aFireFist
A Life at Hogwarts
Chapter 14 - Part 1
Roland stood at the front of the History of Magic classroom the next morning, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the usual drifting hearts from Valentine's still bumping lazily against the enchanted ceiling. A few stubborn pink ones kept floating down low enough to brush the tops of students' heads, popping softly and leaving little trails of glitter that stuck to robes and hair. The lesson itself had been lighter than usual—more stories about messy old romances and their political fallout than straight dates and treaties—but the air in the room felt thicker than normal. Students were still riding the high from yesterday's holiday chaos, whispering about who got what card, who got rejected, and who was suddenly acting weird around their crushes.
He let the chatter run for a minute, watching the energy in the room, then tapped his wand once against the edge of his desk. The sharp sound cut through everything. Heads turned.
"Before we wrap up," Roland said, his voice carrying easily to the back rows without needing to raise it, "I've got an announcement. After going through the work from my teaching assistants and the top students this term, I've picked one to serve as my personal apprentice for the rest of the year." He paused, letting the words settle. "This means extra research duties, late-night sessions in my office sorting through primary sources, and direct one-on-one guidance on advanced historical analysis. It's demanding. But it comes with real benefits—access to restricted materials, extra credit that actually means something, and my personal recommendation for anything after Hogwarts."
Every head in the room turned. The floating hearts seemed to slow down, like even they were listening.
"Hermione Granger."
A visible ripple went through the class. Gasps, murmurs, a few scattered claps from the Gryffindor side. Hermione's face lit up instantly with open, unfiltered pride. Her cheeks flushed a deep pink as she sat up straighter in her seat, bushy hair shifting with the movement. Under the desk, her thighs pressed together tightly, a sudden secret throb of heat pulsing between her legs at the very public declaration. She could feel eyes on her from every direction, but the only ones that mattered were Roland's. When their gazes met for that brief moment across the room, another warm rush hit low in her belly, making her shift in her seat again. The memory of last night—his hands, his voice, the way he'd used her—flashed hot behind her eyes.
Daphne Greengrass's perfect mask cracked for just a split second. Her grey eyes narrowed sharply, lips pressing into a thin, bloodless line. Jealousy burned hot and ugly behind the polite, composed smile she forced back into place almost immediately. Her fingers tightened around her quill until the wood creaked, but she didn't say a word. She just stared straight ahead, jaw set.
"Miss Granger, come up here for a moment," Roland said, calm and professional.
Hermione stood, smoothing her skirt with slightly shaky hands, and walked to the front of the class. She tried to keep her steps steady, but she could feel the weight of every stare on her back—Harry's worried frown, Ron's confused blink, Draco's sneer, and Daphne's burning gaze most of all. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she stopped beside Roland's desk.
He reached into a drawer and pulled out a sleek silver choker. It looked elegant at first glance, almost like an academic badge on a thin, delicate chain. Subtle Greengrass family runes were etched faintly into the metal, catching the light in a way that made them seem to shift when you looked too long. Roland stepped close, his fingers careful but sure as he fastened it around her neck. The cool metal settled warmly against her skin the moment it clicked shut. For a few seconds it gave off a faint, soft glow that pulsed gently against her throat before fading back to silver.
"This marks your new role," he said quietly, loud enough for her and the front rows to hear clearly. His fingers brushed the side of her neck one last time, a small, private touch that sent another shiver down her spine. "It glows when you're on duty. Wear it at all times. Mandatory sessions start tonight."
Hermione touched the choker lightly with her fingertips, feeling the warmth linger against her pulse. "Thank you, Professor," she said, voice steady even though her thighs were still pressed tight together under her skirt. The public claim of her time, the visible mark on her neck, the promise of more late nights—it all hit her at once. She felt exposed and chosen at the same time, and the heat between her legs only grew.
The second Roland dismissed the class, the whispers exploded like someone had lit a firework in the middle of the room.
"Granger's the professor's pet now?"
"Did you see that fancy thing around her neck? Looks expensive as hell."
"Bet she's been sucking up for extra credit all term. Literally."
"Greengrass looks like she wants to hex someone."
Harry and Ron were at her side almost immediately as students spilled out into the corridor, the usual post-class chatter mixing with the fresh buzz about the announcement. Harry's face was tight with worry, his green eyes flicking repeatedly to the silver choker around Hermione's neck. The faint runes caught the torchlight every time she moved, giving off that subtle, almost magical sheen.
"Hermione… what the hell is that thing?" he asked, voice low but urgent, stepping close so the passing students wouldn't overhear everything. "And since when are you his apprentice? You didn't say anything about extra sessions or any of this. You've been disappearing after classes for weeks now."
Hermione's cheeks were still warm from the public attention, the flush refusing to fade. She reached up instinctively and adjusted the choker with her fingertips, feeling the warm metal press against her skin. A small, private smile tugged at her lips despite herself. "It's just an academic marker, Harry. For extra research. Professor Greengrass is a brilliant historian. I'm learning more than I ever have before. It's a real opportunity—access to sources I couldn't get otherwise, proper guidance on advanced topics. You know how much I've wanted something like this."
Ron scratched the back of his neck, shifting uncomfortably as he glanced between her and the choker. His ears were already turning pink. "Yeah, but… late nights? In his office? You sure you're alright with all that? It sounds a bit… intense. And that thing around your neck—looks fancy. Not exactly standard school gear."
"Perfectly fine," Hermione said, a little too brightly, her voice carrying that familiar know-it-all confidence even as another secret throb of heat pulsed low in her belly. The choker felt warm against her pulse, almost like a reminder of Roland's fingers fastening it, the way his touch had lingered. She pressed her thighs together under her skirt for a second, trying to ignore the lingering soreness from the night before. "Really, both of you. This is good for me. I need to get to the library before the good tables are taken. I'll see you later."
She slipped away before they could press her any further, robes swishing around her legs as she moved down the corridor. The silver choker caught the light with every step, drawing more glances and whispers that followed her like a shadow.
McGonagall was passing by near the entrance to the Transfiguration corridor when she spotted it. The older witch stopped mid-stride, her square spectacles glinting as she took in the elegant silver band around Hermione's neck. One sharp eyebrow rose high, and her lips pressed into a thin, disapproving line. For a long moment she simply stood there, her expression a careful mask of concern layered over something much deeper—something conflicted, almost haunted. Her fingers tightened around the stack of parchment she was carrying until the edges crinkled.
"Miss Granger," McGonagall said finally, her Scottish accent clipped and precise, but with an undercurrent of something softer. She stepped closer, lowering her voice so the passing students couldn't easily eavesdrop. "A word, if you please."
Hermione paused, turning to face her properly. The choker felt suddenly heavier under the older witch's gaze. "Yes, Professor?"
McGonagall's eyes flicked to the runes on the metal again, then back up to Hermione's face. She drew in a slow breath, as if steadying herself. "That… accessory. It is not standard Hogwarts issue. I trust Professor Greengrass explained its purpose fully?" Her tone was measured, but there was a flicker in her eyes—memories surfacing whether she wanted them to or not. She remembered her own office, years ago, the way Roland had looked at her with that same calm confidence. The Rejuvenesco spell making her body feel young and alive again, the desk beneath her, the way he had bent her over it without asking twice. The sting of his hand on her skin. The overwhelming fullness. The shame and thrill of walking out afterward, marked and leaking, forced to teach her next class like nothing had happened.
Hermione nodded, keeping her voice steady even as a fresh wave of warmth spread through her at the memory of Roland's fingers on her neck. "Yes, Professor. It's for my new apprentice role. It glows when I'm on duty. Extra research, late sessions… it's an honor."
McGonagall's jaw tightened. She glanced around to make sure no one was lingering too close, then leaned in slightly. "An honor," she repeated, almost to herself. Her voice dropped lower. "Miss Granger, you are a brilliant young witch. Exceptionally so. But you must be careful. Professor Greengrass… he has a way about him. Charismatic. Persuasive. I have known him longer than you might realize."
She paused, a flicker of old heat and regret crossing her face. In her mind she was back in that office again, younger and far less composed, robes hiked up, his cock driving into her from behind while she bit down on her own fist to stay quiet. The way he had made her recite rules and responsibilities even as he fucked her senseless. The way she had cum so hard she saw stars, then had to walk out marked and dripping, teaching fifth-years with his cum still inside her. The conflicting rush of shame and craving that followed her for days afterward.
"I will not pry into private matters," McGonagall continued, her tone firmer now, though her eyes betrayed the internal storm. "But I expect you to maintain the highest standards of conduct. If anything feels… inappropriate, you come to me immediately. Do you understand?"
Hermione met her gaze, cheeks still faintly pink. "I understand, Professor. Everything is professional. I'm just… learning a lot." She touched the choker again, the warmth spreading through her like a secret promise.
McGonagall studied her for another long second, lips pressed thin. She wanted to say more—to warn her properly, to share the complicated tangle of feelings she still carried from her own encounters—but the words stuck. Instead she gave a small, tight nod. "Very well. Carry on, Miss Granger. And remember what I said."
She turned and continued down the corridor, her back ramrod straight, but her mind was far away, replaying memories she had tried for years to bury. The conflicting pull of duty and desire left a sour taste in her mouth.
Harry felt it like a punch to the gut the moment he caught up with Hermione again. The glowing choker looked far too familiar under the corridor torches. Another vision slammed into him right there in the hallway—unbidden and vicious. Lily years ago in that train compartment, wearing something similar around her neck, smiling up at Roland with that same flushed, satisfied look on her face, lips swollen, eyes bright with want. His scar burned sharply, a hot spike of pain that made him wince.
He grabbed Hermione's arm as soon as they were clear of the main crowd, pulling her into a slightly quieter alcove. "Hermione, what the hell is that?" he hissed, voice low but urgent, his grip firm but not painful. "You've been acting weird for weeks. Late nights, this new 'apprentice' thing, that thing around your neck—it's not normal. Talk to us."
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