Disclaimer: These characters belong to J.K. Rowling and various corporations.
Location: McGonagall’s bedroom
I swore I'd try: I didn't swear I'd succeed. I promise that I will stop thinking about this challenge for at least the next month or so.
Visiting the Sick
‘We really ought to go and see her,’ Remus said. ‘Take her some chocolates or something.’
‘Yeah,’ Sirius agreed. ‘As it’s our fault she’s so sick.’
James and Peter glanced at each other. Sirius and Remus were the last two people McGonagall would want to see at the moment. Her nervous breakdown was directly attributable to the number of times recently she had caught Remus and Sirius performing indecent acts all round Hogwarts. Indeed, as Flitwick led her gently to a darkened room, McGonagall had been babbling wildly about black lupins, and weren’t they strange and wonderful flowers. ‘They propagate constantly,’ she confided to a confused Flitwick. ‘Always at it.’
Even if the other marauders had voiced their doubts, it wouldn’t have been much use. Sirius was unstoppable once he’d made up his mind, and Remus’s tender conscience wouldn’t let him go on a second longer without trying to make amends to the suffering professor.
McGonagall’s bedroom was in the staff quarters, which were strictly out of bounds to the students. James had hidden his cloak away as soon as the visiting plan was mooted, so Remus and Sirius made their way there while the rest of the school was at dinner. ‘We can do a kitchen raid later,’ Sirus said, and Remus said, ‘That way we can have lots of puddings as well. It’s boring old chicken tonight.’
The two boys were armed with a bunch of grapes (a bit depleted now, because Sirius liked grapes) and a few daisies they’d found outside the greenhouses. Rather manky daisies, but still, they constituted a bouquet of flowers, or as near as.
They found the door with Professor McGonagall on a brass nameplate and knocked. No reply. ‘Let’s not mess about,’ Sirius said, ‘because they’ll be finishing dinner soon.’ He took out his wand, chanted ‘Alohomora,’ and the door swung open.
The darkened room was even darker now, as it was evening, so Sirius used his wand again for a quick lumos spell. They could see a desk – ‘What’s she want another desk for?’ Sirius asked – and a big bed. ‘Why don’t the staff have fourposters like us?’ Remus asked.
‘Probably don’t need them as badly as we do,’ smirked Sirius, nudging Remus rather suggestively.
In the middle of the bed lay an unconscious Professor McGonagall. The boys crept closer to have a better look. ‘Pomfrey must have given her a sleeping potion,’ Remus whispered. ‘Wonder whether she’s dreaming about us?’
Sirius laughed. ‘P’raps she’s dreaming about the time she caught us in the library - ’
‘ - or in the common room – ’
‘ - or in the Charms classroom – ’
‘ - or in the Forbidden Forest – damn, Sirius, you shouldn’t have reminded me.’
In the dim wand light Remus was now rather flushed.
Sirius reached over and brushed his lips down Remus’s neck. ‘God, you look so hot when you’re thinking about sex. I could really – ’
Remus grabbed him, pulling Sirius’s mouth down to his own, and they kissed deeply for a moment before sinking to the floor, where they managed to shrug off their robes and shirts and ties in record times.
‘Sirius, we shouldn’t, not here,’ Remus gasped, though he was so aroused he could hardly speak.
‘Oh, come on, you know you want it, Moony.’
‘So do you.’
Both boys groaned, the passionate, ecstatic groaning of two people about to make very satisfying love. They kissed again, fervently, hungrily, before stripping off the rest of their clothes and attacking each other further, stroking and sucking, biting and scratching, and generally getting very turned on, and then very orgasmic, and subsequently quite noisy.
‘I hope we didn’t wake her,’ Remus said after a while, breaking off his contemplation of Sirius’s face.
From the bed, came an incoherent groaning: not the sort of groaning the two boys had been making, but the feeble and despairing groan of a Transfigurations professor who had been stretched to her limit.
‘No, no, it’s not really them, it can’t be,’ she whimpered. ‘It’s a nightmare. A horrible nightmare.’
‘Oh, shit,’ Remus said, trying rather clumsily to gather up his things. ‘Let’s get out of here.’
Sirius went to the bedside and leered down at McGonagall, forgetting perhaps that he didn’t have many clothes on. ‘Good evening, Professor McGonagall. We brought you some grapes,’ he said, with his best Black manners.
It was a pity for the boys that Dumbledore was just dropping in to see his sick colleague after dinner: but they didn’t want to go to Hogsmeade again that term anyway.