Professor Pomona Sprout hid a grimace of discomfort. Just because she was not feeling her best did not mean her students needed to know about it. She glanced at her pocket watch. Ten more minutes. The day which had seemed to drag on forever was almost over.
She had visited the hospital wing during the afternoon break to see the matron, Poppy Pomfrey, about the clenching cramps in her belly, but there had been no time for the healing she needed then.
"Is it bad this month?" Poppy had asked sympathetically.
Pomona winced and put a hand to the curve of her belly. "I've had worse, but it's bad enough."
"Poor Mona. Can you make it through afternoon lessons?"
"I'll manage."
Poppy patted her arm, a twinkle in her eye. "Come see me after supper. We'll see what we can do."
There were herbal remedies she could take that would provide some relief, but nothing worked as well as Poppy's cure. She had been thinking about it all day.
A crash jerked her from her musings. The remains of a newly-sprouted plant lay on the floor of the greenhouse amid scattered soil and the shattered remains of its pot. Two third year students stared guiltily down at it.
"Mr Pettigrew!" Pomona snapped, striding over to them. "Can you not at least try to be a little more careful?"
Peter Pettigrew cowered before her uncharacteristic display of temper, but Remus Lupin shook himself and looked up at her, eyes glassy.
"It was me, Professor," he said dully. "I dropped it. Sorry."
Pomona bit back a sharp reply, taking a breath to calm herself. "I see. My apologies, Mr Pettigrew. Please clean it up and repot it, Mr Lupin. Perhaps it can still be saved. Your friends may assist you," she added, nodding to the two other boys who hovered nearby.
Lupin knelt on the floor as Sirius Black and James Potter leapt to help him. Pettigrew hurried away in search of a new pot.
"Here," Black murmured as Pomona turned away, "don't touch the broken pieces. You might hurt yourself."
When the last lesson of the day was done and the students had departed, she breathed a sigh of relief. Wandering through the quiet greenhouse, straightening things up and checking on the tender spring growth soothed her. A few of the plants needed repotting. Pomona transferred them to their new homes with care and sympathy, imagining that they shared her cramped and swollen discomfort.
The sky through the glass roof was gray and heavy with rain. Pomona sighed. The days were growing longer, and the bite of winter had gone from the air, but true spring was still weeks away. She longed for warmth and sunlight every bit as much as did the green things under her care.
When all was in order and settled for the night, Pomona removed her gardening smock, scrubbed the dirt from her hands and under her short nails at the basin beside her desk, and dried her hands on a towel, before heading up to the castle. Passing through the heavy oak doors, she turned her steps up the great staircase. It was still over an hour until supper, and she did not think she could face the noise and chaos of the Great Hall in any case.
Near the hospital wing, she caught sight of Sirius Black again. He stared at her with guilty defiance, as if she had caught him doing something forbidden.
"Evening, Professor."
"Good evening, Mr Black. I trust you're not getting yourself into any mischief?"
"No, Ma'am."
"Run along, then."
He bobbed his head and hurried away down the corridor, glancing back over his shoulder.
The matron was not alone when Pomona arrived in the hospital wing.
"Oh, Professor, you're early," Poppy said with a distracted frown, giving Pomona the honourific they always used when students were present. "I must just see to Mr Lupin, if you don't mind waiting in my office? I'll be with you as soon as I'm able."
"Thank you, Matron. I'll keep," Pomona assured her, trying to ignore the clenched fist feeling in her belly.
She glanced at the boy sympathetically. Lupin looked twitchy and anxious, eyes unfocused, mouth a tight line. He gave her no word of greeting, nor did he even seem to notice her presence.
Poor lad, she thought as she stepped into the matron's office, leaving the door ajar. He's having a worse time of it than I am.
Taking a book of French Herbology down from the shelf, Pomona sat in the chair beside the desk and paged through it. The volume was a familiar one, but the beauty of the illustrations never grew old. Turning back to the frontispiece, she smiled at the inscription.
Poppy,
Friendship is the rarest and most precious bloom. What joy to have yours in the garden of my heart! My only regret is that it did not take root sooner. May our affection for one another remain evergreen.
Mona
They had been at Hogwarts together as girls, both of them in Hufflepuff house. Pomona was two years older, so they had not known each other well. It was only last year when she took the post of Herbology professor that friendship had blossomed between them. Poppy had been school matron one year longer, and was the only member of the Hogwarts staff near Pomona's own age. They bonded over a shared love of healing herbs. Poppy had taken the young professor under her wing, into her confidence, and after months of shy looks and hesitant words, into her bed.
Pomona closed her eyes, wincing as another clenching wave of cramps gripped her. As if summoned by her need, Poppy's voice came to her from the doorway.
"Is it that bad?"
"I'll live. How is Mr Lupin? He seemed to be having a hard time of it in Herbology this afternoon."
Poppy perched on the edge of the desk. "You know I can't discuss the private medical concerns of my patients."
"I know. But I'm fond of the lad, and I worry about him."
"He manages as well as can be expected," Poppy relented, taking Pomona's hand, and tracing the lines of her palm idly. "It helps that he has friends."
"Do you think they know?"
Poppy sighed. "It would be difficult to hide something like that from one's roommates for long. I only hope that, if they know, they'll show some discretion. If word got out that the school was harbouring a young werewolf, it would be a scandal."
"More of a scandal than you and me, do you suppose?" Pomona asked wryly.
Poppy arched an eyebrow. "I don't imagine some of the parents would be very pleased to know about us either. But our colleagues don't seem to mind, and the students never think their professors have personal lives, so I suppose we're safe enough for now." She slipped off the desk and drew Pomona to her feet. "Shall we?"
Pomona followed her through the door at the back of the office, into the dimly-lit chamber beyond. A fire crackled in the hearth, and the room was warm. A platter of bread, cheese, and fruit stood on an end table.
"I had the house-elves send it up," said Poppy. "I'm guessing you haven't eaten much today, and I thought you might be hungry later."
Pomona smiled. "You're too good to me."
"Nonsense," said Poppy, hiding an answering smile as she tossed a handful of sweet-smelling herbs on the fire, and removed the steaming kettle from the heat. "Go and make yourself ready, while I prepare things here."
By the time Pomona emerged from the bathroom a few moments later, dressed in a lightweight cotton shift, Poppy had banked the fire, lit a few tall candles, laid out a linen towel on the bed, filled a basin with steaming liquid, and changed into her own nightgown. A stone glowed softly on the nightstand. It would light up and give warning if anyone came into the hospital wing, in search of the matron. But for the time being, the woman sitting on the bed smiling at her in welcome, her dark hair woven into a loose braid, was just Poppy. Here in her private rooms, her stern, no-nonsense manner fell away, revealing the softness and warmth of the woman underneath - the woman Pomona had fallen in love with.
Poppy held out a hand, and Pomona came to her.
"What seems to be the trouble, Professor?" she asked in a low, teasing voice.
"I ache for the healing touch of my Matron," replied Pomona, kneeling on the bed and leaning close to kiss her lover's smiling lips. "Without it, I fear I shall wither and die."
"Mm, well we can't have that. Lie back, and show me where it hurts."
Pomona reclined against the pillows, tucking her shift up around her waist, exposing her thick, soft thighs and belly, and drawing her knees up and apart. She felt no shyness. Here, in Poppy's bed, was peace and safety. Here, they could shut out the rest of the world with all its judgements and uncertainties, and simply be, secure in their love for one another.
"Here -" she said, cupping her tender breasts through the thin fabric, heavy and easily bruised like overripe fruit. Her hands flowed down the curves of her body to caress her aching belly. "- and here -" One hand moved downward again, coming to rest between her legs. "- and here."
"I'll see what I can do," said Poppy with a smile, leaning over her.
Her hands on Pomona's aching breasts were warm and gentle. The ache began to ease almost at once as Poppy's hands moved over Pomona's rounded curves, leaving a sense of peace and wellbeing in their wake. Pomona sighed with contentment.
Sitting back on her heels, Poppy drew the steaming basin to her. She lifted out a soft flannel, squeezing the excess liquid from it, then pressed the wadded cloth between Pomona's legs, resting a gentle hand on her belly.
Pomona moaned softly. The infusion of murtlap essence was heated to a temperature only slightly less than too hot to bear. When it began to cool, Poppy soaked the cloth again, squeezing out a little of the hot liquid so that it ran in rivulets between Pomona's swollen, aching folds. As Poppy swabbed her with the steaming potion, the cramping in Pomona's belly began to ease. The sodden cloth between her thighs seemed to draw the ache out of her, trading heat for pain. With a groan, Pomona relaxed, knees falling open wider.
"Is that better, my love?" murmured Poppy.
"Mm, much," sighed Pomona. "I've been looking forward to this all day."
"Have you?" Poppy sounded amused.
"Are you surprised?" asked Pomona. "Your hands are magic."
Poppy chuckled. "Nonsense. You could do this for yourself just as easily."
"No; you have healing hands," insisted Pomona. "Your touch does things to me."
Poppy set aside the basin of murtlap infusion on the nightstand, and settled herself once more between Pomona's thighs. Her fingers, still damp and warm from the potion, brushed lightly over Pomona's bare flesh, carding through wet auburn curls to touch the lush pink petals beneath.
"Like this?" she asked softly.
"Yes ..." sighed Pomona.
A teasing fingertip slid along her slit, coaxing her into bloom, and Pomona's legs opened to the touch, like a flower to the warmth of the sun.
"You're so wet, my love," murmured Poppy, gentle fingers probing delicately between her folds, spreading her open.
"Told you," Pomona gasped, "I've been thinking about this all day."
"And you didn't touch yourself once?"
"Wanted you to do it. Helga's tits, that feels good."
Poppy chuckled. Her fingers massaged the swollen bud that peeked out from between Pomona's petals, bathing it in her slippery juices. Tendrils of pleasure unfurled inside her, banishing the last of her cramps and replacing them with a sweeter ache.
"Is this all you wanted, dear one?" asked Poppy in a low, sultry voice. "Or was there something else ...?"
Pomona swallowed a moan. "Mm, the stone?"
Poppy smiled and touched her wand, lying on the bed beside her knee. "Accio stone."
A flat, polished river stone, of a size to fit neatly in Poppy's palm, rattled its way out of the drawer of the nightstand and flew to her hand. She tapped it with her wand.
"Vibratus."
The stone's edges blurred. It made a faint buzzing sound. Poppy caught Pomona's eye and held it as she teased the edge of the vibrating stone down Pomona's abdomen, then led it in swirling, roundabout paths up the lengths of her inner thighs, before pressing the flat of the stone to Pomona's sensitive bud. Pomona gasped and whimpered, the stone's vibrations weaving a web of tension and pleasure between her thighs that was almost too much to bear.
"Fingers - please, Poppy ..." she begged.
"Of course, my love."
Poppy's deft fingers caressed her, stroked her, found the entrance to her aching, needy passage, teased it open, and slipped into that snug space. She rocked the stone with her thumb over Pomona's bud as her two fingers slid in and out. Pomona moaned, hips rising from the bed, hungry for her lover's touch.
"Oh, sweet Mona. I love the way you cling to my fingers," murmured Poppy. "Like your cunt wants to swallow me up, and take me all the way inside you."
"Want you," Pomona panted, writhing with need. "Inside. More. Please -"
Poppy pressed a kiss to her straining thigh. "Anything for you, my love."
More fingers pushed their way inside, twisting, opening, filling her. Poppy's thumb still held the vibrating stone to her bud, but the other four fingers of her hand were buried deep inside Pomona, fucking her in short, sharp thrusts. Desperate sobbing sounds tore from Pomona's throat as her hips rose to meet each thrust. But it was only when Poppy let the stone fall and bent her head to suckle Pomona's swollen bud that pleasure burst into full bloom inside her, drawing a shuddering cry from her lips. She rode the crest of climax for as long as she could bear, Poppy's mouth and fingers working their magic on her and in her.
At last, she pushed her lover away, gasping. Flyaway tendrils of strawberry blonde hair clung damply to her face and neck, and sweat had soaked through her shift, making her nipples stand out pink and bold through the thin fabric.
Poppy sat up, looking pleased with herself, and shook a cramp from her hand. Reaching for the bowl of cooling murtlap infusion, she wiped the blood from her fingers with the flannel, then gently dabbed the cloth between Pomona's bonelessly splayed thighs. When she had finished, Poppy lay down beside her, taking Pomona into her arms and kissing her long and deep, letting her taste some of her own sweetness on her tongue.
"How are your cramps now, dear one? Better?"
"What cramps?" sighed Pomona, feeling utterly contented.
Poppy chuckled. "I suppose that means I did right by you."
"You always do right by me."
Pomona cupped one of Poppy's small breasts, running a thumb over the nipple through the fabric of her nightgown to make it stand up, delighting in the soft wobble of flesh in her hand.
"You spend all day taking care of others," she continued huskily. "You deserve to have someone take care of you."
"Mm, know anyone who might be up to the task?" sighed Poppy.
"I might."
Her hand moved down over Poppy's broad hip to tug at the hem of her nightgown. An amused smile playing on her lips, Poppy sat up and drew the garment over her head. Pomona peeled off her own sweat-damp shift, and reclined on the bed once more, propped up on an elbow, enjoying the view.
Poppy's skin glowed in the candlelight. Unable to look at her without touching her, Pomona reached out to cup her cheek, leaning in for a long, slow kiss that warmed them both. Her touch wandered, fingers traced the lush, rounded curves of Poppy's body, enjoying the softness of her. The weight of a breast on her palm. The shiver of gooseflesh as her fingertips trailed over a ticklish spot. The slippery wetness, juicy as a ripe peach warmed by the sun and bursting with sweetness.
The breath caught in Poppy's throat and her eyes fluttered closed. Her thighs parted, opening herself to Pomona's touch. Pomona's fingers explored her slick folds, stroking and teasing, eliciting breathless sounds of passion from Poppy's lips, taking nearly as much pleasure in her lover's responses as Poppy took from Pomona's caress. She circled a fingertip around the bud of Poppy's pleasure, swollen with desire.
"Tease," panted Poppy.
"Oh, do you want me to stop?" Pomona asked innocently.
"No! Don't stop. Use your mouth -"
Pomona grinned. "With pleasure."
She rose up and moved down the bed to lie between Poppy's splayed thighs, taking a moment to savour the sight. This was one of her favourite views: her lover spread out before her, that garden of glistening wet carnal delight openly displayed, in the midst of a forest of hair like wiry moss.
With gentle fingers, Pomona spread Poppy's petals open, then bent her head worshipfully to taste her rich nectar. She began with a long, slow, and thorough open-mouthed kiss, lips and tongue caressing every fold and hollow. When Poppy began to moan, Pomona tickled and flicked the bud of her pleasure with the tip of her tongue, then suckled it as Poppy made desperate, needy sounds and clutched at her.
Alternating between slow licks, darting flicks, and gentle sucks, Pomona coaxed Poppy toward the summit of her pleasure, never hurrying, but never relenting either. The juices of Poppy's desire soaked her face and dripped from her chin.
"Please," Poppy begged. "Please, Mona -"
Pomona ignored her pleas. She knew that, if she kept up her steady pace, eventually Poppy would break, and the result would be all the more spectacular for the waiting.
Poppy strained and writhed against the bedspread, lower lip caught between her teeth as she strived for release. Pomona flicked her tongue against the sensitive bud again, and Poppy whimpered. She was close. As soon as Pomona switched to suckling, drawing the bud between her lips and running her tongue over it, Poppy gave a loud, sobbing cry and convulsed.
Pomona drew back a little to enjoy the fruits of her labour. Body contorted, face alight with ecstasy, Poppy was a glorious sight to behold. The tender flesh between her thighs twitched and pulsed with rhythmic aftershocks. Pomona sat up, drinking in the vision of loveliness before her.
When she tried to touch her again, Poppy drew in a sharp breath.
"Give me a moment."
Pomona cocked her head. "Are you well, love?"
"Very well, my dear. Come here."
She opened her eyes and made a weak hand gesture. Pomona came to her filled with tenderness. Stretching out beside her, she stroked Poppy's dark hair.
"Precious flower," she murmured. "I wish you could see how lovely you are right now. You always look so beautiful with your eyes all dreamy from being loved."
"I can see how beautiful you are," smiled Poppy. "That's enough for me."
She kissed Pomona, long and sweet, hand seeking the full roundness of her breast.
"Shall we see about that supper the house-elves brought up for us?"
They ate lounging on the bed, finishing a bottle of wine they had opened a few nights before.
"What time do you have to go collect Mr Lupin?" Pomona asked as Poppy banished the dishes back to the kitchen.
"Hours yet," said Poppy, reclining on the bed and kissing her again. "We have plenty of time."
"You need your sleep, too, love," Pomona reminded her.
"I'll have it," Poppy assured her. "But I'll have you again first."
Pomona grinned. "I'm all yours, whenever you're ready."
With an answering grin, Poppy retrieved her wand and summoned the stone once more, renewing the vibrating charm. Pomona watched, mesmerized, as Poppy lay back on the bed, opening her legs again, knees drawn up. She spread herself open with her fingers and rubbed the edge of the buzzing stone against her bud, moaning softly. Pressing the stone flat against her flesh, Poppy looked up at Pomona with hooded eyes.
"Come here," she said again, voice low and husky.
Pomona needed no further invitation. Kneeling between Poppy's thighs, she found her position, fingers spreading her own folds open as she bent over Poppy. The polished surface of the stone was as warm as Poppy's skin. When her bud found it, Pomona made a sound of satisfaction and ground down on it. The stone was charmed to stay where it was put until it was removed. No amount of rubbing or thrusting would dislodge it, though its surface quickly grew slick with their combined juices.
Pomona's mouth found Poppy's, lips meeting in a hunger of passion as their cunts kissed every bit as hungrily around the edges of the vibrating stone. Pomona rocked her hips, the feel of the stone, and of her lover's most intimate parts, moving against her own, sending thick vines of pleasure coiling through her.
Raising her head, Poppy's mouth found Pomona's breast. She suckled it, tongue flicking the nipple, as her hands slid down to clench the thick flesh of Pomona's arse. Their hips moved together now, grinding onto the stone with small, rhythmic thrusts. Pomona bent her head and kissed Poppy's sweat-damp brow, feeling the pleasure build between them, as if they shared one sensation.
It was Poppy who broke first, hips thrusting up sharply, cries muffled against Pomona's shoulder.
"That's my girl," Pomona panted, her own release close enough to taste.
She slid a hand between them, pushing the charmed stone aside. Poppy's slippery, swollen bud caressed her own, rubbing and sliding, a bright spark of pleasure so intense that it took Pomona's breath away.
"Oh - oh!" she gasped, shuddering and clinging to Poppy, as if her climax might actually sweep her away.
They clung to one another a moment longer, as the waves of pleasure ebbed, then Pomona rolled onto her back. Damp and boneless, cooling in the night air of Poppy's chamber, she closed her eyes and sighed blissfully. The ache in her womb was just a fading memory now, banished by the healing touch of her lover, and the joy they found in each other.
Pomona wondered how she could be so happy, when all across the land, war was rising, hungry and ready to consume all who stood in its way. And yet she was happier than she had ever been in her life. Reaching out a hand, she found Poppy's, and squeezed it. As long as they remained safe behind the castle's walls, perhaps the war would not touch them.
It was a thought for another time. For now, she and Poppy were here, safe and warm and in love, in a bed that smelled of sex, with hours yet until the dawn.
Pomona turned onto her side, to find Poppy regarding her with a fond, sleepy smile.
"Knut for your thoughts?"
Pomona shrugged, returning the smile along with a light touch. "Just happy. Being here, with you. Hoping we'll get to keep this, whatever else happens."
"I hope so, too," sighed Poppy, nestling closer and pressing a kiss to Pomona's bare shoulder. "I have a feeling we'll soon need all the happiness we can get."