"the tea drabble 3" by gingerbred
Jun. 23rd, 2019 03:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
gingerbredshausSometime post Battle of Hogwarts. Instalment 3 in 'The Tea Drabble Series'... Severus brings Hermione back to his for a cuppa... Or maybe a mug, whichever. At any rate, they come a good deal closer over a couple of mugs of tea.
A short ginger!Drabble. Loosely inspired by toblass's drawing of Severus and Hermione ('Tea and Toast' on AO3)
Originally Published: 2019-06-23 on LJ / DW
Words: 1750, complete, but there are related one shots
Rating: slightly more mature than the other entries
This picks up from 'the tea drabble 1' (LJ / DW) and 'the tea drabble 2' (LJ / DW).
Characters: Severus and Hermione
"I'm not sure how to make the text... sparkle," Severus finally admits as he retrieves the mug from his kitchen shelf, handing it to Hermione where she leans - as nonchalantly as possible - against his counter. She's still practically vibrating with excitement to have finally breached the sanctity generally associated with the solitude of his chambers. (It will prove ever so slightly anticlimactic, if amusing, to later learn Draco and Harry had visited only last week.) "But the writing is in real silver at least."
The witch surprises him when she bursts into laughter at the sight of the thing. He's a moment shy of panicking when a soft hand on his arm checks the reflex. "I thought you were joking," she reassures him. "Or that you'd seen the mug in my thoughts." He bristles slightly, offended at the suggestion he runs about willy-nilly, peering into anyone's and everyone's minds. At least not since the end of the war...
"No, it's just..." she hastens to regroup. "I have the exact same one in pink. Harry and Draco?" She indicates the mug. He nods a bit stiffly, and she grins. "That's what served as inspiration for the Transfiguration to your teacup. Harry had teased he'd wanted to bring you one that said 'Git' but Draco wouldn't let him." And it would seem Draco serves as a good influence on Potter as well. Severus isn't certain which constellation was less probable... "I didn't realise they'd gotten you the match to mine."
There's something about the sound of that that he finds... pleasing. He covers by busying himself with the preparations. His Aguamenti fills the pot, Heating Charms do for the water, and only then, when it's reached the proper temperature, does he add the carefully measured loose leaf tea and gently stir.
She draws her wand and Transfigures his erstwhile teacup into a green to match the boys' gift. "There," she beams, holding them up for him to appraise. Two mugs in perfectly matching green. She takes the original 'Swot' mug a bit shyly, and places her Transfigured 'Git' mug in front of him once more. The Tempus chimes and he expertly pours the tea in a magnificent arc without even the aid of a strainer. (It will take her months before she thinks to ask, and with a chuckle he'll tell her the pot is charmed to strain the leaves. When it dawns on him that there was yet another compliment buried in there somewhere as to his presumed capabilities - near infinite to hear her tell it; he never tires of correcting her - he'll growl lowly and drag her back to bed amidst a chorus of giggles, leaving their morning tea to cool in their kitchen.)
The tea proves excellent, and fortified by a bracing sip, she works up the courage to ask, "I could make you another to match my mug for when you're at mine?" Hope and nerves are both more than evident as she makes her suggestion, and Severus realises where he might once have looked askance at someone's inability to hide their fear, now that the Dark L... Voldemort has been vanquished, now that it isn't a liability, he's able to admire Hermione's spirit. There's something very appealing about the way she takes such risks, puts herself out there despite her fears.
Suitably inspired, he bends and places a reverent kiss on her lips. It's gentle enough for it to be more of a suggestion than demand. Hermione rectifies that immediately, thrilling in the discovery that the tea tastes even better on him. Minutes later, an even more dazed wizard breaks off the kiss in favour of several steeling breaths of air.
He's vaguely scandalised to discover the witch has climbed him like a tree, not so much for the fact of it - no, he quite likes that - but that she'd apparently overwhelmed his senses sufficiently that it hadn't even registered. Shy of sleep or unconsciousness, he's not sure when he's last been that unaware of his surroundings. As those begin to filter more clearly into focus, he's surprised to discover he's evidently been supporting her in that position and the witch is in the possession of a most delectable arse he's cradling in both of his hands. His fingers cease their kneading post-haste.
"Should..." Hermione has to clear her throat before she's able to speak in anything other than a husky rasp, but the sound of that rasp goes straight to his bollocks. It's his turn to smirk in his most self-satisfied fashion. "Should we take our tea into the lounge?"
A gesture of his fingers sends the two mugs floating ahead of them to settle on the table in front of his couch. The invitation is clear, no withdrawing to the wingbacks for them. He lowers her to the floor with all imaginable care and then proceeds her into the lounge, with just the hint of a swagger that has her eyes glued to his arse in turn. He settles into the couch first, and Hermione pauses only a moment before sliding up next to him.
Severus is feeling rather confident now, although still half wondering how that came about, and answers her earlier question. "How did you put it? 'I'd be delighted' were you to make me one to match for when I'm at yours." It's not entirely true. More accurately, it's possible he couldn't care less what she served tea in. Her well-loved trainers? A non-issue. But at this point, post- or perhaps mid-snogging, he'd simply be delighted to be invited round. To be welcome in her flat... That thought is reinforced and thoroughly confirmed when his reply somehow wins him a lap full of witch. A lap full of witch intent on sucking the air from his lungs, if he's to judge by the light-headedness she leaves in her wake.
She offers him his tea which he pretends to be able to sip as he sits there still trying to catch his breath.
And then she promptly turns his world on its ear again.
"Oh no!" She wails.
It is unquestionably a wail, and there's nothing good about it. These are not the noises he wishes to hear from a witch kneeling above him. He's trying to figure out the logistics of how to escape from underneath her - really if one intends to wail about the situation, one should have the good grace to clamber off first - and desperately fighting to recall what he'd done wrong this time... "You can't Transfigure silver."
Well that's just...
That's frankly insulting.
If that's her criterion, the witch is going to die alone. "Of course not," he objects, his tone increasingly surly. "No one can."
"What?" She sounds confused, which doesn't speak for Minerva's tutelage. "No, no I meant I can't."
"Because the first and second person pronouns sound so much alike..." He doesn't understand her in the least, but it proves difficult to remain angry at a witch straddling him in this fashion. Oh, it sounds nice, but he knows it isn't true. It has absolutely everything to do with which witch is doing that straddling. Involuntarily, because he's coming to recognise just how much he doesn't want to bollox this up, he's beginning to relax slightly the longer she remains seated upon him.
"What? No. I mean I've stolen your mug."
"Hermione," he admonishes as he struggles to remain calm and places their mugs on the table behind her, "you will do us both the favour of formulating whatever the thought is in a less muddled fashion."
She blinks. "Well whose fault is that?" He blinks in turn, slowly working out she means him. "Snog a body senseless and then blame her for not making sense..." And there he goes, involuntarily relaxing again. She makes him feel just a little... optimistic. And yet she also makes him worry he's about to lose something... precious. He's not used to either sensation.
"The 'Swot' gilding was real silver, after all. And my Transfiguration isn't, obviously..." She trails off as Severus sits there staring at her in disbelief. If this is the sort of thing she finds herself thinking while perched on his lap, he either hasn't kissed her senseless enough, or she has indeed taken leave of those senses and this is what remains. Neither thought is satisfactory.
"Obviously," he agrees. He regards her for a moment before replying further. "I don't know if I can stoop to being with a witch who can't Transfigure silver..." He teases, finally deciding to trust his luck for once.
"No one can!" Her indignation is palpable. It earns her a smirk. He rubs her arms soothingly before moving his hands, those hands to her back. They move in increasingly distracting circles. "Oh," comes the eventual breathy realisation. He acknowledges it by allowing those hands of his to slide down that phenomenal arse of hers. She hums her approval.
"I'm quite certain Draco will be only too happy to procure 'Git' mugs for us both." He pulls her slowly to him and begins to nibble on her neck. Her next 'oh' is decidedly more breathy, and her inevitable agreement - 'yes, absolutely' - was likely to have come regardless what he claimed.
When they next break for air, as she runs her fingers through his hair, Hermione muses, "Do you suppose they had some kind of ulterior motive when they got us matching mugs? Or did they just suspect something..."
"Hermione, you need to stop thinking..." There's a huff of amusement that removes any sting. It's possible he's found someone as cerebral as he is, and it will no doubt simplify a great many things between them. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear to more clearly meet her eyes and smiles.
She rewards him with an absolutely devilish grin, "Make me."
He inhales sharply as he pulls her to him again, nothing slow or tentative about their movements any longer. "I'll see what I can do," he repeats his earlier promise, and then true to his word he spends the rest of the evening showing her just that.
Not once in the process do the limitations of Transfiguration or the degeneracies of mug theft cross her mind again.
A short ginger!Drabble. Loosely inspired by toblass's drawing of Severus and Hermione ('Tea and Toast' on AO3)
Originally Published: 2019-06-23 on LJ / DW
Words: 1750, complete, but there are related one shots
Rating: slightly more mature than the other entries
This picks up from 'the tea drabble 1' (LJ / DW) and 'the tea drabble 2' (LJ / DW).
Characters: Severus and Hermione
"I'm not sure how to make the text... sparkle," Severus finally admits as he retrieves the mug from his kitchen shelf, handing it to Hermione where she leans - as nonchalantly as possible - against his counter. She's still practically vibrating with excitement to have finally breached the sanctity generally associated with the solitude of his chambers. (It will prove ever so slightly anticlimactic, if amusing, to later learn Draco and Harry had visited only last week.) "But the writing is in real silver at least."
The witch surprises him when she bursts into laughter at the sight of the thing. He's a moment shy of panicking when a soft hand on his arm checks the reflex. "I thought you were joking," she reassures him. "Or that you'd seen the mug in my thoughts." He bristles slightly, offended at the suggestion he runs about willy-nilly, peering into anyone's and everyone's minds. At least not since the end of the war...
"No, it's just..." she hastens to regroup. "I have the exact same one in pink. Harry and Draco?" She indicates the mug. He nods a bit stiffly, and she grins. "That's what served as inspiration for the Transfiguration to your teacup. Harry had teased he'd wanted to bring you one that said 'Git' but Draco wouldn't let him." And it would seem Draco serves as a good influence on Potter as well. Severus isn't certain which constellation was less probable... "I didn't realise they'd gotten you the match to mine."
There's something about the sound of that that he finds... pleasing. He covers by busying himself with the preparations. His Aguamenti fills the pot, Heating Charms do for the water, and only then, when it's reached the proper temperature, does he add the carefully measured loose leaf tea and gently stir.
She draws her wand and Transfigures his erstwhile teacup into a green to match the boys' gift. "There," she beams, holding them up for him to appraise. Two mugs in perfectly matching green. She takes the original 'Swot' mug a bit shyly, and places her Transfigured 'Git' mug in front of him once more. The Tempus chimes and he expertly pours the tea in a magnificent arc without even the aid of a strainer. (It will take her months before she thinks to ask, and with a chuckle he'll tell her the pot is charmed to strain the leaves. When it dawns on him that there was yet another compliment buried in there somewhere as to his presumed capabilities - near infinite to hear her tell it; he never tires of correcting her - he'll growl lowly and drag her back to bed amidst a chorus of giggles, leaving their morning tea to cool in their kitchen.)
The tea proves excellent, and fortified by a bracing sip, she works up the courage to ask, "I could make you another to match my mug for when you're at mine?" Hope and nerves are both more than evident as she makes her suggestion, and Severus realises where he might once have looked askance at someone's inability to hide their fear, now that the Dark L... Voldemort has been vanquished, now that it isn't a liability, he's able to admire Hermione's spirit. There's something very appealing about the way she takes such risks, puts herself out there despite her fears.
Suitably inspired, he bends and places a reverent kiss on her lips. It's gentle enough for it to be more of a suggestion than demand. Hermione rectifies that immediately, thrilling in the discovery that the tea tastes even better on him. Minutes later, an even more dazed wizard breaks off the kiss in favour of several steeling breaths of air.
He's vaguely scandalised to discover the witch has climbed him like a tree, not so much for the fact of it - no, he quite likes that - but that she'd apparently overwhelmed his senses sufficiently that it hadn't even registered. Shy of sleep or unconsciousness, he's not sure when he's last been that unaware of his surroundings. As those begin to filter more clearly into focus, he's surprised to discover he's evidently been supporting her in that position and the witch is in the possession of a most delectable arse he's cradling in both of his hands. His fingers cease their kneading post-haste.
"Should..." Hermione has to clear her throat before she's able to speak in anything other than a husky rasp, but the sound of that rasp goes straight to his bollocks. It's his turn to smirk in his most self-satisfied fashion. "Should we take our tea into the lounge?"
A gesture of his fingers sends the two mugs floating ahead of them to settle on the table in front of his couch. The invitation is clear, no withdrawing to the wingbacks for them. He lowers her to the floor with all imaginable care and then proceeds her into the lounge, with just the hint of a swagger that has her eyes glued to his arse in turn. He settles into the couch first, and Hermione pauses only a moment before sliding up next to him.
Severus is feeling rather confident now, although still half wondering how that came about, and answers her earlier question. "How did you put it? 'I'd be delighted' were you to make me one to match for when I'm at yours." It's not entirely true. More accurately, it's possible he couldn't care less what she served tea in. Her well-loved trainers? A non-issue. But at this point, post- or perhaps mid-snogging, he'd simply be delighted to be invited round. To be welcome in her flat... That thought is reinforced and thoroughly confirmed when his reply somehow wins him a lap full of witch. A lap full of witch intent on sucking the air from his lungs, if he's to judge by the light-headedness she leaves in her wake.
She offers him his tea which he pretends to be able to sip as he sits there still trying to catch his breath.
And then she promptly turns his world on its ear again.
"Oh no!" She wails.
It is unquestionably a wail, and there's nothing good about it. These are not the noises he wishes to hear from a witch kneeling above him. He's trying to figure out the logistics of how to escape from underneath her - really if one intends to wail about the situation, one should have the good grace to clamber off first - and desperately fighting to recall what he'd done wrong this time... "You can't Transfigure silver."
Well that's just...
That's frankly insulting.
If that's her criterion, the witch is going to die alone. "Of course not," he objects, his tone increasingly surly. "No one can."
"What?" She sounds confused, which doesn't speak for Minerva's tutelage. "No, no I meant I can't."
"Because the first and second person pronouns sound so much alike..." He doesn't understand her in the least, but it proves difficult to remain angry at a witch straddling him in this fashion. Oh, it sounds nice, but he knows it isn't true. It has absolutely everything to do with which witch is doing that straddling. Involuntarily, because he's coming to recognise just how much he doesn't want to bollox this up, he's beginning to relax slightly the longer she remains seated upon him.
"What? No. I mean I've stolen your mug."
"Hermione," he admonishes as he struggles to remain calm and places their mugs on the table behind her, "you will do us both the favour of formulating whatever the thought is in a less muddled fashion."
She blinks. "Well whose fault is that?" He blinks in turn, slowly working out she means him. "Snog a body senseless and then blame her for not making sense..." And there he goes, involuntarily relaxing again. She makes him feel just a little... optimistic. And yet she also makes him worry he's about to lose something... precious. He's not used to either sensation.
"The 'Swot' gilding was real silver, after all. And my Transfiguration isn't, obviously..." She trails off as Severus sits there staring at her in disbelief. If this is the sort of thing she finds herself thinking while perched on his lap, he either hasn't kissed her senseless enough, or she has indeed taken leave of those senses and this is what remains. Neither thought is satisfactory.
"Obviously," he agrees. He regards her for a moment before replying further. "I don't know if I can stoop to being with a witch who can't Transfigure silver..." He teases, finally deciding to trust his luck for once.
"No one can!" Her indignation is palpable. It earns her a smirk. He rubs her arms soothingly before moving his hands, those hands to her back. They move in increasingly distracting circles. "Oh," comes the eventual breathy realisation. He acknowledges it by allowing those hands of his to slide down that phenomenal arse of hers. She hums her approval.
"I'm quite certain Draco will be only too happy to procure 'Git' mugs for us both." He pulls her slowly to him and begins to nibble on her neck. Her next 'oh' is decidedly more breathy, and her inevitable agreement - 'yes, absolutely' - was likely to have come regardless what he claimed.
When they next break for air, as she runs her fingers through his hair, Hermione muses, "Do you suppose they had some kind of ulterior motive when they got us matching mugs? Or did they just suspect something..."
"Hermione, you need to stop thinking..." There's a huff of amusement that removes any sting. It's possible he's found someone as cerebral as he is, and it will no doubt simplify a great many things between them. He tucks a loose strand of hair behind her ear to more clearly meet her eyes and smiles.
She rewards him with an absolutely devilish grin, "Make me."
He inhales sharply as he pulls her to him again, nothing slow or tentative about their movements any longer. "I'll see what I can do," he repeats his earlier promise, and then true to his word he spends the rest of the evening showing her just that.
Not once in the process do the limitations of Transfiguration or the degeneracies of mug theft cross her mind again.