Very mature content: slash & language - read with discretion (if you don't like slash, you REALLY shouldn't read this...)

Year 7: Harry Potter and the Day I Finally Get What I Want (or: I've Waited Damn Near Long Enough)

I am in Albus' office trying to tell him that I can no longer continue my private lessons with Potter. Of course he wants to know why. I struggle to form the words – I don't want to lose my job. Unsure of how else to say it, I tell him Potter has developed a crush on me. The old man does not look surprised – I try to decide if this is because he thinks it natural for students to have crushes on their teachers or if it is understandable for one to have developed a crush on me specifically. Either way, I know he will never tell me. He instead asks me how I have deduced this. Not wanting to get into the details of the fantasy plucked from Potter's brain, I settle on telling him Potter kissed me. Again, he appears unsurprised. For some reason, this irritates me. I am prepared for a variety of questions he may ask me about the incident and I begin forming suitable answers in my head. Of course he asks one I haven't thought of. He wants to know if I kissed him back. I tell him the truth: that my instinct took over for just a few seconds before I came to and vehemently tried to tell Potter his affections were not only misguided, but highly inappropriate. The old man looks thoughtful. It makes me want to scream. He asks me if this is true. I am flabbergasted and reply quickly that of course it's true – a student-teacher relationship is highly inappropriate. Oh. He meant is it true that the affections are misguided. I evade the question by telling him my interest, or lack thereof, in Potter is irrelevant to the situation. I fear that the boy's perceptions are no longer objective and know that our sessions will be ineffective so long as he is distracted by my presence. Why does the old man keep coming up with questions I haven't thought of? He wants to know how Potter responded to my admonitions. I suppose he took them well enough, I tell the Headmaster. No, he didn't try to push me on it, and no, he didn't leave the room in tears. I cannot believe my ears. He is unconcerned and wishes our lessons to continue? This is absurd. And I tell him so. He shrugs and dismisses me. Unable to form a coherent retort, I storm off.

Life is proving torturous for me. I suppose I bring it on myself, partly. During class I have consented to only tease Potter, rather than humiliate. When I do invade his personal space, I find myself lingering a moment too long, brushing against him unnecessarily. We exchange looks, smirks. It does not seem as though anyone else has caught on. Our private lessons are excruciating for me – I can only imagine how they are for him. Not only does our dueling excite me because it shows off his physicality, but our discussions on theories – most especially when we disagree on some point and hotly debate the topic – cause burning in my stomach as well. Some nights I have to dismiss him early because I can't overlook my erection any longer. He has started wearing looser pants. I make my own selfish assumptions about why.

The battle is over; the victory secured. How is not important, just the fact that it is done. The dead are being buried, the wounded tended to. I've no idea when the nightmares will start, or even if they will ever end, but my relief is so profound that it is overwhelming. I have done my duty, and it is finished. How I ever managed to stay alive through it all will never cease to amaze me.

Weeks have passed and the school year is over. The release of summer hangs pregnant in the air. I submit my final grades to the old man and make my way back to my office. I stiffen as my hand pauses on the handle; someone is inside. Wand out, I enter the room, cautiously, looking for the intruder. Potter stands leaning against my desk. With an exasperated sigh, I put my wand away. I ask him why he is here, and what he wants. He curves his tempting lips into a half-smile and answers simply: 'You'. I falter in my step, brow raised at him. I assure him that he is mistaken, that his infatuation with me is simply the time-tested crush of student on teacher. I do this to voice my own insecurities as well as to leave him a way out. He assures me that he is not, in fact, mistaken, that I am the only one he has ever wanted – ever since he realized he wanted men; he thanks me for that one. I stand several feet from him, unsure of what to do – a new thing for me, really. He informs me that he has waited; that he is no longer my student or I his teacher; that there is nothing inappropriate any longer. This fact gives me pause – I had forgotten about that. I decide I have faced far more dangerous than this, and take the necessary steps to close the gap between us, taking him in a back-bending embrace, crushing my lips to his, pinning him against my desk. I would love to take him right now, bent over this desk. I harden instantly at the thought. I hear a soft moan in the back of his throat – it goes straight to my groin. I grind my hips into his, pressing him roughly into the wood behind him. He pulls away from me and asks if we could go somewhere more comfortable, but assures me he would be more than happy to make use of the desk another time. I smile inwardly at the thought of multiple times with him.

I assume he isn't referring to the Gryffindor Common Room, so I back away and lead him to my office door. When we enter and he hangs back, I assure him I knew this wasn't what he meant. I wave my wand over the hidden door to my chambers and he gasps when it appears. I smirk. He asks if I can teach him that trick. I drag him into my sitting room and assure him that I can teach him a great many things. On our way to the bedroom, he begins divesting his robes. I chuckle as I see him moving what seems to be as fast as he possibly can, throwing each article of clothing to the floor. Of course he wouldn't be tidy. When we enter the bedroom he is down to just his trousers and before he can work on those I shut the door and pin him to it, capturing his lips in another crushing kiss. I hear him drag a breath through his nose as I begin to caress his tongue with mine. He grasps me and pushes me toward the bed, where I turn and shove him down so I can disrobe. This gives him time to remove his pants and underwear, which he promptly tosses on the floor on the other side of the bed. I snort as I remove my final article of clothing. He puts his glasses on the night stand next to him and I wonder how blurry I've become. I can see him clearly, however, and marvel at his body. Right again in my assumptions, he is well toned and unbelievably gorgeous, his muscles twitching in need. I climb into bed and position myself on top of him, letting my cock run up his leg as my face approaches his. I hear his breath hitch. He pulls me on top of him and we continue our kissing as our hips grind together in a frantic rhythm. I realize that if I don't stop now, I'll finish too soon and I want nothing more than to draw this out as long as possible. I make what I hope will be a correct guess that he will be able to get it up more than once tonight and I pull my lips from his and begin my trek downward. His skin is soft in some places, rough in others. All of it tastes as good as he smells – of the outdoors, fresh air, trees, and grass – no doubt from flying some time earlier today. I reach his crotch and inhale his musky scent, burying my face in his curls. I take his head in my mouth, delighting at the taste of his skin, enjoying the spongy texture. I hear him begging me to finish him. I rather like him begging. But I am not to be rushed. I use my tongue to lick every inch of him as I take him in my mouth, but I am careful not to suck. His hips start to buck into my mouth so I pin his thighs with my upper arms and hold his hips with my hands. He groans in protest and moves his hands to my hair, urging me on. I'm not sure if his enjoyment is due to any expertise on my part or from inexperience on his, but at this point, I don't really care. Avidly aware of my own need, I decide to take mercy on him and take him completely into my mouth, sucking in earnest. If the sounds of incoherency I am hearing from the head of the bed are any indication, I know he isn't far from completion, so I let go of his hips and caress his balls instead, rolling them and pushing them upwards. Sure enough, I'm right again, and three quick thrusts later, he fills my mouth. Ten points to Slytherin. I swallow over and over until I'm sure I've had every last drop, and then I let him slip out of my mouth and make my way back up towards his face, dragging my own aching need against his leg.

Once I'm even with him, I take his lips in a kiss again. His tongue darts into my mouth and I'm sure he can taste himself, but he doesn't seem to mind. I move from his lips to his jaw and across to his earlobe, which I nip gently with my teeth. I realize he's asking me a question. What do I want? I find that a bit odd, but I reassure him I want him. He laughs at me. Brat. No, he is asking how I want him to reciprocate. I tell him I'm more than happy to enjoy whatever he's willing to give. And it's true – I am. I haven't engaged in these activities for far longer than I care to remember, and I'm sure I will enjoy pretty much anything he knows how to do – even if it's just using his hand on me. Anticipation heats my stomach as he tells me he wants to feel me inside of him. I tell him I want that very much. He asks me how long I've wanted to be inside him. I tell him the truth – since the end of his fifth year. I see the wicked glint in his eyes as he calls me a 'naughty Professor'. I swat his arse once he's turned over. He spreads his legs and I settle in between them. I summon the lubricant and coat my hands liberally. Even though I could finish in a few scant seconds, I am determined to make this last. I drag my fingers on his skin lightly. His resultant groan of enjoyment makes the anticipation coil tightly inside me. I tease him and he shifts back to meet me, nearly up on his knees. I push him back down gently. I am absolutely stunned that a creature this magnificent is interested in me. I slide one finger inside and hear an expletive. His desire to thrust his hips back assures me it is not an oath of pain. I side in a second finger and I can feel his prostate. I am expecting another oath when I nudge it. He doesn't disappoint. Another ten points to Slytherin. I slide in a third, and decide I can wait no longer. I withdraw and coat myself and position it at his entrance. He is begging again. It isn't getting old. I take his hips and pull back slightly. He raises himself up onto his hands and knees and sits back as I push myself inside. Holy Fuck he is so tight. So tight and hot. I almost lose it and come immediately, but I control myself. Control is what I do best. He tries to move, but I still him until I am buried inside him to the hilt. Then, I begin my ride. Slowly at first, long and glorious strokes. Then, I hear him saying something – something coherent. He wants me to grab him because he's hard again. I reach around to his front and close my fist around his re-appeared erection. I knew he could get it up twice in one night. Points to Slytherin. I stroke him with the same rhythm I'm using inside him. He's pleading at me. I could get used to this. I begin to move faster, letting my body take over and do what it needs to do. Suddenly, I hear him cry out my name and I feel him come, pulsing over my hand. Hearing my name on his lips is my undoing and with a final thrust, I explode inside him, his muscles clenching around me and sending me into oblivion. Fuck, that was amazing. Our bodies are still jerking involuntarily, but eventually I slip out and flop next to him, covered in sweat. He rolls onto his back and I am on my side, propped up by my elbow. He's already cleaned the sticky mess up. And here I thought he wasn't going to be tidy. Ten points to Gryffindor. He turns onto his side to face me, entangling his legs in mine and throwing his hand over my waist. He is smirking when he says that was a good lesson, but do I really have anything else I can teach him? I pull him into my chest where he snuggles tightly and tell him I have plenty to teach. Enough for a lesson tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that – as long as he wants to learn from me. He burrows his head deep into my shoulder and tells me he endeavors to be a life-long learner.

As we drift off to sleep, my last thought is one of contentment. Finally, after all that I have done in my life – all the agony I've endured and the terror I have experienced – I am finally getting a small piece of the happiness that I deserve.