To Covet and Consume

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I spring to my feet, my wand pointing directly between her eyes. An “Obliviate” is on the tip of my tongue, but I notice her eyes still remain closed and her breathing is slowly returning to that which it was before I started to experiment.



I lower my wand slowly and I just stand there, admiring the finished product of my experimentation. The moonlight creeping in from behind the drawn curtains splashes her pillow with a slight glow, illuminating her face. I can not help but be proud of what I see. All details about her face seem much more relaxed and her skin has a great deal more of a blush to it then it did prior to my visit to her bed. My eyes rake over her half naked form, instantly triggering my most recent of memories. These memories, of course, reaffirm the fact that I have yet to have my own release. I run my left hand over the prominent bulge in the front of my trousers and smile at the way it twitches when I replay the sound of her breathless, “Professor.”



This is new and intriguing information. The girls that proceeded her never spoke in their sleep, at least not at all clearly. I had been so sure Miss Granger was awake, but relieved to see she was not. Many texts say that every dream has a meaning. No, I am not channeling Sybil Bloody Trelawney. I do not mean dreams symbolize what is to come in the future. If that were the case I would have been found out a spy by the Dark Asshole many years ago, and pieces of me most likely would be scattered around the world. What I do mean is that dreams give you more insight into yourself, and into your subconscious. Usually dreams are full of metaphors and symbolism, and the meaning is unclear, but like my dreams of being found out a traitor, sometimes the message is blunt and to clear to ignore.



Could the Princess of Gryffindor actually fancy a Professor? It could not be I, could it? There are only but a few of us that could be in the running. I do not and cannot believe someone of either Flitwick’s or Hagrid’s stature could catch her affections. This Professor could be one from her past. I heard that most of the premature females in her second year fancied that moronic twit Lockhart… had she? Or better yet, did she still fancy that tacky, petty, plagiarizing crook? I think not, most especially not after she realized he was nothing but a farce. The mystery Professor could be the wolf. True, Lupin no longer teaches here but she sees him regularly at the Order Headquarters, and now and again I have caught Lupin reminding her that he no longer deserves the title.



That is it. It is between a werewolf and a death eater. I do not see anyone else that you can honestly attach the title of Professor too that would attract her interest. Someone as bright and beyond her years as Miss Granger is undoubtedly in need of a man to keep up with her mind and love of learning. It is only inevitable that she would look beyond her years for future prospects. Potter and Weasley could not keep her entertained in that form of relationship and I believe she knows that.



I do wonder though, as I watch her shift onto her stomach and her plump white arse points skyward, what the best course of action is to find out where her emotions lay and with whom. I have never had reason to assume Miss Granger thought of myself as anything else but a spy and teacher. An accomplished spy and legimens such as myself should be able to slip inside her thoughts and find out, but really, where is the challenge and fun in that. No, I have the rest of the year to enjoy her; but if there is a chance she might willingly allow me to enjoy her virtues, and want to participate in turn then that would change things. If that were the case I perhaps would have more then a year.



I raise my wand and with a silent spell and a flick of the wrist her discarded proper knickers have returned to her body. I move towards the bed one last time for the evening and kiss her cheek gently.



“Sleep well.” I whisper softly against her cheek, before retreating into the shadows and out of her room.



The walk back to my room is an uncomfortable one. My bollocks are aching for a release that even my non-sexual thoughts can not tame. As soon as I am safely and privately in my rooms I rid myself of my robe and allow it to tumble to the floor. I allow the same thing to happen to my shirt, as well as my slacks, as I disrobe. I stand in front of my charmed, silent full length mirror in nothing but my tented green silk boxers.



There are more benefits to having a photographic memory then just relaying important information from revels to Albus. I move to my king sized bed and before sliding in I remove the last garment. Satin sheets slide enticingly against my body, like tiny finger tips, as I situate myself against the pillows in the middle of the bed. I lay back getting completely comfortable before allowing my photographic memory to replay each second of awaited bliss.



As I relive approaching and sitting upon her bed I start to tease the tip with my thumb and forefinger, my hips jerk up involuntarily. I slow dryly as I can feel the taste of her skin on my lips and the weight of her breast in my hands. I cup and massage my testicles with my left hand as I continue to tease the tip with my right. By the time I have situated myself between her luscious legs I have self lubricated my shaft and I am starting a painfully slow pace. Attempting to time my climax with the memory of her own I speed up my movements. My hips twitch and turn beneath my hand as I again taste her and feel my tongue inside her. The mere memory of her taste alone has me crashing to a climax moments before schedule.



I stare at the roof panting, giving my breath time to even out before I reach for a wand and mumble an, “Evensco.” My mind and body both feel completely sedated. Feeling no guilt about anything that occurred tonight I decide to attempt and clear my mind and hope sleep will now find my insomniac self.