Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Quartet	By : OracleObscured Category: Harry Potter > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 128263 -:- Recommendations : 5 -:- Currently Reading : 11
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.

Chapter List
- 14
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- 16
A/N: Dedicated_Reader: Draco's gaining a lot of support :) You're not the only one cheering for him. I know I've got some Lucius fans reading, but I'd be surprised if anyone was hardcore in his corner right now. He's got some issues to work through.
Lissa: :) I've warped your judgement.
DS: Rooting for Draco seems to be at an all time high. (And I'm impressed you've let him move ahead of Snape.) I'm going to enjoy your Draco support while I can (because I know who's corner you'll be in soon).
"that reminds me, are you going to get me a picture this summer?"
--Only if it's the slowest hummingbird known to mankind :)
And bath time is quickly approaching. :)
15—Overture
“Do you know where you’re going to?”—Diana Ross
(Hermione)
Hermione hadn’t felt like skipping since she was about ten, but the urge to pass the other pedestrians with a springing trot was overwhelming. Glancing down at her black pumps and then at the glass vase wedged in the crook of her arm, she decided against it. Heels were not made for hopping. But lack of bounce couldn’t dampen her marvelous mood. Not only had she found a loophole in their most recent case that would keep those werewolves from being evicted—which was a huge load off her mind—she’d also had a wonderful lunch with Draco and was currently carting around about thirty Galleons worth of flora from two of her Slytherin suitors. It might have been the greatest Monday in the history of all Mondays.
As she approached her front door, Hermione spotted a brown box tucked into the hedge’s shadows. Oo! A present! She scurried to the stoop and carefully bent down to read the return label. Oh, goody! It was the books she’d gotten Ginny on childcare and natural delivery methods. In just a few months Hermione was primed to become a full-fledged godmother, and ever since Harry and Ginny had favored her with the title, she’d been imagining herself flouncing about in pastel robes and waving her wand like a demented Disney character. Except where other fairy godmothers graced their charges with glass slippers or granted wishes, Hermione had something much more practical. Booooooks! She’d been amassing a children's library since the start of the pregnancy, and the collection was currently stacked waist high in her wardrobe, just waiting for the round-eyed wonder of child to bring each story to life.
Hermione would have to live vicariously through her friends, because with her work schedule—and lack of steady semen donation—kids were out of the question. Maybe in the future she’d magically have more time—or a man with time—but until then, she was happy to share in Ginny’s experience. Back aches and endless trips to the loo weren’t all that appealing anyway.
She heaved the box under her arm and balanced the flowers against her hip as she unwarded her door. Kicking it open with the tip of her toe, she called out to her furry flatmate, “Crookshanks, I’m home. Come in here and see what I got today.”
Lifting her arm, she dropped the box on the chair as she passed and headed for the kitchen, where she set the flowers on the counter with a giddy smile.
Crookshanks meandered in and sniffed the air, pausing when he caught the new scent.
Hermione grinned down at him. “Well? Pretty impressive, right? They’re from Mr. Malfoy. And these,” she said, lowering the little bouquet for him to smell, “are from Professor Snape. You remember Professor Snape, don’t you?”
She could swear Crooks arched his eyebrow, and she couldn’t tell if he was impersonating the Potions master or questioning her sanity. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
With a tap of her wand, she used a Geminio Charm to make a duplicate vase for Snape’s bouquet. The blossoms were already starting to wilt, and she wanted to keep them fresh for as long as possible. After filling the vase with water, she arranged the flowers inside and then stood back to get the full effect.
Her kitchen looked like a florist shop.
This is so bizarre.
After years of solitude and sticky dates with her fingers, she suddenly had three wizards vying for her attention. She was no longer Plain Jane, the witch every wizard overlooked; she was Goddess Granger, sexy seductress and object of lust. She felt powerful and desirable, which was how she always wanted to feel when she was with a man but, somehow, never did.
And these weren’t just brainless schlubs with no taste—these were men who knew what they wanted, intelligent men with experience and options. And they’d chosen her.
She was flattered to say the least. What witch hadn’t, at least once, imagined what it would be like to have a bevy of bachelors competing for her favor? It was a rush. Every time she thought about them, a quiver of excitement rolled through her body, coloring her complexion from the apples of her cheeks to the tips of her toes. The three of them were just too delicious for words; picking a favorite wasn’t an easy choice. They were each so different.
Lucius was sort of a cross between a white tiger and a pimp—self-assured and sensual as silk. Nature could not have created a sexier beast. She loved the way he lapped her clit as if she were a bowl of cream set out for his tasting titillation. The sheer delight with which he devoured her was shockingly honest for a man she’d scarcely spoken to in the past five years. Oh, it’s so nice to see you again, sir. Have you met my puss, Muffy? Oh! Mr. Malfoy! Is this how you greet all new minge?
‘Only when it’s spread out on my bed purring for a pet.’
Hermione snickered under her breath and fingered one orange rose petal. Flowers of passion. What a perfect choice. And how incredibly thoughtful. Once before, a date had brought her flowers, but she’d never been sent a bushel of them after spending the night with a man. Hell, she should have been the one sending them flowers. That fucking had been phenomenal. With hardly any effort they’d tapped into her foursome fantasies and left her floating in a puddle of satisfaction.
But never once in all her deluded fantasies did she think she’d be getting roses from Lucius Malfoy. He didn’t seem like the sort of man who sent flowers after a shag. He was more like the kind of man who jizzed in a witch’s face one night and then pretended not to know her the next. She had misjudged him. Perhaps she didn’t know him at all. Hermione suspected he’d be quite different if she were to meet him alone, but she wasn’t sure if the real Lucius would be pleasant or frightening.
Snape, on the other hand, was all kinds of scary. He glared and sneered and said rude things just to see her blush. Like a prickly cactus, everything about the man screamed STAY AWAY! But that just made his flowers all the more beguiling. Snape was a man of many layers . . . like an onion—savory but not to everyone’s taste. What would she find if she peeled back all those layers? What were his true motives? What kind of sanctuary was he seeking?
The mystery ate at her, rooting through her brain until she could think of nothing else. No way was she turning him down. She had to know what he wanted to “talk” about. And with any luck, this time she would remain in control of her faculties and be able to respond appropriately when questioned. The shock and awe of their inaugural fucking had left her rather incoherent, and she hoped to prove her mettle the next time round. Even though she hadn’t seen him in almost a decade, there was still a part of her that wanted her professor’s approval and praise. Would her intellect finally be deemed worthy? Could she keep up with a mind as massive as Snape’s? Her last attempt to match wits with the Potions master had taken a severe detour; she’d fallen into some kind of tallywacker trace, which was a surprisingly therapeutic state of mind, but ultimately, not conducive to clever conversation.
Hermione was somewhat heartened by the fact that her body had elicited an equally barbaric response from the usually stoic man. He might have been Mr. Cool when his cock wasn’t caught in the crossfire, but the introduction of her lips and tongue had instantaneously regressed his vocabulary to that of a well-read gorilla. And if his silence was any indication, the potency of her pussy had completely choked off those velvety vocal cords. When the concupiscent commentary had recommenced, there had been a lot of growling and panting between reports, which she celebrated as a win both mentally and vaginally.
While she liked to believe that he was so overcome by pleasure that he couldn’t keep quiet, she wondered if he’d done it solely for her benefit. He obviously had the control to curtail any outbursts—he hadn’t made a peep that first night in the library. Maybe his grunts were gifts. ‘Here you are, Miss Granger. A token for your effort.’ Or maybe he was trying to turn her on.
Well, hell’s bells, he blew that ship out of the water. The lascivious suggestions had come at her in rapid fire succession, one heated whisper after another, each dirtier than the last, rumbling in her ear like thunder until her pussy had unleashed a tidal wave of arousal. Lucius must have ingested at least a gallon of the residuals.
But how was she supposed to compare the physical and mental lust she felt for Mr. Malfoy and Professor Snape to the friendly lust she felt for Draco?
Draco wasn’t like any other man she’d ever been with. There was a vulnerability about him that made her want to squeeze him in an endless hug. Maybe she felt that way because they'd grown so much closer over the years, but that didn't explain why just seeing him brightened her day, why his flirty smile made her heart swell, why her pulse raced when he touched her hand. Of course she got flustered and fluttery when Lucius and Snape touched her too, but with Draco there was something warm and fuzzy about the whole affair. He was suddenly so compassionate and sweet . . . and he kissed like a million-galleon gigilo. She couldn’t wait to spend the night with him.
But she was eager to see Lucius and Severus too. How confusing.
Forcing aside her jumbled thoughts in favor of decisive action, Hermione pulled two decorative note cards from her little desk and sat down to answer her invitations. Not wanting to sound desperate, but also not wanting to come across as uninterested, she chose her words carefully.
Dear Lucius,
These roses are lovely. I didn’t peg you as a flower-sender. I guess I’m little curious what else I don’t know about you. I’m busy Saturday, but if you’d like to have dinner on Friday, I’m free. Did you have someplace in mind?
Thank you for the bouquet,
Hermione
Setting aside the first card, she got out a fresh one and debated how to best approach Snape. Tapping the quill against her cheek in thought, she ran over several possibilities in her head before committing anything to paper . . . thankfully her dictionary with the detailed etymology was within easy reach.
Dear Severus,
Your flowers were an unexpected surprise today. I’ve never had a riddle built into a bouquet. I loved it. And the flowers are beautiful. I can’t imagine what you want to talk about, but I’m intrigued. I’d like to see you this weekend. How about we meet at the Hog’s Head on Saturday?
Sanctuarium offertur,
Hermione
After sealing up each note, she scrawled their names across the front and went into London to send them by owl post.
The replies came before she went to bed.
When she got out of the bath, the Malfoy’s eagle owl and Severus’s school owl were both pecking at her kitchen window like fiendish Morse code messengers. Crookshanks yowled and paced the kitchen floor, calling for her to come and put an end to the ruckus.
Throwing open the window, she took the letters from each bird, and Malfoy’s owl flew off as if he had better things to do. The school owl stuck around, probably hoping for an owl treat. She found him one and sat down at the kitchen table to read the replies.
Malfoy’s was sealed with a green wax stamp of their family crest. Breaking the elaborate seal, she unfolded the parchment and scanned it quickly.
Dear Miss Granger,
I see no reason to wait until Friday. Why don’t you come to the Manor Thursday night? Draco has plans with Blaise, so we’ll be able to dine in peace. Wear that delightful suspender belt again, and I’ll give you a double helping of dessert. Black stockings this time.
Seven o’clock sharp,
LM
Hermione smiled to herself. “So he did like the garter belt.”
Crooks didn’t seem to think that was much of a revelation, yawning once before returning to his bollock bath.
The other parchment wasn’t sealed, but folded into an envelope. When she pulled it open, a sprig of Queen Anne’s Lace fell to the table, and Hermione grinned broadly. Oh good, he’d gotten her message too.
Miss Granger,
I most certainly will not meet you at the Hog’s Head. Have you lost your mind? The whole school would be talking about it before dinner, and I have no desire to explain my private life to Minerva or any of the other staff. We shall meet in the Shrieking Shack. It’s the only place we can be assured of our privacy.
It can be cold in there, even in the spring. Thick knickers would be advisable.
Noon,
S
Hermione burst out laughing, her head falling back as she cackled at the ceiling. Crooks and the owl stared at her as if she’d gone mad.
What a pair. One wanted satin and lace, one warned her to wear warm knickers. They both had a knack for demanding that she meet them when and where they decided.
“Boys are so bossy,” she told Crookshanks, who meowed in agreement.
So she was going to see each of them separately that week. Interesting—or at least that was her brain’s opinion; her vagina seemed to be doing a rain dance in celebration.
Hermione couldn’t help noticing that Draco was the only one who hadn’t insisted she wear anything in particular. He also hadn’t barked a time and place at her. After their intimate lunch that afternoon, she got the impression Draco would have been willing to go anyplace she suggested no matter how disagreeable.
She wasn’t sure what that meant, but she was impressed Draco was being so thoughtful. Perhaps she should incentivize his more obliging inclinations and show him just how appreciative she could be. A deranged giggle slipped from her lips, and she ran off to her room in search of a reward befitting a man of his tastes.
Overture—the orchestral introduction to a musical dramatic work—Miriam-Webster
Occasionally, I indulged in a little word play with my title selections and looked at them from both a musical definition as well as a “normal” definition. So in this instance, I did also intend for overture to mean “An approach or proposal made to someone with the aim of opening negotiations or establishing a relationship.”
"Theme from Mahogany (Do You Know Where You're Going To)" by Diana Ross. 1975. Written by Michael Masser and Gerald Goffin. Originally recorded by Thelma Houston in 1973 (but Ross's version is the more well-known, and accompanied her starring role in the film Mahogany.)
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=VOH6SzDX3l4
Disney is a registered trademark, and I’m sure that deserves some kind of acknowledgement. I don't own any rights and I don't make any money from any fanfic that mentions them.
Sanctuarium offertur=sanctuary offered
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