She leans over in front of me and I can see the little pink bud of her nipple starting to slip from the lace of her camisole. Why the girl isn't wearing a bra, I haven't the slightest. I try to look away, but her head is turned down, looking to some point on the parchment I just can't focus on right now. Her hair, that garish red mop, has fallen down around her face, hiding my eyes from her view.
The lace is black, just like the shirt under her white oxford. I silently curse the lack of ventilation in the dungeons. The steam from the classes cauldrons had caused many of the students to unbutton their or even remove their shirts. I didn't bother taking points. If it weren't for the mark on my arm, I would have gladly joined them.
She leans just further now, and my eyes, which have been riveted to her breasts since she first stood in front of my desk. I feel like a lecherous old man, staring at a 15 year old student's body, but Ginny Weasley, it seems is far more mature than your average 15 year old. And it's been so long since I've seen any woman's body that even just a peak at her nipple is enough to set me off.
Her arm moves, causing her tit to dislodge even further from the fabric. It's out now, and she doesn't even notice. I have to stop myself from reaching out to touch it. I should tell her. I should tell her to fix her shirt. Or that the way the freckles are spread across her chest is both endearing and horrendous. I should tell her that she is losing house points for flashing a teacher. I should tell her to take her shirt off and sit on my lap.
I don't say any of those things. Instead, I tear my eyes away, searching for her face under that mass of curls. I find her eyes and follow them to where she's pointing, finally tuning in to what she's saying.
"...So you see professor, I just don't think I deserve marks off here either. I know that mandrake root in essential in anti-petrification potions, but you said the essay was supposed to be on uses that aren't obvious."
I clear my throat. "Miss Weasley..."
"Oh, professor Snape. Please call me Ginny."
I can feel the blood drain from face, it races somewhere south. Oh, professor Snape. It's never had this effect on me before, hearing my name come out of a students mouth, like that. I'm not sure I've even heard her right. Her lips are small and pink, and too enticing. I have a very strong urge to get her out of my classroom. Breast hanging out or not.
"Miss Weasley," I say it through gritted teeth. She frowns. "Leave your parchment with me, I will read through it again and revise my grading based on your suggestions as I see fit."
She smiles. A big smile, and her shoulders pick back up. I am still trying not to look, but the way she moved, it did amazing things for her cleavage. My eyes have focused on her chest once more, as she continues to chatter on about some drivel. I need her to leave now. I need her to leave before I do something to her that I will regret.
Finally, the girl turns away, shrugs on her robe and bag. She stops in the doorway, breasts fully covered by black material.
"Thank you, professor Snape." It sounds as if she said it on a sigh, and it is dangerously alluring. I bite back a groan. She waves before turning on her heel and leaving my classroom. I have only fifteen minutes to get rid of the problem her exposed tit has caused. I find myself thinking of her while I touch myself. I imagine those soft pink lips opening in a sigh, her breast and it's twin bouncing as she rides me in my desk chair. It's over quick. I mutter the spell to clean up my mess and make a mental note to stick this particular memory in my pensieve later.