He comes at me like a beast, nostrils flared and teeth bared in determination. His hand closes around my upper arm, the long fingernails clamping down and biting my skin through the sleeve of my school robes. My knees weaken at the sharp, sudden pain and I nearly fall over as he pulls me to the door through which I just came.

"Severus," I say, struggling to keep from falling over my own feet as I try to match his relentless pace. "What are you—"

"Quiet!" he hisses, fiercely, without so much as a glance in my direction.

My retort cowers at the back of my throat. Our footsteps echo all the way down the deserted dungeon corridor to the only door visible from the Potions classroom. With a wave of his wand, the door swings open. He shoves me, unceremoniously, into his dark office. Then, he closes the door again—and locks it—and we're left in the near pitch black. His seemingly disembodied face floats towards me, illuminated by the faint glow of whatever potion preserves the specimens lining the walls.

An invisible hand cracks across my face with such force that I'm knocked off balance. The same hand grabs the front of my robes and pulls me back up. Lips crash into mine, pushing me further into the office. The backs of my knees collide with the edge of his desk. He lifts me onto the top, sending rolls of parchment pitching to the floor. I groan in pleasurable surprise as his tongue fills my mouth.

His hands leave my robes' collar and travel downward—first to my chest to rub my nipples through the layers of clothing, and then to massage the bulge forming between my thighs. My body's response is automatic as the long neglected flame of desire ignites within me. I want to pull him closer, to wrap my arms and legs around him, to lay back and draw him on top of me, but he's already pulling away.

Our lips separate before I'm through kissing him. He draws back from the desk, towing me along by my belt buckle. His long fingers delve past my robes and attack my trouser fastenings. The garment loosens from my body almost immediately. He pushes it to the floor, hooks his fingers into my undergarments and tears them down as well. Then, he steps back to survey his spoils.

The way his eyes devour my nakedness sends a heat surging to my groin that chases away the chill creeping up my legs. Memories I've been pretending to have forgotten flood my mind; feelings I've been pretending to have given up pulsate within me. I should end this now—leave before it goes any further—but the look on his face, the open yearning, keeps me rooted to my spot.

His hands move to the lower part of his robes and, a moment later, his erection emerges from the fabric. It hangs in the air, pale and ghostly against the backdrop of darkness. I feel my breaths become ragged, as they catch in my throat. How many times have I seen that magnificent member? And yet each time is like a surprise, a new promise of pleasures untold. He steps toward me, takes my bare hips in his hands and pulls me close. Our engorged flesh connects. Like a fool, I crane my neck back, eyes closed and lips parted, expecting to feel his mouth upon mine once again. Another hard slap to the face sends me reeling back to reality.

Fury at his betrayal flares within me, but before I can act, he twists me around and pushes me onto the desk like I'm nothing more than a rag doll. I land bent over, with both hands flat upon the surface. Then, like a shadow cast upon a wall, he's on me, his chest heaving against my back, his cock pressing against my buttock.

"Say it," he commands, easing himself into the cleft between my cheeks. His voice is husky with need, his breath hot against my ear. I feel him urge the tip of his arousal against my entrance and, slick with warm pre-ejaculate, I yield to his advance. Suddenly, all thoughts of anger and defiance—of heartbreak and mistreatment—evaporate as he lingers there, barely inside of me, teasing me with the promise of reconciliation.

"I'm wicked," I groan, lured back into obedience. "I need to be punished. Punish me, Professor."

With a sharp thrust, he buries himself deep within me. I cry out with mingled pain and ecstasy. He pulls out.

"Again!" he commands.

"Punish me, Professor!" I implore.

He thrusts again, harder, deeper, grunting ferociously with the effort. His cock finds that bundle of tenderest flesh inside me and my eyes flutter closed as my body dissolves into pure sensation. He rears back without hesitation and surges into me again and again, ever faster, ever deeper. An incoherent litany of pleas pours freely from my lips, begging for more, begging him never to stop.

I arch my back to him, pushing wantonly against his thrusts. He takes my bait. His fingernails rake across my scalp as he grabs a fistful of my hair. He wrenches my head back mercilessly. His grip on my hip tightens. The pace of his thrusts increases. He's fucking me in earnest, now—ramming into me with relentless demand. His climax is close, maybe seconds away. I wrap my hand around the erection throbbing against my abdomen, and pump furiously.

The pressure begins to build at once, but not quickly enough. Already, he's reached the height of his frenzy. His final bucks dissolve into body-wide shudders as orgasm overtakes him, silently and completely. He collapses onto me, spent and sighing with satisfaction. I can feel his hot breaths against the back of my neck. I move my hand frantically over my shaft, desperate to share in his euphoria. Finally, my reward rushes upon me and, just as he withdraws from my body, I come with a half disappointed groan.

He took me by surprise, a defensive voice at the back of my mind tells me as I huff, hunched over and alone in the dark. I wasn't ready. I'll be ready next time.

The world reforms around me in pieces as the post-orgasmic haze dissipates: first, the scent of sweat and sex in the damp air; then, the shadows of Severus' specimens coming into being; and finally, the chill creeping over my exposed body parts. I can't feel him anymore, but the ghost of his touch still lingers upon my skin and I can hear him skulking about the room, magicking rolls of parchment, quills, and ink pots from the floor. I consider calling him back and asking him to hold me, but my desire to retain what dignity I have left is much stronger.

A fire flares to life in the fireplace behind Severus's chair and my eyes sting with the sudden brightness. The torches in the corners of the room follow suit and the feeling of intimacy evaporates. I quickly right myself, now keen to cover the body that I had given away so hungrily only moments ago.

My cheeks burn as I pull my trousers up from the floor, my fingers almost numb as I struggle to secure my belt around my waist. I know he's watching me, watching to see what I do, how I'll react to what we've just shared. He'll want to talk about it, maybe even ask me to take him back. Three and a half months is longer than I expected him to last without me, but none of that matters now.

When I finally look up, he is seated at his desk, his eyes following a raven quill twitching across a piece of parchment. He must have just looked away.

"Rough day?" I ask with forced indifference.

"Yes," he replies without looking up from his work, in a surprisingly convincing matter-of-fact tone,. "I would apologize for my little outburst, but you really didn't seem to mind."

I scoff. It's just like him to try and save face. "I'd hardly call it a little outburst, but nevertheless, I understand. The body wants what it wants."

"So it would seem."

I smirk knowingly at the top of his head, watching him watch the quill near the end of the parchment roll. It won't be anything dramatic—maybe just a casual suggestion that we return to our previous 'arrangement', as he liked to call it—but I'll still enjoy it all the same.

When the quill falls still on the desk, he finally brings his eyes to meet mine. A shiver of excitement runs from my back to my fingertips. He only holds my gaze for a moment, but I make sure my face makes it clear that I'm eager to hear whatever he has to say.

"Now," he says, lifting the parchment and leaning back in his chair to read it. "I presume you wanted to speak to me about my letter to your mother."

"I—your what?" I ask, unable to mask my confusion.

"When you barged into my classroom," he says slowly, affecting the tone he reserves for the simple-minded, "demanding to speak to me, was it about the letter?"

It takes a few seconds for the memory to slide into place. I'd completely forgotten my original reason for coming to see him in light of the unexpected turn of events.

"Er, yes," I reply, warily. "You had no right to contact my mother. But what does that have to do with—"

"I had every right, Draco," he says, trampling over my words with unmistakeable exasperation. "I am your teacher."

"But given our history—"

"If you're referring to our arrangement," he says, cutting me off again, "I shouldn't have to remind you that we ended it, as per your request."

"And the letter was what? My punishment?"

He puts the parchment down and sits up, finally giving me his full attention. His eyes betray no remorse, no emotion at all. The truth dawns on me, slaps me in the face harder than his hand ever could. He has no intention of reconciling and, once again, I'm the fool.

"No, Draco," he replies, maliciously. "As I told you after your little tantrum last winter, you are free to do as you like. But when whatever is occupying your time interferes with your attendance in my class it is my job to—"

"To run to mummy?" I interject, feeling my blood begin to boil.

"—to redirect your focus and remind you of your priorities," he continues, unphased.

"Ha!" I scoff. "I know exactly what my priorities are."

He sneers at me. "Your failing grades say otherwise."

"And since when do you give a damn about my grades?" I ask, my voice growing tight with my suppressed anger.

"Since your mother asked me to watch over you in your father's...absence," he answers coolly.

"Don't you dare talk about my father!" I spit at him. "I don't need you to babysit me!"

"Then, stop acting like a child," he hisses back.

"What about earlier?" I challenge. "I attended your class and completed your assignment! You graded my sample! Was that the work of a child?"

"No," he says simply. "It was a very well crafted potion. Far superior to any of your classmates'—"

"Ha!" I shout again, this in triumph, but he cuts me off.

"—which tells me," he goes on, "that I was right to contact your mother."

He leans back in his chair, a self-satisfied smile working at the corners of his lips. I want to strike him, to claw that pompous smirk right off of his face, but I know that would only leave him even more convinced of his power over me. I've given too much of myself freely to him tonight, so I pull back, restoring myself to calm.

"Fine," I say quietly. "Is that all?"

"You're the one who came to see me, Draco," he replies, sounding almost bored again, "so, if you haven't anything else to say to me, you are free to leave."

Without another word, I turn on my heel. It isn't until I'm on the other side of the door, in the cool of the dungeon corridor that I realize how stifling Severus's office had been. My mind quickly clears and my regret is instantaneous. I thought I had mastered my emotions in the months I spent without him. Obviously, I was mistaken.

It was a test, I think as I walk toward the staircase, running my fingers through my hair in disappointment at my shortsightedness, and I failed! Of course, he doesn't want me. I don't deserve to have him back.

As I reach the first floor, rounding the corner and leaving the stairwell, I wonder if there will be any way for me to rectify my blunder.

AN: Consider this chapter a small gift because the workweek has begun and there probably won't be another chapter until the weekend. But don't let that deter you from reviewing! Thank you to those who have already reviewed/followed! It's nice to get confirmation that I'm not actually as terrible at this as I thought. -Mimi