A/N: Just another little taste for my beloved readers to enjoy this weekend …

For the Potions Master's Amusement

Chapter 37: The Bombshell

Hermione stirred. Her body ached, as if she had the flu, and her head hurt even more. She moved her head, wondering why her pillow felt so hard—and why was she propped into a sitting position? Was she injured?

Struggling against the lethargy, she opened her eyes. She was in the bath—how odd! Flakes of colour, red and green and white, floated on the surface. She frowned at the flakes and raised her fingers to rub her eyes, as if rubbing would banish the pain behind them.

'Welcome back.'

His voice sounded from behind, warm and resonant. Hermione turned her head to the left, and her cheek came into contact with his shoulder. It wasn't a pillow behind her head—it was her Master's chest. He held her safely against him, his legs embracing hers. She consciously relaxed, and his arms encompassed her from behind.

'How do you feel?'

'Like I'm sick and have a fever,' she admitted. 'What happened?'

He nuzzled her ear through a hank of bushy hair. 'You had a rather powerful orgasm and lost consciousness.'

Hermione blinked. 'Are you joking?'

'In time, my pet, you will find that I never joke about the health and well-being of a submissive under my care.'

Hermione rubbed again at her face. 'But how is that even possible?' she asked, feeling irritable. She didn't like not understanding things, yet she felt too weary to try very hard to get to the bottom of the puzzle.

'It is a rare phenomenon, but one that occurs occasionally. Don't fret about it.'

He picked up his wand from the edge of the tub, and the water began to drain away as clean, fluffy towels zoomed to them. 'We're going to dry off and get you into bed, where you will swallow a pain relieving potion, like a good girl.'

Hermione was too tired to object to this plan. She allowed him to help her over the edge of the tub onto the bathmat and stood docilely while he dried her off. She felt as if she were only half awake as he tucked her into his bed, and she obediently swallowed the potion he gave her.

'Aren't you coming to bed?' she asked sleepily as the potion eased her aches.

'I'll be right here, if you need me,' he assured her, nodding toward an armchair at the bedside. 'Rest.'

Hermione grabbed his hand and nursed it to her cheek, feeling pathetically grateful. 'Thank you, Master,' she said, and then it was too hard to hold her eyes open.

She slept.

Hours later, she sat up on the edge of the bed. Her aches were gone; she felt quite herself, again. Her professor dozed in his chair, wrapped in a woolly black dressing gown, a book open on his lap. He did not look relaxed in sleep; a deep furrow creased between his coal black brows, and lines bracketed his thin lips. Hermione wanted to ease those lines of care from his face. What worries troubled his rest?

She stood over him and removed the book from his legs, setting it carefully on the table at his elbow. Tenderly, she swept the stringy black hair back from his face and leaned over to kiss the crease between his eyebrows. Then she pressed kisses to the lines on either side of his mouth. When she lifted her head to investigate the results of her efforts, she saw his midnight eyes were open, and he was watching her warily.

'What are you doing?' he murmured.

'Kissing away your frown,' she explained, stroking his cheek tenderly. 'You looked so tense.'

He stared at her blankly, clearly nonplussed.

Hermione took his hand and gave it a slight tug. 'Come to bed,' she urged. 'You can't be comfortable there.'

He removed his hand from hers and passed it over his face. 'Why are you up?' he said.

Hermione smiled down at him. 'I woke up and felt better. There's no need for you to sit up any longer—I'm fine.'

He scowled. 'I will be the judge of what I need to do, Hermione.'

Her face fell, and she stepped back from him. Why was it so easy for him to put her in the wrong?

One long finger touched her chin and tilted her face up until her eyes met his. 'A submissive does not seek a relationship where she stands on equal footing with her Master,' he said calmly. 'It is a learning process, even for the most instinctive submissive, such as you are, to be trained how to behave with her Master. Remember, pet, that it is not your place to tell me what to do.'

Hermione bit her lip, looking into his thin, haggard face. His hair hung in oily strands, his skin tone was grey beneath his naturally sallow complexion, and his face was as lined as that of a man twenty years his senior. Even so, she found him inexplicably striking, and she was drawn to him with such intensity that she couldn't imagine ever feeling more strongly about anything than she did about him. 'Yes, sir,' she said softly. 'What you say makes sense. I apologise for telling you what to do. I do wish you would come to bed with me, though. It makes me happy to lie in your bed with you.'

His eyelids fell to half-mast as his gaze wandered down her nakedness. 'Come here,' he said and received her into his lap with something that sounded like a sigh of pleasure. He murmured an incantation to increase the light in the room and touched the side of her breast with his fingertips. 'Are your nipples sore?'

Hermione nodded. 'Yes—but in a nice way.'

He grasped her nipple firmly between his fingers, and she winced, then relaxed into the sensation, which she felt most warmly between her legs. He smirked. 'In a nice way?' he asked.

She flushed but held his gaze as she said, 'Every time my clothes brush against my nipples tomorrow, I'll remember how you used me, and that will make me smile—but only I will know why.'

He matched the pressure on her other nipple, and her mouth dropped open, breathing through the discomfort even as she squirmed on his legs.

'You're wrong there, pet,' he purred. 'I, too, will know why you smile.'

She arched her back, as if to offer her breasts to him more fully, her head lolling on her shoulders. 'I wish others could know, though,' she confided dreamily.

His hands dropped abruptly. 'What are you talking about?' he said sharply.

Hermione leaned in, trailing kisses up the column of his neck, stopping when her lips were at his ear. 'I would be proud for people to know I wore the marks of your attentions on my body,' she whispered.

He took her by the shoulders and forced her to sit up, a frown on his face. 'You do not imagine that anyone of your acquaintance would rejoice in your … peculiar self-satisfaction, do you?'

She shook her head. 'No, I know they wouldn't. It's sad, really, that I can't show off my collar and my bruises to anyone who would appreciate them.'

An incredulous look crossed his features, and he snorted derisively. 'This is the feature of a woman's mind that I will never comprehend,' he said.

Hermione sniffed. 'Say what you will, sir, but I find it difficult to believe that Dominants are not every bit as proud of their handiwork as their submissives are of showing it off—and if a gathering of Dominants does not include a certain amount of one-upmanship, then I question their collective possession of a y-chromosome.'

The burst of laughter with which her Master greeted this comment was everything Hermione could have hoped for. The years fell from his face with the attendant lightness of heart, and his deep, rich baritone rang through the room. Hermione felt proud—nearly as much so as the first time she'd sucked him off—and she beamed at him.

He pinched her chin and kissed her mouth. 'You're an impudent piece,' he said, 'but how can I object when you speak the truth?' He chuckled and leaned back in his chair. 'Yes, a roomful of Dominants suffers from an excess of testosterone and a good bit of bragging.' He smiled at her, relaxed and open.

'Have you taken your previous submissives to D/s gatherings?' she asked, wondering how far he would permit her to question him.

He wound a lock of her hair about his finger, his eyes unfocussed. 'I have, in the past, been present at such gatherings, both alone and in company with a submissive under my care.'

Hermione watched him from the corner of her eye; she could see that he was in a reminiscent mood. She would have to tread carefully, that he might remain open to her. 'Did the submissive with you wear your collar?'

His glance sharpened, and he turned his attention to her. Shit, she had hoped to sneak that one in …

'I wondered when we would come to this,' he said, amusement tingeing his tone.

Hermione gaped at him. 'You expected me to ask?'

His eyebrows arched. 'My dear girl, when have you ever been able to contain yourself?' he drawled obnoxiously. He made a show of raising his wrist, as if checking the time, though he wore no wristwatch. 'You've managed to restrain your curiosity for more than twenty-four hours. Of course, you were unconscious for part of that time, so we'll have to make allowances.'

'Well, will you tell me?' she asked reasonably. 'I understand that I'm submissive to your authority, but you asked me all about my previous lovers. As your collared submissive, do I have the right to ask about your previous submissives?'

'Some Masters might say "no" to that question,' he mused. 'However, I believe you have the right to ask.'

Hermione bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from screaming at him. Honestly—the man was infuriating! Why couldn't he just answer the damn question?

He looked into her eyes sombrely. 'The truth is,' he said softly, 'although I have participated in the training of several submissive women, until you, Hermione, no one has been offered or has worn my collar.'

A/N: Oh ho! Yes, it's a wicked place to leave you, but please don't fail to share your thoughts with me! I'm eager to hear what you think.

And yes, I'm still writing feverishly, so there is more to come. Just not this weekend. :)