Chapter Text
God’s he was such an idiot. Such a fucking fool.
Draco chastised himself once again for his predicament as he nearly scratched through a piece of parchment with his quill. The classroom was busy with the other students discussing the lecture and making plans for their own potions and concoctions. Draco couldn’t be bothered. He ignored his friends' inquiries and concerned stares. Instead, he focused on the notes in front of him. Trying, and failing, to not show any emotion in that particular classroom.
A few of the female students had once again made their way over to the professor’s desk to fawn over the suave young gentleman. He was of course entirely too old for any of the third years, but that wasn’t about to stop the teenage hormones from traipsing about and making fools of themselves. Professor Rodlinger was a handsome man with bright blue eyes and fine brown hair that never went unstyled. He had a square face and broad jawline that was often covered in stubble, to which many witches' conversations centred around. This would be his first year teaching at Hogwarts as the Potions Professor. With the school year only just begun, he had already made quite an impression on the student population. Several of the young witches and wizards found themselves enthralled by the tall, handsome professor. Many found the man to be delightful, encouraging, entertaining, an all around pleasant fellow; Someone who could really care for his students. Someone to look up to.
That’s what Draco Malfoy had thought.
He had been so starved of support and positive encouragement that he couldn’t see any of it coming. He didn’t suspect a thing. Not when Professor Rodlinger told him how fantastic he was at brewing potions. Or when the Professor praised him for every question he answered correctly. Or when Rodlinger so easily accepted his failure to chop ingredients perfectly. Or when the Professor would pat his shoulder for having such an organised cauldron station. No, he hadn’t suspected a thing. Honestly, he still didn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t bring himself to admit what had happened the last week after hours when they met for the internship.
Of course, it wasn’t an actual internship. The Professor had offered the opportunity to Draco as a favour, as something unusual and significant for someone so special. He had told Draco how brilliant he was with potions and how he would love to offer more insight so that one day after graduation he might enter into a Potions Mastery course. Draco was elated. He knew he was special. He was told he was regularly by his parents, though not often was he shown it. When Professor Rodlinger had shown such unapologetic individual attention to Draco, he couldn’t help but take it all in. Most students weren’t allowed to start an internship until sixth year. Even then, not everyone participated. Draco was chosen as only a third-year. He was special. That’s what the Professor had said.
Every week they would meet in the Potions room. After hours. Late.
The first few months were splendid. Marvellous even. The praise was unending. The individual attention by a kind-hearted father figure was blissful. The Professor was brilliant and he taught Draco advanced lessons on potion brewing and concocting, which the Slytherin student devoured with pride. He would leave each lesson feeling like the centre of the universe. Like he mattered. Like he was good enough. He was special.
The third-years had Potions twice during the week. During each class, the Professor would keep his favouritism to a minimum, to avoid any hurt feelings of course. Not everyone could be as spectacular as Draco Malfoy, but they couldn’t very well carry out normal classes by giving all the attention to one single student. Daily classes continued as normal.
Weekly sessions continued differently. The banter, the jokes, the light atmosphere continued. The praise, adoration, and compliments continued. The support, attention, and encouragement continued. As did the pats on the back and the squeezing of a shoulder. As well as the playful shoves to the arm or the chest. The subtle touches continued and the duration of each grew longer. Once again, Draco, starved of physical affection by his own family, found the Professor to be a breath of fresh air.
The previous week’s interaction didn’t matter. It couldn’t. Because if it did, then Draco would have to give it all up. He wouldn’t be special any longer.
“Ah, Draco! Come on in.” Professor Rodlinger had said that evening before swishing his wand to lock the door to the classroom.
After nearly half an hour of discussing the Wolfsbane potion, they began prepping some ingredients for an upcoming assignment. Draco sat at a table toward the back of the classroom, and as he sliced a fair amount of mushrooms, Rodlinger came to stand beside him.
“Excellent work, Draco.” Rodlinger smiled as he gave a heavy pat to his student’s leg.
The proud Slytherin returned the smile. A true smile, not his typical smirk or sneer. He was valued there. He was wanted there. He didn't have to pretend to be anything or anyone. He didn't need to measure up to any ridiculous or archaic standards. He was just simply enough. He was happy there.
Rodlinger’s hand remained on the boy’s thigh.
Draco swivelled the stool ever so slightly, assuming the Professor had gotten lost in thought and not even realised where his hand was.
Rodlinger’s hand remained.
“Honestly, you may very well be one of the most promising potion students I’ve had yet.” Rodlinger exclaimed with a squeeze to the boy’s thigh. His hand remained.
Draco smiled to himself at the praise. Yet, the hand on his thigh interrupted his attention from the chore in front of him. He shifted his legs a bit to the left, then a bit to the right. Rodlinger’s hand remained in place as he looked on at the student’s work. Draco kept slicing through the mushrooms, though it was rather difficult to concentrate now. The Professor was so very close.
Rodlinger’s hand finally moved, but only just so. It would have been unnoticeable from any eyes in the room, if there had been any others with them. The Professor's touch was light as it drifted down the length of Draco's thigh.
Grey eyes widened a fraction and dirty blonde brows creased as his mind reeled with information that he most certainly didn't want to process. Rodlinger was stroking his hand ever so slowly up and down the length of the boy’s thigh.
Draco’s breath caught for a moment but he couldn’t imagine there was any harmful intent in the action. He swallowed a lump forming in his throat and concentrated on what he should have been cutting with his knife. He cleared his throat before continuing his prep work. A light blush crept across his pale skin.
The hand lightly sliding up his thigh didn’t stop. Instead, it had slipped further up, higher and higher, until it was resting on the crotch of the Slytherin students' trousers.
Draco's whole body froze at the unexpected contact. The silver knife slipped from his grip as the hand brushed lightly over his groin. The blade clattered against the counter as he froze at the unwarranted touch.
“Don’t stop now, Draco. You’re doing such fine work.”
“Professor…?” His silver eyes didn’t dare make contact with those of the jovial young teacher’s. He remained focused on the mushroom colony before him, unable to breathe, uncertain what to think.
“Go on, we’ll need to finish this yet tonight.” The man spoke as if nothing were occurring under the table. As if his hand was not skidding over the fabric covering Draco’s member.
“Professor!” The blonde jumped to his feet as the pressure of the contact increased. “I… I think you've misunderstood. I’m not interested in… that, sir.” Draco’s normally calm, pale face reflected his concern through a rosey blush as a wave of heat rolled through him.
“Well aren’t you jumpy this evening?” Rodlinger replied. “Go on and finish those. I’ll get started on the leeches.”
The Professor returned to his desk without another glance.
Draco exhaled a shaky breath. He must have imagined it. The Professor was acting as though nothing had happened at all. Perhaps it was some fluke… just an accident. It didn’t mean anything. It couldn't. If it were purposeful, that would mean that he wasn't as special as he thought. It would mean there were strings attached and he wasn't valued for his brain but perhaps other qualities. No, it didn't mean anything. It couldn't.
That night as he lay back between the cool sheets of his fourposter, he could only think of what he had misinterpreted that day. He must have imagined it. Nothing of importance had happened. Nothing happened.
“Malfoy! Watch where you’re going, bloody git…” Ron grumbled as Hermione was nearly knocked over by the absent minded Slytherin.
The Golden Girl brushed it off with a roll of her eyes and righted the book bag on her shoulder, waiting for the snarky retort as the blonde scoffed.
“Fuck off, Weasley!”
There it was. Snark.
She watched with her friends as Malfoy sauntered off down the corridor, still rather distracted it seemed. The bushy haired Gryffindor couldn’t be bothered however, as she had more classes than the average student to attend to. The spoiled prat disappearing from view wouldn't cross her mind again until late that evening.
-
As other students were still in the library studying or back in their dormitories messing about, Draco stood outside the Potions classroom. It was late in the evening. The night sky would have been a darkened sapphire if there had been any windows to look through. The dungeons of Hogwarts didn't afford such luxuries. Instead, they trapped away everything in a dark embrace, holding it just below the surface of light.
He sucked in a deep breath as he examined the hard wood of the heavy door before him. He exhaled slowly and brought a fist up to knock lightly before entering the nearly abandoned room.
Professor Rodlinger was hunched over his desk still grading essays by the look of it. Draco was hardly curious, he always got top marks anyway.
“Welcome back!” Rodlinger called, his eyes creasing at the edges as he smiled. The Slytherin student closed the door behind himself, unsure if he had heard a whisper of a locking spell or his imagination was running wild with anxieties. “There’s a potion brewing on the far table, I’ll be there in a moment, give it a stir for me, would ya?”
Draco nodded once and headed for the brewing station. He looked at the notes scattered about on the table and figured out where the Professor likely had left off. The directions stated “Stir twice, clockwise, every hour”. He let the parchment notes fall back to their place on the large table as he followed the directions and began to stir. After placing the large wooden spoon on its holder beside the cauldron, Draco examined a few more notes until the Professor joined him.
“Evening.” Rodlinger’s cheerful voice and bright blue eyes shuffled over close to his student.
“Good evening, sir.” Draco returned the pleasantry easily. Nothing was out of the ordinary. Everything was as it should have been.
They began discussing the potion on the table before them, Cure for Boils. After a few quick quizzes on the uses and side effects, all which Draco passed exceedingly, Professor Rodlinger approached where the blonde boy was seated. He stood just behind him and placed a gentle hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“Very good, Draco. Perhaps there’s more to that blonde head of yours than just Quidditch, huh?” The Professor quipped to which Draco rolled his eyes playfully. “Now, let’s discuss the ingredients. These will be on the test next week,so study up.”
Draco inhaled a sudden quick breath as the Professor’s large hand once again landed in his lap. This time, there was no mistaking the intent. With one hand still firmly placed on Draco’s shoulder the other began stroking over the fabric of his trousers. His heart ached in his chest at the intrusion of his personal space. Heat flowed through his body with utter embarrassment at the action. It was only a moment before Draco was able to compose himself enough to react.
“Sir?” His voice sounded small, even to his own ears. “Please… I… I don’t want that."
“Yet you seem to have come back for more?” Rodlinger’s voice was close behind Draco’s ear and it made him sit straighter as an uncomfortable chill danced up his spine. He wasn’t sure how to answer. Was he supposed to answer? He couldn’t think straight with the man’s hand gliding up and down his crotch.
“No, I… I don’t want this…” Draco’s plea was cut off before he could even finish as Rodlinger’s hand ventured to the students belt, unclasping it with ease.
In another mortifying moment, Rodlinger was reaching his hand down and around Draco's cock. Another quick inhale as the stunned Slytherin tried to make sense of what was happening. Alarm bells were sounding in his mind that had otherwise gone completely blank. His whole body felt as if it were made of burning coals, but he couldn’t shake the thought that he was overreacting somehow. He had spent months with this man. He looked up to and idolised the young professor. This teacher had been helping him, encouraging him, and tapping into his potential… not hurting him. He would never hurt him…. Right?
“It seems to me as though you do want this.” Rodlinger crooned from behind Draco as he stroked his hand up and down the length of the boy’s member. “It’s ok if it feels good, Draco.”
To his complete humiliation, Draco's own body betrayed him. He scrunched his eyes shut and pulled his fingers into fists as he felt himself harden under Rodlinger’s touch. The Professor was already slick as he pumped up and down on Draco’s erection. Shaky breaths escaped the blonde before he snapped his eyes open and tried to rise to his feet and escape the horrendous situation. Rodlinger’s other hand was still clamped down on the boy’s shoulder though and he squeezed harder as Draco tried to free himself. Finally, Rodlinger leaned into him, trapping his student between himself and the work station, one hand still holding him down while the other kept gliding over his erection.
“Please Professor… Please, stop!” Draco begged breathlessly as tears began to sting the corners of his grey eyes. He wasn't certain he had ever begged before. Perhaps when he was in first year and he needed to get on the Quidditch team to beat Harry. His father had initially said "no" to the idea of buying his son a position via bribes and new brooms. However, Draco had pleaded with his mother and sure enough, he was on the team.
“It’s alright, calm down.” Rodlinger hushed in a calming tone as he slowed his movements, easing off of his student ever so slightly. “You're important to me, you know, Draco. I’m spending all these late nights here with you so that you can have a future in potion making. If you put in the effort you’ll be leaps ahead of the rest of the class and after graduation I’ll recommend you for any position with any Potions Master you like.”
“No, no, no, please… I don’t want this.” Draco gasped, mortified that his voice was braking and that tears were forming and that his fucking cock is still somehow hard. He hates himself. He hates Rodlinger. He doesn’t know how to end it. He doesn’t know anything beyond the heat radiating off of him and the hand that keeps relentlessly pumping his erection. He wants to hate that feeling, he wants to so fucking bad, but he can’t help loosing a couple breaths to the sensation. Gods he needs it to end.
“The ingredients, Draco. Name the ingredients in Cure for Boils and then I’ll stop.” The Professor’s hushed neutral tone is somehow reassuring and yet not at all calming as his hand tightens and his movements quicken.
“S-Snake fangs…” Draco manages through quick breaths. His mind all but numb as the ingredients float throughout his brain. He tries again to wiggle free but the man behind him only pushes him further into the work table. His hands push back against the table to keep himself upright.
“That’s it, very good, Draco. Another?”
“Horned s-slugs.” He squeezes his eyes shut once more as he grips the table in front of himself.
“Excellent. You’re doing so good, Draco.”
“Porcupine … quills.”
“Yes, perfect. You’re perfect, Draco. Keep it up.”
“Pungous-s onions-s.” The blonde all but whimpers as Rodlinger quickened his pace once again. He feels disgusting. He hates himself for being hard at his professor’s touch. He hates that the man crushing his weight into him won't stop. He doesn't want to feel pleasure at the hands of his professor. He wants it to end.
“Flobberworm… mucus.”
“Good. You’re doing so good. You’re absolutely brilliant, Draco.” The Professor gushes in his soft cooing tone.
“Ginger… Ginger root.” Draco breathed out but it’s so hard to concentrate now. The rhythm of Rodlinger’s hand is bringing him closer and closer to the edge. His whole body is burning and the heat begins to centre itself in his abdomen.
There’s one more. Only one more ingredient but he can’t seem to form the words needed. His eyes are clamped shut as the pleasure builds and builds throughout his whole body. He chases the high as his breath finally catches and his hips jerk and his body shutters. He grabs hold of Rodlinger’s arm to steady himself as he finishes. Pleasure washes through him, bursting from his cock and electrifying him from his core to his finger tips and down to his toes.
He falls back onto the stool as his body relaxes and his eyes blink open again.
The moment of pleasure is quickly replaced with an all consuming repulsion. He’s disgusted with himself more than he is with his mentor. He let something awful occur. Why hadn’t he stopped it? Why hadn't he used his wand or any number of wandless spells he already knew? Why had he been aroused by the man touching him? He should have fought back. He should have kicked and punched and fought back. What was wrong with him?
No. Don’t cry. Malfoy’s don’t cry.
He felt sick. Entirely disgusted. Both with his Professor and also with himself.
How could he let this happen? What the fuck has he just done?
“Draco? Draco?” The Professor had been calling his name for a moment as he finally calmed himself enough to look at the man beside him. One glance into the Professor’s crystal clear blue eyes and he found himself on the edge of tears again. He quickly looked away.
“I didn’t hurt you, did I?” Rodlinger asked in his once again, all too calming of a tone.
Draco shook his head side to side as he stared down at the stone floor. He wasn’t entirely certain what he was, but he wasn’t injured per say.
"Draco?" His Professor asked once again.
“No, sir.”
“Good.” Rodlinger confirmed before flicking a Scourgify charm to clean the mess. “Let’s not mention this again, Draco.”
The Slytherin only nodded his head, eyes still downcast. His fingers gripped the side of the stool he sat upon. His limbs shook ever so slightly. Air was hardly even making it past his throat so he knew words certainly wouldn’t.
“Do you understand, Draco?”
“Yes.” Draco nodded again, his voice sounding hoarse and foreign.
“Yes. Sir.” Rodlinger corrected.
Draco blinked back the tears threatening to fall before answering once again.
“Yes, sir.” He choked out.
“You’re dismissed.” Professor Rodlinger said with a nonchalant wave of his hand as he returned to his desk.
Draco couldn’t find his voice. He couldn’t form a coherent sentence. He wasn’t entirely certain what to do or where to go, but he knew he needed to leave. So he did.
He flipped the leather belt back through its buckle with a few shaky breaths. He then fumbled with his bag before sliding the strap over his shoulder. He gripped the fabric within his fingers and focused on the floor as he passed by several desks on his way out. The air felt as if it were thinning and the temperature as if it had risen several degrees yet he couldn’t suppress the shaking of limbs as he reached for the door knob.
The hallway was a cool relief. The evening had darkened the sky and thus cooled the castle. The stone walls reflected only shadows within the candlelight. He stumbled down the hall for a few moments before steadying himself against the rough stone wall. As much as he wanted to run and hide and never think of what just occurred, his legs wouldn’t carry him any further. His mind wouldn’t tell his body how to move, or react, or escape. He stood frozen in the shame and guilt as his mind pieced together one detail after another. He felt sick. He felt as if the Professor’s hands were still on him, holding him down. He felt trapped. As if he had nowhere to go, no one to turn to.
“Malfoy?”
His murky grey eyes lifted their gaze from the hard stone floor to the voice standing before him now. Soft golden brown eyes greeted his silver stare.
“What are you doing here?” Hermione Granger asked with her typically swotty tone, arching a bushy brow in the Slytherins direction. He wasn't entirely certain what time it was but perhaps it was close to curfew if the Golden Girl was accosting everyone in sight.
He heard her. He definitely saw her. Yet, his mouth wouldn’t cooperate. What could he even say?
Lie. Lie. Lie. Say something. Anything.
“I…Uhm.” He swallowed the lump forming in his throat as he averted his eyes. His voice felt foreign, wrong, too quiet, or too soft. Was he shaking? Could she see him falling apart?
“None of your business, Granger! Fuck off.” He finally bit back.
Yes, something normal. Fighting with Hermione Granger was normal. He could have done so in his sleep. In fact he probably had done so in his sleep. This small outburst gave him enough room to fill his lungs with the air he hadn’t been breathing. With another shaky inhale he pushed himself down the hall making his escape.
He watched as one stone after another passed by his vision and under his feet on the way back to his dormitory. The world seemed to move slowly or perhaps he was moving quickly. His vision blurred in and out as he focused on breathing. His throat felt tight and his lungs ached. His body felt stiff and cold now and he couldn’t bring himself to even check his surroundings. He just needed to keep his head down and make it back to his room. One step at a time. One foot after the other.
After an uncertain amount of time, Draco made his way through the common room, ignoring his friends’ greetings and banter. He could hardly hear them call his name as he disappeared down the hall.
With the slam of his bedroom door he started to unravel in the darkness of his dorm. He fell forwards, tripping over his own feet and slammed into an armoire. He sucked in another few shaky breaths as he righted himself and stumbled toward the restroom. Tears collided with the porcelain tiles as he shut himself away. He felt disgusting. So fucking dirty.
In the next moment he was standing fully clothed in the shower. His vision blurring as he fiddled with the faucet until his shaky hands managed to turn the water on. Steam billowed out of the washroom as Draco sunk to the floor, letting the hot water cleanse himself. Droplets fell from his nose as he immersed himself in the downpour. His eyes were stinging and he let the warm water mask his tears before washing them away down the drain.