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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
- 6
- 7
- 8
A/N:
Kvarta – ‘what can I say? Birds of a feather’ – hahah, totally!! ‘she actually sounds like him’ – he does seem to be rubbing off on her ;) ‘which portrays him as brave, daring and damn sexy’ – LOL, I think he’d have her number if she ever did attack ;) ‘I can sympathise, in one point you can gladly suffer through the illness that return to doctor that won't show you necessary understanding’ – I agree. ‘She is in for a fast ride to the "itch she can't scratch"’ – she obviously didn’t think this through too well did she? ‘ffs, can you send him to examine me?!!!’ – join the queue, lady! ‘I do hope that next chapter will include glimpse of how he deals *wink, wink* with ramifications of this...purely medical...examination.’ – it sure does! xx
OO – ‘No, don't go. You haven't tested her clit yet’ – LOL. Yes, that would certainly establish the parameters of what he's dealing with. ‘Pooping must be excruciating for her’ – stool softeners? ‘all thanks to a semi-apology from Snape’ – yes, probably as good as it gets from him so she was smart to take the offer. ‘Are you going to go into why Hermione is so agitated by the mention of her ex-boss’ . . . now that’s a good question . . . and of course I only have a vague idea :) x
Fox – ‘So he tries to get away with an insult by sort of automatic/pretended apology -how Snape’ – I agree, it was a little feeble; ‘if you forget him being an arse, and her anger, and the possible danger the are in...’ – hahah, totally ruined the moment didn’t they :) ‘now that's apology I could accept and I suppose she knows, she needs him’ – yes, this time he did have a while to think it over while she was busy doing his work for him so it was probably genuine. And she is desperate for some sort of hope. ‘I believe, that apart from learning about her condition he mapped out her sensitive spots, to be used later... :) Clever boy.’ – indeed, I think it’s going to be pretty heavily encoded within his memory for future reference ;) Sorry for the slow updates – I’ve been working nights and weekends to try to get stuff done at work so my love has suffered xx

Chapter 7 – Come and Go
What in Merlin’s name was she thinking? He wasn’t a medical professional. He hadn’t been trained to deal with people in such a way. And yet she’d disrobed for him as though he was, as though she was simply on one of her many visits to St Mungo’s. He’d acquiesced despite his obvious reservations, and he’d performed the assessment as required.
But the intensity.
Her steps falter, stumbling a little as she rushes toward her room, shivery sparks still flickering across her skin in the wake of his touch.
He’d demanded that she leave, tension drawing out the broad lines of his back as she’d quickly dressed and escaped without a word. But she’d seen it in his eyes, in the rare flush of his skin before he’d turned away. He’d been as shocked as she.
This, however, wasn’t the first intimate moment they’d shared. Admittedly the others had been with him in various states of semi-consciousness. He’d told her earlier that he’d remembered—clearly he hadn’t remembered everything.
She pulls open her door and steps through before flinging it shut, eyelids falling closed, head tipping back as she draws a shuddering breath. Her fingers instantly seek out that nipple—the one that had awakened with barely a whisper of his warm caress over its silken covering. Even now, through the many layers, it strains—hard and hopeful. As though it has a chance. As though it hadn’t been abandoned long ago, along with the rest of her womanhood, in favour of a tenuous sanity.
Perhaps her body still remembers the past. After all, he’d had this effect upon her before. Those many years ago as a teenager, alone in her final year after her friends had moved on, she had felt something for him. After hundreds of hours of watching him, worrying about him, fighting for him—she had imagined some sort of connection.
He’d rejected her, screaming out his anguished fury. And for her throbbing humiliation she’d put her feelings down to a sad crush—arising from her desperate need to be needed.
And he had needed her—it was manifest in the desperation of his fierce grip, the constant recitation of his fevered gratitude, the way he’d sought her hands out with his soft lips as she’d stroked the damp hairs from his face.
Whilst he hadn’t really been there most of the time, and she’d never really been sure of whether he knew who she was, he’d nevertheless touched her—and made her touch him.
The thought stirs her again and she squeezes her damp thighs together as the ache builds.
But that was the past. Things are very different between them now. He has been downright awful and she resents him for it . . . at least she should. But there are moments—like that in the forest when his guard drops, when the vulnerability returns and she sees him as she did.
And then there was the ‘examination’. She wasn’t imagining it. It was overwhelmingly intimate—more than it should have been. But perhaps this was her doing—a normal human exchange, unnaturally warped and amplified by her need to be cared for, to receive the tenderness she has craved. Perhaps she is simply cramming her wilting hope into yet another vessel, expecting a positive outcome no matter how unlikely, crafting another misguided attachment.
Indeed, after today, it is more than likely that there will be no more. He’d ordered her out. Again. Perhaps he was already conceding that she was beyond help, that he could do nothing for her, that she was destined to rot here in this cupboard, collapsing upon herself until she imploded into nothingness.
***
Severus turns to grasp the firm edge of his desk. He needs the reassurance, the familiarity of the smooth, unyielding grain beneath his fingertips. Hanging his head, drawing similarly from the solid stonework below his feet, he attempts to reconcile the powerful sensations that now surge as deeply and heavily as a heartbeat.
He can’t remember the last time this happened. Not, at least, since his violent and deadly encounter with that vile reptile. He might be one of the only people to survive its bite but the toll it had taken had been immense.
His free hand slides up to his crotch, grasping the organ that has existed for years in a perpetual state of despondent dormancy. Rock hard—excruciatingly so. Not only that, but it flexes brazenly within his fist, as though taunting him for his assumptions. He continues to roll his fingers down its broad contours, shocked and fascinated at its inexplicable rise from the dead.
But is it truly inexplicable?
Responsive didn’t come close to capturing her. Her fine, porcelain skin had quivered, shuddering in anticipation of his touch, prickling and pebbling upon the slightest graze. But it had been her breathy vocalisations, bursting unbidden from her chest that had stirred him most deeply. That and the agonised furrow of her brow which had betrayed her swelling arousal, even beyond the sensory extremes she was clearly enduring. And even now the memory jolts him, forcing more blood into his throbbing member until he has no choice but to release it.
Pushing himself back from the desk, he fumbles with the button, the straining weight of his cock making it difficult to manipulate. With a frustrated growl, he flicks his hand, releasing both the button and fly magically before thrusting down his boxer shorts and finally settling a swathe of warm skin upon his emancipated member.
He shudders at his own touch and is forced to prop one hand on the desk once more to steady himself. It’s as though his cardiovascular system has not accounted for this eventuality. As though it is no longer capable of providing sufficient blood to supply both his cock and brain at once. Snorting, he realises he is just admitting that he’s a man.
Gently, he drags his fist along his length, a faltering groan escaping him as he is suddenly overwhelmed by the flood of pure pleasure that almost drives him to his knees. He had forgotten this. Or had suppressed it . . . for the sake of accepting a misery that he could not alter.
Applying a little more pressure, he works the base, massaging the seam on the underside as he slides the tight skin back and forth. Closing his eyes, he instantly finds her there—in his mind’s eye. His thumb is hovering over her nipple. He’s unsure of whether to go there. But its contours suddenly firm beneath the sheer material, even before he’s arrived. And he dabs at it, just the briefest meeting. But she writhes as though branded. He is swamped by the heady blend of her full, parted lips, the blush high on her cheekbones and her scent . . . even he can smell it . . . that sweet, musky aroma of female arousal. Again, something he has enjoyed precious little of in too long.
His cock is leaking. He feels the sticky secretions coating his fingers as he rolls over the contours of his firm helmet. He lingers there, rubbing and squeezing rhythmically, and suddenly it becomes her mouth, her lips, dragging at him, drawing him into her. His head pitches forward, his hand suddenly needing to jerk more forcefully, harder and faster.
Sliding his grip around so that his palm is wrapped around the base, his long fingers encircling the top, he begins stroking furiously, his breaths coming in audible wheezes as he feels his balls, after years of hibernation, begin their momentous ascent.
Almost delirious with the pent up need for sexual expression, with the explosive reignition of his power as a man, he releases a guttural roar as, after a final flurry of tugs, his balls erupt, shuddering and convulsing as they eject, in violent bursts, years of viscous release—a torrent escaping in dramatic surges across his desk. His hips buck as his fist continues to jerk, forcing out further creamy spurts until he’s completely drained, his knuckles draped in thick strings of warm seed.
Gasping, he gazes in wonder at the fruits of his labour. The entire desk is splattered with his glistening signature, one that he’d given up on ever producing again. It might be a fucking mess, but he couldn’t be more relieved.
Except that he must now face the fact that he’s been furiously flogging himself over a young woman’s debilitating neurological condition. And it’s not just any woman, but the one he’d spurned all those years ago . . . and done his best to make feel as unwelcome as possible since her arrival.
Grasping the desk with both hands, he props himself on outstretched arms, chin sinking toward his chest as he tries to regulate his breathing.
He really does want to help her. And whilst recent events might not reflect that, they have afforded him a certain clarity of thought. He has an idea.
***
Toiletries bag in hand, she quietly opens the door and nudges her head out. All clear. Noiselessly securing the latch, she begins her slippered creep up the corridor. She can barely hear herself so there is absolutely no chance that he can—
“Miss Granger?”
Spinning around, she falls against the wall with a wince. He is standing in his doorway, dark and composed, hand grasping the door handle.
“Oh, Professor . . . Did you need to use the toilet again? I can wait.” She presses her palms against the cold stone as he appraises her with his increasingly disconcerting gaze.
“No. My plumbing has been fixed.”
She nods slowly but notices his eyes flicker downward momentarily before he turns his head away. If she didn’t know better, she’d interpret it as . . . embarrassment.
But then she catches it. A scent . . . ever so faint. He’d obviously Scourgified, and perhaps even washed, but it was definitely there. He’d ejaculated . . . recently. Is that what he’d meant by his plumbing being—
“You won’t be joining us for dinner?” he inquires, pulling the door closed.
“No . . . I can’t.” She falters, still unsure of what to make of her discovery.
“No doubt.” He nods. “It seems that we have our work cut out for us, doesn’t it?”
“Does it?”
He frowns. “I would say so. Your condition is extreme. The solution is clearly elusive or you would have discovered something before now. And it’s possible that any therapy will need to be of an equivalent intensity or duration to combat the refractory nature of your affliction.”
The relief that floods her makes her feel distinctly teary. So he hadn’t given up.
“Where do we start?” she rasps.
“I have a few . . . ideas.”
She looks up as he steps forward, having to crane her neck to keep focused on his face. The familiar odour of male sex overwhelms her and she finds her body responding . . . again. Dropping her eyes, she admonishes herself, wishing she had just a modicum of control over it.
“Such as?” she whispers.
“Calcium.”
Calcium? But he leaves the word hanging, striding away quickly before dissolving into the darkness.
- 6
- 7
- 8
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Sense and Insensibility *Complete*

Sense and Insensibility Complete