Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/ works/10027229. Rating: Explicit Archive Warning: Underage Category: Multi, Gen Fandom: Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling Character: Draco_Malfoy, Harry_Potter, Hermione_Granger, Lucius_Malfoy, Other(s), Ron_Weasley, Severus_Snape, Sirius_Black, Molly_Weasley, Oliver_Wood, Original_Character Additional Tags: Explicit_Language, Chan, Heterosexual_Sex, Slash_sex, Sexual_Content, Threesome Collections: HPFandom Stats: Published: 2007-08-07 Completed: 2007-08-09 Chapters: 3/3 Words: 8184 ****** Mystères Érotiques ****** by deviantscorpio [archived by HPFandom_archivist] Summary A new generation of Hogwarts students are introduced to an old, secretive institution. What are the consequences of a night of passion where anything goes? Many strange and/or wonderful pairings! Major themes: Harry/Hermione, Harry/Sirius, Harry/Snape, and more to come. Major WIP. Notes Note from SeparatriX, the archivist: this story was originally archived at HP_Fandom, which was closed for health and financial reasons. To preserve the archive, I began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on HP_Fandom_collection profile. ***** Chapter One - The Contract ***** Author's Note: Been working on this for a long time on AFF.net, but I have re- written a lot of it and thought I'd try posting it on this site. I really enjoy reviews! Disclaimer: I don't claim ownership over Harry Potter or his amazing world. Chapter One: The Contract Sirius Black was lying in bed morosely watching the dark ceiling. It was late morning, and Sirius had not left his bed yet. The mildewed drapes were closed tightly, blocking even the most intrepid ray of light from reaching the gloom of the House of Black. Sirius had not slept at all. He was not sure when he had last slept, or what day it was, but it didn't matter. Thursday or Sunday, he didn't have an option of going anywhere, doing anything, seeing anything or anyone besides Order members—and they were not agreeable company.   Sure, besides Snape, they were an amiable lot; but they didn’t have much use for…well, a useless person. Sirius avoided them anyway. When they came to the house, flush with urgency about their work, they were only stopping in to pass information or have a bite before again leaving the dusty house of horrors to which Sirius was sentenced. It would be a mercy to have a distraction from his own impotence to do anything of use or value, trapped-- a wanted man in a prison of memory.   Before he had time to really swing into another wave of this old and circular internal melodrama, there was a sharp rapping at the door. Sirius lay immobilized by apathy for a long while before a creeping curiosity got the best of him. It was uncommon for anyone to approach the door to his bedroom: if someone knew enough to know where it was, they also knew enough to stay away. He half slid, half rolled off the bed, and went to open the door.   Molly Weasley jumped at the sight of Sirius, blinking in the light from the hall. Disheveled as he normally was, he looked the worst yet—surely he hadn't properly washed in several days at least. Stubble had crossed over into being beard-like and his robe was wrinkled and giving off a robust musky scent. Sirius’ eyes were partly obscured by his tangle of long and unruly hair, but what could be seen of them had a profoundly deadened look that consistently unnerved her. Molly took a deep, fortifying breath and tried to recover herself.   "You had owl post today," she said briskly, handing him square letter.   Sirius took the proffered parchment with hardly an audible grunt of gratitude. The address had not been written in either Dumbledore’s script, or his godson’s hand, which was disappointing but not unexpected. Who then, would bother writing an escaped convict? Or, Sirius realized with a jolt, know where he was? He flipped the letter over and had his finger under the flap before he noticed a large stamp on the back of the envelope: it was of a deep red rose, its petals undulating slightly as if in a lazy breeze, caught in a golden ray of shifting, late-afternoon light. Sirius froze, but his dark eyes suddenly took on a notable sparkle. "Is it...? But it can’t be!” Sirius tore open the envelope, and hastily pulled out the letter; his eyes scanned it briefly then he glanced at Molly with a silly, boyish grin that eased the deep stress lines in his handsome face.   "I got one too," Molly said stiffly, crossing her arms uncomfortably.   Sirius looked surprised. "You've been to--?"   "Of course I have, don't be silly," she said quickly. "I wasn't always Mrs. Weasley, mother of seven, you know. I haven't gotten one in years and years."   "Are you going?"   Molly avoided Sirius' gaze, maintaining a haughty look of disapproval. "Well, I don't know… honestly! I'm Mrs. Weasley, mother of seven," she said plainly.   "Come on Molly," Sirius said with unusual warmth, "you can't turn down Madam Gwynne." The two exchanged a long, knowing look. Finally, Molly looked away, now wringing her hands a bit.   "I'd be a fool not to go, wouldn't I be?"   "Yes," Sirius said emphatically.   Molly threw her hands up as if in defeat, though it hadn’t really taken much encouragement for her to make a decision. "Alright, I'll go. But —"   Sirius placed his hands firmly on Molly's shoulders, looking deeply into her eyes. "Don't even say it. It's in the rules. What happens at Caché Aimé stays a mystery. Don't even worry about it," he said sincerely. Molly looked greatly relieved. She smiled at Sirius finally, patting a hand he had on her shoulder.   "I'm happy you were invited. You deserve a good party," Molly said honestly.   Sirius nodded appreciatively. He wasn’t sure if he deserved anything, exactly; but it would be great to get out of the house.   "I wonder what I'm going to wear!" Molly giggled as she turned to leave.   Madam Gwynne's letter clutched tightly in his hand, Sirius watched Molly go, looking at her a little bit differently now than he had ever before, and thinking it didn't matter much what she chose to wear. He then read the note written in a distantly familiar, flowing script:   My Dear Sirius, It has been too many years from the last time you attended Caché Aimé. I know well the position you are in, darling, but I would be severely disappointed if you weren't able to find a way to get to Mystères Érotiques Thursday at half past eight. I have been in contact with Albus, who has said he would aid in your travel arrangements—and of course that he would keep your confidences.   As soon as you are able, sign the contract and send it back. Hastily now, Sirius! Where lovers are concerned, time is a sword!   With so much Amour, Gwen   Laughing barkingly, hands slightly unsteady, Sirius shuffled the sheets of parchment so that he was looking at the contract. Not bothering to read it, he turned into his room, intent on finding a quill and signing immediately. The Contract of The Caché Aimé I hereby affirm, being in full possession of my free will and sanity, that I will adhere to the following rules of conduct when engaging in the Caché Aimé. 1- I will accept the Initiation Potion in full trust of Madam Gwynne's intentions. I will submit fully to Madam Gwynne's authority whenever she chooses to invoke it. 2 - I will fully respect the other party attendees. I will not inhibit any person's free will, damage their emotional body, harbor hostility, or cast malicious spells. 3 - I agree that whatever happens inside of Mystères Érotiques stays a mystery. Sirius hastily scrawled a signature. Thursday was only the day after tomorrow. * * * * * * * * * * "What does it mean, Harry?" Hermione Granger whispered. She was sitting on Harry Potter's bed, examining a pair of strange letters they had received that morning; they had arranged with Ron to skip lunch and look at the letters together. Harry was looking across the room, out the window.   "I dunno," said Harry.   "Where's Ron? We left Charms together, how did he get lost?"   "I dunno."   "We should go to Professor Dumbledore," Hermione blurted, as if she had been waiting all day to state the obvious. "Or Professor McGonagall. This is too weird... It has to be some kind of trap, something that Umbridge woman would come up with to get you expelled."   Harry turned his attention back to the letter. "If you are unsure if you ought to accept, I ask you to search your feelings, dear Harry. Why is she calling me 'dear'? I don’t know her. Where is the Mystères Érotiques, if its address says ‘Diagon Alley’? Why have I never seen it? What sort of a shop could it be?" He thought vaguely of those Muggle stores whose fronts were plastered in signs featuring many X’s; the type that caused Uncle Vernon to start on a rant about how disgusting and indecent people should be executed at birth.   "Let's just go to McGonagall, and tell her we want to see the Headmaster. We should have gone to them straight away," she said, folding her letter over, looking upset with herself. “That’s the answer I get when I search my feelings.”   "D'you think we'll get in trouble?" Harry asked seriously. "I mean, Érotiques...don’t really need to ask Fleur what that means, do we?"   "No… but the Order should know we’re getting these letters. And we surely would be in trouble if it was a set up! We definitely should--"   "I know. Go to Dumbledore."   "Well, why not?"   Harry didn't have a chance to voice his hesitancy to defer to the Headmaster on this matter, particularly when Dumbledore had been so distant with him recently: An excellent distraction in the form of Ron Weasley came hurtling through the dormitory door.   "I'm sorry, I went to the Great Hall and got halfway through a plate when I remembered," Ron panted. "What did you want to show me that you couldn't do it at breakfast?" Ron flopped down on Harry's bed next to Hermione. Harry handed Ron the letter.   As he read, silently mouthing the words, Ron's eyes began to steadily bulge out of his skull. "Blimey," Ron said simply, letting the parchment fall from his hand. He looked stunned for a moment.   "What, Ron? What is it?" Hermione asked impatiently.   A huge grin spread over Ron's face, and suddenly he was clapping Harry on the back animatedly. "Well done, well done! I don't know how you did it, Harry," Ron said cheerfully, "but I'd wish you tell me, so I could get invited, too."   "I didn't do anything," Harry said honestly.   "And neither did I. What is the Caché Aimé?" Hermione asked Ron pointedly.   Ron goggled at Hermione for several beats. "What, you got one too?"   "Yes," Hermione said with irritation. "What is the Mystères Érotiques?"   "Where's my invite?!... You lot wouldn’t know, would you?” Ron said, comprehension dawning. "All right, I'll tell you what I know." Ron leaned in for effect. "The Mystères Érotiques," Ron put on a absurdly fake French accent, "is this shop on Diagon Alley, easy to miss. I mean, it hasn’t got a sign advertising it, or anything. But most people—well, a lot of people—know where it is. It’s just a few doors down from the entrance from the Leaky Cauldron…has a small front, and long drapes over the windows all the time, so you can't see what's going on inside." Ron paused, and shook his head slowly. "I can't believe you don't know."   "Never mind that, just keep going!" Harry said.   "Right. Well, Madam Gwynne is a bit of a recluse. No one really knows that much about her, or Mystères Érotiques, except that the store’s been around for a really long time—I mean, even Auntie Muriel said she’d been there when she was young, and she’s ancient!” Ron said, looking a little sick. “Anyway, there are these parties at the store, they're invite only, and everyone who gets to go has to swear to never repeat anything that might have gone on," finished Ron with a significant look.   Hermione stared at Ron, waiting. "That's all you have?"   "Well," began Ron, blushing, "when Bill came back from his first party—he couldn't say what happened, of course—but he did say that he had.... become a man."   Harry and Hermione now had their turn to gape at Ron. "What, its some kind of sex club?" Harry blurted incredulously. "Me and Hermione got invited to a fuck club?"   "That is sick!" Hermione declared, her voice unnaturally high-pitched.   Ron looked scandalized. "Are you saying you aren't going to go?"   "Of course we aren't going! We're going to go directly to Professor Dumbledore, and make sure that he has the Order look into this. Right Harry?" Hermione looked over at Harry, whose face had flushed with an apparent violent inner battle. "Harry—!"   "We should just wait a minute," Harry said with difficulty, though turning to look steadily at Hermione. "We should just—" Harry took a deep, shivering breath, "—just think about it for ourselves before we go running to Dumbledore. I mean, we know that it’s not a trap from Umbridge, it’s a real thing, lots of people know about it."   "You can't be serious, I just don't believe it." Hermione crossed her arms and looked away from him.   "Go on, Harry, you go then," Ron said. "Don't let Hermione stop you. You might not get another chance to go, in your whole life!" Ron looked thoroughly traumatized at the thought. "Hermione, you should take Harry's advice and think it over. Or at least write to ask if I can go in your place...."   Hermione gave Ron a piercing look. "Don't encourage him Ron! You have completely lost your mind if you can tell Harry he should sneak out of school, without telling anyone, to go to some dodgy fuck club, knowing full well that You-Know-Who is looking for Harry—"   "C'mon Hermione!" Ron said loudly. "This doesn't have anything to do with You- Know-Who! This is just the Caché Aimé! Anyone would want to go, I bet if you showed Dumbledore your invite, he'd ask if you could get him in."   Harry looked up sharply. "You think Dumbledore goes to the... Caché Aimé?"   Ron shrugged. "I don't see why he wouldn't... But don't worry, Harry, Bill didn't say he saw Dumbledore naked or anything."   "How could Bill say anything about anything?" Harry mused darkly.   "Look, Bill was really happy after his Caché Aimé--"   "Stop it, the both of you." Hermione snatched Harry's letter off the bed and stuffed it into her bag.   "What're you doing?" Ron sputtered. "That's Harry's property!"   "Even if you don't care about Harry, I do," Hermione seemed to be gearing up for a good fight. "I'm not going to let him sign some contract saying he's got to do whatever this nutter, Gwynne, wants him to do!" Hermione stopped, as she had caught sight of Harry, who was standing over her looking rather pink, and also rather fierce.   "I can make the choice on my own. I can decide for myself if I want to do it."   "But—"   "I mean it, Hermione, I can make up my own mind!"   "Fine, take it," Hermione flung Madam Gwynne's letter at him. "I never thought you were a pervert, Harry," she said with unflattering airs of superiority. "I'm really disappointed in you. And you too, Ron—though I always knew you were a pervert." Hermione turned on her heel, and marched to the out of the room, slamming the door behind her for emphasis.   "Better off without her," Ron said shaking his head and laughing. "Caché Aimé, wow! You've got to promise to put in a good word for me when you go...."   Harry sat back down on the bed. Am I really going to go? It'll be a lot of trouble to get to London,Harry thought.   Ron seemed to read Harry's mind when he said, "Don't worry, we'll figure out a way to get you to Diagon Alley on Thursday night. You've got your Cloak, for one thing...."   He did have the Invisibility Cloak. Harry was starting to feel his stomach flipping. I am going to go, Harry decided, I was invited, so I am really supposed to be there. He was going to go, so he could come back, and tell Hermione that she had missed out. ***** Chapter Two - Arrivals ***** Author's notes: A new generation of Hogwarts students are introduced to an old, secretive institution. What are the consequences of a night of passion where anything goes? Many strange and/or wonderful pairings! Major themes: Harry/ Hermione, Harry/Sirius, Harry/Snape, and more to come. Major WIP. =============================================================================== Authors Note: I love reviews! *hint hint* If you enjoyed this, let me know. Disclaimer: I don't claim ownership over Harry Potter or his amazing world. Chapter Two: Arrivals "Who can speak of the ecstasies of the Mystères Érotiques? Giving testament, the testament-giver reveals his inexperience. Only one who has gone into the abyss to find their Caché Aimé Could know the need to vouchsafe those tender secrets: All the maps to the lewd places where the dual realizes It had always been Single; That ancient language of lovers, that Singular magic revealed when Embraced by your Caché Aimé in the silent dark."   Severus Snape recited mellifluously, drawing out the words as if he was remembering a particularly luscious flavor. He was pulling back a heavy scarlet curtain fractionally, so that a sliver of light pierced through the darkness of the otherwise dimly candlelit room. Snape had been peering through the thin opening during the recitation, hidden and inexorably distant from the outside bustle of Diagon Alley, though it was only just beyond the glass.   "My dear! That was simply exquisite."   Snape turned to gaze upon Madame Gwynne, who reclined luxuriously on a scarlet- colored fainting couch, the color of which highlighted flatteringly deep auburn curls, which framed the fine features of her face. Her arched brows, high cheekbones and subtly colored lips gave an impression of timeless, classic beauty. She could have been any age, but Snape knew she was considerably older than he.   "I am sure Madam Lecroix is listening, bless her soul," Gwynne said, raising a champagne flute hung between slender, jeweled fingers. “You were always such an elegant wordsmith, Severus. And yet, I hardly doubt I am one of the very few who you’ve favored by revealing your talents. ” She gazed obsequiously at Snape, whose mouth twitched awkwardly into a slight smile.   Inclining his head graciously toward his hostess, Snape slowly moved toward Madam Gwynne and smoothly took her hand; raising her hand to his face, he pressed his lips softly on the back of her wrist. “You are too kind to me, as always, Madam.”   Gwynne gestured to the winged chair next to her. “Please sit down and have a drink with me. It’s been several years since we’ve had a chat, hasn’t it?”   “Indeed, Madam. I seem to have not made the guest list for some time.” Snape attempted to not sound bitter, but mostly failed.   “My dear, you know my influence is limited over the guest list….”   “But of course!” Snape said genially. “I didn’t mean to suggest otherwise—“   “However, I can…if moved to…extend my influence further than usual. Is that what you hoped in visiting me, my dear? Surely it wasn’t only to delight me with your consummate verse….”   Snape considered Gwynne silently over his flute of champagne for an extended moment before continuing. "Madam, it has come to my attention that this very evening, one…or two… of my fifth-year students from Hogwarts is planning to sneak off the grounds to attend the Caché Aimé."   “Ah! Rumors, love…cannot confirm or deny a Hogwarts student is on the list….”   "I am wondering," Snape said in an undertone, “if you would be willing to…influence…the list for tonight's party…. I should very much like to attend."   “But Severus, the list has already been written, and the charm upon it sealed…it is impossible to invite another guest for tonight!” Gwynne looked penitent, though. “Perhaps, next time…?”   “Madam is too generous,” Snape said at once. “Still…I was concerned…for the safety of the students. He—I mean, they—seem intent on relying upon their own, undeveloped skills to reach Mystères Érotiques tonight. It is a dangerous time for underage wizards to be wandering at night, Madam—perhaps they need an escort?”   “Surely you realize that I would never endanger the well being of any of my guests, Severus?” Madam Gwynne’s expression was suddenly shrewd.   “But of course, Madam—I didn’t mean to suggest such a thing! Only that the Order of the Phoenix has a priority in preserving Mr. Potter’s safety—“   “Albus is quite aware of the situation, I assure you.”   “Ah. I apologize then, for my presumption, Madam.” Snape placed his glass upon the table and made a gesture as if to stand up.   “You could just speak your mind plainly, Severus.”   “I beg your pardon?”   Gwynne sighed. “You think that I, with my lineage and training, do not see plainly what you wish to be hidden? Your concern was not for the safety of the young man, was it? Not solely, anyway. You are ashamed of your need, but at least with me, you could speak freely of it, I should hope.” She looked disappointed.   “Madam….” Snape began, but lost his words. He appeared suddenly somehow much younger than he actually was. “I do apologize. You know that my respect for, and trust in you is great. But this….” Snape lost his words again, but his body language betrayed that what he sought, that which Gwynne had divined his need for also, he considered wholly disgraceful.   “You won’t be long without an invitation, Severus,” Gwynne said with an abrupt crispness. “And you ought not to be surprised if you meet your young friend at your next Caché Aimé.”   Astonishment flickered across Snape’s features for the briefest of interludes; in a blink, he had regained his composure and said, “I cannot repay your generosity, Madam…I never have been able to….”   Gwynne reached over to take Snape’s hand in her own and squeezed warmly. “Its enough, as ever, to know you are happy, dear Severus.” * * * * * * * * * * The most mysterious interior of the storefront Mystères Érotiques could be anything on any given night. Madam Gwynne redecorated according to her mood, or the occasion. She went through phases, and enjoyed trying out new themes. As Gwynne had spent most of the last year getting lost in Turkey and Morocco, searching for fabled lore and wisdom in ancient cities and forgotten ruins, the receiving room in the front resembled a very cushy opium den, and featured several prize finds from her travels.   There were very large and squishy velvet cushions of every bright shade piled on the floor by low, ornately carved tables; a large golden hookah with satin covered hoses sat on one of these tables, and on the other, there was a tall pitcher of a very effervescent pink liquid with several glasses set next to it. The room was lit with large colored-glass oil lamps, giving the room a warm, intimate feel. Madam Gwynne had spent much more time than she should have appraising herself in a very large, framed wall mirror; adjusting the straps of a gilded choli, the coins on her hip scarf jangling seductively. She enjoyed seeing the theme come together so well, and was now fluffing already-fluffed pillows, passing time, waiting for the night to really begin.   The first to press the buzzer outside were Mrs. Weasley and Sirius. "I hope no one saw us coming in," Mrs. Weasley hissed anxiously after being ushered inside Mystères Érotiques.   "We just lifted the Disillusionment, and don’t forget all the other measures, too—" Sirius was cut off by Madam Gwynne pushing chilled glass goblets brimming with the bubbly pink Potion into her guest's hands. A fair amount sloshed on Sirius when Gwynne pulled him into a tight embrace.   "No worries my dears! The travel plans were impeccable, and besides, most people know well enough not to look too closely at who comes to call at my doorstep," Madam Gwynne said. "I'm very proud of this potion, Sirius! I think you'll like it, so drink up— there's plenty more if you need," she winked slyly at him.   “Ah! You spoil me, always know I want more than I should have!” Sirius laughed. “Thanks…thanks for inviting me.”   “Thank you for making it, Sirius!” Gwynne hugged Sirius again. “I haven’t seen you since …it must have been dreadful, my poor, dear, Sirius,” she said, clearly disquieted by the premature wrinkles marring his face. She smoothed her fingers over his smiling cheek affectionately. “Of course, Albus told me everything…I’ve been heavily suggesting you for a party for months!”   “It’s come not a moment too soon,” Sirius said, taking a swig of Potion. “It’s great to be back. And…you look beautiful, as always, Madam.”   “You flatter me Sirius! And Molly dear!” Gwynne kissed Mrs. Weasley on the cheek. “Why, it’s been even longer!”   “Yes, and I was quite, quite surprised, Madam, that you would have thought to include me,” Mrs. Weasley said, looking nervous.   “Oh, not my thought,” Gwynne said. “How is Arthur?” Gwynne asked as she settled Sirius and Mrs. Weasley on the cushions by the table.   “Arthur’s fine…a bit overworked these days, but—“   “Wow, excellent hookah!” Sirius said appreciatively as he fingered a satin- covered hose.   “Yes, it is! Acquired it just before I returned from Turkey last spring. Funny old warlock living in the North bartered with me for it. I doubt he had much use for it as his age; he said it was an heirloom of his family for several centuries. I haven’t been able to find out it’s exact age yet….”   Sirius had his wand out looking expectant. “Is there— er— something in there?”   “The theme wouldn’t be quite complete without a working hookah, would it? I’ve packed it with something a better than crude opium or hashish, though. Nevertheless,” Gwynne produced a flame from the tip of her wand and lit the hookah for Sirius herself, “it imbues what burns in it, so there’s a fair amount of the essences of opium and hashish in there— I wouldn’t overindulge.”   Sirius drew deeply on the hose, Mrs. Weasley looking suspiciously at him and the hookah. He exhaled the bright purple smoke partly through his nose. “Mmm, Dandychime Seaweed, is it?”   “Lovely, isn’t it? Amazing varieties in Morocco—“   “It does have a lovely scent,” Mrs. Weasley said disbelievingly. “Is it quite alright, do you think?”   Gwynne handed her a hose. “Please, Molly, relax and enjoy yourself. The Dandychime will potentiate this Potion nicely.”   The buzzer went off again; next to arrive was Harry, looking stiffly frozen, hair wildly ruffled, his Firebolt hanging at his side. He nervously greeted Madam Gwynne in the foyer, and allowed himself to be extendedly coddled and praised by the proprietor.   "You have grown up so handsomely! Just like your father. It’s so wonderful to finally meet you!" She surveyed Harry's face fondly, which had a sort of blank expression as he was stricken by the unspeakable question: has my dad has been here?   "I was very glad indeed that it was the right time to send you an invitation," Gwynne purred affectionately. "Yes, you're a very handsome young man, and of course, tremendously brave! I have heard so much about you. Oh, all the girls and boys will be lining up for this one! Come in, come in, have a drink." Gwynne ushered Harry into the receiving room.   "Harry!" Sirius was clearly in the process of pouring himself his second dose of the pink Potion when he noticed his godson. He leapt up and threw his arms around an extremely shocked Harry spiritedly. Clapping Harry on the back and grinning wolfishly, Sirius muttered into Harry’s ear, "It isn't your first time?"   "Yeah," Harry nodded, feeling as if he would never have the words to explain this bizarre situation to either himself or anyone else, ever.   "Well then, it’s really an occasion! You haven't had the Initiation Potion yet,” Sirius glanced at Harry’s untouched goblet, “but I can't help saying…how great it is to see you again… I'm really very happy—and," Sirius' eyes twinkled from a far away place, "so proud to be here with you." It looked like Sirius might cry.   What the hell is this-- potion? Harry thought nervously, glancing down at the glass that had just been handed to him. He had thought it was pink lemonade, or some funny colored mead. Somehow, 'Initiation Potion' firmly planted the idea in Harry’s mind there was to be some sort of potion-drinking ceremony.   "Go ahead Harry, drink it." Sirius said, registering Harry's hesitation. "Harry…do you trust me?"   "Of course I do—"   "Then you know that I'd never, never let anything bad happen to you. I wouldn’t stand here and let you do something dangerous, just watch you get into trouble. I would rather die, you know?" Sirius was now actually starting to cry, and pulled Harry into a rib-crushing embrace. After an extremely awkward interval Harry felt was far too long to hear and feel his godfather sobbing openly, Sirius released Harry. Sirius was now clapping Harry’s shoulder once more, tears sliding down his face, before turning away to seek refuge in Mrs. Weasley's waiting arms. She was soon stroking Sirius' hair softly murmuring comforting words Harry couldn't hear.   Harry blinked repeatedly. He had never seen Sirius fall apart like that and would have thought it patently impossible. It still seemed impossible, but there was no use denying the evidence in front of him. Sirius was definitely having tears wiped off his chin by Mrs. Weasley. And, since when had Mrs. Weasley ever liked Sirius? He, Harry, had always had the impression the pair of them were at loggerheads on most subjects from the time he had spent at Grimmauld Place. If Mrs. Weasley was here, that also meant.... He could not think on it too long, as Madam Gwynne had appeared at his side.   "Harry," she said, watching him jump. "I know it can be overwhelming. You'll find it much easier if you finish your Potion. You did promise to.”   "Oh, right. Sorry."   "That's quite all right, dear.”   “It is a bit…as you say…overwhelming. I mean— Sirius— crying— I’ve never—“   “Don't worry about Sirius! He's only going through his tearies, he'll be done with that before you know it—then you'll see Sirius feeling quite all right. The Potion has curious effects on people, sometimes.”   Harry sipped at the Potion. It tasted pleasantly of cherries and immediately gave him a feeling of being very light on his feet. He stole nervous glances around the receiving room, taking in the atmosphere, eyes unable to stay away too long from the spectacle of Sirius and Mrs. Weasley. He felt very awkward.   “Would you like to sit and sip that over here with me? Maybe ask me some questions?" Gwynne asked kindly, gesturing to a pile of plump cushions a fair distance from the older couple.   Harry nodded gratefully and made his way over to a pile of pillows, far from Mrs. Weasley and Sirius, who seemed to be—actually—kissing now.   "Take one good draught for me, please, Harry,” Gwynne said with good humor.   Instinctively, he brought the glass to his mouth, unable to cease staring as Sirius' hand was groping Mrs. Weasley's breast, and drained the whole thing in one go.   "There you are, Harry, wonderful! Welcome to Caché Aimé!" ***** Chapter Three - You Like Caché Aimé? ***** Author's Note: Thanks for the reviews, I really enjoy 'em! Disclaimer: I don't claim ownership over Harry Potter or his amazing world. Chapter Three: You Like Caché Aimé? "I didn't expect this," Harry blurted unconsciously. "I didn't picture it like this at all."   Gwynne was sipping delicately at her own Initiation Potion. "What were you expecting?"   "I dunno," Harry said, feeling his head swirling in a way that was threatening a complete breakdown in mental equilibrium. "I didn't expect to see Ron's mum, that is for sure," he said bluntly. "I didn't expect Sirius, either. I think I thought it would be, you know..."   "A dark, dirty hole in the wall maybe?" Gwynne smiled knowingly. "Maybe lots of strange faces, lots of half-naked girls, loud music?"   Harry felt even his ears blush. "Yeah, kind of."   "I think you'll like it. Give it a few moments."   "Madam? Is it only the four of us?"   "No, we've got a few more partygoers tonight, but they're cutting it close now. It's not a big crowd, mind, not this time."   Harry nodded, looking down at his hands as if he'd never seen them before. A strange feeling was stealing over his body; it was tingling, there was a whirling sensation, as if he were not solid.   "Madam--what's in the potion?" He asked, feeling as if he was hearing himself speak from far away.   "Oh, many things... People seem to like it. Brings your resistance down enough so you can enjoy yourself, among other things."   Harry stared numbly at the wall. "What was I resisting?" He managed to swivel his head enough to look at Gwynne, his eyes shifting in and out of focus. She had a very soft expression on her face.   "Harry, my goodness... no one's ever asked that before."   Unfortunately for Harry, whose curiosity was piqued, Gwynne could expound further—she had unexpectedly gotten out from the sea of squashy pillows with surprising grace: She had heard the front buzzer go off again.   "Welcome, welcome!" Harry heard the hostess’ cheery voice from the threshold somewhere behind him. He turned, straining to see who else had shown up.   "I'm so sorry to keep you waiting, Madam, my apologies." Stepping through the doorway was an unlikely pair: Oliver Wood, and--   "HERMIONE!"   Harry scattered several pillows as he struggled to his feet, tripping over himself. "Hermione, you're here! Brilliant! I'd been feeling like I wanted to see you, feeling bad I didn't at least go to see you before I left school, it was horrible to have a silly fight over this. Sorry," he said awkwardly, noticing Hermione was staring at him with mingling fear and fascination.   A few yards away, Madam Gwynne was fussing over Oliver's traveling cloak, his shirt and his fetching haircut.   "Are you alright, Harry?" Hermione asked slowly. Harry nodded, looking anywhere but Hermione's face.   "I'm great, just great. How about you? What changed your mind?" Harry was quite aware he was on the 'other side of the potion' from Hermione at the moment. She looked as uncomfortable as he had felt earlier, before the potion had worked a bit on his resistance....   Hermione looked at him as if she were in a great distress. "I went to Professor McGonagall about our letters." She paused to steady herself. "She sent me here. With her blessings. She knew all about it. McGonagall, Harry!" She squealed. "Oh no, Sirius and Mrs. Weasley are here! If what Ron was saying was true…we should get out, right now," she hissed.   "No, it's really all right, you'll see," Harry said confidently. She stared at him, fearing for his sanity.   "Miss Hermione! I haven't forgotten you. Thank you for coming, was your trip alright?" Without bothering to hear an answer, Gwynne offered a goblet of chilled Potion to her saying, "I'll bet you're thirsty, did you use the Floo in the Leaky Cauldron? All that ash. Well, drink up, my dear."   Hermione absentmindedly drained her Potion as she scanned the room, eyes wide and searching the room; for what other shocking guest might be hiding in a corner, or for an escape, Harry couldn’t tell.   Meanwhile, Oliver had gone over and put his arm around Harry, "Cheers, Harry! First time I've seen you here!" He was grinning lopsidedly, obviously on Harry's 'side of the potion'.   "It's the first time I've been here," Harry said easily.   "Oh in that case—"   Oliver grabbed Harry's face and pressed their mouths together, giving Harry a loud, deliberate kiss. And another one. And another. It was strange that maybe a few hours earlier, Harry would have been horrified to think of snogging his old Quidditch captain. Now, however, this was quite acceptable. In fact, it had been inevitable, Harry decided as Oliver's tongue sought his. Harry was in a kind of netherworld, where all that mattered was that Oliver not stop kissing him, yet Harry was pulled forcibly from his desires.   "Nice, Harry," Oliver gasped. Slowly Harry's vision came back to him, he struggled to focus on the unbelievably attractive young man in front of him. How had Harry never noticed before? "You like Caché Aimé?"   Harry nodded, at a loss for words. Oliver was now massaging Harry's left shoulder as he whispered into Harry's right ear: "Your friend might need some company." Oliver jerked his head toward Hermione, who had now sunk into a pile of cushions in the corner of the room by herself. "Sometimes it isn't easy at first. You seem to be fine," Oliver added with a shrewd grin. "Still... We can finish later, alright?"   Harry nodded again, his throat feeling stuck. Finish later....   "In the meantime, I'm going to have a look at Black over there. Right now, I don’t even care if he killed a hundred people… dead sexy, that one is."   Oliver cast hungry looks over at Sirius, who to Harry's relief, looked on top of the world. Sirius was puffing lazily off the hookah pipe, evidently telling raucous dirty jokes to Mrs. Weasley, who was giggling and flirting as if she were a silly teenage girl. He lounged stretched over several of the large pillows, and he had taken his shirt off, displaying a lean and hairless chest that was decorated with several rough, unmoving tattoos. His longish dark hair fell with a careless grace into his eyes, and he exuded an infallible confidence that spoke tantalizingly of experience and promise. Oliver was right, Harry decided. Sirius was dead sexy.   "Hermione," Oliver whispered into Harry's ear.   "Oh! Right. Thanks." Harry forced himself to move, one shaky foot at a time, towards Hermione. As he came close to her, she turned, wild-eyed toward him; she seemed unable to speak, but her expression was easily readable to Harry.   "It's all right," Harry said softly, sinking into the pillows beside her. "You don't have to worry about anything, nothing at all." He wrapped his arm around her and whispered into her ear, "Look all around you. We've got nothing but friends here."   Hermione seemed unconvinced, and a bit afraid, so Harry felt that he ought pull her close to his chest. She pressed her cheek into his shoulder obligingly.   "I think I understand it," Harry said. "No one's going to make us do anything we don’t want to. But I don't think either of us was really scared about that." Harry didn't know where his words were coming from, only that it was the right time to say them. "The only thing to be afraid of here is what we want to do to everyone in this room. But …it seems the only thing to do, really…we should just go with it, and see what happens."   Harry watched Hermione's expression change from fearful to contemplative. "You could be right …its all a bit strange. I can’t remember ever feeling this way before, but you wouldn’t believe the things I want to do with Sirius….”   "Me, too," Harry quickly agreed.   "And…I thought I was going to die watching you snog Wood. That was the hottest thing I've ever seen. Ever."   Harry couldn't help being pleased with himself, but said, "It was shocking on my end...shocking and good, that is. I never would have thought of Oliver like that before, but now I can’t believe I never had…all those times in the locker room, and I didn’t look once at him if I could help it." He laughed at Hermione’s famished expression, and could practically feel her mind whipping up an exotic locker room scene involving himself and Oliver. He and ran his hands along her shoulders, glad to feel her body relaxing. "I'm really glad you made it. I knew that we were meant to do this together. I'm sorry about arguing, and I'm sorry if I scared you when you first got here—"   "Shh," Hermione said, "don't think about it. I don't know who that other girl is anymore." Hermione leaned in and gave Harry a lustful kiss, the depth of which surprised her as much as anything else that had happened that night. She was sucking on Harry's lips without inhibition, running both hands through his hair, over his chest and his back. She wanted to feel all of him, her hips inexplicably beginning to pulse to some primal rhythm against him.   Harry returned Hermione’s kiss with vigor, though he felt a twinge of something…something he couldn’t quite explain to himself, fogged as his mind was with the potent seduction of Hermione’s lips. Hermione had always been—always—off limits. As her agile tongue traced his lips, he truly could not remember why it had been that way. His hands were thrilled to drift around her pleasing curves, pinching and squeezing to mutual satisfaction. The way she now pulled from his lips and gave his ear lobe a hard nip spoke of a side of her that he knew must exist, but never let the concept fully bloom in his mind. Likewise, the way curled a leg around his hip and pulled him closer—these were demandingly seductive gestures that, somehow, didn’t surprise him; rather he almost expected it, had always wanted it.   Hermione extinguished all thought with another wave of fervent kisses. It was as if she had been spoiling for his kiss for years…and Harry had to admit it was as if he also needed this, finally free from the desperate longing of years of abjuration. When Hermione did finally surface, she looked astounded at herself.   "I knew you were a raunchy girl," Harry teased breathlessly. "You've tried to play that down all along, but I’ve known what you wanted, somewhere. And now I want to give it to you."   Hermione squeaked. "But, I've never--"   "Me neither!" Harry shook his head emphatically.   "So how can we do it?"   "What d'you mean? Virgins have been figuring it out for, I don't know, one hundred thousand years or something. Right?"   Hermione couldn't help giggling. "I meant, where do we do it?" She glanced around the room.   "Right here!"   "No!" Hermione squealed—he had started to pull at her robes.   "Why not?"   "In front of everyone!"   "So what?"   "Oh, there just isn't anything, I mean anything, as sexy as two hot teenagers." Sirius had sunk down onto the pillows right next to the pair of sexy teenagers to whom he was referring. Both Harry and Hermione noted with a rush of excitement that Sirius was clearly raging hard under his trousers. "Don't let me stop you," Sirius insisted, with a wave of his hand.   Harry and Hermione slowly turned to each other, grinning unbearably.   "You know," began Sirius, stroking his chest thoughtfully, "I liked sex when it was too hot, you know? Like you two," Sirius said, pointing. "Harry's about to rip off your robes, isn't he, Hermione? You both can't stand it, it's too hot. Just the friction of the robe against one nipple as you take it off is enough to make you cum twice. Am I right?"   Sirius noted that the lust-drunk teenagers were now both eyeballing him ferociously. He grinned and leaned back onto the cushions, giving them an excellent view of his smooth chest and flat belly, his erection even more evident than before.   “Um, Sirius?” Hermione asked tremulously, exerting considerable effort not to stare at his crotch.   “Mmm?”   “I’ll bet you’ve been here before.”   Laughing, Sirius said, “Yeah, I have. Got my first invite in my fifth year like you two, but in my seventh year James said I shouldn’t bother getting myself a flat after school, as I practically lived here.”   “My dad—has he…?” Harry wasn’t sure if really wanted to ask that question yet.   “He had some invites in his day,” Sirius said. “Not as many as me, but a fair few. Though I reckon you don’t really want to think about your dad tonight….and neither do I, really.” A momentary sadness creased Sirius’ brow.   “Sorry,” Harry said. “I don’t want to bring you down. It was just something Madam Gwynne said made me think of it.”   “Don’t be sorry, Harry. Actually, Mystères Érotiques was really important to James. He adored Gwendolyn, credited one of her parties for finally bringing Lily round to see he wasn’t an arrogant bint.” Sirius laughed.   “My…my mum and dad…got together here…?” Harry wasn’t sure he really wanted to continue this conversation; not while he and Sirius were still hard, and Hermione was horny.   “Yeah, sometimes people see each other on the outside after they break the ice in here. Sometimes, not always. Anyway, he made some missteps in their courtship early on,” Sirius snorted. “But a little of Gwen’s fabulous Potion, and things started to heat up for them.”   “Actually, that was what I was most curious about,” Hermione interjected. “The Potion. What’s in it, what are the expected effects, side effects and….” She trailed off because Sirius was laughing uproariously.   “You sound like you want to write an essay,” Sirius said with a wink.   “Well, um….” Hermione blushed.   “I bet she would,” Harry said with smile and an affection squeeze on her thigh.   “No one knows what’s in the Potion, and Gwen isn’t about to tell anyone. It’s part of the institution, the secret formula. Only the proprietor of the day can know how to make it—otherwise, it could be real trouble, couldn’t it?”   Hermione didn’t look satisfied with the answer, but dropped the subject; she seemed heavily distracted by Sirius’ bare skin at the moment, particularly the seductive way his trousers hung low on his hip bones, which peeped out of his skin, making his torso more like a V.   “It’s enough to know what it feels like, though, isn’t it?” Harry said, closing his eyes to concentrate on the feeling of it. “It partly feels like a love potion, except I feel really close with everyone in the room, not just one person…and there’s a kind of an aphrodisiac in it, or something.”   “A what?” Sirius asked, observing with interest Harry’s expression of pleasure as he described the effects of the potion.   “Muggle idea, of a substance that makes someone sexually aroused,” Hermione explained. “But there aren’t any real aphrodisiacs, they’re just random substances sold by unscrupulous people trying to make money.”   Sirius shrugged. “Sure there are…well I doubt Muggles would be able their hands on them, they’re rare. But I never thought the Potion made you hornier than you normally would be, except that you aren’t able to hold it in to be polite.”   Hermione yelped. “Ohmygosh! Sirius, that’s exactly what it feels like to me! The way you put it—“   Sirius grinned and pulled Hermione out of Harry’s arms and onto his chest; he kissed her softly on the mouth, lingering there as if tasting something fresh and sweet, feeling her tremble. Her body seemed to go limp, though her lips sought his heatedly, and her shaking hands managed to pinch one of his exposed nipples. Sirius had considerable difficulty disengaging, controlling himself only for Harry's sake…Hermione was Harry’s first, Sirius told himself. He rolled her on to her side and gave her a last kiss on her giggling mouth.   Now Sirius couldn't help looking at Harry—who seemed charged with desire and jealousy after watching Hermione sample Sirius’ lips. Sirius had to struggle with himself again, harder than before. He knew it was inescapable, he had known from when Harry had first entered the room that night; still it was hard to come to terms with. Surely he could not possibly be so lucky, and so cursed? Realizing there was nothing to do but accept his fate, as he knew he must, Sirius got up and crouched down in front of Harry.   "Harry," Sirius began, looking at him intently. "I've got to kiss you. I hope that’s all right. I know I'm your godfather, I know that I'm your guardian. But…I have to kiss you." Sirius leaned forward to kiss Harry, whose hands pulled Sirius closer eagerly. Harry was kissing Sirius sloppy, licking at his lips with a quivering moan. Hermione couldn't help noticing that Sirius was really, really making out with Harry; the elder’s mouth kept returning for more, and Harry’s hand clasped firmly on the back of Sirius’ neck prevented any quick escape. Harry’s fingers needed to appraise the shapeliness of Sirius’ back, and the   With great difficulty, Sirius had managed to break away from Harry and stood up.   "Don't stop!" Harry protested hotly.   "Don't stop!" Hermione seconded the motion.   Sirius grinned and stretched his arms out, arching his back. "The night's young. Incidentally, if someone wanted privacy, there's a few great rooms down that corridor," Sirius pointed. "You two found the Come and Go room yet at Hogwarts?"   Harry nodded.   "The last door at the end of the hall is sort of like that, but it's much sexier, and it stays put. You can't ask for what you want exactly, but you cannot fool this room. It knows just which twisted fantasy you're coveting the most at the moment, and it'll make it happen for you."   "Thanks, Sirius." Harry was looking up at his long, lean form.   Sirius shrugged casually. "Don't mention it. Just don't get lost in there, okay?" 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