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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
- 4
- 5
- 6
A/N: OO – ‘But I wouldn't put it past him to have sent the troll himself just to look good in front of her’ – LOL. How can you question his motives? Surely he is above reproach? ‘Once he works his way through most of the female payroll’ – he’s certainly made a good start :). ‘Jealousy's a tricky devil’ – I think that tricky devil is going to feature pretty prominently throughout. ‘Naughty boy’ – he is very naughty – but that's why we love him ;)
Ali – Thank you so much for your kind words. I’m glad that you are enjoying it so far. Much kudos needs to go to Marriage1988 who has provided a lot of the lines and ideas. Heatwave in the UK? It’s still pretty cold down here in Oz so that sounds quite attractive :)

Chapter 5 - Degenerandy
A hushed thrum of voices greeted Hermione as she finally slipped into the meeting room. All of the Magical Creature division heads were there—everyone with the exception of Snape. Hermione had escorted him down to the Ministry entrance via the atrium, passing the prone form of the troll, knocked out cold but still breathing in wet snorts through a broken nose. Security guards had been lumbering about dopily, trying to work out how to move the troll’s enormous bulk to one of the large halls for questioning. Where were they when Snape was fighting the creature single-handedly? Cowering in their offices, no doubt.
Hermione still had her hand on Snape’s good arm, determined to be there when the ambulance arrived to take him to St Mungo’s. The sight of him putting himself in harm’s way had instantly transported her back to that horrific moment in the Shrieking Shack. He hadn’t died then either but he’d been left alone and she was absolutely determined that she wouldn’t let it happen again. It was one of her worst memories of the war and one she rarely examined if she could help it. But she realized then that if she had, she might have been more understanding of his current life choices. On a more positive note, she’d already forgiven him for the ‘while you’re down there’ quip. After all, he’d just been through an intensely traumatic ordeal. The ‘quick handjob’ one still annoyed her but perhaps she would find it within herself to let that one go too.
She helped him to a seat near the entrance, careful to avoid the arm that hung like a broken branch from his dislocated shoulder. The confrontation had certainly shaken him—perhaps more than she’d initially realised. He was trembling despite the sheen of sweat that covered him—most likely a combination of pain and shock. And although she cast several warming incantations, he continued to shake uncontrollably. It seemed that the spell he’d cast to blast away the troll’s hand had inflicted many of the ragged wounds on his arm and torso, which continued to ooze with fresh blood.
Summoning a glass of water, she crouched to assist him to drink it. As she held it to his shuddering lips, he placed his good hand upon hers, knuckles crusted with blood.
“I hoped you’d come back,” he rasped after attempting to take a mouthful but spilling most down his chin.
He squinted, black eyes trying to focus on her before his face went slack, milky lids falling closed. He was deteriorating.
Hermione scanned the entrance doors. “How far away is it?” she shouted to the guard on duty.
“Two minutes.”
“Professor . . . Severus.” She shook him gently. “The ambulance isn’t far away.”
He didn’t open his eyes.
“Severus.” She leaned in and spoke louder. “Open your eyes.”
No response.
“Come on,” she ground out. “Stay with me.” She placed a hand against his pale cheek.
His eyes blinked open and a dazed smile curved his lips.
“How could I refuse . . . such an offer,” he slurred. “Of course I’ll . . . stay . . . Lily . . . “
He fell unconscious.
“Where’s that fucking ambulance!” Hermione cried, jumping up and jogging toward the entrance.
She could see it squeezing through traffic.
“Don’t let him die . . . Don’t let him die,” she muttered as she paced frantically. Strange illusions of the Shrieking Shack flashed up in the corners of her vision, merging and melding with her surroundings.
It wasn’t the first time this had happened. When her emotions became overwhelming, the world would sometimes warp, her memories melding with reality until she had difficulty separating them.
She returned to Snape’s side.
“You’re going to be alright,” she whispered to him, her voice strained. “I’m going to make sure of it . . . this time I’m going to make sure.”
After that, the ambulance officers had arrived and wheeled him away. The vision of him strapped down, damp hair clinging to his face, lips parted around shallow breaths, still commanded her thoughts as she attempted to rub the dried blood from her palms, leaning against the wall of the meeting room in a state of utter exhaustion.
Benedict Parsons stood up the front, his puffy face solemn while questions were thrown at him.
“Surely this is part of the Dark Beast uprising? The troll was sent as a warning!” Mick McLeod from the Spirit Division spoke up.
“Now, now, let’s not jump to conclusions.” Parsons raised his palms in an attempt at placation. “We must look at all of the evidence available to us. No doubt, more will come to light in the coming days.”
Hermione couldn’t help feeling cynical about what conclusions would be drawn from the breach. In reality, the troll was a test of his security measures and he’d failed. Any investigation would, no doubt, be looking to cover his ample arse as quickly and convincingly as possible.
“We were warned that this type of thing might happen.” Bertha Waddell, a no-nonsense woman in charge of the Entomology division, pointed a finger at him. “When the threats came in, what measures did you take to protect us?”
“I took a very effective measure as I’m sure you will all agree.” Parsons gave a smug jowly grin as he swept his gaze around the group.
A burst of muttering ensued before someone finally piped up. “And what was that?”
“I employed Severus Snape!” Parsons attempted to cross his stubby arms in satisfaction, but his girth wouldn’t allow sufficient overlap for it to be effective.
There were a few more muttered comments but no one could disagree that it had been effective. Without Snape, there was no knowing how much damage the troll might have done.
But Hermione was incensed.
“And what measures, may I ask, did you take to protect Snape?”
All eyes turned to her and Parsons’ mouth clamped shut in disapproval.
“Miss Granger.” His voice took on a patronizing tone. “Severus Snape is an extremely powerful wizard, as I’m sure you would have beheld this afternoon. He’s hardly someone who needs a body guard.”
“And yet he may be fortunate to survive the ordeal,” Hermione replied, pushing herself from the wall.
“If anyone had cared to ask after him, you might have known that he was very badly injured. I hope you won’t look quite as smug if he doesn’t make it, Mr Parsons,” she snapped before storming out the door.
Hermione wasn’t stupid. She knew that making an enemy of the Head of Department could spell an end to her employment, as well as making further employment difficult. But she was satisfied that, if this was the end, she would leave with her integrity intact. She was committed to the defense of all creatures who were not able to defend themselves. And at that moment, Snape was not present or able. He was also as much a creature in need as anything else she represented.
She was unsure of how Snape might have responded if he had been present but she was quite certain that he hadn’t taken the Dark Beast job knowing he would be required to put himself in danger to defend the Ministry. And the idea of Parsons taking credit for Snape’s actions was as disgusting as it was infuriating.
Snape might be a vulgar, lecherous, degenerate who fucked around indiscriminately and probably abused illicit substances. But his hero status was legitimate. He was brave. She inhaled deeply as she strode down the corridor to her office, glancing at his empty one on the way past. That was something that no one could deny. He’d always been fucking brave.
***
Snape didn’t die. In fact, only a week later he was back in his office, the same as previous except sporting a sling. And if she’d thought the attention he’d received earlier was nauseating, the troll incident, plus the sling sympathy, had catapulted him to super-hero status. He was the talk of the tea room, and any other nook and cranny that gossipers decided to occupy. Even Ginny had asked how his recovery was progressing—on multiple occasions.
Surprisingly, however, he didn’t seem to be reveling in the heightened attention, often quietly closing his door and leaving it shut for long periods.
Occasional visitors would be received. One particularly frequent caller was Katie Bell who, most of the time, pretended that she was unaware of Hermione’s keen eyes upon her as she slipped through the door. The blinds were no longer cracked open so Hermione could only imagine what might be going on behind them. He was slightly incapacitated of course, but Katie’s ravenous gaze whenever Hermione saw the two in the vicinity of one another, told her that the drooling woman would be more than willing to do all the work.
It was such a distraction that Hermione began closing her own door so that she didn’t have to imagine what was happening behind his.
Then there was the fact that he seemed to remember nothing of what had occurred after the troll incident. He’d not mentioned it to her and so she’d not brought it up. What was there to say? Did she want him to know that she’d been worried about him? That she’d spoken up for him? Did she expect his thanks?
It was none of those things—not specifically. It was more the blatant hypocrisy that frustrated her. All of these well-wishers and sympathy-shaggers—Where were they when his life was in danger? Where were they when he was injured and trembling, reaching desperately for a helping hand?
He’d incline his head to her each morning and rumble, ‘Miss Granger’ before disappearing for hours at a time. And each day she became more and more agitated by his polite acknowledgement. One morning she inexplicably found herself wanting to shout at him, ‘I cared about you! You thought I was Lily Potter, but I still fucking cared!”
***
It was three weeks later, when Hermione discovered blood on her favourite blouse, that she realized she’d not washed it. The afternoon of the troll invasion, she’d thrown it onto a chair in her bedroom, unwilling to deal with it. Now she looked at the bloody fingerprints wrapped around her sleeve, his hand grasping hers for stability—for comfort? She wished she could let it go. The incident was well and truly in the past but it still felt unfinished and so she tossed the blouse back down in a crumpled heap. It would never be her favourite again.
And that’s when she saw her. Across the street, red hair tossed about by the breeze as she pulled open the heavy pub door.
“Ginny?”
Ginny had visited her multiple times in her flat but, as far as she knew, she didn’t have any other reason to visit this part of London. And now she was entering a seedy pub. Alone. Perhaps she was buying a bottle of wine to bring over for an impromptu girly gossip session?
Hermione stared out the window for long enough to realise that a girly gossip session was unlikely to be on the agenda. So why was she—?
Snape.
He was striding casually up the street. The sling had been gone for a week or so now and both arms were swinging loosely by his side as he approached all in black—trousers and shirt—definitely not work clothing.
Hermione’s stomach dropped. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Snape had moved into some sort of dwelling two streets away, or so she’d been informed in one of the tea room gossip sessions, so it wasn’t surprising that she often ran into him, reading the paper and drinking coffee, in her local café. She’d also spied him entering and leaving the pub on a couple of occasions, but not since the troll incident.
And now here he was, easily pulling open the pub door and disappearing inside. Could it be a coincidence? Hermione chewed her bottom lip as she rested her hands on the windowsill. She knew that she would stand there, just like that, watching until one or both of them emerged. But the reality was that that moment could be many hours away—especially if they . . .
It was probably a coincidence. Her over-active imagination was adding two and two together and making five. She’d go over there and find Ginny chatting and laughing with one of her friends. Or maybe she was meeting up with Harry? Hermione wasn’t sure exactly where he’d gone when he moved out but it might be close by. Yes—that was it, a reconciliatory drink and maybe a little something else?
Hermione relaxed. She felt much better about that explanation. After all, how would Ginny have even made contact with Snape? It’s not like they would have met in a night club or something. Would they? The uncomfortable lump crawled back into her stomach. There was nothing else for it. Thoughts of them would be roiling about in her mind all evening until she knew. She’d just have to go over and find out.
After waiting a few more minutes, Hermione cast a disillusionment spell upon herself, and left her flat for the pub. As she crept into the crowded establishment, she quickly glanced around the room and grimaced. It must be ‘singles night’, she decided, judging by the predatory expressions on the faces of the men, and many of the women, lounging and prowling about the smoky room.
Finally, she caught a glimpse of red hair on the far side of the bar. And immediately felt ill. Hermione didn’t take any comfort in being right. Not this time. There, in a darkened corner sat Ginny, head thrown back in laughter, Snape smirking opposite holding a cigarette coolly between his fingers. As she watched, Ginny leaned forward and spoke into his ear. His fingertips casually grazed the top of her head as she spoke, the other seeking out a glass of what appeared to be straight liquor before bringing it to his lips for a deep swig.
When Ginny withdrew to look at him, he nodded and muttered something. It seemed to be the signal she’d been waiting for as she slithered closer. Smiling, she spoke again and he brought the cigarette to her lips for a drag. Since when had Ginny smoked? It was a stupid question really, as since when did she meet up with former professors while her loving ex-fiancée waited for her to ‘find herself’.
The red head seemed to be drifting closer and closer to his semi-recumbent form with each passing moment—as though he were magnetic and she metallic. It was so inexorable that Hermione almost missed the point at which Ginny’s hand slithered onto the black fabric of his chest, fingering his collar. His legs eased apart with the movement and Hermione inhaled deeply.
She couldn’t watch but, equally, she couldn’t tear her eyes away. When Ginny’s fingers trailed down the front of his shirt, she automatically knew their destination but, again, she was powerless to drag herself away. Watching Ginny’s pale digits slinking seductively down his smooth blackness, Hermione held her breath. They skimmed down beyond his shirt, over his fly, to curl around his crotch. Hermione grunted, swallowing down the cry of ‘Ginny!’ that desperately wanted to burst from her throat.
Ginny was a good friend. They’d been close for years. But she’d never seen this side of her—never witnessed her gratuitously groping someone, not even Harry. And for the current gropee to be their former professor and the grope location to be the smoky corner of some seedy pub. It was so sordid! How could she? But, then again, perhaps this was the perfect environment to live out whatever debauched fantasies she had dreamed up.
And then they were kissing—snogging actually. And she was definitely the aggressor, leaning over him, delving her tongue into his mouth as her hand continued to caress his crotch.
He was hardly complaining. With a flick he dismissed the cigarette, freeing up his own hand to grope her in return. Hermione watched as Snape’s long fingers burrowed into the flesh of Ginny’s buttocks through her sheer dress. Were they planning to fuck right here? Hermione scanned the room. It seemed that the writhing couple in the corner weren’t the only ones getting amorous.
She also hated that she’d considered them a couple. It wasn’t the case—Severus was simply a horny bastard and Ginny an opportunist. And amorous was clearly a euphemism for their current antics—dry fucking would be closer to the mark. Hermione cringed as she watched Ginny sliding around on Snape’s lap. They actually suited each other. Ginny had admitted she wasn’t looking for ‘Mr Right’—just ‘Mr Right Now’. And Snape fitted that title perfectly. He was clearly living for the moment. But, Hermione wondered, would he be trying for something more? She hoped not—for Harry’s sake.
Just as she was debating whether or not to leave them to their fervent antics, Severus clamped a hand around Ginny’s jaw and muttered something in her ear. Hermione hoped he was confessing that he’d made a mistake; perhaps he was asking her, ‘but what about Potter?’
She snorted—hardly likely. With a sinking heart, she watched Ginny’s lips curl into a smile before she nodded and reached for his hand. In seconds they were up and he was leading her through the smoky haze to the stairs. Hermione knew there were private rooms up there for rent (‘hot sheets’ they called them—rented by the hour). It seemed like this evening was just getting started for them—no doubt they were looking to heat up more than just a set of soiled sheets.
As before, Hermione was torn. It was one thing to spy on her friend as she devoured their former professor’s face. It was quite another to follow and witness her devouring Merlin-knows-what else. But Hermione’s disillusionment charm was strong enough to hold for a while longer. It was a feeble deciding point but she wouldn’t admit to anything more beyond a degree of morbid curiosity.
Casting a silencing spell just to make sure, Hermione crept up the stale carpet of the stairs, releasing the sticky bannister at the top when she spied four doors—three ajar, one closed.
The closed door was to her left. Side-stepping once, twice, she found herself trembling slightly in front of it. There was no discernible noise but both could be screaming blue murder and the constant roar drifting up from downstairs would easily drown it out. Taking a deep breath, squashing down the guilt in her chest, she knelt and levelled her eye to the keyhole.
For some reason she’d expected them to be rolling around on the bed, a mess of black and red hair thrashing about in the throes of passion. But what she saw was very different. They were still—Ginny standing sideways facing the wall, Snape behind her, slowly pulling down the zipper on her dress. When he reached the bottom, just above her buttocks, rather than pushing her dress off her shoulders, both of his hands smoothly slipped into the gap and slithered around her waist beneath her dress. Ginny’s eyes widened as if she hadn’t expected that either.
Then one of his hands slid downward. Hermione could see it rippling under the soft blue fabric, forging lower and lower as he pressed his body against her. And when Ginny’s mouth fell open, the gradual sinuous movement of his fingers evident at her pussy, Hermione found that she, too, was holding her breath. Continuing to caress her, his other hand snaked upward, the cup over one breast ballooning as his fingers enveloped it.
Ginny suddenly gasped with his flicker over her nipple and Hermione suspected that he’d just squeezed it. Then he leaned forward and his lips were on her neck, planting kisses that looked so incredibly soft and sensuous that Hermione heard herself sigh before she could stop it.
His tongue flicked out to lick under Ginny’s jaw as a smirk curled his lips.
“Will you be joining us, Miss Granger?”
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Debaucery *Complete*

Debaucery Complete