Hermione made her way up to the front of the room, towards the Potion Master's desk.

"To what do I owe the pleasure, or displeasure, of your company, Miss Granger? Have you come to protest the penalties of violating the rules in my classroom? Because I assure you, I would not object to deducting more Gryffindor House points," he drawled, not even looking up from the third year's essay he was furiously marking.

"Excuse me, Professor, I know that you must be upset that I told you the truth about the circumstances surrounding your rescue, but there is no need to be so uncivil towards me," she began, her eyes beginning to flare with suppressed anger. "I had your best interest in mind that night, and you have brought me nothing but woe. One would think that such an established and cold professor would not be so childish. You-"

"-Childish, Miss Granger?" he began, and he had brought his gaze from the paper to meet her eyes. He knew very well why he had been so callous. "I am not the one who constantly seeks the attention of others. I do not care to show off, nor to throw myself at any superior to prove my worth. I do not meddle in others' affairs, nor do I care. I will be seeing you in detention tomorrow night for your disrespect of authority and disregard for rules."

"But-"

"Ten points. Shall I make it twenty?" He raised a dark eyebrow.

She ran out of the room, out of the dungeons, to the Gryffindor common rooms, up the stairs, and into her room, where she flung herself upon the bed and cried.

—

'Severus, what have you done?' he thought to himself. 'How will you resist her?'

When he had seen her reading, that concentrated look on her face, biting her lip, he had to do something. When he snatched the book from her, his fingers had brushed against hers, sending an electrical spark through them. She had blushed fiercely, and he found himself wondering just how far that blush spread down her body. This caused his member to struggle against the confines of his boxers. When he had given her detention, and she ran away distraught, he hadn't enjoyed it. Why? He always did. What made this time different? His train of thought was inhibited when he became acutely aware of his raging erection. This terrified him. He had not felt anything like this since… well. He retired for the night.

Thoughts of a certain little Gryffindor danced across his thoughts. He could not help himself as he reached beneath the bedsheets. A low, baritone moan escaped from his throat as he stroked his long shaft. It had the likeness of a metal pole covered in silk, as it grew even harder as he stroked it. "Mmmmm… fuck that feels good."

His fist slid up and down his shaft, reaching the base and pressing against his abdomen, where he slowed and turned his fist over, slowly milking his throbbing member as he slid his fist back up to the tip. His movements began to quicken, and his moans began to become louder and more urgent. He pumped his cock as if there was no pleasure to be gained from the action, only release. In his mind, he pictured that it was Hermione that engulfed his member, bouncing and riding him. He reached down to caress his balls, while his other hand continued pumping his cock.

"Ohhhhhh," he cried, his fist flying across his cock, his back arching off of the bed, and his hand froze, squeezing his cock as he came. Wet heat filled his hand, and splattered onto his chest and abdomen. He fell back onto the bed, exhausted, with thoughts of the Gryffindor still haunting him.