The Taking of Tea
folder
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
15
Views:
2,914
Reviews:
11
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Harry Potter › Het - Male/Female
Rating:
Adult ++
Chapters:
15
Views:
2,914
Reviews:
11
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
The Taking of Tea
THE TAKING OF TEA
Hello, and welcome to my first Harry Potter fanfic!
Some things you should know before reading:
Spoilers for book six within.
While I’ve tried to keep the characters as true as possible, I’m obviously creating my own plot, so there are some elements in this story that depart significantly from canon. Because I find corrupting minors rather icky, Hermione’s an adult in this story. She does not have chocolate orbs, and she will at no time melt.
My apologies, but I’ve fiddled with the timeline of book six for plot purposes; Snape murders Dumbledore at the end of the Trio’s seventh year.
As with every other member of this community, I would very much appreciate feedback, and will return it in kind.
This story isn’t suitable for underage readers.
This story contains descriptions of rape, though they are not graphic.
Know what? What I’m doing is copyright infringement, and even though I could insert a good faith disclaimer here, it won’t do me a damn bit of good if JKR decides to sue me. Bummer.
CHAPTER ONE: WHAT QUARTER OF THE WORLD
Those who sharpen the tooth of the dog, meaning
Death
Those who glitter with glory of the humming-bird, meaning
Death
Those who sit in the stye of contentment, meaning
Death
Those who suffer the ecstasy of animals, meaning
Death
“She’ll draw him out. His idiotic sense of chivalry will force him to come to me on my terms.”
“Undoubtedly, my lord, but the wards of Hogwarts are extraordinarily powerful. To snatch her from that fortress would be nearly impossible.”
Lucius flew back with a quick movement from Voldemort’s wand, landing on the hard earth.
“She does leave the castle from time to time, doesn’t she? Take her then.”
“Of course, my lord.”
…the properties of which indicate the temporary nature of its solution. Once the potion has been flushed from the imbiber’s system, which occurs within three to five days of consumption…
Hermione shut the thick book with a resounding “whump,” eliciting an irritated meow from Crookshanks, who disliked being woken from his nap.
With Snape gone and her education finished, Hermione had taken over the position of potions mistress at Hogwarts. Taken over didn’t seemed accurate—placed in the position of potions mistress was more like it. Following his betrayal and subsequent disappearance, Hermione had been groomed for Snape’s position at Hogwarts. She had always been interested in potions, and the encouragement and attention she’d received from Dumbledore had pushed her easily in this direction. Since she wasn’t busied by the bothersome task of concocting potions for the Dark Lord, Hermione had devoted her free time to finding a more permanent solution for Remus Lupin.
A crush was a terrible thing for a woman to suffer. Unrequited love did, she supposed, have the advantage of being everlasting, but having to interact with said love on a near daily basis was some terrible kind of slow-acting poison. With Voldemort steadily gaining power, an ally was an ally, and Remus had been convinced to return to his former position as Professor of defense against the dark arts. Although far from the traditional heartthrob in appearance, Remus exuded tragedy, and a large portion of the female student body was more than ready to play his savior.
To her chagrin, Hermione had also fallen prey to the Ophelia complex. She didn’t harbor fantasies of soothing his soul, exactly, but somehow her friendly compassion had turned into something much less platonic. But this potions project was not an attempt to get closer to Remus, really it wasn’t. It was borne from a genuine desire to help him, and to help the order in so doing. That, and it kept her navel-gazing to a minimum. Which, as thirty loomed ever closer on the horizon, was of paramount importance.
It seemed petty in the scheme of things, she supposed, but the more minor tribulations maintained themselves even in times of crisis. A large part of Hermione’s troubles stemmed, she suspected, from the rather new sensation of jealousy. She had always been in the front row: a member of the golden trio, the “brightest witch of her age,” on the arm of the beloved Viktor Krum. At magical university it was more of the same; tensions in the wizarding world were high, emotions were amplified, and the brilliant Hermione Granger was firmly within the whirlwind of activity. And now, Harry and Ron were Aurors, unraveling mysteries, fighting death eaters, and committing other acts of dashing heroism. And Hermione was teaching hormonal coeds how to brew pepper-up potion. When she refrained from her personal requiem, which was most of the time, Hermione could recognize that she had little room to complain—she liked teaching—the witches and wizards she admired most had been those who’d instructed her at Hogwarts. She had her friends, and her family, and she was not a lyncanthrope or at the top of the Dark Lord’s agenda. But she was devastatingly lonely.
***
As was Remus Lupin, although he’d managed to find a stopgap solution.
“Remus.” Maeve smiled warmly as she opened the door, knowing he’d be right on time. “Come in.”
He did, leaving a small satchel, heavy with coin, on a small table designed for just that purpose.
There were no mirrored ceilings or plush velvet—the house was decorated in the simple and austere tastes of one who kept expensive company. In the study, tall bookshelves were interrupted by a dark leather sofa, along with two matching chairs and a glowing fireplace. Wearing a tasteful silk shift, Maeve sunk bare feet into the Persian rug as she moved to a small bar.
“Whiskey?”
“Please.”
She poured him a generous glass while he settled on the edge of the sofa, and she sat before him, reaching up for the buttons of his black shirt.
“You’re looking very weary, Remus.” She told him, quickly moving on to his trousers. “Why don’t you just lie back?”
He did, and soon the intense heat of her mouth was around his ready cock. He clutched the supple leather of the sofa until he became impatient, and pulled her roughly by the hair, thick and blue-black. She smiled, amused, and slipped out of her nightdress, revealing high breasts and slim hips above impossibly long legs. She climbed onto his lap and trapped him in a heat even more intense. Without the distraction of her own need, which she had long ago learned to put aside, Maeve moved her body in the way she knew Remus liked best, brining him quickly to a powerful orgasm. He shuddered and rested his sleek head against her shoulder, waiting for his breath to steady. When it did, she climbed off, pulling her shift back on and retrieving her wand to fix the mess of his fallen glass. She poured a drink of her own and settled into a chair, sensing that his visit wasn’t over.
“What’s on your mind, Remus?” She finally asked when it became clear that he wouldn’t speak first.
A deep breath brought him the smell of whiskey, the rich cherry wood of the fire, and beneath the musk of sex, Maeve. She was ambergris and jasmine, along with rich notes of cedar. Nothing of the floral synthetics and sweet vanilla that the girls of Hogwarts had made him accustomed to—here was the tang of rare blooms and rich spices, heady and complex. Smell brought him to Maeve as much as anything else; the smells of Hogwarts were boys heavy with cologne, the belches from the great hall dinner tables, the powerful ammonia of the owlry. The fearful sweat of those who knew what he was.
“Nothing’s troubling me, Maeve,” Remus finally replied. “Nothing new, at least.”
Maeve knew that he was a werewolf—the woman had perception to rival Dumbledore, though she doubtlessly found her information through rather different sources. Still, she said nothing, and never gave him even an inkling that she was bothered by his condition. She was successful enough, and beautiful enough, to refuse clients if she wished, and Remus took this as evidence that not all hope was lost with respect to the fairer sex.
“Maeve, do you enjoy my company?”
“Of course I do,” she purred. “You’re an excellent conversationalist and a wonderful lover.”
“Of course.” He chuffed.
“You’re wondering if I’m bothered by your lycanthropy.”
“Yes.”
“Not at all.” She assured him, “ugliness comes in many forms—the worst of it beneath the surface, in my experience.”
“I think yours may be a rather singular perspective.”
“Among some women, yes. But not all, Remus.”
Tomorrow was Saturday, and Remus wished that he could stay here, sleeping beside Maeve and waking late in the morning. He didn’t have any great infatuation with Maeve in particular, but he sorely missed the comfort of a body beside him. Maeve was only a temporary solution, and one that left him feeling very, very empty at its end. Maeve rose from her chair, a subtle sign that their time was up.
“Well then.” Remus said, rising from his chair and moving to the door. To his surprise, she took his face between his hands before he left, giving him a warm smile, heavy with sympathy.
“Good night, Remus.”
“Good night.” And he made the lonely trip back to Hogwarts.
A/N: The verse that opens this chapter is taken from T.S. Eliot’s Marina. Reviews will incite me to write faster and fill me with glee…
Hello, and welcome to my first Harry Potter fanfic!
Some things you should know before reading:
Spoilers for book six within.
While I’ve tried to keep the characters as true as possible, I’m obviously creating my own plot, so there are some elements in this story that depart significantly from canon. Because I find corrupting minors rather icky, Hermione’s an adult in this story. She does not have chocolate orbs, and she will at no time melt.
My apologies, but I’ve fiddled with the timeline of book six for plot purposes; Snape murders Dumbledore at the end of the Trio’s seventh year.
As with every other member of this community, I would very much appreciate feedback, and will return it in kind.
This story isn’t suitable for underage readers.
This story contains descriptions of rape, though they are not graphic.
Know what? What I’m doing is copyright infringement, and even though I could insert a good faith disclaimer here, it won’t do me a damn bit of good if JKR decides to sue me. Bummer.
CHAPTER ONE: WHAT QUARTER OF THE WORLD
Those who sharpen the tooth of the dog, meaning
Death
Those who glitter with glory of the humming-bird, meaning
Death
Those who sit in the stye of contentment, meaning
Death
Those who suffer the ecstasy of animals, meaning
Death
“She’ll draw him out. His idiotic sense of chivalry will force him to come to me on my terms.”
“Undoubtedly, my lord, but the wards of Hogwarts are extraordinarily powerful. To snatch her from that fortress would be nearly impossible.”
Lucius flew back with a quick movement from Voldemort’s wand, landing on the hard earth.
“She does leave the castle from time to time, doesn’t she? Take her then.”
“Of course, my lord.”
…the properties of which indicate the temporary nature of its solution. Once the potion has been flushed from the imbiber’s system, which occurs within three to five days of consumption…
Hermione shut the thick book with a resounding “whump,” eliciting an irritated meow from Crookshanks, who disliked being woken from his nap.
With Snape gone and her education finished, Hermione had taken over the position of potions mistress at Hogwarts. Taken over didn’t seemed accurate—placed in the position of potions mistress was more like it. Following his betrayal and subsequent disappearance, Hermione had been groomed for Snape’s position at Hogwarts. She had always been interested in potions, and the encouragement and attention she’d received from Dumbledore had pushed her easily in this direction. Since she wasn’t busied by the bothersome task of concocting potions for the Dark Lord, Hermione had devoted her free time to finding a more permanent solution for Remus Lupin.
A crush was a terrible thing for a woman to suffer. Unrequited love did, she supposed, have the advantage of being everlasting, but having to interact with said love on a near daily basis was some terrible kind of slow-acting poison. With Voldemort steadily gaining power, an ally was an ally, and Remus had been convinced to return to his former position as Professor of defense against the dark arts. Although far from the traditional heartthrob in appearance, Remus exuded tragedy, and a large portion of the female student body was more than ready to play his savior.
To her chagrin, Hermione had also fallen prey to the Ophelia complex. She didn’t harbor fantasies of soothing his soul, exactly, but somehow her friendly compassion had turned into something much less platonic. But this potions project was not an attempt to get closer to Remus, really it wasn’t. It was borne from a genuine desire to help him, and to help the order in so doing. That, and it kept her navel-gazing to a minimum. Which, as thirty loomed ever closer on the horizon, was of paramount importance.
It seemed petty in the scheme of things, she supposed, but the more minor tribulations maintained themselves even in times of crisis. A large part of Hermione’s troubles stemmed, she suspected, from the rather new sensation of jealousy. She had always been in the front row: a member of the golden trio, the “brightest witch of her age,” on the arm of the beloved Viktor Krum. At magical university it was more of the same; tensions in the wizarding world were high, emotions were amplified, and the brilliant Hermione Granger was firmly within the whirlwind of activity. And now, Harry and Ron were Aurors, unraveling mysteries, fighting death eaters, and committing other acts of dashing heroism. And Hermione was teaching hormonal coeds how to brew pepper-up potion. When she refrained from her personal requiem, which was most of the time, Hermione could recognize that she had little room to complain—she liked teaching—the witches and wizards she admired most had been those who’d instructed her at Hogwarts. She had her friends, and her family, and she was not a lyncanthrope or at the top of the Dark Lord’s agenda. But she was devastatingly lonely.
***
As was Remus Lupin, although he’d managed to find a stopgap solution.
“Remus.” Maeve smiled warmly as she opened the door, knowing he’d be right on time. “Come in.”
He did, leaving a small satchel, heavy with coin, on a small table designed for just that purpose.
There were no mirrored ceilings or plush velvet—the house was decorated in the simple and austere tastes of one who kept expensive company. In the study, tall bookshelves were interrupted by a dark leather sofa, along with two matching chairs and a glowing fireplace. Wearing a tasteful silk shift, Maeve sunk bare feet into the Persian rug as she moved to a small bar.
“Whiskey?”
“Please.”
She poured him a generous glass while he settled on the edge of the sofa, and she sat before him, reaching up for the buttons of his black shirt.
“You’re looking very weary, Remus.” She told him, quickly moving on to his trousers. “Why don’t you just lie back?”
He did, and soon the intense heat of her mouth was around his ready cock. He clutched the supple leather of the sofa until he became impatient, and pulled her roughly by the hair, thick and blue-black. She smiled, amused, and slipped out of her nightdress, revealing high breasts and slim hips above impossibly long legs. She climbed onto his lap and trapped him in a heat even more intense. Without the distraction of her own need, which she had long ago learned to put aside, Maeve moved her body in the way she knew Remus liked best, brining him quickly to a powerful orgasm. He shuddered and rested his sleek head against her shoulder, waiting for his breath to steady. When it did, she climbed off, pulling her shift back on and retrieving her wand to fix the mess of his fallen glass. She poured a drink of her own and settled into a chair, sensing that his visit wasn’t over.
“What’s on your mind, Remus?” She finally asked when it became clear that he wouldn’t speak first.
A deep breath brought him the smell of whiskey, the rich cherry wood of the fire, and beneath the musk of sex, Maeve. She was ambergris and jasmine, along with rich notes of cedar. Nothing of the floral synthetics and sweet vanilla that the girls of Hogwarts had made him accustomed to—here was the tang of rare blooms and rich spices, heady and complex. Smell brought him to Maeve as much as anything else; the smells of Hogwarts were boys heavy with cologne, the belches from the great hall dinner tables, the powerful ammonia of the owlry. The fearful sweat of those who knew what he was.
“Nothing’s troubling me, Maeve,” Remus finally replied. “Nothing new, at least.”
Maeve knew that he was a werewolf—the woman had perception to rival Dumbledore, though she doubtlessly found her information through rather different sources. Still, she said nothing, and never gave him even an inkling that she was bothered by his condition. She was successful enough, and beautiful enough, to refuse clients if she wished, and Remus took this as evidence that not all hope was lost with respect to the fairer sex.
“Maeve, do you enjoy my company?”
“Of course I do,” she purred. “You’re an excellent conversationalist and a wonderful lover.”
“Of course.” He chuffed.
“You’re wondering if I’m bothered by your lycanthropy.”
“Yes.”
“Not at all.” She assured him, “ugliness comes in many forms—the worst of it beneath the surface, in my experience.”
“I think yours may be a rather singular perspective.”
“Among some women, yes. But not all, Remus.”
Tomorrow was Saturday, and Remus wished that he could stay here, sleeping beside Maeve and waking late in the morning. He didn’t have any great infatuation with Maeve in particular, but he sorely missed the comfort of a body beside him. Maeve was only a temporary solution, and one that left him feeling very, very empty at its end. Maeve rose from her chair, a subtle sign that their time was up.
“Well then.” Remus said, rising from his chair and moving to the door. To his surprise, she took his face between his hands before he left, giving him a warm smile, heavy with sympathy.
“Good night, Remus.”
“Good night.” And he made the lonely trip back to Hogwarts.
A/N: The verse that opens this chapter is taken from T.S. Eliot’s Marina. Reviews will incite me to write faster and fill me with glee…