing and studying the potion, the surprisingly tender moments that she’d witnessed between he and Sophia, together with the thoughtfulness of this meal together . . . the combination swells within her heart until it feels tight, on the verge of rupture.
She grasps and squeezes his hand, trying to convey her feelings. But “Thank you” is all she manages.
He nods. It is not at all dismissive. But watchful. His concern is evident.
She gazes back at him, loving him for it. For everything . . . and suddenly realises the significance of that understanding.
“I still love you,” she murmurs, her voice rising in wonder.
His eyelids shutter slightly in confusion before he opens his mouth to respond. But she is already out of her chair, around the table and squeezing onto his lap between his stomach and the plate. “Don’t you see!” she crows excitedly. “I no longer feel him and yet I still love you! It’s not him. It’s us. It’s been us all along!”
His face changes. A slow transformation that gradually shreds the mask of tension that has commandeered his features over the past weeks. He looks relieved . . . and contrite . . . and . . . boyishly sexy. And finally he pulls her to him. She welcomes the crushing impact of his lips against hers, the raw passion as his tongue plunges into her. His hands are everywhere, clawing and tearing at her clothes. In no time, her breasts and bush are exposed and his mouth instantly engulfs one straining nipple, hot and hungry like some blood-lusted vampire but without the penetration . . . yet.
Enraptured, Hermione’s head lolls to the side like a marionette with her strings cut, but it instantly snaps to attention as he slips two desperate digits inside her. She surges forward to assist his penetration—unafraid for the first time in years that he will hurt her. Her body is finally hers, and hers alone. And the knowledge makes her reckless—she wants him to take her hard.
But she can’t. Not yet.
“Severus . . .” she murmurs breathily.
“Mmmm?” His mouth is already devouring her other breast.
“Can you—? . . . Ohhhh.”
His fingers find her G-spot and she is suddenly rendered speechless, her only sound a deep groan of pleasure.
Attempting to regain her composure despite his relentless rubbing and sucking, she finally manages to gasp, “Risotto!”
He releases her breast with a wet slurp. “Yes?”
“Can you shift it . . .?” She twists around to look mournfully at her abandoned plate. “Possibly put it somewhere safe? I want to finish it. Everything.”
With a wry grin, he conducts their food and drinks over to the safety of his desk.
She sighs with relief before primly informing him, “Now you may proceed.”
“Proceed? . . . With . . . what . . . exactly?” His voice is low and sultry as his fingers return, curling inside her again, making her brow furrow in agonised ecstasy. “This?”
“Yes,” she moans, her eyes squeezing closed. “Except . . . I might need your cock . . . soon.”
The pressure inside her is already mounting, and whilst she wouldn’t say no to an orgasm at his hands, she finds that the delicious fullness of him is what she needs right now. And clearly he of the same opinion as he instantly withdraws to cup her buttocks, lifting her onto the edge of the table.
A moment later, he releases his cock and she feels the velvety warmth of his shaft skim her inner thigh. Her mouth and pussy instantly start to water for him. Propping her arms on the table behind herself, Hermione shuffles back a little before lifting her heels onto the edge of the table and spreading her legs in welcome. She wants him to take her sitting up as she can’t bear the thought of any distance between them. Not now. Not after everything they have been through.
Severus places a hand on the table behind her buttocks to steady himself before leaning into her, guiding the head of his cock through her slick folds. Even as he eases forward, breaching the taut entrance to her pussy, his eyes never leave hers.
Her own eyelids flutter and then sink lower as he sinks deeper. It is such a pure union, no longer tainted by sensory or psychological reservations, that it feels like he is finally returning, coming home. Her legs immediately wrap around his hips to force him deeper, and the corners of his mouth tick up as he is captured to the hilt, the pleasure evident in the lift of his noble nose, the breathy reverberation from his chest. One of his hands slips behind her neck, pulling her into his hungry lips as his hips flex backwards before plunging into her again.
“Unnhhh.”
Her groan, muffled by his mouth, comes over and over as he pumps into her—quick, powerful snaps of his hips until her hand is scrabbling for the side of the table in an effort to brace herself against his growing momentum.
Soon they are forced to separate to draw gasping breaths, his urgent rhythm jolting into her until her entire pelvis is a fiery ball of friction.
His forehead drops to rest against hers as he emphatically grinds her clitoris with his pubic bone at the end of each long, deep stroke.
She whimpers, closing her eyes. It is glorious.
But then she feels them . . . falling down her cheeks as though they are her own.
Her eyes spring open. More drops fall. His. He is weeping, drawing in shuddering breaths as he continues to thrust into her.
“Severus?” Her hand curls around his clenched jaw. “What’s wrong?”
He shakes his head a little, rubbing against her.
“I don’t want to lose you.” His voice is strained, little more than a whisper.
“But . . . you won’t . . . you told Sophia—”
“I know what I told her,” he interrupts, intense emotion searing his words. “I had to. I had to reassure her. She needed that comfort.”
“So it’s not . . . safe? The potion?” Hermione ducks her head in an attempt to interrupt his downcast gaze.
He shakes his head desolately. “I could verify nothing beyond the fact that it is what it claims to be—a Soul Stealer. The risks of taking it are still extreme.”
Hermione finds herself far more upset by his sadness than by his words. She has already made her decision and accepted it after all.
“I believe in you, Severus.” Her thumb strokes his cheek. “You love me now. And I believe you love me in the future. You wouldn't ask me to take it unless you were sure. You need to trust yourself.”
He stands perfectly still, gazing down at her, and she feels his heart so open that her own eyes immediately fill.
“Please show me you love me,” she whispers.
After a long moment he wraps both arms around her and holds her as close as he can as he resumes thrusting. Despite the emotion, or perhaps because of it, Hermione finds that she is already close to coming. The desperate surges of his cock into her and the grip of his strong arms make her feel so loved, so needed that the sensation winds through her entire body until it wraps around the firmness inside her, his firmness, his desire for her, and she responds. A rasping cry full of need tears from her throat as the orgasm captures her, making her buck against him, her pussy wrenching at him, at the relentless determination of his cock that continues to drive home, prolonging her stimulation until she collapses with a final shudder. Rolling her heavy head back, she focuses upon him, revelling in the intensity of his endeavours, his need to show her . . . and finally his release.
It is the most emphatic she has ever experienced. His cry is both mournful and longing as he drives into her, pulling her tightly to him. Twitching and surging, his cock ejects more of his beautiful seed inside her—that which has healed her, enhanced her, and has given her the chance at this . . . at motherhood . . . at having a family once again.
***
Hermione floats.
The water is warmer this time. Hot actually—reflecting the fact that she need no longer worry about her body screaming out in pain. Instead her skin ripples deliciously at the sensation, her muscles relaxing as the tension seeps from them like melting ice.
She places her hands upon her stomach. Full. Not of baby—he’s still only tiny. But of risotto. She’d eaten all of hers. And quite a bit of Severus’. It really was the most delicious meal she could remember having . . . with the most delicious dining partner she could imagine.
He wouldn’t be long. He’d said so. And he would bring it with him.
Hermione closes her eyes and listens. In her previous state, she would be able to hear his footsteps. But now she hears nothing—except for the bubbly whines of her digestive system trying to cope with the sudden risotto-lanche she has subjected it to.
Finally the bathroom door opens and he is there—frown intact—as she knew it would be.
This is extremely difficult for both of them. But, she suspects, more difficult for him. He’d always worn the weight of responsibility extremely heavily. She’d known it even as a student.
Now he approaches with a slow stoicism that matches his perpetually formal attire, but not the image she holds in her mind’s eye of him furiously fucking her. The contrast is still deeply appealing despite the gravity of their situation.
She sits up in the bath, slicking her hair back, before holding out her hand to him. After a pause in which he considers her intently, he dips into his pocket, withdrawing the small bottle and handing it to her. She nods her thanks and then inclines her head at the bath. He obliges by starting to undress.
She has seen him undress in the past in a second flat so this is certainly a delaying tactic but she hardly minds. The sight of her darkly handsome wizard, the father of her child, slowly disrobing, shedding his skin, revealing swathes of porcelain wrapped muscle, is not at all difficult to cope with. She doesn’t see his imperfections at all—not the scores, the scars, or even the faded remains of the Dark Mark. They are all part of him . . . the him that is hers.
Finally naked, he dips a foot into the bath.
“Fuck, that's hot!”
A burst of laughter flies from her lips as she quickly casts a cooling charm.
“A bit sensitive, are we?” She grins mischievously.
He fixes her with his dark stare and she sees a hundred retorts fly through his mind, most relating to ‘pots’ and ‘kettles’ she suspects.
He suffices with a derisive snort before stepping in and sinking down, the water rising and his legs sliding forward until they are enveloping hers.
She continues to smile at him. This could be the best or the worst moment of her life. She chooses to believe the former. His face suggests that he has chosen the latter.
“We could draw this out.” She lets her free hand sink under the water until it curls comfortably around his calf. “We have a 24-hour window after all.”
He doesn’t respond but his foot rubs gently against her side.
“But I see no point,” she continues. “I’d rather get it over with.”
He inclines his head. “It is your decision.”
She inhales deeply. She can’t pretend that she isn’t at least a little apprehensive. His expression certainly isn’t filling her with confidence.
“Just know . . . no matter what happens. . .” She squeezes his calf. “I don’t regret a thing. None of it. As it has all led me to this moment, with you, where I have a chance to make things better . . . for us . . . for our son . . . for Sophia . . . for everyone.”
He swallows, his eyebrows sliding up in the middle so that his frown turns to sad resignation. She suspects that he wants to dissuade her but is aware that it is pointless.
Lifting herself up onto her knees, she leans forward before crawling up his body until she is lying on top of him. His arms are instantly around her. He kisses her deeply and she wonders what it would be like to lie like this with him forever. Bliss.
Holding onto that thought with grim determination, she asks him to remove the stopper from the bottle.
Severus gazes down at her, lying on his chest, brown, deeply trusting eyes caressing him with her love—so open and honest. And he loves her. He could say it to her over and over again but it wouldn’t change a thing. She could still be taken from him . . . stolen . . . as was the nature of the Soul Stealer.
But it wouldn’t be for long. The blade was in his pocket. A simple slice into his artery would have him slipping away in minutes. He wouldn’t be far behind her. She wouldn’t be alone.
“I’ll be here . . . Always,” he assures her, removing the cork.
She smiles. It’s so sweet and genuine that he feels himself spontaneously returning it despite his sadness.
“To us.” She lifts the bottle in a small toast.
Then pours the smoky contents into her mouth.
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Sense and Insensibility *Complete*

Sense and Insensibility Complete