Saturday arrived—just an ordinary day for most, though for me it marked an inevitable appointment in the Deputy Headmistress's office. I arrived after having a prior conversation with Hermione, upon whom our dear professor had passed down a stern moral scolding. I would have loved to witness that lecture: my young girlfriend was blushing so furiously she could barely bring herself to meet my gaze. The bitter part of the matter was that the sermon had taken place after my "reward," leaving the poor girl feeling utterly guilty about everything.
Hermione stood firm in her decision not to repeat what we had done. I could sense how difficult it was for her to maintain that stance—after all, she had just discovered how fascinating intimacy could be—but her sense of duty prevailed. Minerva's rhetoric had convinced her that she was still far too young and that indulging in such practices was an imprudence. It was a direct attack on her sense of decency, and Hermione, in her innocence, believed her blindly.
Mind you, the professor hadn't demonized the act itself, but rather the precocity of her age. She may have even slipped in a favorable comment on the subject, as Hermione took my hands to assure me that once we matured a bit more, she would be willing to do it frequently.
I could only let out a soft sigh. It seemed that every time I managed to take a step forward in my plans, someone was determined to push me three steps back. Naturally, I wasn't about to let anyone get in the way of my personal gratification; however, with Hermione, I wouldn't resort to the unyielding measures I used on Tonks to force her to see the error of her ways. I would grant her a grace period while she believed she was doing the right thing, but now I had to settle accounts with the cause of this setback... even if, deep down, I was well aware that my alter ego, "Tom," bore a fair share of the responsibility.
I reached the office door just in time to catch McGonagall drinking from a potion vial. Upon noticing my presence, a shudder ran through her from head to toe before she forced herself to regain her composure.
"I'm here, Professor," I announced with utter casualness.
"Red..." she articulated with a subtle nod, watching me approach her desk as the brew began to take effect in her system, soothing the sudden warmth my proximity provoked in her. "I know our conversations aren't usually the most... pleasant, but I trust this one will take a different turn. Sit down, please."
I simply nodded and took a seat across from her, eager to see where her speech was heading.
"You see... I recognize that in the past I may have been overly harsh regarding your... puberty," she began serenely, lacing her hands together on the wooden desk. "I questioned certain behaviors on your part, guided by some... mistaken preconceptions. I suppose I forgot what it was like to be young," she added with a nostalgic touch, her gaze briefly wandering into her thoughts, maintaining a tone unusually warm and distant from her customary rigidity, as if seeking to build a genuine bridge to me.
"You're not that old, Professor. In fact, lately you look quite young—sexy, even," I remarked smoothly with a touch of sarcasm; after all, that transformation was my own doing.
"I appreciate the compliment, but that is hardly an appropriate way to address your teacher," she countered, suppressing a slight blush. She knew full well what I meant: on more than one occasion she had caught several students stealing glances at her newly firm backside.
Minerva picked up the potion bottle and drained the final drop in a single gulp, seeking to drown out the emotional chaos threatening to overtake her. She wanted to maintain a coherent dialogue at all costs.
"Pardon me," she murmured as she set the empty flask on the table. "At any rate, I wanted to apologize for my harshness. I have noticed that you possess a maturity far superior to that of your peers, and perhaps it is a mistake to judge you by the same standard, even if you are still a child. This stage is truly complex, and you are an exceedingly problematic student," she admitted involuntarily, betrayed by her own thoughts. "I have already addressed this matter with Hermione, but I wanted to discuss it with you. Perhaps in the future we will do so together, as your bond is something that deserves both guidance and prudence. I want to tell you that... feeling such drive or... being so horny at this age is understandable. Believe me, I'm not going to demand that you suppress your impulses; not even I can avoid it entirely... sex is wonderful... hehe..." she murmured, her gaze suddenly turning hazy as her syllables slurred together. Such a confession would never have escaped the Deputy Headmistress's lips in her right mind. "I just don't want you two doing anything reckless. You're too young for sex, but when you grow up, you're really going to enjoy it... I enjoy it so much..."
I remained motionless in the chair, tilting my head as I watched the professor ramble with a silly smile plastered across her face. Her clumsy slurring and her need to lean heavily on the desk to keep her balance were unmistakable signs that something was amiss.
Without wasting time, I picked up the empty bottle and brought it to my nose. A couple of quick checks were enough for me to draw rapid conclusions: first, it was a brew bearing Snape's unmistakable signature; second, it was supposed to be a calming draught; third... it was definitely not a calming draught.
I looked at the professor, who continued stringing together disconnected sentences without registering whether her listener was still there or not. I wasn't sure why Severus had handed over the wrong brew, but I also knew that the potion alone wouldn't have caused such havoc on Minerva without compounding factors: a hormonal imbalance, over twenty-four hours of sleep deprivation, or the presence of a reactive agent in her system... among other things.
I stood up, walked around to her side, and took her firmly by the shoulders, pretending to keep her from collapsing out of her chair while actually conducting a rapid diagnosis. My senses detected anomalies, but nothing life-threatening. Having fragmented part of my power, my capabilities were somewhat reduced, but they were more than sufficient to verify that her condition was due to a bodily instability colliding with Snape's brew. Though I didn't uncover the exact root cause, there was no need to investigate further.
Then came the time to make a decision.
Before me was the Deputy Headmistress of the school, compromised by a mismatched substance; the very same woman who intended to hinder my intimate life with Hermione for the coming years, yet with whom I maintained a torrid secret affair under another identity.
Gazing upon her rejuvenated, fragile figure, hidden behind the facade of the strict witch she always was, I recalled the moments we shared in the brothel. That had been under the face of Tom; this, however, would be under my true skin. A calculating smile formed on my lips as I began to flick my wand with fluid grace.
With a silent charm, I transformed the office rug into a plush tapestry. Next, I scooped the professor into my arms and laid her down gently on the surface. Minerva barely registered what was happening around her, but she was aware that the potion's effect would dissipate within five minutes, restoring her lucidity. I needed to prolong her trance.
A couple of subtle spells in the air, a precise dose of Legilimency to manipulate her perception, and the accelerated creation of a false memory began to shape reality to my liking...
...
An hour later, Minerva began to regain clarity. She immediately realized that something had happened; she was dragged down by a dense mental void or, rather, a collection of vague, blurry, and fragmented memories. Her body and mind were piecing themselves back together at uneven paces.
As her eyes refocused, the first thing she discerned was the young figure in front of her finishing adjusting his clothes. It was then that she felt the physical reality of her own body: naked on the rug, barely covered by an improvised sheet, and plunged into a familiar, overwhelming sensation... the warmth and slickness between her thighs.
"Merlin... NO!" she choked back a scream, clutching the sheet to her chest with desperate force.
Her gaze darted between sheer terror and utter disorientation. It was at that moment that I extended her dress and her wand toward her, showing a slight blush on my face.
And so my performance began. I made a gesture as if to withdraw upon seeing her intense reaction to my actions, subtly deploying my aura to guide her emotional state in the exact direction I needed.
"I'm sorry... I was just trying to be a gentleman," I said, faking a tone of guilt and embarrassment. "It's just that you looked so... different a moment ago. So much less strict, less dominant, and I thought... Anyway, it doesn't matter. I remember perfectly what we agreed on; I won't cause any more trouble. If you prefer, I'll take my leave," I added, feigning hesitation.
Minerva froze, trying to process my words while her mind fought to rationalize. The distorted memories I had implanted were beginning to crystallize, though the fog had not cleared completely. She couldn't just let me walk away like this. Her heart hammered against her ribs; she doubted what had transpired with anguish and sought a way out, silently praying that it was all a dreadful misunderstanding. Luckily—or unluckily—the lingering traces of the brew, now acting as the sedative it was originally meant to be, maintained her intellect in a composure as cold as it was artificial.
"Wait... what... what happened?" she asked, still dazed. "What were you saying... what did I say to you?"
"There's no need to do that; you don't have to play games with me," I replied serenely. "As you pointed out yourself, I am far more mature than I appear. Rest assured: I will fulfill my end of the bargain. I won't cross any lines with Hermione until we're older..."
Minerva reached out her hand to take her wand and her garments. A terrible suspicion gathered strength in her chest, but my words acted as the trigger that set off the sequence of manipulated memories. In her mind, blurry images began to project themselves following the consumption of the potion: her own voice rising, arguments clashing, and finally, stifled phrases echoing as if emerging from deep underwater.
Hurriedly covering herself with her dress, she cast an inquisitive look at me, sheltered by the artificial composure the substance still afforded her.
"What was it... that we agreed on?" she inquired firmly.
"I already told you, there's no need to pretend. I remember every word, and I keep my promises," I smiled faintly, but noticing her fixed, stern glare, I realized it was time to deliver the final blow to seal the lie. "Fine, if you want me to say it outright: you had sex with me to satisfy this 'teenage heat,' in exchange for my oath not to touch Hermione until we both grow up. A one-time thing, under strict confidentiality and absolute professional coldness... Happy? You don't have to remind me. I may be a problematic student, but I'm a man of my word. I will comply... In fact, you have earned my complete respect."
Minerva turned to stone as the weight of the false memories settled completely into place. In her psyche, the entire sequence emerged: the imaginary scene of herself slamming her palm onto the wooden desk to seal the deal; her voice adopting the provocative, ruthless tone of an erotic novel; a conduct entirely foreign to her nature, yet terrifyingly plausible under the influence of a psychotropic substance.