Birthday PresentAuthor: inamac Based On/Inspired By: venturous
March 2009 contribution: In Minerva's Private Collection…
There are also references to Trelawney
, Sirius Black's Mirror
and "The Dream of the Fisherman's Wife"
by Hokusai Katsushika (other artwork is available…) Characters/Pairings:
voyeurism, masturbation, fellatio, mention of ballroom dancing.Word Count:
Minerva enjoys the new addition to her art collection.Author's Notes:
Happy Birthday, D_D! I think that everyone who commented on venturous
artwork expressed a desire to see more of Minerva's collection. I got a bit carried away with the background to this, but I assure readers that there is pr0n eventually. Many thanks to leela_cat
for beta at a busy time - and curbing my usual excesses. A Birthday Present
There are three types of Wizarding portraits. There is the Portrait of Record, popular within the rich pureblood families to show the trappings of wealth and privilege, land and jewels and livestock. Many a lost treaty or rare book, destroyed in reality, has been recovered by plundering such artworks; though the precision required by the artists for such works has been recently superseded by the use of Wizarding photographs. The figures in such artworks have little freedom of movement, beyond that captured at the moment they were painted or filmed, and no link at all with their living subjects.
The second type is the Death Portrait; the record of a person made in life and imbued, at their death, with something of their memory and personality. Such portraits require considerable skill in magic on the part of their artist, the subject, and his or her heirs. They are rarely found outside the oldest of families, or institutions such as Gringotts or Hogwarts, where the ability to access the experience of past experts is prized.
Minerva McGonagall collects the third type of Wizarding portrait: the Life Portrait.
Mostly such life portraits act as door guardians, like the Fat Lady. Their subjects were portrayed by their artists carrying out activities so mind-numbingly boring that they welcome the opportunity to perform a useful service. Others are intended as gifts or keepsakes. It is by no means remarkable for teachers to have such a record of the pupils who have passed through their hands. Horace Slughorn's collection is well known (some would say notorious), although here, as with the first type of portrait, the use of photographic records has almost completely replaced the use of paint, pastel and pen, Minerva is a traditionalist in this as in everything.
Her preferred subject matter is also traditional. Indeed, some of her earliest works, acquired on a memorable trip to Delphi in the early 1960s, pre-date Hogwarts.
Minerva collects Wizarding erotica.
It started almost by accident. She was browsing in a second-hand shop in an out-of-the-way corner of Hogsmeade where students often sold off their old text books and equipment for subjects no longer taken, when she found, jammed between a pile of old crystal balls and a set of scales with half their weights missing, a battered portfolio labelled 'History of Magic'. She opened it, expecting a few notes on the Goblin Wars, or a treatise on the effects of the Wizarding Statutes. What she found were half a dozen etchings showing witches and wizards engaging in the sort of acts which, when observed by Muggles, had led to the 1692 Statute of Wizarding Secrecy.
Fascinated she watched as, apparently animated by the light falling for the first time in decades on the foxed parchment, the 17th century witches hitched up their skirts and disported themselves on their broomsticks in a manner which was certainly not suitable for the eyes of the astonished young Muggle peering through the keyhole. The youngest, a pert miss with a magnificent cleavage, both front and rear, gave Minerva a sly wink before mounting her stick and sweeping off into the chimney in a burst of green flame.
Minerva snapped the case shut, wound the securing ribbons tightly around the tooled leather binding, and tied a very firm knot before going in search of the shop's proprietor to beat him efficiently down to a price of two Galleons, Nine Sickles and a Knut. It was very cheap at the price.
Over the years her collection grew. A correspondent in Japan sent her a set of explicit woodcuts (although she had removed the one depicting the young woman and the octopus
following a rather disconcerting encounter with the Hogwarts giant squid one hot summer evening). She found an entire illustrated set of antique Attic wine cups and a most explicit matching jug in Delphi, and very much regretted that she could not put it to its proper use more frequently. Sybil gave her a particularly fine sketch
which some Ravenclaw had thought it amusing to Spellotape to the table beneath her classroom crystal ball in an attempt to shock the Divination Professor into hysterics (it had not worked - for all her other-worldliness Sybil Trelawney was entirely familiar with Earthy matters - and had posed in her youth for one of Hogwarts most talented art students - the picture
(under a suitable privacy charm) hung above the washstand in Minerva's private quarters.
So, while the collection was a private one, it was not secret. Christmas and Birthdays invariably brought a small addition in the form of gifts from present colleagues and former pupils.
Thus she was not entirely surprised when, on entering her office shortly after celebrating her 55th birthday, she found a large brown-paper wrapped parcel propped against the corner of her desk. She frowned. Who could have left it here? None of the present students, certainly. The question was answered by the envelope which lay on her blotter. It bore the Malfoy house seal. She opened it to slide out one of Lucius Malfoy's distinctive thick, silver-embossed calling cards and read the green-inked message: To Minerva - for teaching us the importance of a straight back, a firm hold, and a sense of rhythm
She smiled. The reference was to her extra curricular class on ballroom dancing. The pureblood families always regarded the social graces as being at least as important as skill in magic and, in consequence, the majority of her students for that class had come from Slytherin House. Lucius had been a diligent pupil, and a fine dancer. She rather expected that much of his courtship of Narcissa Black had taken place under her eye on the dance floor of the castle's underused ballroom.
Anticipating a wedding portrait - for the Malfoy/Black wedding had been the event of the Summer - Minerva stripped the wrapping from the parcel, revealing a gilt-framed canvas which she lifted up to the light.
Severus Snape winked at her.
She almost dropped the painting.
It might well have been a wedding portrait, given the elegant robes of the two figures, and their intimate pose; the arm of the taller blond pureblood around the shoulder of the dark-haired man suggested possession and pride. But the picture was not one that a new bride would expect to find hanging above the mantlepiece in her new home. No surprise that, in seeking to dispose of this - embarrassing - piece of artwork the newly appointed head of the school Governors should think of donating it to his old teacher for her most private collection. He must have dropped it off on his way to that afternoon's Governors meeting - the one at which it had been confirmed that Severus Snape would take the post of Potions Professor when Slughorn retired at the end of the year.
A double celebratory gift then.
She turned over the card. Scrawled there was a postscript. The activation words are 'Slytherin Guys'
. She grimaced. But such uncouth slang was unlikely to be used casually by any visitor to her rooms in Gryffindor tower, which indicated a typically Slytherin cunning on Malfoy's part. Nevertheless she did not want this particular portrait on open display. She flicked her wand to elevate the picture and levitated it through to her bedroom.
There was no question of the best place to hang the gift. The wall opposite the foot of the bed displayed a bland mountain landscape, which she banished to the hallway outside with a word before hanging the new portrait in its place.
And then she went to the bathroom to prepare herself to enjoy this belated birthday gift to the full.
Half an hour later, relaxed from her bath, towel-swathed, and with skin fragrant from the herbal mixture which, since it had been Severus's birthday gift, she had considered most appropriate in preparing for an evening in his company, she returned to the bedroom. As she opened the wardrobe and reached in to unhook a sheer silk negligee, quite unlike her usual practical tartan dressing gown, the green-corseted young man whose image was presently reflected in the oval mirror
that hung on the inside of the wardrobe door (not everything in Minerva's collection was paint and canvas), released his grip on his cock and gave her a wide grin.
She flicked the glass with the end of the gown's belt and closed the door on Sirius Black's impudence.
But his interrupted activity had certainly put her in the mood.
She drew the silk around her, revelling in the feel of it against her skin as she stretched and glanced over at the painting. The figures were still static, as if waiting for her. Well, they could wait a little longer. Anticipation was half the pleasure. She crossed to the dressing table, gave that mirror a stern look to quell any of its normal personal comments on her appearance, and picked up her brush.
A word released the charm holding her hair in its severe bun, and she caught it as it uncoiled down her back, pulling the damp tresses over her left shoulder to begin a rhythmic brushing. Minerva relaxed into the long, even strokes. As a cat she relished the time spent in grooming and cleaning her coat, trimming her claws, smoothing ears and tail to perfection, and she was no less meticulous in her human form.
Satisfied at last, and suddenly impatient to see exactly what her gift might offer, she set down her brush, paused briefly to spray her favourite perfume behind her ears and into her cleavage, and then rose and crossed to the bed.
A spell opened the hangings, threw the covers to one side and rearranged the pillows against the bedhead to allow her to sit semi-recumbent with a full length view of the portrait hung on the opposite wall. She made herself comfortable, passed a tongue over suddenly dry lips, and spoke the words that had been written on the card.
"Well, Slytherin Guys
, do your worst."
In the portrait both men smiled. Lucius dropped his arm from Snape's shoulder and they half-turned to face each other. A familiar predatory smile quirked Lucius's thin lips before they descended to claim Severus's mouth.
In response Severus tilted his head to one side and opened his mouth, an invitation to possession which Lucius accepted with a force that set Severus's eyes wide with surprise and delight.
The world within the room focussed on that kiss. Minerva's own mouth fell open, her tongue curling in response to the sight of Lucius pressing his against Severus's. He might have heard her gasp of response, for he withdrew slightly to run the tip over his partner's lower lip before taking it between his teeth and tugging gently.
Severus's groan was echoed by Minerva, and her hand gripped the silk of her gown as his plunged into the silk of Lucius's hair.
Severus's other hand was working on the fastenings of Lucius's robe. The four silver hooks slipped free under his ministrations, as did the strings securing the fine cotton undershirt. One of them, she could not tell who, broke the kiss for a moment, allowing Lucius to step back and shake himself, almost like a hound emerging from a lake, so that robe and shirt slipped to the floor. Both watchers paused to admire the view.
Minerva shivered. She had always suspected that Lucius Malfoy was enough of a traditionalist to eschew undergarments and wondered briefly whether she would be able to sit across the table from him in Governors meetings knowing that beneath the layer of robe and shirt was a body that bore mute testament to long summer days spent in the Mediterranean luxury of the Malfoys' private villa at Cap d'Agde. Such an even, all-over tan and white, sun-bleached hair was not achieved by two weeks at Clacton.
It was not only the tan that was perfect. There had been times, during those long ago dancing lessons, when she had been sorely tempted to drop her hand just a little lower than propriety or the dance demanded to cop a feel of the eighteen-year-old Lucius Malfoy's tempting arse. Watching the play of candlelight over the now-revealed flesh she regretted not having given in to temptation.
Severus had no such restraint. His open palm reached out in a caress that was both possessive and sensuous. Lucius smiled at the contact and busied his own fingers with the buttons and fastenings of Severus's clothing.
Never allowing her eyes to stray from the picture, Minerva divested herself of her own robe, bunching the silk in her fingers to rub it against her own thigh, and drag the fabric across the sensitive nub of her sex.
Lucius did not hurry over his task, pausing from time to time to bestow a caress or another kiss, or to accept reciprocal touches. Watching, missing nothing of his hedonistic delight, or his growing arousal, Minerva passed her own tongue over her lips in appreciation and pushed aside her robe, revelling in the flex and play of the musculature of Lucius's back and shoulders while his fingers worked their way down the buttons of Severus's robe, waist-coat, shirt and, finally, his trousers.
She had been mirroring Lucius's actions, running her own hand along her collarbones, down between her breasts, circling them before continuing to span her waist and stroke over the curve of her belly and into the thatch of her pubic hair. She arched into the touch just as Severus's cock, freed at last from its confines, arched into Lucius's hand.
The sound he made was as wanton and sensual as her own.
When she had recovered from that first orgasm and was able to return her attention to the picture, both men were wholly naked and locked in an embrace. Sexually satisfied for the moment, she now satisfied her artistic curiosity.
She had always thought of Snape as being an awkward, shy boy, forgetting that he had played Chaser for two terms during which Slytherin had secured its longest unbroken run of victories in the House Cup before giving up his place on the team in order to concentrate on his academic studies. And that he was acknowledged as one of the most accomplished duellists in Britain - a title that does not go to any wizard who is not fast on his feet and supremely fit. There was nothing awkward or shy about the body now pressed against Lucius's, or about the look that he gave their watcher before reaching behind him to seize a tasselled cord at the edge of the picture which, unsurprisingly, given the activity taking place in front of it, she had not previously noticed.
Now in the throes of arousal, Severus pulled the rope with all the urgency with which Lucius's fingers were pulling on his cock. Behind them the luxurious brocade curtains parted to reveal a large bed covered in Slytherin green silk, onto which the two men fell, still locked in their embrace.
Minerva's groan echoed Severus's. Her hips canted off her bed even as his were forced down onto theirs. Her fingers were wet now, her cunt warm and ready. She slipped in two fingers, reaching for orgasm with every fibre of her being. In the portrait, Lucius leaned over the man sprawled on the bed, placed a hand on each side of the pale body, and bent to bury his nose in the other man's groin.
Minerva closed her teeth over her lower lip to prevent her vocal response. She felt warmth coiling in her guts and briefly considered changing to her animagus form, because there were times when having the ability to lick your own genitals was deeply satisfying in so many ways. Something of the thought must have communicated itself to the painting for at that moment Lucius drew back, shook the hair out of his eyes, gave her a knowing look, and returned to run his tongue over Severus's balls and up the length of his penis to lap, cat-like, at the glistening glans.
That sent her over the edge, pulsing around her fingers, thigh-muscles tense and straining as she came.
When she returned to herself, breath still coming short in reaction, the men had shifted position again. Lucius was prone on the bed now, Severus straddling him with an expression of satisfaction that she associated more with the successful completion of a difficult potions recipe than a successful blow job.
She watched him slide a long forefinger into the dark flushed pucker between Lucius's pale buttocks. Her own finger replicated the action, sliding over her clit and working the hood over the moist flesh before plunging again between her folds, feeling, as Severus was, for that delicious spot that would send a ripple of delight from womb to stomach to chest and force a gasp of response from her lips. In the portrait Lucius threw back his head and opened his mouth on the same breathless scream.
Severus smiled. This was the moment where, in life, the pair would have paused to busy themselves with condoms and lubricant and the minutiae of preparation; but the joy of painted erotica was that no such distraction was necessary. He leaned forward, sliding up, over and into his partner smooth as a snake. Minerva tasted the blood on her lip, sharp as steel. She was desperate to reach across to find one of her toys. Fingers were not enough for this. She needed… needed…
And it was too late. Lucius's long legs came up to wrap around his partner and drive him to completion. The action sent Severus over the edge just as the sight pushed Minerva to her most satisfying orgasm yet. She had almost forgotten that there could be so much pleasure in an act.
When she came down, when she recovered enough to again look at the painting through the frame of her raised knees, Severus was lying, utterly spent, sprawled across his partner, his head turned away and black hair spilled over Lucius's cradling fingers. Lucius himself looked thoroughly satisfied and uncharacteristically tender. He looked up then, aware of their watcher, gave her a sly wink, and spoke a word.
The curtains swung closed.
Minerva could not resist her own smile. How like a Slytherin to tease with the promise of a long night of unbridled passion, and then to withhold. Well, she had evidence and experience enough to imagine what was going on behind that curtain. She allowed the lazy fantasy to bring her to a final climax. Later she would consider how to word her thank you note.