Chapter Text
Professor Gaunt is a megalomaniac. You’re not sure what you did to incur his wrath (exist, apparently) but he’s unnervingly attuned to your slightest mistake. The only reason you’re taking transfiguration is because it’s required to become a healer. You couldn't care less about the discipline beyond what’s required but to Professor Gaunt anything less than absolute perfection is worthless.
“It’s like he doesn’t understand not all of us plan on becoming transfiguration professors,” you complain. You stare morosely at your latest assignment. You’d spent the last week at the library working on this ridiculous essay and triple-checking each reference only to be slapped with an Acceptable. You can just imagine the self-righteous smirk on Professor Gaunt’s face as he destroys your dreams with a single swish of his quill. “This was at least worth an Exceeds Expectations.”
Helen pats you on the shoulder. “I’m sorry he’s such a dickhead. But you do have to admit he’s handsome.”
You spit out your water. “Are you crazy?”
“Put his personality aside for a second. Have you seen his cheekbones? They could cut glass. And his hands? I wonder what else he could do with those fingers.”
You wave your hands in front of her pleadingly. “For Merlin’s sake, stop talking!”
“I’m just saying, at least he’s nice to look at.”
“If you don’t shut up I’m going to turn you into a toad.”
Helen snorts. “According to Professor Gaunt, you couldn’t even if you wanted to.”
You smack her with your essay.
You don’t know why you bother helping Samuel. Maybe it’s because he always looks a little like a kicked puppy, or maybe it’s because you’re sick of being attacked by skunks each time a spell goes awry. Either way, in your next Transfiguration class you discreetly point your wand at his feather duster and murmur the incantation. It transforms into a ferret and he lets out a surprised shriek.
“I finally did it!” Samuel crows. “It’s a ferret! Do you see any stripes on him? That’s definitely a ferret.”
You hide your smile as you turn back to your own transfigured feather duster. From the corner of your eye, you spy Professor Gaunt. There’s a crease between his brows. You swear his gaze is trained on you, which should be impossible—he’s completely blind. The sleepless nights must be catching up to you, you reason. Despite what you told Helen, Professor Gaunt doesn’t actually have a secret fifth sense for your blunders.
You’re in relatively high spirits as you pack your belongings for your next class. You’ve always enjoyed Herbology and for once you think you may have put in a decent performance in Transfiguration. Even Professor Gaunt can’t find fault with your ferret, though he’d certainly tried, the prick. You sling your bag over your shoulder, pushing in your chair. If you really hurry you even have time for a quick snack before heading to the greenhouses.
“A word?” Professor Gaunt’s voice cuts through the now-empty room like a knife.
You grit your teeth, stopping midstep. All of your dreams of food and a good day evaporate before your eyes. “Yes?”
“I know you helped Mr. Longbottom with his assignment.” He doesn’t even look up from his work, which is the most insulting part. “This is your third transgression. The transfiguration N.E.W.T. is always in high demand. If you’re not going to take this class seriously I have no choice but to let you go.”
“Please,” you say, and you can’t believe your life has come to this.
Professor Gaunt leans back in his chair. You’re irritated to note that Helen was right—he is rather attractive. Too bad it’s wasted on such an asshole. “I’m willing to give you another chance if you can prove you truly want to be here.”
“I’ll do anything,” you say. You’ve dreamed of being a Healer since you were four. Nothing’s going to stop you, not even Professor Gaunt and his creepy habit of always monitoring you.
“Close the door,” he says. “We’ll discuss your options.”
You oblige, reluctantly walking toward his desk. You set your bag down, fisting your hands in your skirt and trying to relax. He’s not going to kill you, you remind yourself. It’s only your entire future. No pressure. “I don’t mind coming in after class,” you say. “Or on the weekends. I’ll write all of the essays you want or…clean the classroom, something.”
Professor Gaunt smiles, but it sends a chill down your spine. “I’m not interested in reading more of your nonsense, and we have Moon to keep things tidy around here, don’t we?”
That’s true.
“Then, what?” you ask, trying to keep the desperate edge out of your tone. “I’ll do whatever you want.” You jump as he stands. He’s rather tall, certainly taller than you. His obnoxiously shiny shoes click across the floor as he stands in front of you. You have to crane your neck to see him and you try not to be irritated by it.
“You should be careful saying things like that,” he says, voice low. “People might get the wrong idea.” You stiffen as his hand reaches up to caress your cheek. It’s a predatory, almost possessive touch. “People like me.”
You’re bright red. “Oh?” You’re not naive; you know what he’s insinuating. You just didn’t think this kind of thing happened in real life. It seemed far more suited to the romance novels your grandmother used to read.
“I find your voice irritating,” Professor Gaunt says. His other hand pets your hair and it’s almost comforting. “I can’t stop wondering what you would sound like making other noises instead.”
You find yourself at a crossroads. You could walk out of the room and straight to Headmistress Weasley, report Professor Gaunt, and likely tarnish your reputation forever. Even if she believes you the influence of the Gaunt name means you’ll be blacklisted forever. Or…
You rise on your tiptoes and kiss him. You catch him off guard but he’s quick to respond, tugging you into him and deepening the kiss. You’ve had several kisses, mostly drunk on fire whiskey after the occasional party, and they’ve all been mediocre at best. Professor Gaunt kisses like you’re the last breath of oxygen, hungrily and fervently as his hands map the lines of your face. If this is what kissing is supposed to feel like you can understand why people are so obsessed with it.
“Like I said,” you say after you separate. You clear your throat, trying to maintain any semblance of dignity. “I’ll do whatever it takes.”
Professor Gaunt practically growls at that. You gasp as he grabs your shoulders and spins you around so quickly you almost lose your balance. He bends you over his desk, your breasts flattening painfully against the surface and knees bumping against the wood.
“Ow,” you complain.
He presses up behind you, close enough you can feel the firm muscles of his chest against your back. “If you can’t keep your mouth shut then I’ll have to make you.”
His breath ghosts across your neck and you try not to shiver. “Fine.”
Professor Gaunt has the nerve to tsk. “Did I give you permission to speak?”
You start to answer before thinking better of it and shaking your head.
“You’re a fast learner,” he says. “It’s a shame you’re content to waste your potential.”
His slender fingers begin to unbutton your blouse, making quick work of the garment and tossing it aside. Next is your bra, similarly discarded. You shiver at the sudden chill, trying not to think about how exposed you are. A hand fists in your hair, yanking your head back. Professor Gaunt makes a thoughtful sound, the twat, like he can’t decide if he likes what he feels or not. His free hand wraps around your neck, thumb pressing against your pulse. You freeze, scarcely daring to breathe. Mortifyingly, despite the fact he’s a megalomaniac and you think he may be about to murder you, you can feel heat beginning to pool between your legs as his hand constricts.
“Much better,” he says, bending down to speak softly against your ear.
You’re starting to feel a little lightheaded, the sensation heightened by Professor Gaunt’s proximity and the expensive smell of his cologne. He releases his grip. You only have a moment to catch your breath before his hand trails further down your body. You whimper as he takes your nipple between his fingers and twists.
“I have students outside,” he chides. “Are you trying to get caught?” His hand tightens in your hair, tipping your head to the side and leaving your neck exposed. “Unless…you want everyone to know you’re a whore?” He pinches your nipple again and you bite the inside of your cheek to keep from moaning. It becomes considerably more difficult when he licks a sinful stripe up your neck, nipping at the soft skin with enough force to leave a bruise.
You desperately try to remember the condescending way he’d critiqued your transfigured teacup (a mouse is nearly the same as a gerbil) and the arrogant lilt to his voice. Professor Gaunt is completely insufferable—it doesn’t matter how filthy his mouth is or how nice his hands feel marking your body.
“What do you think the other professors would say if they knew how quickly you offered yourself up to me?” Professor Gaunt murmurs. He hikes up your skirt and you’re regretting not wearing tights today, even if it is unseasonably warm. “Then again, maybe there’s a reason you’re not wearing stockings.”
Despite his earlier command to keep quiet you start to defend yourself. “It’s hot—" Your words turn into a yelp as his palm connects with your ass with an obscene smack. It stings but the worst part is the shameless moan that escapes your lips. Your entire body flushes at the sound.
Professor Gaunt’s smugness practically radiates from him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d almost say you’re enjoying yourself.”
That’s entirely too far. “You’re the pervert who decided—”
He spanks you again, harder this time, and you grip the edge of the desk to keep from crying out. “It seems you’re forgetting the details of your predicament. I’m doing you a favor and this is how you thank me?” Two more smacks and your ass is beginning to feel the effects. Professor Gaunt’s hands are cold against the warmth of your skin and they feel like a brand. “Is there anything you want to say?” he asks. Another smack. His hand releases from your hair to seize your neck again and you’re now completely at his mercy.
“I’m sorry,” you choke out, past the fingers constricting your windpipe. You press your thighs together in a vain attempt to alleviate the traitorous ache between your legs. Something is deeply, terribly wrong with you.
The movement doesn’t go unnoticed. He hums thoughtfully, nudging your legs apart with his knee. Your breath catches in your throat as he pulls your panties to the side and runs a curious finger over your slit. You’re horrified to discover just how wet you are.
“Interesting,” Professor Gaunt says as if it’s nothing more than a particularly rogue transfiguration.
You’re conjuring a witty retort when he slips a finger inside you like it’s nothing. You moan, pressing your face against the desk in an attempt to keep quiet. It doesn’t work. “You really are a slut,” he says, sounding far too amused.
You squeeze your eyes shut as he adds another finger, curling them back towards you in a motion that has you crying out. He clasps a hand over your mouth. “Quiet,” he hisses. He repeats the action and you think you may actually combust. You’ve touched yourself before but it’s never felt like this, like every nerve is alight. With each thrust of his fingers you can feel yourself tremble, the pleasure building more and more until it comes dangerously close to exploding. Professor Gaunt pulls his hand away and you whimper.
“Are you so desperate you’d rather fuck my fingers?” he asks. He yanks your panties off. You can hear him unbuckling his belt and a few moments later his cock presses against your opening. “Normally I would take my time, but after what you’ve done you’ll just have to be a good girl and take it.” You cry out as he pushes into you, and despite how wet you are there’s still a slight ache as he guides himself inside. You can’t see Professor Gaunt but you can hear his low groan as he finally bottoms out.
The pressure subsides as he begins to fuck you, setting a merciless pace. He presses you into the table with one hand, the other still firmly over your mouth. You moan as he almost pulls out completely before slamming back inside. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so full, like a piece of you has been missing all this time and finally, everything is right again.
“What do you say?” Professor Gaunt asks, removing his hand from your mouth. It’s the very first time he’s sounded anything other than perfectly composed and somehow that turns you on more than anything else.
You cry out at a particularly unforgiving thrust, tears beginning to leak from your eyes. It’s almost overwhelming how much you can feel at once. “Thank you,” you gasp.
“Thank you for what?”
“Thank you for fucking me,” you say, voice breaking. You can feel yourself edging closer to your orgasm, legs beginning to shake underneath you.
“Good girl,” Professor Gaunt purrs. He wraps his hand back around your neck and squeezes. “Now show me how pretty you sound.”
You come with a cry, clenching around his cock as your hips buck against him. You swear your vision whites out from the overload of sensation, pleasure crashing over you and knocking you off your feet. Professor Gaunt’s forehead drops to your shoulder. His pace is unfaltering at your own orgasm, and you sob at the overstimulation. His grip doesn’t release from your throat, unforgiving as he chases his own release. He utters a final, choked-off moan as he trembles against you, nails digging painfully into your skin.
Your ears are ringing as he collapses against you. In a rare moment of solidarity, you both slump against the desk, trying to catch your breath. You’re drenched in sweat and for some reason, you feel as though you’re vibrating.
Professor Gaunt recovers first, naturally. You try not to pout as he pulls away, though you feel strangely empty without him. The realization is perhaps the most uncomfortable part of the day, and that’s saying something. You stumble away from the desk, pulling your panties back up and fetching your bra and shirt that have somehow migrated across the classroom. You keep your back turned as you dress. It’s silly to worry about your modesty, given the circumstances, but somehow this feels more vulnerable. You exhale shakily, combing your fingers through your hair in the hopes you don’t look too thoroughly-fucked.
Once you feel relatively composed you turn back towards the front of the room. The sight that greets you makes you flush—from anger, this time. You latch onto the emotion, welcoming the hint of normalcy.
Professor Gaunt is back to grading papers like he hadn’t just fucked you over his desk until you cried. “I’ll see you next class," he says, not looking up. "You know the way out.”
You seethe as you pick up your bag, making sure to slam the door behind you. What an asshole.