For the Potions Master\'s Amusement

For the Potions Master’s Amusement

Chapter 7: The Conversation


He led her straight over to the table, upon which two bowls of thick stew were joined by a basket of freshly baked bread; a dish of butter and two glasses of milk completed the meal, with a chocolate gateau for pudding. He helped her into a chair, then took the seat at the head of the table. ‘We’ll eat first, then talk,’ he said simply. ‘If necessary, I can provide you with a potion to sharpen your desire to partake of nourishment.’

Hermione looked at the food, and for the first time in days her appetite stirred. ‘I think I’ll be fine,’ she said. She picked up her spoon and dipped it into the gravy; when it touched her tongue, she hummed with enjoyment. With her next spoonful, she brought a morsel of meat and carrot to her mouth, and the food exploded with flavour in her mouth. She took a piece of bread, spread it with butter, and took a bite, washing it all down with a gulp of cold milk.

Seemingly satisfied that she would eat, Professor Snape took up his spoon and ate a bite of stew, but his eyes remained focussed on Hermione. She dabbed at her mouth with the heavy green damask napkin and said, ‘Didn’t you eat lunch?’

He swallowed and had recourse to his napkin, too. ‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘but I didn’t want you to eat alone.’

Hermione smiled—just a quirk of her lips—for the first time in what seemed days, and she continued to slowly eat the meal her professor had so thoughtfully provided for her. Her attention was divided between her bowl and her companion, who seemed to be watching her intently each time she looked at him.

When half her bowl of stew was gone, she felt rather full—after all, it had been a while since she’d eaten a complete meal—and she took the gateau, digging in with real delight. She half expected Professor Snape to object, but he continued to watch her without interference, a mere quirk of his eyebrow indicating amusement at her enjoyment of the chocolate confection. When she had licked her spoon clean and swallowed the last of her milk, she turned her eyes to his face.

‘What next?’ she asked.

‘Next, you may be a bit sleepy,’ he said.

Hermione felt a sudden onset of drowsiness, as if triggered by his words. She frowned and stifled a yawn. ‘But we were going to talk,’ she said forlornly.

‘We will,’ he assured her. He stood, took her by the hand, and pulled her to her feet, leading her to the cobalt blue couch. ‘Rest your eyes for a while, and when you wake up, we will have our talk,’ he promised soothingly.

Too sleepy to argue further, Hermione lay down upon the sofa, resting her head upon a red velvet cushion, which seemed to appear out of nowhere. She was nearly asleep as he Summoned the emerald green rug to tuck her in …

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When she woke, the shimmering green light was gone. The room was dimly lit, illumination coming from the roaring fire. The impenetrable blackness beyond the glass wall told her that the sun had long since set. Silhouetted by the firelight was her professor, his sharp face in stark relief. He sat in a wingback chair near her head, a book in his hands, and he looked up when she stirred, his black eyes intent upon her.

‘What time is it?’ she asked, her voice still thick with sleep.

‘Nearly nine o’clock,’ he replied. ‘How do you feel?’

She struggled a bit, then managed to rise to a sitting position. He did not offer assistance, but watched her carefully. ‘I missed the Hallowe’en feast,’ she said, feeling a bit sad; she had not done so in years—not since attending Nearly Headless Nick’s five-hundredth death day party, five years before—the feast food at Hogwarts was always outstanding. Just thinking about it made her tummy rumble, drawing a near smile from Professor Snape.

‘I see; you feel well enough to be hungry,’ he murmured. Inclining his head towards the table behind him, he said, ‘I have an assortment of the feast foods under a Warming Charm for you, if you would care to eat again.’

Hermione rubbed a hand over her face. ‘I need the loo first, please,’ she said.

‘Of course,’ he responded, and a doorway which had not been there before shimmered into existence on the wall beyond the table. ‘You’ll find the lavatory through that door,’ he advised her.

Hermione rose and moved to the door on legs which became steadier with each step. Entering the professor’s bathroom, she was surprised to see that it was not simply a toilet and a sink, but a complete bathroom, including both an old-fashioned bathtub on clawed feet and a more modern shower; fluffy white towels bearing the Hogwarts shield of arms hung from the bar on the wall, and a man’s toiletries were lined up neatly on an open shelf above the sink, just below the mirror.

Washing her hands after relieving her bladder, she could not help examining his things with keen interest. A toothbrush and tube of the toothpaste provided for the students’ use rested beside a Muggle safety razor; next to the razor was a simple glass flagon with a cork stopper. She bent over to sniff at it and realised the liquid, roughly the shade of her father’s favourite cognac, was the professor’s aftershave—it appeared that he brewed his own.

She dried her hands and went back out into the study, finding the professor seated at the table as he had been earlier in the day; he had removed the covers from the silver salvers, and a delectable array of food was revealed. Her mouth watered, and she seated herself eagerly. There was no mistaking the slight smile upon his thin lips as he passed a platter of roast beef to her.

‘I am happy to see your appetite has returned,’ he commented mildly, now passing her the basket of Yorkshire pudding.

Hermione spooned roast potatoes onto her plate. ‘Did you drug me, before?’ she asked.

‘A very mild sleeping draught in your milk,’ he admitted calmly.

‘Is any of this food drugged?’ She paused with a forkful of beef halfway to her mouth.

‘No,’ her professor said, and she began to eat with gusto. He ate as well, and they both consumed a hearty meal. Hermione relished the food, but she was sorry to have missed what would be her last Hallowe’en feast at Hogwarts.

It’s better to be here, alone with him, a tiny voice whispered. She glanced over at Professor Snape and found him watching her. Pulse quickening, she reflected that perhaps the voice was right. There was nothing in the world quite like enjoying her professor’s undivided attention.

‘Have you eaten your fill?’ he asked her when she had licked the last of the chocolate éclair crumbs from her plate.

Hermione wiped her mouth with her napkin. ‘Yes, thank you.’

He stood without speaking and gestured to the armchairs situated most closely to the fire; Hermione noted for the first time that Professor Snape had showered whilst she slept. He was once again without his robes and tightly buttoned coat, but was wearing instead black boots and trousers, topped by another cashmere jumper, this one in midnight blue. A sick feeling stirred in her as she moved to the indicated chair—did he have yet another engagement with Taffy-the-shop-girl? Surely not—he had taken so much time making her eat and sleep—if he had a date with some witch from the village, he would have hurried her in and out, wouldn’t he?

She sat down, and he sat across from her. Hermione shifted uncomfortably in her seat, wishing suddenly that her meeting with Professor Snape were over—had never begun—that she had never begun her more intimate association with him. It seemed she had never experienced one moment of peace since it had begun, except for those moments when he had held her, after making her come in a screaming loss of all dignity. She averted her face from his and fidgeted with the hem of her jumper.

‘I would like to speak with you regarding the nature of our most recent private interactions,’ Professor Snape said, and Hermione jerked her head up to look at him, her heartbeat accelerating.

‘All right,’ she said.

‘I would like to make one thing clear from the very beginning: Your desires are natural ones, Hermione, and are perfectly normal for you,’ he began. ‘You are not the only person in the world to harbour such desires, and there is nothing either sick or wrong about them. They may be different from the intimate desires of other people you know, but that does not make them immoral or unnatural.’

Hermione felt her face flush as his frank acknowledgement of her desires; certainly, no one knew more about those desires than he did, but it was both thrilling and embarrassing to have him speak of those dark desires so matter-of-factly.

‘Allow me to draw a parallel between your desires and your intelligence,’ he continued. ‘Is your intelligence in the normal range, Hermione?’

‘No,’ she answered promptly.

‘Of course it isn’t,’ he agreed. ‘Your intelligence is remarkable, well above that of your peers. Would you consider restricting yourself intellectually or academically to hold yourself down to the level of expectations or standards of other people?’

‘No!’ she blurted indignantly, and a slight smile touched his face. She gave him an answering smile, feeling a bit sheepish. He certainly knew how to push her buttons.

‘Then do not let the notions with which you were raised restrict your expectations of what you ought to seek out in t he way of sexual or emotional satisfaction. It is just possible that what you want and need in that arena is completely beyond the ken of the people you have known thus far in your life.’

Hermione studied him as she pondered his words. Could it be as simple as that? Could it be that in judging her emerging desires by the standards of her parents—or even by the standards of the other witches her age—she was doing herself a disservice? What if it was neither sick nor wrong to want to be spanked—to crave having filthy words whispered to her—to become inexplicably aroused by being told what to do and obeying those instructions?

A flutter awoke within her, like a bird whose wings flapped hopefully against the bars of its cage.

Professor Snape leant towards her, resting his elbows upon his knees and lacing his fingers together. ‘It is possible that I mistook the level of your emotional need—the impact that meeting that need would have upon you. It is not so powerful for everyone. You are a uniquely apt submissive, Hermione, more suited to submission to a Dominant than any woman, witch or Muggle, I have ever seen—you were born for this.’

Hermione listened to him excitedly, the odd words bouncing about in her mind, pinging from one association to another as she scrambled to assimilate the information—and at the same time, she swelled with pride at his praise. He said she was born for this—the best he had ever seen—this, from a teacher who was loath to so much as acknowledge her competence in his classroom. It was heady stuff, and she was thrilled to hear it.

He continued to speak to her, his remarkable focus making her feel as if she sat in a powerful spotlight. ‘I introduced this world to you, and if it is your wish, while you and I remain at Hogwarts, I will be willing to continue to guide you. Then, when you leave school, I will provide you with the means to contact other wizards and witches who live this lifestyle.’

‘It … it’s a lifestyle?’ she whispered, unsure if she was appalled or amazed.

‘It is, indeed,’ he answered.

‘But what about you?’ she asked, picking only one of the myriad questions flitting about in her mind.

‘You need not concern yourself about me,’ he said firmly.

‘But sir,’ she objected, ‘what’s in this arrangement for you? Why did you even begin this with me? You’ve never even allowed me to touch you!’

Professor Snape looked very grave and appeared to be choosing his words carefully as he answered her. ‘I take too much for granted—I forget that you know nothing of the dynamics of Dominance and submission.’

He straightened again, leaning back in his chair, suddenly on very sure ground. The power emanating from him enthralled her, and she found herself leaning forward as she listened to him.

‘Hermione, the Dominant needs the submissive—needs to dominate her, to correct her, to discipline her, to control her, all with her consent—as much as she needs to be commanded, punished, and fulfilled by him. The emotional and sexual needs of the Dominant are as electrified and satisfied by the interaction as are the submissive’s.’

Hermione felt heat between her legs at his words, and she forced herself to ask the next question, stumbling gracelessly over her words. ‘Were you … were you aroused by what we did together?’

He gazed at her steadily. After a moment of silence, his eyes moved from her face and travelled in a leisurely way down her torso, continuing to her toes, then back up to her face. Hermione did not know how much timed had passed; it seemed to have stopped—but she did not realise she had been holding her breath until he answered her, and air burst forcefully from her lungs.

‘Very much so,’ he replied evenly, only the glittering of his black eyes conveying the force behind his words.

For a moment, Hermione found herself bereft of speech as they gazed unabashedly into each other’s eyes. Then another of her urgent questions popped into her mind and she forced herself to speak.

‘What about Taffy the shop girl?’

His brows drew together in displeasure. ‘What about her?’ he replied.

‘Do you do this with her? Spank her and …’

He cut across her, his voice suddenly cold. ‘Watch your tone of voice, Hermione—I will not permit cheek. My personal life is none of your concern.’

‘Then mine is none of your concern!’ she cried, stung.

‘It could scarcely hold less interest for me,’ he sneered. ‘See as much as you like of your puling classmates, and do what you wish with them. It is of no importance to me.’

Her chin came up a fraction. ‘I want to know if you spank the apothecary girl,’ she said stubbornly.

His eyes narrowed. ‘I do not, at present, have another submissive with whom I meet.’

‘Then what do you do with her? Besides drinking and laughing in the pub,’ she added.

His lips tightened, a further sign of displeasure. ‘I was not pleased to see you had been using Potter’s Invisibility Cloak to spy on me,’ he said. ‘I will let it go this time, because we had not set any ground rules outside of this room. However, in the future, you are not to follow me when I leave the castle. It could be extremely dangerous. Disobedience of this rule would be grounds for immediately ending our association. Is that clear to you?’

Hermione squirmed with frustration, now flavoured by dread at the thought of having him refuse to see her any more. ‘I promise not to follow you when you leave the castle,’ she said, ‘but I want to know about—’

He sat forward and cut across her again, in a voice so forbidding that she found herself cringing back into her chair. ‘I have in the past, and will undoubtedly continue in the future, to have associations with women. What I have done, am doing, or will do with them is none of your business. I will satisfy your curiosity in one way: the witch with whom you saw me in the village is not a submissive.’

He glared at her until she averted her eyes, feeling a tiny flush of pleasure that he was not spanking Taffy.

But is he fucking her? the voice in her mind asked.

Hermione knew not to ask him now; perhaps she would have another opportunity to do so. For now, she felt better physically than she had done in weeks, and she had loads to think about and sort out in her mind. Thankfully, it was the weekend, and she would have an opportunity to do so. Perhaps there were books in the library she could read on Dominance and submission …

‘Do you have any other pertinent questions or comments for me, Hermione?’ Professor Snape inquired, his tone milder now that she had ceased to demand answers from him.

Hermione looked up into his face, noting the curtains of his black hair, which hung differently about his long, thin face when it was clean, and she allowed herself to freely gaze at the austere planes of his cheeks, dominated by his great, hooked nose. He was not handsome, and he was not nice, but she had never even imagined being so completely consumed with one wizard.

‘No more questions,’ she said, adding, ‘thank you.’

He inclined his head, accepting her thanks as his due. ‘Do you wish to continue our arrangement? Or do you need more time to consider?’

Hermione hurried into speech. ‘I do wish to continue, sir,’ she said. ‘Please.’

He nodded. ‘Good girl,’ he said. ‘Nevertheless, for tonight only, the special rules I outlined before you came into my study remain.’

Hermione smiled her understanding, thankful that he was not rushing her out the door. Perhaps he wasn’t seeing that Taffy woman tonight, after all.

‘Now,’ he said, and Hermione directed her attention to him, for his tone of voice had changed, becoming almost playful. ‘Would you like to see the gift I have for you?’ he asked.

Hermione almost bounced in her seat, excitement and pleasure and a giddy feeling of being singled out and special thrilling through her. ‘Yes!’ she cried.

He stood from his chair and offered her his hand. Hermione placed her hand in his, thrilling to the touch of his fingers upon hers, and he led to sit upon the cobalt blue sofa; he sat down at her side.

‘Accio Hermione’s gift,’ he said, and a book-sized, gift-wrapped box flew into his hand.

Hermione studied the silver paper and green velvet ribbon on the box, thinking that it was far too flat to actually be a book. What had he bought for her?

With a self-satisfied smirk upon his face, Professor Snape laid the box upon her lap.

‘What is it?’ she asked, the giddy feeling singing inside of her like pealing bells.

‘Open it and find out,’ he suggested.

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A/N: Look for lemons in the next chapter! I'll try to have it posted in a day or two.