Quartet

BY : OracleObscured
Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes
Dragon prints: 30043
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other characters/things/places created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money from my fan-fiction.

A/N: Well . . . crap-a-lap-a-ding-dong. This story, which was supposed to take me about six months to finish, is now over a year in the making. I am beyond ready to get this thing posted. I just need to give everyone a heads up before you start.
I will be releasing these chapters every two to four days. I am still rewriting/fixing some of the later chapters, and I need time to work on them, so no, I won't be rushing to get this all up in record time. I decided to make my chapters shorter but greater in number. There are 83 (that includes the epilogue), so this is a long story. They vary greatly in length, ranging from 970 words at the shortest to maybe 10,300 at the longest. Each chapter is from either Hermione, Draco, Lucius, or Severus's point of view, and I have indicated the POV at the top of each chapter to avoid confusion.
I would like to state for the record that there are some kinky themes here, and they are not going to be everyone's cup of tea. Please read the tags/warnings for this story before you begin, and if you can't handle my kink heat, stay out of my kitchen. (Or stick around and broaden your horizons, but don't say I didn't warn you.)
Along those lines, I'd like to clarify something before you begin, Draco and Lucius are both with Hermione in this story. Together. But they do not have an incestuous relationship. I have nothing against incest stories, and I've read my fair share, but that's not what this story is about. I understand that this can be a squicky situation for some people, so I thought it best to be up front about it.
And lastly, I want to explain my chapter titles, quotes, and end notes. I wanted to integrate the theme of music into the story, so all chapter titles are musical terms, and I'll give definitions for most of them in the end notes. The quotes are all lyrics that pertain to the chapter in some way, and they're cited in the end notes as well. There will occasionally be other tidbits about the chapter in the end note section.
If you’ve made it through this A/N, I salute you, and I hope you enjoy the story. I love hearing from everyone, and I appreciate all the support I get from my fans more than I can say. Your enthusiasm keeps me going. Much love from me to you <3

Warnings/tags: Voyeurism, semi-public masturbation, M/M, M/F, threesomes, bisexuality, foursomes, oral sex, anal sex, anal play, rim jobs, enemas, daddy kink, D/s, spanking, caning, butt plugs, sex toys, double penetration (in two holes), nipple play, breast worship, pegging, exhibitionism, fingering, AB/DL, Daddy Dom/little, paddling, riding crops, FemDom, queening throne, Jewlery Fetish, semen play, frottage, finger sucking, deep throating, masturbation, bathtub sex, restraints, leather, cuddling, feels, angst, outdoor sex, pool sex, H/C.

 


1—Audience

“Private Eyes. They're watching you. They see your every move.”—Hall & Oates

(Hermione)

A blissful smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Yes! More! Her hand skimmed down the leather, her thighs tightening in anticipation. Her hips circled once. Twice. Her clit screamed for a touch. She closed her eyes, pitching back her head as she inhaled deeply. Oh gods. Smell that? Could any scent be more mouthwatering? The most primal areas of her brain lit up like a finale of fireworks. Her juices started to flow. Now.

She opened her eyes and leveled her gaze. Mine. Spreading her arms like the Winged Victory of Samothrace, she strutted between the shelves, touching every spine as she passed. Yeeeeeeees! The dusty scent of decaying parchment tickled her nose. The perfume of periodicals. That smell could bring a girl to her knees.

This was a library fit for a queen. And since there were no other females in sight, she deduced that this was her kingdom. These leather and canvas covers were hers to rule. She could open any of them and command their knowledge. Her loyal subjects cheered her reign and begged for an audience with their majesty.

Unfortunately, a fine layer of dust covered most of the silent throng, leaving them all dulled in a ghostly haze of grey. She brushed off her fingers and caressed one aged spine, whose lettering had worn away. The Malfoys really should take better care of their books. It would be a shame if something happened to all these rare titles.

Draco's library was the main reason she agreed to come to his parties. When he'd started working at the Ministry five years earlier, she had expected him to pick up where he'd left off as the Prat Prince of Slytherin. But the war had done more than smear his family name through the mud; it had sucked away his snark. He'd been nothing but polite and courteous when they shared the lift or passed in the halls, but she'd assumed he was just putting on a good show for anyone who might be watching. But then at lunch in the canteen, he had asked to sit with her, and she'd almost fallen out of her hard plastic chair in shock.

Draco 2.0 was a worthy companion. They'd been awkward and stiff with each other at first, but they eventually fell into a comfortable rhythm. She never thought she'd see the day when she'd be joking with Draco Malfoy over shepherd’s pie and apple crumble, but time had a way of making fools of even the most stubborn witches.

He was still arrogant and sarcastic, he just didn't aim his dispersions in her direction. Hermione found his intelligence appealing, and he was a consummate conversationalist, which was something her brain appreciated. She soon discovered that talking wasn't Draco's only perk. It turned out he had the inside scoop on the entire Ministry. She worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, while Draco was in the Department of International Magical Cooperation. He was privy to information that never made its way to her desk, and it didn't hurt that he chatted up every witch in the building. As soon as he turned on the charm, they were all dying to spill their secrets. He was a one man MI5.

That came in handy when her lowly division, Creature Justice, needed more money. It was just her and two subordinates—they weren't high on the funding totem poll. But with Draco's inside information, she'd gotten two financial windfalls. He'd done more for Creature Justice than anybody would ever know—including him.

Then, two years into their budding friendship, Draco's remaining swagger had taken an even bigger blow. Narcissa contracted a particularly virulent strain of dragon pox. The virus quickly ravaged her beauty with its harsh scarring and discoloration, and then with hardly any warning, she’d died.

Draco and Lucius were devastated by the loss, and although Draco came back to work, he’d changed. He had become quieter, and Hermione found him much more thoughtful during their lunchtime chats. They occasionally went out for drinks after work, but Hermione didn't really like to drink; so she just sat with him while he got pissed on Firewhisky. He wasn't a mean drinker, so she didn't mind.

Mostly he was a dance-y drinker. He'd down a few shots then find some willing witch to fling around the floor. Hermione couldn't help noticing most of them were blonde. If he didn't go home with one of his dance partners, he came over to her flat and crashed on her couch.

She would find him there in the morning, huddled into a ball under her Aunt Geraldine’s green afghan, his eyes red and swollen from crying. He always said it was from the drinking, but she knew better.

Sad Draco was a much more sensitive Draco. At least to her he was. She had no idea how he treated his sexual conquests. Maybe he was still humping and dumping them. She tried to stay out of that side of his life. To her, he was just Malfoy, her stuck-up friend—who allowed her to fondle his massive literary endowment. In that respect she could see why a witch would want to get her hands on him. 

But she doubted any of his bed bunnies were doing him for his library. Hell, she wondered how many of them could even read. But that was their loss—and her gain. Each thick volume was hers to stoke and fondle at her leisure, flipping its pages until it ejected its contents all over her brain. So much satisfaction without even breaking a sweat.

Not at all like the ham-handed pillocks outside. She wasn't in the mood to fend off their infantile attempts at seduction. How exhausting. Draco was probably out there shagging one of his giggling minions. He liked to stock up on pussy during the weekend to tide him over. While she found all his choices a bit lacking, she couldn't begrudge him a little pleasure.

She could do with a decent poke herself. Unfortunately, creature cases kept her busy; and she didn't meet too many eligible men in her line of work. She'd met some smoking hot centaurs, but that was a bit more beastiality than she was comfortable with.

Draco’s party was crawling with available wizards. Crawling. Like spiders. They gave her the creeps. Most of them seemed to think they were fabulously charming, or they drank until they convinced themselves they were. Quick shags on the Malfoys' manicured lawn wasn't what she had in mind when she imagined getting laid.

These books, however, were exactly what she had in mind. That was why she always accepted Draco's invitations. She'd make an appearance at the party then slip inside as if she needed the loo. Everyone would be laughing and chatting outside, swimming in the pool and splashing about. They never noticed her sneaky departure.

Except Draco. He was onto her game. After everyone started to leave, he'd usually wander in and find her lost in the pages of some ancient relic. Sometimes he dragged her away, saying she was getting as dusty as her reading material; but other times he just left her there. Twice he'd come in in the morning to find her asleep on the floor, her selections scattered around her like empty bottles after a bender.

Once, he had come down in the middle of the night and carried her to the sofa. Her sweet literary enabler.

Hermione chose a book at random and flipped through its pages. Potions. She wished there was some order to this library. It seemed everything was just haphazardly thrown together. The next book was on magical house plants. And the one beside it was on . . . holy shit.

She flipped back to the cover. No name. She searched for a title page. The Gentleman's Guide to Discipline. None of this looked like anything a gentleman would do. 

Not that. 

Or that. 

And certainly not that. 

She couldn't stop turning the pages.

Resting the book on an empty bit of shelf, she quickly skimmed each chapter. Her blue linen party dress suddenly felt too breezy. Her nether regions had only a delicate layer of lace to separate her from the world. Pulling her shrug tighter, she scanned each illustration like an art critic. This was so . . . dirty. And spellbinding. Her pussy seemed to love it even more than her eyeballs. She squirmed as her knickers got doused with a shot of lubrication. Merlin's balls. Would Draco know if she "commandeered" this particular selection? Stealing was wrong, but this might be the exception. She couldn't say, "Pardon me, Draco, my pussy would like to borrow this incredibly graphic book you have on 101 ways to make Hermione happy. You wouldn't mind if I took it home for a quick roll in sack, would you?" No, that wouldn't do at all. She'd never hear the end of it. Maybe she could sneak it out under her skirt.

Between her thighs.

No one would know. Just me and my pussy.

She turned the book sideways and watched as the man in the drawing pulled a witch over his knee and eased a large plug up her backside. Damn it. Where were was a good plug-wielding wizard when you needed one? And now he was spanking the lucky captive. This artist deserved an award for most lifelike pencil renderings. How could she be so turned on by a bunch of lines on a piece of paper? Her pussy was dripping like a coffee maker.

After a quick glance to make sure she was still alone, she slipped her hand under her skirt and slid her fingers into her panties. Oh shit. So that's where the English Channel had been diverted. Wonderful. Your timing is bloody brilliant, Muffy. Why aren't you this wet when I'm trying to boff myself to sleep? Although she told her frolicking fingers that masturbating in the Malfoys’ library was indecent, they ignored her chiding and went on with their soggy exploration. Who's going to know? they argued.

Excellent point.

The doorknob across the room rattled as it turned, and she yanked her hand away from her crotch and held her breath. Her heart struck up a painful tattoo against her ribs just to hammer home the admonishment. This is why you don't touch yourself in public. It's a heart attack waiting to happen. Pressing her damp hand to her thudding breast to hold in her heart, she peered through the shelves to see who had interrupted her love-in.

Oh. My. God.

Hermione blinked to make sure she was seeing things correctly. Lucius had somebody backed against the wall of the alcove that surrounded the door. His long blond hair was unmistakable. She couldn't see who the other person was. Someone tall. And Dark. Male . . . or an incredibly tall woman. The shadows made identification difficult. She'd never seen such a furious snogging before.

“Ding dong,” she whispered under her breath. She had no idea that her hiding spot in the library came complete with a peep show.

Her conscience chastised her spying, but her pussy would hear none of that. Too bad brainI'm in charge now. We're watching, and that's final.

Lucius's partner gained the upper hand and pinned him against the wall. Her heart stammered, pounding out a trippy timpani. No one had ever kissed her like that, and her lips knew they’d been missing out on something spectacular. The other person grabbed Lucius’s face and pulled back for air, both of them panting hard and staring into each other's eyes.

That hand. She knew that hand. Her mind flashed back to her days at Hogwarts, sitting in the dungeons, watching her professor caress a cauldron as it cooled. No way. She squinted into the darkness. Well no wonder she could barely see him—he was all in black.

Snape's pale hand slithered down to Lucius's trousers and palmed his package with a firm caress. Hermione's eyes bugged out as he rubbed the other man like a magic lamp. Morgana's molting magpies! How long had this been going on? Did Draco know that his father was fucking his old professor? 

The questions rolling through her mind were inconsequential compared to the waterfall between her legs. She was ready to start humping the shelves. And she would have done it too if she hadn’t been terrified of being spotted. 

Severus pulled back from Lucius and walked to the couch, as if he'd suddenly decided he'd had enough snogging for one night. Her clit pouted with disappointment. As they moved out into the light of the fire, she could see much more clearly. Snape sat on the couch, cool and unaffected, apparently bored for some unfathomable reason, and Lucius went to the liquor cabinet to pour their drinks. The amber liquid colored each cut-glass goblet as they filled, and Malfoy took one to Snape. Sitting down next to him, Lucius started talking. Their conversation was so quiet she could hear nothing but the rumbling resonance of each vowel and the broken pulse of each consonant. Lucius put his hand on Snape's thigh, and Hermione—and her rabid clit—perked back up.

This was a masterpiece. White and black. On a black leather couch. Leather. Why was her brain so turned on by Snape and Lucius displayed a background of leather? It conjured up so many delicious possibilities.

And she was starved for a hearty helping of deliciousness. Her stomach lurched with a pang of hunger.

Although she was often struck by a desolate sense of loneliness now that most of her friends had married, for the moment, her inner ache was purely physical. Her body longed for a warm hand between her thighs, a kiss on the neck, the weight of a body atop hers. Someone to want her. Why was it so damn hard to find a good man? One who fancied books and music. One who capped off a night of incredible sex by kissing her forehead and holding her till she fell asleep. One who was sweet and interested in her day . . . but fucked her through the mattress when she needed to let go. Was that too much to ask?

And she'd been disappointed to discover that wizards were not the perverts they purported to be. None of them knew what she wanted. And she didn't know how to tell them. It was all so embarrassing to say out loud. Frustration and sex had become synonymous in her mind. Men acted as if her pussy and breasts were the only erogenous zones she possessed, but it was her brain that needed the tickle. She was turned on so easily. Imagination was her lubricant. Anticipation could get her dripping without a single touch. Just a suggestion. It was all she needed.

And now she had been flung into a sea of suggestion. Snape and Lucius made excellent kindling for the sexual bonfire building in her brain.

She watched in fascination as Lucius stroked the Potions master like a comfortable lover. She couldn't quite see exactly where his hand was going, but she was pretty sure he was lingering in Crotchville. Or at least that was story her pussy liked to believe.

Gnawing on her lower lip, she tipped her head to one side and peered through the books, trying to get a better view of the action.

"What'cha lookin at, Granger?" 


Chapter notes: Private Eyes by Hall and Oates. Written by Sara Allen, Janna Allen, Daryl Hall, and Warren Pash. https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=JsntlJZ9h1U

*Edit* One of my brilliant readers (Dawn EB) has told me where "Ding dong" came from. "BTW, Ding Dong is one of those catch phrases that infiltrated British language a good many decades ago, as uttered by Mr Leslie Phillips https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=0awJf7OWMmo although usually a little more suggestively than in that clip. It is perhaps more appropriate because he was also the voice of the Sorting Hat :D"

More on the winged victory (and pictures if you're not familiar with the work). https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Winged_Victory_of_Samothrace



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