Liars

“Ever so Proper”

Spring, 1975

“Hold still,” Minerva told him sternly as she had every time she had to heal one of his wounds. There was a new medi-witch at Hogwarts now, but as some of his activities were entirely clandestine Minerva was usually the one to patch him up. She had already repaired his shattered tibia and was working on the crushed fingers of his left hand. He knew it frightened her, seeing him in various states of disrepair.

“I’m not moving,” he growled. It was not quite a lie, for he was certainly twitching in pain, but he was at least not moving voluntarily. He was sitting on the desk in her office, leg propped up on one of the student tables and his hand held in both of Minerva’s smaller ones.

“All your memories of me are going to be painful ones,” she muttered under her breath as she pulled his ring finger straight, and his face went white.

“They already are,” he gasped, “but that doesn’t have anything to do with my wounds.”

She smiled, and he used his right hand to brush a strand of her hair behind her ear, kissing her quickly before she forced more of his bones back into their proper place.

All of a sudden Alastor heard a sound from behind him in the room, and grabbed urgently for his wand, almost collapsing in pain from the sudden movement but facing the dark corner nonetheless as Minerva made distressed noises behind him.

“Who’s there?” he called fiercely, pointing his wand into the shadowy area. “Minerva, what’s back there?”

“Nothing, Alastor!” she assured him, turning up the lights so that he could see clearly into every square inch of her office.

He was indeed pointing his wand at a blank stretch of wall, but couldn’t suppress the memory of earlier that day when a particularly clever Disillusionment Charm had brought him down. “Better safe than sorry,” he told her, and yelled, “STUPE--”

“Okay, wait, don’t hex me!” Came a voice from the blankness, and Alastor kept his wand trained on the spot from whence the voice had come. He glared and Minerva gasped as a boy emerged from empty space, no more than fifteen, with untidy black hair.

“James Potter!” Minerva shrieked, and quickly twisted her hair back into its customary bun in order to give herself extra authority. “How DARE you sneak into my private office!”

Alastor laughed at her furious expression, earning his shoulder a slap from Minerva and a sheepish grin from the dark-haired boy. In truth, he laughed to cover up the noise that his heart was still making inside his ribs. At the sound in the room, he had at first been certain, positively certain, that one of those styling themselves Death Eaters had found him even here, was going to kill him at last or take Minerva away from him. I have to find a way to see through invisibility cloaks, he thought determinedly. This can’t happen again.

He was considering carrying some sort of powder or charm with him for detection while Minerva gave the unabashed James Potter a detention and sent him on his way. “Probably gone to tell Sirius all about this,” she muttered darkly, turning back to his hand.

“Serious what?” he asked, reaching his good hand up to loosen her hair again.

She let him, snapping his little finger back into place with an audible “crack”. “Sirius Black,” she told him, and seeing his eyes narrow, assured him, “Nothing like his family at all. He’s a Gryffindor. Though if anyone thought that kept him out of trouble...”

“As much trouble as I was, are they?” he asked with a more genuine grin, and she favored him with a rare (these days) smile.

“At least.”

The last finger popped back into place, this one only dislocated and not broken. “Don’t use the hand too much for at least a week,” she told him primly. “Find another way to sate yourself, if you must.”

He leaned close and breathed, “Do it for me.”

“If you think,” she said severely, locking her office door with her wand at the same time she descended to her knees, “that just because you were foolish enough to smash your hand I’m willing to give you some sort of service,” she slid him out of his trousers, “then you are highly--”

He put his hand on the back of her head and slid easily into her mouth, effectively silencing her.

She knew what he liked by now, and was extremely good at not giving it to him. Today, however, she seemed to suffer from no such perversity. Minerva sucked him in deep, and the sensation of feeling himself sliding so far down her throat made him groan in pleasure. Her tongue wriggled salaciously along the underside of his length, and he felt himself grow even harder in her mouth.

Alastor’s good hand tangled in her loose hair, pulling it a little more than she liked so that she would whimper around his cock. He knew she wouldn’t mind today--she knew he needed to take her roughly after he had been fighting, particularly after a close escape, so he didn’t feel guilty for sliding down her throat too fast, or holding her down for a moment too long. She choked a little after a particularly deep thrust, and he let her up for a second, only a second, to breathe. “I’m not going to stop,” he told her hoarsely.

Her eyes were only big because she was looking up at him, but the effect was good, and he sheathed himself in the hot wetness of her mouth over and over, taking little care for her except to revel in the difficulty she had in taking him all, holding her down and pulling her up by her hair, using her almost cruelly. “Do you want it in your mouth or on your face?” he growled, feeling himself getting close, and laughed a little to himself as she looked crossly up at him, unable to answer while deep-throating him. He knew she wouldn’t mind too much either way.

Then he stopped thinking, stopped doing anything but thrusting raggedly into her mouth, and he was coming buried deeply down her throat, pulling back just a little so that she would taste him on her tongue, and he couldn’t remember if he had cried out or not in the heat of the moment. He sagged back on the desk, watching her get to her feet as she wiped the corners of her mouth. “Ever so proper, aren’t you?” he asked with a raised eyebrow.

“I am a Professor,” she reminded him. “Though I do shudder to think of what Potter and Black are going to make of seeing me with you.”

Alastor grabbed the front of her robes with his good hand and pulled her close for a kiss, softer than usual because of him instead of her. Her cheeks were still flushed, lips were still swollen, and her hair was still down, and he privately thought that she looked perfectly debauched. “I doubt he’ll tell anyone.”

“You don’t know Potter,” she said in annoyance, pulling away from him to straighten the student tables. “He--”

“I know adolescent boys,” he interrupted, “because I was one.”

“Still are one,” she muttered, and he laughed.

“He won’t tell anyone because he’ll be too busy beating off to the thought of you looking like that,” he assured her. “Like you said, I am one. I understand the temptation.”

Minerva spluttered incoherently for a moment, then found her voice. “James Potter? To thoughts of...that’s disgusting, Alastor!”

Alastor shrugged. “What do you think he was doing hiding in your room anyway? No one knew I’d be here, did they?”

“I had assumed,” she said with a chill in her voice that always amused him, “that he was looking to expunge certain records of his activities from my office. The thought that he would be seeking to physically gratify himself to his old Professor’s appearance certainly never--”

“Hey, if you’re old, that makes me older,” he complained. “I’m not old yet. I’ll probably never be old, if the Death Eaters get their way.”

“Don’t say that,” she said quickly. “You’ve been lucky so far, haven’t you?”

Alastor nodded grudgingly. “So far is right. Can’t stay lucky forever, that’s not the nature of it.” He heaved himself up off the desk, not wanting to talk about the subject anymore, only to bite back a cry of pain when his recently repaired tibia absorbed the impact. “I’m fine,” he told her through clenched teeth when she hurried to his side. “Just forgot for a second. I have to go, make my formal report in London.”

Minerva kissed him one last time, and he squeezed her hand reassuringly.

“Be safe,” she told him.

“That’s not my job,” he answered, and was gone.