A/N: I own nothing, save for my small collection of words and phrases. It all belongs to the creative goddess of our generation, which just isn't me.
I blamed my last one-shot on Jen/MegaNerdAlert, and in response, she challenged me to write a song-fic for My Darkest Days' Casual Sex. I won't include the lyrics, so if you haven't heard the song, I strongly advise you to look it up on youtube and give it a listen. In attempting to fit the lyrics and build the world Jen asked for, most of the characters I use will be massively OOC, though I try, as always, to leave the core of who they are intact.
This is predominately going to be a story for Minerva McGonagall and Hermione Granger, but there will be other pairings used, and most of those will be Femmeslash.
Definitely rated M for graphic sexual situations between two women, language, and discussion of illegal substance usage (not abuse). You've been warned – NSFW, and if any of the above isn't your bag, then give this one a pass and read the next one; I won't be offended.
This one is dedicated to my ladies in the HG/MM Fan Club on Facebook for all their ideas! Shout-outs go to: Willowezra, Snarky Granger, MagnusMagnus, Savannah Potter, and Eden'sEnd116. I say again that you ladies are rock superstars! I thank you profusely for your assistance.
This is un-betaed, so any mistakes are my own. See one? Please let me know.
Chapter One – Mysterious Minerva
Five years after the fall of Voldemort, the world was moving on. Harry was an Auror, and was climbing quickly through the ranks, coming back to Hogwarts once or twice a year to give a speech on Defensive magics that would have made Moody proud.
Ron had helped George get back on his feet in the shop for a year before moving on. He'd tried out for a second-string Keeper position with the Kenmare Kestrels Quidditch team and been accepted. He got to play now and then, mostly only traveling with the team from match to match, but he was happy.
Hermione pursued an aggressive upper education program, achieving Masteries in Transfiguration, Charms, and Arithmancy, and putting them to use in the Department of Mysteries as an Unspeakable. It was a job that was shrouded in myth and mist, but in reality, it was just the Ministry's massive research division. Its members were only called Unspeakables because they were under strong charms which prevented them from talking about what they did at the risk of information leaking to the wrong people.
Her work life was filled with strict, organized order, and people who enjoyed research and reading nearly as much as she did, and she was fulfilled in her job.
However, her personal life was a whirlwind of chaos, as befitted someone who had grown up as the best friend of Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, Died, and Lived Again. She had a string of ex-lovers as long as her arm, none of them able to keep up with her voracious appetites in the bedroom, or able to accept her casual, no-ties approach to sex. Everyone wanted a relationship from her, and she … didn't.
It started at yet another boring Ministry function. Three or four times a year, the Ministry held fundraisers for various charitable causes, and the infamous Golden Trio never failed to receive invitations. Kingsley would harass and harangue them until they agreed to attend, and for each one they'd missed for whatever reason sounded good at the time, donations had dropped by fifteen percent. The Wizarding world wanted to see their heroes and heroines, and these events were the only time one was virtually guaranteed to see them.
On this particular night, the function was serving to raise money for Hogwarts, and so its legendary Headmistress was attending as well. Minerva McGonagall hated them with as much fervor as the Trio, but she put on a nice face to go with her nice dress robes and pretty, but very uncomfortable shoes, and she dealt with it. The school needed the money, and the proceeds from these nights at the Ministry helped pay her salary, making it infinitely worth her time to attend.
She was walking around the large room, a glass of champagne in one hand and a canapé in the other. There were never enough seats to go around, and she was supposed to be mingling and soliciting higher donations, but her feet were aching, so she ducked into the outer corridor and found a dark alcove, sinking gratefully to the floor, back against the cool wall. She popped the last bite of her canapé into her mouth and washed it down with the last of her champagne.
Slowly, she became aware of some odd noises coming from deeper in the darkness. There was the rhythmic rustle of stiff fabric, partnered with breathy moans and a quiet sort of squelching sound. Her heart sped up and blood rushed to her face as she realized she'd interrupted someone's illicit tryst. Well, not exactly interrupted… they were still going at it.
"Yes, yes, YES! There! More! FUCK." The words were punctuated with the sound of a hand slapping against the stone. "Just like that! Yes!"
Minerva's blush grew, and she wondered if she'd be able to get up and leave without them noticing. She didn't recognize the voice, but if she stayed long enough, she would see them leaving, and they would see her… or would they? She pulled out her wand and disillusioned herself quickly and quietly. Her throbbing feet didn't want to get up yet, and under the spell, they would finish and pass by her without noticing her at all. And best of all, she'd be able to keep listening and see who was responsible.
There was a pause in the movements as she whispered the incantation for her stealth charm, and she thought for a moment the jig was up.
"Goddamn you, bitch, finish what you started. I'm almost there." An eyebrow arched up sharply at the order, given with a haughty voice that could only come from a rich pureblood.
"If you insist," a second voice spoke up. The noises resumed, pace increased, and after a minute, a muffled scream issued out of the dark. "That was a nice distraction from the monotony of the party, but it won't happen again. Nobody gives me orders."
There was a huff and the sounds of robes being rearranged. "You were good, very good, but I've had better. Not worth dirtying myself with again."
"Liar," the second voice accused. "You've never had better and you know it. As for who's dirtying themselves, I'm afraid that was me. You're right about not being worth my time though. You aren't."
"Whatever."
Minerva caught a glimpse of silver fabric as Pansy Parkinson emerged from the shadows, looking for all the world as though she hadn't just been fucked against a public wall. She flounced by where Minerva was sitting, huddled against the wall next to the door, and huffed again as she left.
"That's a good disillusionment charm. You're very good. I hope you enjoyed the show."
Minerva didn't dare speak. How had they known she was there? Who was that? The voice was vaguely familiar, but she couldn't quite place it.
"I don't know who you are, but I don't doubt you'll know me as soon as I come out. I would appreciate your discretion. Parkinson was a horrible lay, and I don't want anyone knowing I lowered myself to touch her."
Another minute passed as the mystery person straightened their clothes.
"Still no response?" She heard a sigh, and picked up her wand, flaming letters appearing in the air, spelling out, "I'll never tell."
A low chuckle came from the dark. "I suppose that'll do. Thanks." There was another pause. "You know … it wouldn't have been so bad, but I'm left in need. Fuck, it's gonna be a long rest of the night walking around this wet."
Minerva stood carefully, maintaining the disillusionment charm and stepped quietly into the darkness. Her eyes acclimated quickly, a side effect of her Animagus form, and she was shocked to realize the other party was Hermione Granger, dressed in a slinky red satin dress, falling to her knees in swishy folds. She could smell the younger woman's arousal, and her eyes narrowed in want. Again, she brandished her wand, writing out, "Lift your skirt," in flaming letters as before.
"Oh, shall I? You are a kinky one, aren't you?" Long, lean fingers pulled at the material of her skirt, bunching it up so that it rose a couple of inches, exposing creamy thighs to Minerva's gaze. "Is that enough? I still can't see you, but if you're a man, you should know I have little to no interest in what you have to offer."
Rather than using her wand again, Minerva's hand rose to trail delicate fingers across Hermione's soft cheek. Her hands tightened, raising her skirt another inch.
"No, those aren't a man's fingers, are they? Too small and dainty. I was right, wasn't I? Very kinky."
The pad of Minerva's thumb brushed over Hermione's lips before pulling away. Again her wand spelled out, "Lift your skirt," and this time, it rose to reveal a tiny pair of silk panties, darkened with musky wetness.
The tip of Minerva's wand traced the seams at the sides, undoing the stitches that held the scrap of material together, and the panties fell to the floor. She was well-trimmed, but not shaven, exactly the way Minerva liked things. Her wand flourished again, conjuring up a table, just the right height for Hermione to rest against for support, and Minerva's fingers pressed against her belly, silently urging her to do just that.
"Not," Hermione was panting softly with need as her arse rested against the cold wooden surface of the table, "that I'm complaining, but do I at least know you?"
"Shh," Minerva whispered, not giving away her identity.
"Oh gods, that's a yes, isn't it?"
"Shh." Warm breath puffed over her ear with the silent admonition, and her knees went weak. She didn't think she'd ever been this turned on. Her hands dropped the skirt, reaching to brace herself before she fell.
With another wave of her wand, the skirt rose on its own and flipped upward, sticking to the bodice of the dress. A fingernail scraped its way over a tight nipple through the thin material of the dress, and Hermione gasped, the muscles in her abdomen contracting, sending jolts of sensation lower to her center.
"Please, touch me. Please." She was normally the one causing others to beg, but she wasn't above doing it herself under the circumstances.
Fingers moved lower, nails scratching gently at the exposed skin of her lower belly, just above her glistening target. The warm scent emanating from the apex of her thighs was intoxicating, and Minerva's mouth was watering with the need to taste from the source. She knelt in front and used her hands to push the soft, smooth flesh of Hermione's thighs apart, leaning in and inhaling deeply, fingers squeezing involuntarily, leaving ten small bruises behind on the smooth skin and tight muscles.
She hadn't had the pleasure of tasting a cunt that smelled that good in years, and she couldn't stop herself any longer. Leaning in closer, she made one long, slow swipe with her tongue, and Hermione collapsed back onto the table, her arms no longer capable of keeping her upright.
Oh gods, Minerva thought, she tastes as good as she smells.
She dove back in with abandon, her mouth and tongue working on Hermione's clit, while two fingers drove into her tight, slick channel, thrusting in time with the movements of her tongue.
"Fuck!" Hermione was insensible from what the mystery woman was doing to her, hands almost clawing at her cheeks before reaching one down to press against the back of her head, feeling silky soft hair for only a second before everything stopped and the woman pulled back, causing a frustrated cry to leave her throat, "More!"
Minerva clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth reprovingly three times before more flaming letters appeared in front of Hermione's face, "No hands."
"Oh gods, whatever you want, but please keep going."
A dark smirk appeared on Minerva's face for a split second, hidden under her disillusionment charm. That's how one should handle an interruption; begging, not orders.
Rewarding Hermione for responding appropriately, she resumed her work, playing Hermione's body like a finely-tuned instrument. With nowhere else to go, Hermione's hands drifted up to her breasts and she caressed herself, picking and plucking at her nipples through the fabric of her dress as Fiendfyre raced through her veins, feeling light-headed as all the blood in her body rushed away and filled the hard little nubbin moving so deliciously under Minerva's tongue.
Getting ever closer to the edge of the world, her body started shaking, and a stream of profanity and encouragement poured from her mouth; words she would later not remember having uttered, too far gone in her pleasure. And then, without warning, there was a starburst of white behind her clenched eyelids, and she was thrown over the precipice, a scream muffled by her hand stuffing itself into her mouth.
In the aftermath, she lay on the conjured table, panting and so very sated. She hadn't had an orgasm like that in some time, usually finding herself on the other side, as earlier with Parkinson, and it was nice to just lie in the afterglow, basking in the pleasure she'd taken.
"Who are you? I wouldn't be opposed to a repeat performance sometime. That was magnificent."
Again, Minerva smirked unseen. She stood and slipped back into her hated shoes, cleaning herself and Hermione with a silent wave of her wand, and straightening both sets of robes before reaching down to pick up Hermione's discarded knickers, tucking them into the hidden pocket along the side of her skirt where she normally kept her wand when it wasn't being used.
"Don't forget to Vanish the table when you're done. Fifty points to Gryffindor."
With the flaming letters in the air, she ducked back out through the door, leaving a bemused Hermione in the dark behind her.
Mulling over the words left behind in the air, Hermione managed to find her feet and transfigured the table into a tall mirror, making sure nothing was out of place before Vanishing it.
Fifty points to Gryffindor? Was the mystery woman a Hogwarts Professor? Which one?
There had never been a mystery yet that Hermione Granger couldn't solve if she put her brilliant mind to it, and this would be no exception. She was looking forward to the challenge.
I don't know exactly how many chapters this will end up being, but I'm almost finished with the third now, and I foresee only a few more past that. We'll see.