(Harry Potter) Whiskey Warmth
Title: Whiskey Warmth
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Hooch/McGonagall/Sprout
Rating: R
Words: 1640
Timeline: Prisoner Of Azkaban
Notes: Threesome. For the Merry Month of Minerva challenge at minor_pairings.
Summary: Minerva was tired, Pomona was proud of Cedric, and Rolanda was a bit of a pervert, actually.
“My goodness, what was all that about?” Pomona Sprout sighed as she slumped into one of the staff room’s battered but exceedingly comfortable armchairs. It had been far too long a day, between the usual chaotic excitement of Quidditch and the pandemonium that had ensued after the Dementors had invaded the pitch.
Many students had been upset by their presence, and understandably so. Pomona had to admit even she felt a little unsteady on her feet, and there was still a slight tremor to her hand as she reached for her tea.
“Quidditch,” Rolanda Hooch replied simply, leaning back against the wall and crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s what it’s always about with those boys, Sprout.”
“But Cedric is usually such a good boy,” Pomona sighed, idly stirring a heaped teaspoon of sugar into her drink. “I don’t think I’ve ever once had to give him a detention. It’s so unlike him to fight like that.”
“Everyone’s on edge,” Rolanda murmured, staring darkly out of the window into the roiling storm. “The Dementors appearing like that. Most of the students haven’t seen Dumbledore angry before.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Pomona mumbled, brushing a few stray wisps of hair from her face. “Poor things, nobody was expecting it. No excuse for violence though, is it?”
“Wood was angry about Diggory calling for a rematch,” Minerva McGonagall elaborated. She looked exhausted as she pushed her spectacles higher up her nose, dark circles outlining her eyes and an unhealthy pallor to her skin. She accepted the silver hip flask in Rolanda’s outstretched hand without comment, liberally pouring the amber liquid inside into her coffee. “The match may not have been entirely fair, but the result was honest, and Wood knows that.”
“Cedric wants a rematch?” Pomona asked hurriedly, her brow furrowing before she broke into an affectionate smile. “Told you he was a good boy, that one. Charitable, through and through. A little misguided in his intentions, perhaps, but charitable…”
“That’s exactly the point, Pomona,” Minerva said stiffly. “It’s charity, pity even, and Wood was offended by it. Rightly so.” She took a long sip of her drink, pointedly not looking in Pomona’s direction.
“Well, that’s hardly fair,” came the outraged reply. “Cedric’s just trying to do what he thinks is right. Just because that Oliver Wood doesn’t agree is no reason for him to pick a fight.”
“Who says Wood started it?” Minerva snapped back, the pitch of her voice rising steadily. “Diggory was just as involved in that brawl, they were both throwing punches when we arrived.”
“Well, Cedric’s never been in a fight before, and Wood seems to be in one every other week,” Pomona said with a scoff. “I think that should be evidence enough.”
“Wood is not that bad,” Minerva scowled, placing her cup of coffee down with more force than necessary and rounding on Pomona. “We all know Marcus Flint picks a fight every time he and Wood are in the same room, even if he is sneaky about it. Why, just last week, I had to separate them, and I know it was Flint that threw the first punch, even if I couldn’t prove it, and -”
“Who says Flint started it?” Pomona mimicked with a smirk that looked unnaturally cruel on her usually warm face.
“That’s enough,” Rolanda hissed, stepping between them. Her voice was much more quiet and even than their own, but they both immediately settled back, turning away from each other.
The tension seemed to shimmer in the air. Minerva reached for her coffee. Pomona sniffled slightly and shifted in her seat.
“Everyone’s on edge,” Rolanda repeated. “The Dementors, they got to all of us.”
The rigidness of Minerva’s shoulders lessened at the words, and she nodded solemnly. “Yes, quite. My apologies, Pomona, that was uncalled for,” she sighed.
“Yes, I didn’t mean to snap,” Pomona replied with a sheepish smile. “Cedric probably didn’t consider just how it would sound, asking for a rematch like that.”
“And I’m sure Wood overreacted, as he so often does,” Minerva added with a wry smile.
“There, then,” Rolanda said firmly, clapping her hands together. “That’s settled. You can give the boys detention with me, I wouldn’t mind having somebody clean the school brooms who actually understands how to handle a broomstick.”
Minerva nodded distractedly, sitting down and closing her tired eyes, but Pomona frowned slightly. “I was going to have Cedric help me in the greenhouses,” she interjected quietly.
Rolanda waved a hand dismissively, her voice resolute. “Nonsense, you get to see him all the time, I only get them during Quidditch games. And I do so love watching such able-bodied young men polish their broomsticks…”
Pomona’s eyes widened slightly, a rosy blush colouring her cheeks as Rolanda smiled to herself, lips twisted into something more closely resembling a leer.
“Don’t start that again,” Minerva muttered without opening her eyes.
“Ah, but it was enjoyable, wasn’t it?” Rolanda murmured, sidling closer and perching on the arm of Minerva’s chair. Golden eyes glinted in the soft light as her voice dropped to a seductive purr. “The two of them, rolling on the floor together, so angry, all tangled legs and arms. All it would take is one wrong move and, oh, the discovery of it, the friction, it could be so very beautiful…”
Pomona’s mouth opened and closed several times before she managed to find her voice. “Rolanda! You know as well as I do that it is strictly forbidden to touch any of the children! Why, to even think of it is -”
“I don’t want to touch,” Rolanda insisted gently. “I just like to watch. And imagine. After all, it is rather isolated up here, and a woman has needs. McGonagall understands.” She jerked her head towards Minerva, and Pomona watched silently as Rolanda’s hand reached for Minerva’s shoulder, a single calloused finger stroking down the side of her neck.
Minerva’s eyes fluttered slightly but remained closed.
“I would never touch a student,” Rolanda continued quietly, her thumb sliding up to press against the skin just behind Minerva’s ear. “They’re far too young to understand a woman’s desire.”
Pomona watched silently, lips parted and the flush on her face spreading down her neck, as Rolanda’s hand moved down over Minerva’s throat, fingers deftly plucking at the first two buttons of Minerva’s robes.
“I value experience,” Rolanda whispered, and Pomona swallowed thickly as Rolanda’s hand slid down over Minerva’s chest, cupping slightly at her breast through the fabric.
“Oh, do get on with it,” Minerva hissed, eyes snapping open to glare impatiently up at Rolanda’s smirking face.
“Yes, Deputy Headmistress,” Rolanda said with a rich laugh, standing as she shrugged off her thicker outer robes. Her eyes briefly met Pomona’s before she tugged her jumper up and over her head, and Pomona could only admire the strength there, stomach impressively flat, trim muscles shifting as Roland tossed the still slightly damp clothing across the room with little regard for where it might land.
Rolanda leaned forwards, uncharacteristically gentle as she silently plucked Minerva’s spectacles from her face and set them aside. Minerva still looked tired, but there was a touch of mischievousness there, a sparkle in her eye as she watched Rolanda’s strong thighs straddle her lap, before easing her head back to allow an instantly fierce kiss, opening her lips to the attention, one hand reaching up to run through Rolanda’s short grey hair.
When she pulled back, Rolanda was breathing a touch heavily and Minerva had a wicked smile that somehow looked both foreign and entirely at home on her face.
Rolanda’s fingers instantly began to work at Minerva’s buttons, baring her collar bone to insistent kisses as Minerva continued to pet at her hair.
Pomona only seemed to realise her mouth was hanging slightly open when Rolanda glanced back at her over her shoulder. “For goodness sake, don’t just sit there,” she cried, voice taking on the rougher tone she usually reserved for Quidditch matches.
Pomona jumped up immediately, a little startled at the abrupt order, and she wasn’t thinking as she raised her wand, incantation on her tongue, and Rolanda’s bra snapped open on command, straps sliding down her arms.
Pomona glanced down at her wand, then up at Rolanda, who’d shifted around to stare at her in surprise, bra dropping unnoticed to the floor.
“That’s the spirit, Sprout!” Rolanda suddenly roared, barking with laughter and holding out her hand. Pomona blushed and smiled awkwardly, taking the outstretched palm between her own hands and allowing herself to be led closer.
Pomona was initially usually a little shy in such situations, always a little uneasy, but she quickly relaxed under the influence of Rolanda’s enthusiasm and Minerva’s ability to remain nonplussed at anything Rolanda suggested.
Rolanda’s hands tugged at Pomona’s clothes, and she allowed herself to be undressed. She never wore matching underwear, like Minerva, and she didn’t have the healthy athletic figure Rolanda had, but there was something about the way Rolanda’s hands were always drawn to her chest, stroking and massaging, lips quick to follow, that made Pomona smile coyly and surrender to the touch.
Minerva stripped with her usual efficiency, pressing herself bodily against Rolanda’s back, watching through shrewd eyes as Rolanda’s fingers slid down over Pomona’s stomach. Minerva’s hands mimicked the gesture, arms slipping around Rolanda’s waist and moving down, between her legs, and Pomona and Rolanda’s twin sighs of appreciation coloured the air. Pomona’s hand reached up, squeezing at Minerva’s arm, urging Minerva’s hand between her own thighs, and Minerva leaned her head against Rolanda’s shoulder as, together, the three of them established an easy and familiar rhythm.
Outside, the storm continued to rage, lightning ripping through the sky and illuminating the Quidditch pitch for the briefest of moments, before darkness took hold once again.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Hooch/McGonagall/Sprout
Rating: R
Words: 1640
Timeline: Prisoner Of Azkaban
Notes: Threesome. For the Merry Month of Minerva challenge at minor_pairings.
Summary: Minerva was tired, Pomona was proud of Cedric, and Rolanda was a bit of a pervert, actually.
“My goodness, what was all that about?” Pomona Sprout sighed as she slumped into one of the staff room’s battered but exceedingly comfortable armchairs. It had been far too long a day, between the usual chaotic excitement of Quidditch and the pandemonium that had ensued after the Dementors had invaded the pitch.
Many students had been upset by their presence, and understandably so. Pomona had to admit even she felt a little unsteady on her feet, and there was still a slight tremor to her hand as she reached for her tea.
“Quidditch,” Rolanda Hooch replied simply, leaning back against the wall and crossing her arms over her chest. “That’s what it’s always about with those boys, Sprout.”
“But Cedric is usually such a good boy,” Pomona sighed, idly stirring a heaped teaspoon of sugar into her drink. “I don’t think I’ve ever once had to give him a detention. It’s so unlike him to fight like that.”
“Everyone’s on edge,” Rolanda murmured, staring darkly out of the window into the roiling storm. “The Dementors appearing like that. Most of the students haven’t seen Dumbledore angry before.”
“Yes, yes, of course,” Pomona mumbled, brushing a few stray wisps of hair from her face. “Poor things, nobody was expecting it. No excuse for violence though, is it?”
“Wood was angry about Diggory calling for a rematch,” Minerva McGonagall elaborated. She looked exhausted as she pushed her spectacles higher up her nose, dark circles outlining her eyes and an unhealthy pallor to her skin. She accepted the silver hip flask in Rolanda’s outstretched hand without comment, liberally pouring the amber liquid inside into her coffee. “The match may not have been entirely fair, but the result was honest, and Wood knows that.”
“Cedric wants a rematch?” Pomona asked hurriedly, her brow furrowing before she broke into an affectionate smile. “Told you he was a good boy, that one. Charitable, through and through. A little misguided in his intentions, perhaps, but charitable…”
“That’s exactly the point, Pomona,” Minerva said stiffly. “It’s charity, pity even, and Wood was offended by it. Rightly so.” She took a long sip of her drink, pointedly not looking in Pomona’s direction.
“Well, that’s hardly fair,” came the outraged reply. “Cedric’s just trying to do what he thinks is right. Just because that Oliver Wood doesn’t agree is no reason for him to pick a fight.”
“Who says Wood started it?” Minerva snapped back, the pitch of her voice rising steadily. “Diggory was just as involved in that brawl, they were both throwing punches when we arrived.”
“Well, Cedric’s never been in a fight before, and Wood seems to be in one every other week,” Pomona said with a scoff. “I think that should be evidence enough.”
“Wood is not that bad,” Minerva scowled, placing her cup of coffee down with more force than necessary and rounding on Pomona. “We all know Marcus Flint picks a fight every time he and Wood are in the same room, even if he is sneaky about it. Why, just last week, I had to separate them, and I know it was Flint that threw the first punch, even if I couldn’t prove it, and -”
“Who says Flint started it?” Pomona mimicked with a smirk that looked unnaturally cruel on her usually warm face.
“That’s enough,” Rolanda hissed, stepping between them. Her voice was much more quiet and even than their own, but they both immediately settled back, turning away from each other.
The tension seemed to shimmer in the air. Minerva reached for her coffee. Pomona sniffled slightly and shifted in her seat.
“Everyone’s on edge,” Rolanda repeated. “The Dementors, they got to all of us.”
The rigidness of Minerva’s shoulders lessened at the words, and she nodded solemnly. “Yes, quite. My apologies, Pomona, that was uncalled for,” she sighed.
“Yes, I didn’t mean to snap,” Pomona replied with a sheepish smile. “Cedric probably didn’t consider just how it would sound, asking for a rematch like that.”
“And I’m sure Wood overreacted, as he so often does,” Minerva added with a wry smile.
“There, then,” Rolanda said firmly, clapping her hands together. “That’s settled. You can give the boys detention with me, I wouldn’t mind having somebody clean the school brooms who actually understands how to handle a broomstick.”
Minerva nodded distractedly, sitting down and closing her tired eyes, but Pomona frowned slightly. “I was going to have Cedric help me in the greenhouses,” she interjected quietly.
Rolanda waved a hand dismissively, her voice resolute. “Nonsense, you get to see him all the time, I only get them during Quidditch games. And I do so love watching such able-bodied young men polish their broomsticks…”
Pomona’s eyes widened slightly, a rosy blush colouring her cheeks as Rolanda smiled to herself, lips twisted into something more closely resembling a leer.
“Don’t start that again,” Minerva muttered without opening her eyes.
“Ah, but it was enjoyable, wasn’t it?” Rolanda murmured, sidling closer and perching on the arm of Minerva’s chair. Golden eyes glinted in the soft light as her voice dropped to a seductive purr. “The two of them, rolling on the floor together, so angry, all tangled legs and arms. All it would take is one wrong move and, oh, the discovery of it, the friction, it could be so very beautiful…”
Pomona’s mouth opened and closed several times before she managed to find her voice. “Rolanda! You know as well as I do that it is strictly forbidden to touch any of the children! Why, to even think of it is -”
“I don’t want to touch,” Rolanda insisted gently. “I just like to watch. And imagine. After all, it is rather isolated up here, and a woman has needs. McGonagall understands.” She jerked her head towards Minerva, and Pomona watched silently as Rolanda’s hand reached for Minerva’s shoulder, a single calloused finger stroking down the side of her neck.
Minerva’s eyes fluttered slightly but remained closed.
“I would never touch a student,” Rolanda continued quietly, her thumb sliding up to press against the skin just behind Minerva’s ear. “They’re far too young to understand a woman’s desire.”
Pomona watched silently, lips parted and the flush on her face spreading down her neck, as Rolanda’s hand moved down over Minerva’s throat, fingers deftly plucking at the first two buttons of Minerva’s robes.
“I value experience,” Rolanda whispered, and Pomona swallowed thickly as Rolanda’s hand slid down over Minerva’s chest, cupping slightly at her breast through the fabric.
“Oh, do get on with it,” Minerva hissed, eyes snapping open to glare impatiently up at Rolanda’s smirking face.
“Yes, Deputy Headmistress,” Rolanda said with a rich laugh, standing as she shrugged off her thicker outer robes. Her eyes briefly met Pomona’s before she tugged her jumper up and over her head, and Pomona could only admire the strength there, stomach impressively flat, trim muscles shifting as Roland tossed the still slightly damp clothing across the room with little regard for where it might land.
Rolanda leaned forwards, uncharacteristically gentle as she silently plucked Minerva’s spectacles from her face and set them aside. Minerva still looked tired, but there was a touch of mischievousness there, a sparkle in her eye as she watched Rolanda’s strong thighs straddle her lap, before easing her head back to allow an instantly fierce kiss, opening her lips to the attention, one hand reaching up to run through Rolanda’s short grey hair.
When she pulled back, Rolanda was breathing a touch heavily and Minerva had a wicked smile that somehow looked both foreign and entirely at home on her face.
Rolanda’s fingers instantly began to work at Minerva’s buttons, baring her collar bone to insistent kisses as Minerva continued to pet at her hair.
Pomona only seemed to realise her mouth was hanging slightly open when Rolanda glanced back at her over her shoulder. “For goodness sake, don’t just sit there,” she cried, voice taking on the rougher tone she usually reserved for Quidditch matches.
Pomona jumped up immediately, a little startled at the abrupt order, and she wasn’t thinking as she raised her wand, incantation on her tongue, and Rolanda’s bra snapped open on command, straps sliding down her arms.
Pomona glanced down at her wand, then up at Rolanda, who’d shifted around to stare at her in surprise, bra dropping unnoticed to the floor.
“That’s the spirit, Sprout!” Rolanda suddenly roared, barking with laughter and holding out her hand. Pomona blushed and smiled awkwardly, taking the outstretched palm between her own hands and allowing herself to be led closer.
Pomona was initially usually a little shy in such situations, always a little uneasy, but she quickly relaxed under the influence of Rolanda’s enthusiasm and Minerva’s ability to remain nonplussed at anything Rolanda suggested.
Rolanda’s hands tugged at Pomona’s clothes, and she allowed herself to be undressed. She never wore matching underwear, like Minerva, and she didn’t have the healthy athletic figure Rolanda had, but there was something about the way Rolanda’s hands were always drawn to her chest, stroking and massaging, lips quick to follow, that made Pomona smile coyly and surrender to the touch.
Minerva stripped with her usual efficiency, pressing herself bodily against Rolanda’s back, watching through shrewd eyes as Rolanda’s fingers slid down over Pomona’s stomach. Minerva’s hands mimicked the gesture, arms slipping around Rolanda’s waist and moving down, between her legs, and Pomona and Rolanda’s twin sighs of appreciation coloured the air. Pomona’s hand reached up, squeezing at Minerva’s arm, urging Minerva’s hand between her own thighs, and Minerva leaned her head against Rolanda’s shoulder as, together, the three of them established an easy and familiar rhythm.
Outside, the storm continued to rage, lightning ripping through the sky and illuminating the Quidditch pitch for the briefest of moments, before darkness took hold once again.