Title: Oral Presentations [Remus/Hermione]
Fandom: Harry Potter
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 for rampant fantasizing.
Summary: Remus doesn't mind letting Hermione's presentation run long.
A/N: This didn't really happen at CTY either. A stopgap birthday
present for Musesfool (only for you would I write Remus/Hermione).
It really was quite improper for a professor to
pretend to be so interested in what a student was saying, when really
he was imagining loosening that Gryffindor tie and undoing all those
shirt buttons underneath oh so slowly.
"Is that an acceptable source, professor?" The
Seventh Year blinked at him, waiting for approval.
"Certainly, Hermione," Professor Lupin answered
smoothly, sneaking a glance at the book in her hand, because he had
lost the thread of her question several moments before. "Although
Professor Lockhart's described methods, even if they were his own, are
a bit hyperbolic, his descriptions of magical creatures are accurate,
if only for the shock value."
"He wasn't a professor," Ron Weasley sneered, and
Lupin felt a pang of pity for the boy if he thought he was still
battling Gilderoy Lockhart's ghost for Hermione's affections. "And
what've you even still got
those books for, have you forgotten that nitwit tried to Obliviate Harry an' me?!"
"Now now, Mr. Weasley," Lupin cleared his throat as
other boys in the room started glancing at the suddenly misty-eyed
girls and exchanging dark glances. "Perhaps we had better let Hermione
get on with her oral presentation."
"Yes, do," Lavender Brown muttered in a voice she
probably thought was inaudible to everyone but Parvati Patil, "we're
going to be here till the hols as it is."
Lupin rather agreed, given the heft of the of the
portfolio Hermione was clutching, but he couldn't say that he minded as
he slipped back into his chair, settling in for the show.
Not that anyone would need an excuse to look at
17-year-olds in school uniforms, but the real attraction here was that
Hermione was a bit of a nervous speaker, probably owing to years of
peer torment. She wasn't a poor speaker by any stretch of the
imagination, but she was a fidgiter.
Like twisting a piece of hair around a finger,
that's how it always started. Her hair would swing in her face when she
leaned over to adjust her notes, she would reach up to push it back,
and somehow a few strands would snag on her fingers. If Lupin was
lucky, she'd continue toying with the piece the entire way through her
opening remarks, giving him plenty of time to imagine those long
fingers tangling in his own hair while she pleaded with him to hurry…
"Would it be all right if I wrote on the board,
Professor?"
Lupin took a moment to process the question before
nodding, digging around in a pocket of his cardigan to produce the one
piece of chalk he had managed to keep safe from the overzealous
janitorial House Elves, who discarded every partially used piece they
could lay their hands on every night. He had lost his sole eraser to
them long ago, and had since been reduced to Scourgifying the blackboard
whenever his layers of notes became illegible.
Hermione's blackboard notes, unlike his own, were
organized to within an inch of their lives, names of spells and potion
ingredients arranged into rigid charts. She was stretching on her toes
to reach the very top of the board, the back of her white shirt pulling
taut across the soft rise of her breasts, nicely rounded, her hips too,
not like most of the other girls these days. Like that Weasley girl,
all elbows and ribs, you could poke an eye out just hugging her.
But Granger's body, there was something you could
get ahold of, all smooth curves, her shirt clinging to her, her skirt
just this side of regulation length…
"Professor, she's loads over the time limit!" Seamus
Finnigan was waving his hand wildly in the air. Beside him, Dean
Thomas' eyes had more glaze over them than a Christmas goose. "Can't
you do something?"
"Mr. Finnigan, I seem to recall that I let you go on
for quite a length of time about your family's Banshee problems, so
perhaps we could afford Miss Granger the same courtesy, hmm?"
Several of Seamus' classmates turned their scowls
from Hermione to him, and Neville Longbottom flicked a wad of paper
over to smack him in the back of the neck.
"Five points to Gryffindor for excellent aim,
Neville," Lupin watched with satisfaction as Longbottom's face bloomed
red, nor did he miss the reassuring smile Harry sent Neville's way.
"Perhaps you had best try to wrap it up, Hermione?"
Applying just the right amount of pressure to
Hermione was a bit of a challenge, but this time Lupin had struck the
perfect balance between stress and performance in the little
obsessive-compulsive, prompting his favorite fidget of all.
Setting her notes down on the table where Lupin kept
various specimens at the front of the room, Hermione leaned one hip
onto it as she talked, then slowly, she edged the other up until she
was fully sitting on the edge of the table, legs swinging back and
forth slowly, skirt bunching a bit as she slid back.
Lupin leaned his chin on one hand and imagined
edging in between those smooth thighs, nudging them apart, rucking the
skirt up from under her the rest of the way, making her tip her head
back and bare that creamy throat for him at just the right angle…
"…slaughtering every last member of the village," he
heard her finished dimly, further noticing that the rest of the class
were packing up their things in a very loud and deliberate manner.
"Yes, should end on a high note," Remus cleared his
throat, "time for lunch then, is it? Excellent, I've worked up quite an
appetite."
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