For the Potions Master's Amusement
Chapter 24: Scheming
Hermione blinked once and set down her goblet of pumpkin juice. 'I'm sorry, Anthony; I was thinking about … something else.' She flashed him a brief smile and was a bit surprised when he blushed and smiled back. 'What were you saying?'
It was dinner time in the Great Hall, which just that day had been decorated for Christmas by the staff—well, by some of the staff. Certainly, Professor Snape had not participated. Hermione sat over her leisurely dinner with her usual companions and had been surprised when Anthony Goldstein spoke to her. Now, Anthony shuffled his feet nervously, and far down the row, at the head table, Hermione was aware of a figure in black watching her like a hawk.
'Would you come to the Yule Ball with me?' Anthony said, obviously nervous.
Hermione could not miss the snort of amusement from Harry, quickly covered by a cough. She directed quelling glares at him and at Ron, who was sitting with his fist pressed to his lips, as if he had a cough, as well. Then she smiled up at Anthony, playing for time.
'Aren't you sweet to think of me!' she said ingenuously, darting a sidelong look up at the head table. Although his head was dipped forward, with the curtains of his long black hair obscuring his face from the other teachers, Hermione clearly saw that her Potions professor was watching her interaction with Anthony Goldstein with burning eyes.
She made her decision all in a rush.
'I'd love to go to the Yule Ball with you!' she said with a brilliant smile at him. 'Shall I meet you in the entrance hall on Friday night at a quarter to?'
Anthony's relief was almost palpable. 'Yes!' he said, rather pathetically grateful. 'I'll see you then!'
The Ravenclaw prefect hurried away, and Harry and Ron dissolved into hilarity. Hermione pinned them with a withering glare.
'Are you absolutely certain that you want to open yourselves up to my commentary on your pathetic loves lives?' she demanded tartly.
Abruptly, Ron stopped laughing and rose from the table, muttering something about Hermione's inability to take a joke. 'Coming, Harry?' he asked over his shoulder.
'In a minute,' Harry answered, turning suddenly sober green eyes on Hermione. 'Ginny told me you're not coming with us to the Burrow for Christmas hols,' he said.
Hermione averted her eyes, developing renewed interest in the remains of her apple pie. 'That's right,' she said.
'I wish you'd change your mind,' Harry told her. 'It won't be the same without you.'
Hermione snorted. 'It will be much better,' she said. 'You and Ron can goof off without me there to tell you to study, and I can study without you and Ron pestering me to goof off.' She quirked half a smile at Harry and touched the back of his hand. 'We'll all be happier this way, Harry. I really need to step up my revision efforts—our NEWTs are almost here.'
Harry's hand turned beneath hers and clasped it warmly. 'I'd stay with you, if you wanted,' he said quietly, and Hermione knew he was sincere.
Squeezing his hand, she said, 'I know you would—you're the best of good friends. But the Headmaster has made arrangements for your protection at the Burrow, and besides, I really do want to study. I would be very poor company for you.'
Harry gave her a rueful smile, which she returned, and they sat together for a peaceful moment.
'How touching,' a snide voice said, and the two students looked up defiantly into the sneering face of Professor Snape, their hands still clasped. 'I do hate to interfere in your love life, Potter, but I require a word with Miss Granger.'
Hermione sought to pull her hand away from Harry's, a sudden flip-flop of her heart melting her defiance into desire to be alone with Professor Snape, but Harry refused to release her, his expression pugnacious as he scowled at their teacher.
'In case you haven't noticed, it's Sunday night,' Harry snapped.
Professor Snape's lips thinned. 'Congratulations, Potter. I had despaired that Hogwarts would ever teach you anything, but I see you have mastered the days of the week. Our job is clearly done.'
Hermione gently pulled her hand from Harry's and turned her shoulder to their teacher, speaking to Harry alone. 'It's all right,' she told him. 'I'll see you in the common room.'
Harry opened his mouth to retort, but Hermione's expression was discouraging enough to silence him. He nodded once to Hermione and headed for the entrance hall, giving Snape a wide berth.
Hermione stood and followed Professor Snape to a spot near the doorway, away from the student tables. 'Shall I come to your office?' she inquired softly.
Her professor frowned. 'There's no need for that,' he said shortly. 'What are you playing at with Goldstein?'
Feeling as if she had been slapped in the face, Hermione gasped indignantly. 'I'm not playing at anything!'
His eyes narrowed dangerously. 'If you have forgotten how shamelessly you encouraged Goldstein, it is my duty to remind you,' he snapped impatiently. 'Have I overlooked a budding romance between you and a fellow student? Or is this the first time he's approached you since attempting to grope you on the road from Hogsmeade?'
Hermione's eyes flashed angrily. How dared he to upbraid her about Anthony when he was carrying on with that cow of a shop girl? 'If you want to discuss it, Professor, I'll be happy to meet you in your office later this evening,' she said formally.
With a derisive curl of his lip, he said, 'I have an appointment out of the castle this evening. I have no time to waste on such a discussion.'
Hermione was pierced, and she felt a prickle of tears, but she was damned if she would display hurt feelings over his rendezvous with another woman. 'I apologize for wasting your time, sir,' she said, and without another word, she turned and walked away from him, climbing up the innumerable flights of stairs to Gryffindor Tower without glancing once behind her.
It was one of the most difficult things she had ever done, but Hermione did not sit at her window that night, watching for the man she loved to leave the castle for his meeting with the town girl he was fucking. Instead, she sat all evening in the common room, doing homework and helping the boys with theirs. When her mind wandered to her professor, she forced herself to concentrate again on her revision. When she found herself doodling his initials in the margin of her parchment, she determinedly scratched over it and disciplined herself to continue writing Professor McGonagall's essay on the ten most common mistakes in human Transfiguration.
At eleven o'clock, she packed up her things and retired to her room, trying desperately not to imagine what her professor was getting up to at that very moment with Taffy Smith. With a heavy heart, she removed her journal from her drawer and sat down to record her meals and what she had studied. She had already decided she would not request to orgasm tonight—she wouldn't give him the satisfaction of having the opportunity to tell her 'no'.
Holding the green leather bound volume in her lap, she gazed into space. Why had he approached her about Anthony? He was usually very careful to ignore her in public. She had wanted to make him jealous, but his only response had been to reprimand her and leave her to be with his town slut.
Stop it, she scolded herself. Think about the good things he says and does, not the things you don't like. Think about last night.
A frisson of excitement shimmered over her as she recalled lying upon the hearthrug in the professor's study, staring down the length of her torso to the sight of his black hair falling forward onto her naked thighs, his face moving rhythmically in her quim, coaxing her inexorably to another orgasm …
Her womb ached with sudden, powerful desire, and she wrapped an arm about her abdomen, curling inward, as if to protect herself from attack. Dear Merlin but she wanted him, no one except him, yet she was not necessary to his happiness. He could go off to be with someone else without a second thought. How was that fair?
Falling back onto her pillow, she opened her journal and flipped to the next blank page, ready to write the required details of her day—but the last page bore his spiky script.
Here is your assignment, if you choose to accept it.
You have permission to orgasm twice tonight. You may finger yourself, fuck yourself with one of your toys, or direct the bath spray onto your clitoris to achieve orgasm. You may not do so by fucking one of your little friends.
Anger flared in her. He had been in her mind—he knew bloody well she wasn't going to fuck one of her friends! Why did he say such things?
As she glared at it, further writing appeared on the page of the journal.
The only other requirement for your permitted orgasms is that you must fantasize about fucking Anthony Goldstein as you bring yourself off. If you do not imagine Goldstein as you masturbate, you may not orgasm. I will be examining your memories to determine if you have followed my instructions.
When you have come for the second time, you are to write a detailed account of each fantasy and each orgasm. If you choose not to masturbate, you will write one thousand words to explain your decision.
'Damn you to hell!' Hermione cried, hurling the book away from her, hearing it hit the wall even as she pushed herself to her feet again. The slickness which had developed between her legs as she reminisced about her many orgasms of the night before mocked her now—she couldn't masturbate to fantasies of Anthony Goldstein! She was constitutionally incapable of it!
She stopped before her mirror, staring unseeing at her reflection. She hadn't got herself off to thoughts about anyone but Severus Snape since the night he had challenged her in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place—well over three months before! And now, feeling about him as she did, she could no more think of someone else while she pleasured herself than she could fling open the window and fly without a broomstick. It was impossible. He was bloody fucking impossible!
He knows you can't do it, the voice in her mind whispered.
What?
Moving from the mirror, Hermione wandered to the window and stared out at the star strewn sky. Had he given her the ridiculous, impossible assignment to illustrate her inability to think of a man other than him in a sexual way?
Her chin rose at the very notion.
She wanted him—she wanted him desperately—but she was not about to let him think that she was his for the taking, while he was unavailable to her. If she couldn't actually be hard to get, she could certainly play hard to get. She could write him one thousand words about why she wasn't going to wank to thoughts of poor Anthony Goldstein—then she could put all her energies into making it appear that she couldn't be happier than to be a girl preparing for the Yule Ball. She would find the perfect dress to drive her Dominant insane with desire for her, then fix her hair and do her make-up … If Severus Snape truly found her beautiful and desirable, as he had said he did, she would make herself particularly beautiful to go on a date with another male.
And he could see how it felt.
She was a submissive, but she was not a doormat. She was fighting for her happiness, and she was taking no prisoners.
A/N: I'll be curious to know what you think his response to her plan will be! Remember than your comments feed the Muse!
