For the Potions Master\'s Amusement

For the Potions Master’s Amusement

Chapter 12: Anti-Climax


‘Close your eyes,’ he whispered into her hair, and she felt the blindfold being removed. She pressed her face into his neck, shivering in reaction. The concert of sensations and emotions through which he led her upon each meeting touched on the edge of overwhelming her—but that particular edge was becoming her favourite place in the universe, so she did not protest. She knew without a doubt that he would protect her and look after her—that he wanted to do it, just as much as she wanted it done—and that knowledge permitted her to sag, spent and peaceful, in his capable arms.

She felt the weave of the blanket against her skin as he wrapped her in it, his arms about her. There were no sounds in the study, save for the crackling of the fire in the hearth and the ticking of the clock upon the mantelpiece. Hermione cracked her eyes open experimentally and squinted a bit from the light of the oil lamp overhead. When her eyes focussed, she saw his midnight eyes, pupils indistinguishable from the inky irises, watching her intently.

‘Ought I to call you “Master”, now?’ she asked softly.

A slightly startled expression touched him before his usual passive mask dropped again, and he shifted his gaze to the impenetrable darkness of the glass wall. ‘No,’ he responded evenly. ‘A submissive has only one Master. It is a very close, intimate relationship, often exclusive. I am your mentor; you may even say that I am your Dominant, but it would be entirely inappropriate to the relationship we now have for you to call me “Master”.’

He spoke in a gentle, borderline classroom lecturing tone, but he was not scolding or reproving; he was instructing. Even so, Hermione felt slightly rebuffed … rejected. ‘Is it because you’re my teacher?’ she asked in a tiny voice, her gaze now fastened upon the green blanket.

‘No,’ he replied. ‘Certainly, the relationship we have now is entirely inappropriate between a teacher and student—that is not news to you, Hermione, is it?’

She shook her head once.

‘I ought never to have begun this with you, but as we have discussed, I was drawn to your submissive behaviour and your response to me.’ His fingertips stroked over her cheek, tucking a hank of bushy hair behind her ear, drawing her eyes back to his. ‘The Dominant craves the interaction as much as the submissive does, remember?’

She nodded, feeling her hurt dissolving beneath the warmth of his eyes upon hers.

‘Stress increases our need,’ he said, almost as if to himself. ‘We are, both of us, living through a stressful time …’

She worked her hand free of the blanket and cupped his cheek. ‘You had just returned from … a difficult encounter that night at Grimmauld Place, in the kitchen,’ she said, and he did not deny it. ‘Have you ever mentored a student before?’

Gently but definitely, he removed her hand from his face. ‘Perhaps we will discuss my experience as a Dominant at some point,’ he said, ‘but for now, it’s getting late.’

Hermione’s glance flew to the clock. ‘Oh, but it’s only eight o’clock!’ she protested, resting her cheek against him again. ‘Hours before curfew.’

He straightened in his chair, his posture becoming stiff, his lap, less welcoming. ‘Hermione,’ he said, his voice still gentle, but with an underlying tone of warning, ‘it is important for you to learn to accept the boundaries I put in place for you. It is as much a part of your training as the punishments and the pleasure.’

Swallowing her disappointment as well as she could, she sat up, too, sitting like an upright wooden puppet upon his suddenly inhospitable knee. ‘I could probably climax again,’ she said, wondering if he could be sidetracked.

He chuckled and nudged her to her feet, immediately following suit. ‘I am sure you could,’ he said, the sexual purr in his tone drawing her hopeful gaze to his face, ‘but I am afraid I am expected elsewhere this evening, and I will have to save that treat for another time.’

Hermione pressed her lips tightly together to prevent herself from blurting out anything unfortunate. Another date with that Taffy cow? After all but fucking her?

How could he?

Blindly, she turned away from him, allowing the blanket to fall from her shoulders as she headed for the door.

‘Hermione,’ he said, and this time his voice held the unmistakeable tone of reproof.

Oh, how she wanted to fling herself out of this room and never return! How she wanted to turn and scream her hurt and rage into his hateful face!

Her eyes closed against the threat of tears, and her head sagged. She did not want to draw his wrath upon her again—did not want to spend an uncomfortable week fretting over whether or not she could win his forgiveness. She turned slowly said, “Yes, sir?’ staring at her feet.

‘Look at me,’ he commanded, and when she had raised reluctant eyes to him, he continued. ‘You are experiencing a natural reluctance to leave me,’ he said. ‘You lay down your will and submit yourself to me, you receive your reward, and together we enjoy quiet time afterwards. It is a perfectly understandable desire for you to want to stay—don’t be upset with yourself for feeling the way you do. But it is necessary to begin to discipline yourself to accept the fact that there will be an end to every encounter.’

Hermione heard his words and knew they were true, but it didn’t make her feel better. He understood how she was feeling and why better than she did, but he wouldn’t let her stay—he would rather be in Hogsmeade with the stupid bint from the apothecary shop—so she refused to be disarmed by his words. She didn’t care how perceptive he was—what she wanted was for him to prefer to spend the evening with her, rather than Taffy-the-slag.

She nodded once, to signify comprehension, and did not speak.

‘I see,’ he said, his icy tone indicating his displeasure with her response. ‘Then you may go.’

Hermione turned from him and fled into the office without speaking another word. She snatched her robes from beneath his desk and hurried down the dark dungeon corridor. She was in turmoil. Every time she was with him, all it did was make her want more. He was like a drug to which she was becoming addicted—a drug for which she had no guaranteed supply—and it was driving her mad.

She climbed the stairways up to the seventh floor, making and discarding plan after plan for avenging herself against her professor, until she was before the portrait of the Fat Lady—but Hannah Abbot was standing there, and she turned to Hermione excitedly.

‘Hermione!’ she cried. ‘It’s the prefect’s night out with the teachers!’ she said. ‘Professor McGonagall sent me to find you!’

‘I forgot!’ Hermione said.

Hannah looked her up and down. ‘I see that,’ she said. ‘What do you want me to tell McGonagall?’

‘Apologise to her and say I’ll be right there,’ Hermione promised, giving the password and bolting through the portrait hole.

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Ten frantic minutes later, she slid across the entrance hall, dressed in clean, tight blue jeans and a vee-necked jumper without its usual high-necked tee-shirt underneath.

‘Sorry, Professor,’ she told her glaring Head of House as she fastened her heavy cloak. The other seventh-year prefects were gathered with Professors McGonagall and Flitwick for their monthly night out. It was meant to be a reward for service and an opportunity to discuss any problems away from the school. They usually went down to the village and had a Butterbeer or two in the Three Broomsticks—and with any luck, Professor Snape would be there with Taffy. Hermione meant to be as much of a distraction as possible.

The eight students walked down the road to the village, Malfoy and Parkinson holding themselves somewhat aloof from the others, their heads close as they whispered together. Hermione chatted freely with Professor Flitwick, her spirits soaring from depressed and angry to excited and reckless. She led the way into the Three Broomsticks, cheerfully calling a greeting to Madam Rosmerta as her eyes raked the room for her prey—there, with his blue-eyed, sweet-faced admirer—then she led the way to a large table, directly past the table hosting Professor Snape and Taffy-the-shop-girl.

‘Good evening, Professor Snape,’ McGonagall said coldly as she swept past his table.

Hermione, who had taken the seat with the best possible view of Professor Snape and his companion, was delighted to see the pained expression upon his face as he returned his colleague’s greeting.

‘Good evening, Severus,’ Professor Flitwick exclaimed in his squeaky voice. ‘And hello, Miss Smith,’ he added, stopping to bow to Snape’s companion. ‘It’s a lovely night to pop out for a bit of a nightcap, wouldn’t you say?’

Hermione couldn’t hear Taffy’s reply, but she saw Professor Snape’s sour expression, and it filled her with joy. They were crashing his date! She couldn’t have been happier.

Professor Flitwick joined the prefects and Professor McGonagall at their table, and the lot of them gave their drinks orders to the slightly harassed looking barmaid. Hermione ordered honey mead, which was a bit stronger than her usual Butterbeer, but she was feeling a bit wild, and frankly, she didn’t care.

From that point forward, she was the life of the party. Hermione had never been a social butterfly nor a flirt, but she made a point of joking with Ron and Ernie Macmillan and flirting outrageously with a surprised, but gratified, Anthony Goldstein. Professor Flitwick, accepting and gracious, enjoyed Hermione’s high spirits, but Professor McGonagall seemed a bit taken aback, and Hannah and Padma Patil spent their time talking to one another and ignoring Hermione’s antics. Malfoy and Parkinson sat at the far end of the table, responding politely when spoken to by one of the teachers, but otherwise keeping to themselves.

Even when she was standing to lean across the table and laughingly place the umbrella from Professor Flitwick’s drink in Anthony’s Butterbeer bottle, Hermione kept a close watch on Professor Snape from the corner of her eye. She was delighted to note that his sour look did not abate, and every time her laughter rang out, his look of dark displeasure slid to her face. She was careful not to meet his gaze, for she knew that one admonitory shake of his head would have put an end to tonight’s entertainment; she would not have openly courted his annoyance, after all. But at this point in their relationship, there were no rules for her conduct outside of his study, other than his terse command that she was not to follow him when he left the castle. Well, this scarcely counted in that category, did it? She was Head Girl; it was her duty to attend these functions, which were clearly recorded on the teachers’ master calendar; if he forgot and brought his so-called date to the pub where the prefects were holding their monthly meeting, what fault was that of hers?

Besides, she felt giddy with power, knowing she was keeping her professor trapped in his seat. He would never have the nerve to leave the pub with his slag whilst a tableful of colleagues and students watched him.

Would he?

At half-ten, Professor McGonagall made noises about ending the outing, but Hermione had just successfully lured Professor Flitwick into a non-magical game of darts, and the excitable little Charms teacher was not at all eager to leave. ‘You go ahead, Minerva,’ he squeaked. ‘I’ll see Hermione safely back—and anyone else who wishes to stay and witness our contest!’

Unsurprisingly, all of the girls left with McGonagall, as did Malfoy; Anthony and Ernie stayed behind to watch the game, and Ron stayed behind to watch over Hermione, a scowl on his freckled face.

‘You’ve had too much to drink,’ he hissed at her when Professor Flitwick scurried forward to retrieve his darts. ‘Why are you acting like this?’

‘I’m fine, Ron,’ she insisted, noting the sardonic look on Professor Snape’s face as he observed their whispered conversation.

Professor Snape chose that moment to rise from his seat, courteously assisting his shop girl to place her cloak about her shoulders. Hermione noted angrily that the other woman was taller than she, with a narrower waist, and a flash of pure hatred pulsed through her.

‘Leaving so soon, Severus?’ Professor Flitwick called good-naturedly across the room.

Hermione could almost hear the professor’s teeth grind as he turned back to Flitwick. ‘It is quite late, Filius—perhaps you should conduct the students back to the castle?’

Flitwick chuckled. ‘I am engaged in a contest of skill with Hermione,’ he explained, holding the darts aloft. ‘We are playing without magic, you know—care for a flutter?’

Hermione waited breathlessly for Snape to say something devastatingly brutal about her skill, but he did not.

‘I must see Miss Smith home, Professor,’ he said. ‘Perhaps another time.’

Hermione felt her blood boil. He was doing it! In spite of all her efforts, he was leaving the pub to go home with that … that slut! She was torn between rage and a sick, twisting feeling in her stomach, and in a blinding flash, just as the pub door closed behind the departing figures of her professor and his companion, she recognised the emotion: She was jealous.

Bloody hell!

She was so distracted by her epiphany that she lost all concentration in her game of darts, and the agile, precise Professor Flitwick easily defeated her.

‘Better luck next time, my dear,’ he said cheerfully as he herded his charges out onto the dark road. ‘It was a delightful idea—I can’t remember when I’ve enjoyed an outing more.’

Ron and Ernie talked with Flitwick as they walked, their discussion of the dart match flowing quite naturally into a discussion of the Quidditch season at Hogwarts, but Anthony hung back a bit to walk with Hermione. She eyed him nervously, wondering why she had thought it would be a good idea to flirt with him so outrageously.

Within three minutes she was sincerely sorry she had done it. ‘I’m sorry, Anthony,’ she said, lying desperately, ‘but I already have plans for the next Hogsmeade weekend—maybe another time.’

Anthony, emboldened by what he must have perceived as a clear indication of interest on her part, next attempted to slide his arm around her as they walked along. Hermione jumped away from him, instinctively batting his arm down, which angered him.

‘What’s the problem with you, Granger?’ he demanded angrily. ‘I’d never heard you were a tease.’

‘I do hate to disrupt this touching scene,’ a silky voice proclaimed from behind them, ‘but perhaps you could upbraid Miss Granger at a later time, Goldstein.’

Hermione could not see Anthony’s face, but she imagined he would have been flushed angrily at being caught out in this situation by the least sympathetic teacher in all of Hogwarts. With an indistinct mutter, Anthony strode away from her, easily catching up with Ron, Ernie, and Professor Flitwick. Hermione tried to fight down the elation which had surged through her when she heard Snape’s voice—he hadn’t stayed with Taffy! He had come away! She had achieved her objective!

‘I ought to have let him tell you what you deserved to hear,’ Professor Snape said, taking Anthony’s place, striding along at her side. ‘You encouraged him shamelessly.’

Hermione thought it would be best not to answer. She had no defence for what she had done to Anthony.

‘Are you pleased with yourself?’ he asked conversationally.

She sensed that she was on dangerous ground. ‘Sir?’ she said, infusing her voice with just the right amount of confusion.

‘Don’t try the innocent act on me,’ he advised her in a mild tone. ‘Any untruth—any half-truth—would be discovered and punished, you know.’ He glanced down at her in the dark, his expression unreadable. ‘I would advise you to be honest.’

Hermione bit her lip, feeling her elation drain away, wondering what the punishment would be for crashing the date of one’s Dominant with another woman.

‘Well?’ he asked again, this time his voice whipping over her.

‘I was pleased,’ she said, ‘but now, I’m not.’

‘We shall discuss it,’ he said. ‘My study, tomorrow afternoon, directly after lunch.’

He was going to let her come back to see him so soon? Perhaps he would touch her—spank her—finger her—anything he did to her in his study would be wonderful, and it would be very, very personal. ‘Yes, sir!’ she breathed, almost happy again.

‘I would not celebrate too soon if I were you,’ he said icily, and he lengthened his stride, passing her by and joining Professor Flitwick on the road back to Hogwarts.

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A/N: Wow, that felt like a long time between updates! Did you miss me? I missed you, I promise you! Please let me know what you think of the progression of their relationship!