Private Lessons
by Victoria P.

"The first time I ever touched myself, I imagined it was you. Your fingers, your mouth, your cock hard and strong inside me."

Hermione ground her hips and Remus gasped, mesmerized.

"Not Ron. Not Harry. You. Dear, sweet Professor Lupin with your threadbare robes and graying hair, Mister 'looks like one good hex would finish him off.'"

With a flick of her wand, their clothes disappeared. He swallowed hard as she guided his cock to her entrance, slowly sank down upon it.

"I figured out your secret, but I kept it to myself," she whispered, then bit hard on his earlobe. He hissed and thrust up, unable to stop himself. Another flick of the wand. "Touch me."

His hands moved to her hips, gripping hard enough to bruise, guiding her rhythm. She wrapped one arm around his neck and pressed his face to her breasts.

"I was thirteen. Such a stupid little girl. That night in the Shack, when you hugged Sirius--"

'Sirius,' whispered a small voice in the back of his mind, free of her influence. 'Sirius would fight. He'd want you to fight.' He growled and attempted to throw off the compulsion under which she held him.

"Imperio," she hissed, and the voice went silent.

She closed her eyes, increased her pace, back arched, normally frizzy hair sweat-dampened and sticking to her skin.

"Where was I?" she murmured, rising up until he was almost free of her, then plunging back down, taking him in deep. "Oh. Sirius. Yes." A little roll of her hips drew another gasp from him. "That's when I realized I'd never had a chance." Her voice was high and reedy, her breathing ragged, her words carried on loud exhalations. She clenched her muscles around him, a velvet vise matching the hold she had on his will.

"But after Sirius died, you began sleeping with Tonks. Oh yes, I knew. We all knew. At first I thought it was because she could look like him -- be him for you, and that was... all right. But then I did some research."

"Of course you did," he said, surprising them both.


That small spark of defiance extinguished, she continued. "Metamorphmagi are capable of only a superficial rearrangement of features and pigmentation. They can't change their genitalia. Not really. Not for any length of time. Not enough to fool anyone who didn't want to be fooled."

Hermione grabbed fistfuls of his hair, forced him to meet her eyes. "You were fucking her, when you could have been fucking me. Should have been fucking me. Who's sorry now?" It was a breathy whisper, barely audible before her voice broke.

He closed his eyes, remembering Tonks's broken body, dumped on the doorstep at twelve Grimmauld Place a few short weeks ago. His mind recoiled, but Hermione was stronger, forced his eyes open, made him watch.

She shuddered, convulsing around him, pulling him over the edge as well. He thrust into her, teeth latching onto her neck hard enough to bruise as he came.

She slumped against him, spent, and he could feel slivers of his will returning. She must have sensed his gathering strength, because she repeated the curse again, her will dominating his.

She rose and cleaned herself off, redressed. "Thanks for the private lesson, Professor Lupin," she said brightly, as if she were still thirteen and he her Defense teacher. "Obliviate."


Remus woke the next morning disturbed to find physical evidence of his dreams about Hermione. He was unable to meet her eye at breakfast, and thought he saw the shadow of a bruise on her neck, something that looked like a bite mark. But it couldn't be. He was imagining things. He shook his head.

Still, he felt unaccountably anxious when she said, "Another lesson tonight, Professor?" and her lips curled in a secret smile as she walked away.


Silverlake: Authors / Mediums / Titles / Links / List / About / Updates / Silverlake Remix