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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
- 8
- 9
- 10
A/N: OO – ‘She out Slytherined the Slytherin’ – Hahah – I like that. A woman after my own heart. ‘Anti-hero’ – just about. Has he undone all the good quite yet? Probably. Dirty OO – she’s a pretty powerful force, will she get her way? And if not, what of the consequences? Then again, empathy OO is just as tenacious – I’m not game to put bets on who will win out here. :)
Alexa – It is tricky – I agree. Can they come together in a believable way? I’ll be interested to get the commentary on whether it is possible, beginning with this chapter. As you say, Hermione’s not a push-over. What will it take? And does he have what it takes? I love your thoughts – keep them coming!
Alil – I understand that it is a close call but please keep trusting me! A cruise around the Med? Nice for some! ;) Well of course I’m insanely jealous but will keep up a supply of reading for your return, M’lady. :P
MzPearlz – I love your spaz out over Sev’s antics. ‘I'm also not sure if Ginny will be able to go near him after our fiery Gryffindor gets her paws in him’ – I think you may be right. She will take some convincing but if it happens, she’s unlikely to let him go. Feel free to get stolen away for as long as you like. As long as you come back :)
Lurking Reader – I agree that both of their behaviours need to improve if this is going to go anywhere. ‘Swear I am waiting for at least one cat fight in this story because of snape's actions’ – hahah, yes that is a distinct possibility. He doesn’t seem to be being too careful about it either. ;)

Chapter 9 – Indecadence
They were sitting as far apart as physically possible in Parsons’ office. In fact, Snape’s legs were practically folded against the wall in an attempt to turn his back on her. Hermione stared intently at a blank page of her diary for no other reason than to ignore him. Parsons was late.
Even though a weekend had passed between the moment Snape had snapped his blinds closed and Hermione had subsequently slammed her door, the tension hadn’t defused one iota. Both were desperate to have the meeting over and to get down to the business of silently loathing one another from the comfort of their own offices.
Snape exhaled noisily and Hermione had to stop herself from looking, determined not to acknowledge his existence in any way. Flipping through a blur of pages, she pretended to search for something. Was Parsons making them wait on purpose? He was more than aware that they didn’t get along, especially after catching Snape demanding that she ‘get the fuck out of his office.’ But Hermione hadn’t been Parsons’ favourite person since her remarks after the troll incident—and her further cynical comments after the outcome of the troll investigation had exonerated him. Hermione crossed her legs and twisted away from the dark form that seethed out the corner of her eye. If Parsons was trying to punish her, it was proving more than effective. She could barely breathe in Snape’s presence—she wanted to give him nothing.
“Jolly good, you’re both here!” Parsons blustered into the office, jowls shuddering in the aftermath of his announcement.
Neither answered.
Parsons squeezed his portly form behind his desk and sat, clearing his throat as he clasped his hands enthusiastically. “So . . . you’re both probably wondering why I’ve called you to this meeting?”
Hermione still found no way to respond. It was rhetorical after all. He was always rhetorical.
“Well . . . I have an exciting proposition for you.” His piggy eyes flickered between them as his rubbery lips curled into a self-satisfied grin.
Hermione returned his look with an equivalent one of dread.
“I understand that you’ve both made progress on your investigations and that there may be some . . . overlap?”
More silence. Hermione chewed her lip. Snape’s foot twitched.
“So . . . I propose a collaboration.” Parsons jiggled in his seat and gave a good-natured wink. “An opportunity to work together. To establish exactly what we’re dealing with here.”
“What sort of collaboration?” Hermione asked in a flat voice, her eyes almost reaching Snape but retreating just in time.
“I was thinking of some sort of . . . field trip.” Parsons inclined his head. “Yes. We need you out there, investigating in person. I understand that the data coming in is ambiguous to say the least. I’m confident that two bright, talented minds together should be able to work out what’s going on.”
Snape made a strange strangled noise, before clearing his throat. “With respect Mr Parsons, I fail to see how we are going to improve upon the data gathered from those qualified to undertake field investigations.”
“Oh, nonsense.” Parsons swatted a pudgy hand at him. “There’s something going on out there. You know it and I know it. You have enough knowledge and experience between the two of you to hunt down the evidence we need to tackle this problem.”
“And by ‘this problem’, I’m guessing you mean the possibility of a dark beast uprising?” Hermione’s voice rose in shaky consternation. “You want the two of us to go after an unknown number of creatures that may be looking to perpetrate the largest rebellion since Voldemort?”
“Precisely.” Parsons levelled his eyes at her.
“And who will be accompanying us—for protection?”
Parsons snorted, his bushy eyebrows shooting up in surprise. “Only one of the most powerful wizards in the world!” He nodded towards Snape. “The man who single-handedly took down a troll. If that’s not protection, I don’t know what is!”
“Forgive me if that doesn’t fill me with optimism,” Hermione muttered down at her diary, feeling nauseous. The heat of Snape’s gaze was singeing her but she ignored him.
“So we’re decided then!” Parsons stood as though the conversation were finished.
“When is this field trip to take place?” Snape’s voice was low and tight.
“It shouldn’t take more than a couple of days to get yourselves ready.” Parsons squeezed out from behind his desk and stood between them. “There’s equipment in the store room, just take what you need.”
“Equipment?” Hermione frowned up at him.
“Yes—tents, sleeping bags and whatnot. There might even be a camping stove in there I think.”
Snape’s jaw worked convulsively. “And how long do you expect this ‘field trip’ to take?”
“Oh, at least a week or two I would think.” Parsons started towards the door.
“A week or two?” Both Snape and Hermione cried in unison, lurching up from their seats.
Parsons turned back, bafflement contorting his doughy face. “You are both committed to your roles at the Ministry aren’t you?” He peered at the two of them, his eyebrows sinking like two furry slugs over his beady eyes, his intense displeasure evident.
“Yes, Mr Parsons,” Hermione murmured.
Snape simply grunted and crossed his arms.
Parsons scrutinized them for a moment longer before lowering his voice. “I do hope so. I’d hate to think that I misjudged your . . . aptitude . . . for these roles.”
As Parsons turned and waddled out, Hermione felt the air clotting around her until she could barely draw breath. Finally, she raised her eyes to glare at Snape. And if looks could kill, she decided that they both would have toppled simultaneously onto the floor of Parsons’ office. As it was, she simply left him to burn, turning on her heel and storming out. She would give him a day to quit. If he didn’t, she would.
***
“I don’t get it.” Ginny stretched a leg and hooked it over the back of Hermione’s couch where she lay, watching Hermione slamming around her kitchenette like a pinball.
“There’s nothing to ‘get’,” Hermione huffed, stuffing onions and potatoes into a bag before storming back to her pantry.
“So is he going to quit?” Ginny dropped a handful of peanuts into her mouth.
“No.”
“Are you?”
“Obviously not, otherwise I wouldn’t be packing, would I?”
Ginny shrugged, taking a sip of wine.
“So what’re you going to do?”
Hermione rammed a number of cans into the bag before propping an agitated hand on her hip. “I’m going to freeze my arse off trekking around the desolate moors of Scotland whilst trying to avoid being attacked by dark beasts, the scariest of all being my traveling companion whom I will have my wand trained upon at all times, ready to hex off his fucking balls.”
“So the ‘sorting’ didn’t work?” Ginny sat up, pulling her knees to her chest.
“No, Ginny,” Hermione snapped. “I’m afraid I didn’t manage to infuse any humanity into the man for your future fucking pleasure. He’s an animal.”
“Mmmm, he sure his,” Ginny murmured.
“And not in a good way,” Hermione threw over her shoulder as she pulled cutlery from a drawer.
“You’re probably not going to want the present I brought for you then.” Ginny swallowed another mouthful of wine.
“That depends.” Hermione grabbed a bowl and plate from an overhead cupboard.
“On?”
“On whether the present is some sort of impotence potion for the man without an ounce of self-control.”
“Actually.” Ginny raised an eyebrow. “That’s surprisingly close.”
Hermione snatched up her wine glass and downed half of it in two long swallows on her way into the lounge room.
“So what is it?”
Ginny chewed her lip as she took in her friend’s flushed cheeks and wild hair. “I’m not sure I want to tell you. Not with the mood you’re in.”
Hermione flopped down on the couch beside her, brushing away the wine that had slopped onto her lap. “If it’s going to help me survive, I want to know what it is.”
“I thought it might . . . but now I’m not so sure.”
Hermione swiveled around to face Ginny. “Out with it. I’m leaving tomorrow.”
Ginny paused, clearly still uncertain, but then she pushed her glass onto the coffee table and reached for her bag. Dipping into the contents, she pulled out a small blue bottle and handed it to Hermione.
“So this is the impotence potion is it?” Hermione held the bottle up to the light, turning it slowly.
“Ummm . . . not quite. It’s more like an Amortentia potion.”
Hermione frowned. “You want to give Snape a love potion?”
“It’s not for him,” Ginny replied weakly.
It took a moment for her words to sink in. And then Hermione exploded. “No!” she cried, throwing the bottle down onto the couch. “You want me to fall in love? With that bastard?”
“It’s not a love potion, Hermione. It’s an Amory potion—lust.”
“Lust? That’s worse! You want me to lust after the most indiscriminate asshole on the planet? The man who has slept with over half the women in London?”
Ginny sighed. “I told you it wasn’t a good time to give it to you.”
“And when would be a good time? When would be the ideal time for me to fuck the most disgusting, depraved person I have ever had the misfortune of interacting with?”
“Just pretend I didn’t give it to you.” Ginny retrieved the bottle. “I should go.”
“No. Answer me.” Hermione clamped her hand around Ginny’s wrist. “What is this really for?”
Ginny pressed her lips together before flicking her red hair out of her eyes. “If you must know, we thought it was the best way for you to sort him . . . And for him to sort you.”
“Wait a minute.” Hermione’s fingers tightened. “Who’s we?”
“Let go of me,” Ginny sighed.
Hermione’s jaw was set, she didn’t want the redhead to leave until she’d answered her questions.
“‘Mione.”
Reluctantly, Hermione released her with a disparaging flick.
Ginny grabbed Hermione's hand, holding it in both of hers. “Don’t hate me ‘Mione. Please?”
Hermione sighed. “If I was going to hate you, I would have done it long before now.”
Ginny’s mouth curled into a small smile before she suddenly turned serious. “He’s an asshole—undoubtedly. But when I was with him, I got the sense that he’s really fucked up.”
“No kidding,” Hermione groaned wearily. “We’ve already had this conversation.”
“And I thought . . . “ Ginny continued. “He just needs someone to love him. Someone demanding and . . . possessive . . . so he wouldn’t dare wander again.”
Hermione’s mouth dropped open but Ginny jumped in before she could explode again.
“Hermione, that’s you! You could keep him on the straight and narrow.”
“And why would I want to?” Hermione was incredulous.
“Because . . . because . . . I don’t know anyone else who’s smart enough for you.” Ginny threw up a hand in exasperation.
Hermione’s brow creased in confusion. “What are you talking about?”
“’Mione,” Ginny sighed. “You don’t fuck anyone because you think they’re too stupid to bother with.”
“I never said that!” Hermione pulled her hand from Ginny’s grasp.
“Well, you did actually.” Ginny crossed her arms. “More than once.”
Hermione huffed. Unfortunately she did remember saying that. And it was sort of true. But it made her sound like a boring prude. She wasn’t. She just had . . . standards.
“But you told me you wanted me to ‘sort him’ so you could fuck him again.” Hermione’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“I wonder why?” Ginny cried. “If I told you that I thought you two were a perfect match it wouldn’t have gone down quite as well would it?”
Hermione rubbed her eyes with her fingers, she was getting a headache from talking about him. “So you still haven’t told me who ‘we’ is.”
“Oh.” Ginny’s eyes flickered away from Hermione’s. “We is myself . . . and . . . Draco.”
“What?!” Hermione jumped up. “Draco Malfoy?”
“Do you know any others? It’s not a particularly common name,” Ginny snapped back, tired of her friend’s outbursts.
“And why would Draco be involved in any of this?”
“Because he’s one of the best Potion brewers I know,” Ginny stated. “And . . . we happen to have a few common interests.”
“Ginny! How could you!” Hermione’s hand flew to her forehead as she started pacing rapidly back and forth.
“’Mione, I’m not going to have this conversation again,” replied Ginny angrily. “What I do in my private life is my business. I was just glad that Draco agreed to make the Amory potion using Snape’s . . . you know . . . stuff and so I . . . “
“Wait a fucking minute,” Hermione growled, turning on her. “What did you say? Using Snape’s what?”
Ginny gave her an exasperated look. “His come. Okay?”
“And I won’t ask where you got that from,” Hermione sneered.
“Whatever . . . anyway, the potion was made with good intentions.”
“Good fucking intentions? Draco Malfoy? Don’t make me laugh,” Hermione scoffed.
“So Draco’s intentions were slightly more selfish,” Ginny admitted. “He’s sick of Snape fucking everyone he fancies. He’s desperate for him to be out of the scene.”
“Hasn’t Draco got enough other desperate floozies hanging around?”
Ginny sighed, knowing full well who she was referring to. “Okay, I’m out of here.” She snatched up her bag. “I really don’t need this shit.”
“That makes two of us,” Hermione snapped. “I just don’t know why you think I even need a man. Let alone a man like Snape.”
“Because, my dear friend,” Ginny looked at her seriously, genuine concern on her face, “You are in desperate need of a damn good fucking.”
Then she headed for the door. “I know you don’t believe me but I really hope this trip works out.”
Before Hermione could ask what she meant by ‘works out’, Ginny had disappeared out the door.
***
As Severus trudged up to Hogwarts’ gate, his legs felt as though they were shackled to lead weights. He’d been back to the school on numerous occasions in recent years as a teacher and guest. But this time he’d been summoned—by Dumbledore himself. He’d managed to avoid the former Headmaster and his piercing scrutiny in the past. And Dumbledore hadn’t interfered, allowing him his unfettered freedom despite, no doubt, being aware of his circumstances. This particular intrusion, however, brought back too much, his chest now burdened with an uncomfortable heaviness that only Dumbledore could evoke.
From his arrival as a scrawny ‘Manc’ from Cokeworth, he’d revered Dumbledore as a mentor. And even upon his rise to the school’s most feared Professor—after shedding his uncertain demeanour in favour of confident authority, even after clipping and polishing the accent in order to erode his past—even then, at his most imposing, Dumbledore always had his measure, and the man knew it.
Minerva was at the gate to meet him.
“Severus. It’s good to see you.” Her indomitable Scottish brogue rolled over him. There was gentle concern in her voice, but it was more than that. Her alarm at seeing her former colleague in such a troubled state was evident, even to Snape himself.
“Minerva.” Severus nodded stiffly. “You’ve been well, I assume?”
“Yes, and you?”
“Well enough, I suppose,” he sighed. “Now, what’s this all about? I have work to attend to and cannot afford to spend more time here than necessary.”
Minerva was, as ever, expecting Severus’ typical prickliness when it came to Dumbledore, but he seemed more resigned and exhausted than annoyed. She kept her voice even, “Aye. Albus only asked me to collect you. After that, it is between you and he.”
“Fine,” Severus muttered. “Let’s get this over with, then. Shall we?”
As Minerva led Severus through the corridors, she noted that he no longer walked with the purposeful stride he once did, and found herself having to slow down to match his weary pace. She knew he didn’t enjoy revisiting the place that held such harsh, unforgiving memories. Within these walls, Severus was, in turns, bullied, neglected, unappreciated, feared, and ultimately reviled during the final year when he was headmaster under the Dark Lord. She couldn’t imagine how he was able to stomach the place, really.
“I wonder why you saw fit to escort me on this occasion. Am I not trusted?” Snape’s voice fluttered like the robes he’d chosen to wear, his baritone noticeably lighter.
“Of course not, Severus. I wished to accompany you as a courtesy.”
“I know she’s been here,” he continued, even more quietly. “I suspect you were the one who informed her of my . . . activities.”
Minerva halted and turned to him.
“If you are speaking of Miss Granger, then refer to her as such,” she responded levelly, her green eyes flashing. “Yes, she has been here. She inquired after you and I answered her questions . . . truthfully.”
“It wasn’t your place,” he ground out, black eyes matching hers in intensity. “To indulge such interference.”
“Interference?” She quickly looked around before lowering her voice. “This was, in fact, care. You may be surprised to know that there are some of us who still care what happens to you even if you don’t.”
Severus snorted. “She cares only for herself—and seeking out petty conquests to feed her monumental ego.”
“And that’s why she was so desperately concerned for you after the troll had all but dismembered your body was it?”
“Concerned?” he scoffed. “If she was so concerned where was she? Cowering with the rest?”
“She was right there. With you. Holding your hand the entire time,” Minerva rasped, her voice tight with emotion.
Severus frowned. “No, that was . . . “ He suddenly tailed off.
Minerva leaned toward him intently. “Aye, it seems you would prefer to believe the impossible than the truth that is looking you square in the face.”
Severus avoided her gaze, visibly shaken. “And rest assured, my lad, if it had been me in Miss Granger’s place the evening after she left here, being choked at your hand, you would no longer be in a position to continue your licentious ways.” She reached out and hooked a withered hand around his arm. “She’s a good lass. And as much as I love you, Severus, if anything happens to her on that trip, I will hold you personally responsible.”
With a gentle squeeze, she turned and hastily withdrew.
***
Severus’ mind was a whirling maelstrom of words and images. It was impossible to decipher real from imagined—and what was, in fact, the fodder of his vivid dreams—the ones from which he often awoke, face wet with sweat and tears. Dumbledore was the last person he wanted to see in that moment and yet he could no longer avoid it. Dredging a breath from the soles of his boots, he turned the door handle and stepped into the office.
“Severus.” Albus’ voice was soft but held the weight of many years. “So glad you could come.”
Severus was unable to respond. Instead he made his way to Minerva’s chair and sat, hands cradled between his knees.
“How have you been?” Dumbledore inquired.
“Is this what you brought me here for? An exchange of pleasantries?” Snape muttered, eyes downcast.
“In some ways, yes.” Albus replied gently. “I’m concerned about you.”
“How fortunate I am to have garnered such ‘concern,’” Severus ground out bitterly.
Dumbledore sighed. “Indeed, too little too late perhaps. I cannot tell you how much I regret . . . “
“Enough!” Snape hissed. “I didn’t come here to give you absolution. Or to stomach your excuses . . .”
“No, no excuses, Severus.” Dumbledore’s voice was placid, calming. “But a long, overdue apology for everything that happened between us . . . perhaps . . . ”
Severus’ head snapped up, eyes swimming with pain.
“—does your apology include the day when Potter and Black set me up so Lupin could rip me apart under the Whomping Willow? When I was nearly clawed to death by that fucking wolf, and ended up in the infirmary for two weeks? When you merely slapped them on the wrist for their actions, and I was told . . . no, ordered . . . to keep silent about it? Your precious marauders. You protected them. You treasured them. And what of me? A mere piece of trash from a poor milltown . . . Severus will get over it. Severus will keep silent . . . there’s a good boy, there’s our fucking whipping boy . . . ”
Dumbledore’s eyes filled with tears. He shook his head and gazed downward. So much pain. And from something that happened over thirty years ago. He had a feeling this was just the very tip of it, the finest thread unraveled from the coils of pain wrapped around Snape’s tortured soul.
“My dear boy,” Dumbledore slowly started. “Please tell me what I can do to help you. You’re in pain. It’s evident. What can I do to help?”
“It’s too late, “Snape rasped, his outburst having left his throat constricted. “Whatever has happened between us . . . is done. It cannot be undone. And my decisions and choices now are my own. No one is master over me. Not anymore.”
“But, Severus, please truly think about this. You are hardly the master over your life. Not when it is you who is now inflicting so much harm upon yourself. You’ve become enslaved to your own whims, to your own unhealthy appetites . . . ”
“And so what if I am?” Severus growled. “At least, these are MY choices. Not yours, not the fucking Marauders, not that bastard Voldemort’s . . . these are MINE. My own!”
“And at what price?” Dumbledore asked softly.
Snape paused a moment, running his hand shakily though his hair. “I . . . I don’t know,” he whispered more to himself than to the portrait.
He thought back to what Minerva had told him. About the lies he’d been telling himself. It clearly wasn’t only he who was paying the price. He’d drawn numerous others into his wanton destruction.
At what price indeed.
He had fallen to such depths that he couldn’t see a way out. He wallowed in the filth of the living grave which he himself had dug. Not Dumbledore. Not the marauders. Not his parents. Not even the Dark Lord.
But he himself.
And he wanted out. So very fucking badly. So very fucking much.
He just couldn’t fathom how.
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Debaucery *Complete*

Debaucery Complete