Well...yea, I got nothing to explain where this came from...hope you enjoy. Oh, and this oneshot is firmly in the category of THRAW.
Hermione Granger stuck away from the crowd. Voldemort had given them a bit of time to tend to their wounded – damn nice of the bastard – and of all Hermione's skills, medicine was not one of her strong suits. Therefore, she left the care of those injured to the more qualified, and sought a respite from the chaos before it all started again.
The eye of the storm was upon them now, and the eighteen year old resolved to take the deepest breath she could manage before the great plunge.
"Bloody fucking hell, just light! Damnit!" a deeply accented voice said from behind the pile of rubble that Hermione happened to be passing by.
The young witch made her way around the debris, and was quite surprised to find that the source of the string of vulgarity she'd just heard had come from none other than Professor Minerva McGonagall. The older woman did not seem to notice her approach, so engrossed in attempting to get a cigarette lit with an obviously dead lighter was she.
"Need a light?" Hermione asked quietly, pulling out her own pack of fags and lighter. She's started smoking this year, while on the run, a habit she'd been introduced to by her father.
The elder witch turned around sharply. "Blast it, you scared me, Miss Granger."
"We're about to smoke cigarettes together," Hermione said with an amused smile, handing over the lighter as soon as she'd lit her own. "Which is decidedly against school rules…drop the Granger, Minerva."
Hermione was unsure if she was being too presumptuous and addressing her former Professor so casually, but the older woman didn't seem to mind, taking the lighter with a curt nod. "Fine then, Hermione. Thank you."
A deep inhalation later, the older woman began to relax her posture. "I know this is almost over," she muttered, "but I fear the price to be paid to win the night."
"So do I," Hermione replied, "but there's nothing to be done for it. We have to press on, no matter how exhausted we are."
"You sound like I did, thirty-odd years ago," Minerva remarked. "At this point, I'm afraid I cannot be so pragmatic. I'm tired…too tired to care, and too tired to keep up the face of who I am supposed to be…gods, Hermione, the fact that I'm even talking to you so casually says how tired I am."
"I find…" Hermione paused, thinking about how alluring it was to see Minerva this vulnerable. "That I quite like you being open with your feelings, for a change."
"Like it?" Minerva asked, looking rather puzzled.
"It's attractive," Hermione admitted. For some reason, the young witch felt like in this moment, they were just two women talking – not a teacher with a former pupil. Not a seasoned war veteran with a green soldier. Honesty seemed to be the only way to go about this conversation, and the notion that she might regret opening her mouth thirty seconds into the future seemed inconsequential. "Very attractive," she murmured, looking Minerva up and down with lust filled eyes.
"Hermione?" Minerva asked quietly.
"You are so beautiful," Hermione breathed.
Minerva reached up and touched the younger woman's cheek. The sensation of warm fingers caressing her cool face was welcome, and after what seemed to be an unbelievably intimate meeting of souls, sealing the union with a gentle kiss seemed a mere formality.
Lips melded together, and hands began to wander places they would never have dreamed wander before. Hermione backed her former teacher up against a wall, deepening the kiss, and cupping Minerva's covered breast.
"Let's go to my quarters," Minerva whispered as Hermione began exploring her jawline.
Hermione stopped gnawing on the older woman's neck, but remained positioned with her face buried in Minerva's hair, breathing in her scent. This was intoxicating. "Okay, but quickly. We haven't much time."
"I know," Minerva said with a sad smile, taking hold of the younger woman's hand and pulling her along. The rounded a bend, sprinted down a corridor, and only minutes after stopped, closed the door behind them in Minerva's room, and resumed what they had been doing.
Hermione stripped herself, and Minerva did the same, both more familiar with the fasteners on their respective clothes that the other, and knowing it would save time. Less than a minute later, stark naked bodies met as Minerva lay on her bed, and Hermione climbed on top of her. The younger woman's body sank into the elder's, fitting perfectly together, as if creation had carved them specifically for each other.
Minerva moaned as Hermione's lips began sucking on one of her nipples, and flicking the other between her thumb and forefinger. Hermione's mouth only lingered for a few seconds, before her kisses began moving lower on Minerva's toned body.
"Please," Minerva begged, hips arching as Hermione's lips reached her inner thigh. "Please, Hermione."
Hearing her name coming out of Minerva's lips like a prayer was all the inspiration the younger witch needed. Her tongue flicked forward, and she let out a satisfied groan as Minerva instantly began to cum in her mouth, quenching a thirst that until this moment, she had not realized existed. Hermione continued licking, sucking, and fucking Minerva with her tongue, fingernails digging into the older woman's thighs as she held the shaking woman's legs apart.
"Oh, gods!" Minerva screamed as a spectacular orgasm climaxed from within her. When Hermione lifted her head, she could feel liquid dripping off her chin. She grinned when she saw the fire still burning in Minerva's eyes, and maintaining eye contact, she thrust two fingers deeply into Minerva's body, smirking as she felt the older witches walls tighten around them.
"Fuck!" Minerva hissed.
Hermione continued her ministrations for another few minutes, until her hand began to cramp. Minerva, noticing the slowing of pace, looked up eagerly. "My turn," she said. "Lay down."
The young witch complied, hiding the mattress with a thud. Pain radiated down her back, a reminder of the torture she'd endured at the hands of Bellatrix LaStrange only weeks before. The ache only lasted a few seconds before Minerva's tongue made contact with her clit. "Yes!" she moaned.
While Hermione had licked first, and fucked after, Minerva seemed able to multi-task, flicking her tongue over Hermione's clitoris like a cat lapping up water, while at the same time setting a waltz like tempo as her fingers thirst deeply into her core. "Shite, that feels good…" she murmured, feeling an orgasm beginning to build.
Minerva went on like this for a good while, keeping Hermione on the edge, slowing down and denying the younger witch an orgasm if she got to close. "Feel good?" the Scottish woman asked, accent thicker than Hermione had ever heard it.
"Yes, yes, yes…"
"Do you want to cum?" Minerva asked, tongue leaving the younger woman's folds.
"Yes!" Hermione croaked, breathless.
"Beg," the older witch ordered.
"Oh, gods, please!" came the strangled plea from her lips. "Fuck me, Minerva!"
On command, Minerva upped the pace, thrusts becoming faster and hitting deeper. It only took another minute for Hermione's body to reach climax in a way she had never before experienced. Waves of pleasure rushed over her body like a typhoon, sex suddenly becoming, to her, something to live rather than something to have.
Heavy breathing accurately indicated to Minerva that Hermione was spent, and so the older witch moved from between the younger's legs, and lay next to her on the bed. Hermione looked at her former teacher in awe; long ebony hair fell around her face and across her breast as she lay there on her side, propped up on her elbow. "That was unexpected," Minerva whispered after a moment.
Hermione laughed. "I'd say. I sure as hell don't regret it, though."
"Humm," Minerva said. "You say that now, but if we walk out that door, back to the battle, and both live out the night…will you regret it in the morning?"
Hermione stared at the older witch, thinking about who she was, what she was, and how those facts would greatly affect everything. She had never expected to find herself laying naked in Minerva McGonagall's bed – in any woman's bed, for the matter – but what had just happened between them was more than she'd ever hoped for in a lover. Sex aside, the emerald woman staring at her now was an incredible person who she'd always counted herself lucky to know. If they could be more than student and teacher, more than friends, then Hermione knew in that moment: she wanted it to last forever.
"I won't regret it tomorrow, or the next day, or the day, week, month, or years after that," Hermione whispered. "Unexpected as this may have been between us…I find myself hoping that, after the battle, should we survive the night, that we would do it again."
Minerva smiled. "I think I'd like that," she said, caressing the younger woman's cheek. "Though I admit I never thought of you, like this, prior to tonight."
"Nor I of you," Hermione admitted. "But still…it was, it is perfect."
"It was," the older which agreed. "But now, my dear, we must get dressed, and return to the battle."
And that is exactly what they did.
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