Follies of Youth

As a young woman Minerva McGonagall’s mind had been quick as lightening and sharp as a blade.  Lately she was frustrated at how slowly it moved.  As a young woman her face had been smooth and fair, in those days she had been able to take for granted health, strength and the shapeliness of her body.  And yet she considered age a blessing.  Bright and lovely as she had been in her flower she had been unwise.  She had made mistakes as the young so often do.  Mistakes of grave consequence. 

Tom was her mistake.  Tom Riddle who became Voldemort, the Dark Lord. 

How handsome he had been.  The dark wave of his hair rich against his pale face, his lips ripe red as a girl’s, his eyes dark yet flashing red, like garnets.  As a young teacher, scarcely older than her students, she wore long grey skirts to lend her an air of dignity.  As if she knew what that was then.  She would sneak her lover to her quarters and he would lift those skirts whispering “pussy cat, pussy cat where have you been.”  She would laugh and meow as he stoked the triangle of fur between her thighs.  First with finger then with tongue, he would stroke her slit, draw out juices and moans until she was begging for him inside her, begging for his cock.

His cock.  How magnificent it had been, long, thick and full of life.  Hard and tender all at once.  He called it his serpent, called the milky fluid that leaked from it venom.  He might have called it Gertrude for all Minerva cared.  Climbing on top of him, on top of his cock she would ride him.  Her prim schoolmarm’s bun would come undone, her ink black hair flow down her back in a crooked tail.  Riding him she would forget past and future, nothing mattered except her body and the pleasure he gave her.

She had known what he was, even then.  That he was twisted, cruel and ambitious, that he would only grow more dangerous with time.  She had known but she had chosen to ignore the truth because he was beautiful, because when he looked at her, touched her, she was beautiful too.  He was hateful, so full of hate but he made her come in crescendos like flame dancing. 

She knew better now.   She had put aside the mistakes of her youth.  Yet she hoped she would never be tested, that he would never come to her again with his eyes, his lips, his tongue, his cock.  She was older now and wiser but there are some things that cannot be forgotten.