Sorry to repost - I worked hard to try to get the tone right and push it to MysticScribe's stratospheric heights of silliness, "hot wizard" clichés and eye-rolling imagery with my limited English vocabulary. Feel free to seek out any reference to a canon character…
Special thanks to Crookshanks22, who suggested I delve into Fifi LaFolle tantalizing waters of magical bodice ripper novels. Fifi LaFolle was witch of the month on JKR website and the author of magical romance novels – and the drawing made her look strikingly like Barbara Cartland!
Beware – One third ridiculous, one third saucy. The rating is higher that usual – one third smut.
Now, I have warned you ; )
Archive no.11
A damaged copy of the best-selling romance novel "Tamer of her Heart", from the Enchanted Encounters series, authored by romance novelist Fifi LaFolle.
Was found in Gryffindor's girls' dormitory.
The inscriptions Molly Prewett W. , Mrs M. Weasley, Molly P. Weasley , Mrs Arthur W., MP + AW and seven scribbled hearts were found on the inside of the book jacket.
The complete novel can be borrowed from the Archives. Please add your name on the waiting list. This page has been chosen for the numerous underlined sentences.
OOOOooooOOOO
(…) page 263
if they learned how inappropriate you acted while I was in great pain?" Charles insinuated with impudence, and the muscles in his back rippled as he closed her trunk with ease.
As he turned to face her, Elvira could not help noticing how the fabric of his blue velvet robes sculpted his strong, broad shoulders. Trouble overwhelmed her and her dimpled cheeks reddened. The maiden's beating heart was chanting a sad melody. She had lost so much because of him. She hated him…didn't she?
Elvira feverishly kept in mind that Charles had wounded her father with that vengeful, unfair hex. He was the sole reason why she had to give away all hopes of a quiet life with her family, therefore quitting Healers' Training School before she could attain her dream. But he had saved her mother's life from that manticore's attack and he almost lost his in doing so.
She could not refuse to tend to him when the awful, insisting young man had blackowled her father to get her to Heal him with her meagre knowledge of dark magic.
Elvira never had the choice with Charles Dragston: he imposed himself on her life. She could not avoid him, nor forget him: it seemed to the young woman that he was always in her way. She was filled with elusive, violent, passionate feelings for him. Elvira inwardly cursed him: he was a maverick brute, a dangerous wizard in the body of a lady witch-killer.
Yet she could not move when he grabbed her delicate wrist with his strong hand. He took her broom from her hands and he let it fall on the floor. In his powerful hand, the broom had seemed as light as an oak leaf in the autumn of her pain.
His blue eyes were piercing her, as he was trying to glimpse at some pages of her intimacy she never wanted him to read. She was suddenly afraid he would try to use his Legilimens capacities to conquer her; she was suddenly afraid he would discover how she feared him and was attracted to him at the same time. Charles made her feel vulnerable and weak as Muggles felt, she thought; she hated him for that.
As she tried to recoil, Elvira breathed, "I took care of you at great cost, Mr Dragston." Her soft lips let out a small whimper as he strengthened his grip on her. "Sponge bathing me instead of using a simple Lavere spell? That must have cost you, " the young man deadpanned with gleaming, incisive eyes, the corners of his mouth slightly turning up.
Elvira blushed profusely. "How can you even infer that I am that sort of witch? I was not offered a choice, Sir," she retorted with a quivering voice. She looked at him through her black, thick eyelashes and she added, flustered, "I never would have tried wand magic on the wound the manticore left on you. It would have killed you."
Charles Dragston spoke back softly, "Then, you saved me. You deserve my uttermost recognition. I am bounded to you. "
His rough and knowing fingers insinuated themselves under her sleeve and Elvira gasped at his cockiness. His skin was so warm and silky against her own white petal-like flesh: she had oiled his for days to prevent the spreading of the damage the Manticore's poisoned scales had done.
Elvira knew what rich honey colour it had, how it smelled musky and refine at the same time. She had been scared to feel her knees weaken when she had inhaled its intoxicating scent, when the man was lying still, plunged into a potion-induced sleep to ease his pain.
The Magical Forest Keeper must have slipped her Amortentia potion in the pumpkin juice he had offered to her, she believed: Elvira found herself wanting to surrender to him. Throbbing desire flooded her and tears moistened her green eyes.
This could not be. This was so wrong.
She half-heartedly muttered, "No. I do not want your thanks nor your acknowledgement. Let me go, Mr. Dragston."
Elvira tried to escape from him, to flee from this horrible, self-assured man, but he casted an imperious hand on the small of her back and he pulled her to him. She was breathing harder now, trying to grab her wand with her free hand. Charles smirked and locked her wrists in a tight grasp behind her, forcing her to arch back slightly like a mahogany sprig under a scalding hot wind. She watched him with glowering eyes when he honoured her lips by slowly tracing them with a finger.
His voice was smooth and suggestive when his lips moved against her ear, "I am convinced a witch of your sort will enjoy being thanked."
Charles captured her mouth with savagery and Elvira let out a small cry of pain when his handsome face collided with hers. His mouth was insisting and persuasive: when his hand slipped under her pleated bodice, her cry turned into a throaty rasp and he
(…) end of page
Oh my. I'm sorry you had to go through this. I hope I did justice to Madame LaFolle.
I suffered through very corny love songs to write this.
