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The Rooms of The Garnet Rose	By : ObsidianJaguar Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 14443 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: Harry Potter and any recognizable characters and places belong to J.K. Rowling and her corporate affiliates. Anything unrecognizable is mine. The only remuneration received for this fic may be found on its review page.

Chapter List
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Silk and Shadow I

            There are two, this evening, who make their ways to The Rose. Both come for the same reason: to feel. Something. Anything. All that currently lies within them is an aching emptiness and the dim memories of what used to exist there.

            She walks slowly, hesitantly, but unshrinking.

            He slinks through the shadows, unwilling to be seen.

            They enter the same door, but at different times, and are greeted by different rooms—waiting rooms. All who come wait alone, until the magic can determine what they truly desire—and until the perfect partner arrives to fulfil that desire. Never has anyone waited more than a few hours for that partner—or partners—to appear.

            She is greeted by a large, comfortable salon, lit by tapers and a fireplace.

            He is presented with a small chamber, outfitted with a table and one solitary candle.

            The Rose admits the young woman first, preparing her for the experience to come.

            He paces his chamber, impatient, and in some degree, disbelieving. There is but one thing he wants, and he cannot imagine that even The Rose’s magic can conjure it for him. He imagines, with a derisive snort, that he may be the first person to die of old age within The Rose’s enchanted rooms, waiting for a person who can never arrive.

            Unless there is some accommodation for reincarnated souls.

            But, after perhaps an hour, the door opens easily, and with a twisted sneer that is directed at himself as much as at this magic, he walks through it.

            Pitch blackness greets him. Perhaps he has managed to pass through the Veil, unknowingly? He feels no differently than before, save for a frisson of fear at what the darkness may conceal. A rush of adrenaline as his hand whips to his wand.

            It is not there.

            He does not panic. He cannot panic. For over twenty years, he has never allowed himself to panic; he will not begin now.

            The light turns on.

            It isn’t a room-drenching, brilliant light, such as might be expected from the flip of a switch. It is a rich, red light that illuminates the figure in the centre of the room, and only that figure.

            Whatever else may or may not be in this room, she is a sight worth seeing.

            One foot rests precariously upon the floor, balanced in a stiletto heel that the light dyes black against the red-tinted paleness of her skin. His eyes travel upwards, finding her other foot arrested in mid-air, her leg bent and held away from the rest of her body by dark ropes. They follow and bind her form, revealing the light and dark between her legs, framing that which makes her woman. One rope bisects and conceals, welcomed by her nether lips before trailing up her torso—a small knot marks her navel—and joining with a dark mass of ropes wrapped around her chest. These ropes pull and mold the flesh there, leaving for his gaze lightly dark nipples—their centres peaked and ready—set in rounded, pale flesh. More ropes criss-cross lightly around her arms, holding them upwards, suspending her from an unseen fixture.

            She is neither blindfolded nor gagged, and the hair that tumbles rampantly from her head is violently curly.

            “Hermione Granger,” he mutters. “Is this meant to be some sort of joke?”

            “I shouldn’t think so, Professor.” He can see the rapid rise and fall of her breathing, but her voice is even; she does not fear him.

            He snorts in derision. “Then it is my desire to forcibly take a woman who is revolted by me?”

            “You do not revolt me.” The light upon her face has brightened, and she is too easy to read.

            “I do not?” he questions softly, approaching her with the silent grace of a large cat. “Then you want this? You dream of being taken by me? Of having no control over what is done—what I do—to you?” He prowls around behind her, slipping his hand over the exposed peaks of her breasts, pinching, manipulating, scraping. His mouth comes to rest beside her ear, and he whispers, “I could do whatever I wanted to you, Miss Granger, and you would be unable to stop me. I could unleash upon you every depravity I have ever witnessed and some that I know only by hearsay. I could damage you in ways that would never heal. Every millimetre of you would be mine, inside and out. You would be forced to accept my touch when and where I choose to bestow it. You would have my flesh within your cunt, my come in your womb, on your breasts, in your mouth, in your hair.

            “Do you tell me that you want this?”

            “Yesss,” she breathes, her head tilting back to find his shoulder. “I want you.” He opens his mouth, ready to berate her for being no better than a Knockturn Alley slut, when she turns, finding the skin of his cheek with her lips, and murmuring, almost too softly to be heard. “I trust you.”

ANs: This story will be a series of more or less independent vignettes involving the characters of the HP world, and will expand to include threesomes, etc. in tales to come. You are all welcome to request certain pairings and kinks, though these will be fulifilled at my discretion. I will not write explicit rape scenes, though RP may appear.

This is my first foray into erotica/smut, so any concrit is welcome. Also, any scenarios are from my own (im)pure brain, so feel free to remark upon any… impossibilities… I may commit.
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The Rooms of The Garnet Rose