Chapter Text
The door opens, flooding the room with Gryffindor and Slytherin first-years. Their hushed voices fill the air all talking about ‘The-Boy-Who-Lived,’ Harry Potter. [y/n] smirks as the new Celebrity, as Professor Snape referred to him the other night, and his friends take a seat. Suddenly, any noise that was there vanishes as the door flies open again causing a loud thud.
“There will be no foolish wand-waving or silly incantations in this class,” He billows to the front of the classroom, stopping at his desk, “as such, I don’t expect many of you to appreciate the subtle science and exact art that is potion-making. However, for those select few, who possess the predisposition. I can teach you to bewitch the mind and ensnare the senses.”
‘I’d like you to bewitch my mind and ensnare my senses…’ [y/n] thinks to herself, studying his features, and getting lost in her thoughts. She is quickly brought back to reality when she feels his burning gaze on her as he continues to speak. [y/n] feels her cheeks burn with embarrassment the longer he stares at her. It is as if he knows what she is thinking.
Finally, his attention is turned to Potter. Snape weaves his way through the tables, stopping in front of Potter’s, leaning over into his face. She can’t hear what he is saying but surely it’s something unpleasant. He already has a distaste for the child, he made that clear by the way he spoke of the new student arriving the other night when she was helping him get ready for classes to start. [y/n] is Snape’s assistant. She is a 7th year on her way to be a healer. Her fascination with potions almost matches her professor. She scored so well on her O.W.L.s that he allowed her into his N.E.W.T level class and offered her to be his assistant. Which was quite an honor, considering Snape hasn’t had an assistant in years. Everyone is so afraid of him. Not her, she finds him equally as intriguing as the potions she studies. Jet black chin length hair, framing a pale face with eyes so dark you can’t distinguish between his pupils and irises. Slightly crooked nose and thin lips, permanently pressed into distaste makes him extremely interesting to her eyes. Her gaze rakes down his body wrapped in a tight, form-fitting black frock coat with more buttons than she cares to count. She smirks at the thought of him fastening each button one by one every morning. How long it must take him and what she wouldn’t give to have the opportunity to button them for him. To complete the ensemble, he has a black cloak that sweeps behind him, adding to his intensity. [Y/n] would be lying if she said she doesn’t fancy the man. That’s all he is after all, a man. A very attractive and no doubt experienced, man.
She lets her mind begin to wander again, watching him tower over Potter. Images of him bending her over her work station dance through her head. Sliding her skirt up her legs, revealing the dainty black thong she wears underneath. She pictures him slowly dragging his fingers down her backside and around to her throbbing clit, soaking for him. Rubbing small circles over the fabric making her squirm under his touch until she’s begging for him to let her come.
“Miss [yl/n]!” His booming voice disrupts her fantasy, causing her to jump.
“I’m sorry Professor, I was-” She stumbles over her words, trying to ignore the heat rising in her knickers.
“I’m not particularly interested in what you were doing. You clearly are having a challenging time paying attention today, like Mr. Potter. I expected more from you. Detention. Now, make yourself useful and get the supplies we need from the storeroom. Like I asked.”
Overly embarrassed to talk back, [y/n] hurries to the storeroom gathering bottles and jars for the class. The remainder of the hour is torturous. She sits in silence, marking worksheets from the last group of students. Focusing was near impossible, his dark voice berating the Gryffindor students for their apparent lack of ability, keeps distracting her. The goofy looking boy, Neville, nearly burst into tears after Snape was through with him. In total, the poor kids lose about fifteen house points. She almost feels bad for them, but given she is a Slytherin, a head start in house points over Gryffindor is always a good thing.
Class is finally over; [y/n] can’t wait to get to the great hall for dinner and to tell her best friend about Snape giving her a detention for seemingly nothing. All she has to do is put the supplies back and she can get out of Snape’s presence – at least until detention. She completes her task and starts for the door. It slams shut just as she reaches the threshold.
“And just where do you think you’re going, Miss [yl/n]?” His words sneak up on her, freezing her in her tracks. “Detention is before dinner tonight.”
She sighs and turns around to find him only a few centimeters away from where she stands. Her heart starts beating faster as she inhales his scent, it’s almost intoxicating. Desperately trying to focus, images of her latest fantasy flash through her mind as he draws closer to her. He brings his hand up, gripping her collar pushing her back into the wall causing her to drop her bookbag.
He brings his face close to hers staring into her soul. “My, my Miss [yl/n],” he hisses, “you have quite the imagination on you. What ever shall I do with you?”
“Professor, I don’t know what you’re referring too. I-”
“Don’t. Lie. To me.” He grips her harder, “tell me, in your years of studying the dark arts, has Professor Quirrell educated you on Legilimency?”
She shakes her head no, trying hard not to catch her nose on his. He is unbearably close to her; a slow burn begins to rise in her chest.
“Ah, well, let me do the honors then. It is a way for the most skilled of wizard to navigate the mind of another; looking into their deepest thoughts.” His breath brushes against her cheeks, “sometimes, the thoughts are so clear, the wizard doesn’t have to try to hear them. He just… does.”
‘Shit.’
“Exactly, Miss [yl/n].” His body presses into hers, rendering her breathless. “Your little show you put on in your mind today was so vivid, I didn’t even need to try to see it. It was as if you cracked open a romance novel and read it out loud. Though there was nothing overly romantic about your story, it nearly took over all my rational thinking.”
She feels a set of slender fingers dragging themselves up her leg, stopping at her skirt. She closes her eyes as a pathetic moan leaves her lips. The fingers find their way to the fabric of her panties, still damp from her visions during class. A sinister chuckle erupts from Snape’s chest as he makes this discovery. He begins to rub tiny circles over her mound, just like in her fantasy. She quivers under his pressure.
“Look at me, [yl/n].” He commands. Her eyes fly open meeting his. “Good girl. What a sight you are. All but falling apart from my fingers.” He begins to swirl faster and harder as he speaks. [y/n] can’t help but let her moans escape, heat pooling between her legs. A smirk plays on his lips.
“This is what you wanted, correct, Miss [yl/n]?” He slows down his pace to tease her just a little more. “It might interest you to know that I too have been harboring questionable thoughts about you as well. It’s hard not to when your uniform doesn’t quite accommodate your shapely form. Those hips of yours bring your skirt a little too high to be appropriate for dress code and if that top was any more filled, surely your first few buttons would pop.”
Her legs are shaking, barely able to keep her upright. “P-professor, please.” She whimpers, pressing her head back into the wall, gripping his shoulders.
“Please, what?” He taunts, doubling his efforts, relentlessly circling his digits. “How desperate are you to come for me right now?”
“Please Professor, I’m so close. Your fingers feel so good.” She cries, digging her nails into his cloak. Her whole body is nearly convulsing with pleasure as he skillfully passes over her overstimulated nub. A few more seconds and she’ll be riding the high she so desperately desires. Just as she almost tips over the edge, he vanishes, leaving a pulsing ache for release behind. He backs away from her, letting her collar drop. Bringing glistening fingers to his lips, he groans in delight at the taste of her essence while his tongue licks them clean.
“Detention is over, Miss [yl/n].” He studies her, her chest still heaving from their little session. Face flushed; pupils dilated. She finally pulls herself together enough to scoop her bag up from the floor and make her way out of the room, avoiding his gaze. He adjusts himself, trying to relieve the pressure of his growing bulge in his trousers. “Oh, and Miss [yl/n]?” She stops. “I suggest you find a way to keep that pretty little mind of yours under control. We would not want another repeat of this afternoon, would we?” He snickers.
Without turning around [y/n] mutters, “Yes…Sir.” She grins to herself as she hears a stifled accidental moan escape him from her choice of words.
[Y/n] practically runs back to her common room, her hunger completely gone. ‘The Professor Snape: the muse for all my late-night fantasies just made one come to life for me. Why? He’s my professor, how am I going to ever concentrate in that classroom again?’ Thoughts whirl around her like a tornado. The common room is empty as everyone is still at dinner. [y/n] hurries to her room, falling onto her bed and immediately trying to achieve her climax. She replays her detention in her mind for ammunition, specifically how his mellifluous voice made her ache with desire. It is hard to believe any of this was real. One thing she does know however, is that she most definitely wanted a repeat. Maybe even more.