Mornings are his true nemesis throughout this ordeal.
He is called upon by two masters and yet a third beckons him now as a new week makes itself known. Teaching is not a passion— not even close. It is a burden, but a necessary one.
His morning excitement knows not what the day holds. Holding his throbbing cock in his hand is a fast forming habit now. But in years past he has punished himself for this completely human reaction.
With himself in hand, he walks into the shower fully intending to paint the tiles with his come.
It's concerning how quickly he is becoming a slave to his own sexual appetite. There was a time when all he thought about was the warm clench of a cunt around his cock. The stuttering, choking sensation of his throbbing release was ointment to his wounds. But it has been many years since he had the freedom to fantasise about such things.
Now with his requested seduction of Miss Granger on the horizon it's all he can seem to focus on.
A cold shower to dampen his erection is out of the question, he is far too preoccupied with the task at hand and allows his imagination to run wild as he pulls himself off under the warm spray.
The days— although it feels longer— since his last summoning to Voldemort have been long and tedious. His libido and conscience are warring, once he is satisfied by his hand, his good sense kicks back in.
She is just a girl.
Too young, too sweet and too good to be caught up in the devious plans of tyrants and their obedient soldiers.
But he is caught too, not young, not sweet or good, but caught nonetheless. Shouldn't he have a chance to feel something other than the endless loop of misery that stalks him. It's his fault of course. He chose this life, she has stumbled into this nefarious world without misdeed.
Severus grasps at straws— she knows the danger of publicly befriending 'The Chosen One' especially with her blood status. Surely she has considered the possibility that she has painted a target on her back?
Guilt.
He is trying to assuage his own guilt in what is to come and the fact that he has every intention of enjoying it. Even the filthy little thoughts he can't seem to control are a kindness compared to his usual ruminations.
His most soothing thought is that Miss Granger's nobel, kind and compassionate nature would likely accept this burden even without the attraction that is already sparkling in her eyes. He has no doubt that she would lay down her life— or open her thighs— to help set their world on the right path.
Gryffindors.
Each class leading up to hers seems inane. Severus is mildly concerned with his agitation and how eager he is to finally lay eyes on her attentive face, it is borderline obsessive now and it has only been days since he was tasked.
When finally her voluminous curls and bright brown eyes are trained on him he is almost sated.
The girl is beautiful in a way that her peers cannot yet appreciate— she is wasted on them. Her golden skin, smattered with delicate freckles looks soft and full, Severus will take great pleasure in running his hands along it.
He needs a reason to slap her with a detention but Granger is being annoyingly quiet and well mannered this term.
She watches him with rapt attention as he delivers what is most likely the most gripping and compelling Defence lessons she has ever experienced. He could get lost in the intense looks that follow him.
There are no whispered instructions to Longbottom or the likes any more.
Only Potter continues to test his patience this year— and Draco.
He is seething when Potter knocks him off-balance with a verbal spell. His eyes jerk immediately to Granger who is watching with one hand over her mouth, agape. Severus has had enough of being made to look foolish by arrogant Gryffindors in his life.
Then Potter hands him a perfect opportunity.
"Do you remember me telling you we are practising non-verbal spells, Potter?"
"Yes," the boy replies stiffly.
"Yes sir."
"There's no need to call me 'sir', Professor."
A malicious smile tugs the corners of his mouth as his eyes flash dangerously, roaming between Potter and his pretty little friend who watches on— horrified.
"Detention," he says lazily.
"Miss Granger!" he snaps and she jumps suddenly, back straight and fingers trembling. "Since Potter seems unfazed by his constant punishments, you will report to my office tonight at eight pm."
"What!?" Potter screams, jumping to his feet.
"That's not fair!" Weasley yells, also bouncing up out of his seat.
"Such is life Mr Weasley," Severus snarks. "When Mr Potter learns to uphold himself in an appropriate manner such unfair methods of discipline will no longer be necessary. But until such a time, the 'boy wonder' will be forced to accept that his actions affect the consequences of others."
The class watches on in shocked silence, likely afraid if they speak out of turn that they might face a similar fate. The best way to discipline a Gryffindor was to punish a friend in their place, a dagger to their self-righteous nature.
He watches as Weasley battles with his sense of justice, his mouth opens and closes several times before he sits heavily in his seat and crosses his arms stubbornly.
If looks could kill.
Severus smirks at the idea of stealing Miss Granger from the buffoon. Weasley no doubt has romantic notions about her and how they will give themselves to one another. But little does he know, as he gazes wistfully at Granger, she is lost in thoughts of her Professor and his hands— what they might do to her.
He tries to stay out of her thoughts, but it is difficult when he catches sight of her blushing as she follows his movements in the classroom.
That is how this whole debacle started.
Severus couldn't help but slip silently into her thoughts during a particularly gruelling Potions lesson one day. He had been snarling and snapping at the idiocy the class put forth, each face was stricken with fear or disdain, each face except for hers. Granger, he recalls watching him with such wary wonder that he couldn't stop himself.
The first time had come as a shock.
Her mind enveloped him in such heat, passion and warmth that he was certain it must have been a mistake— a fantasy about someone else. But as he watched, suddenly Granger and her rapt attention took on a new light.
It wasn't often he allowed himself the opportunity to slip inside her mind, usually only when he was having a particularly bad day. It's comforting, comforting to know that a beautiful young witch spent her days fantasising about him, even if it was terribly inappropriate.
The rest of the class passes in stony silence.
Each member of 'the golden trio' has their face cast downward in either shame or frustration.
The urge to peek at Miss Granger's thoughts overwhelm him. Is she playing out filthy little fantasies about her upcoming detention with him? He could bring them all to life— give her exactly what she wants.
Class comes to a close and his thoughts race with what is to come.
"Essays on my desk," he says with his back turned to the exiting students.
"S—sir?"
Her delicate, wary tone is almost enough to make him hard.
"Eight pm sharp, Miss Granger, no arguments."
"Of course sir, I just wanted to apologise," she says quietly, he can't see her but he can picture her plump bottom lip being abused by her teeth.
He stays silent.
"For— for Harry, he's— it's his temper, since Sirius—"
"Potter has always been a mouthy brat, Miss Granger, do not mistake impudence for grieving, your compassion is wasted."
Severus turns slowly, annoyed by the mention of Black and Potter, it's much easier to tolerate her when he's picturing on her knees. His cock twitches at the thought.
"Get out Miss Granger, Merlin knows I'll be seeing enough of you tonight."
As she scarpers from his sight he can't help the smug smirk that twists his features. He will feast upon the vision that is Hermione Granger coming apart for him.
Dinner is just another pointless obstacle, keeping him from her.
He is clearly agitated, fidgeting with his cutlery and the cuff of his sleeve. Albus watches from beside.
His good hand reaches over to pat Severus's thigh soothingly— or what he can only imagine is intended as a soothing gesture anyway, he doubts he can take comfort in much these days.
"You're a good man Severus."
It is muttered so quietly he isn't sure he's heard him. More empty words, more lies.
His stomach is churning.
The idea of what's to come is much easier to face without Albus nearby, his presence is a sure fire way to ensure the guilt that Severus should feel is overwhelming.
He casts his eyes out to the gathered crowd.
Students, completely unfazed by what is happening in their world. So sheltered and loved, protected by their families and loved ones, protected by this school, protected by him.
Foolish.
Placing their trust in a Death Eater, however unknowingly.
His eyes lock with Granger.
The girl is slowly spooning food into her mouth, eyes glazed over as she watches him. For a moment she is unfazed by his attention, perhaps too caught up in her own thoughts. Once realisation sets in, he watches a delightful pink blush steal across her features and her eyes quickly drop back to her plate.
Severus excuses himself from the head table.
An odd feeling of anxious anticipation has taken control. He's not sure he can go through with this. He could just run, flee to a distant land and let Potter and co fend for themselves.
A bitter laugh bubbles in his throat, like acid, it infects him.
There is no escape for him. This mess has become his life, he can only hope that it is short, that soon he will no longer have to live with his failures. He regrets it regularly, his choice to seek redemption, he could have just ended it— should have.
Miss Granger's big, pleading amber eyes swim into his mind.
Will she ever look at him with admiration and lust again? Why is she looking at him like that now?
His office is already prepared for her arrival, the work he has set is tedious but not exhausting or dirty. He doesn't want to exhaust her before he has even got started.
There is a lust potion tucked in his robes— just in case — he tells himself he might need it, that he's not really twisted enough to be aroused by his student's attention. He has never been good at lying to himself.
Her knock is soft and tentative, like she has been waiting anxiously outside with her fist raised before she worked up the courage to alert him of her presence. She is early.
Severus wonders if she has been waiting outside since he left the Great Hall.
Making her wait is cruel, but he hopes to heighten her anticipation. She is unaware of what is to come, and if he is honest with himself, he is nervous. It's ridiculous, completely unwarranted for the situation. He stands before a madman regularly with carefully constructed thoughts, coveting secrets and the girl on the other side of his office door has his heart thumping wildly.
It angers him. He is already at the mercy of too many, Hermione Granger will not be added to that list. He will put his life on the line to protect these students, but they will not control him as Albus and the Dark Lord do. Her hold on him is temporary.
"Enter," he says when he's sure she's becoming flustered and slightly panicked.
He pretends not to watch as she slips in through a crack of the door, closing it quickly behind her like she's afraid she might flee. It's difficult not to appraise her as she stands stiffly, her arms wrapped around her middle. Her shoes are new but scuffed, they're plain and completely uninteresting even for the wizarding world. School robes hang open exposing her slim, but shapely legs— the stark contradiction of girlhood and womanhood.
"Professor," she greets him in a gentle, timid tone.
"Sit," he snaps back, pointing to the desk closest to his own.
Her earnest reaction is perfect, like she can't obey his wishes quickly enough. She plants herself in her seat, posture astute, hands together on the desk awaiting her next order. He's tempted to tell her to climb up and present herself for fucking— not yet.
It's best if she feels like she has some semblance of control in this.
With a flick of his wrist he sends some first year essays soaring across the room and onto her desk. The girl's eyes light up with intrigue but she stays focused on him.
"These, Miss Granger, are a migraine I am unwilling to burden myself with."
Predictably she is glowing with the pride of being asked to do some substantial work during a punishment. Severus hates when his teenage self is reflected in her, she is superior and he can only hope she will fare better than he.
"You will not grade them, simply make note of any mistakes using this quill," he says, placing a slim, pointed black feather on her desk.
Granger tilts her head and frowns slightly at the offered quill.
"It's of my own design," he tells her, fingering the black feather gently. "The notes you make will not be confirmed until written in my hand."
"Oh!"
She looks on in awe as he strokes the quill slowly. Severus watches as her first blush of the evening travels along her face, lighting up her freckles delightfully.
"Well," Severus says, tapping her desk and knocking her from her musings, "get to it."
He seats himself behind his desk where he can study her closely. Her fingers trace the map he had on the quill feather, like she might find a tingle of his magic if she follows a similar path.
Her hands are ink-stained, Severus wonders why it seems so charming. It's obvious that she has tried to scrub the ink away, but it clings to her skin needily.
As the evening sinks into an oddly comfortable silence Severus watches her, each glance, each small sigh— he is waiting for his opportunity to pounce.
He is certain she will offer it up without interference.
But to move things swiftly along he chooses the ideal moment to descend upon her. Purposely he catches her eye during one of her silent musings and raises from his seat.
Granger watches in fear and intrigue.
Severus looms overhead, spreading his fingers wide on her desk offering her a dilemma in where to look. He knows she is completely enamoured by his hands and is privy to her thoughts on how they might hold her if she were to be so lucky— daft girl.
"Miss Granger," he whispers dangerously, "might I ask what is so interesting about my work that is keeping you from your own."
"N—nothing sir," she stammers. "I'm finished."
Fuck.
"Bring them here then," he says, retreating to his seat.
He curses himself for not having done more than watch her watch him in turn. This plan seemed easier in theory.
She clutches the papers to her chest as she approaches his desk, her steps are measured and delicate. When she places them on the cool wooden surface her hand lingers slightly on the sheets of parchment. He watches with interest as she slips her fingers away and back around her waist.
He could peek inside her mind.
"Is there anything else sir?"
Yes, he thinks.
"No," he finds himself saying, "you may go."
What the fuck is he doing?
The girl shuffles slightly and his eyes are drawn to hers, her face heats under his scrutiny. Then she is walking away, his office door in her sights. Severus curses the coward that he clearly is.
"Goodnight sir," she offers in farewell.