Welcome to Charming, where swirling petticoats, the language of flowers, and old-fashioned duels are only the beginning of what is lying underneath…
After a magical attempt on her life in 1877, Queen Victoria launched a crusade against magic that, while tidied up by the Ministry of Magic, saw the Wizarding community exiled to Hogsmeade, previously little more than a crossroad near the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In the years that have passed since, Hogsmeade has suffered plagues, fires, and Victorian hypocrisy but is still standing firm.
Thethe year is now 1894. It’s time to join us and immerse yourself in scandal and drama interlaced with magic both light and dark.
No one was reading her mail. If Hanna had ever doubted it, she'd confirmed it today — because if they had read her mail, the floo would have been locked when she wanted to use it on Friday night. Instead, the floo was open, and she was able to vanish from the parlor fireplace and appear in Mr. Hudson's sitting room.
She prepared for this. A new puzzle, fully completed — the shakes, dispelled from her blood. After her sister's death, she sometimes saw shadows. She did not see any of them tonight. She went to the parlor, on time, for the floo.
She brushed the soot off of her skirts — black for mourning — and stepped out from his fireplace. "Good evening!" Hanna said, cheerful. She was not entirely sure what the etiquette was, for these situations — she was sure he would teach her.
When Dean had agreed to this, he wasn't exactly sure what it was Hanna wanted from him, but he was happy to play along. He certainly couldn't promise her anything meaningful, but he did enjoy her company and he definitely enjoyed the activities she was interested in at the moment, so he could carefully have her over for some lessons at her comfort level.
He'd picked up a bottle of good red wine, remembering her preference from their first meeting. He'd opened it and was letting it breathe as he sat in an armchair by the fire with an adventure novel and a glass of whiskey for himself. He'd gotten a couple of bottles when he and Lestrange had jetted off to Ireland for a tasting and he thought this might be a good night to pull one off the shelf. It wasn't nerves, Dean hadn't felt any sort of nervousness about anything like this in a long, long time, but he worried he was playing with fire and he might get burned somehow. This was why he typically didn't dabble in debutantes, but he was placing a safe bet on Hanna and he just hoped he wasn't wrong.
The floo lit up green, announcing her arrival, and Dean closed his book with a snap as she stepped out. "Evening," he greeted, with a smile, her enthusiasm amusing to him. "Glad you could make it." Though this was sort of new to him too, he was intrigued by the prospect. "I got you some wine." He motioned to where it sat opened on the table nearby. A little liquid courage never hurt.
He looked very handsome, with his book by the fire — Hanna reminded herself that he was not her future husband. The amulet was a liar, and she should not believe it — instead, she should believe in the services that Mr. Hudson was offering her.
"Thank you very much," Hanna said. She followed his hand motion over to the red wine, and poured it into the glass. She took a sip of it before speaking again. She was charmed that he remembered she preferred red.
"I haven't done this sort of thing before," Hanna said; he knew, as that was sort of the whole thing here, but she still felt as if she ought to admit to it.
set by Bee
October 7, 2024 – 11:22 PM
Last modified: October 7, 2024 – 11:23 PM by Dean Hudson.
Dean noted the black of her dress as she stepped further into the room and wondered what he had missed. Hopefully he didn't say anything stupid on the matter, so decided to just let it go unless she wanted to tell him.
"Truthfully, neither have I." Dean admitted with a laugh as he set down his book. "At least not with this goal in mind." Teaching someone some personal intimacy came with any new partner, generally, until you were comfortable enough together to just know, but this was from scratch, and so very new to him in that respect.
Speaking of getting comfortable, Dean stood from his own seat and paced over to his liquor cabinet to refill his glass. She had a full glass now too and so Dean made his way over to the sofa, patting the cushion next to him. He was moving entirely at her pace here, letting her call the shots with what she was comfortable with, but he also thought he would have to make some first moves by trying to read her expressions and body language. "Tell me about your day," he offered, trying to ease into the situation.
She supposed it made sense that Mr. Hudson was not wandering around advertising kissing lessons — that would have been the sort of thing that gave someone a reputation, far more than rakishness did. Hanna followed his indication of the cushion and strode over to the couch. She sat down next to him and took a sip of her wine. This was strange, but even without the amulet she was more comfortable now than she'd been at the Sanditon. Now she — sort of knew him. This was planned.
She pursed her lips at his question. What had she done today? "Mostly I was at home," she said, sheepish about it even though she wasn't allowed outside at the moment. "But I did send a letter to my friend Daffodil, and I worked on a puzzle my brother brought me."
Dean could not pretend to know what the life of a debutante was really like. He wasn't quite old enough to think about taking a wife (nor did he exactly want to either) and so he didn't pay calls or anything of that sort. He wondered if it was dreadfully boring. No wonder Hanna liked her puzzles. At least they kept her busy.
Turning his body toward her, Dean leaned one arm atop the back of the sofa and held his glass lazily. "Sounds... leisurely." Was the best, least offensive adjective he could come up with. Judging by her black attire, she had entered mourning for some reason, and so he supposed she might not be able to go anywhere under the circumstances. Dean very nearly asked, but thought better of it. No need to cast a cloud over the evening.
"What is it exactly you'd like to get out of your evening, then?" Dean's smile was a little mischievous, but he thought boundaries were necessary and he wanted to respect hers. He might be a cad in most situations, but he also thought consent and comfort were equally important.
Leisurely. Hanna had a suspicion that Mr. Hudson thought of her days as boring; she did not think he was wrong. Being a debutante was very busy, but right now she wasn't a debutante — she was in mourning. And if this was any preview of what her days would be like as a spinster, then she was doomed.
Her smile mirrored Mr. Hudson's; mischievous around the edges. "I'd like to become a good kisser,'' she said, honest, "And engage in kissing to get there.''
"Practice does make perfect, or so I'm told." Dean had a lot of practice. He certainly wasn't complaining, and he thought himself a good enough teacher, at least in this respect. "And you have come to the right place," Dean assured her over the rim of his own glass. He had to wonder, briefly, if this might be setting her up for some future tension. When she managed to snag a husband, would he be thrown off by what she already knew? Dean knew he wouldn't even flinch, in fact, he'd probably be thrilled, but most men wanted their debutantes fresh and chaste.
He considered Hanna for a moment, sipping at his whiskey. "Any questions? Anything you'd prefer I do or do not do?" Dean was starting to work out a plan; show her a few things, what to do with her hands, what to avoid, etc, but thought some clear guidelines would be good, so they both knew what to expect.
Hanna met Mr. Hudson's eyes over their glasses, and took a sip from her glass. "I liked your hand on my neck and my leg, last time," Hanna said. She had thought about their extended activities a great deal since the last time, so it was easy for her to think of answers. "But I wasn't sure what to do with my hands, and would like to be more — active." If she was going to get into trouble, then Hanna thought that she ought to be a real participant in the trouble.
Dean did tend to let his hands wander, and Hanna had seemed to enjoy it, so that was easy to replicate. They were thinking along the same lines, which was good. He still didn't quite know what to really expect out of this, but he would teach her what she wanted to know, there wasn't much to it, as he had very few reservations about where hands ended up.
Draining the last measure of his whiskey, Dean reached for her wine glass and leaned to set it aside on the table. He turned himself to face her more fully and scooched closer, reaching out to take her hands and settle them on his shoulders, "Safe bet, fine in the beginning." He chuckled, guiding them under the open collar of his shirt. "Much better, always find a little skin." He had always had little patience for the barrier of clothes once things got moving, but since they weren't going anywhere tonight, this was a good start.
Letting his own hand fall to her leg again, Dean didn't move any skirts out of the way like he normally would, but he did travel up her thigh to her waist. "Don't be afraid to lean into it." He mumbled as he closed the gap between them.
Last time Hanna grabbed Mr. Hudson's lapels and pressed her hands to his chest, but she had not done anything nearly as thrilling as touch his skin. A thrill buzzed in her chest at the feeling of Mr. Hudson's skin, but it was a good buzz — not at all like the feeling of the curse in her blood. His touch didn't have the same fervent nature as it did on the beach, but she had expected that — this was lessons, not a tryst.
She leaned up into the kiss, pressing her lips against his more confidently than she had last time. Hanna curled her fingers into the gap between his shirt and his chest, moving on instincts as well as on Mr. Hudson's instructions to find a little skin. When their first kiss paused, Hanna did not pull back but rather stayed closely and said, "Is there anything else I should be doing with my mouth?"
Dean had to remind himself more than once that this was leading nowhere, just a teaching session, but he would be remiss if he said he didn't enjoy the softness of her hands on his skin. He would make an expert out of her yet. He'd started out slow, easing into it, the pressure still light. It had been a while since he'd jumped into something physical with someone inexperienced and so he had to remind himself to take it easy. He'd kept his hand resolutely on her leg, but had added a little pressure here and there.
Still, she wanted to know and he had a wandering attention span, so he nibbled gently on her lower lip, testing the waters a little before diving in to something a little deeper. When she leaned back, Dean was a little grateful, because his focus was slipping. He'd always had a thing for eager participants, those willing to try something new. He took a breath, and chuckled at her question. "I tend to go for things I know I like, you get the hang of reading the other person's cues after a while." Hence the little nip at her bottom lip; Dean liked to keep things interesting. "Has there been anything that's stood out, either good or bad?" He would not take her critique of his skills personally.
Hanna could almost feel the warmth of his hand through her skirts, she was sure of it — she understood that they were here just for lessons, but she did wish that he would touch her skin again, maybe run his hands up her stockings. They'd kissed enough now that she thought he might want to — but these were for teaching, and she had been too eager last time. Hanna would not make the same mistake today.
"I'm not sure I know enough to know what I don't like yet," Hanna answered, with a sheepish smile. "But I want to try that lip thing you did — can we kiss some more?"
That was fair. It hadn't taken Dean too long to figure out where his own preferences stood, but if their rendezvous on the beach and tonight were her only experience, she had plenty of time to find herself and what she liked.
Chuckling, Dean nodded, using the arm on her thigh to haul her a little closer to him, her leg draped over his lap as he leaned back in. His goal was slow and sensual, expose her to anything other than just putting his lips against hers. He left Hanna up to whatever her decision was about trying what she liked, but he figured he may as well give her more to test out. Gently he ran his tongue across her lower lip, pulling it between his own for a moment before diving deeper.
The taste of the wine was clear on her tongue as he slid his hand a little further down her leg, inching her skirts up in his hand as it made its way back up. His fingertips trailed along her stockinged leg gently. She had seemed to enjoy his wandering touch on the beach so he could test the waters again, mostly for his own amusement, but to see if that was something she was still up for.
Hanna followed Hudson's lead, carefully mimicking his tongue's movements as she tried to figure out what was best — she let her tongue slide across his lower lip, and the novelty of it was nearly as interesting as the kiss itself. Despite the lessons lacking some of the frenetic nature of their beach encounter, he was bunching her skirts and touching her legs, and Hanna sighed and pressed her calf into his hand as if to encourage him.
She broke off their kiss to whisper, "I never heard that rakes could be gentle," with a slight smile.
Hanna seemed to be a quick learner, taking what he showed her and changing it up just enough to keep him on the hook. He wasn't bored yet, which he'd thought might happen, but between anticipating her reactions and keeping himself in check, he was surprisingly entertained. The chuckle was unavoidable. Dean didn't consider himself a rake, though he could certainly see why Hanna might say that. "I, my dear, am flexible." Dean was big on consent and a mutual good time. Sex and everything related to it was supposed to be satisfying, a gratifying release shared with another person or persons.
"I can be a great many things, depending on the situation." He mused quietly, dipping his head to run his lips along her jaw, all the while pressing his hand further up her skirts, fingertips finding skin just above her stockings with a smirk. "But never what somebody doesn't want me to be." His moods fluctuated of course, but he was also good at finding the right partner to fit that mood, whatever it may be, whenever it may strike. Gentle, wicked, rough, sensual; he could adapt easily.
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