Work Text:
She fidgeted in her seat for the hundredth time that morning.
The strong tea was no help, nor the fresh-cut flowers bartered from Pomona. The students were bent dutifully over their assignments, oblivious to her squirming. She loosened the top button of her robe, shivering as her hand brushed against her breast.
Oh now, this was just ridiculous. She stared at the hourglass, crossing her legs tight, her unmentionables indecently wet. Just ten minutes until she could escape to privacy, if not from that wicked, inviting scent.
Come hell or high water, she was making Filch spay his damned cat.