Following the events of that Saturday, Minerva made every effort to project an image of absolute normality. After unleashing her fury on Snape, she turned to Occlumency to construct a wall over her emotions and maintain control. She composed herself and assumed the flawless role expected of a professor, leaving not the slightest crack to betray what had occurred. Even when crossing paths in the corridors with the student with whom she had sealed that sordid agreement, she acted with cold indifference, maintaining the exact same formal distance she would offer any other student. To the outside world, she seemed to hold firm to the illusion that everything that had transpired was nothing more than a disturbing fantasy in the boy's mind.
She projected confidence and composure, but the reality was a far cry from that facade. Occlumency anchored her posture in the hallways, but a single moment of solitude was all it took for a recurring thought to shatter her unshakeable serenity, accelerating her pulse to the point of forcing her to take a seat just to digest her vulnerability. The grotesque part of the matter was that, after having engaged in sexual relations with a student while under the influence of drugs, her greatest anguish did not lie in the breach of her ethical code, nor in moral guilt, nor in the real possibility of being exposed and ending up in Azkaban... All of that was relegated to the background before a single name: Tom.
Minerva was incapable of understanding why the only thing truly gripping her chest at that moment was the figure of that young man. In an objective analysis, the legal and disciplinary implications should have consumed her thoughts, but her psyche refused to process them; she could only gravitate around Tom.
The following day, when the time for their scheduled meeting arrived, the tide of thoughts finally overwhelmed her. She was not supposed to feel such anxiety before seeing him, nor feel weighed down by shame or guilt. After all, she was nothing more than a well-intentioned guardian aspiring to become his godmother, eager to rescue him from that brothel and offer him a future worthy of his nobility. Her personal life, her lapses, and her crimes had no reason to intertwine with the boy's existence... And yet, the connection was there, razor-sharp. Deep within her soul, she understood the reason, even as her intellect stubbornly tried to deny it. She preferred to cling to the fiction that she saw Tom as a pure soul requiring guidance, convinced that the intimate episodes born from the aphrodisiac vapors of the brothel were a chapter apart.
When she presented herself before him, she found him reclining on the bed wearing only a light robe, absently toyed with the garment's sashes. As he looked up, the young man's face lit up with his usual spark of joy upon finding her... and that gesture ultimately crushed her heart.
The setting maintained its usual dynamic, but this time it was Tom who carried the weight of the conversation while Minerva merely listened. It was not a deliberate concession; quite simply, the professor lacked the courage to raise her voice or feign normal behavior when her chest was heavy with anguish.
"Are you all right?" Tom inquired, genuine concern reflected in his gaze.
"Huh? Yes..." she answered, distant.
"That's not true. Something's wrong with you," the young man stated without hesitation.
"Why do you say that?" Minerva asked, trying to recover her composure.
"Because normally you scold me when I squeeze your breast and you push my hand away immediately," he remarked, giving a light squeeze to the Deputy Headmistress's firm, soft chest.
"Tom!" she complained as she realized what was happening. She grabbed his wrist to pull him away, but the movement lacked its usual momentum and firmness; though she initially gripped tightly, the gesture quickly lost its energy.
"Are you really okay? You're talking much less than usual. You haven't taught me anything today... you've just been listening. It doesn't bother me if you don't feel like talking," he added with a tinge of guilt, letting a bit of nervousness leak through before continuing in an almost desperate tone: "Did I do something wrong? Are you getting tired of me? Is it because I was too pushy about sex and you don't like it? I can change! I can learn new things to entertain you!" he exclaimed with the anguish typical of a whore who fears losing the favor of his Sugar Daddy.
"No, Tom! Don't say that!" Minerva intervened hurriedly, taking his hands to halt his words. It bothered her deeply that the boy reasoned under the servile logic of the environment in which he had been raised, though she could not deny that a shadow was tormenting her.
Both remained silent for a few moments. Tom observed her with a look of absolute purity, awaiting the pedagogical or moral explanation she always offered him. Minerva, on the other hand, was unable to meet his gaze while carrying a secret that should never have existed.
In need of air, the professor stood up to create some distance and gather her thoughts before articulating a word. However, in an instinctive and desperate movement, Tom reached out and clung to the edge of her robes, his face distorted with fear.
"Don't leave me!" he pleaded, his voice breaking. "I promise to change! Is it because of last time? I won't do it again, just... don't leave me... I'll do whatever you ask..." His hand trembled visibly as he held onto the fabric, torn between the need to hold her back and the fear of upsetting her.
"Tom..." Minerva articulated, her own voice a fractured thread. Seeing the young man's desperation, akin to that of a child fearing abandonment by his mother, finally broke down her defenses... especially because that dependency made the betrayal she felt she had committed infinitely more painful. "I will never leave you," she assured, cradling the boy's face between her hands. "This has nothing to do with you... It's my own problem. I made a mistake... and now I don't know how to deal with it."
She managed to take a couple of steps back and draw a breath, looking at him once more. The calm that settled over Tom's face upon knowing he was free of blame, combined with his evident concern for her, signaled to Minerva that she could not keep postponing the inevitable. Heartbreaking as it was to admit, she had to face the situation, accepting once and for all that her feelings toward the young male prostitute were far from as platonic as she tried to convince herself.
"I had... an incident..." she began to explain heavily, adopting a markedly defensive and vulnerable posture.
"Are you hurt?" Tom asked immediately, showing alarm.
"No, it's not that, it's..." Minerva felt the knot in her throat tighten before the boy's genuine concern. Yet, she was the adult in that room; she had to free herself from that burden if she intended to keep looking him in the eye. Gathering her last breath of determination to face the abyss she so feared, she let it out all at once: "I had relations with someone... I was intimate with a student."
Minerva let her words go in a trembling sigh, feeling that invisible weight that threatened to crush her finally dissipate. However, she closed her eyes almost immediately, overcome by a childlike fear of the reaction of the young man to whom, in the depths of her soul, she had already surrendered herself after so many shared encounters.
"Oh... and?" Tom asked in a completely casual tone.
Minerva opened her eyes slowly, finding him with a bewildered expression, as if waiting for the rest of the story.
"It's... it's that I had sex with someone else," she insisted in a muted voice. Having released the confession, her demeanor as a stern teacher vanished completely, taking on the vulnerable posture of an unfaithful lover cornered by guilt. Though she refused to formally admit it, she deeply feared his rejection. "Are... aren't you angry?"
"Me? Why would I be?" he asked, maintaining absolute calm.
"Because I was with someone else... I..." The words stuck in her throat. She tried to argue why he should feel betrayed, but the very reality of their bond stopped her: they were nothing, even if her emotions dictated otherwise.
"Should I be upset about that? I have sex with strangers every day. Why would I be mad if you do the same?" Tom replied, tilting his head as if facing an insoluble dilemma. "Am I supposed to get angry? It makes no sense. I just want you to be happy."
"But you are a gigolo!" she blurted out suddenly, instantly regretting the derogatory tone of the word. "I mean... you don't freely choose to be with other people; you're trapped in that dynamic, forced... Whereas I..." She tried to justify herself, but ran out of arguments. The substance consumption was a mitigating factor, but the weight of the betrayal remained.
"Oh... so... do I forgive you?" he said hesitantly, searching for the answer she expected. "To be honest, I don't care what you do as long as you're okay. You can have sex with whoever you want," he added, trying to comfort her, though his voice gradually began to trail off. "But... is he better than me? Did he make you enjoy it more...? Do you prefer him? Do you not want to do it with me anymore?" he concluded, visibly sinking into sudden despair, an absolute depression.
"No, not at all! It wasn't something I sought out, it just... happened," she intervened quickly, reacting with an unusual vehemence for her rigid character. "I barely retain any memories of that moment. And although I never wished for ours to take a physical turn, you are... far superior in your trade," she admitted, her face flushed with shame, driven solely by the desire to console this boy on the brink of collapse.
"Oh! What a relief... I want you to be happy, but I think it would destroy me if you left me," he commented, recovering a shred of spirits. "I know I can't demand anything from you, and I should be satisfied with the time you give me."
"I am never going to abandon you, Tom. I promised you I would get you out of this place and give you the peaceful life you deserve, far away from all this," Minerva assured him, closing the distance to wrap him in a protective embrace, experiencing a fleeting relief.
However, after a brief silence laden with promises, the boy broke the embrace.
"How strange... I feel weird," Tom murmured, looking at his hands, appearing uncomfortable yet holding a baffling smile. "Imagining you with someone else makes me feel a strange discomfort... like anger. Why?" Suddenly, a solitary tear rolled down his cheek. Surprised, he caught it with the tip of his finger. "Why am I crying? Nobody hurt me... I have a very high pain tolerance; I only cry when they cut me deep or use hot iron... I also cry when feigning it, but this isn't fake... Why am I crying?"
"Tom..." Minerva whispered, shuddering at the sight of the boy's absolute perplexity before his own biological reaction.
"Minerva... I'm confused. It hurts in here..." he admitted, touching his chest. "Thinking of you with someone else makes me hate him. I feel like he's going to take you away from me, even though you promised it wouldn't be that way. And when I think about sex... I have it every day with strangers, so why does it disturb me so much to picture you? I should be happy for you... right? But... I hate it. I hate that he touched your body, even if it makes no sense..." Tears began to flow more freely, contrasting grotesquely with the forced smile that still dominated his face. "I'm scared... I'm confused. Help me, Minerva... what's happening to me...?"
Minerva threw him back into her arms, pulling him tightly against her chest. Seeing him in that state of emotional disorientation, incapable of processing basic human feelings because of the abuse suffered in the brothel, caused her a sharp pain. Tears came to her eyes as well as she tried to convey warmth and refuge.
"That is jealousy, Tom... It's called jealousy," she explained in a measured voice, trying to calm him. "And it's completely natural to feel it when you care about someone."
That day turned into an unforeseen lesson on the nature of emotions within affectionate relationships, far from the cold commercialization of sex work.
There was no wild sex that day; the Deputy Headmistress's guilt and mental state prevented her from going to that extreme... or well, that was the plan. Nevertheless, in an attempt to repair the damage and compensate the young man who had just discovered the bitterness of possessiveness, Minerva decided to yield in another aspect.
Moments later, the Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts was on her knees on the floor, using her mouth to give pleasure to Tom while he gently held her hair. The position was objectively humiliating for a witch of her status: reduced to pleasing a male prostitute, sliding her tongue around his member with slow, measured movements, holding back occasional gags while her hands stroked his testicles.
Despite the implicit degradation, Minerva experienced a twisted sense of fulfillment. For the first time, Tom was not acting as the submissive toy destined to please others, but as the exclusive recipient of her care and devotion.