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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
- 49
- 50
- 51
A/N: Yeah, so these chapters took a lot more rewriting than I thought, and they were longer than I realized (a maddening combination). But I’ve got six chapters all lined up and ready to go! I’ll release one each day till I get them all posted. So much plotty goodness in store. There’s actually not any sex for a bit, (I know, you guys are going to go into withdrawal) but I’ll make up for it later <3
Also, many many thanks to everyone for the support and reviews. It means so much to me.
50—Al Fine
“When you're down and troubled and you need some love and care and nothing, no nothing, is going right . . .”—Carole King
(Hermione) 
Hermione tore her fingers through her hair and growled at the deluge of memos obliterating her desk. How could her day possibly be this horrid? She’d practically floated through her weekend, high on her supercharged sex drive, but thanks to the worst Monday in recorded history, all her happy pussy mojo had been drained in less than an hour. 
Running on empty, her head began to throb—that vein in her temple pulsing like an alarm. She didn’t have time for a headache. There were reports to file with five different departments and interviews she needed to finish before she took her final summaries to the Justice Department. And that little meeting was bound to be an absolute joy, because apparently no one gave a shit about house-elf abuse unless the accused was someone famous.
Normally, she would have spent the day preparing her evidence, but Flo, who acted as her second in command, had fire-called in sick; so Hermione’s workload had doubled with no notice. She could have delegated some of it to Darrell, but he was young and inexperienced, and he had a habit of making the most asinine mistakes when under pressure. Hermione couldn’t risk him blowing their future cases on some technicality.
The weight of her entire division rested on her shoulders. And it was about to crush her.
A pale violet paper airplane dive-bombed her desk, interrupting her internal tirade with its flappy wings. Stupid inter-office memos!
Hermione smashed it open with her palm and scanned the message.
Great. Now the head of the department wanted to see her. Because she clearly wasn’t busy enough. No, no—she needed to go muck about in Hiddleman’s office, pretending to be a gracious employee while he, once again, denied her funding request.
Cracking her neck, Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath; Mr. Hiddleman was actually a decent fellow, and she didn’t want to rip his head off.
Not without a nice pike to display it on.
Okay, let’s get this over with.
Hermione forced herself out of her chair and trudged down the hall to his door, her heels heavy as lead. Using the sharp tips of her knuckles, she knocked—possibly with more vehemence than intended.
A morose groan came from inside, and Hiddleman called out, “Come in,” but it sounded as if he really meant “run.”
Hermione opened the door and edged into his overcrowded office, sidestepping a mountain of files to reach his desk. “You wanted to see me, Mr. Hiddleman?”
He nodded and waved a leathery hand in her direction. “Please sit down, Hermione.”
Sliding into the only chair not buried under paperwork, she steeled herself for the blow. His aura was all dark and splotchy. Bad sign.
“Hermione,” he started—then paused and rubbed his face as if he hadn’t slept well. “I have to tell you something. And it’s going to break your heart. But please know I did everything in my power to change their minds.”
She’d never seen him so upset about a funding refusal. “It’s not your fault, Mr. Hiddleman. Maybe they’ll have more money set aside next time.”
He winced. “There’s not going to be a next time.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“They’re disbanding your unit. There’s not going to be a Creature Justice Division after this week.”
“WHAT!” She sprang out of the chair and glared down at him. “They can’t do that!”
“I’m so sorry, Hermione. If it makes you feel any better, it's not just you; they’re cutting several other units as well. There just isn’t enough money.”
“NO!” She refused to hear him. It had to be some horrible mistake. “What about all our cases?”
“We’ll hand them over to Justice, and they’ll do what they can.”
“No they won’t! Bennett is a self-obsessed peacock who just wants to make a name for himself. He doesn’t care about creature rights!”
Hiddleman sighed, not disagreeing with her. “I argued for you all last week. They’re not budging. If you’d like, I can get you a job in another department. Anyone would be glad to have you working for them. But . . . hmm . . .”
She stared at his reluctant grimace in disbelief. What could he possibly say that would upset her more? “WHAT?”
“Blast it,” he muttered. “Hermione, I really like you. You’re a warm-hearted witch and an asset to this department.”
“But?”
“But I think I should tell you . . . I’ve been hearing some nasty rumors about you lately.” His hands flew up in mock surrender when a look of mutiny crossed her face. “I don’t believe a word of it; it’s ridiculous. But I just wanted you to know . . . if the rumors persist, it could hurt your chances of securing another position.”
“And what brilliant rumors has the gossip train delivered to my door this time?” she seethed.
His expression turned sour. “I don’t want to say.”
“I need to know if I’m going to deal with it.”
Mr. Hiddleman reached into his desk and took out a small phial of pink potion. He tipped the contents down his throat and clutched his chest. “My stomach is flaring up again.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, but I still need to know.”
Peering up at her with an apologetic moue, he nodded. “They’re saying you’re not just dating Draco, that you’re living with him and . . . you know . . . Lucius is there . . .” He swiped the top of his bald head as if he could rub the idea out of his brain. “Now you know everybody down in International loves Draco, but Lucius is still a pariah. He’ll never escape all the suspicion.”
Hermione bit her tongue and kept her face blank. She'd learned a lot about successful poker faces from Snape. “Well, isn’t that interesting.”
Mr. Hiddleman chuckled wryly. “I guess I’m just full of good news, aren’t I? Again, I’m really sorry, Hermione.”
Sinking back into the chair, Hermione stared at her shoes but didn’t really see them. Arguing with Hiddleman was pointless. He wasn’t the one who decided these things. Perhaps she could appeal to Kingsley, but everyone knew he was in Sri Lanka for another week. “So . . . should I just leave? I don’t know what to do.”
“Hermione, if you want to go home, I understand. There’s not really anything you can do except take that case to Bennett yourself and make sure he sees all the evidence you’ve gathered.”
Hermione felt like curling up on the floor and crying. She couldn't believe ten years of hard work could be wiped out in the blink of an eye. And what about all those creatures who still needed help? What would they do? Bennett wasn't going to take their cases seriously. Too bad Carline had to retire a year earlier; she would have been an ally in the Justice Department. Fuck! Why was this happening now?
“I’ll pack my desk,” she mumbled, her lips resisting the words. “Thanks for all your support over the years, Mr. Hiddleman.”
“If there’s anything I can do to help, Hermione, just say the word. Reference letters. Personal owls. You name it.”
She scrounged up a wan smile. “That’s very kind of you.”
“Don’t worry about Darrell and Flo. I’ll talk to them. I think I’ve already got another job set up for Darrell. And Flo should be okay; she’s a tough old bird.”
“Tell her I’ll talk to her soon. Once she’s on her feet again.”
“Of course I will. Would you like some help with your desk?”
She shook her head and started for the door. “I don’t have much.”
"Good luck with Draco,” he said gently. “You two seem good for each other.”
Flashing him a sad smile over her shoulder, she nodded. “Thanks.”
Hermione stepped out into the bustle of the department and stared blankly at her surroundings. The whole floor looked different, as if she’d never seen it before. People sped past, blurs of color and sound. She couldn’t see their faces, couldn’t bear to look at them. 
Near the mouth of the crowded corridor, she saw Harry peeking over cubicle walls, probably searching for her. She'd have to tell him their lunch date was off. Indefinitely. Maybe Draco could catch him up on what he'd missed while on paternity leave. Lifting her hand in an awkward wave, she got his attention, and he jogged over.
He wasn’t smiling.
“Hermione, what the hell is going on?” Harry said in a low voice. “My first day back at work and it’s like the whole Ministry’s gone insane! What’s all this about you dating Draco? That’s not true, is it?”
Shit. Of all the days for him to find out—fuck! “Harry, now’s not a good time.”
“So, it’s true,” he sputtered, his eyes bulging. “You’re seriously dating Draco?”
Mashing her lips in a tense line, she held his gaze. You’d better come clean. Don’t make this any worse than it already is. “We’re not just dating; I’m living with him.”
“Are you mental!”
The entire floor went still and turned to look at them. 
Blushing, Hermione grabbed Harry by the sleeve and dragged him to her corner cubicle. “Shhhhh! Don’t do this to me now,” she pleaded in a whisper.
“Why the hell not?” he whispered-shouted back. “Is there a better time to find out if your best friend has lost her mind? I could accept you being friends with him, Hermione—he’s changed. But you’re living with him? After everything he’s done to us?”
With a queasy groan, Hermione pressed her fist to her churning stomach; she could do with some of Mr. Hiddleman’s pink potion. “Harry, please don’t be upset. I didn’t mean for you to find out this way. I wanted to tell you, but I couldn't figure out how. I know this seems like it’s coming out of nowhere, but . . . I love Draco.”
Harry looked as if he was having a stroke. “You love him?” he muttered to himself. “Malfoy?”
She nodded.
“The ferret?”
“Please don’t call him that.”
“Hermione,” Harry dropped his voice and looked around to make sure they weren’t being overheard, “are you living at Malfoy Manor? Is Lucius . . . I mean . . . how is all that working out?”
Hermione stared at him. She wasn’t ready for a confrontation like this—not after the morning she’d had. “He’s . . . fine.” Oh bollocks, she’d hesitated too long. And she’d broken eye contact. So much for playing it cool. 
Harry’s gaze narrowed. He’d seen. His pretty blue aura darkened, and he jerked away from her as if she were infected. “What the hell have you been doing?” he breathed. “Is something going on between you and Lucius—Lucius—the man who tried to kill us?”
If she denied it, it would sound as if she were ashamed of Lucius. She couldn’t do that to him. “He’s not like that now. He’s . . .” she trailed off when she saw the revulsion twisting Harry’s features.
“Oh, God, it’s true—you’re shagging Lucius-fucking-Malfoy. And his son. That’s just . . .” His head began to shake in disgust, but then suddenly, as if someone had pulled a plug in his neck, his face drained of color, and he grabbed her by the shoulders. “McGonagall came to see James last weekend, and she told me Snape suddenly up and retired—and left Malfoy Manor as his forwarding address. I thought he was just avoiding the public, staying with an old mate, but . . . oh my God!”
Dammit! He was putting it together. His face flickered with a variety of emotions, and the wheel of expressions settled on stupefied fury.
“You’re living with him too, aren’t you? They’re all there—those sick fucks! Snape and Lucius? AND Draco? Jesus Christ, Hermione! I think I’m gonna be sick.” He was awfully pale. “What the hell’s wrong with you! Are you fucking your way through the whole damn Slytherin directory?”
“How could you say that to me?” she hissed.
“I can’t believe you, Hermione. Snape may have risked his life to protect me—and don't think I'm not grateful for what he did—but that doesn’t mean he’s a nice person. He’s dangerous. And cruel. What are you thinking?”
“Harry, please, I’m begging you, don’t do this to me. I can’t deal with you being angry at me on top of everything else.” The tears came then, stabbing at the backs of her eyes when she refused to let them fall.
“If they’re causing you so much trouble, you should get out now, before they seriously hurt you. Why are you doing this to yourself? Is this some kind of cry for help?”
Angry heat flared through her. Clenching her teeth, Hermione bristled to her full height and, leaning into Harry, jabbed her finger in his face. “Thank your for your concern, but I’m doing just fine. I happen to be very happy—with all three of them. Fuck you if you don’t want to be happy for me.” The tears won their freedom and spilled down her cheeks in white hot streams. “There are plenty of people who do want me to be happy. I’m going home to at least one of them right now, because THEY’VE JUST FUCKING FIRED ME! My life’s work is gone. Destroyed. So thank you for making this one of the worst days of my life. I knew you and Ron wouldn’t take this well, but I didn’t think you’d start accusing me of losing my mind. If you were really my friend, you’d accept that I’ve found something that works for me. Maybe it’s strange and unorthodox—but it isn’t wrong. I’ve never felt more right.”
The contempt in Harry’s eyes pierced her like a dagger.
“But I see I was hoping for too much. Well, I don’t have the patience to deal with this right now; so if you’ll excuse me, I'm going home to talk to someone who doesn’t criticize my life or question my sanity.”
She tore off her work robes and threw them in the chair. They were somebody else’s problem now. Turning on her heel, she stormed past her stunned ex-co-workers and made for the lift, leaving Harry staring after her with his mouth hanging open.
The lift doors closed behind her, and Hermione burst into tears, folding in two as the sobs wracked her body. Her life was over. Everyone was going to find out about her and Lucius and Draco and Severus; and if that was how her best friend reacted, she couldn’t even imagine how bad it was going to be when the rest of the world got wind of their arrangement. She’d never find another place to work in Britain. Not a job she wanted anyway. Even the famous Hermione Granger couldn’t live down something this sordid.
She was ruined.
Al Fine—to the end; a direction to play to the end (as in D.C al Fine or D.S. al Fine).
“You’ve Got a Friend” by Carole King. Written by Carole King and released in 1971 on her album Tapestry, which is one of the best-selling albums of all time. Won the Grammy for Best Song of the Year in 1972.
This is the only time in the story that I use the same song for multiple chapters. Fifty, fifty-one, and fifty-two will all be lyrically tied together.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qde5NMy7WTU
- 49
- 50
- 51
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