Title: I Could Listen To Your Voice
Author: tryslora
Characters/Pairings: Draco/Lily Luna
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Chosen: homilophilia
Other Warnings: teacher/student, age difference, masturbation, potential underage, potential infidelity
Word Count: ~1700
Summary/Description: It’s all old Slughorn’s fault. He was boring and dependable and this new Potions professor is distracting, and Lily Luna doesn’t need distractions.
Author's Notes: I knew I needed it to be Draco or Hermione when I saw the prompt, because both of them lecturing is just… mm, yum. The "potential" content items are because Lily Luna is in her seventh year, but her age is unclear, and Draco’s martial status is unclear. Thanks so much to M&M for alpha/beta stuffs; you guys are always awesome.



It’s all old Slughorn’s fault. He wasn’t Lily Luna’s favorite professor, but he was there for her first six years in Hogwarts and he was dependable. And boring. And yes, she got brilliant grades in Potions (she gets brilliant grades in everything, thank you very much), but it was more due to just how dull his classes were than any excitement.

Because excitement is a distraction. And Lily Luna doesn’t need distractions.

Her brand new Potions professor, who also just so happens to be Scorpius Malfoy’s father, is a very, very big distraction.

She can’t decide if it’s his voice, or if it’s the way he lectures, moving smoothly from one topic to another, rolling the words together in a lyrical way that makes her pay attention. Too much attention. So much attention that she feels the words curling around in her gut, twisting warmth and making her wet enough that she squirms in her seat.

“Miss Potter.”

She sits upright, tries not to think about just how damp her knickers are and whether she’s leaving a wet spot on the seat. “Professor?”

He smiles thinly. “Can you please tell me whether this would be a time to use Valerian root or Essence of Murtlap.”

This is old material; she learned it last year. “Murtlap, sir.” There’s a titter from Jezebel Pines, and Lily Luna flushes. She doesn’t know where the sir came from, it just slipped out.

His smile broadens slightly, and she shifts in her seat again. “Very good.” He stands right there in front of her, long fingers tapping against the top of her desk as he explains exactly why Essence of Murtlap is the correct answer, and goes into detail regarding the history and development of the potion. She hangs on every word, letting them wash over her until she can’t stay still, needing something more than the hard chair beneath her.

She shifts, bringing one foot up to sit on it, heel pressing against the heat between her legs.

“Miss Potter.” His tone is sharp now as he looks at her, and she looks up, eyes wide. “Two feet on the floor, Miss Potter,” he instructs.

She unwinds her feet and sits straight up, hands pressed against her lap. It’s the authoritative tone, she realizes, not just the knowledge. It’s the way he says what he says, the way he speaks as if there are no other possible options. “Yes, sir,” she murmurs.

“If I find you unable to sit still one more time, you will be expected to attend detention this evening.” He raps his knuckles against her desk. “Consider yourself lucky to be warned.” He raises his gaze to the rest of the classroom. “This is the only time, and you will pay heed to Miss Potter’s plight. I expect rapt attention and the only movement should be that of your quills against parchment, and the turning of pages during my lectures. Do you understand?”

Lily Luna nods quickly, trying to ignore the discomfort and warmth. But it’s impossible to ignore as he starts speaking again, delving deeply into the history of Potions, beginning with the very first attempts. She tries to stay still, but she can’t, her bum moving across the chair as she tries to find a way to be comfortable, to scratch the itch that is building under her skin.

“Miss Potter!”

She stops immediately, both hands pressed into her lap as if she could push against her self and ease the tension that way. She tries to paint an innocent expression on her face, despite the heat warming her cheeks.

Professor Malfoy leans on her desk. “Ten points from Ravenclaw, Miss Potter, and I will see you here immediately after dinner. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.” It is barely a whisper, her voice caught in her throat. All she can think is that it will allow her time to race back to her room and get off before dinner, so that maybe when she reports for detention she won’t still be uncomfortable. It’s an anomaly, something unexpected and strange, and it will never happen again.

#

It happens again.

When she arrives at detention he points one finger at her desk and she sits primly, hands clasped on the table, knees pressed together beneath. She is no longer wearing robes, only her uniform blouse and skirt, the tie discarded while hidden behind the curtains of her bed before dinner. She changed her knickers and wishes she had time for a shower, feeling as if the scent of self-pleasure lingers around her.

“Do you understand why you are here, Miss Potter?”

“Because you will not tolerate inattention, fidgeting, or…” She pauses, because these things usually come in threes and she cannot think of a third.

“Fidgeting is a particular peeve of mine.” He taps her desk with fingertips, and she swallows hard. “Shall I explain why it is a marked issue within the Potions classroom?”

There is nothing she can say but yes, even as she dreads the lecture.

He launches into a story of the past with the same detailed, pointed enthusiasm that he has for his class lectures. She is treated to a lecture of a time when her Uncle Neville nearly destroyed the classroom, or yet another time when Uncle Seamus actually did destroy it, all due to inattention and in Seamus’s case, an inability to stay still and quiet while the potion brews.

It is actually very interesting, to look at failures as object lessons, and the way Professor Malfoy deconstructs the process is fascinating. She is unable to look away as he speaks, and she is equally unable to stay still.

Her knickers are soaked again, her lips puffed with arousal. Every fidget rubs her bum against the chair, and when she rocks forward, it presses her slit against the wood in pleasing ways. It isn’t enough pressure, but it is just enough to tease her unmercifully.

He glances at her, nostrils flaring as he pauses in his discourse. He fires questions at her, and she answers each one easily. When he returns to lecturing, she slides to the edge of her seat, forward and to one side, letting the edge of the wood press against her.

“Be still,” he murmurs, and she freezes, lest he stop speaking entirely.

Instead he watches her, gaze locked on her face, and she is unable to look away from him. He moves to another story, one of his friends who was so enamored of a girl that he poked and prodded and exploded a cauldron that turned his skin pink for days.

She tries to move very carefully, just barely rocking forward, enough to create a gentle pressure against her arousal, as if she was rubbing the heel of her hand against her slit.

And he still watches her as he speaks, as if he tries to see her motion, waits to catch her at it. It is a game now, her breath soft and short, little tiny gasps that she cuts off before he can hear them. The more he says, the longer he speaks and the darker his tone gets, the closer she is to falling over that edge.

He stops, and she holds herself there, hovering too close too pull back, but not quite close enough to fall.

A slow smile spreads, both eyebrows rising.

He turns his back with a snap of his robes. “I need to fetch something from the cabinets. I shall return in one minute, no longer. Miss Potter, I expect to find you sitting correctly on your chair when I return, ready to work on your assignments for the evening. After all, if you are to spend time here, you might as well get something done.”

She presses her hand down against her skirt before he is even gone, and the moment the door closes her fingers dip beneath the fabric, rubbing hard against her soaked knickers. She manages to get one fingertip beneath the edge, just barely stroking at her clit before she comes hard, a startled gasp stealing her breath away.

She counts to thirty to let herself breathe again, then manages another count of twenty before Professor Malfoy returns.

Lily Luna smiles at him prettily, her bum planted squarely in the middle of her chair, skirt spread out around her, feet crossed at the ankles and hands clasped on her desk. “May I do my work now, sir?”

He nods at the bag she dropped upon arrival. “First, give me six inches on the dangers of inattention and excessive movement in the Potions classroom, then another four inch essay explaining exactly how you intend to remedy your situation. Then you may work on your own assignments.”

“I don’t think there is a remedy for my situation.” She speaks before thinking, hastily tacking on a sir when he turns to look at her, one eyebrow arched.

“Then it seems as if we shall have to continue meeting in the evenings,” he tells her. “Until you are able to find a way to be still in my classroom, you will simply have to repeat the daily lecture once again in the privacy of detention.”

He knows what she did, how she feels. She is positive of that, from the way his nostrils flare when he gets near her, and the way he gave her privacy at the end.

He tilts his head, waiting for an answer, and she knows that he is inviting her back. Tempting her. Teasing her.

She smiles slowly, wondering how long it will take before she is able to tip the balance of power into her own hands. How long can he possibly resist? Then she lowers her eyes demurely, and whispers, “Yes, sir. I will come to you for as long as it takes.”

She could listen to his voice forever, with rapt attention to whatever he chooses to teach. If he is willing to start this game, she is willing to play, and she bets she will come out the winner.

It’s only a matter of time.