To Covet and Consume

I let out a relieved sigh as the last sixth year dunderhead exits my classroom. I move back to my desk and collapse in my chair. No more insolent children for 16 hours, 14.5 if I decide to enjoy my breakfast in the Great Hall. With a flick of my wrist the Hufflepuff’s and Ravenclaw’s mediocre lab results on my desk are transported to, and stored in, the cupboard above the cauldrons to await what I consider to be generous marks. I stand, stretch, and head to my office. All of today’s labs can wait to be marked until my new assistant arrives after dinner. That way I will have something redundant and mindless to waste my time with while watching her move about my space.



I find this strange, generally I loathe training a new assistant, and after they are trained I still avoid being in the same room with them any more then necessary. I cannot seem to get enough of her. I had to reason with myself that if I graced the Great Hall with my presence at lunch, instead of taking them in my rooms as per usual, some of the staff may start to suspect their colleague is up to something and start to watch me more closely. I must exercise caution. The need to share the same space as Granger, to have her in my sights, is transforming my patterns. I, Severus Snape, am a man of habits. I do not change easily for myself, let alone for a mere chit. The joy of finally having her within reach of possession will soon fade and I will return to normal. This is what I keep telling myself.



I pull out my chair and start on composing a Potions Assistant contract for her to sign when she arrives. It will be the standard: no stealing, no speaking without cause, no disregarding regular school work, and above all remember that what I say is the law in my classroom and labs. I lean back and slowly roll my neck when the contract is complete.



I am debating whether to have my dinner here in my office, or with the rest of the school. I should stay aloof. Stay here in my dungeons, since Miss Granger’s mind is most likely on me and her new position. I would bet all of my house’s points that her eyes would hunt me continuously if I were to attend. I would also put a large sum of money down to say her eyes will still fall on my chair at least 5 times throughout dinner even if I am not there. As much as I would enjoy her eyes seeking me out, and the blush that would stain her freckled skin when I catch her staring, I must choose to remain here and fight the softhearted emotional need to see her.



I move to the book shelf behind my desk and pull on the spine of an old 7th year potions text book. This triggers the trap door in the far left hand corner of the floor to reveal itself. Cliché, I know, but the design is a muggle classic that I respect. I descend the wide staircase as my wards recognize me and trigger the torches to light and extinguish as I approach and pass each one. As I reach the first landing the wards also close the sliding door above me. I continue down two more stories below my office, labs and classroom before the staircase opens up to reveal my living quarters.



I enjoy my space, therefore I adore this loft-like design the castle created for me. There are no walls, just one large open room to hold my kitchen, study, private library, and sitting area. In the middle of the two story room, three feet from the right wall is a simple stainless steel staircase leading to the mezzanine above which holds my bedroom and generous washroom. The color schemes of the various areas are, of course, Slytherin through and through. There are silver accents on every piece of furniture but the room is ruled by many different shades of green.



I climb the stairs to my room as I attempt to tell myself that I am considering showering early this evening for myself, and not because I care what my assistant will think of the Polyjuice fumes seeping from my skin. My classroom really does need better ventilation. I expertly remove my cufflinks and place them in their rightful spot on my nightstand before starting on the many buttons of my robes and frock coat. I begin to mentally list off certain tasks that I can assign Miss Granger to occupy her until the weekend arrives.



My personal and classroom stores need restocking, and the classroom stores always need reorganizing. Poppy should have her monthly potion and salve requests in to me shortly. The infirmary is always in need of the Pepperup potion and Skele-Gro, so Miss Granger can start those to stay ahead of the Mediwitch’s list. On some other night Miss Granger and I must harvest and store all of what the Dark forest has to offer for potions ingredients. That task might be a whole week’s adventure, and one we must complete before the first snowfall.



I shiver at the thought of snow as I strip off my slacks and undo the last row of buttons on my white dress shirt. I discard both neatly into the hamper, followed by my boxers. The chill of the room and my thoughts of snow send me walking quite briskly into my washroom. I run a bath. I have time to relax since I am eating in my rooms. As the water fills the tub I move back into the bedroom, wand out, then lean over my railing and set a fire blazing in my marble fireplace with a simple Incendio. I then sprint back to the washroom, close the door, and allow the steam from the running water to soothe me. I stretch towards the ceiling then roll my neck for the third time today, wincing slightly as I hear and feel it pop. I hope the steam will not only warm me but sooth the tension the blasted dunderheads have created in me.



I step gingerly into the water, allowing my feet to get used to the temperature, and then I submerge the rest of my aching body. The heat works its magic over my me. I lean back and allow all of my muscles to relax and my thoughts to wander. Of course, my assistant appears bright eyed and ready to learn as soon as my eyes drift closed. I can’t help but smile at this mental image. I have a great imagination. I had aspirations of being a writer when I was younger. Much younger. As thoughts and images of Miss Granger pass through my mind a sudden memory of Miss Parkinson’s rude, but humorous, comment swirls between my ears clearly. I grin mischievously and wonder if Parkinson’s comment had any truth to it. Could my little Head Girl be an expert at the art of fellatio? If not an expert, then possibly as eager to learn the art as she is everything else? I would enjoy teaching her that.



This line of thinking reeks havoc on my tired body so I take my problem in hand. I stroke from base to tip as I imagine myself instructing her on technique as she studiously swallows me whole. I know that is unlikely for a novice, but it makes for a great fantasy. I can almost feel her tongue swirling around my tip as I fondle it with my thumb and forefinger.



I then instruct my student to remove her soft, petite hands from my thighs and put them to work on massaging my testicles. I explain to her, of course, that the dual sensation from two erogenous zones simultaneously can literally drive a male, or female for that matter, crazy with lust. I say this all to her. Her dark eyes stare up at me as my hard dick bobs in and out of the luscious mouth. She moans slightly, signifying she understands my instructions then reaches out and palms each, using both hands. My left hand mimics the motion of her tiny innocent ones as my right hand keeps pumping me in unison with her powerful lips.



I buck up into my hand, sending water sloshing over the sides of the bath. My imagination is so vivid and clear, all motions in reality are perfectly timed with my fantasy. A feral growl emits from deep in my chest as my Head Girl moves her hands to run her sharp nails painfully down my thighs then up and over my nipples. I am sent into a bucking frenzy as she grins around my shaft and makes a swallowing motion in her throat, where I imagine the head of my cock to be.



Her name releases from my own throat in an animalistic growl. Then I am gone, done, and completely spent. Every ache in my body is completely gone. I must do this more often. The Orgasm: Nature’s own Narcotic.