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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
- 31
- 32
- 33
A/N: Not a long chapter here, and it’s really just a transition piece. But there are many important advancements thrown in to set the coming scenes. The next release will be two chapters, so it’s going to take me a while to finish (I have no idea how long). Chapter 33 is medium-long and 34 is shortish (but all that could change in the editing process). But they don’t need major rewriting, so maybe that will speed things along. We’ll see :)
DS: :) The shit hitting the fan might not be coming from the direction you expect. (That's the only clue I can give.)
"and the V is for?"--Hahahaha! I was waiting for someone to sarcastically point this out (should've known it be you). Surprisingly, I actually have multiple answers. While vagina would work wonderfully, I think that limits Muffy's scope, so the better answer is vulva. But also it's a reference to the shape. It works on so many levels. :)
"aha! ‘or shall I’ from ‘An awfully big adventure’ ;)"--:D I really didn't intend it that way, but I like the way your mind works. (And that is my fav line from AABA.)
Thanks so much, again, for the corrections. (But I'm keeping the "Lucius's." I know most people follow the rule to just use an apostrophe after names that end in an s, but I follow the rule that you only do that if adding the 's fucks up the way it would sound. So, for instance I wouldn't write Saunders's, because that would sound like Son-derz-iz if you said it out loud, which would be nuts. But I do write Severus's (Sev-er-us-is) and Lucius's (Loo-shuh-siz) because that doesn't screw up the pronunciation. I seem to be in the minority of people who choose to do this, but it makes sense to me and I can't stop now.)
32—Harmony
“Four walls, a roof, a door, some windows. Just a place to run when my working day is through.”—Dixie Chicks
(Hermione) 
Settling in at Malfoy Manor was far simpler than Hermione could have ever imagined. Lucius and Severus moved her belongings without a hitch, and in less than twenty-four hours, she was set up in a bedroom that could have easily encompassed her whole flat.
That part was weird. The place was enormous, like a sprawling museum. They each could have taken their own wing and never even saw one another for months at a time. It was amazing that Lucius and Draco hadn’t gone absolutely bonkers living there by themselves for so many years.
Thankfully, Narcissa had gutted the place after the war, ridding the rooms of the acrid stench of evil that Draco claimed had clung to everything after Voldemort’s invasion. Hermione couldn’t blame the poor woman. Who would want to be terrorized by their worst memories at every turn? Oh, that sofa, isn’t it lovely? Macnair left his bloody knife on one of the seats, but we just flipped over the cushion when the stain wouldn’t come out. And isn’t this table stunning? We eat here every night . . . right where Nagini devoured Charity Burbage. You can barely see the chip in the cherry. Draco had confessed that when they returned home from the post-war trials, he couldn’t set foot in most of the rooms without becoming violently ill. After discovering her son’s unconscious body laid out in a pool of vomit one sunny Tuesday afternoon, Narcissa had informed her husband that she was redecorating the house, starting immediately. Hermione could only assume that Lucius and Narcissa were secretly grateful for any excuse to purge themselves of the past.
The house was the epitome of classic elegance, but judging by the old pictures Hermione had seen in the family albums, Mrs. Malfoy had brightened the décor considerably. The bedrooms, while still sumptuous and tailored, had been opened up to avoid that choking claustrophobia one often experiences in old homes that have become overrun by family heirlooms. Hermione chose the gold-and-cream-themed room closest to Draco; Lucius was just down the hall and around the corner. Severus took one of the rooms between Lucius’s and her own, its slate and silver walls a perfect fit for Snape’s austere tastes.
With the noble air of a discerning aristocrat, Crookshanks assumed possession of the entire house and grounds, lazing in the sun like a lad of leisure whenever the mood struck and roaming into any area, closed off or not, as if he were lord and master of all he saw. But she noticed that his mousing in the dungeons strategically steered clear of Snape’s lab. Clever kitty.
Since moving in, Hermione had discovered that successfully living with Draco, Severus, and Lucius was no different from successfully living with Harry and Ron. There was just a lot more sex and snogging at the manor than there had been in that tent. Most men had fairly simple needs on a day-to-day basis. Even Severus. They liked to be useful, especially to a witch, and they liked to be praised for their efforts. A little bit of nice went a long way. Hermione hadn’t realized the power of those few rules until she’d had a long conversation with Fleur one evening at the Weasley’s. That witch was smarter than anyone gave her credit for; her understanding of the male mind was staggering. Like a studious sponge, Hermione had absorbed Fleur’s tipsy commentary on the Weasley men, suddenly understanding why she worked so well with some wizards and not with others. Hermione used what she’d learned on her colleagues at work and found her days went much more smoothly when she stayed patient and calmly explained her reasoning to the morons in the Justice Department as if she hadn’t already done so twenty times before. The adage about catching more flies with honey was true. But Hermione had her limits—unfortunately, she wasn’t always aware of what those limits were until they’d been crossed. She didn’t know if it was the Gryffindor in her or just a keen love of logic, but some stupid had to be knocked out cold and then beaten with a smart stick until it got the message.
But none of her Slytherins needed that kind of motivation. They responded best to kindness and love, and Hermione was careful to keep the affection evenly spread between them so there would be no call for jealousy.
At first she had relied on timetables and clock-watching, afraid that she might slip up and start shortchanging one of them. But, unsurprisingly, no one was fond of that solution, and she quickly discovered that it was completely unnecessary. Once she ditched the schedule and let Muffy lead the way, they all fell into a flow that felt perfectly natural.
Picking a partner for the night went from a fretful decision with no right answer to an intuitive game of musical beds.
When she wanted to be charmed and swept off her feet, she stayed with Lucius. He made her feel special and cared for. He was all red roses and satin sheets. The pinnacle of sensual.
If she wanted to cuddle and play, she slept with Draco. Sometimes he came to her room, and sometimes she went to his. When she was feeling particularly devious, she’d tell Draco she was going to stay with Lucius or Severus, but then she'd creep into his bed and act out his favorite sneaky nanny fantasy. 
When she'd had a hard day or felt too tense, Hermione went to Severus. He could make her forget her problems like no one else. Who could worry about upcoming trials when turned over Snape's knee? Certainly not her. And she definitely wasn’t thinking about work when he was kissing her goodnight. He’d taken to stroking her head as she fell asleep in his arms, and when it was time for her to get dressed in the morning, he refused to let up on the snogging until the last possible second, which was really a rather radical change for the saturnine man.
But Severus wasn’t the only one who had changed. Draco and Lucius were both looking happier than she’d ever seen them. Granted they still sniped at one another, but that had become less severe as time passed. They recognized that their arguing hurt her, and they did their best to curtail any outbursts. She was touched by their conscientiousness.
It was hard to believe that those men—the same men who had once espoused the concept of magic is might—were the same ones who kissed her goodbye each morning and saw her off to work with a hug and a warm word. Hell, Severus was cooking for the whole house, whipping up meals that would have made Julia Child weep with ecstasy. He said it gave him a chance to think about what he was doing in the lab, but Hermione suspected he just had a hard-on for haute cuisine.
Even so, Hermione was still distressed by the thought of him spending his days alone in the kitchen. Lucius was usually doing business at Gringotts until just before dinner, and Hermione and Draco didn’t get home till after five.
Severus insisted that he wasn't lonely, but she always sought him out first when she returned home from work. He was usually making dinner by then, but if he got caught up in his testing, he’d be down in the dungeons, glaring at his cauldron and scratching out indecipherable notes. That concentration was legendary, but even the most engrossing brewing didn’t stop him from accepting her hugs. He'd kiss her on the forehead, and they'd exchange stories about their day. Then he’d tell her to go get ready for dinner, and she'd head upstairs to see if Lucius was home. If he was, she curled up in his lap and proceeded to have the snoggiest conversation possible, discussing their days in the gasping gaps between kisses and winding down into contented purrs of nuzzling caresses. They kept at it until Draco appeared and gave her his best basset hound impersonation in an attempt to lure her from his father’s clutches. Although there were days that called for a lengthier Lucius allotment, most of the time, she took Draco upstairs to keep her company while she changed out of her work clothes. That usually turned into a distracting round of slap and tickle, but Hermione couldn’t say no to those big grey eyes. They’d cuddle in her room until it was time for dinner.
The four of them always ate together unless Lucius had a late meeting. And after supper, they'd all do something as a group until it got dark. Sometimes they danced in the ballroom, where Hermione was surprised to find that Draco and Severus both had some training. Draco was a marvelous waltzer, flowing across the floor like silk, and he was the only one who could do moves she might see at a club. Severus was all about the tango. For a man who seemed so torpid in everyday life, he could spin her around the floor and slide her into the most provocative positions with a flair that spoke of heated passion and breathless abandon. But Lucius still held dancing’s top title; salsa, foxtrot or swing—he knew every step, and even though she stomped on his toes and banged her knee into his thigh when learning a new move, he never stopped smiling or encouraging her to try again. When they finally moved as one, synchronized at last, she could feel the stiff contours of his erection raging against her belly, applauding her success, which was inspirational to say the least.
On the weekends, they all invariably wound up naked in the pool, where Draco swam rings around them like a bloody dolphin. But as Hermione had predicted, it was Severus who turned out to be the king of Marco Polo. While Draco had the speed to catch or escape with equal swiftness, Snape controlled the game with patience and planning. She’d never seen anyone win by staying so still and quiet; he seemed to grab her out of nowhere every time, quick as an eel. And although she couldn’t be one hundred percent sure, she was fairly certain that Draco was letting Snape catch him half the time. It was the rambunctious smile that gave him away; but then again, it was impossible not to grin when you felt that Kraken tagging you beneath the waves.
On the days they were too tired for such physical pastimes, they watched movies in the drawing room, where Draco had rigged up a Muggle projector using magic. Lucius, despite his pureblood upbringing, had a love for motion pictures, which he claimed were theatre on a reel; and they slowly accumulated a small library of titles, starting with The Godfather, Gone with the Wind, and Rear Window.
Seating arrangements were contentious since Hermione only had two sides, but Lucius and Severus traded off and sat next to one another. Draco would spend the night with his hand up her shirt, and her body would be deliciously lopsided by the final credits, half of her neck covered in his love bites and one of her nipples raw and distended from overuse. Movie nights always boded well for her. She never came less than twice, happily riding any hand that happened to be buried between her thighs. If Lucius was sitting next to her, she'd make lascivious suggestions about what he should be doing to Snape, which Lucius found amusing and would laughingly go along with. If Snape was sitting next to her, her requests garnered only an imperious eyebrow arch; but often she'd wind up bumping hands with Lucius when they both went for Snape's snack pack at the same time.
At night she most often took a bath or a shower with Draco, but occasionally Severus would give her a bath—usually when she was worried about something at work. He’d kneel on the floor next to the tub, sleeves rolled up, flannel in hand, calmly wiping her down and directing her into different positions so he could reach every nook and cranny. At the conclusion, he would “rinse out” her pussy with his middle finger, pumping into her so deeply that his thumb buffed her clit with each thrust. That would’ve had her on edge all by itself, but he always pushed her over by “cleaning” her arsehole with a soapy digit. Or two.
If she was really lucky, Snape would come in and bathe her while she was in the tub with Draco. Rather than making Draco jealous, it seemed to entertain him to no end. His perfect white grin was diabolical, brimming with delight, and he’d be rock hard when Snape left. She couldn’t let all that good cock go to waste—so Hermione gave him a reprise of the cleaning routine, one that involved a tongue bath and a good prostate scrubbing. Happy endings were had by all.
They hadn't really had any more foursomes since their “welcome home orgy” at the start of the summer. When Hermione spent the night with Draco, she suspected Lucius and Severus were sharing a bed, but she was never totally sure. Draco insisted they were fucking and then going back to their respective rooms, which sounded possible, but Hermione wondered why they wouldn’t just stay together all night. She didn't want to force any intimacy on them—it really wasn’t her place to comment on their longstanding relationship—but she did want to see them being more concupiscent. Especially when in her presence. Mostly they just acted like good friends. Sometimes a touch or a look would pass between them that said they meant more to each other than they let on, and she was encouraged by those moments of tenderness.
But those moments were fleeting.
A lifetime of brainwashing had instilled a fear of any effusive expression in her three manor-mates, leaving them all exceedingly adept at concealment. Draco was the only one who displayed any range of emotions, but even he didn't volunteer anything too personal. There were lots of smiles, which was of course a sign of happiness, but Hermione had to guess at the rest. Draco was getting easier to read, but Lucius was much tougher. Disdain was his all-purpose camouflage. And Severus, with his frozen countenance, could stymie even the most patient psychologist. When a smile actually broke through, it always left her giddy with triumph; it was like getting an O on the toughest NEWT imaginable.
Seeing them all so happy made her happy. And now that they were living together, she could see how much the three of them thrived on her energy. When she was distraught about something at work, they all went into repair mode, attempting to bring her back into a state of normalcy. When she was excited about something new, the energy in the house hit a new high, the three of them riding the slipstream of her bounty. And when she went through hormonal shifts, she could swear they were following the same cycle; there seemed to be a huge influx of fucking at both ovulation and menstruation, which had always been her horniest times of the month. 
None of them seemed to mind the blood, which really surprised her. At first she suspected that Lucius had adapted to the idea of period sex after being with Narcissa for so long and that it was his acceptance that had nudged the other two into compliance. But that theory lasted all of one and a half months. The whole lot of them were practically fucking her through the mattress . . . and the tub . . . and the wall . . . and the floor. She even caught Draco humping her arse in the lift as if he couldn’t bear to wait until they got home. When she gave him a disbelieving look, he grinned and whispered something about needing Nanny’s slip-slidey pussy. His growly passion had made her realize that no man fucked with that degree of animalistic desire unless he really meant it, so after that, she shrugged off her doubts and just went along for the ride. If they didn’t mind, then neither did she.
But hormonal sex was just one of the many perks of cohabitation. The increased time together provided so many new opportunities for little displays of affection. Draco was always holding her hand and giving her sweet kisses throughout the day, but once she took up residence at the manor, she saw how much Lucius and Severus wanted those things too. 
In their own way. 
Lucius liked to touch her just as much as Draco did, but he was less cuddly and more hedonistic in his approach.
Severus almost never touched her first. But he also never discouraged her advances. In the mornings, she would hug him goodbye, and he would kiss her on the head; but he never made the first move. And he never asked her to share his bed—it was always her suggestion. That was admittedly strange, but what was even stranger was that, when they were alone, he would waver between stony silences of  deep thought and surprise onslaughts of nurturing care. She got the feeling he was testing her, making sure she wasn't going to push him away, but that was the furthest thing from her mind.
She couldn’t get enough of him. Or Lucius. Or Draco.
In an effort to encourage more honesty and openness from her emotionally gun-shy roommates, Hermione went out of her way to assure each of them—on a daily basis—that she adored spending time with them. Draco would return her sentiments without hesitation, while the more reserved Lucius would smile and kiss her, occasionally murmuring a revealing reply. Snape stayed quiet, but he would rub her back and stroke her head, which said quite a lot.
Things were going so smoothly at the Manor that it was a shock to return to the real world, where witches gave her the stink eye for holding hands with Draco, where she had to fight the administration for the money to do her job, where abused creatures were batted around by the system as if they didn't matter.
Having such an abundance of good in her life made her all the more desperate to help those in need. She had so much. Couldn't she share her good fortune? If she just worked a little harder, if she just argued a little longer, if she just scrounged up a few more galleons. The possibilities were all right there, on the tips of her fingers, but always beyond her grasp.
While she was annoyed by the bureaucratic tribulations foisted on the creatures she was tasked with defending, she was flat out panicked about revealing her new living arrangements to her closest friends. She’d yet to tell Harry and Ron of her move, and just thinking about the likely fallout made her intestines twist up like a demonic pretzel.
She had gotten up the nerve to reveal the truth to only one person so far.
James.
She’d spilled her secrets to him in a hurried whisper one Saturday afternoon after finishing The Tale of Benjamin Bunny and Peter Rabbit—that damn switching bit at the end got her thinking about Severus, which had inspired her to practice her confession on the least judgmental person she knew. It felt good to get it off her chest, and by all appearances her godson seemed to take the news quite well.
Now if only Harry and Ron could be so easily swayed.
Harry was on speaking terms with Draco, but she didn't think their tenuous relationship could withstand the knowledge that Draco was filling her with Malfoy milkshakes three nights a week. That sounded like a tidbit of information he might get hung up on.
She knew the truth would come out sooner or later, but for the moment, she was opting for later, her Gryffindor bravery faltering under the prospect of alienating her friends. If she could just come up with a nice way of phrasing it, maybe she could soften the blow. Something involving “house unity” perhaps.
She didn't even want to consider what would happen if they couldn't accept her new love life. It might be the row to end all rows. Hermione wouldn't be told whom she could and couldn't see. It was her life, and she'd finally found something that made sense; she couldn't let that go . . . even if it only made sense to her.
Separation was not an option. 
She just hoped that was as true for her friends as it was for her lovers.
Harmony--Pleasing combination of tones played together.
"A Home"--By the Dixie Chicks. Written by Maia Sharp and Randy Sharp. Released in 2003. Although this song is sad and more about lost love, I thought the lyrics were too perfect to pass up. (Plus a lot of the lyrics I pick aren't entire-song appropriate. I'm selective like that.) https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=sff-fT2J_GU
Julia Child is the author of several famous cookbooks and was the star of her own cooking show in the late 60's
Beatrix Potter wrote The Tale of Benjamin Bunny and Peter Rabbit and I'm sure that's got some copyrights on it, so I feel I should mention that I don't own it.
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