For the Potions Master's Amusement

Chapter 55: Accepting the Inevitable

Hermione was the first to speak. 'Hello, Professor,' she said, her voice slightly shaky. She glanced at Harry and Ron, but the boys looked simply annoyed, as if they expected no better from Snape.

Her Master advanced on them, ignoring Hermione's greeting. 'Is this your idea of safeguarding your friend, Potter?' he demanded angrily. 'What is the point of annoying me every time I have the misfortune to see you with questions about her location and her safety if you're going to take the first opportunity to draw her into danger?'

Professor Snape was so angry he was spitting as he spoke, and Hermione was looking anxiously from him to Harry. Harry didn't step back or give any show of fear or deference. He simply looked Snape in the eye, with Ron standing at his shoulder, wearing an identical look of bored patience.

After a moment of silence, during which Harry seemed to stress the fact that he paid no mind to the professor's rant, Harry said, 'We found the spell book. Hermione has it, now.'

Professor Snape sneered. 'Then you have done all the damage you can do here, haven't you?' he inquired silkily. 'You'd best be off so I can deliver Miss Granger to her lodgings.'

Ron stepped forward. 'She doesn't have to deal with your foul temper,' he said aggressively. 'Get back to your filthy mates, and we'll look after Hermione.'

The professor shrugged eloquently. 'It is of no consequence,' he said dismissively. 'Ask her whose company she would prefer.' And he turned away, appearing indifferent.

Hermione was angry. He was so bloody impatient and rude with her friends, deliberately provoking them and then mocking them—how could she care so much for someone so cruel and spiteful?

But the simple truth was, she did care for him. He had never, in the time of their personal relationship, treated her with the callous unconcern he showed for her friends. She had known, even as she was falling for him, that he was not a nice man, but she couldn't understand why he had to be so deliberately offensive, stirring others to anger.

And what kind of dark cloud hovered over her that she could pop out for a short visit with her friends, only to be caught at it by her Master?

Resolutely putting her questions aside, she turned to the boys, and standing on her tip-toes, she kissed each of them on the cheek. 'It was brilliant to see you,' she said. 'Be careful, and let me know when I can help.' She patted her pocket. 'I'll get to work on this straightaway,' she promised.

Ron scowled. 'You don't mind going with him?' he asked, nodding to the professor's back.

'No, I don't mind,' she said quietly.

Harry gave her another quick hug. 'Write to me if you need me,' he murmured into her ear.

Hermione nodded mutely, and the boys turned on the spot and Disapparated.

At the pop of their departure, the professor turned and strode to Hermione, his expression so forbidding that she backed away from him, until he had her trapped against the wide trunk of an ancient oak tree. He lowered his face until their noses almost touched, and he stared into her eyes, his own very nearly bleak in expression.

'What am I going to do with you?' he asked, raising one long-fingered hand to her face and stroking her cheek. 'It is as if I must have you watched twenty-four hours a day to keep you out of trouble.' He smoothed hair back from her face and studied her features as if to commit them to memory. 'Can you not comprehend that your place is at Roissy House, contributing to the cause with your formidable intellectual powers?' He kissed her temple, then her cheek, his five o'clock shadow rasping over her skin. His voice purred into her ear, and she shivered at the warmth of his breath. 'Can you not understand that I cannot do what I must do if I am constantly worried about you?'

Hermione grasped his cloak in her fists, inhaling the scent of him, her heart racing. She had expected anger and denunciation and punishment, but his behaviour was far from those things.

'I want to please you,' she said, arching her neck to give him access to her throat, prompting him to lick and nip the pulse beating there. 'But I have to help Harry, Severus—you know I do.'

His hand came up and spanned her throat as he raised his face and looked into her eyes. 'He didn't need you there,' he said, his voice low and insistent. 'I could just as easily have delivered the book to you, or it could have been sent by owl—he sent for you because he wanted to see you.' His lips twisted. 'You wanted to see him, too.'

Hermione rested her head against the trunk of the tree, excited by the hand at her throat, but even as her body thrummed with want of him, she recognised the question he would not ask. 'You know my heart, my mind and my soul,' she reminded him, her own hands rising to caress his gaunt face. 'You know I love you,' she added, her voice barely above a whisper.

He was upon her like a panther on its prey, his kiss so savage that he might have been attempting to devour her rather than simply ravish her. She melted beneath the assault, making no demur as he unfastened her cloak and then her jeans, his hand in her knickers, teasing her clitoris. She moaned into his mouth, a low, feral sound which acted upon him like a catalyst.

'Filthy girl,' he whispered, the tip of his rapier tongue tracing the shell of her ear. 'You want to be fingered in the forest, don't you? You hope someone can see us.'

'No!' she gasped, as ever, both aroused and mortified by his words.

'Don't lie to me, little slut,' he advised, his unoccupied hand sliding beneath her jumper and under the elastic of her bra to knead her breast with cold fingers. 'You love showing your cunt off—such a pretty little slit it is—and even more, you want people to watch when I kiss and finger and fuck you. You crave it, nasty little exhibitionist that you are.'

Hermione humped his hand, feeling the wild, careening climb to the pinnacle of her arousal stirring in her quim, building in her womb, making her crazy.

'I think Potter and Weasley are still here,' he taunted, pinching her nipple hard enough to draw an audible moan from her. 'I think they're hiding in the trees with their Omnioculars—they can see you with my hand in your knickers, smell your cunt, hear your moans—they're hard, watching you rut like a bitch in heat.'

'No!' Hermione objected, feeling the fire running wild along her nerve endings, not wanting to imagine her two best friends aroused while watching her writhe beneath her professor's hand but unable to disregard the erotic dream woven by her Master's compelling voice.

'Yes,' he said with certainty. 'They're watching you—they know now what kind of nasty little girl you really are—so you may as well come for me, Hermione.'

He accompanied this command with more pressure on her clitoris, just enough to tip her over the edge, and as she unravelled beneath his hands, he covered her mouth with his, inhaling her cries as if they were the breath of life for him.

In a flash, he pulled her against him. She was dimly aware of the sensation of Apparition, and then they stood in their room at Roissy House. He undressed her with swift competence and repeated the process on himself. Hermione could not tear her eyes from his jutting erection, and he noted her fascination with narrowed eyes.

'On your knees,' he ordered her.

Hermione dropped gracefully, assuming the submissive's pose, her emotions evening out as she settled into her comfort zone. She had been afraid he would punish her for going to Harry, but she realised now he knew she would go if Harry called for her—he acknowledged, however unwillingly, her commitment to Harry's quest—and knowing this made her want more than ever to give him what he needed. Love for him swelled in her chest until it was a physical pain, and when he commanded her to look at him, she did so with no effort to hide her abject adoration.

He stared down into her face, and she felt the moment when he slipped into her mind. He quickly confirmed that she had indeed gone without orgasm during the nights of her punishment, then he reviewed her memory of the ill-fated excursion to Diagon Alley. Satisfied, he relaxed and stepped closer, maintaining eye contact, and put his hand to the back of her head, encouraging her to take him into her mouth. With a purr of happiness, Hermione knelt up and did just that, glorying in his groan of pleasure.

She placed the flats of her palms against his jutting hipbones and slid around to his bum cheeks, pulling him closer. For several minutes they remained in this posture, with him making leisurely thrusts into her mouth and her bobbing back and forth, maintaining constant suction, her tongue occasionally swirling over the crown of his cock.

'My pet,' he said, halting her movement by the simple expedient of tightening his hand in her hair. 'Fetch your butt plug and bend over the bed.'

Hermione rose and did as he bade her, relinquishing the plug and the lubricant into his hands before she bent over the bed. What would he do? Would he hurt her? Would he try to fuck her in the arse? His cock was much thicker than the widest part of the plug she'd been wearing. She bit her lip and discreetly gripped fistfuls of the counterpane, hoping she could withstand whatever was coming.

'Part your arse cheeks and show me your naughty little hole,' he told her, and Hermione felt her face flame crimson as she pulled her bottom cheeks wide, exposing her arsehole. 'Good girl,' he praised, and she squirmed with pleasure to hear such approbation from him. Then she felt the tip of the plug at the entrance to her bottom, and he spoke to her in a calm, commanding tone. 'Yield to me, Hermione—accept the plug.'

Hermione closed her eyes. Please let me be able to do this she thought. 'Yes, Master,' she said aloud and did her best to relax.

Deft and certain, he exerted pressure, steady and sure, and to Hermione's surprise, the plug slid home, the flared base snug against her bottom.

'Good girl,' he repeated, his tone very pleased. 'I had feared you would resist me in this, pet, but you've been very accepting and obedient. I think you deserve a special treat.'

'Th-thank you, Master,' Hermione said, wondering if she would actually think whatever he had in mind was a treat. What would it be?

'Hands on the bed,' he said, and she released her bottom cheeks, reaching instead along the textured bedding.

'Beautiful,' he murmured, and then the sting of his hand upon her bottom burned through to her quim at the same time she heard the smack of the impact.

Hermione shuddered at the sensation. It had been so long since he had simply spanked her by hand, and the plug in her arse added a new dimension to the sensation, somehow heightening her pleasure, despite the vague discomfort. Still, she had to admit that she had grown more accustomed to the feeling of it, even in just the four days of using the plug regularly.

He spanked her hard, careful not to directly hit the plug itself, but otherwise spreading his attentions liberally about her bum and upper thighs, occasionally landing a glancing blow to her quim. Before long, Hermione felt her resistance to the pain dissolving, and she fully succumbed to it, allowing her tears to fall, feeling the shame of her poor choices, which had caused her Master concern and distress. He looked after her so thoroughly, made plans for her, worried over her daily, and she was constantly disappointing him, being thoughtless and impulsive, disregarding his careful plans for her safety and rushing into potentially dangerous situations. How could he ever begin to forgive her lack of consideration?

Then he was bent over her, lifting her feet to stand upon a low box, and he fitted himself perfectly along her back, his mouth at her ear even as his hand again found her wet cunt.

'You need this from me, don't you, pet?' he said, rubbing her clitoris in a circular motion with the tips on his two longest fingers, the silken rod of his cock hard against her backside. 'You need me to discipline you and bring you to the proper frame of mind for a good little submissive, don't you?'

'Y-yes,' Hermione sobbed, trying to turn to put her arms around him, but he held her in place.

'Bend over like a good slut,' he growled. 'I'm going to fuck your cunt.'

Hermione bent, bracing her arms on the mattress, and he positioned himself at her entrance, pressing against her opening and guiding himself inside her, moving slowly until he was properly situated. She gasped at his first full thrust, finding this position allowed him particularly deep penetration. His hands slid up to grasp her breasts, and he squeezed them rhythmically as he fucked her with grunting exhalations each time his heavy scrotum impacted her labia. Hermione was lost in the moment, completely given over to the sensations he created in her body, his considerable cock ploughing the furrow of her quim, his bollocks slapping against her naked nether lips, the plug in her arse moving in a way which amplified it all.

Then he pulled out of her. 'Climb up into the middle of the bed and lie down on your back,' he commanded.

Hermione crawled to the middle of the bed and settled on her back, slightly worried about having his weight on top of her with the plug in her bum. But she didn't have long to worry, for her knelt between her thighs, hooking his arms beneath her legs, and pushed inside her again, pressing her legs forward, the backs of the her thighs resting on his upper arms as he began to fuck her again. The position opened her wide, and she was soon moaning loudly from the incredible sensation of being filled from the back by his plug and from the front by his thick, glistening cock. Bereft of coherent speech, she stared up into his face. His glittering black eyes stared down at her, flicking from her bouncing breasts to her tear-streaked face. His hair hung in lank, oily strands about his too-thin face, an expression of fierce concentration settled in the crease between his black brows, his lips pulled back from his yellow teeth. He was not particularly prepossessing, but he was powerful and so fucking Dominant—Hermione could not imagine ever finding another man so striking as the one buried to his bollocks in her cunt.

She reached out for him with her mind, unable to express any coherent thought, but so brimful of emotion that she wanted to bathe him in it. He seemed, for once, to welcome her into his mind, though he made no effort to speak to her, but he allowed her to feel the emotion rolling through him like the sea at high tide. She gasped Severus! as it poured over her, colliding at this joining of their spirits with the mounting crescendo of her passion. Then they were coming together, their eyes wide as they climaxed, the concatenation of their shared sensations bouncing between them until he allowed her legs to fall to the bed, and he fell as well, lying beside her on the mattress.

Love, she managed to think, rolling into his waiting arms.

Yes, he acknowledged, though whether he was accepting the pet name or the expressed emotion, Hermione could not have said, for she was sliding into exhausted sleep.


Scarcely an hour had passed before he woke her, his lips warm on hers.

'I have to leave,' he said into her hair, holding her body against his.

'So soon?' she asked, clinging.

'I'm supposed to be elsewhere,' he told her. 'But I very much wanted to be here for the end of your punishment, to give you the orgasm you had earned.'

Hermione pushed herself up onto her elbow, looking down into his face. 'That's why you told me to watch the journal—you wanted me to be in our room when you arrived.'

'Yes,' he answered, one hand idly stroking her arm.

'I'm sorry I wasn't here,' she said in a small voice.

'I am learning to expect the unexpected where you are concerned, pet,' he said, his tone amused.

'You're not going to punish me for meeting with Harry and Ron?' she asked. She hated to bring it up, but she had to know.

He looked grave. 'I considered it,' he said. 'However, to be fair, I understand why you went; I hold Potter at fault for luring you into danger.' He sat up, swinging his feet onto the floor, and stood to stretch. He retrieved his clothing from the floor and pulled it on before turning to speak to her again. He walked to stand at the edge of the bed, and Hermione knelt on the mattress and wrapped her arms around him.

He embraced her, then stepped back and tilted her chin until their eyes met. 'I expect you to stay here and be safe,' he told her sternly. 'You may record the results of your study in the journal, and I will convey it to Potter. There is no need for you to venture out again to meet your friends.'

Hermione nodded and asked, 'Can you come again soon to see me?'

He frowned and donned his cloak, fastening it at his throat. 'This visit was ill-advised, at best. It is highly unlikely that we will meet again soon.' His face contorted, and he kissed her mouth, as if he could convey words of heavy import by the pressure of his lips on hers. He released her mouth and bent to press a chaste kiss to each breast, then stepped back. 'Be a good girl,' he exhorted.

'I promise,' she said, meaning it.

And in swirl of black wool he was gone, leaving her naked in the rumpled bedclothes which smelled of sex—and his aftershave. Hermione lifted his pillow, still indented with the shape of his head, and buried her face in it, rocking back and forth, back and forth.