Chapter 3

By the end of the evening, Minerva was exhausted and irritable. Not only had her plan to get some of her own back from her husband...or at least make him notice her...failed spectacularly, but she had endured numerous dances with metaphorically slobbering colleagues, had her feet trodden upon by a half-giant, and had her arse fondled by a cocky teenaged boy.

All in all, not a wonderful night, she sighed to herself. Might as well pack it in.

The ball was winding down in any case, with only a few intrepid couples swaying rapturously under the fading enchanted starlight. Minerva wandered over to where Rolanda and Pomona were surreptitiously checking the time.

"I'm going to bed," she said. "There's no sign of Albus, and I'm exhausted. I'm afraid this dress was a waste of Galleons."

"I don't know about that," said Pomona. "Looked to me like you were the belle of the ball. Even Rolanda here couldn't get a dance to save her life," she said, gesturing to the younger witch.

"Only because you don't know how to waltz properly," quipped Madam Hooch.

Minerva smiled at her dear friends' banter and said, "I'll do one more set of rounds before bed...try to roust the young lovers out of the corners before I head in. Are you certain you don't need my help tidying up?"

"No, go on, lovey," said Pomona. "You've had a busy night," she added with a sympathetic smile. "The house-elves'll get most of it anyway, then we'll head back too."

They exchanged goodnights. Minerva retrieved her tartan cloak from a sleepy house-elf and set off down the corridor to have a last check on the ground-floor classrooms before heading to Gryffindor Tower.

When she had reached the end of the classrooms corridor and was about to venture out into the cold December night, she heard a sound like breaking glass coming from the caretaker's office, followed by a low "Damn!" that was definitely not Argus Filch's voice.

When she had opened the door with a whispered "Alohomora", she was greeted by the sight of Sirius Black frantically waving his wand, trying to fix an ugly, cat-shaped ceramic lamp that lay in three pieces on the floor of the office beside the desk. He jumped up when he heard the door open.

"Mr Black," she said with irritation. "Why am I unsurprised to see you? You are aware, of course, that this corridor, and most especially this office, are out-of-bounds after five o'clock?" she asked the guilty-looking boy. She took her wand from its pocket and quickly repaired the fallen lamp, which placed itself back on the desk.

"Yes, P'fessor. Sorry, P'fessor," he said, sounding not a bit of it. In fact, he sounded a bit drunk.

"Mr Black, I believe that has to be the most frequently used word in your vocabulary. Now, are you going to tell me exactly what you are doing in Mr Filch's office at . . ." She glanced at the clock on the wall. " . . .five minutes to midnight?"

"Jus' looking for somethin' that belongs to me," Sirius said evasively, swaying slightly on his feet.

"Have you by any chance been drinking, Mr Black?" she asked, still annoyed, but also slightly amused. The students always thought they could hide it, and they were always wrong.

"Professor, no, Miss!" he answered in feigned horror.

She hoped he wasn't going to vomit on the way back to Gryffindor Tower. It had happened on more than one occasion over the years, and she remembered an especially unpleasant incident when a third-year Hufflepuff had managed to baptise both Poppy Pomfrey and her with the remainder of a Halloween dinner before they could get the girl to her bed in the infirmary to sleep it off. She didn't think Black would need the infirmary; this was almost certainly not his first experience with too much Firewhisky.

Sirius stood looking at his Transfiguration professor through slightly blurry eyes. He was thinking about James and his little stunt with McGonagall on the dance floor, and about all the boasting his friend was going to do about it. And about the way she looked in that dress. Then he got a wonderful idea.

"Come along, Mr Black. I'll just deliver you to Professor Lem..." Minerva was cut off mid-sentence when the young man lunged at her.

Sirius had intended to kiss her but missed his target, managing only to plaster his lips to the corner of her mouth and smear a short, coral slash of lipstick across her cheek. He was off balance, and she had to put her hands on his shoulders to steady him, or both of them would have tumbled to the floor. He grinned sheepishly when she straightened him up, telling him sharply, "That will be quite enough of that, Mr Black."

She was shocked at his actions but not especially concerned about her safety. As troublesome as Sirius Black was, he was unlikely to harm her; moreover, she had her wand in her cloak pocket, and he was definitely no match for her in a duel, even stone sober. She realised she had dropped the cloak when she had moved to steady him, and was about to pick it up when she saw his eyes suddenly gain focus and grow wide.

Minerva turned to see the tall figure of Albus Dumbledore standing in the open doorway. His face had thunder in it.

"Sirius Black," said the Headmaster, his voice low, but very dangerous. "It is now five minutes past curfew. Go to your dormitory. Now."

Sirius didn't need a second invitation. He shot out of the caretaker's office, suddenly soberer than he had ever felt in his life.

Dumbledore stood looking at his wife without speaking. For the first time that night, Minerva saw him move his eyes from her face down her body. She was shivering, but she wasn't sure if it was due to the draft that had followed her into the room when she opened the door, or to something else. She saw fury in his sea-blue eyes, and how it made them cold and hard-looking. She began to feel a whisper of fear, mixed with something different that made her feel slightly ashamed. She wondered suddenly if he thought she had welcomed the boy's kiss...then she heard the door slam shut.

He was at her in two paces. He grabbed the front of her gown at the neckline and tore it down the middle to her waist. Taking her roughly by the upper arms, he pulled her to him and fastened his mouth on her neck where it met her shoulder. He sucked hard at the spot, then bit her briefly and sharply. She wondered if he had drawn blood.

She said nothing, even when he moved his hands to her breasts, kneading them bruisingly with his strong fingers. She didn't speak, even when he gathered the skirt of her dress up above her hips, then lifted her, dropping her hard to sit at the edge of the caretaker's desk. She was silent, even when he unfastened his robes and opened his shorts, then pushed her knees apart and thrust into her roughly. As he took her so hard that she later found bruises on her inner thighs, she made no sound.

After a minute, he put his arms around her back and lifted her off the desk. Still buried inside her, he sank to his knees with a sickening crack and let her crash back on the floor, falling on top of her. He moved his hands to her wrists and held them above her head, pinning her arms to the floor. She had just a moment to wonder if he would stop if she asked him to, before he was fucking her again, pounding her painfully into the cold wood.

She came before he did, when he bent to graze his teeth roughly across her left nipple. A minute later, she felt him buck and spasm inside her. They lay on the floor, Minerva still pinned under him, for several minutes. Then he rolled off her and got slowly to his feet. He looked down at his wife lying on the floor with her dress torn and her most secret parts exposed. The fury in his eyes was extinguished, replaced with tenderness and wonder. He leant down, offering her his hand, and helped her to her feet. He used his wand to repair her dress insofar as it was possible; it was clearly ruined for all time. He picked up her cloak and draped it gently around her shoulders, fastening the hook in the front. Releasing the door, he took her hand and led her back to his private quarters.

If someone had come looking for the Deputy Headmistress that night, they would have been surprised to find her rooms empty. She was with her husband, in the bed they had shared for an entire night only a few dozen times and never when the students were in residence. He touched her gently then, soothing with his hands and his mouth all the places he had made sore.