Tea became popular in Wizarding Britain far quicker than it did in Muggle England; wizards and witches did not need revolutionary politics to entice them to give-up their coffee for the more creative beverage. They had, after all, been brewing concoctions that were quite similar for many years, albeit for strictly medicinal or magical effect; when tea made its way across the trade-routes to England, then, it was almost immediately embraced by the witches and wizards who lived there. They soon started concocting their own blends—some with magical effects and some without and others caught in some hazy in-between world of herbs and homeopathy—and more than one famed Apothecary or Potioneer of the day was known nearly as much for their teas as anything else.
It thus did not take long for tea to become tied-in to one’s social standing; anything that could be was, especially after the Statute of Secrecy was enacted. When the allure and benefits of the much wider, if less magical, Muggle society was stripped away the wizards had no choice but to turn inwards—and to thus find all manner of miniscule divide by which to measure themselves. Among the multitude of social games that sprang up was the blending of teas (both magical and mundane). Wizards and witches started to concoct their own personal brews of leaves and herbs (and sometimes a little extra) in an effort to impress one another; it didn’t take long for it to become a matter of familial import, and recipes were passed-down the line and lineage just like the goblin-made silver and books of secret Curses.
Even today, most of the pure-blood families (and a good number of the half-bloods who see the incorporation and acceptance of some things—and people—from the Muggle World as no reason to turn their back on their traditions) still have at least one “family blend” that has been passed-down for generations. These are closely, carefully guarded secrets. One may drink the “family tea” at someone’s house; one may even obtain bags of the blended leaves and herbs to take home for one’s later use. The precise nature of the blend, however, will not be shared. Even family members are not always privy to the secrets of their own brews; it is considered especially bad form to try and take the specifications of a tea-blend with one upon a marriage, although generally most families are generous enough to gift a new bridge or groom with several bags of their personal brew as a standard wedding-gift.
Many a rebellious witch or wizard who left home under less than agreeable circumstances has spent hours trying to recreate their favorite childhood blends,and there are several disreputable apothecaries who claim to specialize in “distilling” a recipe from a sample, but they seem more interested in preying upon the disowned and desperate; no proper apothecary or herbalist would dare commit such an egregious social faux-pas, of course, and if they did manage it they certainly would know better than to advertise.
Several families are known for the strengths or qualities of their particular brews; the Vances, for instance, have a bergamot-infused blend that is particularly uplifting; the Longbottoms one based on chamomile that many claim is more soothing than a Calming Draught; and the Malfoys an energy-infuser that is so bitter it can hardly be drunk without milk but which can keep a person awake and alert well into the next day without the nasty headaches that usually accompany alertness potions, if one can stomach it undiluted.
It is rumored that Severus Snape knows the recipe to the “lost brew” of the Prince family, but if he does, he hasn’t yet offered to share a cup.
