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
- 26
- 27
- 28
A/N: Sorry, no lemons in this chapter, but I have to move the plot forward. (Prepare for a short time warp.) I have to rewrite the next chapter, so it could take me a while (but I’m excited to write it for some reason, so hopefully that’ll move things along faster). Hope you all enjoy.
Lissa: :) Glad you liked the double helping of chapters. Chapter 25: "Fabulous lipstick name."--Hahaha! I just made it up on the spot, but it could be a real shade for all I know.
:) A buss is a kiss.
Thank you for the corrections, and I hope your husband got the jumping he deserved. :P
26: Ah! I moved my sentence around and somehow dropped a word (but I never would have noticed if you hadn't talked about the comma/semicolon thing).
Tee-hee (that's my not-so-innocent giggle), I hope I lure you into the bliss that is M/M erotica.
"Bloody hell, girl. Your visuals and similies leave me breathless."--Hahahaha! Excellent :)
Nightstar: :D You can't go wrong with three excellent choices. Here's a new chapter for you :)
DS: Ahhhh! You've hit upon some important insights for their future :)
(And bless you for the billion missing word fixes. You'd think I was drunk when I edited this or something.)
Yes, I just made up Bad Boys and Big Brooms (it sounded like something I'd buy). :P
"Then his finger surprise on the seat was not at all awkward but fucking hot. "--That one came from a real life experience of mine. :)
"Snape seems quite mild and accepting at the moment. I wonder if things will change as things heat up?"--It's all quite complicated. But no, he doesn't really get overly jealous in this. He knows where he stands, and being a Legilimens, he has a better understanding of the dynamics involved. Things will shift between them all, and Severus will take on a certain role, but he stays fairly stable (and I felt there was enough Malfoy drama to supply the angst).
27—Intermission
“Turn and face the strange. Ch-ch-changes.”—David Bowie
(Hermione)
The next two months were a whirlwind of change for Hermione. Spring melted into summer, and in the sultry heat of her surroundings, her body blossomed like a flower in the sun. 
The cornucopia of sex relaxed her in ways she’d never imagined, toning down her anxieties and loosening her obsessive stranglehold on life. And who knew that pussy power was the secret to success? Not only was she more productive, she was far less neurotic, which certainly put everyone around her at ease. Florence kept giving her knowing smiles, and Hermione suspected that she'd deduced the source of her newfound exuberance.
Of course, like everyone else, Flo thought Draco was the mainspring of her merriment. And with good reason. Their friendly lunches in the canteen had become conspicuously giggly and gropey. They tried to keep the public displays to a minimum, dodging behind filing cabinets for a snog and hiding their touching hands in the lift; but Draco’s universal flirting had dropped off, and his old flames had sprouted some sharp claws. When Hermione got reports from the Ministry, they were now mysteriously covered in coffee and ink stains; and more than once her submitted paperwork had gone “missing.” For the sake of her cases, and the creatures she had sworn to protect, she chose to play nice and ignore the catty glares. And to circumvent any further filing sabotage, she had Florence handle their paperwork—her legendary wrath keeping everyone in line.
Unfortunately, without Draco’s flirting, Hermione lost her source of intel, and as a result, she had no idea when to approach the higher ups for funding. She just had to wing it, and the results had been less than stellar. Essentially skint, her department had to start cutting corners.
Hermione made up the difference from her own pocket, selling a few rare titles to keep the safe houses up and running. It had been tragic to lose such prized pieces of her collection, but she wouldn't be able to live with herself if something happened to a creature in her care. Besides, she could do with a little spring cleaning every now and again.
At least that was what she told herself when her eyes strayed to the empty slots on her shelves.
In addition to her unplanned “cleaning,” spring had brought with it a panoply of new life—but none as breathtaking as the bouncing baby boy Ginny gave birth to in the middle of May. Hermione was there for his arrival, and baby James was absolutely adorable, a perfect little raven-haired cherub with Harry’s cowlick and Ginny’s brown eyes. He was positively scrumptious. Hermione spent all her free nights at the Potters’ cuddling with him and telling him about all the books she had waiting for him back at her flat. He appeared interested, but then again he didn’t speak English, so perhaps he simply enjoyed the noises falling out of her face. She could live with that. Luring him into the world of reading would be a piece of cake if he was already enraptured by her voice.
Harry had taken off work to spend time with Ginny and the baby, so Hermione hadn’t seen him at the Ministry in almost a month, which she couldn’t help thinking was an unintended blessing. With Harry distracted by his expanding family, he hadn’t heard about her affair with Draco, and truth be told, she wasn’t so sure she was prepared for that particular conversation.
Harry and Draco were amicable workplace acquaintances, but they weren’t friendly enough for Harry to welcome him with open arms. And if she had to put her love life into words, she could think of no kind way to explain what was going on. Just divulging the cast of characters would be daunting. She didn’t want to lie to her friends, but what on earth was she supposed to say? I’m not only shagging Draco but his father and Snape as well. Cheers! That wouldn’t go over well at all—especially not with Ron.
Ron had left the Auror department to help George with the joke shop, so she never really saw him except when she went over to the Potters’. It was a bit of a relief that she didn’t have to confess her private life to either Harry or Ron just yet. As long as there was a baby to fuss over, she was spared the threat of inquiry.
But she knew she’d have to face the music sooner or later—she was just leaning toward later. At the moment, she had bigger issues gamboling about in her brain.
For instance, she’d been thinking about babies. A lot.
She wasn’t a baby-fever kind of girl, but holding James had sent Hermione’s imagination careening into a tiny tot wonderland. Should she be judging her Slytherin contenders on their paternal capabilities? Severus would, hands down, win the fatherhood award for Most Likely to Induce Tears with a Single Glower. But perhaps he would be different if the child were his own flesh and blood. She’d have to think about that. Lucius already was a father, but she suspected he’d be much better at it a second time around. He seemed willing to learn from his mistakes, and he did place a high value on family. Draco was, by far, the most nurturing. He’d make a marvelous father—assuming he didn’t cuddle the baby to death. Hermione could just imagine their adorable blond toddler never learning to walk because Draco refused to set it down. Smiling affectionately, Hermione made a mental note to hug Draco extra hard when he came to pick her up at the end of the day.
Hermione honestly didn’t know if children fit into her plans, but it was an interesting concept. Since she couldn’t even figure out which one of her sexy Slytherins she wanted most, she had no business foisting fictitious offspring on them.
Hermione had thought that, given time, the correct choice would naturally become clear, her ideal partner illuminated by the light of knowledge; but getting to know them had NOT made her decision any easier. If anything, it was the complete opposite: the closer they grew, the harder it was to imagine leaving any of them. They each had their own strengths and weaknesses, but ultimately, they were so different it was like trying to compare apples and oranges . . . and bananas.
Predictably, Snape was the most complicated. He was more distant than Draco or his father, but he was slowly letting down his guard. The snark and sarcasm still rolled off his tongue like acerbic honey, but she noticed that each time they met, he was a touch tenderer. He had actually kissed the top of her head the last time she was recovering from her round with the riding crop. Flustered with shock, she’d almost fallen out of his lap, but his grip was strong and he held her tightly against him, preventing any clumsy catastrophes. She'd said it before and she’d say it again—those hands of his knew just what she needed.
Hermione only got to see Snape once on the weekends, but the last time they’d gotten together, he’d suggested that, since he was off for the summer, she should start coming over to his flat in Cokeworth during the week. She had somehow managed to restrain her giddy squeal, but inside, she’d been leaping around the room in celebration. Visit his flat? Coming from Snape that was like a five minute snog after a heart-felt confession about his childhood. It didn’t get much more personal. She couldn’t wait to observe him in his natural habitat.
Most weeks Draco spent Sunday night at her place, and then they went to work together in the morning. She’d see Lucius on Wednesdays or Thursdays; and Severus would stay with her Saturday nights. Draco never made it the whole week on just one visit, so on either Tuesday or Friday she could expect to hear a knock at her door followed by a panicked demand for more kisses. She was flattered by his passion and persistence, and if she was being truthful, she wanted him there all the time. She loved having someone hold her while she read in bed, someone she could wrap her arms around at night and talk with until she fell asleep. They all fit the bill in that regard, but Draco got the most face time, and he was damn good at playing the role of attentive lover.
She wished she could see Snape and Lucius just as often, but Severus had been constrained by his teaching schedule, and Lucius never suggested more. She had a feeling they didn’t realize how much she was seeing Draco, and she felt it would be rude to bring him up when she was alone with them. Plus they all seemed to be concertedly avoiding any mention of her other suitors and the choice she had to make, even going so far as to change the subject when she wandered in that direction. If there was one thing Slytherins were good at, it was guarding a secret. She had no clue how any of them were dealing with the whole confusing affair.
At first she thought Snape was trying to maintain some sense of detachment, but he’d blown that supposition to bits when he invited her to Spinner’s End. He’d even offered to show her his lab and then told her his personal library was at her disposal.
As if the sex wasn’t a big enough draw. Now he was proposing an incentive plan.
Of course she’d accept his offer, but literary pursuits weren’t usually at the forefront of her mind when she was with Severus. Not that they didn’t engage in thought-provoking conversation, it was just that playtime tended to come first. Domination before discourse.
When Draco saw her on Sundays, her arse was always red and, occasionally, bruised. She refused to heal it, preferring to let the memory linger. As luck would have it, Draco was a huge fan of post-spanking redness and lotion-drenched bum rubbing, so she let him do a little hands-on healing until the marks faded on their own.
Over the course of the past month, Snape had taken things to a new level, introducing her to an assortment of implements and turning her into his sordid schoolgirl. He altered her old uniform and gave her as much detention as she could handle. Being “Head Girl” was hard—and rather sticky—but she was enjoying his methodology. The weekend prior, he’d put her in the corner and ordered her hold her pleated grey skit above her reddened backside. Three thick, slippery fingers worked their way up her arse—a personal best that she intended to surpass as soon as possible—and she’d come undone in seconds. And then again a few minutes later.
And again when he pinned her to the wall with his crotch.
While his punishments were becoming a little more perverse each week, his fucking had, conversely, become gentler. Sometimes he just shagged the hell out of her, but she noticed that as they grew closer, he was becoming more patient, riding her slowly and gauging her reactions as if scientifically recording her various responses to stimuli. It drove her absolutely mad. His hugging and back rubbing had seeped into his screwing, which made for a bizarre melding of carnality and care.
It was the care that astonished her. He wasn’t affectionate like Draco, or even romantic like Lucius; but he made her feel strangely secure. He’d started doing other things for her too—non-sexual things. Things she had never expected to see him doing in a million years. Like cooking for her. And bathing her. Okay, bathing might have been in the sexual realm, but he did it in a way that left her feeling soft and sweet rather than horny.
She wasn’t sure she totally understood Snape, but she’d be damned if she could give up what they had together. Draco and Lucius never wanted to argue about magical theory or philosophize about life—they had their own interests and communication styles. She needed the titillation to her mind that Severus supplied. While their intellectual discussions obviously provided the mental workout she needed to thrive, the sex was just as cerebral. He was the master of messing with her head, his domination being largely psychological in nature. He made her think about what was happening, and he never let her forget just how aroused she was by the humiliation. The punishment wasn’t over until her face was as red as her bum.
He played her like a game of chess, always ten moves ahead. But Hermione was content to let him win. She liked the way he explored her motives and teased out every face-burning fantasy. He never made her feel ashamed or guilty about her predilections; if anything, she felt magnificently free after each admission, as if she’d unburdened her soul. For a man who had gone to great lengths to ridicule her when she was his student, he was amazingly sensitive about her sexual education as an adult. Was it her maturity that had altered his attitude, or was it his own? Had the war changed him, or had she never known the real Severus? Whoever he was now, she felt as if she could tell him anything. He never once flinched from her darkest desires.
But then, neither did Draco. Of course their approaches were totally different—but both men shared an affinity for perversion and sexual adventure. Lucius was a bit of a mystery in that department. She had yet to reveal anything overly embarrassing, so she honestly had no idea how he would react. They were always too lost in the lust to examine the finer points of their fantasies.
And Lucius was complicated, no matter what Severus said to the contrary. For a man she had always thought to be brusque and cold, Mr. Malfoy was exceedingly considerate when it came to pleasure. But much like Snape, Lucius wore an invisible armor at all times; a wall of protection guarded his most vulnerable sensibilities. After spending more time with him, she came to see that the coldness was really a cover for his cautiousness. And while he was admittedly pretentious, he was also gallant and generous. He was one of those people whose less appealing traits became unnoticeable once you got to know him. 
Or maybe he was just nicer when she was around.
He kept insisting she brought out his better qualities, and at first Hermione had thought he was just sweet-talking her. But perhaps there was some truth in his flattery. He did seem different. Lighter. Calmer. More stable.
Her nights with Lucius were a far cry from her nights with Snape. Where Snape was constantly plotting and planning, Lucius was all about relaxation and romance.
Preferring privacy, they almost always had dinner at the Manor—Draco chose to stay away those nights—and afterward, once she’d been loosened up by the cuisine and conversation, they would listen to music, which led to the discovery that Lucius Malfoy was a magnificent dancer. It was impossible to not get wet with that man pressed up against her, his body rocking into hers, his half-hard cock jabbing her stomach in time to the beat.
And the smell of him was drool-inducing, a veritable pheromone festival. The first time he’d shown her the ballroom and twirled her around its open expanse, she’d been high on his scent as much as his grace. He’d shagged her against the muraled wall that night, their grunts and moans echoing off the hardwood floors and tinkling through the chandeliers. It had quickly become one her favorite locales.
In the last month, he’d started presenting her with gifts when she came over. Hermione kept telling him he didn’t have to buy her anything, but he claimed he couldn’t help himself. At first it had just been simple indulgences: chocolate covered cherries, flowers, perfume. But then he’d started in with the lingerie, and things had just gotten out of control. Although . . . the man did have exquisite taste in underwear. Fine French lace. The softest satin. Having him call her princess was becoming more and more fitting. He made her feel like royalty.
In some ways Lucius was a romance novel come to life. He was handsome and rich, and he fucked like a god. But that idyllic standard wasn’t her usual fare, and many nights she was left questioning her own—possibly shallow—motives . . . but then he would catch her off guard with the most thoughtful comment or gesture, and she’d wonder how she could have ever reduced him to nothing more than a vainglorious caricature. 
There was an aching sweetness about him that seemed to be struggling to find a voice. And she understood without being told that his presents were his way of expressing the things he couldn’t say. If it made him feel better to provide, she wanted to be there for him—as long as he didn’t get too extravagant. She explained to him on multiple occasions that his wealth wasn’t what made him special to her, that it was his generous spirit and his love of all things beautiful, which in turn made her life more beautiful. Either he didn’t believe her or he didn’t know how to respond, because the next week he presented her with a pair of diamond earrings. She was floored. What the hell was she supposed to do with diamond earrings? At first she’d refused them, saying they were too expensive; but he was relentless. Hermione finally agreed to wear them, but only when she was with him; and he had to keep them at his house.
Despite her discomfort with being given such an exorbitant gift, she grudgingly had to admit that the earrings did make her feel pretty. 
But Lucius always made her feel pretty—just by the way he treated her. His touch was reverent, every caress an ode to adoration. He seemed to genuinely delight in her company, laughing with her and eagerly discussing her day as if he was enraptured by her legal dramas. And when her clothes came off, the exaltation in his eyes lit up her clit like a bonfire.
He worshiped her body.
Whether he was thrusting hard and fast or giving her a nice slow grind, she’d never met a man who loved pussy as much as he did. She wondered how he had survived for so long in its absence.
But the thing about Lucius that surprised her most were the moments of sexual repose. Draco was usually super sleepy and cuddly after he came, and Severus often drifted into silence, as if he’d lost the ability to talk after blowing his load. But Lucius never missed a beat, maintaining the magic of their union and catering to her every whim. He kissed her and stroked her body until she was calm and peaceful, and then he held her in his arms as if he couldn’t bear the thought of separation. Threading his fingers through hers, he’d hold her hand, pressing his palm to hers in a chaste kiss of contentment.
Was that what he used to do with Narcissa? Did he miss the security of a partner, the familiar touch of compassion and acceptance? She hoped so, because she had plenty of both, and seeing him so unguarded melted her guts like taffy in a heatwave.
If Lucius was the devoted husband, Draco was the teenager with his first crush. Lucius expressed his arousal with class and refinement, whereas Draco was deliriously happy with everything they did. As long as she was touching him, Draco was good to go. And gods, did she love touching him. Snogging, hugging, petting, squeezing—she couldn’t get enough. Drawing out that blushing smile he reserved just for her made her feel like the luckiest witch in the world.
And it seemed as though he smiled every time he looked at her. She’d never seen him so blissed out. Before they’d started seeing each other, he’d always been restless, on the prowl for his next hookup. But now the only time he was restless was when she wouldn’t let him come.
But he begged for that, so she didn’t feel too guilty about making him wait.
Ever since they’d declared their feelings for one another, Hermione had been struck by the astonishing difference in him. She wasn’t sure how he was around other people, but with her, he’d abandoned his old arrogance in favor of affection. He was still snooty as hell, but his pompous sneer hadn’t been seen in months.
He was devoted solely to her, and Hermione was just as enamored of him. Draco was the horny, snuggly boyfriend she’d never had the time for in her youth. He wanted to hold hands and snog, but he also wanted to hump her in the lift like a booty burglar. That insatiable sex drive turned her on just as much as his earnest ardor.
And he was the only one who offered her the chance to take the lead in bed. Hell, he pleaded for it—usually naked on his knees. Sometimes they kept things fun and just rolled around, shagging and kissing and giggling. But more often he wanted her to take on the role of Mistress Granger. She certainly understood the desire to be dominated, so she knew what Draco wanted.
With Snape and Lucius she could just lose herself and they would take over. But with Draco she got to explore her flip side, the side that mesmerized men with her sexual skills and titillating talents, the side that was a passionate powerhouse . . . who knew the value of caring.
Lucius was starting to let her care for him a little, and Snape seemed to be warming up in his own way; but Draco reveled in her nurturing. He craved the hugging just as much as he craved the discipline. And that was saying a lot, because he fucking loved the discipline.
Hermione had quickly become adept at turning his adorable arse red. All she had to do was take what she learned in her sessions with Snape and apply it to Draco. It wasn’t rocket science to alter the humiliation and teasing to fit his anatomy. The more she learned about her own submissive turn-ons, the more she learned about his.
He wanted to be controlled sexually, just like her. He wanted to be taken care of, just like her. He wanted to let go, just like her. She understood him on a level most people never would. He didn’t need to explain his needs. She lived them.
And Hermione was surprised how exciting it was to unleash her inner femme fatale. No one had ever told her how pleasurable it was to have real control—not the illusion of control that she was used to. It was totally different to see the immediate realization of her wishes coming true right before her eyes. Instant gratification. She loved the rush of enticement and the goddess-like power that came from being the source of his arousal.
Was that thrill what inspired Lucius and Snape? She suspected Severus got off on the mental challenge. Lucius was less easy to pinpoint. Like Snape, he seemed to fear losing control. But maybe he just didn’t understand how to be receptive. He was a “do to” not a “done unto” sort of fellow.
She hoped that, in time, Lucius would come to trust her with more than his dick. There were times where he seemed to be on the verge of totally opening up to her, and it gave her hope that he had Draco’s capacity for change.
Snape's trust . . . that might be a longer endeavor. He shared some kind of love with Lucius, but she didn’t think they really opened up to one another; they would view that as reckless. But she was fairly certain Severus was intrigued by her intimacy with Draco. Maybe that meant he wanted something similar.
Hermione hadn’t seen them all together since the last time in the library. She’d been so caught up in getting to know them individually that she’d let the foursome languish. 
But now that things had settled, her thoughts kept meandering back to the idea of being overtaken by the pack. There was a niggling sensation of need growing in her gut—something missing from her life that she couldn’t quite put her finger on.
“Granger?”
Hermione jumped and looked around. She’d forgotten where she was for a moment. Her report was on the desk before her, her sentence half-finished.
Draco smirked at her dazed expression. “Can I come over tonight?”
“Of course you can,” she said with an embarrassed smile, chagrined at being caught mid-daydream. “Is something wrong? You look kind of tense.”
“I’m just sick of the office. Are you ready to go?”
She nodded. “Just let me finish this and we can leave.”
Draco visibly relaxed but then glanced over his shoulder as if expecting eavesdroppers. When he turned back to her, the corner of his mouth was curled in sly smirk. “I’ve been a bad boy today, miss. I’m very dirty.”
Hermione grinned. “Sounds like you need a bath.”
He nodded vigorously.
“Then let’s go back to my flat,” she said, scrawling out the rest of her sentence and filing the form away in her desk for the next day. Looking up coyly through her lashes, she gave him a sly smile of her own. “And you know how much I love getting my dirty boy clean.”
His grey eyes darkened.
“Now get over here and give me a hug. I missed you today.”
Draco had her cocooned in the corner of her cubicle before she could blink, his arms around her waist and his face hidden in her hair. “Not as much as I missed you,” he groaned under his breath.
Hermione pulled him closer and laid her head on his shoulder, stroking the downy hair at nape of his neck with the tips of her fingers. He sighed into her curls as if he’d just nuzzled nirvana.
Kissing his chest, she felt the thump of his heart pounding against her lips. Hermione smiled.
It was time to show Draco the therapeutic power of submission.
"Changes" by David Bowie. Written by David Bowie. Released on the album Hunky Dory in 1971, but as a single in 1972. It is one of four of Bowie's songs to be included in The Rock and Roll Hall of Fame's 500 Songs that Shaped Rock and Roll.
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=BPPSu0vaNWA
Intermission--A break between parts of a play, movie, or concert.
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