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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
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A/N: Hey, everybody! Just a little side note before you begin. My oneshot, Puppy Love, is up for best comedy at the Granger Enchanted Awards. If you’d like to vote, it’s https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1dmntWZsZIADBkHcQqaBs1ocDVpIZ2pee?usp=sharing. (The category I’m in only has like three stories, and you’re allowed to vote for two.) Also, At the Headmaster’s Discretion has been nominated for Best Smut, so please go and support Desert Sea if you love her as much as I do.
Voting ends on the 7th.
52—Mosso
“You’ve got a friend.”—Carole King
(Draco) 
Draco rapped his knuckles against the white, weathered door and turned to give the neighborhood an appraising once-over. The word quaint came to mind, but he found the lack of privacy disturbing. 
And invasive. A sweaty man in a pit-stained vest had stopped mowing his lawn to openly stare, as if Draco’s mere presence were something he found suspicious. Yes, Detective Dunderhead, all master thieves put on their nicest handmade Italian suits to go case a joint in broad daylight. You caught me.
The front door squeaked open, and Draco whipped around, only to be slashed by the razor-sharp cutlass of Potter’s green glare.
“Malfoy,” Harry sneered. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to talk.”
“I have nothing to say to you.”
When the door began to close in his face, Draco flung up his hand to block it. “Please, Potter! This is important.”
Harry’s scowl faltered. 
Hmm, perhaps Hermione had been right about please being a magic word.
After a protracted pause that could only be described as rude, Potter yanked open the door and motioned inside with a tilt of his head. “If it’s that important, then you won’t mind saying it in front of my wife and child—and Ron and his wife.”
As a Slytherin, Draco needed no Gryffindor field guide to understand what that really meant. It was a tactic employed by people who considered Slytherins one step above barbarians. They wanted witnesses and hoped a crowd would deter any nasty altercations.
Only Draco wasn’t there to fight.
He was there to humiliate himself for Hermione. 
Following Harry through to a sunny family room at the back of the cottage, Draco found Ginny and a brunette witch he didn’t know sitting on an overstuffed couch. In Ginny’s arms, folded in a soft yellow blanket, lay the most adorable baby Draco had ever seen in his entire life. The infant’s enormous eyes brimmed with bright curiosity, and his chubby cheeks emitted a rosy warmth fueled by unfiltered innocence. Draco had heard talk of James from Hermione, but it was nice to have a face to go with the name. And he could see why she was so enamored. Although the poor thing had been cursed with Potter’s hair, he’d gotten Ginny’s eyes, nose, and lips—all smushed together in a tiny elfin face that captivated a person faster than you could say cuteness personified.
Draco’s attention shifted as Ron rose from his seat across the room and drew his wand—and then aimed the tip straight at Draco’s head.
How uncouth.
“What the hell is he doing here?” Weasley demanded. “You’ve got some nerve, Malfoy.”
Draco didn’t know what to say to that. While he and Harry had become amenable workplace acquaintances, Ron still labored under the misguided notion that Draco longed for a pureblood uprising.
But not all the Weasleys were that obtuse. Draco had run into Ginny at several Ministry functions, and despite their families’ contentious past, she always spoke to him in a civil manner. Currently, she was the only adult in the room not glaring at him; she just seemed mildly puzzled by his presence. 
“Malfoy says he wants to talk,” Harry announced. “I told him he can talk—to all of us.” Sitting down next to Ginny, he waved his hand impatiently in Draco’s direction. “Well, go ahead. You’ve got five minutes, and then I have to be getting back to my invited guests.”
Draco heard the dare in his caustic tone but didn’t rise to the bait. “I know you think I came to pick a fight, but I really just want to talk to you.”
Though Harry remained silent, he did nothing to discourage him from continuing.
“Do you mind if I sit down?” Draco asked, indicating the free chair.
Potter nodded at him to go ahead, and Draco perched himself on the edge of the seat. Looking down at his clasped hands, he pondered how to sway such a hostile jury. If he’d been talking to Hermione, he would’ve simply spoken from the heart and made his case through sheer transparency, but the people there didn’t love him the way Hermione did, and the possibility of ridicule made him hesitate. 
But how would he ever convince them of the truth unless he told the truth? The answer to that riddle would cost him some pride. “I know we’ve had our differences over the years.” 
Ron snorted, and Draco threw him an annoyed glance. 
“But,” he went on, picking up where he’d left off as if he hadn’t been interrupted, “I know you don’t completely hate me.”
Ron butted in again, “Don’t worry, I still hate you, Malfoy.”
Surprisingly, it was the other Weasley who came to his defense. “Quiet, Ron. I want to hear this.”
Draco sat up straighter. He had a chance. A ginger ray of hope had just burst through the clouds. “I know you probably won't believe me, but . . . I love Hermione. More than I can say. And she loves me. I can’t think of a way to prove how much she means to me, but I thought maybe if I came here and told you myself, that might be enough to at least get you to listen to her side of the story. Please come with me to the manor. Talk to her. Like, really talk to her, without shouting or accusing her of anything. If you just see how happy she is with us, I think you’ll realize this isn’t as bad as you’re imagining. She’s the same girl you were friends with yesterday—the same girl you’ve been friends with for the past sixteen years—nothing’s changed.”
Harry made a grumbly sound of disagreement and folded his arms over his chest. “Everything’s changed. She’s basically been lying to us for months, and the Hermione I know doesn’t lie. If she loves you so much, then why didn't she ever mention you even once?”
“Seriously? I think you’re answering your own question. Look how you reacted when you found out. That’s why she’s not telling anyone. And add two more men to that—those two men in particular? Please. People don't want to understand something like that; they'd just write her off as a slag.”
“Well, what are people supposed to think?” Ron grumbled. “She’s sleeping with all three of you, isn’t she? What the hell are people supposed to call that?”
Anger surged though Draco so violently his vision rippled. “Maybe they should call her a witch with a big enough heart to love three men.”
“Three Death Eaters,” Ron corrected snidely.
“Three EX-Death Eaters,” Draco shot back. “We were all pardoned. Snape's got an Order of Merlin for fuck’s sake!”
"Language,” Ginny singsonged threateningly. “And no arguing. James just calmed down. He doesn’t like angry voices.”
“Sorry,” Draco muttered, pressing the tips of his fingers into his forehead to ease the throbbing. “But I’m not going to sit here and listen to you call her a whore. What we’re doing may be unconventional, but it’s not the end of the world. She just loves more people than most.”
James reached a pudgy hand toward Harry, and Harry automatically extended his finger for the baby to grasp. “And that doesn’t bother you, that she loves other men, one of them your father?”
Draco looked up at the ceiling, searching for an adequate explanation in the textured spackling. Nothing came to him. With a sigh, he dropped his chin and attempted to convey the complexity of the situation with a look; but in the end, he could only shrug. “It bothered me at first. Now it just seems normal. It would break her heart if one of us was gone, and I only want her to be happy.”
“Draco, I . . . I know you mean what you’re saying,” Harry said, raking his hand through his hair as if he wanted to rip it out. “But . . . this is too disturbing. You might be tolerable now, but your father is still a monster. And Snape is . . . well . . . Snape. I have no idea how she can stand the lot of you.”
Ginny canted her head to the side, her expression thoughtful rather than sickened. “You’ve had a lot of time to get used to the idea, but we’ve only just heard about it. It's a little hard to swallow with no warning.”
"I understand. That's not why I came. I’m not trying to force an opinion on anyone. I just don’t want you to be fighting with Hermione right now. If she just knew you didn’t hate her, maybe that would be enough to get her through this.”
Ron drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair. “Hermione’s our best friend—we can hardly be expected to stand by and watch her throw her life away on the likes of you.”
Draco somehow, somewhere, found a reserve of patience and managed not to curse the berk. "I am not going to fight with you, Weasley. If you want to insult me, then go ahead; but if Hermione is really your friend, then you’ll stop treating her like a naïve imbecile who needs your protection. She’s perfectly capable of deciding who to love. You don’t have to agree with her choices—you just need a shred of loyalty.”
Ron’s face went puce with rage.
Harry, however, seemed far less agitated than he had earlier. “Does Hermione know you’re here?”
“No.”
“You just stopped by to try to convince us to talk to her?”
“Pretty much.”
Harry looked at Ginny and they seemed to be having a conversation with nothing but pointed looks and eyebrow signals, which must have been a married people thing, because Draco had seen his mother and father do the same thing. 
Although, now that he thought about it, he'd seen his father and Severus do it too.
Potter nodded at Ginny and turned back to Draco. “Do all three of you love Hermione, or just you?”
Draco had his doubts on that subject, but he knew what needed to be said. “We all love her, but I really think you should discuss it with Hermione.”
Harry took a deep breath and looked over at the baby, who blew a spit-bubble raspberry at him. Harry’s upper lip trembled in a reluctant smile, and he blew a small raspberry in return. “Okay,” he sighed. “I’m willing to give Hermione a chance to explain herself. I owe her at least that much—and probably a whole lot more. Who wants to go with me?”
“I’ll go for Hermione,” Ron said, “but I’m keeping out my wand the whole time.” Glowering at Draco, he added, “You can’t trust Slytherins.”
Draco rolled his eyes, but he kept his mouth shut. Don’t blow it now. You’ve almost got them.
“I’m dying to talk to Hermione,” Ginny said, “but I can wait a couple days till things have calmed down.”
The dark-haired witch shook her head. “I’ll stay here with Ginny.”
“We should go now,” Draco said, rising to his feet. “The sooner the better. I don’t want this eating at her any longer than necessary.”
“I’ll be back soon, Gin.” Harry leaned in and kissed the baby’s head. “Be good for Mummy, James.”
Blindsided by the tender scene, Draco’s chest tightened.
Ginny pecked Harry on the cheek and whispered something in his ear. He murmured an agreement and bussed her lips.
“Let’s go,” Potter said, sliding his wand into his back pocket and motioning to Ron. They both tromped toward the front door as if setting off on a quest.
But Draco didn’t move. 
Even though he knew Harry and Ginny had a child, it hadn't dawned on him until that moment that Potter was a father. A father. That couldn’t be right. Harry was a specky, scrawny boy who, in Draco’s mind, was permanently eleven years old. How could he be a dad?
After everything he’d been through with his own father, Draco had never been drawn to the idea of procreation. But now Hermione was a part of the picture, and that changed everything. Suddenly, being a father sounded like a brilliant idea. Maybe the best idea ever. Should he ask Hermione how she felt about babies? If they did have a child together, what would it be like? Brainy? Attractive? Grey eyes? Brown?
Coming back to himself, slightly dazed by the possibilities, Draco swallowed hard and nodded at Ginny. “That’s a really cute kid.”
Ginny blinked in astonishment, but a twitch of amusement tugged her mouth into a lopsided smirk. “Thanks. We think so too.”
Draco almost said they should be glad it took after her, but he kept the quip to himself. Hopefully Hermione would appreciate his restraint and reward him accordingly. 
He’d been one hell of a good boy that evening.
Mosso—direction indicating movement, motion; agitated.
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