Blessed are the snakes || Professor Riddle FF|

Three - Focus And Discipline

So you had to get the facts straight. Take the bull by the fucking horns.

1. You had fucked your professor in his office.

2. Your professor had fucked you in his office.

3. You got fucked by your professor. IN HIS OFFICE.

Great.

Perfectly normal situation to find yourself in.

Another thing; your professor -- the very same one you'd been unhealthily infatuated with since the first time you'd ever seen him -- promised to start tutoring you so you could graduate with perfect grades. However, you weren't sure whether his tutoring meant fucking you in the afternoon after his class or actual tutoring-tutoring.

And in the darkest corners of your mind, you hoped for the first option.

"Focus and discipline," he had said and you weren't sure what to think about it. Except for the obvious: how oddly sexual it sounded.

"You look like shit," Katina said with her eyes round as you entered your dorm room.

You dropped your bag onto the floor with a loud thud and fell face-first onto your bed. "Thanks," you mumbled with your face pressed into your pillow.

"You weren't at dinner?" she queried from her bed.

Your heart skipped a beat.

No one could find out about your little relationship, if you could even call it that, with your professor. Otherwise, they'd probably send him straight to Azkaban as it was forbidden to have a relationship, especially a sexual kind with your student. And you, on the other hand, would get sent far far away from Hogwarts with a red stamp on your face saying "Whore for grades".

"Wasn't hungry," you mumbled from the safety of your warm bed. You just wanted to go to sleep and give your rather sore body a rest.

"Oh, okay," she replied and you heard her bedsheets rustle. "I'll go to sleep. Good night."

You turned your head to look at her. "Good night," you muttered and closed your eyes as she shut down the light, falling into a deep and much-needed sleep.

"Oh god."

Standing in the mirror of your bathroom, you noted your neck. In one night your neck had turned into a painting of a ruddy outline of a hand, reduced by shades of red and purple.

"Shit."

You waddled out of the bathroom straight to your desk, your insides sore. To be honest, it felt like someone had stuffed a bloody log into you.

The stuff of all sorts flew out of your drawers as you tried to find your concealer. You had experience with covering hickeys up, however, a handprint seemed a whole other task you weren't up to doing right after waking up, at 7 AM. But you still managed to do it. At least kind of.

As you waddled into your first class, your best friend, Maeve Frost, met you in front of the classroom. Her brows came together in a hard line and she grabbed your hand, volunteering to help you to walk in. "Christ, what have you done?"

You cringed at the memory. "You know just... stomach ache."

"Stomach ache?" she asked in disbelief.

"Yup, stomach ache or cramps," you replied and waddled to class, wanting to get out of the situation.

She walked by your side. You felt her weighing gaze on you, evaluating your answer.

"You know when a person with a uterus bleeds once a month? You get cramps on the side," you said with a sneer.