A/N: Forgive me for taking so long - it's my first incidence of writer's block. Please let me know if I got it right. Hopefully the flow will resume again, as it was before. Cheers!


For The Potions Master's Amusement

Chapter 29: Completion

The first thing of which Hermione became aware was that she was sleeping in her clothes—and that she was dead uncomfortable. She shifted to one side beneath the bedclothes, but the stockings on her legs were twisted, and the clips on the suspenders dug into her flesh. With a protesting snort, she pushed the covers away and opened her eyes—and knew she wasn't in her own bed. Memories from the night before flooded her mind, and she rolled over, but the other pillow was unoccupied.

She pushed out of the bed, straightening the twisted stockings first, then smoothing her hands over her crumpled dress. She looked about the professor's bedroom, wondering where he was. Didn't they have an appointment this morning? She saw that the bathroom door was open, so he wasn't in there—he must have gone to breakfast. Feeling a stab of sharp disappointment, she went into the lavatory to tidy up a bit.

When she went into the professor's small sitting room, she was foolishly relieved to find him sitting at his ease in an armchair, his long black hair still wet from the shower. He put aside the book he was reading when she entered, his dark eyes intent upon her face.

'Good morning,' he said.

Hermione hesitated, uncertain of her status. Did he expect her to uncover her nether parts? Was she supposed to kneel? She didn't know.

'I thought …' she began, but she felt inexplicably shy and could not speak the words in her mind.

'Yes,' he said, apparently aware of her concerns. 'We were not, however, taking all factors into consideration when we made our plans last night.' One corner of his mouth quirked up. 'Your classmates are at breakfast. They're leaving for the holiday, and I am sure they are wondering where you are.' The other side of his mouth curved as well, and Hermione felt herself melting in response to one of her professor's rare, genuine smiles. 'Little though we might wish to think on it, we will not be alone in the castle for the next three weeks, Hermione. It will be necessary for both of us to make appearances at meals and for you to spend time in your dormitory.'

He rose and closed the distance between them, pulling her against him. Hermione wrapped her arms around him, clinging, and he nuzzled her cheek.

'As much as I would like to spend the day in my bed with you,' he said, the timbre of his voice so full of promise that she felt her knees weaken, 'we must play our parts. Come to me after dinner, and the evening will be ours. The password for my chambers is "hairbrush". We will not stand on ceremony tonight.' He released her, tilting her chin so that their eyes met. 'Do you have any questions?'

'No,' she said. 'But I wish I didn't have to go.'

He swooped on her, catching her up into his arms and kissing her mouth, hot, passionate, and demanding. When he released her lips, she trembled against him.

'I wish you didn't have to go, too,' he said rather gruffly. 'Now, go.'


Under the Disillusionment Charm, Hermione returned to her dormitory and changed into jeans and a jumper, not taking time to bathe. She hurried down to the Great Hall and slipped into her place between Harry and Ron, conscious of the black-robed Professor Snape watching her from the staff table.

Harry seemed surprised to see her. 'Ginny knocked on your door, but you didn't answer,' he said.

'Sorry,' she replied, reflecting that, as usual, her professor had been quite right. They would have to keep up appearances, or there would be too many uncomfortable things to attempt to explain. 'I was catching a bit of early reading in the library, and the time got away from me.'

Ron turned a look of amused exasperation on her. 'It's the bloody first day of hols,' he informed her. 'Why weren't you having a lie-in and goofing off?'

The rest of the conversation proceeded as it had done innumerable times before. Hermione put food on her plate and ate it, knowing she would be held accountable for following prior instructions, such as eating regular meals and reporting them, regardless of how much unholy excitement she might be feeling when contemplating the coming night. She couldn't help frequent glances at the teachers' table, and she wasn't surprised to find the object of her fascination watching her rather more often than not.

Most of her friends finished eating and returned to their dormitories to finish packing while Hermione lingered over her breakfast. When she began hearing the sounds of students clattering across the entrance hall with their trunks, she went up to Gryffindor Tower and performed her prefect duties, making sure everyone got out the door with their trunks and travelling cases in time to make the eleven o'clock departure of the Hogwarts Express from Hogsmeade.

She arrived in the Great Hall for lunch armed with a heavy book of theoretical magic, a subject which fascinated her but which was not taught in secondary school. Happily, she settled down to eat her chicken pie and read for pleasure. There were few students remaining behind for the hols; perhaps ten total, with only two other Gryffindors, a pair of third-year boys who sat together, obviously great friends. Hermione noted that the other students were from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff; there was not one student from Slytherin House remaining at Hogwarts for Christmas.

She glanced frequently to the head table, hoping to catch a glimpse of Professor Snape, but she did not see him. Perhaps he was taking his lunch in his rooms—or perhaps he had gone into Hogsmeade to eat lunch at the pub. Perhaps he was meeting Taffy Smith …

Her lips thinned, and she gave her head a firm shake. She wouldn't think about that—not now. Tonight, she would finally be with him—completely with him—and it would be …

She actually shivered with a sudden, aching need for her Dominant low in her belly. With one last glance at the staff table, she abandoned her lunch and headed back to her dormitory, in sudden need of rest and repose. She wanted to be well rested for the most important night of her life.


Hermione was not surprised when the professor's office door opened to admit her before she raised her hand to try the knob, nor when the hidden study door illuminated and opened, as well. The study, the room wherein she had spent so many delicious hours, was dimly lit, but she navigated it easily to stand before the portrait of Salazar Slytherin.

'Hairbrush,' she said, her voice soft but definite in the silence.

The founder scowled but made no comment as the painting swung forward, and she was admitted to the professor's quarters. It seemed, for a moment, that the stars of the night sky had descended to hover in the air of the sitting room, for every surface was covered by tiny pinpoints of light. Reason promptly informed her that she was amidst a plethora of tea-lights, and she was touched by the sheer romanticism of the gesture—then she saw him, standing in the middle of the room, waiting for her. He wore a loose-fitting white shirt and dark trousers, and the pride in his bearing drew a sigh of breathless admiration from her. Her groundless concerns—that he would not be here, that he would change his mind, that he would send her away—disappeared when he extended a hand. She went to him immediately, unhesitating, and stopped when he took her shoulders, holding her at arms' length.

'Hello, Hermione,' he said, looking down into her face.

'Hello, sir,' she responded, knowing her smile did not match his sober, questioning expression, but she was unable to help herself.

'You understand that you do not have to do this?' he said.

'Yes, I understand,' she answered. She was sorry that he felt the need to hear the answers to these questions, but she could sense his restraint like a palpable thing, holding him in check as with bands of iron.

'You may change your mind with no negative consequences,' he added, his baritone slightly strangled, as if his words were forced past a physical barrier of some sort.

Hermione placed the flats of her palms against his chest and felt the muscles there jump beneath her hands. 'Please take me to your bed and fuck me, sir,' she said, looking up into his face, fearless and sure. 'I've wanted it for so long.'

The hands on her shoulders tightened imperceptibly, and then he was in her mind, his passage as slick as his fingers sliding into her needful quim and his presence every bit as welcome. Consciously, she opened her mind to him, allowing him to bathe in knowledge of her utter desire to be his in every way. Time stopped, and she was conscious of his immersion in her thoughts and emotions. She surrendered to his probing, feeling his ubiquity and embracing it. His occupancy within her mind was scarcely less arousing to her than his hands upon her body, and she was soon quivering beneath his examination of her mind, her quim warm and wet with desire, her nipples aching for his attention.

Without disengaging, his hands slid down from her shoulders, and he scooped her into his arms, carrying her effortlessly into the next room, where he deposited her on the edge of his bed. His lips did not move, yet it seemed as if she heard his voice murmuring in her ear as his fingers found the buttons of her blouse, deftly unbuttoning her. Lovely, it said caressingly, and he unfastened her bra, dropping the garments to the floor, before reaching for the zip on her skirt. He tugged and she lifted her bum, allowing him to pull the skirt over her head. His eyes dropped to her knicker-less mound, with the suspenders extending down her thighs to hold her stockings in place. Good girl, she heard, and he shrugged out of his shirt. Hermione scarcely had time to preen herself for dressing in a way that he found pleasing before he was bare-chested before her. Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips as she allowed herself to stare at the muscular definition of his toned pectorals. He was rather narrow-chested, as compared to some men—Viktor, for instance—but his upper body was pleasingly fit, lightly toned, and to Hermione, mouth-wateringly beautiful.

Silly girl, she heard, but he did not sound angry. Instead, he sounded startled. She raised her face to his and saw a red splotch high on his cheekbones. Had she embarrassed him?

But before she could explore that notion, he grabbed her hands and placed them upon his belt buckle. Focus, he said, and though she sensed he was covering his earlier confusion, she was only too willing to be distracted by the insistent bulge beneath her hands. Quickly, she disengaged his leather belt and unfastened his trousers, prepared to lift his pants out and down—but he wore none. Either side of the trousers sagged open, and she was treated to the sight of the dark line which ran down from his navel to the thick growth of black hair which covered his groin. And thrusting from the centre of wiry black hair was his cock, swelling even as she watched.

With a primal impetus which took her completely unawares, Hermione pushed the trousers down his legs, scarcely noting how he stepped out of them, for she had grasped the cheeks of his bottom in her hands and fastened her lips around the slightly protruding tip of his cock, her tongue sweeping gently over the opening at the very end.

'Sweet Jesus,' she heard, and was pleased to know she had shocked him out of the link he had sustained with her mind, even as she mourned his sudden absence from her head. Still, his groan of pleasure empowered her to grasp his member just below the knob, sliding the skin down, fully exposing his most sensitive part to her loving administration of tongue therapy.

He allowed her to carry on for only a very short period of time before he removed himself from her mouth. Hermione looked up at his face. 'No?' she asked.

'No,' he answered firmly, motioning her to the middle of the bed. 'I have every intention of coming inside you for the first time tonight—isn't that what you want?'

Hermione scuttled back to the middle of the bed and held out her arms to him. 'Yes,' she said fiercely, and he smirked, climbing onto the bed and pursuing her with a lithe single-mindedness which made her heart race. He was so intense, so very sure of himself—somehow, this felt nothing like her amatory adventures with her previous partners—and she was more thankful than she could say.

'Spread your legs, little one,' he commanded, on his knees between her thighs, his bobbing erection holding her gaze like a threat and a promise, all rolled into one.

Hermione did as she was bid, feeling the cool air touch her fevered nether parts as she stretched herself open for his inspection. She watched him as his eyes slid up her torso to her breasts, then to her face.

'I'm going to fuck you, Hermione,' he told her, his glittering black eyes absorbing her from his place between her parted thighs. 'I'm going to slide inside your body, and lay on top of you, pinning you to my bed. I'm going to fuck you so slowly and so thoroughly that you'll realise you've never really been fucked before. And before we're finished, you're going to come like the Hogwarts express.' He reached down, without looking away from her face, and by feel alone, he slipped two fingers unerringly into her slick channel, then spread the moisture he found there up to her clitoris, drawing a moan from her. 'Do you believe me?' he asked her, rubbing her clitoris in a circular motion, using the exact amount of pressure to provide the most pleasure.

'Yes,' she gasped, grinding against his hand, inviting more caresses from him. 'I believe everything you say.'

He growled and grasped her hips, jerking her upward, moving forward as he did so, supporting her hips and lower back on his chest as he advanced, and in short order, Hermione had no choice but to hook her knees over his shoulders as he buried his nose in the muff of her pubic hair.

'But first,' he said, licking at her moist folds teasingly, 'I'm going to lick your slick little cunt, because I can't get enough of the taste of you.' And suiting action to words, he nudged the bud of her pleasure centre with the tip of his nose while he slurped and licked at her wet opening, liberally covering the lower half of his face with her secretions.

At first, Hermione was discomfited by her position, remembering her mother lying on the floor with her bum supported by her hands in the air as she 'bicycled' her exercises. Soon, however, the reality of her professor's mouth on her quim overruled her self-consciousness, and she simply allowed herself to experience the pleasure, wondering if he was going to bring her to orgasm before he fucked her. Wouldn't that make it more difficult for her to climax during intercourse?

Then he was unhooking her legs, pushing them up and to one side, allowing her body to rest again upon the bed, even as he moved alongside her. 'You think entirely too much,' he informed her, gently pinching a nipple and watching her mouth sag open in response. 'Don't think,' he said, rising over her, until his face was mere millimetres from hers. 'Simply feel—feel our bodies reacting to one another.' He kissed her mouth with sudden urgency, his hand rolling each nipple before stroking down her tummy to cup her quim.

Hermione sucked greedily at his tongue, tasting her own quim in his mouth, her hands caressing his back, feeling the supple movement of his musculature as he shifted to cover her body with his. Mindful of his instructions, she simply felt him atop her, the rough hair of his chest and belly scraping over the skin of her torso. She parted her legs to accommodate him, the silky stockings smoothing over his hips and along his upper thighs.

He released her mouth and raised himself to nuzzle between her breasts. Dimly remembering a request he had made before, she pushed her breasts together, offering them to him.

'Beautiful,' he said gruffly, his frequently vicious mouth closing over her areola, his teeth lightly scraping before he suckled, his hips shifting, rubbing the length of his considerable erection along the silky stockings, bringing another growl from him. He shifted seamlessly to the other breast, light teething before insistent suckling, and Hermione simply felt, her arousal increasing as she watched his intense concentration, eyes closed, inky black hair sliding over her skin as he nibbled, licked, and sucked her nipples.

Then he shifted himself, supporting his weight on his arms as he manoeuvred his hips against hers, the tip of his cock pushing against her labia. He looked down into her face, his lips twisting, almost as if in pain.

'Do you want this?' he demanded, his voice roughening even as the head of his cock slid against her clitoris for the first time, causing her to cry out and dig her fingers into his back, hips jerking up.

'Yes, yes!' she insisted. 'Please!'

His left hand snaked between their bodies, positioning him surely at her entrance. 'You're mine,' he said, thrusting himself inside her body even as he slipped again into her mind, possessing himself of her body and her mind in one motion.

Hermione sucked in her breath, surprised by the sensation of having her professor's cock inside of her. It was not painful, but was quite alien, feeling quite different from her toys or …

Focus, the commanding voice directed, and she pulled herself together, looking trustingly up into his face, automatically relaxing muscles that had been tensing in reaction to the unfamiliar length and breadth of him demanding entrance to her body. Good girl.

Consciously, Hermione took a deep breath, further relaxing, feeling him sliding further in, until his scrotum rested on the flesh of her bottom, and with a grunt, he rotated his hips, creating a sensation that brought Hermione's head up, her lips in an 'o' of combined surprise and pleasure.

Mine, sounded in her mind, reverberating as well in her body, and he withdrew, pulling out, sliding along the path created to cause the most exquisite friction for them both. Hermione let out a sigh, her hands running down his flanks, admiring his lean grace as he moved over her body, his face contorted in pleasure.

Slowly, maddeningly, he moved in and out of her body, watching her face and knowing her thoughts as she had them, in complete control of the act taking place between them. As he had said it would, the passage of his ridged cock in and out of her cunt, spreading her, massaging back and forth over her clitoris, was building a slow, consuming burning in her blood, creating sensations unlike anything she had ever felt before. She was torn between wishing he would move more quickly and wishing it would never end, going up another notch of passion with every impact of his heavy scrotum against her bottom, which would signal another rotation of his hips and a more pronounced sneer on his lips.

She felt the urge to toss her head upon the pillow, but she had no desire to lose eye contact with him, so she simply breathed more deeply, allowing him in farther still, knowing he was as far into her body as he could go, but wondering if there was an end to how much of her mind he could possess.

As much as you allow, she heard, as he ended another deep stroke into her body. He snapped his hips, impacting a spot inside which he had tapped before with his fingertips—but this was completely different, for he was filling her, spreading her, fucking her, and she nearly came off the bed with a loud cry. But of course, she couldn't, for he was pinning her to the mattress, just as he had said he would, and she was utterly in his power.

Yes, his voice hissed in her mind, and he gritted his teeth. At my mercy.

And he jerked his hips again, wringing a feral cry from her, her fingernails digging into his back. 'Please!' she cried, not knowing what she wanted him to do, exactly, only having faith that he would know what to do—that he would do what she needed.

Almost imperceptibly, he began to move more quickly, sweat beading on his forehead as he laboured over her body. His eyes flicked from her face to her swaying breasts to the spot where their bodies met. Still,he was in her mind, somehow caressing her thoughts even as he fucked her cunt, inciting the fire in her blood to spread to her muscles, an escalating inferno racing along her nerve endings, speeding to a destination both familiar and strange.

Trust, his voice said. Trust me.

'Master,' she breathed, reaching for him with her entire being, and she could feel the shock of recognition as he heard her both with his ears and in his mind. Somehow, she was in his consciousness, possessing him as he possessed her, and the reality of his awareness was intoxicating. After a moment's hesitation, he enveloped her completely, and in that instant she knew he had wanted her—wanted this—since the night he had pushed her to the floor in the kitchen on Grimmauld Place and straddled her body.

His reaction to her discovery was visceral. With a sudden release of control, he allowed himself to plunge in and out of her body with abandon. Both excited and alarmed, in seconds she felt her body slipping and sliding along a slope of sensation so intense she couldn't consciously keep up.

Let go! the imperative commanded, the voice she heard even in her dreams, and she obeyed, her climax blazing through her. Feeling as if her cognizance had slipped the bounds of time, she hurtled headlong into space, yet safe in the arms—and the consciousness—of her professor.

'Mine!' he roared, but Hermione, adrift as she was, could not be sure if he had spoken the word or merely thought it. He was stiffening above her, gasps of completion tingeing the edges of her awareness, even as her corporeal body cradled his, her arms and legs wrapping around him, holding him to her, her anchor and her reason.


A/N: This story has been nominated on the Live Journal community called Smutastic Awards, in the following categories:

Best BDSM
Best Spanking

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