Kristmas Wish Fulfilled for: songquake
From: dexstarr

Title: Minerva McGongall: Hypnotic Healer
Characters/Pairings: Minerva McGonagall/Rosmerta
Rating: NC-17
Kinks/Themes Included: Hypnosis
Other Warnings/Content: Femslash, dominance, submission, second-person POV.
Word Count: 2,100
Summary/Description: Imperius was a horrifying loss of power, but when Rosmerta hears of Muggle hypnosis, she's very intrigued.
Author's Notes: I hope you enjoy!



You hate how you feel.

During the day, you're fine. It's business as usual at the Three Broomsticks. Life going on day by day as if there never were a war. You like being busy. Busy hands keep the thoughts away.

But at night, the memories come.

You don't remember much from your time under the Imperius—thank Merlin for small favors—but what you do remember is horrifying. The sick smirk on Draco Malfoy's face when the curse worked. The sick feeling in your stomach as all your attempts at resistance failed. Acting like a ghost, haunting your own bathroom until you could slip Katie Bell the cursed necklace. Crying as you packaged mead for Slughorn; too bad the tears made the poison even more potent.

Most of the time, you don't think about it. You locked away the floaty, imprecise memories, just as you do with everything that hurts. You spend your time working every bit of the pub, from mixing drinks to mopping the floors. Anything to keep busy.

But at night, in the moments before sleep, you remember. Sometimes it's like watching a Muggle movie in your head, and sometimes there are just bits, such as Malfoy's voice or the flick of his wand. You can't decide which is worse.

You wish you could spend every night with Minerva. Because when Minerva's in your bed—in your arms—she's all you can think about. But Minerva has her own life, adjusting to being headmistress, and you have yours, taking care of the lost, the happy, and everyone in between. You've always preferred it that way; you're both independent women, coming together because of want, not need.

But sometimes you can't help feeling needy, just like you can't help the memories.

*     *      *

Every week, like clockwork, Poppy sends you a medical journal or paper. Last Yule, she offered to get you a subscription of your own, but you turned down her offer. You explained you like seeing her notes in the margins. Something for the two of you to talk about during weekly tea in her office.

When you were younger, you wanted to be a healer. But then Da died, and you gave up your dreams to help your mum in the pub. Probably the best decision; you like being in control. It's much easier to toss someone out of a bar than a hospital. And many patrons use you as a therapist, so in some ways it's the best of both worlds.

Poppy knows some of how you feel, of the nightmares that plague you. When they get especially bad—round the time you were cursed—you ask her for a few potions of Dreamless Sleep. Sometimes she highlights passages on curse damage, light blue arrows drawing your attention to supposed cures.

None of the "cures" have ever interested you. This is something you want to beat on your own.

But this week, Poppy's switched tactics. Instead of the usual parchment, there's a glossy magazine tied to her owl's leg. A Muggle one for ladies, if the pink and purple cover blurbs are anything to go by. It makes you laugh, and you even flip through the pages. Gathering material to tease Poppy with, you tell yourself, but then an advertisement jumps out, and you stop.

DO YOU NEED PEACE IN YOUR LIFE?

TRY HARRY'S HYPNOSIS. I'LL HELP YOU FIND TRANQUILITY, LEARN A NEW SKILL, CONQUER A PHOBIA, GET OVER STRESS, OR BOOST YOUR CONFIDENCE.

One of Poppy's blue lines circles the ad, and she's drawn a familiar pair of spectacles above it. Ask her.

The nerve!

*     *      *

A week later, you shove the ad in Minerva's face. Poppy knew exactly what she was doing; you haven't been able to stop thinking about it. Haven't stopped imagining Minerva putting you under, guiding you. Telling you what to do in that no-nonsense tone of hers.

Hopefully while the two of you are in bed.

"Can we? Try it? I think it will help. I want to, but only if you do, too." You fumble over your words in a way you haven't in years. Not since the first time you asked Minerva to come back to your rooms.

Minerva studies the page, fingers gracefully tapping the ripped edges. A line creases her forehead as her eyes narrow in an expression her students would interpret as anger. It makes hope leap in your chest, because you know better: that fine line means she's considering it.

"Yes." She holds up a hand, and you swallow the urge to leap across the table and snog her. "But I'm going to use a spell to hypnotize you. We'll only try this if you promise to say 'stop' if you get uncomfortable. I don't want to push you the wrong way by accident."

"I promise," you say breathlessly. All the fantasies that have danced in your head for a week spring to the forefront of your mind, and already you're picturing Minerva starting with a command to strip. She's always enjoyed watching that, and you know just how to put on a show. "We'll do it however you want."

Because that's what you really want: Minerva to take over, to erase every horrible memory that's locked in your brain. Until there's nothing left of the Imperius and its pain.

With a snap of her wrist, Minerva moves the table out of the way. The movement's so smooth the glasses on top don’t clink, and the ease of the spell makes your confidence surge. Poppy's suggestion was brilliant. Minerva leans back in her chair and pats her lap. "Come here. Let's do this right."

Draping yourself over Minerva, you grip the top of her chair to keep your balance. This close to your lover, it's hard to concentrate, but you manage. You look into her dark eyes, the intensity of her gaze warming your body. Your focus on Minerva is so intense that you don't hear what she says, and then you're falling—

*     *      *

"Look at me, Rosmerta."

Minerva's voice slices into your thoughts, pulling you out of a haze. A pleasant haze, for a change. Opening your eyes, you're surprised to find Minerva's nose centimeters from yours.

She seems pleased by your surprise. "Remember, if you feel uncomfortable, you're to say 'stop,' and I'll stop." You nod, but you already know there's no way you'll say stop. "Good. We're going to try something I've always wanted to do." Pushing at your shoulders, she says, "Stand up. Strip for me."

You unfasten the clasps on your robes as you stand, backing away a bit so she'll have a good view. The velvet slithers to the floor, pooling around your black, sequined shoes. Your blouse and skirt follow, showing off ruby red lingerie.

Minerva laughs when she sees the color of your bra and knickers. "It looks like you planned ahead, Rosmerta. Always the minx." Her eyes sweep your body, leering from head to toe. The heat and hunger you see on her face makes you hungry, too, and you lean towards her. "So gorgeous, and all mine."

You preen under her attention, but you're eager for more. Your entire focus is on Minerva, on waiting for her next command.

"Take your bra off." The lacy bra barely lands on the floor before Minerva has another order. "Touch your breasts. Like I would do it. Make your nipples hard for me."

You cup your breasts, the weight heavy and warm on your palms. Minerva likes to do this, hands gently squeezing as you ride her thigh. Doing just as she would, you squeeze, nails lightly digging in, making crescent marks on your skin. Already stiff nipples poke through your fingers, but you tug and pinch, making them so hard your knickers flood with need. A keening sound fills the room, and it takes you a moment to realize you're making it. Playing with your own breasts has never worked you up before, and in the tiny, aware part of your mind, you know it's because Minerva's directing you. Controlling you, using you for her pleasure.

Standing in front of your lover, you keep touching your breasts, hands moving up and down your chest. Showing off for Minerva. Displaying yourself at her request.

Minerva's cheeks turn pink, and when she speaks again, her voice is husky. "How do you feel, Rosmerta?"

"Good. Great. Wet." Your fingers are still working your nipples even though they ache, pulsing with need. Minerva hasn't told you to stop.

Her laugh this time is shaky. But when she talks, she's firm. In control. If it weren't for the flushed face, she could be standing in front of a class, lecturing them on proper Transfiguration technique. The thought makes you moan.

"Show me." Your knickers vanish. Minerva grins. "Come closer."

You do, stopping in front of her with your legs spread. Arousal clings to you, hot and wet on your inner thighs and cunt. You're so needy you can smell yourself, musk and caramel. Minerva sucks in a deep breath, and then swipes a finger along your slit. Body swaying towards her, you whimper, wanting more.

The arousal-wet finger in her mouth becomes your whole world. Her cheeks hollow as she sucks, a soft pop sounding when that finger emerges from her mouth. You want to beg, but she hasn't said you can, so you stand there and look at her, lost in a fog of pleasure and fire. You can't remember feeling this good. Ever.

Minerva touches you again, fingers feather light where you want them to be hard and fast. Hips twitching, you rock your pelvis against her hand. The movement is entirely involuntarily, need taking over your body. She groans, looking up at you with lust-dark eyes. "Fuck yourself. Come on my hand. I want to see you come hard, Rosmerta."

"Yessss, Minerva," you hiss, biting your lip in concentration as you find the right angle. Bending your knees is all it takes, and then you're a flurry of action. Hips thrusting, rubbing your clitoris on Minerva's fingers, hands still roaming your breasts and nipples. Everything feels connected, and all you can think about is the orgasm roaring inside you, spurred on by the surety of Minerva's control over you, the depth of your surrender. Fucking yourself while she watches is somehow incredibly intimate, and new memories lock into place every second.

Catching onto your rhythm, Minerva presses with the heel of her hand every time your clit hits it. The pressure is perfect, and soon you're humping her hand, riding it like you ride her thigh. A scream bursts from your mouth when all the sensations roll together in a long, long wave of heat and release. For a second you go still, held in place by the fierceness of your climax. And then you move again, steadily pushing against Minerva's hand, drawing your orgasm out for as long as possible.

*     *      *

When full awareness returns, you find yourself still standing over Minerva's hand. You back away, but only because you're so sensitive it hurts now, not because you're ashamed. There's no way you could be ashamed of what you just did.

Minerva snaps the fingers of her free hand, cleaning both of you. You almost wish she would have licked her hand clean, but then, if she had, you might have combusted on the spot. "That was … I … Morgana." She tucks strands of hair that have escaped her bun behind her ears. "You're amazing," she says finally.

It's not easy to make Minerva McGonagall lose her words. Reaching for her, you pull her up and kiss her. The slight taste of yourself on her mouth is enough to make your heart speed up, but you ignore it. "So are you," you say, smiling. "I feel good, Minerva. Thank you."

She hugs you tight. "The bad memories are starting to go away?"

"Some of them." You tap your head. "But I think we'll need to do that a couple hundred times to erase all of them."

"You're incorrigible, Rosmerta." Minerva aims a smack at your arse, and you duck out of the way with a laugh. "Good thing I love that."

You nod. "Good thing. But I bet that's not all you love." Thrusting a hand between her legs, you can feel heat even through her layers of clothing. "Let's take care of that, shall we?"

Pushing and pulling each other to the bed, you tumble on top of her, more than ready to make more good memories to replace the horrible ones locked away. Soon you won't have anything to forget, and you can't wait for that moment.