A/N: You may, or not, have noticed that I'm back to FanFiction after a few years of silence. After I finished my story in 1982 I found Pride, which had originally been just a short one-shot, and got inspired to continue it. I'm not entirely sure where I'm taking the story exactly, so I'd be happy to know if anyone is interested at all in this very bizarre pairing and theme combination...

Enjoy.

WARNING: This is an erotic story.

PRIDE

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by Saeshmea

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Minerva

This takes place after Harry has his career advice meeting with McGonagall and Umbridge in the office of his Head of House. (Chapter 29, book 5).

"I cannot allow such disrespect and disloyalty coming from a professor," said Umbridge when the two women were left alone.

"Then I should probably apologize in advance because I'm about to say a couple more things to you," Professor McGonagall replied, "Dolores Umbridge, you are a-"

"Minerva, I suggest you stop yourself before-" the Headmistress threatened, raising her wand against the professor.

"Before what, Dolores? I am not a student you can send to detention," McGonagall looked at her defiantly.

"You're right," Umbridge replied, "but there are other ways of discipline."

McGonagall looked at the Headmistress from her higher position and noticed the waving of her wand. Before she could reach hers, the Transfiguration Professor felt herself pushed and bent over her desk.

"I am tired of your witty comments and your disobedience, Minerva," Umbridge whispered near her ear as she held the professor's head against the wooden surface, "this will teach you to show more respect from now on," as Minerva struggled to get free form the charm that was keeping her wrists pinned to the corners of the table preventing her to move, Umbridge began to slowly roll up the skirt of her dress.

Minerva didn't stop to wonder the intentions of the Headmistress, she was concentrated on getting free from her magic. As she muttered some wandless incantation that she hoped would work, Umbridge grabbed her cotton knickers and pulled them down, to the middle of her thighs.

She was not prepared for what came next. Umbridge's left hand was holding the rolled-up skirt of Minerva's dress to her waist, so it wouldn't fall when, suddenly, her right hand slapped the professor's bottom cheek.

To hold back her scream, Minerva let go of a silent gasp in response to the sudden assault on her body. Umbridge said nothing. She just pressed her left hand against the professor's back with more strength as she hit the other cheek, which caused the same reaction on the Head of Gryffindor.

Minerva had to clasp her fists to the desk's edges to bear the pain of the next whacks. She felt her skin getting sorer and sorer every time the palm of the Headmistress' hand met her ass and, as if being spanked in her own office by Dolores Umbridge wasn't humiliating enough, Minerva found that her own body was betraying herself by enjoying the situation.

She pressed her legs together, so Umbridge wouldn't notice her wetness and bore the last slaps without making any sound.

When the Headmistress left, Minerva felt herself released from the charms that were keeping her tied to her desk. She pulled her knickers up and as she got up, her skirt fell back into place, hiding her recent humiliation.

Minerva walked around the table and sat on her chair, only making a grimace when her sore bottom met the pillow. She opened her first drawer, took out a pile of essays to check, and put herself to work as if nothing had happened a moment before.

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Minerva's quill danced over the last parchment directed by her thin, confident fingers. It was the last of her essays, so she placed it on top of the pile of finished marked work and put the writing tool down. Then, she took her wand, which she had left on her desk, perfectly aligned to the pile of papers, touched the parchments with the tip, and they all disappeared. She would find them in the morning in her classroom.

She stared at the now empty surface, and with no distraction from her thoughts, she saw herself bent over on it, magically immobilized, feeling the sudden slaps on her bottom cheeks at the hands of the Headmistress.

Minerva felt herself getting moist between her legs again, so she pointed at the door with her wand to double lock it with an extra spell before putting back down on her desk, she leaned back on her chair, lift her skirt to her thighs, and reached for that spot with her fingers.

She was a mature woman. She knew the body sometimes responds to things the mind doesn't want to, but her mind kept bringing the events of that afternoon back to her memory, she could not only feel Dolores's small but firm hands on her skin, but she could picture it as if she'd been there as a spectator, looking at the Headmistress's face while she was carrying out her punishment. She looked confident, powerful, and proud.

Minerva moaned out loud, and the sound of her voice brought her back to the moment. She despised that woman. How could she be giving her such power over herself right now? Ah! Minerva moaned again.

She had always had an incline for powerful personalities. She had had many crushes on teachers as a student, then a volatile affair with the professor that supervised her transfiguration thesis - she was married, but that just added an extra spice to the whole thing, until it ended. Her long collection of short-lived relationships pre-war was a testament that Minerva liked feeling overpowered, but then she got to a place and a moment in her life that made it very hard to find a good match. War was required to build up walls and defenses. It wasn't just that people were intimidated by her accomplishments or her power, they also seemed to be afraid of her character. In the end, she'd given up and embraced her solitude as a means to enjoy her own company.

Dolores Umbridge wasn't easily intimidated. That was one of the things Minerva despised of her the most. She had grown so used to people following her word without questioning, sometimes even Albus himself, that to have that woman contradict every single one of her decisions was abysmally infuriating.

Minerva's breathing started to accelerate.

It had felt nice to feel someone else's touch. That was probably all it was. The last time someone had reached under her clothes other than Poppy on her yearly staff check-ups had been in 1986 when Scotland was defeated at the quidditch World Cup against Canada. She lost a bet against a Canadian couple that had traveled for the game, and she willingly accepted her defeat in their hotel room.

Minerva melted over the chair. She could feel herself throbbing and dripping over the inner layers of her dress. Maybe she would not change before dinner. Maybe she would parade the proof of her sinful act in front of the Headmistress and imagine she could see through the layers of her skirt.

Minerva blushed. It made her feel young.

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TO BE CONTINUED…