For the Potions Master\'s Amusement

For the Potions Master’s Amusement

Chapter 13: Expectations


Hermione was startled and more than a little apprehensive when she exited the Great Hall after lunch on Sunday afternoon, only to be intercepted by Professor Snape.

‘Ah, Miss Granger,’ he said coldly, gliding up to her before she and the boys had set foot on the marble staircase, ‘you may come with me, now, to discuss your detention.’

Hermione swallowed her annoyance and glanced at Harry and Ron. ‘I’ll see you later in the common room,’ she murmured.

Harry glared at Snape. ‘I thought your appointment was at one o’clock,’ he said to Hermione without taking his eyes from his most hated teacher. ‘It’s just past noon.’

‘Now will be more convenient for me, Miss Granger,’ Snape reiterated, ignoring Harry completely. ‘You may play with your little friends later. I shan’t need you for long.’

Embarrassed and worried, Hermione turned from all three of them and stalked away to the dungeon staircase; she heard the sweep of Professor Snape’s robes upon the stone steps and knew that he was following her. She walked as quickly as she could, stubbornly wanting to reach his office door sooner than he did. Before she could touch the doorknob or turn to speak with him, the door swung open, and she entered. He swept past her, closing the door with a snap of his wrist, and sat at his desk.

Hermione shifted nervously from one trainer-clad foot to the other. She had intended to go to her room and wash and change into her skirt before coming down here, but he had corralled her whilst she was still wearing her jeans and jumper. Would he insist that she strip down again? She had already decided that if he ever asked that of her again, she would comply without argument, and she began to steel herself for it.

‘Sit down, Miss Granger,’ he said, drawing her attention back to him.

He sat at his desk in full teaching regalia, as if this were not a Sunday, watching her with some impatience. Alarmed, Hermione sat in the chair he indicated.

‘I wished to catch you before you made any extensive preparations for our meeting this afternoon,’ he informed her. ‘I gave you very few instructions last night, and I have had more time to consider how I wish to proceed.’

He paused, watching her. Hermione tried to meet his gaze, but she was finding it difficult. Today, she did not seem to recognise him; he was neither her caring Dominant nor her sneering teacher. In fact, his detached, cool air filled her with misgiving. She was not sure how to respond to him, so she attempted to look attentive and remained silent.

His eyes were different today—like endless black tunnels which fell to an abyss. When he continued, he said, ‘For the purposes of our meeting today, the usual rules do not apply. You may enter, seat yourself, and speak freely. The only requirement is that you must remain respectful. Do you agree to these terms?’

Oh, this didn’t seem to be going well. Something was different—something had changed—and Hermione was not happy with that notion. Why couldn’t she find some solid ground with him?

‘Yes, Professor,’ she said, and the hidden doorway glowed green behind him.

‘You may enter,’ he said, and she obeyed him, crossing the room and choosing an armchair across from the sofa so that she could gaze out on the rippling green water through the glass window. She heard him enter, as well, and heard the rustle of fabric that usually meant he had removed his teaching robes. When he crossed before her, she saw she had been correct; he was now attired in his severe black coat and trousers. He sat down on the sofa, facing her, and she was found that she missed seeing him there in his more relaxed jumpers—the forest green one, perhaps. Everything seemed strange to her, and she didn’t like it at all.

He looked at her, the tip of one long finger tracing the contours of his thin lips. She endured his gaze, unsure of what was expected of her. She decided to wait to see what he would say. Deliberately, she took a deep breath and let it go, making a conscious effort to relax. She rested her hands loosely upon her thighs and waited.

When he spoke, his tone was musing. ‘Hermione, what do you expect of me?’

She started, not from surprise at the sound of his voice but from a bit of alarm at the question. Were submissives permitted to have expectations?

He continued, seemingly sincere in his request for information. ‘I have attempted to provide for you the things a submissive requires: structure, routine, discipline, pleasure, and a secure place in which to explore your needs and desires. Do you feel those objectives have been achieved?’

Hermione felt herself relax infinitesimally. This was an intellectual discussion. This was well within her comfort zone. She could easily take part in this dialogue.

‘Yes, sir; I do feel you have provided those things,’ she said softly, taking care to speak respectfully.

He nodded, as if he had expected this answer. ‘Then perhaps you could enlighten me,’ he said, and she was quick to detect the irony in his voice, ‘why you continually wish for more? Why you find it necessary to follow me from the castle, to make a spectacle of yourself for my benefit, and to attempt to interfere in my social life?’

The confidence which had begun to bloom just moments before leached from her as if she were a water balloon with a minute puncture. ‘I don’t know,’ she said, averting her eyes and twisting her hands together in her lap. She wasn’t about to tell him that she wished Taffy Smith did not exist.

‘Hermione,’ he said, his voice compelling her to meet his gaze. ‘This is your opportunity to share your thoughts with me,’ he pointed out. ‘You may speak freely to me now, and I would recommend that you do so—for it you do not, I will be forced to discontinue your training. I cannot assist you to meet your needs if I do not know what they are.’

One phrase from his statement snagged in her mind, like seaweed tangled in a bit of driftwood, and refused to be dislodged. I will be forced to discontinue your training. No! He couldn’t stop!

‘Sir!’ she gasped, suddenly on her knees at his feet. ‘Please—no!’

His dispassionate expression did not falter. ‘Please seat yourself,’ he said quietly, and the cool disinterest he displayed frightened her so much that tears began to track down her face.

She covered her eyes with her hands, wondering how things had got so bad so quickly. What could she say to him? What did he want to hear? She couldn’t bear the notion of going through her days without the bedrock of his presence in her life to anchor her. In a very short period of time, he had become more important to her well-being and her peace of mind than anyone else she knew.

His tone sharpened. ‘I will not tell you again to seat yourself, Hermione. Disregard of this request will count as flagrant disrespect.’

Snivelling, she pivoted and crawled back up into her chair, her arms crossing protectively over the burning fear in her chest.

He spoke again. ‘Think. What do you want from me that I am not providing to you?’

She was going to have to tell him—to speak her thoughts out loud, no matter how stupid they were—or he would put her out. ‘I can’t bear it when you send me away and go to be with her,’ she admitted brokenly. Oh, how foolish it sounded! Speaking the words aloud, she felt more ridiculous than she had ever thought Lavender was on her worst day.

‘Are you referring to Miss Smith?’ he asked evenly.

‘Yes,’ she said, swiping the rough weave of her jumper across her wet eyes.

The cool, smooth square of a linen handkerchief was pressed into her hands, and she took it gratefully. He stood over her, and she glanced up to see the faintest tinge of amusement in his eyes.

‘You would prefer not to know when I am to see Miss Smith,’ he said.

Hermione’s lower lip trembled. ‘I would prefer you not to see her at all,’ she said in a small but resolute voice.

‘You understand, do you not, Hermione, that you have no say in whom I choose to see?’

She sighed deeply. ‘Yes, sir,’ she answered after a moment. Her head came up, and she added, ‘Just as you have no say in whom I choose to see.’

He resumed his seat on the sofa. ‘Correct,’ he confirmed. He resumed his study of her face, and she took another swipe at it with his handkerchief, hoping she didn’t look too horrid. ‘What else, Hermione?’ he prodded. ‘These negotiations between a Dominant and a submissive are rare—you ought to take full advantage of it, for it will not happen again.’

Her heart skipped a beat at the warning in his tone, and she realised her time was running out. She might as well shoot for the moon while he was willing to listen to her.

‘I don’t like being sent away after being intimate with you,’ she said, squirming inside. This speaking of her innermost thoughts to him was distressing, and in some ways, far more personal than having his fingers in her quim. ‘I would like to stay with you longer, afterwards—until curfew.’

His eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head slightly. ‘What do you propose to do with this extra time?’ he inquired. ‘I do not have unlimited leisure time.’

Hermione leant towards him, feeling an opening and wanting to press forward with her advantage. ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said eagerly. ‘I could help you with your marking, or we could talk, or we could just sit by the fire and read …’

Her voice trailed off under the weight of his expressionless stare. Stupid, stupid! her inner voice railed at her. Why would he want to spend that kind of time with you?

‘Very well,’ he said quietly. ‘Any meetings I have with Miss Smith will not take place upon the same day when I have a meeting with you. In addition, you will be permitted to remain with me until your curfew on those nights when I spank you or make you come.’ His voice became quieter still, and she had to lean forward to hear him clearly. ‘I will make these two concessions to your needs, Hermione, because I take quite seriously my duty to see to your welfare—but I will require concessions from you in return.’

Yes? He said yes? She bounded from her chair, her exuberance carrying her across the space separating him, but the wall of his reserve stopped her at his knee, where she stood, beaming down at him idiotically.

‘Sit down,’ he said sternly, his serious demeanour unaffected by her delight.

‘Yes, sir,’ she murmured, sitting down again but unable to remove the fatuous grin from her face.

‘Your concessions with be as follows,’ he said, and Hermione instantly sobered, knowing that she would have to remember his words exactly if she wished to please him. ‘You will no longer have permission to masturbate and orgasm at the time of your choice. Your orgasms outside my presence will be under my control and will require my express permission. Is that clear?’

Hermione nodded, feeling slightly deflated. How, when she lived in Gryffindor Tower, was she supposed to get his permission to climax? By owl post?

‘You may request permission by writing in your journal,’ he said, as if reading her mind. ‘If you receive no response, the answer is “no”. If permission is granted, you will be able to read my answer in your journal.’

Her eyes widened. ‘You can write in my journal from down here?’ she asked. ‘I’ve never seen your handwriting in it before.’

‘Your journal will mirror my comments when I choose for it to do so,’ he informed her repressively. ‘In addition, I will occasionally give you special instructions for your day via your journal. It will be necessary for you to check it morning, noon, and night to be certain that you have not missed a communication from me.’ He lowered his eyes, and the sweep of his black lashes against his cheek struck her suddenly with incomprehensible desire. ‘Failure to complete an assignment, of course, will merit punishment.’

Hermione swallowed, her mouth now dry, and murmured her comprehension. She felt heat between her legs, and she shifted in her seat, all other rational thought deserting her. He glanced back at this, his pitiless black eyes piercing her like a laser, as if he were completely aware of her sudden flare of desire.

‘I have a book for you to read,’ he said, uttering the one phrase which might have distracted her successfully from the pulsing ache in her quim.

He stood and crossed to the bookshelf upon which he kept his twin to her journal, picking up a slim leather-bound book and returning to his place upon the sofa. ‘Come here,’ he said, his voice warming, now that their discussion was at an end.

Hermione gladly moved to sit beside him, taking the book he placed in her hands. She read the title:

The Sensuous Symmetry of Submission

By Master Maximus and t

‘I take it you’ve found precious little research material in the Hogwarts library,’ he said dryly.

‘Nothing at all about Dominance and submission,’ she answered, her attention riveted upon the book in her hands.

‘I have found this book quite instructive,’ he said. ‘In fact, I am now acquainted with the author and his submissive. When you leave school, I will provide an introduction to them for you. It will be an excellent way for you to find a Dominant to serve.’

Hermione pushed the meaning of those words away from her. She didn’t like it when he spoke of her leaving and finding another Dominant to serve. She didn’t want another Dominant … and besides, she had this lovely book to devour …

‘You may read the book when you are here, with me,’ her professor told her. ‘When you have finished reading it, we will discuss it, and then I will provide you with new material to read.’

She raised her face to his. ‘Oh please, sir, may I read for a while now?’ She didn’t know if she could bear to put the book aside without reading any of it.

He looked down at her, his expression unreadable. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘I have some marking to do at the table, but if you are quiet, you may remain and read until teatime.’

Hermione placed her hand upon the black wool of his coat. ‘Thank you, sir—for everything.’

He nodded once and left her on the sofa, her nose already buried in the book.

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The book began at the beginning, explaining the relationship between the Dominant and the submissive. Master Maximus would write a section, and then his submissive, t, who was also his wife, would write a section from her point of view. Hermione was completely fascinated by the complex emotions explained by Master Maximus; it excited her to imagine that her own professor might experience these same emotions. And when she read the sections written by t, the words resonated with her so deeply that it literally gave her chills.

She truly wasn’t alone in her feelings—there were other women who felt as she did, who revelled in relinquishing their power to a strong, capable man whom they trusted implicitly—and the sense of validation she felt was immense. She read through the first chapter, describing how Master Maximus and t had met, their relationship as Dominant and submissive, and how their commitment had evolved even to a traditional hand-fasting: t’s Dominant wizard was also her husband. The very idea left Hermione short of breath.

And the erotic play! Reading of the spankings, floggings, gentle humiliations, punishments, and other practices of which Hermione had never heard filled her with longing so acute that it was physically painful. The drawings which accompanied the descriptions, in true wizarding fashion, moved to demonstrate the techniques, and Hermione found herself turning back again and again to watch the face of the submissive as her Dominant blindfolded her, bound her hands, and whipped her back and bottom with a leather flogger. The submissive writhed beneath the treatment, clearly beyond herself with ecstasy.

The clock on the mantel chimed four o’clock, and Hermione reluctantly put the book aside. Rising, she walked over to her professor, whose head was bent over the stack of essays, his quill moving in steady spikes, leaving scratches of red ink over the students’ work. She stood serenely at his side, waiting for him to speak to her. At last, he set the quill upon the tabletop and turned his long, narrow face to her.

‘Well, Hermione?’ he asked.

She did not speak, but unfastened her belt, toeing off her trainers and stepping out of her jeans, knickers, and socks before tugging her jumper off over her head. His onyx eyes watched her with polite attention as she released the catch between her breasts and shrugged her bra off her arms. Then she knelt upon the rug at his side, averting her eyes deferentially, just as the drawing in the book had depicted.

He made no sound, only pushing his chair back from the table so that he had a clear view of her submissive posture. ‘Your knees should be as far apart as your shoulders are wide,’ he murmured, and she adjusted her position accordingly, feeling her face flaming with embarrassment at her nakedness, but forcing herself to concentrate on the pleasure her submission provided to her professor.

‘Good girl,’ he said, and the ache between her legs throbbed as if in answer to him. ‘Was there something you wanted to ask me?’

‘Please, sir,’ she said, raising her face. ‘Reading the book and seeing the drawings has been so arousing—may I come?’

His eyes travelled down to her breasts, lingering upon them with pleasure before he answered her. ‘Next Saturday night, when you come to me with your skirt raised and your cunt bare, do not wear a bra. It is time for you to learn how your breasts can bring pleasure to your Dominant.’

Hermione felt the gooseflesh break out over her body at his words, her nipples hardening to aching pebbles. ‘Yes, sir,’ she said.

He leaned back slightly in his chair, his formal manner melting into the smooth, sure, accepting posture she had come to know and love. ‘Did your cunt get wet when you read Master Maximus’ book?’

‘Yes,’ she whispered, the throbbing intensifying as he referred to her arousal.

‘What kind of girl sits in her professor’s study, reads erotic books, and wants to touch her clit, Hermione?’ he asked, his silky baritone settling over her as if she had been dipped in chocolate fondant.

‘A s-slut, sir,’ she responded, wishing he would touch her, or tell her to touch herself.

He was on his feet then, circling behind her, and he knelt at her back. ‘On all fours for your spanking, little slut,’ he purred, and she scrambled to obey, getting her knees beneath her and presenting her behind to him.

‘That’s my girl,’ he told her, and his cold fingers spread her labia as he tested out the evidence of her want. ‘Oh my, you are a filthy, nasty girl, little slut,’ he said, rolling her clitoris with the tips of his fingers, drawing a keening moan from her throat. ‘I’m afraid you’ll need a rather harsh spanking.’ He drew his fingers slowly, excruciatingly through her slick folds, as if to draw upon her bottom with the juices of her quim. ‘Shall I stop now, Hermione?’

‘No!’ she moaned. ‘Please don’t! Please spank me, sir!’

‘If you insist,’ he replied smugly, and the hand which had lately rolled her clitoris like an olive in oil descended upon her bottom with a resounding smack, drawing a cry of delight from her.

He slapped her arse with his bare hand, kneeling upon the rug behind her, leaning into his work, his breath becoming short as he spanked. Hermione thrust back into the blows, feeling each like the thrust of a cock in her quim, and when he aimed a few lighter blows to her sopping wet cunt, she quivered with the sensation, the pain and pleasure blending seamlessly for her.

Soon he began to spank harder, raining blows upon her flesh until every strike burned, and she was sobbing limply when he pulled her back into a kneeling position, holding her back securely against his chest, pressing his wool-covered erection firmly into her sore bum as his hands slid down her belly to her quim. Her legs trembled so that she scarcely felt as if she could maintain her balance, but one iron-like arm held her to him, and he expertly fingered her quim, whispering to her, his silky, filthy words warm in her ear as he brought her off.

‘That’s right, little one,’ he purred, holding her pinned to him, rubbing her clitoris in an unrelenting circle with the perfect amount of pressure, the bulge of his still-clothed cock pressed between the cheeks of her bum, ‘filthy little girls like you want to be spanked and fingered until they come—isn’t that right? Yes, I thought so, dirty girl. That’s right—don’t be shy, let me hear you. Tell me it’s good—tell me you want it—you need it—that’s good; good girl—now … come for me!’

And she did, hard and long, feeling the sensation shudder through her muscles until she thought she would liquefy into spasms. At the last moment, he cupped her mound in the palm of his large, warm hand, murmuring soothing nonsense words until the quivering passed. Then he was stretched out upon the rug in his black teaching suit, with her naked body held comfortingly against him. He cast a non-verbal Cushioning Charm beneath their prone bodies and Summoned the green blanket, wrapping her against the chill of the November day.

They lay together that way as the shimmering of the underwater window darkened to tourmaline green, the autumn afternoon passing into twilight, and Hermione dozed in his arms, safe and at peace.

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A/N: “I do not have unlimited leisure time.” This is a direct quote, from Order of the Phoenix, when Severus is taunting Sirius in Harry’s presence in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place.

Thank you for your patience! The professor and Hermione had to iron out their differences before I could finish writing the chapter. You may expect at least one and maybe two more chapters this weekend. I am behind on answering reviews. I think you would rather have me write than answer reviews, although you’d probably like it if I managed to do both! I’ll try to catch up!