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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
A/N: Thanks to the wonderful Marriage1988 once again. She is entirely responsible for the excellent scene between McGonagall and Dumbledore.
Ali – ‘A wonderful line that conveys perfectly Sev's anger and frustration with his life, his treatment from others, his views on women and himself.’ – I’m so glad you could read all that into that moment. “I mean that would just be greedy wouldn't it?” – hahahah! Do you think she would share? ‘So stop reading this drivel woman and write me loads more’ – this cracked me up. And of course I got on with it ;)
Alexa – Hey, I’m glad you are enjoying the dynamic between these two. Yes, the polarity has been fun to play with this time. ‘Hope H soothes and 'tames' S - @least a little’ – :) He does need a little TLC but is making it pretty difficult for her at the moment.

Chapter 7 – Salaciosity
His black eyes avoided hers the following morning. Head bent, he unlocked his office door with a flick of his wrist and was through in a heartbeat.
At least the forced politeness had been dispensed with. She’d been steeling herself for one of his patented sneers or some sleazy innuendo about her voyeuristic tendencies, but his hurried avoidance confirmed exactly what Ginny had implied. Something had happened. And he didn’t seem to be gloating about it.
Tapping her quill against her fingertips, she listened to the silence from his office, wondering if he was listening to her silence in return. She had spent the evening turning over Ginny’s proposal of ‘sorting’ him. She still hadn’t decided whether he really was ‘Snape the lad’, helping himself to every lascivious indulgence on offer or if, as Ginny had suggested, he was actually ‘Snape the fucked up, long-suffering soul’, self-medicating in every possible way in an attempt to exorcise the restless ghosts from his past.
Either way, sorting him was not a simple prospect and, in fact, may be an impossible prospect if he was as damaged as he appeared to be. And then there was the question of, ‘why?’
Why her? Why should she be the one to bother? Had others tried and failed? Was he the pet project of a succession of women like herself – desperate for a cause? And did he, in turn, play upon their good intentions? She suspected that if his antics were those of a broken man, looking for a balm—anything to soothe the hurt—he could be utterly ruthless, selfish and manipulative in his methods.
That wasn’t something she needed in her life right now. Or ever. There were so many reasons to close her door this instant and relieve her mind of any thought of him—to leave him to his own depraved devices. But there was one small reason not to. He was brilliant.
Even when she was a student, she had known that he was utterly wasted. No doubt much of his frustration stemmed from being forced to teach disinterested students how to brew the most rudimentary potions. He had been brilliant as a student himself and had continued to operate at the highest level throughout his Professorship despite long hours of marking feeble essays from those who would never boast a fraction of his talent. He’d been instrumental in the defeat of Voldemort and had managed to remain resolute and stoic despite the loss of those closest to him. He really was the tragic hero. But, Hermione mused, he was also a slut.
She needed advice from someone who knew him far better than she did. Professor McGonagall had been his teacher, colleague and friend for three decades. No doubt she would be concerned about his current antics. Maybe the Hogwarts Headmistress would be able to help her decide whether there was any point in putting herself through the turmoil of trying to help him. It would be at least worth owling her.
But there was something else she needed to address first—the confrontation she’d been avoiding for weeks. The timing wasn’t perfect—in fact it couldn’t be worse, but she needed to establish some . . . boundaries.
“Professor?” Hermione leaned in his doorway.
Snape's eyes snapped up from the parchment he’d been scanning, roving over her warily.
“Yes.”
“May I have a word?”
He continued to appraise her for so long that she raised an eyebrow to force a response.
“Now?” The word rolled off his tongue with obvious disdain.
“If it’s convenient.” She attempted a disarming smile but it did nothing to defuse the tension.
Instead of a response, his eyes flickered to the chair opposite.
Drawing in a deep breath, she sat quickly before he changed his mind.
“I thought it timely to discuss our current investigations and the overlap between them—perhaps we need to set some boundaries?” she blurted out, hoping that the speed of her words would be enough to slip through his scrutiny.
Crossing his arms, he leaned back in his seat. “What exactly do you mean by ‘boundaries’?”
“Well, as you suggested before the troll . . . incident . . . our investigations seem to have some commonality and I just wanted to make sure that we aren’t duplicating one another’s work. For efficiency purposes,” she added hastily.
His lip curled up in the sneer she’d been expecting earlier. “You really do have control issues don’t you?”
Hermione crossed her arms, an irritable edge sharpening her voice. “I thought it quite a reasonable suggestion Professor . . . uh—Mr Snape. The dark beast investigation, I note, has led to several inquiries that have encroached upon the flying beast domain—namely the question of dragon involvement. All queries of this sort should really come through me but it seems you have taken it upon yourself to peruse the flying beast data.”
He tilted his head and peered down his nose at her. “So this has nothing to do with boundaries. You are merely asserting that you believe that you should have been consulted?”
Hermione blinked furiously, realising she should have been better prepared with her argument. “So why didn’t you consult with me?”
He arched a sardonic eyebrow. “You always seemed so busy. I was loathe to interrupt.”
Hermione suddenly leaned forward, slapping a hand firmly on the desk before him. “Don’t treat me like an idiot,” she growled before remembering that she’d actually intended to improve her relationship with him, not create further division.
Rather than the expected snarky retort, however, his face softened and his black eyes gleamed as they raked over her.
“Fiery little Gryffindor,” he murmured silkily. “Why didn’t you join us? It could have been . . . intense.”
Hermione could feel the flush staining her cheeks as she swallowed with difficulty. But she refused to allow him to fluster her.
“From what I heard, lack of intensity wasn’t the issue,” she responded, leaning back from him. “Although Ginny may have appreciated the chaperone. Or I could have even helped provide you with a conscience.”
That struck home.
“A conscience?” he sneered.
In a flash he was up and skirting the desk with slow menacing steps, eyes locked on her like heat-seeking missiles.
“What the fuck would you know about conscience?” he hissed through gritted teeth as he approached.
Hermione felt like she'd been bound to her seat—otherwise she would have been out the door and locked inside her own office by the time he leaned intimidatingly over her.
“You think my life has been lived without conscience?” He placed a hand on either side of her head, grasping the back of the chair tightly. “Do you even know the meaning of the word?”
Hermione stared into the face that was as close now as it had been when he’d healed her weeks before—but this time it was shaking with fury. She regretted her words. To accuse someone who had made the sacrifices he had, of lacking a conscience was supremely unfair but equally she knew that whatever had happened with Ginny, his actions hadn’t been those of the man of integrity that he once was. She needed to remind him of that.
“I would suggest that you may have lost your way.” Her voice waivered under his piercing gaze.
“And what would you know of my ‘way’?” he spat, his breath buffeting her face. “Never presume to know me, Miss Granger. Despite how enamoured you clearly are with what you consider to be your superior intellect, you don’t have the slightest clue.” His eyes were like red hot pokers, boring into her. “Now you can take your judgement and your disapproval and your sanctimonious interference and get the fuck out of my office!”
“Do we have a problem here, Snape?”
They jerked around to see Parsons standing in the doorway, hands in his pockets as though he'd been enjoying the performance for more than a moment.
Severus snatched his hands back and swept away. “Not any more.”
“Miss Granger?” Parsons raised a bushy eyebrow at her.
“N . . . no, Mr Parsons,” she stammered.
Parsons looked between them for a long moment before giving a brief nod. “I’d like to meet with the two of you next week—about a collaboration. I hope that isn’t going to pose an issue for either of you?”
“Not for me.” Snape resumed his seat and snatched up the piece of parchment as though determined to get on with his work.
Hermione rose on shaky legs. “No, Mr Parsons,” she murmured quietly. “Excuse me,” she shuffled past him before returning to her office and closing the door.
***
Hermione left the Headmistress’ office, finally resolved in her commitment to at least try to do something to help the man who had suggested in no uncertain terms, only that morning, that she should ‘fuck off.’ Minerva had been far more aware of Snape’s current situation than she’d expected. And had been concerned enough to share some of the more disturbing details with Hermione, appreciating that she was perhaps in a better position, as his colleague, to assist him. The headmistress had stopped short of encouraging her to take an active part in supporting Snape, but at the same time she hadn’t attempted to warn her off. She clearly cared enough about the man to consider any attempts to improve his situation worthwhile.
Despite the ugliness of the incident that morning, Hermione chose to regard it as further evidence of his pain and confusion, rather than a genuine threat. He’d basically asserted that the complexity of his life was inconceivable to her but she felt she understood him well enough to at least try to help. And judging by what Minerva had said, if he was spiraling out of control as quickly as he appeared to be, perhaps she didn’t have that long to turn him around.
***
Minerva’s eyes were still trained on the door that Hermione had exited.
“I worry about the boy, Albus,” she spoke quietly to the portrait behind her.
“He is no boy, my dear. Hasn’t been one for many years.”
“Indeed. But I still think of him as that terrified little lad from Cokeworth, abused, neglected . . . “
“Well,” Dumbledore sighed, stretching in his chair. “He hasn’t been abused or neglected in recent days . . . time has marched on, you know.”
“You’re missing my point.” Minerva turned to face him. “And incidentally, there is abuse and neglect still going on. He’s the one perpetrating the abuse now, hurting himself with these reckless choices. Nothing has changed. As Hermione verified, he’s smoking, drinking to excess and then there’s the hearsay about illicit potions, not to mention his promiscuous behavior with women, many of them strangers.”
“And some of them clearly not . . . “
She snorted with disgust. “Aye. I heard about Sinistra on the Astronomy Tower. And some others. Even a few of the final year students have been drawn into his free-fall.”
“And what do you propose we do?” Albus implored her with an upturned palm. “Tell a forty-something year old man to curb his appetites, to resume his solitary existence, to receive no pleasures from life? He deserves freedom after all he has done . . . all I asked him to do . . . “
“We were talking about Severus. Not you,” she replied sharply. “Perhaps your sense of guilt is clouding your good judgement?”
Albus shrugged. “Perhaps. Or perhaps I’ve done enough interfering for a lifetime and Severus will have to face the consequences of his own choices, not choices thrust upon him by others. He did so before, if you recall.”
Minerva shook her head. “Aye, and what did that teach him? He came to you on his knees in penance, desperate to protect the woman he had loved, and he lost her . . . what did that teach him about facing his own choices?”
Albus looked away, avoiding the accusation in her green eyes.
Her lined face softened. “Think of him as your son, my dear, and that perspective may prompt you to ‘interfere,’ or at least, provide some much needed gentle counsel.’
“Yes, yes. Allow me to think on this some more, Minnie. Please?”
***
The burn was far worse than he could ever remember, like liquid lightning surging through his veins. And he was more than aware of the cause. There’d been no reprieve, nothing to defuse the tension. The previous evening with the Weasley girl had provided no relief—in fact it had made things far worse. And then there was Granger and her compulsive interference. He was out of practice with how to deal with the likes of her. These days he would just fuck the annoying ones until they shut up or repented. But she seemed less interested in that. What the fuck did she want from him if it wasn’t a quickie over his desk or a slow screw against the wall like the rest? Did she really intend to be his fucking conscience? One minute of her insufferable presence on his shoulder, tutting over his every move and he would be ready to strangle her.
“Fuck,” he ran his hands through his hair. He needed a hit—something top grade—guaranteed to send him straight to oblivion. And he needed a fuck. No strings. And no boundaries. He needed to let loose.
Glancing at the clock as he paced the boards of his lounge room, he finally gave in with a growl. It was earlier than he would have liked—less chance to find someone as wasted as he needed them to be. He would just need to indulge her in a little chemical orgy beforehand. He grimaced. It was going to be an expensive night.
Slinking into the silvery haze of the den, he instantly felt the tension that had infiltrated his body begin to melt, trickling like iced water out his fingertips. Inhaling deeply, he allowed the exotic scent of illicit indulgences to flood his nostrils. Yes, this was his sanctuary—here his mind and body could exist freely, as close to the Gods that had seen fit to grant him a few more years in this forsaken world as he could get.
The Squib was polishing glasses, face impassive but ferrety eyes missing nothing. Severus leaned on the bar. “Anything here for me yet?”
“One—just your taste.” The Squib nodded curtly, his eyes continuing to rove around the room.
“Far gone?”
“Getting there. I put something in her last drink.”
“Good man.” Snape slipped a Galleon into his top pocket.
“I’ll take her now. And a bottle of your finest.”
The Squib nodded again before flicking the towel over his shoulder and sauntering off.
Snape had only just started undoing the buttons on his shirt when a soft knock came at the door. Good. He wanted to get into her as quickly as possible. Pulling the door open, he felt another wave of relief roll over him. He’d have to leave the Squib a handsome tip this time—he’d excelled himself. She was elegant, petite and, in a slinky black dress, utterly fuckable. Just. His.Type.
“You wanted me?” she asked, her voice husky.
Without a word, Snape pulled her into the room and slammed the door before thrusting her against it. He never kissed the ones he picked up in the den. He didn’t need to. They were there to fuck. And yet the desire was so strong right now, and his resolve so weakened, that he found his mouth on hers before he’d even made the conscious decision.
Her lips, deliciously soft, opened easily to him, letting him slip inside to taste her. He found himself groaning like a teenager and realised that his need this evening was on the verge of overwhelming him. He never felt this out of control but the hot cavern of her mouth had him panting and salivating. He might even have to fuck her right here, against this door, as an entrée.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” she finally forced out against his lips.
He pulled back, his eyes settling upon the small bottle in her hand. The Squib must have given it to her.
Lips curling into a smile, he ran his thumb across her bottom lip. Utterly succulent. “Ladies . . . first.”
Her smile faltered a little and his broadened. A novice. Nice. The poison would make her utterly compliant—his plaything for as many hours as he needed.
“It’s just a little . . . mood . . . enhancer,” he purred.
She pulled off the stopper and brought it to her nose for a sniff.
He smirked, wondering why she bothered—there would be nothing a delicious little piece like her could tell from scent alone.
When her eyes returned to his, his breath caught, there was something—
“Monkshood,” she announced. “Leaves, not flowers—toxic, induces wakefulness. Hemlock—poisonous, induces latent catatonia.” Snape’s frown deepened. “Dragon horn—magical amplifier, expensive . . . “ She gave a brief shake of her head. “If I'm not mistaken, this is a stimulant and hallucinogen. And it’s also a neurotoxin, so I’m going to have to pass. And for your own good, I’m afraid you are too.”
And with a flick, she pulled the wand from behind her back and disintegrated the bottle into a glittering cloud of dust before removing the glamour that had barely concealed her features. Why hadn’t he seen through it? It was so fucking obvious—Granger!
Snarling he rammed her against the door, pressing a hand to her throat while she jerked her wand up and jabbed it into his Adam’s apple.
“Let . . . go of me,” she ground out against the constriction.
“You fucking interfering bitch,” he growled, pushing harder. “Why don’t you get yourself a fucking life instead of trying to fuck up mine?”
“Now . . . or I’ll tear your throat out,” she gargled, barely managing to squeeze the words out past his tightening fingers, her face blood red, eyes bulging.
He gave one last shove before jerking away.
Hermione fell to her knees, choking and gasping as she tried to draw breath.
Threading both hands into his hair, he began to pace, his face a rictus of anguish.
“Leave. Now!” he sobbed.
Staggering to her feet, Hermione held her throat as she yanked the door open and fled into the darkness.
- 6
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- 8
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Debaucery *Complete*

Debaucery Complete