No, I don't imagine you can publish that last bit, either. I'm sure it's the most fun you've had hearing a story though, correct?
Your blush is enough answer.
That early morning, my lust heightened rather than satisfied in the discovery of glorious half-drunken sex with her, had led to much contemplation. The previous night's discussion with Dumbledore, the realization that I had broken school policies by having sexual relations with a student….
At the time, I had thought my saving graces were both that we had been on summer holiday and that she was of age.
Except she hadn't been of age.
As the sun had slowly filtered through the closed blinds of my room, the realization had slowly filtered through my mind as well.
She was going into her sixth year, how could she possibly have been of age?
I remembered frantically searching the inventory of my thoughts, recalling her third year when she had been given "special privilege" to use a Time-Turner. Something about her age had seemed to stay lodged in my memory, hopefully as a way to save me from this perversion. When was her birth date?
It had all hit me at once. The 19th of September. She wouldn't be of age for another two weeks.
Two weeks was all that had been needed, all that had been needed to have turned this debacle into a slap on the wrist from Dumbledore. Instead…
But…the thought of Dumbledore's "favor," the thought of what I was being asked to do, the thought of any sort of semblance of future I had planned shattered…
I, in my self-serving hindsight, had reasoned that I was having what little life I had left torn from me by the person who was the closest thing to family I had ever known, besides…her… of course. I made myself innocent in my own mind.
Darkly, I realized Dumbledore needed me; he could not get rid of me.
He would not get rid of me.
Weeks later, like she was a Legilimens even more skilled than I, she seemed to read my false inner innocence as an opening for an intrusion the afternoon of her birthday, where Defense Against the Dark Arts was the last class of the day.
Dumbledore had brilliantly placed me in Defense Against the Dark Arts, feeding into the "infamously" cursed position. Even the other professors had quietly raised their eyebrows at the announcement in the first staff meeting of the year. I had sat there, gritting my teeth, as Dumbledore had made quite a show of "finally" giving me the position after years of my own personal research into the field. Slughorne had sat like as pompous a toad as Umbridge ever was, thinking that my change in position was simply to allow him to return to the school. He wasn't completely wrong.
I then proceeded to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts for almost three weeks with little incident. I awarded roughly 200 points to Slytherin because of Misters Malfoy and Zabini and took away as much from the other houses in the same period. I avoided all eye contact with Potter. I recoiled at the Weasley managing an E to place into the course.
The girl, on the other hand, had steadily answered questions as if nothing had happened. I had even (briefly) wondered if it had been a dream, just like the night that had caused my ridiculous interest in the first place.
It wasn't until the day that, ignoring her raised hand as usual, she blurted an answer out of turn. I had to deduct points, naturally. Locking eyes with her for what couldn't have been more than two moments, her pale lip rose slightly, as if she was keeping herself from laughing. Was this a taunt?
"Do you wish to enlighten us as to what is so humorous, Miss Granger?"
She responded, "I only found it funny that our text book did not mention bergamot oil as a common cloaking smell for dark potions."
What a straight face she had maintained, what an easily acceptable response she had doled out. I was no fool.
"Do you find yourself of such intelligence that you know more than the three separate masters who edited your text? A further fifteen points from Gryffindor for your 'intelligence.'"
"Sir, bergamot oil is often confused with the cited monarda balm!" she said with a bit more verve than was necessary. Draco had peered at her curiously; Potter turned his head slightly.
"Perhaps you can learn where your limited intelligence is wanted in detention. Tonight. Perhaps scrubbing the first year's defense targets will remind you of your…limited scholarship," I had emphasized.
Weasley had looked aghast, Potter muttering more loudly than necessary, "But it's her birthday!"
I smirked.
She ducked her head. In any other circumstance, I would have recognized this action as a sign of mortification on her part. But she had not hidden her face quick enough; she was clearly hiding a small smirk under that thick mass of curls she called hair.
The chit.
I had felt tense as she entered the room that night.
I continuously brushed the thought that kept screaming, "She is of age!" I ignored the fact that I had relieved myself to the thought of that night in the dungeons multiple times. She was a student; it was inappropriate. I had guilty thoughts of power dynamics, her like a pawn to me in the way I was thrown about like the Dark Lord and Dumbledore. She might think she wanted… this, but had I really known what I wanted when I became a Death Eater at her age?
Her age.
She would clean.
When she entered the large Defense classroom, her hair was tied back into a knot at the back of her head, revealing more of her face and neck than I was used to seeing. She had a long neck, a vulpine face. Her eyes were large despite the maturing narrowness her face was developing. She had her robe in her arms, the exposed uniform jarring to the more deviant thoughts I had only seconds earlier. I didn't speak, merely pointed to the stacks of dirtied "defense" targets in a corner of the room, her face unexpressive as she set her wand and robe on a table and went to work.
Two hours passed quietly. I graded papers; she scrubbed ash and gook silently, her white sleeves pushed above her elbows, curls coiling around her now loose bun. The exertion caused sweat to trickle down the back of her pale neck, my eyes unable to resist occasionally trailing their paths. Then, she paused and stripped off her gray sweater vest, revealing her white collared blouse and black skirt; the former was somewhat matted with sweat, clearly revealing a black bra beneath. Both the action of her undressing and the revelation of her lingerie removed any niggling doubt I had of her intentions.
I saw her glance back at me, as if daring me to question her uniform change. I resisted.
A further hour passed before she undid the knot at her hair, moving to gather up her varied curls. The movement of her hair splaying across her back caught my attention, the curls falling in spirals rather than kinks.
She knew perfectly well what she was doing… so it was inevitable when only a few more minutes passed before she was pressed against her workbench, her skirt hiked up revealing nothing (which only aroused me further) and us spent moments later from the hot release of such tightly wound erotic tension.
I believe only a few more minutes had passed before Granger, ever the Gryffindor, commented, "Well… now what?"
I looked at her seriously.
"Now, we dress."
After we were clothed, we both remained standing in place, Granger's rag left haphazardly on the edge of the table. A slight sheen of sweat graced her rosy cheeks. She looked so young.
"I'm legally of age now," she said, as if sensing my thoughts. Again, a slight worry of Legilimency tickled the edges of my mind. She hadn't been trained, had she?
"You are a student." I should end this.
"I wasn't under your care in the summer," she said reasonably. I flinched; she had to use the word "care" and remind me of my dishonor, the bastardizing of my profession. How had I become a lecherous old man before 40?
She saw the flinch, but logically thought it was for another issue I was also trying not to think on.
"I was technically of age over the summer… sir," she added as an afterthought, cocking her head.
I snorted.
"And how is that?"
She seemed shifty and made to open her mouth.
"You are still a student." I clung to the obvious, and interrupted whatever half-arsed means of excuse she would make. I was guilty; as you can see with my… current state of living, I do not shy away from my own guilt. Regardless of her age, regardless of whether Dumbledore would be appalled... I had broken my code of conduct.
She chewed her lip and moved her eyes away from mine. An uneasy silence filled the space between us.
"But you are my professor."
I nodded, confirming our predilections.
"I could be held responsible, too."
"Don't be ridiculous," I had spat, "I'm abusing my position of authority by…fraternizing with you."
"I'm of age; would it look like that to the Wizengamot?"
I froze. She had thought of Azkaban, as well?
She stepped closer, allowing me to see the flecks of amber in her otherwise solidly brown eyes.
"I won't say a word."
I tried not to grimace. I felt as if our situation was playing out into every sordid tale between a student and teacher. I felt… guilty, at wrapping her in a subterfuge that involved me fucking a teenage girl because I had done so in a dream.
"Why?" I asked.
"I'm an adult. I chose to do what I've done. How could I possibly report you for something I violated as well?"
This interaction perhaps changed my mindset permanently about the Granger girl. The lust? That had been purely physical. At those moments, though… I began to respect her. Even with her lofty, Gryffindor language. Responsibility was something I knew well in my life; it… helped to hear that she was of the same mentality.
"You would hardly end up in Azkaban. The Board of Governors would immediately sack me; you would be simply told to keep events quiet. No teacher would look at you the same."
I stared at her. She chewed her lip again. The habit brought me right back down to realizing she was still a schoolgirl.
This would become the endless conflict I would have in our affair: Granger, with the insecurities of a schoolgirl, but the mind and mouth of an aged crone.
I also realized I was starting to rationalize too many excuses for what we were doing.
"What do you expect of all this, Miss Granger?"
Her teeth were sucked quickly into her mouth; I had left an opening for us to continue, something she may not have expected.
"I…" she hesitated. I tried to dissuade her, for her or my benefit, I'm not sure.
"There will be no… romance," I inflected as much disdain as I possibly could. Let her see her old professor.
She seemed startled, "Oh, of course not! I… don't know what to say of what I expect. Usually I plan things out very thoroughly; I even planned tonight, but… I can't seem to plan… this out." Her hands gestured half-heartedly between us, referencing something so intangible she could not place words upon it.
After her quick stream of babbling, she remained quiet, aware she was speaking too much. An awareness I hoped she would bring into the classroom.
The classroom.
"There can be no displays as you had earlier today," I warned.
She nodded, the lip again between her white teeth. When had they become so straight?
"Then…we may continue." I nodded, as if we were discussing a research project, or an essay, and the discussion was closed.
I tried not to notice the excited brightening of her eyes as I exited, as dramatically as possible.
I tried not to feel a foreign sense of excitement in my chest.
Note: Sorry for the slightly longer gap in updates. As I've said, this story is roughly 50-75% complete, and I edit before each section goes up. I'm sick, so I had time to edit and publish. Many of you keep mentioning a dislike for the "Time-Turner" trope of HG/SS fics, and I have to agree. I find the issue has become sort of an easy out way of having student/teacher fics not taken down from FF or Live Journal ;) With that being said, I've approached Hermione's aging a slightly different way than I've ever read, though it will involve time… after all, how else could she be aged "just" enough? Look for that in coming chapters, as it will be pivotal to Snape's later trial.
Also FYI: Monarda is an herb very similar to the Bergamot orange, hence the "plausibility" of Hermione's issue in Snape's class.
Again, I ask all of you nice people "favoriting" this story and putting it on you alerts: please review! Without direct feedback, it's hard for me to gauge how people feel about this story, or what areas I can improve (especially when what reviews I get, they seem to be complaints or rants about something not even in my story!). Please review! It is the ~monarda~ balm to a writer's soul ;)